The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

1.

Chapter One.
The Stars of Winterfell

"Why did we have to come? It's far too cold here."

"Yes, brother. We're in the North. It's like that."

Joffrey shot his sister a dirty look, readjusting in his seat. Their carriage rolled along the stone road, and Renfri was doing her best to ignore her motion sickness and keep the contents of her stomach inside her body. She leaned her head against the wall of the carriage, taking deep breaths through her nose. 

"Are you feeling sick, Ren?" Her little sister asked, reaching out and touching Renfri's hand. Ren took Myrcella's hand in hers, straightening up and smiling at the blonde little girl.

"We've been on this stupid road for months, and I fear that my stomach is simply sick of it." Ren mused, brushing Myrcella's golden hair behind her ear with her free hand. "It looks like I'm the only one of us without a stomach of steel."

"Father says that when you're sick, you need to drink wine to feel better." Tommen chimed in, blinking up at Renfri with his large blue eyes. Ren stifled a laugh. 

"He means when you're sick from drinking, Tom, not sick from moving." Renfri explained, her eyes flickering between Tommen and Joffrey from where they sat opposite her and Myrcella. 

"But-" Tommen's brow furrowed. "If you're sick from drinking, how can drinking more make you feel better?"

"It only works if you're a fat drunk." Joffrey turned to Tommen and smiled in a sickening way. "And when I am King, I will outlaw being a fat drunk."

Renfri rolled her eyes. "Joff, you can't outlaw being a-"

In the distance, a horn blew loudly, immediately ending the conversation. Renfri excitedly stirred, shoving the curtains of the window aside and sticking out her head.

Winterfell.

The castle loomed overhead, the afternoon light bouncing off of the grey slab stone, men lining the high walkways. Large banners hung from its arches, the direwolf sigil of House Stark staring Renfri down with unforgiving, empty eyes. 

The carriage bustled into the courtyard, their ride smoothing out from the loose pebbles of the Kings Road to the slab stone of Winterfell. Once the carriage had come to a stop, Renfri motioned for Tommen to move to sit next to her, so he could exit the carriage first.

The door to the carriage swung open and Ren watched as the Lannister guard reached up, hand extended outward, helping each of her siblings down from the carriage one-by-one. Over the tops of their golden heads, Ren could just barely make out the crowd that awaited them. She caught flashes of red hair, black cloaks, swords, and skirts. 

Finally, as Joffrey exited, the guard turned for her. Renfri bowed her head as she ducked into the crisp afternoon air, the guard reaching her up and grabbing her by the waist. She held his shoulders as he gently lowered her to the ground, and turned to face the fray. 

Renfri scanned the Stark family facing her. The smallest members of the family stood at the end of the line, and while they were young, they both stood with straight backs and hard, stern stares. She remembered her lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle, digging their names from the back of her mind. The little one, with sandy curls and a rounded face, would be Rickon, and next to him was his brother, Brandon, with cocoa colored strands that framed his boney face, and not a day older than Tommen. Beside Brandon had to be little Arya, and when Renfri met her gaze, the little one stared back. Her brown eyes were much too large for her egg-shaped face, but her gaze held curiosity and intrigue.