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Chapter Text

As the first light of dawn crept over the unforgiving terrain of the North, its warm golden embrace kissed the land, casting an ethereal glow upon the rugged landscape.

Elaena's grip on the reins grew taut, her steed charging through the Wolfwoods with an untamed vigor. Morning's first rays pierced the dense canopy, filtering through to create a mosaic of dancing shadows upon her path. These solitary rides away from the confines of Winterfell granted her a rare taste of freedom, a respite from the heavy burden she bore as Eddard Stark's illegitimate daughter.

The thunderous thunder of hooves reverberated through the towering trees, their rhythm pounding upon the snowy forest floor. Elaena's laughter erupted, a wild and melodic sound that hung in the crisp air, resonating like a bell as she ventured back towards the ancestral home. The last vestiges of snow, defiant against the impending arrival of spring, caught her gaze.

Finally, she arrived at Winter Town, a bustling hamlet nestled in the protective embrace of Winterfell's grandeur. As she rode through its narrow streets, young children, their faces alight with excitement, waved with all their might, desperately attempting to keep pace with her spirited mount. In a gesture of benevolence, Slowing her pace ever so slightly, she ensured that even the smallest among them could participate in this delightful race. The streets reverberated with jovial cries of "good morning," to which she reciprocated in kind.

Whispers, perpetuated by idle tongues, often asserted that Elaena's presence in Winter Town surpassed that within the walls of Winterfell itself. Elaena dismissed such talk with a disdainful scoff, asserting that her affinity for the company of Northern folk stemmed from a genuine connection to her people. The children's exuberant cries faded as she neared the outskirts of the settlement, bidding her farewell with joyful waves and heartfelt promises of swift return.

With flushed cheeks and a beaming smile, Elaena rode triumphantly into Winterfell's grand courtyard. A young stable boy hastened to her side, eager to assist her in dismounting. Yet, with a dismissive wave of her hand, she declined his aid, gracefully dismounting her loyal steed unaided.

"Another mornin' ride, Ellie," a voice called out. Elaena turned her head, catching sight of her twin, Jon, as he approached. The raven-haired girl flashed a mischievous grin, her hand tenderly caressing the mane of her noble steed. "Aye, I find meself ridin' more as the snow begins to thaw," she replied. Jon responded with an amused eye-roll, a sly smirk playing upon his lips.

From their earliest days, Elaena had been a creature of untamed spirit and boundless freedom. She was the one who clambered out of windows, ventured into the snow barefoot, sparred with the lads in the art of swordplay and archery, and donned trousers without a care. "Ellie," called out Robb as he approached the pair.

"Elli," called out Robb, their half-brother, born of their father's union with Lady Catelyn. He, with his mother's blue eyes and lustrous red-brown locks, bore a resemblance to his maternal lineage. But in spirit, he held fast to their father's legacy. "We had thought we'd be long gone ere your return," he remarked, closing the distance between them. Elaena, her dark mane framing a raised eyebrow, regarded him with a hint of puzzlement as two stablehands emerged, leading forth four horses.

"They've caught themselves a deserter from the Night's Watch," Robb explained, deftly seizing the reins of one mount from the stablehand's grasp. The vows of the Night's Watch, solemn oaths sworn for a lifetime, bound those who uttered them until their dying breath. To transgress such a sacred pact was to invite the cold embrace of death. Elaena's gaze momentarily shifted towards the horse, her curiosity piqued. "Will Bran be allowed to witness it?" she inquired, seeking confirmation. Robb, with an unwavering nod, affirmed her query.

An uneasy pit formed in her stomach. Bran was yet a mere youth, scarcely touched by the weight of the world. And yet, duty compelled him to attend. As a trueborn son, he was bound to face the specter of execution for the deserter from the Night's Watch. Her father's legitimate daughters, Sansa and Arya, would be shielded from such a somber spectacle. But Elaena, a bastard daughter, held no such prohibitions or expectations. The path lay open for her to partake in this grim affair.

"Prepare yourselves, for we shall soon ride out," Robb proclaimed, settling into the saddle of his trusty steed. Elaena nodded in acknowledgement, her ears catching the familiar sound of a neigh emanating from the stables. Emerging from within, astride a black mare, rode a lad of their own age, his countenance marked by dark locks and a lean visage—Theon Greyjoy, a figure well-known to them all. "Elli, care to join us?" Theon quipped, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. With a roll of her eyes, she retorted, "That depends on whether you can keep pace, Greyjoy."

After his father's ill-fated rebellion against King Robert, Theon had become a ward under their father's roof. Initially brimming with arrogance and self-assuredness upon his arrival as a boy, Theon had once questioned why Elaena engaged in training alongside the boys, arguing that a mere girl could not fight with true prowess. Yet, that altercation had swiftly come to an end, with Theon landing unceremoniously upon his rear while Elaena stood triumphant, the victor of their duel.

Theon let out a hearty chuckle, his mirth filling the air. "I shall accept the challenge," he replied, meeting her smile with his own.

"Mount up, everyone," their father, Lord Stark, commanded, striding into the courtyard, Bran, the youngest of their brood, trailing closely behind. "We depart henceforth," he announced, a tone of unwavering resolve coloring his words. Elaena moved swiftly to her steed's side, her hands firmly grasping the saddle as she nimbly hoisted herself into the saddle in one seamless motion.

Once Lord Stark had mounted his own noble steed, the company surged forward. Robb and their father led the vanguard, while Jon and Theon flanked them as they charged through the gates of Winterfell, embarking upon their journey toward the imposing Wall.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Unacquainted with the accused, save for his name—Will, a mere whisper carried by the winds—Elaena stood witness as two men, their faces hardened by duty, dragged the deserter towards the blood-stained log. Scarlet remnants of past beheadings marred its surface, bearing witness to the grim fate that awaited the condemned. Standing close to Bran, whose gaze mirrored her own, she sensed Jon's presence behind them, a silent sentinel by their side. The guardsmen relinquished their grip upon the accused, stepping back to grant him an audience before Lord Stark.

"I know full well I've broken my sacred oath. A deserter I am," Will confessed, his words hanging in the air, capturing the attention of all present. "I ought to have returned to the Wall and warned them, but... I saw it, I saw the White Walkers. The people must be made aware." Elaena pondered whether the man's words bore truth or if the frigid bite of the previous winter had muddled his mind. "If you can find a way to send word to my kin, tell 'em I'm no craven. Tell 'em I'm sorry," he pleaded.

A heavy silence lingered, broken only by her father's nod. Then, with resolute purpose, the guardsmen seized Will by the shoulders, compelling him to lay his head upon the log. A pang of empathy tugged at Elaena's heart, for the man knew well the vow he had sworn and the dire consequences that would befall him should he falter.

Theon, bearing the wolf-scabbard, presented it to her father. With measured solemnity, Lord Stark drew forth Ice, the ancient Valyrian blade of House Stark. As the steel touched the grass, Lord Stark bowed his head, commencing the pronouncement of the condemned man's fate. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name," he began, his voice reverberating with authority.

"Do not avert your gaze. Father will know," Jon cautioned Bran, whose eyes remained fixed upon their father. Elaena, her attention still captured by the scene unfolding before her, whispered softly to Bran, "It will be swift, Bran."

Lord Stark, the weight of his noble titles resounding, continued the dire pronouncement, "King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

In one swift stroke, Ice cleaved through sinew and bone, severing the man's head from his body. The severed cranium thudded upon the ground, its lifeless gaze forever frozen in a macabre tableau. Elaena witnessed a flicker of recoil in Bran's expression, though the young lad held his gaze unflinchingly. "You bore witness well," Jon commended Bran, before taking his leave. Elaena rested a comforting hand upon her brother's shoulder, leading him away from the grim aftermath, with Robb trailing behind. Deep inside, she silently prayed that the haunting spectacle would not torment Bran in his dreams.

Her attention shifted to her father, who now approached them. Elaena went to prepare her steed, leaving the two alone. She knew that he was imparting upon Bran the reasons why he had been the one to mete out the sentence of death, just as he had done with her when she was Bran's tender age. Her own experience involved the execution of a man named Gregor Tollett, who had met his end upon that very same log.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," she recollected her father's words, a weighty truth etched into the fabric of their lives.

With the solemn duty concluded, the group embarked on their journey back to Winterfell. Elaena rode slightly ahead of the rest, her thoughts swirling amidst the weight of recent events.

Her progress halted abruptly as she reached the bridge, where a fallen stag lay sprawled, its belly partially laid bare. Disemboweled, it appeared to have met its fate not long ago—the blood still fresh, the stench yet to permeate the air. Her gaze then caught sight of a trail veering off the beaten path, beckoning her curiosity.

There, she discovered it—a grand wolf sprawled lifeless upon the earth, its throat pierced by mighty antlers. Yet, it was no ordinary wolf, for its sheer size surpassed that of any normal specimen. A whimpering sound reached her ears, seizing her attention. Her gaze swiftly alighted upon a litter of six pups, nestled close to the lifeless body of their mother. A pang of sorrow reverberated within her, for the sight of these wretched creatures tugged at her heartstrings.

Elaena's senses sharpened as distant voices reached her ears, signaling the approach of the rest of the party. "Father!" she cried out, her voice piercing through the air. Within moments, the group converged upon her, their astonishment evident as they beheld the massive carcass before them. "A freak of nature," Theon quipped, unable to contain his remark about the wolf's size.

"It's a direwolf," Lord Stark corrected him, casting a knowing glance at Ser Rodrik before deftly removing the antlers. "A resilient and formidable creature."

Robb, still grappling with the sight before him, interjected, "There are no direwolves south of the Wall." Jon's words cut through the lingering awe, "Now there are five." Elaena knelt beside her father, selecting one of the pups and extending it toward Bran. "Would you like to hold it?"

Bran's face blossomed into a radiant smile as he eagerly opened his arms to receive the precious gift. With gentle care, Elaena placed the tiny pup into Bran's embrace, where it nestled, emitting a soft whimper of contentment. Her own smile tender, she remarked, "It seems he has taken a liking to you already," observing Bran's wide-eyed wonder at the sight of the pup.

Curiosity tugged at Bran, prompting him to seek his father's guidance. "Where will they go? Their mother is gone," he inquired, peering up at Lord Stark.

