𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞
__________________

____ Standing upon the stone walls of Winterfell is the secondborn Stark, his arms leaning against the stone-made walls, that reached just above his waist, as the tips of his hair flowed with the breeze. His crystals for eyes, holding an emotion one couldn't describe, stared at the sun rising towards the sky that casted a gray tone above Westeros that day as the dawn broke through the clouds. The Northern breeze of the dawn swept throughout Winterfell as the people began to awaken and go about their daily activities, whether that be to feed the hounds or begin cooking breakfast for the Starks.

The black direwolf, Alysanne, stood beside her Stark, the breeze sweeping through her fur and dancing with her tail, as her rubies for eyes stared at the lands before the wall she stood upon, the scent of the morning entering her nose.

The Godswood laid just before the wall the Stark and direwolf stood upon, the trees dancing with the breeze as the dawn began to paint an orange tone upon the forest. Morning birds sang their songs, accented by the whispers of the breeze in the Godswood as it swept through the trees, and the ambiance of the ancient castle beginning to arouse in Winterfell.

The secondborn released a breath, shifting his feet into a more comfortable position as he had been standing in the same spot for some hours, as the dawn casted it's toned shadows upon his young features. The dawn had always been the Stark's more favored hour of the days in the North, as it symbolized that everything could fall like the sun but will rise once more.

Then a ruckus was heard near the gates, the guards of House Stark shouting at an intolerable man dressed in red and gold with an escort of guards behind him, alongside a man of the Night's Watch.

Rikson turned his head towards the direction he knew the gates of Winterfell were, wondering who could be at the gates for the guards to shout so bloody much, but the Stark didn't bother to leave his position on the wall, knowing someone would deal with the situation if it got too out of hand for the gate-guards. The direwolf turned her head towards her Stark, releasing a huff through her snout.

"Perhaps a Lion stands at our gates?"

The direwolf shook her head in distaste, another huff falling from her snout, resulting in a chuckle from Rikson, "Aye, I don't like 'em either." The Stark and the direwolf then shifted their gems for eyes towards the sun rising above the distant hills in the North.

Moments began to pass, with the Northern breeze kissing the secondborn Stark's, red-tinted, cheeks and flowing through the tips of his Stark-brunette hair as Alysanne lent her body against his, her tail, lightly, wagging. It was a peaceful moment for the secondborn of House Stark...

Until the arrogant Kraken of House Greyjoy strode towards him with that annoying half-grin of his.

Rikson released a scoff, though low enough that the Greyjoy hadn't heard, as he rolled his crystals for eyes.

"Riky-" Theon started, in a teasing tone, but was interrupted by the Stark,

"Don't call me that, Greyjoy."

Alysanne released a low growl, standing from her sitting position to glare at the man her Stark loathed, but Rikson hushed the direwolf, though that didn't stop her from glaring at the Greyjoy.

"Why do you hate me, Riky, is it
because you're jealous?"

Rikson turned towards Theon, leaning his outstretched arm on the wall, his icy gaze mixed with boredom and loathing, all aimed towards the arrogant Kraken standing some feet before him. 

"I'm not even going to dignify
that with a response."

Theon chuckled, "You are jealous, is it because of all the girls I have every night? My skills in archery?"

Rikson rolled his eyes, completely unamuesed, "Why are you up here, Greyjoy?"

"Robb asked for you, he's
waiting in the Great Hall."

Not wanting to spend another second in the presence of the intolerable Grejoy, Rikson shoved past Theon's shoulder, earning himself a snicker at his pettiness. Though, the Stark, smugly, grinned when the snickers stopped as he heard his direwolf growl at the Greyjoy, before appearing at his side, trotting alongside her Stark as he gave her head a pat in praise.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

"I must say, I received a slightly warmer
welcome on my last visit."

Inside of the Great Hall in the castle of Winterfell, with guards stationed at every exit in the room and the shadows of the torches' flames dancing across the walls, the Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark, sat at the high table, looking down upon the Lannister standing some feet before the high table. Maester Luwin sat to the right of the Lord of Winterfell, while the Lord's brother, Rikson Stark, sat to the left of Robb, his icy gaze upon the Lannister, watching every move the Imp made. The direwolves, Greywind and Alysanne, laid by their Starks' feet, their ears twitching towards the eldest Stark as he spoke,

"Any man of the Night's Watch
is welcome at Winterfell."

