A She-Wolf that Breathes Fire

Chapter One

Larra felt her little brother flinch when Ice, House Stark's Valyrian steel blade, came down and executed the deserter. Her hands squeezed Bran's shoulders in a show of support, understanding what he was feeling. Herself and Robb had been eight as well, the first time they watched their father dispense the King's Justice. Robb had flinched as well, his hand flashing over to hold her own as she paled and fought down bile. She remembered Theon's first time, the Ironborn making horrible jokes about criminals and beheadings. Even now, years later, it was obvious that Lord Stark's attempts at teaching Theon honor had been for naught as the older boy kicked the deserter's head away from the body. Larra turned Bran around to look at him, hoping to keep him from the sight of Theon's disgusting display. Did he have no respect for the dead?

"You did well, Bran."

Her compliment was enough to distract Bran from Theon's own comments with the guards. Bran was obviously relieved that everything was over and gave Larra a smile in gratitude, even if it was a bit weak. Seeing their father coming to speak with him, she turned away and checked over her saddle. Snowstorm had been a gift for her sixteenth namesday, over a year ago and chosen from among the herds of House Ryswell. The stallion had a grey-dappled coat with black stockings, mane and tail. As she stroked Snowstorm's neck, she listened as their father explained the reason behind his actions to Bran.

"The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

Larra felt the strength of her father's words fill her up and she was proud to be of the North. They may not have colorful clothing, fancy tourneys and all the splendor of court life, but Larra preferred the simple things. Her father instilled in her the importance of the strength of character, honor and bravery. Despite being a bastard and a woman, her father had allowed her to learn alongside Robb since before Sansa was born. Even when Septa Mordane joined the household, Larra learned the more 'womanly' pursuits from the maids and servants around Winterfell. Therefore, she was probably the most knowledgable person in Westeros, outside of the Citadel. She had learned everything Robb had learned as the heir to Winterfell, like politics, strategy and maneuvers and law and order. She was taught maths, economy, history and geography from Maester Luwin while a travelling musician had taught her how to play the harp, to sing and dance. Of course, Ser Roderick was in charge of swordplay and archery.

When the conversation turned to the deserter's last words, Larra felt a shiver run down her spine. Just like all the Stark children, Larra too had been told of the Northern myths and legends from Old Nan. Just a few months ago, Arya and Bran had persuaded her to go with them into the Godswood in the middle of the night to look for the Children of the Forest. While it had been years since she last feared being turned into a Wright by the Others, the words alone seemed to blare in her mind like a warning. There was something that struck her mind and stirred her heart every time such stories were mentioned. While most people, even Northmen, considered the tales nothing but something to scare children with, Larra often wondered if it was all true. Was it truly so hard to believe? The Wall stood over seven hundred feet high, stretched over three hundred miles across the Northern border and was made entirely of ice. Surely, if the Wall existed and Dragons weren't too long extinct, then the Others could be real?

"Are you alright, Larra?"

Robb's question broke Larra from her thoughts and she nodded to the redhead. She mounted Snowstorm as Robb helped Bran onto his pony and before long, their group was heading back to Winterfell.

-:- -:- -:- .Game of Thrones. -:- -:- -:-

Larra tried to smother her smile as she watched Arya join the line her siblings formed. She stood behind them all, Theon on her left and Maester Luwin on her right. They were lined up from eldest to youngest, Robb at their father's side, then Sansa, Arya and Bran. Rickon, at six, stood at Lady Catelyn's side. A month ago, after arriving back at Winterfell from the execution and finding the Direwolf pups, they were all told that the King was coming North. The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, had died and Larra had her suspicions on the King's timely visit. While the King greeted her father and siblings, Larra's grey eyes swept over the Southern party and tried to put names to faces. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Hound, Prince Joffrey and Ser Barristan Selmy were among the more well-known people. As her eyes roamed, they met a pair of blue ones that belonged to a tall man with broad shoulders and a stern face. Embarrassed at getting caught, Larra diverted her eyes and kept her gaze on the ground until everyone was dismissed. She wove through the crowd, feeling eyes on her back but refusing to look behind her.

A few hours later, Larra had changed from her dress into her usual training clothes. Her tunic, leather jerkin, trousers and boots were all black in color, helping her blend in with the darkness of night. Robb liked to joke that she dressed like a man of the Night's Watch, often calling her 'lady crow'. Of course, it was usually followed by Theon singing the song of Brave Danny Flint in an attempt at being funny. And as usual, he missed the mark by a mile. The sounds of the feast in the Great Hall spilled outside, causing Larra to strike the dummy harder with her practice sword. She hated that Lady Catelyn had banned her from the Welcoming Feast, citing her status as the reason. King Robert had numerous bastards, surely her presence wouldn't bother him? He probably wouldn't even notice her among the guards with the way he liked to drink. Like usual, Lady Catelyn took every opportunity to remind Larra of the clear distance between herself and her true born siblings. Like usual, Larra pondered on how she could make her own way in the world. She didn't want to be some servant or maid, when Robb became Lord of Winterfell after their father.

"Is he dead yet?"

Larra spun on her heel, recognizing the voice immediately and grinning at the new arrival.

