Little Dragon - Game of Thrones

2: Wolf Dreams

Lyla Stark was a girl of five, the youngest of the young ladies of Winterfell. Her hair was rough, dull, a dark muddy brown. It fell flat at her shoulder blades, no curls or delicate waves gracing her locks like her sister Sansa or their mother. She had lost most of her baby roundness very early on, which was common in the North, where even in summers food could be scarce, though usually not seen in the great bannered houses. She was gangly, small, and skinny. Her mother could hope that with time and proper care she could grow into a full woman. If she stayed this way forever, she might have trouble finding marriage, Catelyn feared.

Ned had assumed correctly. She was gaunt just like himself, just like her sister Arya, narrow faced with a small round nose and big eyes. Her mother never spoke of her eyes, or why they shined the way they did. Whenever someone spoke of how bright and endearing they were, her mother would silence them with a look. Sometimes Lyla would watch them in her tiny looking glass, watching how the light reflected off them. Someone compared them to lavender once, which Lyla thought was nice.

Often her mother and father would claim her to be sick when she did things wrong. She wasn't entirely sure how she was doing things wrong, or if she really was just sick, but they would huddle her up in her room with the other girls and put her in bed and tell her to stay put.

They also worried about her a lot, more than their other children she felt sometimes. She enjoyed animals' company, liked to spend her time down at the kennels with the hounds or feeding the crows. The birds were so chatty, and the dogs were nice even if they favored hunting to playing with little children.

She was particularly fond of the snow dogs, hounds uniquely bred in Winterfell with thick black and white coats and icy blue eyes. Lyla thought they looked like small wolves, and liked to pretend that they were really direwolves, the dangerous beasts that some called monsters, wolves as big as horses. She heard that just as the Targaryens rode on the backs of dragons, so too did the first men ride on the backs of monsters, direwolves and shadowcats and bears. When she expressed her interest in such things to her parents, her father had offered to find her a pony to ride, despite her mother's protests that riding horseback was bordering on improper. But Lyla thought ponies were boring. She preferred her beasts with teeth and claws, strong and wild and free as the wildlings north of the wall, but this she did not tell her parents.

Dreams were also most interesting to Lyla. In her dreams, she could let her mind go and pretend she was an animal of the wilds. The dreams varied, but Lyla cherished each one, every vision of pounding paws of wolves against the dirt, the clashing hooves of a stag, or the feathery beats of a crow's wings. They all felt so terribly real, and never in her waking hours had Lyla felt so alive, such a rush pounding through her blood.

Imagine her delight when her father and brothers returned to castle one day, tiny bundles of fur in their arms. Lyla and her siblings had all gone mad in love for the tiny direwolf pups they had found orphaned in the woods. Her half brother Jon had winked at her, and handed over a silvery grey female with big eyes like herself. Lyla almost screamed holding her, snuggling the pup as close to her chest as she could manage without squishing her.

She brought the pup into her room that night, letting her sniff around the room and the furs on the bed, all the while trying to think of a suiting name for her. She thought for a very long time, until she was settled under her furs with her pup curled up on the pillow next to her head, still thinking and trying to keep herself awake just a moment longer. Lyla rolled onto her side to face her pup, smiling and humming contentedly as she ran her tiny fingers through her rabbit soft fur. She was so unbelievably soft. Soon her shimmering eyes fell shut, and Lyla welcomed the dreams that came to her with sleep.

But something was different. The dream was black and gentle, no dirt or grass beneath her. No, it felt as if she was lying on a cloud. And she was warm, too. But her senses lit on fire as she breathed in deeply. She could smell the oils that kept her hair clean, the smell of the kennels, the scent of charcoal and dying fires, even the familiar smell of old books that would be found in the library. She was at home. But still, she did not feel like herself. Her ears sat atop her head, twitching at every passing sound, and she could feel as she shifted sleepily, the rustle of her tucked tail and the stretch of tiny paws. She was so sleepy and warm and cozy, but nevertheless she willed herself to open her eyes.