"They do not belong in these lands," Ser Cassel interjected, his voice filled with practicality. Elaena, unsettled by the suggestion, edged forward, positioning herself protectively before the litter.

"Swift death would be more merciful. Without their mother, they have little chance of survival," her father proclaimed, his voice firm and resolute. As the words hung in the air, Theon unsheathed a dagger, advancing toward Bran with an air of authority. "Hand it over," he commanded, his intentions clear. Reacting instinctively, Elaena interposed herself between Theon and Bran, shielding her half-brother with the litter clenched tightly in her grasp. Yet, before she could intervene further, Theon forcibly wrenched the pup from Bran's embrace, eliciting a surge of righteous indignation within Elaena. In an instant, she seized Theon's arm, her grip fierce and unyielding.

Her dark eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and defiance. "You dare not lay a hand on him," she snarled, her voice laced with venomous resolve.

"Lower your blade," Robb commanded, his voice echoing with authority as he confronted his father's ward. Elaena released her grip on Theon's arm, her fingers uncurling one by one, relinquishing their hold with disdain and reproach.

"The orders I follow come from your father, not from you," Theon retorted, his voice dripping with insolence.

"But he will be the next Lord of Winterfell, and you would do well to remember that," Elaena shot back, her gaze piercing through Theon with a contemptuous glare. "Please, Father!" Bran implored, clutching the pup tightly against his chest.

Lord Stark hesitated, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and resignation. Slowly, he turned away from the scene, preparing to put an end to the matter. However, Jon's voice, resolute and filled with conviction, halted him in his tracks. Lord Stark glanced back, his gaze fixed upon his baseborn son, awaiting the words that would follow. "There are five pups, Father. One for each of us Stark children. The direwolf is our House's sigil. It is our destiny to have them," Jon argued, his voice infused with a profound understanding of the significance at hand. Elaena offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods for her twin's astute observation.

All eyes rested upon Lord Stark, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. He released a weary sigh, his gaze shifting downward to Bran, who clutched the pup close to his chest. Elaena met her father's eyes, silently beseeching him not to deny them this chance. The moment hung suspended, pregnant with anticipation.

"You will raise them yourselves. You will nurture them yourselves. And if they perish, you will mourn them yourselves," he pronounced, his words resonating with a mixture of authority and resignation, before he turned and walked away. Relief washed over Elaena, a surge of gratitude coursing through her veins as she heard her father's decree. Robb brushed past Theon, while Jon handed two pups to their older brother. Robb passed the first two pups to Theon, reserving the final two for himself.

"What about you and Jon?" Bran inquired, his eyes searching Elaena's face for an answer. Elaena tenderly caressed his head, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "We are Snows, Bran, not Starks," she replied, her voice laced with a bittersweet acceptance. Together, she led Bran to follow the others, ascending the small hill. They were bastards, bearing the name Snow, not Stark.

Only then did Elaena realize that Jon had remained behind, seemingly engrossed in something. Theon and Robb, too, had paused, their attention caught by Jon's actions. "What is it?" Robb inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity, as Jon approached a nearby tree, reaching down to reveal two more wolf pups.

One pup was as white as freshly fallen snow, its eyes a striking blood-red hue, while the other possessed a coat as dark as the night sky, its eyes shining bright with a piercing blue gaze. Jon raised the white pup, its small form nestled within his palms. "The runts of the litter. These are yours, Snows," Theon jeered, a smirk dancing upon his lips. Elaena rolled her eyes at the jibe, her exasperation evident, as Jon handed her the black pup. The tiny creature nestled into the folds of her cloak, finding solace and security for the rest of the homeward journey.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Word of the King's impending arrival spread through Winterfell like wildfire, throwing the entire keep into a frenzy of preparation. Lady Catelyn assumed her role in readying Winterfell for the royal party, a task Elaena preferred to avoid at all costs. That woman held an intense hatred for both Elaena and Jon, their mere existence serving as a constant reminder of their father's infidelity.

Escaping the confines of the keep, Elaena and Jon wandered through the Godswood, their loyal pups trailing behind them. "I started that brawl because the man dared to question a woman's right to wield a weapon," Elaena retorted, her voice tinged with defiance. Jon chuckled at her spirited response, a fond smile gracing his lips as they reminisced about the tavern fight that had transpired a few moons ago. "Lessons were certainly learned," he remarked with a hint of amusement.

Indeed, those two men had learned the hard way that challenging Elaena was an ill-fated endeavor. The little white pup, named Ghost by Jon, frolicked in the snow, his movements as ethereal as his name. Its sibling, Cinders, belonging to Elaena, shook its head in mock disapproval at Ghost's antics. Elaena grumbled softly, gathering the fabric of her dress to avoid the snow's intrusion. Though the garment was undeniably exquisite—a charcoal grey wool robe with intricate textures, a high collar, and a fitted bodice—she couldn't fathom why it had to be so excessively long. Jon cast a curious glance in her direction. "Did Father insist you wear that?" he inquired.

She nodded with a sigh. "Indeed, he believes it will attract potential suitors or some such nonsense," she replied, her tone tinged with annoyance. The dark-haired maiden came to a halt, releasing her skirt, allowing it to cascade gracefully to the ground. "I'm well aware that Father has sent missives to several lords, inquiring about my potential marriage," she admitted, a touch of bitterness entering her voice. Elaena couldn't fathom why he bothered. No one desired her hand, and she certainly had no desire to be wedded to anyone.

"Besides, I have grander aspirations," Elaena declared with a dramatic flourish. Jon's face lit up with amusement, his grin spreading wide. "And what might those be?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I wish to remain a spinster.” she proclaimed boldly, her voice carrying an air of determination.  “free to compete in grand tourneys, traverse distant lands, and indulge in naught but lemon tarts until my last breath."

Her twin brother's features broke into an amused grin, his eyes alight with unspoken understanding. "And pray tell, what other wonders lie within the realm of your ambitions?" he inquired, eager to partake in her whimsical visions.

Elaena's grin mirrored Jon's, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Why, I shall conquer the world, one tart at a time," she declared, her words carrying the weight of jest and the promise of a lifetime filled with unbridled adventure.

◇──◆──◇──◆

 As the King and his entourage arrived at Winterfell's gates, a throng of eager onlookers had gathered outside the stronghold. Elaena and Jon stood apart from the Starks, acutely aware of their marginalized position within the family. 

 Riders bearing the banners of Baratheon and Lannister surged through the gates, heralding the King's arrival. Among them, a figure bedecked in shimmering golden armor astride a majestic white stallion captured Elaena's attention. However, her focus swiftly shifted as Arya materialized, attempting to slip past her parents incognito, donning a helmet. Ned intercepted his daughter with a stern gaze, demanding an explanation for her peculiar choice of attire. "What are you up to?" he inquired, plucking the helmet from her head and passing it to Ser Rodrik, while Arya maneuvered her way into the lineup, nudging Bran aside. Elaena stifled a giggle at the scene, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. 

 The King, bearing dark brown locks bordering on black and piercing icy blue eyes—the indomitable Baratheon traits—donned a reddish-brown leather garb draped beneath a cloak of black, perfectly suited for the North's chilly embrace. As King Robert dismounted his steed, the entire Winterfell assembly genuflected before him in reverence. 

 Approaching her father, King Robert motioned for the Starks to rise, and they obeyed his command. "Your Grace," her father greeted with a respectful nod. 

 King Robert cast a stern and somewhat vexed glance at him, his countenance etched with a mixture of anger and familiarity. "You've grown fat," he quipped, causing a collective gasp of surprise to ripple through the onlookers. Nevertheless, no one dared utter a word. Elaena's father met the King's gaze with a look that spoke volumes, a silent retort that said, "Look who's talking." The two men erupted into laughter, the sound of their mirth resonating as they embraced tightly—a testament to the depths of their enduring friendship. 

 "Cat!" King Robert exclaimed, his eyes turning toward Catelyn, and without hesitation, he enveloped her in a warm embrace. 

 "Your Grace," Catelyn reciprocated the greeting, her voice filled with genuine respect. 

 The King's eyes wandered to the young Stark siblings, ruffling Rickon's hair with a relieved sigh. "Nine years," he exclaimed, as if a weight had been lifted, "where have you been all this time, Ned?" His inquiry hung in the air, waiting for a response. 

 "Guarding the North in your name, Your Grace," her father replied, a warm smile gracing his lips. "Winterfell is yours." 

 As Elaene observed the unfolding scene, Queen Cersei Lannister, married to King Robert, alighted from her carriage. There was no denying the Queen's beauty, a captivating allure that drew eyes upon her. However, beneath the surface, those eyes held a shrewdness akin to a fox, ever calculating her next move. 

 Arya's curiosity surfaced, her gaze flitting between Sansa and the Queen. "Where's the imp?" she inquired, her words seemingly unsettling her sister. The "imp" in question referred to the Queen's other brother, Tyrion Lannister, a dwarf rumored to be despised by his own father, Tywin Lannister. Such tales spread like wildfire, but the truth behind them remained shrouded in mystery. 

 "Will you please be quiet!" Sansa retorted, redirecting her attention back to Joffrey, who sat atop his horse. Elaena held reservations about the prince, sensing an undercurrent of unease around him. However, Sansa appeared captivated by Joffrey's presence, blushing and nearly beaming at the young prince. 

 King Robert made his way down the line of Stark children, offering kind words to Sansa and encouraging Bran to flex his muscles, chuckling heartily at the boy's response.  As he concluded his interactions, Elaena overheard Robert turning to her father, his tone tinged with curiosity, "Where are your bastards, Ned? I haven't seen them since the war's end."

 Those words referred to her and Jon, who stood apart from the rest of the Stark family, relegated to the sidelines due to their status as bastards.  

 People made way for Elaene and Jon to step forward, but when the King's eyes fell upon her, his expression changed. His demeanor stiffened, his grin faded, and a sense of discomfort washed over her. Nevertheless, she maintained a graceful smile, concealing her unease. 

 "This is Jon," her father introduced, the two stepping forward to face the King. "And this is..." 