The man, dressed in the recognizable black clothes of the men in the Night's Watch, respectfully nodded towards the young Lord of Winterfell.

"Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I, eh, boy?" Lord Tyrion spoke, raising a brow in mock curiosity.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister." Robb responded, glaring towards the Lannister, earning a smirk from his younger brother, as he continued, "I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is away." The witty Lannister was quick to respond, "Then you might learn a Lord's courtesy."

The echo of the wooden doors, leading into the Great Hall, being opened caught the Starks' attention, the brothers shifting their gazes towards the sound of heavy footsteps entering the room.

Lord Tyrion, curious as to what stole the young Starks' attention, turned around, his eyes landing on the giant man, known as Hodor, followed by Theon Greyjoy, walking into the Great Hall. Though, his eyes widened with realization when he saw the boy in the giant man's arms, "So it's true... Hello, Bran."

Hodor halted his path, turning to face the smaller man. Young Bran, curiously, looked at Lord Tyrion, wondering why he wanted to speak to him.

"Do you remember anything
about what happened?"

Rikson Stark furrowed his brows in thought, as the elder Maester responded, "He has no memory of that day."

"Curious." The Lannister muttered, as the Lord of Winterfell questioned, "Why are you here?"

Ignoring the Lord of Winterfell's question, Tyrion spoke to young Bran, "Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to hurt."

"Kneel, Hodor." The giant man was quick to do as his Lord commanded, kneeling on his knees and propping the young Stark on one of his legs, as the Lannister asked, "Do you like to ride, Bran?"

"Yes... well, I mean I did like to."

The older brothers of the young Stark shared a glance, both wondering what the Lannister was getting at in questioning their brother on such sensitive topics.

"The boy has lost the use of his legs." The Maester spoke up.

"What of it? With the right horse and saddle,
even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple." Young Bran was quick to respond in an annoyed tone, not wanting to believe the truth of what he is after the fall from the tower.

"Then I'm not a dwarf. My father will rejoice to hear it... I have a gift for you." The Lannister reached into his cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment, handing it to the young Stark. "Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest."

Curious, young Bran removed the seal and unrolled the piece of parchment, lifting a curious brow as his eyes swimmed across the drawings on the paper, while the Lannister said, "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice." With hope dancing in his eyes, young Bran looked to the Lannister and asked, "Will I really be able to ride?"

"You will. On horseback, you will
be as tall as any of them."

The voice of the secondborn Stark rang through the Great Hall as his icy gaze, filled with confusion and skepticism, stared at the Lannister, "Is this some kind of trick? Why do you want to help him?"

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." The Lannister was sure to look the Stark straight in the eyes as he said "broken things", therefore the secondborn clenched his jaw and removed his gaze from the Lannister.

After a moment of silence, the Lord of Winterfell spoke up, "You've done our brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

"Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed, and all of us can sleep easier." Then, sparing a glance at the youngest of the Starks in the room, the Lannister left the Great Hall, with his escort of guards and the man of the Night's Watch behind him.

With a nod from the Lord of Winterfell, the Maester escorted Hodor and young Bran out of the Great Hall, heading towards the saddler of Winterfell to hand him the plans, kindly provided to them by Lord Tyrion. When their younger brother was out of earshot, the eldest of the Stark children turned towards his younger brother, whom held a look of thought on his features, "What do you think of it, Riks?"

"Think of what?" The secondborn asked as he turned his head towards his brother, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his eyes somewhere else.

"Do you think Lord Tyrion had anything to do with Bran's fall from the broken watchtower?"

A silence of thought passed, before Rikson looked his brother in the eyes and said, "... No."

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

Inside of the courtyard in Winterfell, Rikson Stark sat upon the fence to the side of the archery ring, his calloused hands fiddling with the bow in his lap, as his direwolf laid underneath his booted feet, chewing on a meaty bone from her hunt some moments ago. The Stark thought about the events that had occurred in the Great Hall some moments ago, wondering why Lord Tyrion had gifted his brother the plans on a saddle to allow him to ride once more.

