The Little Wolf

A Real Adventure

Winterfell

Ser Lyra was on another adventure.

It seemed no one seemed to care if she was here nor there, so she embarked on more adventures, gallivanting around the forest behind the castle. There were times when Lyra thought that she could disappear and no one would notice. She even considered asking Jon if he would like to take off with her. She tried to be brave and understanding, but the sudden shift of normalcy was difficult on all, let alone a mere four year old. Lev was no fun lately either. Since he was a creature who mimicked her innermost being, he resembled a monotonous, ashen moth most days.

Her brother remained comatose, and her mother remained absent, withering away at his side. 

Winterfell had always been grey; the walls, floors, the proud house sigil bearing a magnificent wolf , even the clothes the people wore. Yet, the laughter of the people offered a joyous light in comparison to the lustreless surroundings, and Lyra couldn't help but love it. Lately, however, every room was uninviting and every pleasant place was now cheerless. 

Once Lyra returned to Winterfell, after a few hours of absence, she explored the castle, in case she'd overlooked a hidden passage. She found herself walking the length of an elongated corridor, intimidating in size, but oddly thrilling. Lyra was often thankful for her petite stature as it made the world seem so vast, and ensured her adventures never dulled. Along the corridor, she began following the faint sound of whispering, coming from behind a closed door. Soon, the whispering became indistinguishable murmurs, before subtly transforming into words, as she tiptoed closer. She recognised the gentlest voice as her father's, and determined that he must have been speaking to the King. 

She caught the word "betrothed", and though she wasn't exactly sure of its meaning, she understood what it meant in context-particularly when King Robert was using it. Lyra's oldest sister, Sansa, was to be "betrothed" to the King's oldest son, Prince Joffrey. Sansa, like any thirteen year old, was beyond excited at marrying a Prince and one day becoming a Queen. She frequently gushed about him when he wasn't there, and she blushed whenever he was there, which made Lyra and Arya giggle. If Lyra had to describe the young Prince in one word, it would be "unpleasant". The sort of person who introduced cobwebs to each room, and made the room feel instantly colder. He had lemon-coloured hair, and a constant sneer like he was plotting something. Lyra thought he looked peculiar, Sansa thought he was dreamy. 

As the conversation between her father and the King continued, it only got more confusing. Lyra noticed the strain in her father's voice, like he was struggling to speak. That was always the worst thing about talking to the King, though they tell you to speak your mind, it was punishable if you did. Whatever the two were talking about, it was putting Eddard in an uncomfortable place. The next words Lyra heard were "Oldest and youngest" and "Sansa and Lyra". The sound of her name forced her to stick her ear harder against the door, curious to hear why she was now a part of the conversation. 

"My youngest and your youngest could very well be a match, too, Ned" the King announced.

Hesitantly, Eddard said, "Lyra...Your Grace, Lyra is yet to be five. She is too young."

"Your oldest daughter will marry my oldest son, and when they come of age, Lyra will marry Tommen, my youngest. Our families will unite" the King's voice boomed. His voice trailed off, "The two of them will accompany you to the Capital..."

"The Capital?" Lyra whispered to herself, sadly. 

The King and his family lived in the Capital, a glorious place named Kings Landing, about a months journey from her home in Winterfell. Yet, Kings Landing was in the South, and Southerners had negative views on Outsiders. The last Outsider Lyra had heard of being in the South had been executed for no reason other than being "of his kind". Lyra was petrified at the thought, and held back her tears. The dangerous nature of Lyra going to Kings Landing would have been playing on her Father's mind, Lyra thought, hence his hesitation, but you can't say no to a King and any reluctance would have been suspicious.

Lyra sprinted back to the safety of her chamber, curled under her bed and willed herself not to cry. She didn't want to leave Winterfell, she didn't want to leave the drab grey walls and forest out the back. She didn't want to leave Jon. She didn't want to leave her other brothers, Bran, Robb and Rickon. She didn't want to leave her mother. She didn't want to leave the calm of the North and go to the hustle of the Capital. She tried to tell herself that this was an adventure. The biggest adventure she'd ever had. She would get to be a Knight in a new place. 

These thoughts did little to comfort herself, but she still willed herself not to cry. If there was one thing a Knight didn't do, it was cry. And Lyra was a knight, even if she was scared.