 "Elaene," Robert interjected, his gaze unwavering upon her "you look so much like her." There was no mistaking who he referred to. The likeness was uncanny, her appearance akin to that of her late aunt, the legendary Lyanna Stark. A tragic figure whose untimely death had sparked a rebellion that changed the course of Westeros' history, leaving thousands dead on the fields of battle. Though she had never met her, Elaene bore her face, forever bound to the legacy of a woman she'd never known but shared a striking resemblance with. 

 "Thank you for your kind words, Your Grace," Elaene replied, inclining her head in a show of respect, Jon mirroring her actions.  The King appeared to drift into another realm, lost in thoughts that wandered far beyond the present moment. "Your Grace," her father's voice broke the silence, pulling the King back to the here and now.

 "We've been riding for a month, my King. I believe the dead can wait," the Queen interjected, her tone betraying her impatience.  Yet, King Robert paid her no mind, ignoring her protests as he strode purposefully toward the crypts, beckoning Ned to follow. Left behind, Elaene, Jon, and the rest of the Stark family stood amidst the royal party.

 Gods, grant her strength.  she silently prayed for the day when the royal entourage would depart, relieving them of their presence. Until then, Elaene could only hope for the divine intervention that would grant her respite from their company.

◇──◆──◇──◆

 Elaene hastened her departure from the Keep, seeking solace among the common folk, away from the grandeur and intrigues that accompanied the royal party. Her journey led her along the dirt road toward Wintertown, the biting breeze familiar and unyielding, though she had grown accustomed to the chill. A respite from the pomp and splendor of noble feasts, she craved the simple pleasures of a tavern, sharing a tankard of ale with the lads and dancing till her feet cried out for respite. 

 Walking along the dirt road towards Wintertown, she felt the chilling breeze nipping at her nose, but such cold was a familiar companion, having long accustomed herself to the North's frosty embrace. As she ventured onward, a voice called out to her, "Running off without an escort, my lady?" 

 She turned around to face the man approaching, a smirk adorning his comely features. He had a tall and imposing frame, with blonde hair and striking green eyes. Elaene soon noticed his King's Guard armor, adorned with the colors of House Lannister. It didn't take her long to recognize the figure before her—the infamous Jaime Lannister, known as the Kingslayer. 

 She knew the whispers surrounding him, and  She held reservations about his act of killing the Mad King, questioning the integrity of a man who had broken his vow to protect his liege. Nevertheless, she retained her composure, acknowledging him with a curtsy. "Lord Lannister," she addressed him, meeting his gaze.  

 Jaime raised an eyebrow at her gesture, his golden locks cascading over his forehead. "You need not call me Lord Lannister," he responded, prompting her to stand upright. 

 "Then you need not address me as 'my lady,'" Elaene countered, facing him head-on, her eyes seeking to discern his intentions. His expression seemed to flicker with interest, as he questioned her further. "And why is that?" 

 "Because I'm no lady," she replied succinctly, honesty in her words. She was just the baseborn daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, without the titles or privileges of nobility. "I'm simply a girl," she added, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his face remained inscrutable. 

 "So, what should I call you, then?" Jaime inquired, leaving the choice in her hands. 

 Elaene's smile grew as she replied, "Elaene, just Elaene." They strolled together along the road, their footsteps leaving their mark on the melting snow beneath them. Curiosity got the better of her, and she couldn't help but ask, "May I inquire as to why you're venturing away from the Keep?" 

 Jaime hesitated for a moment, seemingly torn about whether to share the reason with her, possibly considering it unsuitable for a lady's ears.  Elaene cared little for the proprieties and formalities that constrained others; some of it seemed like utter nonsense to her. Sensing his reluctance, she pressed further, suggesting, "Perhaps it has to do with your brother, Tyrion?" Not having seen him arrive at Winterfell, she assumed he might have slipped away before the royal party reached the Keep.

 The knight sighed, conceding to her astute observation, his hand reaching to rub the back of his neck in discomfort. "Yes, at the..." he trailed off, seemingly uncomfortable to divulge the details to her.  yet Elaene wasn't one to shy away from blunt truths. She chuckled lightly, teasingly asking, "Does it have to do with a pleasure house?" Her intuition hinted at the brothel in Wintertown, where Theon and some other men frequented. The knight's face flushed, clearly taken aback by her directness.

 She was well aware of the brothel in Wintertown, despite its improper reputation. Some of her acquaintances worked there, and she knew Theon and other men frequented the establishment. "I can walk there with you, if you wish," she offered, mischief glinting in her eyes. "Then I could buy you an ale before we return to the Keep." 

 Elaene led him down the road, making their way toward Wintertown. The prospect of an adventure with the Kingslayer seemed to intrigue her, and her smile remained as she guided him on their little excursion.     

 ◇──◆──◇──◆ 

 They arrived in Wintertown after a few brisk minutes of walking down the road. To outsiders, it might have appeared ordinary and unremarkable, with its simple market square and muddy streets flanked by rustic houses. Yet, for Elaene, it held a charm unmatched by any other place in the North. The Smoking Log, the sole alehouse, was where they headed, and she was more than eager to venture inside with Jaime. However, the Kingslayer balked, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. He fretted over her honor and virtue, fretting about her reputation. But she cared not for gossip and was unswayed by his protests. Reluctantly, she obliged and waited outside,  Wrapped in her fur cloak, the impatience gnawing at her as she longed to get things moving.

   Finally, the door creaked open, and Jaime emerged, seemingly defeated. Elaene's instincts had been right; Tyrion wouldn't be returning with them. The knight looked at her wearily, and she offered him a slight but understanding smile. "I would not mind that ale, you promised," he requested. Elaene smiled, shaking her head playfully. "I think that is saved for another time. You have a feast to attend, don't you?" she replied, adjusting her cloak and turning back in the direction they came. Jaime followed, curious about her absence from the celebration.

 "Will you not be attending?" he inquired. Elaene hesitated, feeling the weight of her status as a bastard. She knew her presence, along with Jon's, would offend the highborn. "No," she answered bluntly, avoiding eye contact.  Her status as a bastard was not lost on her, and she knew that her presence, along with Jon's, would likely stir discomfort among the noble guests. "I was really hoping that you could," Jaime confessed, surprising her with his genuine interest. he smirked, looking back at her. "You are much better company than most I know,"

   Elaene smiled, her heart warmed by his words. "Well, perhaps another time then, Ser Jaime," she replied, leaving the rest unsaid .

Chapter Text

As Elaene reached her chambers, her mind was set on changing into something more practical and comfortable. The gown she wore had its charm, but she had nearly stumbled on its length one too many times that day. Trousers and pants were more to her liking, better suited for her active pursuits like sword training, horseback riding, and hunting. After all, she found such activities more enjoyable than being confined in restrictive dresses. Besides, with the hectic preparations for the feast, she doubted anyone would have the time or inclination to notice her absence. 

 
As she reached the door to her chambers, a voice called out her name. She turned to find Lady Stark, looking somewhat vexed, approaching her from the other end of the hall. Elaene greeted her politely with a curtsey, uncertain of the reason for the lady's visit. She half-expected another reminder to avoid the royals or any criticism for the slightest misstep she might have made.

However, Lady Stark's demeanor seemed different this time, her expression showing something other than the usual disdain. Her auburn hair cascaded gracefully down her shoulders as she stared at Elaene intently, her mouth forming a thin line. Then, the unexpected words came forth, "Elaene," she spoke, her voice measured, "you and your brother are invited to attend the feast,." The King wishes to have you both in attendance." The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Elaene couldn't believe what she was hearing.

 The revelation left Elaene momentarily stunned. The King was extending an invitation to her and Jon, of all people, to join the esteemed gathering. It was almost too surreal to believe. She managed a slight nod in response, struggling to process the unexpected turn of events. "Thank you for telling me, My Lady," she managed to reply, meeting Lady Stark's unwavering gaze, her blue eyes seeming to peer into her very soul.
   

 Elaene's worries shifted from the invitation itself to the dilemma of what to wear to a royal feast. She didn't possess a vast collection of dresses suitable for such occasions especially one hosted for the King. Her mind swirled with uncertainty as she pondered her limited options.  Lady Stark must have sensed her concern, for she added, "You have a dress laid out for you, and I'll send a maid to help with your hair." informing her before departing without further ado.

Lady Stark's words were a mixed blessing for Elaene,  Perhaps she could embrace her femininity for a little longer, and the prospect of seeing Jaime again wasn't entirely unwelcome.

  Entering her chambers, Elaene closed the door softly behind her,  savouring the brief solitude.  There, on her bed, lay the dress that Lady Stark had selected for her. It was a mesmerising midnight blue, with long sleeves and a high collar befitting the formality of the occasion. Delicate embroidery of small leaves and flowers adorned the gown in a golden thread, creating an enchanting pattern around the hem, sleeves, and neckline.  The craftsmanship was remarkable, and she reached out to touch the soft woollen fabric with a sense of awe. Her fingers traced the intricate embroidery, appreciating the skill and artistry that had gone into creating such a masterpiece. The beauty of the dress captivated her, and for a fleeting moment, she found herself embracing the notion of becoming a lady for the royal feast.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene stood outside the grand dining hall, where the boisterous clamor of the feast emanated through the closed doors. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, causing a touch of queasiness as she donned her new gown, hair partially braided to keep it from her eyes. Feeling a tad ridiculous in her ladylike attire, she couldn't help but wish she were elsewhere.  Her heart pounded with nerves, and she felt a bit queasy, like a sailor about to be seasick on stormy waters.

"You look like someone about to be seasick," Jon quipped as he stood by her side, glancing at his twin sister. to which she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You've never been on a boat, Jon," she retorted, though he shrugged nonchalantly. "It is what I imagine it to be," he added with a grin.

 With a small smile, Elaene adjusted her gown and braided her hair, trying to regain some composure. "Let's not waste any more time," she mumbled, her hand gripping the grand door handles of the dining hall. With a determined push, the doors swung open, revealing the lively and noisy hall filled with the merriment of the feast. As she entered, she sensed the sudden hush and felt the weight of gazes upon her. It seemed as though all eyes were fixated on her like she was some rare spectacle.  Undeterred, she kept her head held high and followed Jon to their designated seats. She couldn't help but sense the lingering gazes even as she settled into her seat. Even King Robert, her own father, and members of the royal party seemed intrigued by her presence. However, as she took her place, the noise and merriment resumed, as if the curiosity had passed.

