Song for the book: Winter in My Heart by Vast

Cillian

Cillian Bua never thought that of all the endless possibilities for death to finally get its clutch on him, it would be an illness in the end that would catch him.

He was a strong man, a warrior through and through. He was tall and bulky as most Northern Lords were. He resented deeply that he would not die on the battlefield, but instead in his bed trembling with pain from an illness that served to be the only aggressor he could never take down or plan a clever battle strategy against.

His days were numbered, and Fianna had begged for him to stay with her to live out his last days together. But this visit was absolutely necessary. He felt a tinge of regret remembering his only daughter's expression when he told her she wouldn't be joining him on his visit.

"There must always be a Bua in Baelfort."

He suddenly found he wished he had brought her. Tiernan could have looked after their lands, he was a nephew of Cillian's, the son of his sister. Therefore he didn't bear the Bua name, but he lived at Baelfort none the less. His sister had been foolish enough to marry a lowborn man out of feelings of the heart, he had no ancestral lands to speak of therefore the family stayed at Baelfort. He was thankful for it in the end however, he didn't know how he would have been able to raise Fianna without their help.

He had resorted to travelling in his carriage on the last few legs of the journey to Winterfell, something he was deeply embarrassed of. But the cool Northern air had been far too harsh on his ill chest, his muscles too painful to hold onto a horse for hours on end.

He braced himself as the door to his carriage opened, finally they were at their destination. He bundled his furs tighter against him, sniffed quickly and hoped the signs of his illness weren't as obvious as they felt.

He was greeted by the sight of the Stark family, all aligned by order of age and awaiting his step forward patiently. A grim smile turned up Cillian's lips as he made eye contact with his liege lord.

Lord Eddard Stark had been his comrade and friend since Robert's Rebellion. The two were mere young men at the time, completely naked to the harsh realities of war and had no love for each other. But as they fought side by side, a real friendship developed that's stayed true to this day.

"My Lord," Cillian greeted which Eddard responded to with a shake of his head, a laugh and a clap on his back.

"Cillian Rua being formal to his liege lord? I never thought I'd see the day come." Ned teased, his eyebrows furrowed when Cillian could only smile slightly in response, which looked more of a grimace than a smile.

"Cat, you look well, my lady." He said to Ned's wife as she stood tall by his side, taking her hand gently and hoping she didn't notice the slight tremble in his own.

Ned led Cillian to his solar, he eyed his friend carefully. It was obvious the man had lost much of his muscle mass, his face was drawn in and his eyes bulged out. He looked a shadow of the man he used to be.

"As much as I enjoy the company, I have to ask, why have you come to Winterfell?" Ned began, getting straight to it, "Its not often I've seen your face, I haven't even seen that daughter of yours since she was about ten. Although I've heard enough stories I feel like I know her well."

"To get right to it, my lord, I'm dying." Cillian said casually, lifting his palms in the air as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Ned's expression fell, his heart sinking in his chest. He was at a loss for words, he once saw Cillian as another brother. Not as close as Robert, but there was a definite bond there.

"For certain?" He managed to ask after a moment's pause, leaning forward in his desk, "You're not near elderly."

"I've seen several maesters, my friend. They assured me that whatever it is I have, it's going to be the death of me. I grow weaker by the day." Cillian nodded solemnly, his gaze falling from Ned's face to the wood of the desk. He leaned back in his chair, a grave expression on his face.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"There is, my lord," he began, leaning forward again and clasping his hands together, interlocking his fingers, "As you well know, my dear wife died birthing Fianna. She's my only heir, I fathered no bastards. By law, Baelfort and my lands will go to my nephew Tiernan. However I must plead with you to ensure my lands go to Fianna. I will not strip her of what she was born to have because she is a woman."

Ned nodded his head once, "Consider it done, old friend."

"There's another. When I'm gone, which will be soon I suspect, I'm entrusting you to find a suitable marriage for Fianna. See to it that she finds a husband who will look after her and honour her. Fianna is a proud girl, almost a woman grown now. She is far too strong willed and outspoken to be tied to a less than honourable man. No matter how highborn he may be."