Did the Lannister want to get into the Starks good graces after a member of his House pushed young Bran from the broken watchtower in the Godswood Was it some kind of trick of the mind ordered by Lord Tywin Lannister? Or was Lord Tyrion Lannister just doing a kindness for the young boy simply because he had a tender heart for "cripples, bastards, and broken things"?

Before a pounding ache in his head could fester, footsteps began to approach Rikson from behind, and turning to see whom was approaching him, the Stark released a scoff in amusement, speak of the man, he thought to himself. Lord Tyrion Lannister announced his presence, although he knew the Stark had noticed him, "Lord Wolf."

"Lord Lion." Rikson responded, hanging his bow on the post at the edge of the fence he sat on, before jumping off of the wooden fence, being sure to not land on the direwolf underneath his feet.

"May we sit and talk for a while?"

Lord Wolf nodded, curious, before walking towards the area underneath the viewing deck that overlooked the archery ring, sitting himself at the dark-wooden table, his icy gaze watching Lord Lion sit in a chair in front of him.

The black direwolf, although enjoying the bone she chewed on, kept her rubies locked on the short man near her Stark, wary of any threats towards him.

"You seem like a suspicious man,
Lord Wolf, why is that?"

Rikson raised a brow in mock confusion, "Am I supposed to blindly trust every man I meet in life?"

Tyrion pointed his finger towards the Stark as he said, "Smart man, I like you, Lord Wolf. You're very interesting, more than this lot that's for sure."

Looking towards the people walking about beyond the courtyard they sat inside of, the Stark and the Lannister both chuckled, before Rikson asked, "My brother, Jon, how was he when you left Castle Black?" 

"A family man, as well," Rikson, lightly, chuckled as the Lannister continued, "He was well, and I remember him asking me to give you his greetings if I saw you in Winterfell, so I give you Jon's greetings."

Once more, Lord Wolf chuckled, believing he was right in assuming Lord Lion bared no ill-will against his younger brother as they continued to converse.

Then, remembering a certain phrase spoken in the Great Hall some moments ago, Rikson Stark questioned Lord Lion, "Why did you look directly at me when you spoke of 'broken things'?"

"I remember when I first saw you, Lord Wolf, and
your eyes that hold the tale of the Maker of Widows, when I asked you about it you only gave me the partial truth, but when I asked your bastard brother,
he gave me the full truth."

Rikson clenched his jaw while licking his lips, mentally reminding himself to ask his brother why he had told a Lannister, of all people, something that he did not want all of Westeros to know.

"Not to worry, Lord Wolf,
your past is safe with me-"

"Is it, Lord Lion? We have only had two
conversations with one another, I don't know
you... and you don't know me."

Lord Tyrion smiled, with intrigue inside of his eyes, as he responded, "You are a smart man, but I am also a man of my word, and I give you my word that your past will be safe with me, Rikson Stark."

"I don't know how much your word is worth, but I don't have the power to erase history so I will have to just hope you don't spread word about anything my brother told you when you were at the Wall."

With a short silence passing over the Wolf and the Lion, Rikson creased his brows in realization, "You think I'm some broken thing?"

"Your words not mine, Lord Wolf."

Rikson scoffed, "I am not a broken thing, Lord Lion, I may have committed actions that are wrong in others' eyes because those savages' killed the woman I love, but I am not-"

"Everything before the word
"but" is horseshit."

"But, I am not broken."

The Lannister stared into the secondborn son of House Stark's eyes, swearing he saw the ice that made the Wall inside of them, analyzing the boy of six-and ten in front of him.

Rikson Stark was many things, but broken was not one of them. The boy could hold his family together even if he could barely hold himself together. The boy could hold himself tall and strong, even if he felt small and weak inside. The boy can control the beasts of Westeros, the Lannister thought to himself.

But Rikson Stark, broken? He would never be, Lord Lion thought.

"I know you aren't, Lord Wolf, and
I know this, because-"

"You are an excellent judge of character...
Thank you, Lord Lion."

The Lannister nodded towards the Stark, before standing from the chair he sat in, "I will take my leave, then, Lord Wolf."