 Amidst the joyful revelry in the hall, servants bustled about, bringing forth platters of delectable food while the music filled the air. Laughter and chatter intertwined as the men and women of the castle immersed themselves in the festivities. Elaene observed Jon engrossed in conversation with a squire boy, content to see her twin enjoying himself. A serving girl, Joan, poured her some wine, and Elaene expressed her gratitude before Joan moved on to serve others. 

 As she looked around the hall, her gaze landed on a female servant offering a drink to King Robert, who was among the crowd. The sight that followed made her uncomfortable. The king pulled the young girl close, behaving inappropriately. Elaene glanced at the queen, who appeared disgusted, and Lady Stark, who seemed uneasy witnessing the scene. The brunette herself couldn't help but feel repelled by such behavior. 

 Deciding to distract herself from the uncomfortable sight, Elaene headed toward Theon, who was attempting to charm a young lady. However, her path was intercepted by the queen's voice. "Lady Elaene, was it," the regal blonde called out from the high table. Pausing, Elaene turned to face the queen, and with a curtsy, she responded, "Yes, your Grace, I am Elaene Snow." She felt Lady Stark's gaze on her, but also sensed the tension between the two women. 

 The queen studied her intently, running her eyes over Elaene's form, making her feel a touch uneasy. "You are very pretty," the queen remarked, and the young woman couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback. "I'm sure many see that, not just me," the queen added with a hint of intrigue. Elaene wasn't quite sure how to respond, feeling a mix of flattery and awkwardness. "I'm not sure, your Grace," she answered modestly, unsure of how to receive such a compliment from the queen herself. 

Queen Cersei's piercing eyes remained fixed on Elaene, making the young girl feel somewhat uneasy. "How old are you exactly?" the queen inquired, her voice laced with curiosity. Elaene, not wanting to appear uncertain, replied firmly, "Sixteen." Her keen sense picked up on Lady Stark's caution, sensing the tension between the queen and herself. The queen's smile took on a sly edge, and she continued with her line of questioning, "Tell me, are you already promised to someone?" The question caught Elaene off guard, causing her cheeks to blush like sweet berries. She fumbled for an answer, unsure of how to respond to such an intimate inquiry from the queen herself.

Thankfully, Lady Stark intervened, saving Elaene from further embarrassment. "My husband is already looking for suitors for Elaene," she stated, providing a diplomatic response. "But she is not betrothed to anyone." Lady Stark's intervention seemed to appease the queen, but her gaze lingered on Elaene, leaving the young girl feeling uneasy.

"That's a shame," Cersei mused, taking a sip of her wine. "You look like a girl men would fight a war for." The chilling reference to her late aunt, Lyanna, who sparked a war, sent a shiver down Elaene's spine. She could feel the queen's keen interest in her resemblance to the fabled beauty. Cersei concluded the conversation, "I hope to see more of you during our visit." As the feast continued, the atmosphere remained jovial, and laughter filled the hall. Yet, beneath the merriment, Elaene couldn't help but sense an undercurrent of tension, both in her own emotions and in the exchanges around her.

Later on, Arya's mischief caused some commotion, flinging food at Sansa, which led to a chorus of laughter, though Sansa seemed less amused. Robb stepped in, capturing Arya, and their mother gave him a look that signaled it was time for the young Stark to retire to bed. The festivities continued into the night, but Elaene couldn't shake off the Queen's words and the feeling that she was being closely watched. 

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene stepped out into the courtyard, seeking respite from the bustling feast.The cold night air embraced Elaene as she stepped into the courtyard, seeking solace away from the vibrant festivities. Her feet gently crunched on the thin layer of snow, and she felt a mix of relief and weariness. The feast no longer held any appeal for her.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence, and she turned to see her Uncle Benjen standing there with a grin on his face. "Uncle Benjen!" she called out, running to embrace him. He returned the hug with warmth, and a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Look at you, you look like a lady now," he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from Elaene. "Much to my dismay,"  she replied with a wry smile.

"I couldn't leave you all with the Lannisters, especially your father," Benjen confessed, casting a wary glance towards the feasting hall. The Lannisters' presence had not gone unnoticed, and they seemed to be closely observing him throughout the night.

"He has his reasons, and it runs in the family, I think. I don't quite like them either," he continued, understanding her sentiments. Elaene nodded, her gaze also lingering on the hall's entrance .He glanced toward the feasting hall, where the Lannisters seemed to keep a watchful eye on him. "Cannot say I blame him," she admitted with a smirk. "I'd rather be eaten by actual lions."

Her uncle chuckled lightly at her jest and spoke of the Wall. "Life is so much easier on the Wall," he remarked, hinting at his own longing for the simpler life beyond the realm's politics. Elaene shared the sentiment, but she knew that the Wall was not an option for her. "No girls on the Wall," she sighed, knowing the rule all too well. Benjen seemed to hesitate for a moment before revealing, "Jon wants to go to the Wall... He asked me tonight."

The revelation about Jon's desire to join the Night's Watch shook Elaene to her core, leaving her mind reeling with disbelief and concern. She looked at her Uncle Benjen, her eyes searching for any signs of jest, but the seriousness in his gaze confirmed the truth of his words. "What?" she uttered, her voice tinged with shock. It was true that Jon had always admired the Night's Watch, but he had never spoken of it to her. The thought of him leaving Winterfell, leaving her, was hard to fathom. Her uncle nodded in affirmation, "I don't know, maybe Jon wasn't thinking right. It's up to Ned if he goes. You should talk to your brother," he suggested.

A flurry of emotions swirled inside Elaene as she contemplated what to say to Jon. She knew she had to talk to him, to understand his intentions and support him in whatever decision he made. "I will," she replied with a nod, steeling herself for the conversation that lay ahead. As her uncle left to return to the feast, Elaene found herself alone in the courtyard, her thoughts a maelstrom of uncertainty and worry. Seeking solace, she turned to walk back to her chambers. To her surprise, Cinders, her loyal direwolf, was waiting there in the snow, gazing up at her with his soulful blue eyes.  "Have you been here all night?" she inquired with a soft smile. Cinders responded with a yelp and a nod, and Elaene couldn't help but find comfort in his presence. "Come on then, let's get you out of the cold," she said, leading the way back to her room with her direwolf following closely at her side.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Her mind remained in turmoil as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of her room. Sleep seemed to elude her, and she tossed and turned restlessly. It was a battle she couldn't win, and Elaene finally surrendered to the fact that slumber would not come easily tonight. The weight of her brother's decision to join the Night's Watch bore heavily on her heart. She couldn't bear the thought of Jon leaving Winterfell and leaving her behind.

Elaene knew she was not destined for a grand life, nor did she desire one. The expectations of society, the restrictions of her birth, it all seemed suffocating. She yearned for a life of her own, free from the confines of societal norms and judgment. She craved a path that was uniquely hers, one where she could follow her own dreams without being bound by her birthright.

As minutes passed in solitude, she sighed, acknowledging that sleep would not embrace her this night. She rose from her bed, wrapping herself in a nightgown, and decided to venture out into the quiet halls. The castle slumbered, shrouded in shadows, with only a few dimly lit lanterns guiding her way. Her bare feet touched the cold stone floors as she made her way, her destination set on the library.

The library had always been her sanctuary, even as a child. During the darkest hours of the night, she would sneak in, seeking solace among the tomes, losing herself in the pages until dawn crept upon her. She opened the door with utmost care, ensuring no noise would disturb the stillness. To her surprise, some of the lights were already lit. She wondered if Maester Luwin was awake, or perhaps someone else had sought solace in the words of the countless tomes lining the shelves.

Amidst the dimly lit library, Elaene's gaze roamed the shelves, seeking a familiar companion among the countless tomes. Her fingers grazed over the well-worn spines of historical accounts she had read numerous times before. She considered which book to delve into tonight—perhaps the epic tales of The Dance of the Dragons, a recounting of the fierce struggle between the Blacks and the Greens, or the latest volume Maester Luwin had acquired on the History of House Targaryen. There was something about the Targaryens that captivated her, their powerful lineage, the majesty of their dragons. They seemed like beings from another world, and Elaene couldn't help but feel a sense of awe whenever she read about them.

As she contemplated her choices, a voice startled her from behind. "Another night reader, I see?" She turned to find a dwarf man with distinct features—a protruding forehead, stunted legs, and stubby fingers.  It could only be Tyrion Lannister, the infamous dwarf of House Lannister.  A moment of surprise passed before she regained her composure, a polite smile on her lips. "Sorry if I startled you, My Lady. I just came for the books," he offered, his demeanor surprisingly congenial.

"It is no problem, my Lord," she replied, correcting him. "And I am not a Lady."

Tyrion nodded, seemingly intrigued. "Ah, the not-Lady Elaene. My brother, Ser Jaime, spoke highly of you, indeed."

Elaene's smile grew a bit wider at the compliment. "Well, it must not be an everyday occurrence for the Queen's brother to speak highly of a bastard," she remarked, trying to maintain a certain sense of humor amidst the unfamiliar situation. 

Tyrion's chuckle resonated in the library's stillness, and he cast an intrigued gaze at the books Elaene was perusing. "Wishing to read about dragons, are we?" he quipped, genuinely curious about her choice.

With a nod, she selected The Dragonkin, holding it reverently in her hands as she shared a cherished memory. "When I was a little girl, I used to search the crypts for dragon eggs, the ones left by Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's dragon," she confessed, a fond smile gracing her lips. "I know it is silly, but I wanted one so I could fly away from here and see the world." Elaene's longing for adventure and escape shimmered in her eyes, as she recalled those innocent dreams of childhood.  Elaene remembers those days where she used to pray that she'd get a dragon of her own, that she could get on its back and fly from Winterfell with Jon, maybe Theon only if he agreed to be quiet for the journey.

Rather than ridicule her whimsical yearning, Tyrion responded with understanding and his own poignant tale. "When I was a child, an uncle asked what gift I wanted for my name day," he recounted, drawing her closer with his words. "I begged him for a dragon. 'It wouldn’t even have to be a big dragon,' I told him. 'It could be little like me.' Everyone laughed like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard."

