The Little Wolf

The Battlefield of the Mind

King's Landing

A war was raging in her mind, and she braced herself for the inevitable casualties. Innocence had been lost in a previous battle, as it often was the first casualty in a war, and mercy faded soon after.

It was all so peculiar, suddenly. Inside her little body, Lyra felt every emotion clash, like two sides, two enemies charging and colliding on a battle field. Deep down, the old Lyra Stark was retching and vomiting at the thought of the act she just committed. "Forgive me!" she heard the frightened girl scream, and while she tried her best to calm her, it was no use. The little girl was so frightened, and ached to be held by her mother and father.

The Monster's cold heart beat slightly, and ached in remembrance. The little girl meant a lot to her, and the Monster knew she had to protect her. The little girl was her conscience, the voice of reason, the voice of mercy, and the voice of the past. Like she had prayed for her Soul to remain, she prayed her Conscience would too.

Contradictory to this, on the other side of her internal battle field, was the Monster. The Monster was the main reason she was alive, the only reason she was able to escape in such a convoluted and gruesome manner. Her conscience was repulsed by such a plan, but had to capitulate to the opponent, and become an ally of sought. The Monster was the  survivalist nature to her when in full force, and she comforted herself with the knowledge that she was only doing what had to be done to stay alive.

Her Conscience rioted against the Monster's mercilessness and desire for revenge. She didn't know what to feel. Feelings. It had seemed as if they were beaten out of her. The colour had seeped out of her life and she was now living a two-toned existence. What was happiness? What was misery? All she knew was this. All she knew was the darkness of pain and hate, with flashes of her family and her home littering the sky like a million bright stars. They were out of reach to her, but one day, perhaps, she could reach out and grab them. 

Perhaps, Lyra reflected, the most severe battles are not the wars we fight with each other, but the battle that is suppressed within the mind. 

It felt like a clash between ice and fire within her veins; similar to when she touched something so cold it burnt her like fire. 

Lyra looked at the bodies on the floor, and her internal war raged. Clash! They collided on the battlefield of her mind, and sent her into a trembling mess. Oh, how she was broken. She was so cracked, and flawed and twisted even she didn't trust herself.

Her plan, thus far, had worked. She had found the perfect disguise; the remnants of the cruel boy who tortured her. She was bathed in his blood and donning his clothes and boots, but it still made her stomach churn slightly. Deep beneath the rubble, the former Lyra Stark was still there, and for that she felt an odd sense of relief.

She snapped back to the reality she was living. Chief's red fur raged like fire behind the cage, but ever so softly his tail wagged in delight of seeing his master. On a hook at the end of the corridor was a key - Lev had been here before, and had picked apart the floors of the place, and the placement of the key, foolish as it was, was something to report back to his Master. The key didn't glisten in the darkness, it was dull and grey, and matched the atmosphere of the world is unlocked.

At long last, Chief was freed from his cage. Lyra extended her hand timidly, and the wolf licked her blood-soaked flesh. Steadily, Lyra moved her hand and ran her hand through his coat. It was longer now, and the red was a brighter colour. He had patches of white in the red, which had always reminded her of patches of snow melting in a sea of flame. He had white eyebrows atop his pale grey eyes, which lifted to show his emotion. Of all the Direwolves, Chief was the most expressive.

Lyra went from warily touching his fur, to squeezing him in her arms. Chief cocked his head to the left, and raised one little white eyebrow. His pale eyes looked into Lyra's sadly, like he saw the brokenness of her mind. Lyra rested her head on his large furry chest, and clenched a tuft of his fur in her scarred hand. They would never be separated again.

She couldn't speak what she wanted to say, instead all that came out were the only phrases she could recall; "there is no such thing as mercy." Chief whined softly, and butted Lyra's head with his own. The girl stood up and straightened out her stolen clothing, while Chief lingered still in the darkness.

"Halt!" a voice yelled, and she heard the sound of a sword drawing. Lyra lifted her shirt, and tucked neatly in the waist of her pants was wolf. Her own blade. No more could the foolish boy pick his teeth with it, for it, once again, belonged to her.

Lyra stared at the man for a long while; he had gold armour on, and proudly boasted the Lannister lion on the front. 

The Monster and her Conscience were readied for another battle, she could tell. She could feel.

Lyra put wolf back into the waist of her black pants, and turned around so her back was facing the guard. "Forgive me!" her Conscience cried, but the begging cries were drowned by the outraged scream of the monster, "There is no such thing as mercy!"

She began to take a few slow, menacing steps - walking away from the man and into the shadow. 

"Halt, or I'll skewer you!" the man yelled again.

To the darkness, Lyra kept walking. The small heel of her tall black boots made a noise to echo around the dungeons, but the man's footsteps were louder. They were racing up behind her. Still, the girl kept walking slowly, calmly and menacingly. 

Whether the weapon was the darkness, or whether the weapon was within the darkness, she was unsure, but she knew what she had to do.

The man was closer now. Lyra could feel his presence tower over her, and could feel the heaviness of the guard's sword in the air behind her.

Just as Lyra entered the shadow, her Direwolf left it. Like an angry fire, Chief shot through the air, clearing over Lyra's head and landing on the guard's.

The screams were dreadful. The sound of this bones being ripped apart in Chief's large jaw was dreadful, too. Be that as it may, the dreadfulness was needed - it ensured she remained alive.

Without looking back, without changing pace and without a single twitch in her facial expression, Lyra kept on walking toward the shadow.

Clash! 

Her Conscience and the Monster were fighting again.