𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 & 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙨, 𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬

𝔰𝔦𝔵 | 𝖉𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖘

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ＩＴ ＷＡＳ ＯＮ ＴＨＥ ＷＡＹ ＢＡＣＫ ＴＯ ＷＩＮＴＥＲＦＥＬＬ ＴＨＡＴ ＳＨＥ ＳＡＷ ＩＴ - a lump in the center of the trail.

"Lord Stark," she said quickly, riding away from Robb's side and coming to stop next to the Lord of Winterfell. "Look!" She pointed ahead.

The group rode forward, stopping just before they got to it. It was a dead deer, with its entrails spilled over the dirt. Maggots crawled through its mud-matted fur.

A trail of blood led the group down by a small creek, where a large wolf lay dead. Pups surrounded her, whimpering and whining. The sight broke Rhaene's tender heart.

She knelt down next to them, reaching out and plucking one off the ground. It squealed in fear.

"It's a freak!" Theon exclaimed from her right.

Lord Stark knelt down next to the Velaryon. "It's a direwolf," he corrected with a tired voice. He pulled a bit of broken-off horn from the wolf's throat. "Tough old beast."

"There are no direwolves south of the wall," Robb stated in confusion.

"Now there are five," Jon replied. He knelt down and grabbed one of the pups, handing it to Bran. "Do you want to hold it?"

Bran clutched it to his chest. "Where will they go?" he asked innocently, "their mother's dead."

Lord Stark stared down at the wolf for a moment. "Better a quick death," he said finally, "they won't survive without their mother."

"Right," Theon said, drawing his dagger. "Give it 'ere." He took the pup by the scruff, holding it up as he readied to kill it.

"No!" Bran shouted, "please, Father!" He looked at Lord Stark pleadingly.

"I'm sorry, Bran."

"Lord Stark," Jon said, "there are five pups - one for each of the Stark children." He gestured to the litter. "The direwolf is the sigil of your house. You were meant to have them."

Ned stared at the pups for a long moment. "You will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves - and if they die... you will bury them yourselves."

Theon roughly handed the pup back to Bran and sheathed his dagger, grabbing two more off of the ground. Rhaene followed suit, plucking another pair up and cradling them against her chest.

Robb stepped forward, holding out his hand for one. He'd been watching from a few feet away, in awe of the woman who was to be his wife.

Rhaene gently handed him the bigger of the two, smiling brightly as he held it close. The wolf seemed calmer in his arms, even going as far as to look up at the eldest Stark and try to lick his scruffy chin.

She giggled as the pup finally succeeded, ruffling its fluffy head.

"Yes, yes, it's all very amusing," Robb smiled, shaking his head.

Rhaene smirked to herself. "Not all of us have the emotional capacity of a pine cone." As she walked past him, she nudged him with her elbow. "You Stark men are so brooding."

Robb followed behind her, his hand resting between her shoulder blades in case she slipped. "Aye, and the Velaryon women are little minxes."

Rhaene flushed, turning her face away from him. She held the pup with one hand and swung herself up onto Hūra's back.

"Let's go home," she sighed to herself, feeling warmth creep into her chest.

Home.

≽ ∗ ≼

Arya and Sansa were beside themselves with excitement. The puppies had been deposited into their laps at supper, only to be embraced by the Northern ladies.

Rhaene pitied them, to an extent. She knew they would be loved and cared for properly, though she wished she had a pup of her own.

Seven nights passed before there was more news. This time, it was from the South.

"The King rides for Winterfell," Lady Catelyn had said, "to seek out a new Hand."

Rhaene had been angry. No - she was furious. She saw red for a day and a night. The man who had overthrown her Grandfather, and stole her Mother's throne.

It was in this fury that she threw a book across the room, knocking her brazier over and spilling hot coals across the floor.

With an enraged groan, she threw her furs off and stomped over to the mess, accidentally stepping on a handful of the red coals.

She drew back with a yelp, expecting pain, only to feel nothing. Confused, she lifted her bare foot and brushed her finger over the bottom. Ash clung to her porcelain skin.

Curiosity blazed through her, and she knelt down and timidly touched a piece, fighting the anxiety that stabbed her in the chest.

It didn't hurt.

She wrapped her delicate fingers around it, picking it up and cupping it in her hands. It was warm, but it didn't burn her.

Her door creaked open. "Rhaene, may I speak with you-" She looked up to meet the confused, ocean blue eyes of Robb. "Seven Hells!"

He rushed toward her, pulling her up from where she was sitting in the smoking ash. Her feet lifted from the ground with the strength of his yank.

"Robb!" she gasped, her hands immediately moving to make sure her robe was shut at the front. "What are you doing?"

He pulled her away from the coals, into a colder corner of the room. Then, he gripped her hands and forced her to release the fabric of her robe, uncurling her fingers to reveal the flawless skin beneath. He had expected her to be blistered and burned horribly. "How..." he breathed.

"Perzys daor ossēnagon iā zaldrīzes," a voice said in amazement from the doorframe, "I will have this cleaned at once, dārilaros." Fire cannot kill a dragon.

"What does that mean? What did she say?" Robb fired off questions quickly. He had released Rhaene and backed away.

Rhaenyra sighed quietly. "It means 'Fire cannot kill a dragon.'"

"Why...."

"My name is Rhaene Velaryon, but it was meant to be Rhaene Targaryen, Robb." She paused briefly, watching him with wary eyes.

"Targaryen?" he sputtered, eyes flashing in confusion. "The Targaryens are gone."

Rhaene smiled faintly at his words, shaking her head. "Not all of them."