Elaene listened intently, finding solace in Tyrion's words. His experiences mirrored her own, the longing for something magical and extraordinary. "Then my father told me the last dragon had died a century ago," he continued, his tone somber. The extinction of dragons had become a universal truth, passed down through generations, but that didn't extinguish.

the flicker of hope in Elaene's heart. "Do you believe that?" she asked, her gaze searching his face. "That there are no more dragons?"

Tyrion let out a sigh, his answer laced with uncertainty ."I don't believe any of us know for sure," he confessed, leaving the question suspended in the air, like the lingering echo of a dragon's roar. Before taking his leave, Tyrion bid her farewell with warm words, "I hope to see you again. Have a good night's sleep, Just Elaene." With that, he departed, leaving her alone amidst the tomes and stories of old, wondering if the tales of dragons were truly lost to history.

Returning to her chambers, Elaene lit a solitary candle, its flickering light casting dancing shadows upon the walls. She settled on her bed, book in hand, wondering about the realm of dragons and the possibility that somewhere, beyond the veil of reality, they might still soar. The truth remained elusive, but within her heart, the dream of dragons lived on.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene sought out Jon the next morning, venturing into the Godswood. The towering redwoods cast dappled shadows across the grove, and the soft tinkling of nearby streams filled the air. Birds sang their melodies from hidden nests atop the trees, and the ancient weirwood stood as a brooding sentinel at the heart of it all. "The heart tree," their father had called it. And there, Jon sat on a moss-covered stone beneath its watchful gaze, lost in contemplation. Elaene approached quietly, her footsteps crunching the fallen leaves underfoot, until she stood a few feet away from him.  As she approached, a pang of sorrow gripped her heart. She knew she had to discuss the matter that weighed heavily on her mind.

"When were you planning to tell?" she asked, her voice cutting through the serene atmosphere. Jon looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it gave way to heavy-hearted solemnity. He seemed to know that their uncle Benjen had likely shared his plans with her. "I didn't know how," Jon replied honestly, his gaze never leaving his sister's face. There was a deep bond between them, a connection that went beyond the boundaries of ordinary siblings. They were bastards, born with no mothers, and they had only each other to rely on. But now, it seemed, their paths were about to diverge.

Elaene's heart ached at the truth that lay between them. They had always been each other's anchor, their unwavering support in a world that often looked down on them. But now, the time had come for them to find their own paths. With a lump in her throat, she uttered the words she knew she must say, though they pained her to no end. "You should go," she said, surprising both Jon and herself with the firmness in her voice. She gave him a sad smile, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You can't stay because of me, Jon. You need to find your way in the world, and so do I."

Her heart ached as she said the words, even though she knew they were true. It was painful to imagine a life without her brother by her side. But she had to be brave, just as Jon had always been for her. They were Snows, trueborn in their father's eyes, yet still bastards in the eyes of the world. Their bond ran deep, but the time had come for them to face their separate destinies.

Jon mirrored her sorrowful smile, stepping closer to embrace her tightly. The tears welled up in her eyes as she clung to him, cherishing the familiar warmth of his presence. It was an indescribable pain to bid farewell to the person who had been her constant companion since birth.

"No matter what, you are my brother," Elaene whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"And you are always my sister," Jon replied, his touch gentle and reassuring.

As the two lone wolves of Winterfell, bastards of Lord Ned Stark, they knew that their paths would diverge, but their bond would forever endure. They were two halves of a whole, and nothing in the vast expanse of the Seven Kingdoms could change that immutable truth.

◇──◆──◇──◆

As Elaene made her way back to Winterfell's courtyard, she noticed the preparations for a hunt were underway. Her father, along with several men from the King's party, was getting ready to join King Robert on the excursion. Unfazed by the King's presence, she approached her father with a warm smile, her head held high in respect for the monarch.

"Father," her voice caught his attention, and he returned her smile. Elaene then turned her gaze to the King and dipped into a graceful curtsy, showing her gratitude for the invitation to the feast. "Your Grace, I hope you will both be safe on your hunt," she conveyed her well-wishes to them. King Robert responded with a hearty chuckle, a certain familiarity in his demeanor as he addressed her. "Thank you, Elaene," he replied, as if they had known each other for a long time.

"I best be going," she excused herself, offering one last respectful curtsy to the King and her father. As she turned to leave, she noticed a Lannister man leading a horse, seemingly in the direction of the King. The situation struck her as odd since the King already had his horse, and her father had his as well.

Before she could ponder further, the horse became startled by the sudden appearance of a hunting dog, barking and darting in front of the animal. The horse reared and neighed, its hooves scraping the ground in agitation. Concern flashed across Elaene's face as she watched the scene unfold. The Lannister man struggled to calm the spooked steed, but it was clear that he was having a hard time regaining control.

As the horse's hostility escalated, the Lannister man struggled to control the agitated beast, its hooves dangerously thrashing about. In the midst of the chaos, Elaene's sharp instincts kicked in, and she saw the impending danger. "Your Grace!" she urgently cried out, realizing that the King was perilously close to the enraged horse.

With fearless determination, Elaene acted swiftly, pushing the King out of harm's way just in the nick of time. But her brave intervention came at a heavy price. The horse's hooves struck her head with a punishing force, and pain coursed through her like a violent storm. She gritted her teeth, fighting to stay conscious despite the spinning world around her. Nausea clawed at her senses, threatening to engulf her completely.

The world blurred before her eyes, and Elaene found herself on the ground, her mind a tumultuous haze. Through the muffled sounds, she faintly heard her name being called, and another voice desperately shouting for a maester's aid. Yet, the darkness was closing in, and she struggled to stay aware.

Amid the chaos, she uttered a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn't be claimed by the Stranger and fade away from this world so abruptly. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her thoughts turned to her family and her dreams of a life unconstrained by her station. As the black cloud enveloped her vision, Elaene's last thought was a plea to the gods for mercy and the strength to hold on just a bit longer.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene groaned, her head throbbing with pain as she slowly opened her eyes. Blinking to adjust to the light, Confused and disoriented, she tried to make sense of her surroundings. she found herself in her own bed, in her room at Winterfell. Arya was asleep in a chair nearby, with Nymeria and Cinders at her feet. Beside Arya was Jon, also in a deep slumber, his mouth agape and Ghost lying peacefully on the floor. How did she get here? What had happened?

As if in response to her thoughts, the door creaked open, revealing Lady Stark entering with a tray of food. The auburn-haired woman halted, her eyes widening at the sight of Elaene now awake and looking at her. "Lady Stark...what happened?" Elaene inquired, her voice slightly hoarse. Before Lady Stark could answer, a little auburn-haired head poked into the room. It was Rickon, his face red and tear-streaked as well as snotty. "Elli!" he cried out, sobbing and reaching for her, making a beeline for his half-sister's side. .  Startled, Jon and Arya woke up. Arya's eyes widened with relief upon seeing Elaene conscious, while Jon immediately joined his sister's side.

Rickon's young voice was filled with distress, and he clung to Elaene, unwittingly causing her pain. "The Maester said you were going to die," he sobbed, tears welling up in his eyes. "Please, don't die again, Elli." Lady Stark intervened, gently pulling Rickon away, trying to soothe him. "Rickon, you must be careful. Your sister's head hurts, so we need to be quiet for her," she advised the little boy, who nodded with teary eyes, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"What happened?" Elaene asked, her voice shaky. "I just remember the horse hitting my head, and after that, I don't remember much," she recounted, her thoughts swirling back to the moment of impact. Then, a grave concern crossed her mind, and she thought of the King. "Is the King...?" she inquired, her worry evident. Lady Stark reassured her, nodding gently, "He's perfectly fine." The relief washed over Elaene, thanking the Seven for sparing the King any harm.

Jon chimed in, sharing the Maester's report, "Maester Luwin said there's no permanent damage, only a bruise and a cut on your head, but you were out for the day." Elaene gingerly touched the bandage around her head, absorbing the information. "The cut will heal in a week, the bruise might take longer, but you're lucky," Jon added, his face filled with concern. As Elaene sat up, she sensed that something was terribly wrong. The atmosphere changed, and she couldn't ignore the dread on Lady Stark's face. "Where's Bran?" she inquired, a sense of foreboding settling upon her.

"Jon, could you take Rickon and Arya outside for a moment?" Lady Stark requested, and Jon complied despite the protests from his younger siblings. leaving her and Elaene alone. The weight of what was to come now pressed heavily on Elaene's heart. "Where's... Bran?" she stammered, feeling the panic slowly grip her. With a heavy heart, Lady Stark sat beside Elaene, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as she began to explain, her voice tender yet filled with sorrow. "...Bran was climbing with his wolf, and... he fell from the high tower. He's alive, but he hasn't woken up since."

The news struck Elaene like a blow, and her emotions erupted uncontrollably. "No." Elaene's voice cracked with anguish, tears streaming down her face. "No, no, no, please, no," she pleaded, unable to comprehend the devastating news. Not Bran, he was a sweet and good-hearted boy, agile and sure-footed. "The Seven should've taken me, not Bran, not Bran," she sobbed, her grief overwhelming.  Lady Stark sat by her side, tears glistening in her eyes as she tried to comfort the devastated girl. In that moment, Elaene would have traded her own life if it meant sparing her brother from this tragedy.

Chapter Text

Elaene sat vigilantly by Bran's bedside, her hand firmly grasping his while he lay unconscious. No one, not even her father, Jon, Robb, or the Maesters, could dissuade her from being by her brother's side.  It had been three long days since the fall, and still, Bran showed no sign of waking. Maester Luwin attended to him diligently, but they could do nothing but wait. Her father and Lady Stark, never leaving his side, were desperate for any sign of improvement.  The Stark siblings and Jon took turns sitting with him, but Elaene was the most constant presence of all.

Despite her own recent injury from the horse incident, she had not left Bran's side.  In the two days she had been awake, she slept and ate right there in his room. Her father, Robb, and Jon attempted to convince her to take breaks, but she wouldn't hear of it. Robb even suggested forcibly removing her from the room, but Lady Stark intervened, asserting that Elaene needed to be there and threatened to send them to the Wall should they attempt such a thing.

