They Call Him The Young Wolf ⚔ Robb Stark

|| Chapter 1 ||

She pushed him on the ground, pointing her sword at his throat, slightly grazing it on his esophagus. Rage filled her dull green eyes, promising him a quick and sudden death. Her move comes to a stern fault as her name is shouted.

"Bravo, Elizabeth!," a man cheered, his laugh filling the crowd. It was a grazed laugh, like the ones that rich people had, it annoyed her.

"My lord," she knelt down to him, pressing her sword against the rough gravel beneath her.

"You better start calling him 'your Grace', girl," a knight spat at her, quite rudely too.

"And you better shut your mouth before I slice your tongue off," she gritted her teeth at him, pointing the tip of her blade at his heart.

"There's no need for that," the same man waved his hand in dismissal then turned to the girl. His face, although perfect, gave her the feeling to gauge his eyeballs out. He spoke softly, "Where're you from, girl?"

"Elizabeth Furrow, of House Lannister, your Grace," she bends a knee down again.

"Seems like we have one of Tywin Lannister's bastards," a guard chuckles to everyone, making the people around him fill with laughter as well.

She grits her teeth, focusing on the gravel diffracted on the ground. She'd always done this, always when there were people insulting her. It was a mechanism that worked for herself to cool herself down, and try not to hurt anyone.

Her mother had always told her not to let her anger out, it'd always helped when she'd said it, not so much when Elizabeth muttered it to herself. It'd always seem to get worse when she'd do it, like now, when a guard prepares to grab her.

She grabs his arm, flipping his body over and pinning him to the ground. She thrusts her blade in his general direction, placing it on the nape of his neck, using all the self-control she had built up inside her not to cut down.

"Touch me again and you wont have any fingers to touch anything with," she growled. However, there was a growl that followed back, and it wasn't from the guard on the floor. It was of a dire wolf that stood behind her, saliva dropping his jaw. She stared right at the beast, "Nice set of teeth you got there, mind putting them away," she cooed, making the blood-thirsty hound act like a pup and cower behind the owner.

Low and behold, the owner was his Grace himself.

"Get up," he commanded, reaching a hand out for her to take.

She refused, hoisting herself up by her sword.

"Robb Stark, of House Stark," he smiles at her, intrigued by her actions. "I didn't know a lady like you could fight."

"Exactly what my father said," she smirked, walking off next to him, "'Elizabeth, girl, you have the face and body of a whore and a death wish of a soldier.'"

"Calling your own child a whore, isn't that a little too far, even for a man like Tywin Lannister?," he questions, following the woman off the gravel.

"House Lannister isn't what it would seem like, your Grace," she stressed the words out of her mouth.

"Robb is fine," he smiles at her.

"I don't think it'd be right for the King of the North to have a prisoner call them by their birth name," she challenges, walking into her wooden cell. "But, I am warning you, Lord Stark, I will be escaping this wooden box."

"Try your best," he chuckles, closing the hatchet, and walking away.

She tried her utmost best not to get too agitated by him, otherwise she would've killed him. She's got Lannister blood, there's no telling what she'd do at any given time. "I heard about what happened to your father," she called out.