The Little Wolf

Long May He Reign

King's Landing

The King was dead.

He had been injured during a hunting trip by a boar, and perished later that day. Lyra had always thought the King was nothing more than a doltish man, who enjoyed drinking and swearing and every woman except his wife. Yet, she felt an odd sadness now that he were deceased. He had a family - perhaps an annoying one -  but they were still a family. 

She offered her sympathies to her father, for he had grown up a brother to the King, and then, despite her hatred of him, sought the horrid Prince to extend her courtesies to him. He was going to be King now, Lyra thought, terrified, and the horrid Prince was going to be the horrid King, and her life was even further in danger. 

"Your Grace, I'm deeply saddened to hear of your father. I extend my deepest of sympathies", Lyra rehearsed softly to herself as she sought him out. The phrase "your Father" rang in her mind, and she knew the echo was Lev. Since Lev had discovered he could communicate with Lyra by their thoughts, he had not shut up, giving a running commentary of every action she undertook.

The girl chucked to herself, and thought, "Shut it, Lev!", and the voice hushed. A white butterfly twirled in the air past her, daintily dancing on the breeze, but remained out of sight of anyone who might see him and suspect he was a Helai. A butterfly Helai was supposed to symbolise a sense of freedom experienced by the Outsider, yet Lyra could not work out how she was free; the King would soon be worse than she could possibly fathom. With that thought, Lev changed from a butterfly, back to his typical wise owl, and flew away.

"And what are you doing here, Ser Lyra?" she recognised the voice and spun around, grinning. 

"Ser Kaelo! I was seeking the King to offer my sympathies."

"Ah, lass, that is very sweet of you, but the young Prince is cranky at the best of times, I don't think he'd respect the kindness of your intentions. Perhaps tell the Queen's handmaids to pass it on. Aye?"

Lyra nodded, and sent the message with a maid, and since it was going to her Queen, she picked a flower from a vase along the corridor and offered that, as well. Perhaps it was odd, gifting a flower that technically already belonged to her, but as Kaelo had pointed out, her intentions were kind.

Lyra looked at her muddied boots, "Ser, I'm returning to Winterfell in the days pending. King's Landing is no longer my home, no longer safe."

Kaelo looked sad for a moment, then smiled and said, "I'll be leaving King's Landing too, lass, when that little toad becomes King! Perhaps I'll stay near to you. It's been a number of years since I've been to the North."

After an awkward pause, and a minute of gawking at one another, Kaelo shattered the silence with his thick accent, "Well, watcha say, lassie, fancy a duel?", and with that he pulled Toothpick out playfully and chortled, "Ser Kaelo against Ser Lyra, watcha say?!"

Lyra feigned embarrassment and said sarcastically, "It's like being out with a hyperactive child." Then she looked up at him and grinned, "I'm going to win!" and with a cheeky cackle, she sprinted out of the castle.

They chased each other around the yard for what seemed like ages, until finally Kaelo's age caught up to him and he grew tiresome, yet his spirit was still strong and childlike. His face was wet with sweat, but red not with exhaustion, but laughter. He could hardly catch his breathe he was laughing so hard, grabbing his knees. 

His soul was that of a Fennec, she thought; playful, vivacious and crafty. A small fox that always seemed a child. He was a man who failed to grow up, an outcast in his own right.

Kaelo thundered to the ground and panted, while Lyra collapsed next to him, ungainly for a little lady in a dress, but Kaelo didn't seem to mind. After a pause, Lyra asked, "Ser Kaelo, are you a Knight of King's Landing, do you serve Baratheon or Lannister?"

"No, Lass", he said with a relieved smile, "I'm no Southerner".

Lyra looked relieved too; she couldn't help but dislike Southerner's, and perhaps, should Kaelo find out about her being an Outsider, he wouldn't have her head on a chopping block.

"Are you a Northerner?" she asked.

"No..."

"A Westerner?"

"No...", and before Lyra could open her mouth an guess another compass point, Kaelo nipped it in the bud, "and I'm not from the East, either, Lass."

"Then where are you from?"

Kaelo shrugged, "I'm from wherever the hell I was last, which has been a wealth of places, little lass."

Lyra shuffled closer to Kaelo, who was now shoving a stick down his boot and scratching his foot with deep concentration. 

"Then how are you "Ser" Kaelo?" Lyra questioned, hoping her new friend wouldn't be offended.

He pulled his hand from his smelly boot and placed it on Lyra's shoulder, which made her insides churn. Then he smiled at her and said, "The same way you became a Knight, Ser Lyra".

"But I'm not a Knight, I just want to be one".

"Precisely."

Lyra could not have loved her friend more in that instant. 

"One day we will fight side by side. Ser Kaelo and Ser Lyra, REAL knights." She said, remembering the same sentence she'd said to Jon before they both departed Winterfell.

And Kaelo, as if he was there that beautiful day, said with the same tender smile as Jon Snow, "One day".

Ser Kaelo accompanied Lyra to the castle, before heading off somewhere to stay the night. When Lyra asked him where he would go, he sniggered and pointed at random locations along the horizon. As he was departing, his smelly shoes strung over his shoulders, his bare feet gripping the dirt, Lyra called out, "Enjoy your adventure, Ser Kaelo!"

Kaelo spun, still lively, and called back, "That I will, Lass! Sleep well, my dear knight."

She returned to the castle to her father's worried voice, "Lyra, my child, where have you been? You know it is dangerous, especially now with King Robert's death and Prince Joffrey..." he trailed off, crouching down to bury his daughter's head into his chest.

"Lyra, you must always be safe, somewhere I can protect you. I sense a storm brewing, and you must be wary. You know our sigil, our house words - "

"Winter is coming", Lyra interjected

"We are wolves, our pack must remain together, not run off when it pleases us."

"Forgive me, Father", she begged. Her father kissed her on the head, before lightly hitting her back and saying, "Run along, little wolf, continue packing."

She ran back to her chambers, guards breaking into a sprint to keep up with their Little Lady to protect her as her father had ordered. She often went the long way to her chambers, to surpass any mirrors, an avoidance of the monster. This time, however, she decided to be brave, like a real knight.

And just as she crossed the path of the mirror, the beast returned. In the corner of her eye it was there, along with the ever-present army of dead people, looking at her wistfully. 

Before she could squeeze her eyes shut, she noticed in her peripheral vision, something about the monster she'd never noticed before. Only now, after reading Maester Leland's book about beyond the Wall sneakily, did she have appreciation of the blue colouring of the Monster in the mirror.

It was a White Walker.