It was surprising how the attitude of Lady Stark, who had once seemed to despise Elaene and Jon for being bastards, had changed in just a few days. The shift in demeanor was not entirely unwelcome. Lady Stark managed to coax Elaene into eating and resting, even if she remained at Bran's bedside. The Lady made sure fresh dresses were laid out for her and arranged for baths. In return, Elaene assisted Lady Stark in caring for Bran, helping clean and support him as they tried to feed him warm broth and watered-down wine.

Seated at Bran's side, Elaene held his hand while Lady Stark sat on the other side, deep in prayer to the Seven for her son's recovery. The door creaked open, and Elaene looked up to see the queen entering the chambers. The queen was adorned in red and dull gold, her body wrapped in a dark, almost grey, shawl to ward off the chill. Lady Stark began to rise, showing her courtesies, and Elaene followed suit, However, the queen gestured for them to stay seated. "Please," she said, "there is no need to get up on my account."

Nevertheless, Lady Stark and Elaene remained standing, showing the proper respect to their royal guest. Elaene felt the strain in her body from sitting for so long, but propriety was paramount. "We would have dressed, your grace," Lady Stark remarked, "If we had known of your visit." They weren't wearing their outer dresses, yet they were still decently clad. "This is your home," the queen replied, her voice gentle. "I am merely a guest. You need not concern yourselves with such formalities during such trying times. In truth, I feel rather selfish for intruding like this. 

The queen smiled slightly, then her gaze fell upon Elaene. "I never had the chance to properly thank you for saving my husband," she said. Elaene bowed her head in response, "There is no need, your grace. I did what anyone else would have done for their king."

The queen's attention returned to Bran, and Elaene noticed a glimmer of something in her eyes. "Handsome one, isn't he?" she said softly, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "I lost my first boy," the queen revealed, catching Elaene off guard with her words. "A little black-haired beauty. He was a fighter too..." The queen's voice wavered, and she looked away from Bran. "Forgive me," she hurriedly apologized, "It's the last thing you need to hear right now."

Lady Stark shook her head, clearly taken aback by the queen's revelation. "I never knew," she said, her voice filled with genuine sympathy.

Elaene mustered her courage and spoke from the depths of her heart, "My condolences, your grace. No mother should have to go through such a thing."

Queen Cersei's gaze drifted off, lost in memories of the past. "It was years ago," she began, her voice tinged with melancholy. "Robert was crazed, beat his hands bloody upon the wall." A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "The things men do to show you how much they care..." She turned her eyes to Lady Stark, her face revealing the vulnerability behind her regal facade. "The boy looked just like him, such a little thing... They came to take his body away, and Robert held me. I screamed and I battled, but he held me. That little bundle. They took him away, and I never saw him again. Never visited the crypt, never."

The room fell into a somber silence as Lady Stark and Elaene absorbed the queen's pain. Cersei lowered her head, offering a solemn gesture of respect to Lady Stark. She looked at Lady Stark, her eyes filled with sorrow. "I pray to the Mother every morning and night that she returns your child to you."

Both Lady Stark and Elaene bowed their heads in return, grateful for the queen's sympathy. "We are most grateful for that, your grace," Lady Stark replied with genuine gratitude.

The queen offered a brief smile, her emotions still raw but momentarily soothed by their understanding. "Perhaps this time she'll listen," Cersei said, her voice carrying a glimmer of hope. With those words, she took her leave, leaving the two women to find solace in each other's shared sorrow.

◇──◆──◇──◆

it was an hour after the Queen's departure, when Jon came, asking his sister if they could take a walk through the Godswood. At first, Elaene hesitated, unsure about leaving Bran's side, but Lady Stark assured her that Bran would be looked after until she returned. So, she agreed to go with Jon. Thus, the two siblings ventured into the depths of the ancient forest, their feet treading softly across the carpets of fallen leaves that blanketed the ground beneath them. 

Jon broke the silence with sudden resolve. "I'm not going to the Night's Watch," he declared, his words carrying weight and conviction.

Elaene's eyes widened in astonishment at his revelation. She gazed at him, searching for any sign of jest in his expression, but Jon's face was serious, and she knew he spoke the truth.  Relief washed over her, like a gust of fresh air through the trees, grateful that the burden of her brother leaving her was lifted, even if just for the moment. "Why?" she inquired, curious as to what had prompted this change of heart. "I thought that was what you wanted."

Jon gave her a faint smile, the weight of his decision evident in his eyes. "I realized you were right about something," he said, drawing her attention. With a smirk, Elaene playfully crossed her arms. "You may need to be specific, Jon," she teased. "I'm right about many things."

Her brother snorted with amusement, but then he looked at her with a knowing gaze. "That no matter what, you are my sister," he said gently, and Elaene's smirk softened into a genuine smile. Jon continued, his voice steady, "I cannot leave you, not now or even later in life. We're Snows, and we need to stay together."

A playful glint sparkled in his eyes. "Besides," Jon added with a smirk of his own, "I would also like to eat nothing but lemon tarts with you for the rest of our lives." Her smirk softened into a genuine smile as she nodded in agreement. "Then it's settled," Elaene replied, her heart swelling with gratitude for her brother's decision. "We face the future together, side by side, as we always have."

◇──◆──◇──◆

The next day, the news spread like wildfire that their father had accepted the King's offer to be his new Hand. And as a result, he announced that Elaene and Jon would be accompanying him, along with Arya and Sansa, to the capital. While Elaene wasn't entirely sure about the idea of leaving their home, the prospect of seeing more of the world excited her.  Sansa, in particular, was thrilled about the journey. "I'm going to be the Queen, Elli! I'm going to marry Prince Joffrey and have his babies!" she exclaimed to her half-sister, beaming with excitement as Elaene worked on styling her hair, while her mother, Lady Stark, tended to Bran. As part of the King's offer, Prince Joffrey was betrothed to Sansa.

Elaene thought Sansa was too young to be concerned about such matters as marriage and having children. There was something unsettling about the young prince Joffrey, but she chose not to voice her doubts. Seeing Sansa's happiness was paramount, and Elaene would never wish to be the cause of any disappointment for her sister. Sansa continued to ramble anxiously, overwhelmed with thoughts of what lay ahead. "I don’t know what dresses to pack, and I don’t know how to get Arya to interact with the Queen. What if Joffrey doesn't like me because Arya is rude? What if the Queen thinks I'm wild because she is and I'm only pretending? I have to be perfect, but what if I mess up?"

Elaene gently interrupted, "Slow down," she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "You need to breathe. Everything will be fine." With a comforting smile, Elaene finished arranging Sansa's long auburn hair. Kneeling down beside her, she offered reassurance, "And you will make a wonderful queen."  Sansa looked at her skeptically, "How do you know that?" she inquired. "Because I am your sister, and I know you, Sansa," Elaene replied, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Sansa's face. "I know you shall be a good and kind queen to your people."

Sansa nodded, her heart touched by Elaene's words. Her sister's smile was infectious, and she couldn't help but feel the warmth of the moment. "I also got you something," Elaene said, her smile widening. "Consider it a congratulatory gift on your betrothal." Sansa's eyes sparkled with curiosity as Elaene reached into the pocket of her dress, retrieving a small object and placing it in Sansa's open palm.

As she unfurled her hand, Sansa gasped in delight. It was a silver chain with a wolf pendant, elegantly crafted. "It's beautiful," she breathed, holding it close to her heart. Elaene's words added to the gift's significance, making Sansa feel truly special. "Thank you, Elli. I love it," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. Elaene gazed at Sansa with fondness. "It won't be as grand as the jewels you'll receive in King's Landing as a queen, but this necklace is for you and only you," she explained. Looking into Sansa's eyes, she continued, "It's a reminder that you will always be a Stark, no matter where you are." A radiant smile bloomed on Sansa's face, and she embraced Elaene tightly, wrapping her arms around her half-sister's neck.

It was all so strange, how everything was changing. Elaene knew she would miss Winterfell dearly—the steaming walls, the snowy landscapes, the dinners with her entire family, the exhilarating rides with Robb, Theon, Jon, and Bran. "I will always miss home, no matter where I am," she thought, her heart heavy with the bittersweet reality of leaving behind what she knew and loved.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene peered out of the window, observing the royal party preparing for their departure. The King, Queen, their children, and the Lannister brothers were nowhere in sight, but she knew they would be leaving soon. She and Jon had already finished packing, though their belongings were modest. They knew they would receive new clothes upon reaching King's Landing, as the attire they had was suited for Winterfell's colder climate. Elaene's plain shirts and trousers were deemed unsuitable for court by some, but she paid no mind to such judgments.

As she stood by the window, Theon Greyjoy approached, leaning against the ledge. "It's going to get boring here without you," he remarked.

Elaene scoffed playfully. "Boring, huh? I suppose you'll miss our little sword training sessions, won't you? You never were amused when I beat you three."

Theon chuckled in response. "Here I was, worried King's Landing would change you."

She smiled at the memory. Years ago, their father had left to join King Robert during the Iron Islands rebellion. Months went by before he returned home, and the Stark children were thrilled. Elaene and her siblings eagerly prepared for his arrival, though they truly had very little to do. Still, they eagerly readied themselves, eagerly anticipating their father's return.

On that day, she had watched her father ride back to the Keep with his men. By his side was a boy not much older than Robb, with dark hair and dark eyes. The boy looked like a scared pup, as if he feared someone might pounce on him at any moment.

That boy was Theon, when he first arrived at Winterfell. Elaene remembered how Jon and Robb bombarded the poor lad with questions, leaving him uncomfortable and out of place during the weeks that followed. He often hid in his room when not studying with them or at meals.

Elaene felt sympathy for him, understanding his plight. Theon had been torn from everything and everyone he knew, thrust into a strange place with unfamiliar faces. Thus, she treated him with gentleness and kindness, not pushing him to open up, but rather coaxing him out of his shell with games, treats, and books.

The turning point came when Ser Rodrik Cassel returned, and they resumed their arms training.  Theon made a thoughtless remark about Elaene's involvement, claiming she shouldn't be training because she was a girl. But that ended with Elaene emerging as the victor of their spar, and Theon with a mouthful of snow. Robb then told Theon that he had lasted longer against Elaene than he or Jon had, prompting Theon to speak to someone other than her father, Lady Stark, or Elaene. "We'll beat her someday," he said to Robb, and  From that moment on, Theon became a brother in arms, a part of their close-knit circle.

