when winter comes - a game of thrones fanfic

chapter one

Old Nan once told me that our dreams are mere prophecies of what we are destined to become, good or bad. I believed that once, even prayed to the old gods and new that the claim was true. Back then, my dreams were filled with epic battles, political triumphs, and daring adventures. What child wouldn't hope for such glory? But that was a long time ago, and with time my dreams have deteriorated into a reoccurring pattern of unfamiliar events that haunt my mind. The Iron Throne. The burning of Winterfell. Three dragons. The Mad King. The fall of my house. A man, made entirely of ice, perching over a cliff riding a dead steed. The images circulate like agonizing memories. Of course I have discussed such dreams with those closest to me,  but like any sensible person would, they have assured me that they are only nightmares. Even my twin brother, Robb, has blamed such vivid dreams on my "wild imagination." They all believe I am startled by the images themselves, thought that is not the case. The truth is, I believe what Old Nan, despite her batty nature, speaks the truth. These dreams lay out my destiny, and the experiences I shall earn with time. I believe that destructive power is my destiny, and that terrifies me.
—
"She was supposed to be mine!" The raging voice from my latest dream rattles in my head and awakes me from my sleep. I spring up abruptly, and the flailing of my arms strikes the books on my nightstand, knocking them to the floor with a loud crash. After a second or two, I reach down to pick up the books, only to be interrupted by a sharp pain in my head. I groan, pressing both hands against my temples. The eyes are tightly squinted, as I attempt to ease the unbearable pain.

Suddenly, I feel two cold hands gently grasp my wrists and pull my hands away from my face. Looking up, I recognize the figure before me as Robb.

"Are you alright, Lyarra?" he whispers. His room is right next to mine, so I figured he would have heard the sound of the books hitting the hard, wooden floor.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. It's just...the nightmares again" I respond. My eyes meet his. Even in the dark, his bright blue eyes shine. Thus, it is difficult for him to hide his deep concern for my mental stability. He pities me, I can tell. I want to punch him. I hate when people pity me, especially my family.

"What time of day is it?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Just before dawn, the whole castle is sound asleep, so I do not believe anyone else heard you clumsy thundering." I chuckle at his poking insult, finally at ease. "Come on," Robb continues, "We haven't sparred in quite a while." I mischievous grin grows upon both of our faces, as we carefully escape to the sparring pits of Winterfell.

As children, my bastard brother, Jon, Robb and I would spend hours watching the soldier of the North train. When of age, Robb and Jon were aloud to join in on the fun and begin their own training. As a lady it wasn't proper for me to fight alongside them. My mother pushed for me to make friends with some of the other young girls at session of embroidery. But it seems the other girls were not found of my honestly and profound sarcasm. I did not mind much, as I did not particularly fancy the activity, despite what the tutor raves as pure talent. Instead, I spent my days in the woods, riding ad exploring. Occasionally, I would watch Jon and Robb spar from a distance, though it was rather lonely without them.

When Robb and I reach the training area, we quickly gear up and arm ourselves.

"Listen Lyarra, I don't want to hurt you, so if we need to stop, just let me know."

"I wouldn't worry about it Robert, but thank you for you sincere concern for my well being."

Robb takes the first jab at me, he always does regardless of who he fought. I dodge the blade, and in turn take a strike of my own, only to be met with a block by Robb's own sword. With all his might, he asserts a force, nearly knocking me off my feet. I  charge at him and swing my sword. However, Robb matches my move with one that he had recently learned. My sword gets caught on his, and once again he pushes me back. This time, I do fall, smashing my head onto the hard ground. My ears ring sharply after the blow, and my vision turns fuzzy. I find the strength and manage to pull myself in my a fetal position. Dropping my sword, I clutch my knees. Robb realizes that he has hurt me and run to my protection.

"Lyarra! Oh my gods I did not mean-I can fetch Maester Luwin!" I exclaims in a panicked tone, completely vulnerable. Seizing the opportunity, I slam my left foot onto the blade of his sword trapping it. I take my right foot and kick Robb onto his back, his right hands drops his sword. Finally, I pick up my swords and jumping up, press the tip to my brothers neck.

"Dead." I say with such glee in my voice, but still extend a hand to Robb.

"You won. Because you tricked me. Not because of your skill," He responds, taking my hand and allowing me to pull him back to his feet.

"And you lost, because you're gullible. Not because of your skill," A moment of staring intensity is ending with the sound of our laughter. Robb bring me into an embrace.

"You're going to be something great, little sister," he whispers to me.

"Don't patronize me, I am only a few minutes younger than you. And so will you Lord Stark. Once you learn to beat your sister in a spar. Hmmm, on second thought..." I chuckle and Robb ruffles my hair before taking the swords back to the shed.

I look up at the wooden balcony that resides above the train in ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as a small figure with dark brown hair rapidly disappears behind one of the pillars. With a smirk plastered upon my face, I return to my room in hopes of a few more hours of precious, dreamless sleep.
—
"Lyarra! Lyarra! Gods wake up! You're going to sleep through brunch and mother is not happy" My little sister, Sansa shakes me awake more abruptly than any of my dreams ever could. When my eyes finally focus, I see that she wears one of her more beautiful blue dresses, which nicely compliments her auburn hair, and Tully blue eyes. A true lady, Sansa stands tall and proudly, wearing the same look of disgust at my late appearance that my mother most likely shares.

"Mother says that you must come down at once. Not stalling" I groan, tempted to throw a pillow at her, though she makes a swift exit before I get my chance.

Family brunch is a massive occasion for the Stark family, thus I am rather confused when only my mother, Sansa, and younger siblings Arya and Rickon sit at the table.

"Where are the boys?" I ask, taking a seat next between Sansa and Arya.

"They caught a deserted near Castle Black, so Father had to go and take care of the situation." explains Arya. A deserter from the Night's Watch of the Wall meant that a man had broken his oath to never leave the service once he had taken the black. Breaking such a law was considered treason and punishable by death, a death that must be carried out by my father.

"They took Bran too?" I further inquired, as my brother was only a boy of ten and may not be ready to see such a gruesome execution.

"Yes. Father claims he was old enough," continues Arya, disappointment present in her tone. From a young age Arya proved that being a proper lady was not her forte. If given the choice, she would want to be anointed a knight, riding through battlefield with nothing but her trusted sword. She constantly begs my father to let her train, though he has not succumb to the idea of his precious daughter wielding a weapon. But Arya is a warrior at heart, and I always wonder how long he can bear to deny her. In truth, Arya reminds my father of his lost sister, Lyanna. Given the renowned fate of Lyanna Stark, it is no surprise he is reluctant to put her in harms way.

Suddenly, brunch is interrupted by my father's ward, Theon Greyjoy.

"Lord Stark has returned, with a...surprise for the children," he mentions. The five of us arise from our seats and allow Theon to lead us to the courtyard. There, my Father and brother await, holding a total of seven small direwolves.

"We found these pups cowering alongside their dead mother. You brothers have convinced me to allow you all to keep them as pets. However, they are your responsibility, do you understand that?" my father declares. All of us nod in unison, but do not take our eyes off the wolves. Bran hands me a wolf and I gently cradle the creature in my arms. The wolf is a female with a thick coat of white and grey fur.

"What will you name her?" Rickon questions, tugging on my fur coat. 

"Dalya."