"I'll walk you out, Lord Lion."

Lord Wolf and Lord Lion then walked out of the courtyard and made their way towards the gates of Winterfell, where the escort of Lannister guards and a black stallion waited for the Lannister.

Tyrion mounted the stallion, situating himself when the arrogant Greyjoy came to stand beside Rikson Stark, whom rolled his crystals for eyes, as Theon spoke, "Couldn't resist some Northern ass? If you like redheads, ask for Ros."

"Come to see me off, Greyjoy? Kind of you. Your master doesn't seem to like Lannisters."

"He's not my master." The Greyjoy, quickly, responded in an annoyed tone, glaring at the Lannister.

"No, of course not." Tyrion said with sarcasm as he winked at the Greyjoy, earning a snicker from Rikson, whom received a glare from the Greyjoy, not that the Stark cared. "Where is Lady Stark? Why didn't she receive me?"

Rikson placed his hands on his hips as he licked his lips and shifted on his feet, which was all the witty Lannister needed to know as the Greyjoy responded, lying to the best of his ability, "She wasn't feeling well."

"She's not in Winterfell, is she?
Where did she go?"

"My Lady's whereabouts-"

"My Lady?" The Lannister chuckled, "Your loyalty to your captors is touching. Tell me, how do you think Balon Greyjoy would feel if he could see his only surviving son has turned lackey? I still remember seeing my father's fleet burn in Lannisport. I believe your uncles were responsible?"

An arrogant smirk formed on the Greyjoy's lips, "Must have been a pretty sight." Unamused, the Lannister responded, "Nothing prettier than watching sailors burn alive. Yes, a great victory for your people. Shame how it turned out."

"We were outnumbered-"

"A stupid rebellion then." Rikson interrupted, receiving another glare from the Greyjoy and the Stark responded with an icy glare of his own, sending chills down the Greyjoy's spine, therefore Theon turned towards the Lannister once more as he said,

"I suppose your father realized that
when your brothers died in battle. Now
here you are, your enemy's squire."

"Careful, Imp."

"I've offended you. Forgive me, it's been a rough morning. Anyway, don't despair, I'm a constant disappointment to my own father, and I've learned to live with it." Tossing the Greyjoy a golden coin, "Your next tumble with Ros is on me. I'll try not to wear her out." Then the Imp of House Lannister rode out of the gates, with his escort of Lannister guards behind him.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

After the hours of dusk had passed over Westeros and the Wolf's moon shone above the lands, the inhabitants of Winterfell began to retire for the night, the creatures of the night beginning to sing their songs as a cold breeze swept through the empty grounds of the ancient castle.

Inside of the chambers belonging to the youngest of the Stark children, the fireplace crackling against the damp wood as the shadows of flames danced across the stone walls, the muffled crying of the youngest Stark's filled the silence of the room. Sitting upon the animal-fur blanketed bed, the secondborn Stark cradled his youngest brother in his arms, rubbing his hand along the boy's trembling back while, lightly, swaying back and forth, calming his brother down.

The direwolves of black fur with emerald and ruby eyes, Shaggydog and Alysanne, laid on the bed with their heads on their paws, releasing, low, whimpers as the young Stark cried in his older brother's arms.

This hadn't been the first time little Rickon needed to be calmed from a fit of sobs. The boy had been confused about the leave of his father since he and his daughters left Winterfell, and his mother was the only one that could properly comfort the boy, but without Lady Stark in the walls of Winterfell the little Stark didn't have that parental figure to comfort him.

Therefore, little Rickon would clutch to his brothers' legs throughout the days and cry for his mother.

Knowing the responsibilities of being the Lord of Winterfell weighed on his older brother's shoulders, Rikson Stark took it upon himself to deal with their youngest brother's fits.

The secondborn would be there to tuck his brother into his bed at night, when their mother couldn't. He would entertain the little boy whenever he needed attention. He would comfort his youngest brother whenever he needed to be, whether that be in the middle of the night or during the busy hours of the day.

Maester Luwin would, occasionally, assist the secondborn Stark whenever he could, which helped the already tired and stressed Rikson Stark.