As the time to depart for King's Landing approached, Theon stood with Elaene by the window. "I'll write to you as much as I can," she told him.

A warm smile graced Theon's face. "And I to you," he replied. Their bond had grown strong over the years, and Elaene knew that even with the distance between them, they would remain close at heart.

◇──◆──◇──◆

The time of departure arrived swiftly, catching Elaene off guard. The next morning came like a sudden gust of wind. Before anyone else rose, she readied her steed for the journey. Most of her belongings were already packed in the carriages, but she kept her personal items close in her saddlebag for easy access. She had been offered a place in the carriage with Sansa and Arya, but she declined.  Elaene preferred the freedom of riding her horse, seeing the world pass by as they traveled.

As she readied herself, the howling of dogs drew her attention to the kennel. There stood Prince Joffrey and his imposing bodyguard, Sandor Clegane, known as the Hound. From a distance, Elaene could hear Joffrey's smug remarks, something about "better looking bitches than you're used to, Uncle." Tyrion, the dwarf man she had met in the library, seemed to have slept outside the kennel, as he staggered to his feet. Elaene raised an eyebrow, slightly amused and concerned for his discomfort. She continued with her preparations, half-listening to their conversation.

"Before we go, Joffrey will call on Lord and Lady Stark and offer your sympathies," Tyrion stated in a demanding tone.

"What good will my sympathies do them?" Joffrey retorted in disbelief, displaying his callous nature. Elaene couldn't help but wonder how selfish this boy truly was, lacking any human decency to consider others. "None. But it is expected of you," Tyrion reminded him sternly, "Your absence has already been noted."

"The boy means nothing to me," Joffrey responded callously, "And I can't stand the wailing of women. Why do you think I've kept my distance from my elder sister all this time? She cries like a little b--" Before Joffrey could finish his sentence, the sharp sound of a slap rang out, causing Elaene's eyes to widen. She quickly covered her mouth to suppress her laughter as she watched Tyrion deliver the satisfying blow to his arrogant nephew, a sight that brought satisfaction to her heart.

"One word and I'll hit you again," Tyrion warned, and Joffrey seemed to doubt the threat.

"I'm telling Mother!" Joffrey cried out, but his threat only led to another swift slap from Tyrion's hand.

Elaene stifled her laughter with a well-timed cough, careful not to draw their attention. Elaene stifled her laughter, disguising it as a small cough that they paid no attention to. Tyrion's stern voice continued, unyielding in his demand, "Go! Tell her," he encouraged Joffrey, "But first you will get to Lord and Lady Stark, and you will fall on your knees in front of them and tell them how very sorry you are, that you are at their service, and that all your prayers are with them. Do you understand?"

"You can't—" Joffrey attempted to argue, only to receive another sharp slap from Tyrion, cutting him off.

"Do you understand?" Tyrion asked Joffrey, who glared at him before storming off. After Joffrey had left, the Hound turned to Tyrion. "The Prince will remember that, little lord," he reminded Tyrion, who didn't seem bothered by it. "I hope so. If he forgets, be a good dog and remind him," Tyrion instructed the Hound. Elaene smiled to herself, pleased to witness the prince's arrogance crumble under Tyrion's firm hand.

"Not riding in the carriage," a voice asked. Elaene glanced over to see Tyrion standing a few feet away from her.

"I don't like being inside a carriage for more than an hour at best," Elaene answered, making sure her horse was secured to the railing.

The dwarf nodded approvingly. "Can see that," he said. "Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

Elaene smiled warmly. "I don't see why not."

She followed him as they walked towards the dining hall. Inside, Tyrion issued orders to the servants, instructing them on his preferred breakfast. "Bread. And two of those little fish. And a mug of dark beer to wash it down. And bacon, burnt black." He seemed to have a way of getting what he wanted.

As they approached the table where the rest of the Lannister family sat, Queen Cersei looked somewhat surprised upon seeing Elaene, along with Jaime.

"Little brother," Jaime greeted Tyrion with a smile.

"Beloved siblings," Tyrion greeted them back, glancing between Jaime and Cersei. He then picked up young Tommen and moved him to the side, making room for Elaene to sit next to him on the bench. "I hope you do not mind me bringing a guest," Tyrion said with a courteous nod. Elaene curtsied as she arrived at the table. "Your Grace," she greeted the queen respectfully.

Queen Cersei smiled, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes as she addressed Elaene. "Elaene, wonderful to see you," she said, her tone polite, but her gaze sharp. Elaene maintained her composure, showing respect to the Queen as she took her seat next to Jaime and across from Cersei.

Cersei turned her attention to Tyrion, her expression turning bored as he started to eat. "You must be quite excited, traveling to the south. You must have heard much about the capital," she directed her conversation towards the young Snow girl. "Of course, your grace, and I'm excited to see it," Elaene replied, nodding politely. "I've never set a foot out of the North." Cersei's reaction was hard to read, and she simply nodded in response.

But the atmosphere changed when Princess Myrcella, seated beside her mother, asked an unexpected question. "Is Bran going to die?" Elaene blinked, trying to process the sentence. "Myrcella, you should not ask such things. Apologize to Elaene," Queen Cersei chided her daughter.

Elaene shook her head urgently, "No, it is okay, your grace," she said, then turning to Princess Myrcella, "No, Bran will be fine. The Maester said he'll wake up soon," she reassured the young girl. The brunette then put her focus back on the Queen, "I still don't understand how it happened. Bran has been climbing since he could walk. He's always been so surefooted." When Elaene said that, she noticed Queen Cersei tensed, exchanging a worried look with her brother Jaime.

"Only the Gods know for certain. All the rest of us can do is pray," Tyrion commented before turning to look directly at Cersei, "The charms of the North seem entirely lost on you."

"I still can't believe you're going," Cersei told her younger brother, her tone disapproving. Elaene raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Tyrion. "Are you visiting the Wall?" she questioned.

"It is the greatest structure ever built, the intrepid men of the Night's Watch," he answered before turning to speak to Prince Tommen, "The wintry abode of the White Walkers." Tommen began to giggle, causing Elaene to smile warmly as she spoke up, "I would love to see the Wall myself someday." She told the group brightly, then smirking, "That and also eat lemon tarts for the rest of my life or ride a dragon, but I will get one of them done."

Tyrion grinned, gesturing his hand toward Elaene as he spoke to Cersei, "See, Elaene has the right idea!" He praised the girl, causing Elaene's smile to grow even wider, "Even she has made goals for herself to achieve, even if they sound absurd to others. Well done!"

Elaene grinned sheepishly, and Cersei immediately gave her a scolding look for a fleeting moment. "Tell me you're not thinking of taking the black," Jaime told Tyrion, wanting to change the subject before things grew too tense. "And go celibate?" Tyrion asked mockingly, "The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock."

Jaime and Elaene shared a look, both of them looking amused while Cersei looked beyond annoyed by her younger brother. "No, I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off the edge of the world," Tyrion continued on, causing Jaime and Tommen to laugh. ueen Cersei was quick to speak up, "The children don't need to hear your filth," she told him coldly, causing Tyrion to grin at Elaene, who gave a slight smile. "Come," Cersei demanded, both Tommen and Myrcella immediately obeying, "Apologize on my behalf, Elaene, for his behavior," telling the girl before leaving with her children.

Elaene got up and curtsied to the Queen as she and her children left, before sitting back down. "So, I hear that you have been training with a sword," Jaime said, more so asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. The brunette nodded as she sipped from her goblet before answering the man, "Since I was a child, that and archery, along with horse-riding." Ser Jaime tilted his head as Tyrion watched his brother carefully from where he was seated. "Most, including my father, think it is unnatural for women to fight," Jaime said.

The girl didn't seem phased by the comment, placing her goblet back on the table. "It's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall," Elaene retorted, a sly smile slipping onto her lips as she did, "and yet there your father stands." Tyrion let out a hearty chuckle at her words as Jaime smirked at the young Snow's response. "I think our father would have a fit if he ever heard that," Jaime said, chuckling to himself.

"I would give up wine to see it," Tyrion mused playfully. Elaene couldn't help but laugh at the thought of the Elder Lannister's face going all shades of red, spluttering as he was rendered speechless from the comment. "Anything else that you do?" Jaime asked. The brunette paused for a moment. "I'm good at dancing and singing, according to my brother Robb," she said, "I know how to play cards, Cyvasse, and a few other games. Other than that, I read a lot," Elaene replied.

"A scholar like my brother," Jaime stated. "Any subjects of interest?" he inquired, genuinely intrigued by the young girl's pursuits. Elaene smiled, happy to share. "History, sometimes of Westeros or of far-off lands like Essos or Sothoryos, the kind of places I hope to explore someday," she said with a glint of wonder in her eyes.

Jaime nodded, seemingly impressed, giving the girl a kind smile which did not go unnoticed by Tyrion. "And exploring the world is a noble ambition. Who knows what wonders you might find beyond the North?" Elaene smiled at the Lannister, a bit of blush coming up on her cheek. The brunette got up from the table, the two men still seated. "I must get going; I promised Lady Stark I'd help with Bran this morning," she said. "Thank you for letting me join you. I will see both of you when we head for King's Landing."

"I do hope so," Jaime said.

Elaene curtsied as she then headed off, Jaime's eyes following her as she left the hall, leaving it empty with just Jaime and Tyrion. "Finally found a girl that's to your liking," Tyrion said, making his brother look over at him, a shocked expression crossing Jaime's face for only a mere moment before he got a hold of himself. "I don't know what you're talking about," he attempted to dismiss the matter. His brother only smiled to himself, clearly not believing a word of it. Tyrion took his goblet, then patting his brother's shoulder, he said, "You tell yourself that all you wish," before getting up from his seat and walking away from Jaime.

Chapter Text

Elaene never knew how hard it would be to bid farewell to Bran. The fact that she might not be there when he woke up broke her heart a little. Lady Stark promised that she would write to her, Arya, and Sansa whenever she could, assuring Elaene that she could write letters to Bran, and Lady Stark would read them to him. A part of her smiled at the thought, and she thanked the Lady, promising to keep Sansa and Arya safe while they were in King's Landing. She knew it brought relief to the older woman, knowing someone would look out for her daughters.

