BEING RE-WRITTEN - тнe lιon and тнe wolғ |jaιмe lannιѕтer|

Hope

She recalled her lingering admiration and attraction to those who lurked within the depths of the candle-lit crypts; her long forgotten ancestors and forefathers that bewitched her each time her gaze landed upon their statue of representation. She loved the place of worship, of memory... of family. She remembered her foremost encounter with the crypts of Winterfell by accident; her mother, the lady Catelyn, had insisted on taking her to the Sept to pray which hadn't particularly been one of Eliana's interests - she even preferred Maester Luwin's lessons to her mother's torture when she could venture to her father's tree that said naught but whispered so much. What befuddled her was the lack of interest her siblings showed towards the place; they were all reluctant to want to wander down there and cast their eyes upon the Starks of old, their ancestors...

She recollected the initial time she had enticed her brothers to go with her; Jon hadn't been down to the crypts beneath Winterfell without their father, but when his sister had coaxed him to do so with Robb beside him, he wearily agreed. They had been beside him; Robb pulling him along as Lia hummed to herself which both brother's remembered to be one their father was often inclined to hum himself as each of them stared up at the stern-faces of the past Kings of Winter, giggling as they tried to intimidate their lifeless expressions with little success.

Eliana was past her ninth nameday and nearing her tenth, but the boys were both barely past their seventh and too eager to prove themselves men. She taunted to the pair of them, goading them to go with her, saying that they were "wimpier than Hodor and more weak than Old Nan" - her manipulation had worked. She had persuaded them to venture into its depths... Jon was far too cautious to do anything that could be ridiculed on his behalf or his siblings; but he felt distinctly out of place, and Lia hated being able to see it, being able to sense it. He deserved to belong. The statues represented Kings and Lords, and there was an evident resemblance between Jon and the faces of the statues. Eliana noted that Jon reminded her of the King Torrhen Stark, the King Who Knelt, much like their lord father.

Lia, however, resembled that of her aunt and mother both, her raven braids cascading down her back with the hoax of little auburn strands that danced through it innocently, her grey eyes sprinkled with blue flecks that shone mysteriously. She couldn't see herself in her aunt or her mother but her father was resolute that she complimented his sister in both appearance and character. Yes, she thought of herself wilful and headstrong, even hot-tempered at times... but she wasn't pretty like the Southern ladies. "You, my little wolf, are a wild beauty and any man would be glad to have you." She would argue that she was a skilled rider for her age, that much she would agree on... and had a certain ease with a sword.

To her, Robb didn't look like any of them; he was far too Tully.

They wore crowns upon their heads whilst iron crafted swords sat across their laps, and she knew Jon thought he wasn't destined for anything like that, like she and Robb would be, hopefully. She thought differently and so did Jon; he wasn't a Stark, for his father and forefathers were... and he would never be buried in the crypts with the rest of the Starks. No one needed to tell him that. He knew his place. He'd always known it... Lady Catelyn always made sure of that.

And it wasn't in the crypts.

However, he loved Robb and Lia too much to decline and willingly let himself be dragged along with them, laughing when they took turns imitating the expressions of their forefathers. Eliana paused when Robb halted and peered into the alcove that was reserved for their father, beside the statues of Rickard, Brandon and Lyanna. "It's not that scary down here, Jon; you were scared for naught."

"If it's not scary, why have you stopped?" Jon questioned his brother, following Lia as they stepped further into the darkness, both endeavouring to keep their candles alight, both pausing near the alcove that would day be Robb's.