She dreamed she was in her room, smaller than she could ever remember herself being in these walls. An unruly long tongue lolled out of her mouth as her first instinct, the wild, inhuman instincts she always had in these dreams, was to lick at her muzzle and nose. It was by far the strangest dream she could ever remember having. Her tiny head whipped around, and a startled yip left her as she came face to face with the sleeping form of... herself. She slept on through the noise, chest rising and falling evenly. She whined lowly at the uncanny nature of her dream. Never had she been in her chambers before, nor had she ever seen herself in her dreams, either. In fact, she couldn't ever remember having a dream of the castle, or Winterfell, only the wild around it, isolated in the woods with only other beasts to accompany her. Her high pitched pup whining continued as she saw no signs of herself stirring, and that's when she was awake enough to realize.

Lyla was dreaming that she was her pup, sitting at her pillow, watching herself sleep. It was unsettling to her. What kind of a dream was this, exactly? She watched herself sleep on for a long, anxious few minutes before the silence grew too heavy, and she nudged her sleeping self with her muzzle. Then she scuffed at her with her paws. Then she tried giving a small bark to help herself wake up. Nothing. Lyla had a moment of panic and cried out again, louder this time. She could still see herself breathing, but why wouldn't she wake? Was this just a bad dream?

Another cry left her, she sat up on her back legs and pounded her front paws on her shoulder, but to no avail. Maybe she was just too small. Lyla barked at herself, then again. All sleep had left her pup self, and there was only panic as she hammered against herself, barking in her ear. She scrambled over her furs, pushing and nudging around her body like some part of her would be the correct place to snap her out of whatever trance she was in in this dream.

Time stretched on as Lyla grew more and more upset, her howls and cries only becoming more and more desperate as the dream refused to end. Lyla jumped in fear as there was a loud rattle from her chamber door, and her ears ached at the sharp noise she wasn't adjusted to. She could hear someone calling her name from the hall and she continued to whine fearfully. This must be a nightmare. It had to be. She never thought she could feel such fear in her own home, her own room, her own bed.

The door opened, and she barked again at the sight of her mother, father, and oldest brother entering the room. She looked back at her sleeping self. Still, no signs of waking.

"The whelp won't give it a rest!" Robb explained, shaking his youngest sister. Dread filled her pup mind as still she did not wake. "Lyla!" He shook her again. Lyla wanted to cry. She howled at herself again and writhed as Robb wrapped her up in his arms, perhaps trying to keep her silent. Her father rested a hand on her forehead, and Lyla watched with terror as he tried to look into her eyes. Except... there was only white in her eyes. She couldn't bear to look any longer, squeezing her blue eyes shut and pressing herself into her brother's chest, begging the nightmare to end.

And, finally, it did.

Lyla woke with a gasp, tears immediately springing to her eyes as she flexed her hands to make sure she was really herself again. The hands which began to tremble as she looked around to find herself surrounded by her parents and eldest brother, pup clutched in his arms.

Just like she had seen in her dream.

"My wolf!" Lyla shot up and her parents looked at her with wide, startled eyes. Her pup wiggled in Robb's arms.

Robb was the first to speak up. "You scared us half to death! What happened?"

"I was a dream wolf!" Lyla said, waving her tiny hands dramatically for emphasis. Her family blinked at her, not knowing how to respond to such a random statement.

"The whelp was going mad," Robb told her, nodding at the pup against his chest, who was licking at his chin now. "Are you alright?"

"I had a wolf dream!" She said again, reaching out for Robb to hand over her wolf. She held her in her lap and stared at blue eyes with her own grey.

"Lyla?" Her father asked her quietly, but still she looked at her pup.

A name came to her mind. Something with meaning. Something she thought a great beast like a direwolf was worthy of. Something she knew would strike fear into those who witnessed her, should they know her name.

"Nightmare," she said, eyes growing sleepy once more. Her family around her all looked relieved.

"Yes," her father sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sure it was only a nightmare."