Little Dragon - Game of Thrones

17

A little over a month, the party of half the Dothraki army, half the Unsullied, and the queen and her companions arrived at Winterfell. A horn blew as they rode to the gates, and Lyla gaped at the sight of her old home.

It was different. It looked... Colder. More distant. It frightened her. Jorah looked over at the hesitant girl.

"Are you worried about seeing your family again?" He asked her.

"I don't... I don't know if I'm welcome here anymore. It doesn't feel like... Like my home." Lyla dismounted her horse as they ride through the gates. "I'm not even sure if I was ever welcome here."

Jorah had nothing to say to her. He didn't know what to say. A part of him understood how she felt, if he were ever to go back to Bear Island he imagine he would feel the same.

The first thing Lyla's eyes landed Sansa. She looked so powerful. Even her previously young ginger hair seemed to have matured into a deep red.

Lyla wanted to run over to her sister, cry in her arms about how much she missed her. But...

She couldn't. She just couldn't. It wasn't that she didn't miss Sansa, didn't love her, she just couldn't do it.

"This isn't right..." Lyla mumbled. She watched Jon eagerly greet his sister and brother Bran. It was then she noticed that the uneasy feeling she got wasn't from Sansa. It was Bran.

Jon grabbed Lyla's hand, walking her over to her family. Lyla smiled at Sansa, and gave her a light hug. She could tell Sansa was confused. He walked her over to Bran, who looked up at her with eyes that were neither welcoming nor cold. They were nothing.

"Lyla, aren't you going to say hi to Bran?" Sansa asked her. Lyla shook her head, pulling her hand away from Jon.

"Lyla what's wrong?" Jon looked at Lyla confused.

"You're not Bran..." She muttered quietly, backing away. Lyla didn't dare look at Bran as she turned and ran to the godswood.

---

Snow crunched behind Lyla as she sat staring at the weirwood. She wasn't praying, only thinking. She looked behind her, her heart dropping as she saw Bran wheeling himself towards her.

"Hello Lyla." He spoke. His voice was monotone and much lower than Lyla remembered.

"Please go away." Lyla said quietly, keeping herself from looking at Bran.

"It's impressive." He said. "After everything you've been through, you still seem the same. No matter how many times you were hit."

"Stop it."

"No matter how many times you were whipped." He continued.

"Please..." Lyla begged, her hands beginning to shake.

"No matter what you saw on your way here." Bran came closer. "You're still the same."

Lyla finally looked up at Bran, shrinking under his stare.

"Or are you? Are you really the same?"

"Why are you doing this?" Lyla asked, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Do you remember? Do you remember what you've seen?"

"Please, I can't take this!" Lyla's voice rose to a yell.

"That girl. What did you see when you looked into her eyes?"

"Stop! Stop! Stop it, please, I beg of you, leave me alone!" Lyla screamed shutting her eyes as tightly as she could. A snowy landscape appeared around her, and all she saw was the little girl nailed to the post. Her eyes stared at Lyla, blue and glazed over, she was dead.

A man with horns on his head walked up, his skin blue, as were his eyes. He stared at Lyla. Eyes appeared around her, staring into her very soul.

---

At the sound of Lyla's scream, Jorah ran to the godswood of Winterfell. He heard Sansa and Jon follow. He placed a hand on his sword as he approached the weirwood.

Lyla laid on the ground, curled in a fetal position. She shook like a leaf. Bran sat near her, looking at her with indifference.

"Lyla?" Jon knelt over the girl, placing a hand on her arm. She didn't respond, only continued to tremble. "Bran, what happened?"

"She'll be fine." Bran said. "It all has to happen."