Ella Snow and her twin brother are outsiders in the house of their father, Lord Eddard Stark. Ella has no one else in the world, except her brother Jon. Join Ella on her journey as she uncovers truths that could destroy her and those she loves.
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Night came faster than normal the night before the battle. Ella found herself in the crypts of Winterfell hours after their last meeting. Women, children, and other people would soon find their way down here, and Ella couldn't let the innocent lives suffer should the Night King raise the dead. Ella remembered a tunnel she and her brothers used to play in that led to Wintertown, south of the castle. When her, Robb, and Jon wanted to sneak out of the castle, they would take the passage straight to town. Robb and Jon would sneak of to the brothel, and Ella would skulk around the small bookshop a few doors down.
The lone wolf smiled she found the passage behind her great great great grandfather's resting place. If Ella could inform Sansa of her discovery, the women and children would have an exit route, should the dead rise.
Ella knew she needed to save her strength for the upcoming battle. The lone wolf decided to find a place to rest before they met their impending doom. She scurried through the darkened corridor, only stopping once she passed her father's statue. Well, now her uncle. The Snow girl looked from Ned Stark's statue, her eyes landing on the statue of her newly discovered mother, Lyanna Stark.
Sadness washed over the lone wolf as she examined Lyanna Stark's statue. Not as her aunt Lyanna, but as her mother. The mother she never knew. The mother who she thought abandoned her and Jon. The mother who she thought didn't love her. The mother who made Ned Stark sacrifice his honor in order to save two little children.
Tears streamed down the lone wolf's face as could-haves and maybes swirled around her mind. If only her mother was alive, she could have had a different life. A life far away from Winterfell, never being called a bastard. A life where the mother figure she had actually loved and cared for her. Not the mother figure she had in Catelyn Stark. Not the mistreated childhood she suffered from because she was the reason for straining a young family and marriage.
Ella wiped her face dry of her tears, leaving her cheeks red and blotchy. She pulled herself together as best as she could before leaving the crypt. Feelings of anger and confusion flooded the lone wolf as she zigzagged through the winding halls of the crypt. She made her way to the courtyard, her blue eyes landing on the tall bearded wildling. He was hunched over, hugging his two little girls before they were whisked away by a wildling woman.
Ella exhaled as she sauntered towards the wildling leader. Sadness filled his eyes as Ella stood in front of him. He smiled down at her, before standing up straight.
"Where are they going?" Ella asked.
"They're going down below during the war. Their aunt will watch them," Tormund informed the lone wolf.
"Was that your sister?" Ella questioned him.
"No," he sighed, "that was my dead wife's sister. She's taken care of the girls since I've been away."
"Oh," was all that escaped from her lips.
"Have you been crying, little wolf?" Tormund asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind Ella's ear.
"No," she huffed.
"You know you can always tell me what's troubling ya, girl," Tormund said.
"I know. It's just that-" Ella paused.
"Just what?" The ginger man grunted.
"Come with me," Ella laced her fingers between Tormund's large ones and drug him through the castle.
The pair made their way up to Ella's room without being disturbed. The young girl slipped through the door and immediately went to the fireplace. She knelt beside the hearth and gazed into the fire.
"You could just tell me that ya want to fuck without setting the mood, girl," Tormund chuckled.
But Ella did not respond. The large man watched as the wolf slowed her breathing. She closed her eyes and stuck her arm out. Tormund was confused by her actions until she shoved her arm into the dancing flames.
The wildling man rushed to her aid, pulling her away from the burning embers.
"Are you fucking mad?" Tormund shouted as the small girl was flung back.
Her eyes met his raging blue ones. The wildling leader was furious that she would do something that dangerous.
"You've been around the Free Folk too long," Tormund muttered. "Only one of them would do something that stupid. Come on, girl. You have more sense in that head of yours. Why would you do something like that?"
Ella remained quiet as he examined her wound. His eyes widened in shock when he realized there was no damage on the little wolf's arm. Her sleeve did not bear even a single scorch mark. He rolled up her sleeve, examining her bare skin. No marks, no scars. No indication that the girl had burned herself whatsoever.
"Tormund, I've hardly spoken to you about my father or mother," Ella sighed. "All you know is that my father was a lord in this castle, and I was born a bastard. A girl born out of lust. A girl with no mother."
Tormund grunted as Ella continued. "Well, I um, happened to figure out after all these years who my mother is."
Ella paused, exhaling a deep breath as the wildling leader kept his blue eyes on her. She wrung her hands in her lap, avoiding the burning gaze from Tormund Giantsbane. "My father, Ned Stark, he's not my real father. My real father's name was Rhaegar Targaryen. And my mother, well her name was Lyanna Stark. You don't know much about Robert's Rebellion, do you?"
Tormund shook his head. "Well, Lyanna Stark was betrothed to Robert Baratheon, who later became the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaegar was the prince of Westeros, and he and Lyanna fell in love. It was said Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna. It turns out that they were actually in love. They were married in a secret ceremony in Dorne, and several months later, they had two children."
Ella glanced from the floor and stared into the confused eyes of the wildling man. He kept silent as Ella continued her story. "Those children were born, but their mother died on her birthing bed. Little Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name. And Rhaella Targaryen, named after Rhaegar's mother. Before she died, Lyanna's brother, Lord Eddard Stark, promised to raise the babies as his own and conceal their true identities from the world. He knew that if Robert found out the truth, he would execute those children."
"Those children now go by Jon and Ella Snow," the young girl sighed. Tormund kept his gaze on Ella as silence fell around them.
After a few moments, Tormund spoke up. "So, your mother is your aunt, and your father is your uncle? And Jon is really Aegon, and your name really isn't Ella. It's Rhaella."
Ella smiled slightly. "Yes," she chuckled. "That's the short version of it. And Jon and I are still just Jon and Ella. Us learning the truth about our real parents doesn't change anything. We're still us."
"That may be little crow, but it still doesn't tell me why ya decided to stick your arm into a burning fire, girl," Tormund grunted.
"I once read that fire cannot harm some of those in the Targaryen bloodline. Fire doesn't harm me," Ella sighed. "I learned that as a child, and then I realized it at Hardhome. A white walker threw me into the fire when we were fighting in a small hut, and I survived the flames. Just as I did now."
"Hmm," Tormund grunted. "Well, all I know girl is that I still want to fuck ya when this is all over. No matter what your name is. You're still my little crow. Now, come on. We need to get some alcohol into your system. I've got a horn of sour goat's milk if ya want some."
Ella shook her head as Tormund peeled her off the ground. The two intertwined hands and headed for the Great Hall for warmth and company.
As they walked through the halls of Winterfell for possibly the last time, Ella thought of the wildling man at her side. In every dark situation she encountered over the past several years, Tormund stuck by her side. Through all of it. He was her light at the end of the darkened tunnel. Without him, Ella wasn't sure what she would do