"Uncle Benjen!"

Setting down her sword, she ran and embraced her uncle. Benjen had always supported her, whether by listening to her vent or by encouraging her to be herself. Unlike Lady Catelyn, who was cold and her father, who would sometimes distance himself from her, Benjen was always warm and welcoming.

"By the Old Gods," he said, looking down at her with a smile. "...you grow more beautiful every time I see you."

"Don't let Lady Catelyn hear you say that," Larra replied dryly. "Father has been getting offers from his bannermen for my hand in marriage. None of them have been foolish enough to offer a first born son yet, but she's still angry about it."

"He hasn't accepted any of them, has he?"

"No. He says none of them are good enough for me."

"He's right about that," Benjen agreed. "You need a True Knight or a Prince."

"You sound like Sansa," she replied. "I don't need some arrogant Knight or pompous Prince. I would be happy with a simple farmer as long as he was honorable and faithful to me. A man who could look beyond my face and see value in my thoughts, ideas and opinions."

"I hope you get just that, niece. You deserve to be happy."

Larra scoffed, "I think I have a better chance of hiding myself among the Night's Watch or becoming a sworn shield in Dorne."

"Larra."

"You should get inside, uncle. You don't want to miss out on the revelry."

Benjen sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he entered the Great Hall. Larra picked up her sword again and got a few strikes in before she was once again interrupted. A noise drew her attention away from the dummy and her eyes fell on who only could be Tyrion Lannister.

"What are you doing back there?"

"I'm preparing to spend time with your family," he replied, holding up a wineskin. "You are Lord Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

"If you're intention is to insult me, you might as well go join the feast," Larra stated, turning back to the dummy.

"Sorry. Sorry," he drawled out. "I didn't mean to offend you...but you are the bastard?"

"Lord Stark is my father."

"And Lady Catelyn is not your mother, making you...the bastard."

Larra remained silent, her jaw clenched tight. It was one thing to hear her status spoken by Lady Catelyn or Septa Mordane, but another thing entirely when it was by some Southern guest.

"Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

"Is that what you do?" Larra asked, spinning around to face him. "When Lord Tywin Lannister is staring you down, comparing you to your Kingsguard brother and your Queen sister? When everyone looks passed your intelligence and only sees an Imp? A Dwarf? A Monster?"

"Perhaps, we are bearing our parents sins? My father, ignoring his vows for some camp trollop, or tavern maid, or fisherman's daughter. Yours, for...well, every man, woman and child knows of Tywin Lannister's reputation."

"A sharp wit, an even sharper tongue with the face of the Maiden herself," he said, smiling at her and raising his wineskin as if in toast. "I think we will get along just fine, Lady Snow."

"It's Larra."

"Tyrion...and now, I bid you a good night."

"Good night."

Larra tracked his progess to the Great Hall, pondering on how his shadow grew as he got farther away. It seemed that even small men can create large shadows. Her body tensed when she heard shifting behind her and for the third time in an hour's time, she spun to find a man staring at her. If she hadn't been so upset and angry at the situation already, she might have been able to hold her tongue. Especially since the man was the same one she'd locked eyes with that morning. His gaze was intense and Larra felt his eyes boring into her own. She glared back at him in defiance.

"What now? What do you want? Come to get a look at the honorable Lord Stark's bastard too?"

"Well?" Larra asked, when he remained silent after her rant.

"I was merely surprised to find a woman practicing swordplay."

"Yes," Larra replied harshly. "It would be quite a sight for a Southron like you, wouldn't it? I'll have you know that the women of Bear Island fight alongside the men."

"You are not a woman of Bear Island."

"I've been lucky that my father allowed me to attend lessons with Robb, from what is expected of him as the heir to Winterfell to swordplay and archery. Of course, I've also learned the more 'lady-like' pursuits as well. My education, despite my status, has never lacked," she defended, her brows furrowing.

"But would you be able to use a sword for its true purpose? Would you be able to kill a man?"

"If the occasion calls for it. Try to harm my family or myself and you'll see just where the pointy end of my blade ends up. I promise you...it won't be pleasant."

For just a moment, Larra thought she saw the corners of his lips turn up. The moment passed and she decided it must have been a trick of the moonlight and darkness of night.

"I wouldn't go skulking about at night, my lord. You are in the North now and you might get caught by a wolf."

"Your advice is noted."

"Goodnight, then, my lord."

She swept into a graceful curtsey, adding a bit of a mocking dramatic flare to it. Larra spun around again and left the man behind her. Usually, she was much more reserved with strangers but the night had worn her down. She was seventeen and no closer to starting a life of her own than ever before. While she didn't envy Sansa, who had been betrothed to Prince Joffrey, it was a blow as her younger sister was only thirteen. When would it be Larra's turn? When would she be allowed to leave Winterfell? Some days, she felt as if she never wanted to leave. On other days, she felt as if she would never become anything more than Lord Stark's bastard if she didn't get out. She loved Winterfell, but with every year that passed, the walls felt more and more like a cage.

A/N: I do not own Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire or any of the characters...all rights belong to G.R.R. Martin, HBO and all those guys...