"I swear to you, my Lord. I will see to it she finds a suitable match," Ned paused for a second, mulling his thoughts over before he shared them, "My eldest boy, Robb, he's not been betrothed as of yet. He's around your daughter's age, perhaps a year older. I've raised him well, he would honour her."

"You are too kind, my lord. I consent to the union, if you will it. All I ask is that she may be given some time before she is to be married, perhaps it best to keep it secret for now. She is already wracked with grief over my condition." In truth, Cillian was hoping Eddard would offer his son. The two were close in age, and while House Bua was not as high in ranking as the Umbers or the Boltons, they were highborn enough for the match to make sense. It was a great honour that Lord Stark could bestow to Cillian, to wed his child with hers and make his daughter Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North.

The match would prove profitable for the Starks as well, with Fianna being Lady of Baelfort, the Starks would have possession over two great Northern households.

Fianna herself was beautiful, men told stories of her throughout the North. Her wild, unruly brown curls and her smile, she looked every bit a Northerner and her quick wit meant she had multiple matches being offered already.

"Very well, my lord." Ned fetched a quill and paper before he began to write the deed that would bind their two houses forever.

The two fathers signed it willingly, and later that day they prayed in the Godswood. Ned prayed for Robb's well being and for him to treat his wife kindly and justly, while Cillian prayed his daughter wouldn't end his life before the illness did by doing the one thing that would make her hate him, even if just for a moment.

No matter how she'd react, he knew this was the right decision. The Starks were one of the most powerful families in Westeros, Fianna would be well protected after he is gone and her children would rule Winterfell and Baelfort both.

Above all, he knew she'd be safe.

Cillian Bua accompanied Ned to the trial the next day, he was to leave as soon as he returned to Winterfell and wanted to spend as much time as he could with his liege lord and old friend while he still could.

A deserter of the Night's Watch was the subject of today's trial. Cillian sat on his horse behind his liege Lord and facing the three Stark children that accompanied them. He eyed Robb in particular very carefully. He cursed himself for suggesting that neither son nor daughter be told of the betrothal yet, to give Fianna time to grieve after his death. He wished desperately for the chance to threaten the life out of the Stark boy. He may have been dying, but Cillian Bua would put the fear of the gods into any man.

His attention snatched back to the deserter as he mumbled incoherently, Cillian's eyebrows furrowed as he heard the term "white walkers" used. The man seemed to grab a hold of himself as Lord Eddard faced him.

"I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry." Ned nodded in response to the deserter's last words. It was obvious gibberish from a mad man, white walkers were a fable told by whet nurses to scare babes. Yet even so, the words set a chill in his spine.

The deserter is positioned over the block, the glint of the Valerian steel Ice consists of catches Cillian's eye as Ned removes the long sword from his scabbard.

Eddard recites King Robert's titles, finally sentencing the man to die and lifts his sword in the air. Cillian's eyes travel back to the eldest Stark boy. As Ned's sword cuts the deserter's head clean off, the boy doesn't even flinch.

Good, he thought. A craven won't do for his Fianna.

Cillian had been trotting on his horse alongside Ned, discussing war stories before his hand reached up to clutch his side in pain. He let out a low groan as Ned looked over worryingly.

"Are you in pain, Cillian?" He asks to which Cillian shakes his head stubbornly.

"Nothing the love of a good woman wouldn't be able to soothe." He laughs off, Ned's expression creases with concern but before he could say more, the two men are distracted by the party ahead of them stopping in the middle of the road.

A lone deer lays on the ground, completely ravaged to the death.

"What is it?"

"A mountain lion?"

"There are no mountain lions in these woods." Ned stops his bastard and his ward's questions. The sound of yapping grabs everyone's attention as their heads swivel to the source of the noise.

Cillian holds in a breath as he climbs down off his horse, pushing aside the pain as he approaches the small animal.

A pup, no more than two months old barks at the party, almost as if trying to get their attention.

"Gods be damned.." Cillian begins, reaching down and lifting the pup by the scruff of its neck to inspect closer, "it's a wolfhound."

"How could that be? Wolfhounds never stray from the woods beside the Long Lake, that's why they're your family sigil isn't it, my Lord?" The reasoning voice of Ser Rodrick Cassel cuts in. Cillian nods his head, setting the pup down in confusion before it shoots off, barking wildly again.