With the shadows of flames continuing their dance on the stone walls and the night's breeze wafting through the cracks in the wooden shudders on the windows, the crying of the youngest Stark began to subside into small hiccups.

Little Rickon moved to sit on his brother's leg, speaking in a wavering voice, "Where is mom, Riky?" Rubbing his hand in small circles on his brother's back, the secondborn sighed before saying, "I wish I knew, little Rickon."

"Will she be home soon?"

"... I wish I knew that too, but
I'm sure she is on her way home
right now, little Rickon."

The little Stark sniffled, before falling into the warm embrace of his brother's. Then, as releasing his brother from his hold, Rikson said, "Now off to bed." With Rickon removing himself from his leg, Rikson stood from the bed and tucked his little brother into the layers of animal-fur blankets, sneaking in a few tickles just to get a giggle out of the boy.

Once he were satisfied underneath the blankets, little Rickon's voice spoke, "Goodnight, Riky." Rikson half-grinned, "Sleep well, little Rickon... and if you need something come to my chambers, not Robb's, alright?" Little Rickon nodded, before turning on his side, wrapping his arms around his large direwolf's warm body before closing his eyes to sleep. Rikson, quietly, made his way out of his youngest brother's chambers, with his direwolf at his side. Softly closing the wooden door, before making his way towards his chambers for the night.

ꕥ 𓅓☽𓅓 ꕥ

Deep into the hours of the night, with the breeze drifting through the empty grounds of Winterfell and the creatures of the night running through the woods, the silence of the secondborn Stark's chambers was, abruptly, broken when Rikson sat up in his bed. Fresh perspiration coated the boy's glistening skin, causing his brunette hair to stick to his forehead as his sculptured chest heaved with his heavy breaths.

Alysanne, waking from her sleep as she laid beside her Stark, lifted her head from her paws, a whimper releasing from her snout. Rikson, still heavily panting, turned his head towards his direwolf, before removing the blankets that covered him, feeling quite hot all of a sudden, as he scooted to the side of the bed, leaning on his knees and running a hand through his damp locks, releasing a choked breath, his stomach slightly heaving. Straightening himself, his gaze shifted to the tunic that hung from the edge of the bed. Rikson stood from the bed and grabbed the tunic, placing it over his chest as he exited his chambers, small pants occasionally escaping from his, slightly, cracked lips.

Walking through the halls of the castle, Rikson then arrived at one of the balconies built into the old stones. Leaning his arms on the waist-high walls, the night's breeze kissed his glistening skin and swept through his damp locks, the cold easing the boy's tense body. With a thoughtful expression overtaking the Stark's handsome features, Rikson released a heavy sigh, his thoughts drifting towards the nightmare he had.

The nightmares were always the same...

The young Stark of five-and-ten cradling the lifeless body of the woman he loves, before he brutally kills the Wildlings... men, women, and children.

Heavily sighing, once again, his eyes containing a sorrow inside of them, Rikson's thoughts then focused on the brutal truth that he had murdered children, none were younger than ten, but still children.

I'm a monster, the Stark thought to himself as a lone tear trekked down his cold cheek, landing on the stone wall underneath him with a silent splash.

A whimper echoed from behind the secondborn, before Alysanne stood beside her Stark, leaning her warm body against his to keep him steady, having felt the sorrow belonging to him through their bond.

"My good wolf... What if these nightmares are telling me something.. that perhaps I'm a monster and I
am not worthy enough to have a family of my own and rule a keep in the North with them. All this horror that is happening to my family, what if it's my fault?"

The direwolf whimpered, wishing she could send her warg feelings of reassurance through their bond, but knowing she couldn't, therefore the direwolf did what she knew she could do, and leaned herself against her Stark, affectionately licking his hand. With the comfort of his sweet direwolf beside him, the troubled boy of six-and-ten lifted his icy gaze towards the Wolf's moon, hoping his assumptions about his nightmares were wrong and that he were simply overthinking things, a habit he tended to have every now and then.

But, a small voice inside of Rikson Stark screamed he did not deserve happiness after what he had done to the village of Wildlings a year ago.

... The truth was, Rikson Stark was still learning to love himself and forgive his mistakes of the past.

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