The Little Wolf

A Lion's Feast

King's Landing

Sansa led Lyra up the many flights of stairs and through the corridors that secluded her room from the rest of the castle. A guard met Sansa and the prisoner somewhere along the way, probably ensuring she was not going to orchestrate an escape. 

Discretely, Lyra peered around noting nooks and crannies she could hide in, empty rooms and small passageways that were dimly lit. And finally, she concerned herself to where Chief's cell was, where her own weapon, Wolf, was, and where Kaelo had fled...or maybe during the siege of King's Landing he had been ki-...no, Lyra did not want to think about that. She disregarded the thought before she had the time to finish it. 

Lyra gripped Sansa's hand tightly, not ever wanting to let go. She wanted to hold her close, to feel what a hug felt like again. As Lyra clasped her older sister's hand, Sansa squeezed it back. They were united by one common factor: fear. It ran through their minds and hearts. 

They reached a large door, and the guard that was escorting them opened it for them, pushing the girls inside. Lyra realised what was going on.

The lions were ready to feast.

The "supper" Sansa had innocently referred to was not for Lyra, it was for them. The lions of Lannister were going to devour her.

There was a large trestle table in the centre of the room, enveloped by glorious foods. There was suckling pig, a pie and vegetables deliciously soaked in butter - it smelled truly heavenly. In a fire pit in the corner of the chamber, was a second pig being roasted. Lyra warned herself that she would not be able to eat this; it was there to torture her further, like the pitcher of water in the corner of her previous cell. It was there, yes, but out of reach and inaccessible. 

Cersei was seated at the table, ripping meat from the bone with her lion's teeth, glaring down on the Imp, Tyrion, hatred steaming from her. Yet, when the King's mother noticed the sudden sadness in Tyrion's eyes, she looked over to see. Lyra. She looked truly awful. 

Under her dress, her ribs stuck out, threatening to break through her weak skin. Her skin had become so brittle it barely stretched over her bony body without tearing. She could barely stand on her own two feet, and she had to brace Sansa for support. The suckling pig on the table looked more alive than she did.

Tyrion's mouth twisted in rage at the treatment of the girl, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her battered body, so he kept his eyes averted. Joffrey gawped at her, before giggling and giving Ser Deacon a celebratory round of applause. 

And then there was the beast that had beaten her. Ser Deacon. He grinned at the broken body of Lyra Stark like he had created a masterpiece. Beside the beastly man was the cruel boy, who spat at the ground, undoubtedly meant for Lyra. 

"Your whore of a Mother has captured my brother, you savage little cretin", Cersei finally spoke, losing the shock she once had. Her voice echoes off the stone walls, and Lyra shrunk backward into the blackness of the shadow surrounding her. The woman glowered at Lyra with all the hate the Seven Hells could provide. What did we do? Lyra's Soul whispered, frightened, to which Lyra had no response. What did she do? She had found herself guilty of a crime she did not mean to commit.

"Shut it!" the King snapped at his mother, "We are not here to discuss my Uncle. The monster is already guilty of the most heinous crime: being born an Outsider."

"She is a monster?" Tyrion scoffed, standing up and pointing at the little girl. "Anyone who beats a child the way you have this girl is more of a monster than anyone."

"I am punishing her!" Joffrey snapped, signalling for guards to come and escort the man out.

"Punishing her for what? Being born?! This is not punishment, it is hatred of a Kind that is not of your own!" Tyrion cried, trying to avoid the guards. He made his way toward Lyra, but the guards reached him first, hauling him out the chamber. The dwarf continued to cry and yell for mercy, but at the sound of that word, Lyra's heart sank.

There was no such thing as mercy. There would come a time where Lyra would have to accept it, and embrace the darkness. She was to be feasted on by the lions, and for what? How she was born? It was a cruel existence. 

Joffrey extended his arm and signalled for the sisters to approach.

Sansa began to lead Lyra down the steps toward the awaiting crowd of haters. Lyra was convinced she had never been more terrified, but then again, she had only known fear the last months of her life. Lyra gripped Sansa's shoulder and limped down the stairs of her weak legs. She was trembling so hard now she thought she might fall over, and willed herself not to burst into tears.

Sansa led Lyra over to a chair, and sat next to her, continuing to hold her hand. 

There was a moment of painful silence before Ser Deacon growled behind her, "Now what are we going to do with you..."

This was it. The one final push. The end. She was going to die. She squeezed Sansa's hands tightly, and allowed the tears to come full force. She thought she was ready to die, but she wasn't, she was so incredibly scared. How was this part of her destiny? How did Maester Leland fail to mention this?

Her mind went back and forth as she heard Ser Deacon rattle around behind her, fetching something. Sansa looked horrified, tears filled her eyes and she shrieked, "No, no no, please, Your Grace, make him stop, no!!" Cersei even looked a little uneasy.

Lyra had no courage. She was so cowardly. She simply could not turn around.

She didn't need to, the pain reached her soon enough.

It spread over her skin like she was dancing barefoot on the sun, like wildfire in her veins. It burned. It stung. It smelled. Her smell of her burning flesh filled the room and Cersei rose and left, leaving Sansa to vomit by her side, all the while begging and pleading for mercy.

The pain stopped for a minute, and Lyra could here Ser Deacon return to the fire pit. He had a metal rod in his hand, and he was holding it over the flame until it turned red. Yet, before the man could return, pain stuck her again. It was the boy. He held the hot iron against her skin and spat in her face.

"There is no such thing as mercy!" the boy screamed, touching the flaming rod to another patch of skin, "Vicious little monster!"

"There is such thing as mercy! There is such thing as mercy! There is such thing as mercy!" Lyra screamed, but it only made it worse. The blows were closer together, and the burns hurt her more and more.

Sansa was collapsed by her side in desperate prayer, and Tyrion was outside thumping on the door, swearing at the abuse going on indoors. In the distance she thought she heard Chief howl. He was undoubtedly awakened by his master's pitiful screams and shrieks. 

The pain was unbearable; it was beyond anything she could ever imagine. Lyra screamed until blood trickled down to her stomach from the rawness of her throat. 

She closed her eyes and called for Lev. In her mind he appeared, and gave her a gentle smile. And then, toward the open window of her mind, he soared to the clouds.

He flew away.