The party follow after the pup until he stops at a great mound of fur laying on the forest floor.

"That's what's got it so freaked. It's found a freak." Theon calls to the party behind him, being first to arrive.

"No, it's a direwolf." Ned states gravely, catching Cillian's eye as the two share a look, "Tough old beast." Ned removes the antlers embedded in its neck.

"There are no direwolves south of the wall, and there shouldn't be any wolfhounds this far from Long Lake." The eldest Stark boy cuts in.

"Now there are five," Ned's bastard son Jon calls before starting to lift direwolf pups from under the belly of their mother.

As Theon Greyjoy unsheathes a knife to kill the pup Bran Stark was holding, the little wolfhound begins to growl lowly. He steps forward menacingly, almost as if it were protecting the direwolf pups. Despite only being a pup, it still made Theon falter.

The wolfhound didn't back off of Theon until Ned agreed to let each of the Stark children foster a direwolf pup, yet Cillian wasn't listening. He was absolutely fascinated by the wolfhound at his feet. A lone wolfhound far from home. For a split second, he likened the pup to that of his daughter. A wolfhound, that would be all alone when he perishes.

He decided at that moment to keep the pup to take home to his daughter, hopefully he would act as a sort of comfort for her after Cillian's passing. Or at the very least, protect her.

Wolfhounds were the tallest dog breed known to man. They were known for their hunting skills and even more so for their guarding. The wolfhound was chosen as the Bua family sigil as the Buas considered themselves to be loyal and fierce warriors. As well as this, Baelfort, which was located next to Long Lake, had woods filled with wolfhounds.

He had never considered taking one as a pet until now. It was almost as if it were a sign from the Gods.

The journey home was agony for Cillian. He had been only a day from Baelfort when the illness had engulfed him.

He lay down flat in his carriage, sweating profusely from a fever and eyes blurring. The pain that engulfed his entire body made him look forward to the end. It was a terrifying thought, that if he closed his eyes now he wouldn't wake up again.

But he had to. He had to last one more day, to say goodbye to Fianna. To tell her he loved her and tried to look out for her.

He narrows his eyes as a figure appears to hunch over him, desperately trying to get his eyes to focus.

"Don't worry, my sweet. I am here."

His heart started racing, he hadn't heard the voice in almost 17 years. There was no way possible she was here now, in his carriage in the dead of night unless he was already dead.

"Miriam?" He choked out, his eyes filling with tears - of pain and of heartache.

"Yes, my love. I'm here, don't stress yourself." His vision focused suddenly and he could see her then, she hadn't aged a day since he seen her last, on the birthing bed giving him his heir.

She looked so much like Fianna, there was little of Cillian in Fianna's appearance at all - save for her nose and wide smile. The rest was all Miriam.

"How- how are you here?"

"It's time, my love. Come back to me." She reached out and placed her hand against his dampened cheek, he could feel it.

"I-I can't. Fianna needs me."

"Fianna's story begins now, my sweet. On this night. You can let go." Her voice started to drift out as he did, his eyes starting to roll back into his head as he fought desperately against it.

The last thing Cillian Bua ever felt was the soft, icy lips of his deceased wife against his forehead.

And then it was over.

So here we go!

I've been toying with the idea of a Robb/Oc fic for a while, and intended to do Robb/secret Targaryen fic but I got this idea of a Northern household and I couldn't just not write this after the ideas my brain spat out.

For a bit of background, I feel certain aspects of the Game of Thrones books were inspired by, if not eerily similar to Ancient Ireland. I myself, am Irish. I came up with the idea of having a Northern family inspired by Ireland before it was colonised, in particular the Irish language.

The wolfhound used as the Bua family sigil is an Irish wolfhound. Bua, Fianna and Chroí(spoiler: the wolfhound will be called this) are Irish words.

Bua: pronounced "boo-ah", means victory.

Fianna: pronounced "fee-ina", the name given to a warrior band in Irish mythology.

Chroí: pronounced "cree" means heart.

So yeah, I hope you enjoy the book and that I can live up to my own expectations I've set for myself!