The Little Wolf

Memories of the Past

King's Landing

Lyra began to realise she was going to have to change considerably if she were to escape King's Landing. While she had once thought she could outsmart the guards, Ser Deacon, the cruel boy, and the King and royals, she realised it would not happen.

She would have to embrace violence. What was violence to Lyra now? She had been in her nightmares for so long she was beginning to become one will the darkness. Pain inflicted on her didn't have nearly the same effect it once did, blood no longer sickened her following her swim in her father's, and mercy was a rope she was desperately trying to cling to, but even now, the rope weakened under the weight of her and threatened to snap.

Lyra Stark of Winterfell, the little wolf, still lurked inside, just very deep down. Yet it seemed she was still quite close to the surface, and though she was treading in murky waters, there was still hope for her. Mercy still existed...deeply down, but still present.

Thoughts of her family kept her merciful and hopeful, yet it had been months since she had seen their faces, and memories and dreams were all she could grasp onto. 

Yes, Lyra had changed, and she would continue to change. If she didn't change, she would die. She realised that Ser Deacon wanted her to change - to accept she was a monster and unworthy of love or respect - but she recognised that she could use it against him. She could become the monster he feared.

The problem was, she didn't entirely want to become a monster, the innocent little Lyra was still inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and be with her family. She wanted to live, but she wanted to live as Lyra, the girl she once was.

Tears filled her eyes, and she moved locations in her room. Curling up in a little ball, she willed this, once more, to merely be in a nightmare. Please sing to me, Mother, I'm scared, she begged the mental image of her sweet mother to sing a gentle song to her. But her mother was silent. She slipped in between being a monster and being a scared child. 

With her left hand, she stroked her head, trying to avoid the many sores and bloody patches that her torture had left her. She gently stroked some loose hairs, and hummed to herself comfortingly. Shh, Lyra, hush.

She'd pushed her mother's loving embrace to the back of her mind in the past year. Her father used to take up that spot, occasionally even Septa Mordane would give her an affectionate squeeze of her shoulder. Thoughts of her mother were too raw, and hurt her more than make her happy. She was not in the place to reminisce over what she had and how lucky she was, she was only able to grieve what she had lost.

As tears pooled in her eyes, she continued to stroke her hair gently. "Shh, Lyra, don't be afraid, my love", she imagined her mother whispering.

Her mother used to kiss all around her face - her forehead, her cheeks, chin, ears and eyes - before finally planting a kiss on her nose. "I love you, sweet one", she would whisper in her youngest daughter's ear. 

Lyra remembered and tears filled her eyes. "I love you, too, Mother..." she whispered to the empty darkness.

Love, Lyra thought...what a strange concept it was becoming. 

Heels down the wooden floor outside her isolated room interrupted her thinking. The door shot open in a flash, startling her, and Lyra left up and backed away. Her eyes wide and teary in fright, she backed against the dusty wall. Her eyes focused and fell on a young woman with auburn hair .

Sansa.

Her sister. Oh, Sansa, how she had grown. She had a sadness in her that had never existed, she had a light bruise on her cheek, but it was her eyes that concerned Lyra. They were so desperately sad, and murky with dejection. Upon seeing her little sister in such a state, Sansa's eyes instantly filled with tears. 

"Lyra..." she gasped and began to splutter. Sansa's eyes looked all over her little body; from her cut hair to her mangled toes, she sobbed at each bruise and retched at the blood that covered her. Lyra thought she had forgotten how to cry properly, but she proved herself wrong. Her split lip quivered and tears pooled in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks. She suddenly became aware how hideous she was - how she now looked so much like a monster.

Sansa hesitantly stepped toward Lyra, like she was a stranger to her, and slowly crouched by her side. Lyra continued to sob, and Sansa whispered, "Don't worry, Lyra... in my heart you are beautiful".

She loved her sister desperately, a love she never knew she had for her. All the annoyances of growing up with Sansa in Winterfell were replaced by her sweetness. Sansa never wanted her to be a knight, she got angry when Lyra chased Arya around, but it was only now that Lyra considered it was because her older sister had wanted to be the one Lyra adored - not her rebellious sister, and not their brothers.

Lyra heaved herself off the wall she was backed against, and launched herself into her sister's arms. Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around Lyra, and cried into her shoulder. Lyra had forgotten what it felt like to be hugged, to be loved. The little girl buried herself into Sansa's neck, and she was determined never to let go.

"Lyra", Sansa finally spoke, "they...they want you."

Lyra looked at Sansa in shook, before the older sister continued, "They sent me to come and get you for supper."

Supper. Food. Surely not, it was clearly a trick. Or the food would be poisoned.

Lyra backed away again and resumed her position on the floor, her head facing away from Sansa, so she wouldn't see the fear in her eyes.

"Please, Lyra, you will only make it worse."

"I'm not hungry", Lyra lied through tears. She couldn't help but wonder why her sister was sent to get her, not Ser Deacon, or the ugly, cruel boy, or someone equally dreadful. Not the monsters older sister. Lyra felt oddly betrayed, like she was being played. That is all she was now, a player in somebody else's game. 

"Please, Lyra", Sansa pleaded again. Lyra could hear the sadness and fear in her voice.

"I...I am scared", Lyra whimpered.

Sansa placed a loving hand on her back, making Lyra flinch, and said, "Don't worry, I will be here."

Sansa helped Lyra stand on her weak legs and led her out of the room, the key to the room in her hand. Lyra was contemplating running off, Sansa would never capture Lyra and let her escape. Yet, she knew it would plunge her sister in a world that was much darker than the once she was already in. 

Sansa held Lyra's hand, and the little Outsider simply could not escape. For now, she felt something that she thought she'd never feel again.

Loved.