Robb told her to stay out of trouble, and then Theon added a teasing remark about making sure she didn't go mad from being in court for so long. Robb rolled his eyes at Theon's jest, but Elaene burst out laughing from the comment.  She would miss them both dearly, but at least she had Jon with her.

The royal party left Winterfell in the late morning, with many men, women, and children waving their farewells to the King and their lord. The men going to the Wall would travel with them until the road came to a split. Jon and Elaene rode in the back, careful not to get in the way of any of the Kingsguard. Their father rode a little ahead of them, but every now and then, he looked back at the two of them as if to check if they were okay.  "I think father is only bringing me along so I can find a husband at Court," she said to her twin, their direwolves, Ghost and Cinders, at the feet of their horses.  Jon gave her a look, and Elaene shook her head slightly at the thought. "He's not going to give up on it," she sighed to herself.

As they rode along the winding path, Jon looked over at Elaene with a mixture of concern and understanding in his eyes. "You know, he just wants what he thinks is best for you," he said gently,  "I know, Jon," she replied, her voice tinged with frustration. "But you also know how Father can be when he sets his mind on something. It's like trying to move the Wall itself." Her gaze wandered to the distant horizon. She was nearly a woman grown, despite being a bastard. Yet, her father still sought a match for her hand.

Elaene knew she was fortunate to have a father who cared for her, unlike many lords did with their bastards. But she wished her father could see that she desired a different life. She had witnessed the state of some marriages, much like that of the King and Queen. he's seen the state of some marriages, much like the King and Queen. Elaene knows that Lady Stark and her father's marriage was a thing of luck, that they fell in love with each other.

She doesn't want to be cooped up in some castle and made to bear heirs; it's not her desire.

Jon sighed, a furrow forming on his brow. "I don't see why you're against it so much," he questioned, genuinely curious about her feelings.

"Because I'm so sick of people saying that life is just all a woman is fit for," she retorted, glancing over at her twin. "We have minds, and we have souls, and hearts. We have ambition and talent, as well as just beauty." The twins rode on, a brief interlude of silence passing between them. The wind gently rustled the leaves of the trees, and the sound of hooves on the dirt road filled the air. Elaene took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the pine forests around them. The rhythmic clip-clop of their horses' hooves provided a soothing backdrop to their thoughts.

Finally, breaking the quietude, Jon spoke softly, "I know that, but I know you're not entirely against it."

She let out a small sigh. Of course, she wasn't entirely against the idea of marriage. “I know you will marry," her brother said, making Elaene glance at him over at him. "I know you’ll find someone, and love them, and you will live and die for them," Jon smiled gently at his sister, a mixture of admiration and affection in his eyes. "Because that’s your way."

Her heart warmed at his words, and she smiled gratefully. "When did you become so wise, brother?"

"I believe that was from you," Jon answered as Cinders and Ghost howled, making them look up to see the royal party's carriages appearing to stop for the night. As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the countryside.

◇──◆──◇──◆

As the royal party settled in for the night, they set up camp near a small stream with the fading light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the clearing. The air turned cool, and a crackling fire provided warmth and comfort.

Elaene dismounted from her horse, patting Cinders affectionately as she tied him to a nearby tree. Jon tended to Ghost, the white wolf sitting obediently by his side. The two of them then made their way towards the central campfire, where the rest of the party gathered. The scent of roasted meat filled the air, the laughter and cheers of drinking could be heard as soon as they got closer. It seemed that wine was a very popular thing in the south, along with getting drunk.

One man stumbled in front of them, his face planting on the ground. Elaene and Jon stifled a laugh as they quickly stepped over the man. Elaene set off to find Arya and Sansa while Jon went to find their father. It was difficult to navigate the crowd of people, especially those who were very drunk. She was certain that many men were eyeing her like hungry dogs to a piece of meat, which made her cringe at the thought.

"A little Lady like you shouldn't be walkin' around this late!" a knight yelled at her from where he was with some of his comrades, his voice slightly slurring from the alcohol he had. The brunette rolled her eyes at the man, heading off away from him. "Shame such a pretty girl is a bastard. Then again, she might make a good whore!" he yelled after her. Elaene didn't even get to turn around before the knight was punched in the face. In a split second, an entire group of men descended into a fight.

As the drunken men brawled in the camp, the chaos drew the attention of the King's guards and other members of the royal party. The sounds of shouting and clashing metal filled the air, and some of the more level-headed members attempted to intervene and break up the fight. Elaene pushed through the crowd until she spotted Arya and Sansa, along with Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, huddled together near a cluster of tents. Sansa and Myrcella looked frightened, while Arya and Tommen seemed excited by the whole endeavor, trying to get a better look at what was going on, but most importantly, they were unharmed.

"Are you all alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"We're fine, Elaene," Sansa replied, her voice trembling.

"What's happening out there?" Prince Tommen asked curiously.

"Just a little scuffle among some men, my Prince," Elaene said, trying to downplay the situation for the younger children, as she unsheathed her blade and kept it at the ready, just in case. "Why don't we go to your mother? She's probably worried sick about you." That seemed to calm Princess Myrcella as Sansa helped the girl up to her feet. But before she could say anything else, a drunken man lunged at her with a dagger. Sansa and Myrcella shrieked, Elaene's heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively placed herself in front of the children. However, just before the man could reach any of them, a figure in dark armor swooped in, intercepting the attack.

It was Sandor Clegane, the Hound. He knocked the drunken man to the ground with a single punch, then looked over his shoulder at the brunette. "Get the hell out of here!" the Hound barked at Elaene.

Without hesitation, they obeyed. The four followed Elaene away from the drunken fight, weaving between people and tents. The sounds of the brawl did not seem to fade as they put some distance between themselves and the drunken men. Elaene led them towards the royal tents, and she could see King Robert, Queen Cersei, and her father coming out of it with a few others.

"What in the seven hells is going on?" King Robert demanded to know, his eyes scanning the scene.

"Mother!" Princess Myrcella cried, tearfully running to her mother's embrace. Queen Cersei cast a worried glance at her daughter and son. "Thank the gods you're all safe," she said with a mixture of relief and gratitude in her voice. Elaene spotted Tyrion, surprisingly calm despite the unruly scene before him. He seemed to be observing the situation with a bemused expression.

"You seem awfully amused by this," Elaene said to Tyrion as she approached him.

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "It's not every day you see knights acting like common drunks. Quite the spectacle, I must say." Then young Prince Tommen tugged on his mother's skirt, grabbing her attention. "Mother, what's a whore?" The Queen looked absolutely shocked at being asked by her little son. "Where did you learn that word?" she asked.

"That knight that Uncle Jaime punched in the face after he said it," the little prince answered. The Queen sighed as Tyrion chuckled. "And you say I cause the most trouble," he said with a smirk on his face. "Ah, the joys of traveling with a royal party," he said, looking amused. Elaene's cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the revelation. "I swear I did not know Ser Jaime was going to do that. I didn't even know I was there when it happened, Your Grace," she defended herself. "It was my fault; the knight insulted me, and then it happened."

"Why in the seven hells did this have to happen to me?" Elaene sighed inwardly. She knew it was pointless to try to defend herself now. The damage was already done. Her father's face grew stern, but he tried to maintain his composure as he then spoke, "I'll get my men to break it up and control it." King Robert nodded, "Yes, send those idiots to bed. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow, and I won't have you all acting like fools!" he said, then heading back into the tent, mumbling about needing a drink. Queen Cersei then led her children away to ready them for bed, while her father glanced over at her. "Are you okay?" he asked. Elaene nodded as her father sighed, "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to protect you." then going off, signaling his men to follow his lead to the brawl.

Leaving just Tyrion and her there.

Elaene sighed as she watched her father and the others go. "You seem to attract trouble wherever you go," Tyrion remarked with a wry smile. 

Elaene huffed, shaking her head slightly. "Seems to happen a lot," she retorted. She had not asked Jaime to defend her honor, nor did she ask her father or her twin to fight the battles that were meant for her. There was a moment of silence before Tyrion spoke again. "I'm sorry that happened to you," he said, looking at the young Snow girl with a sympathetic expression.

She shrugged. "It's not the first time," she said. "And it probably won't be the last." She knew she was a bastard daughter, but she was not some wanton girl spreading her legs for any boy or man wherever she went. She knew she was worthy of some respect in some sense, though she had tolerated and ignored whatever rude and crude comments were thrown at her when she stopped being a girl and became a woman. "I'm afraid that this is going to be the night I become Snow Whore."

"Well, you're not a whore," Tyrion said firmly. "And if anyone says otherwise, they're a liar."

The girl scoffed and lightly chuckled at his comment, smiling gratefully at him. "Thank you," she said.

They stood there for a few more moments, looking at each other. Then Tyrion smiled and said, "Well, I should probably go check on my brother. He's probably causing even more trouble by now."

"Try to make sure he doesn't kill anyone, will you?" Elaene said with a half-joking tone. "I'd like to thank him for his... chivalry."

Tyrion smiled and nodded, then turned and walked away. Elaene watched him go, then turned and headed back to her tent. Elaene still felt shaken by what had happened, but she was not going to let it get to her. She is Elaene Snow, daughter of Ned Stark, warden of the North, the blood of the First Men running through her veins.

She was a wolf, and wolves do not bow to the cruelty of others.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Last night's incident was quickly handled by the men her father led, and the camp settled into a quiet sleep till the morning sun rose to greet the next day. Elaene woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside her tent. She stretched and yawned, then sat up and looked around. The sun was just starting to rise, and the camp was still quiet. Elaene got out of bed and went to the tent flap, stepping outside to take a deep breath of the fresh morning air. The early hours were her favourite, when the world was still quiet and peaceful.

The camp was serene, too early for anyone to be up yet. Elaene strolled through the camp, her steps silent on the dewy grass. She reached the edge of the camp and ventured into the thick forest. The tall trees and dense branches shielded most of the sunlight, providing a cool and calm escape. She wanted to clear her head, have a few moments just to herself.

She walked for a while until she came to a clearing. The clearing was beautiful, with wildflowers blooming all around her. She could hear the sound of birds singing in the trees. She felt at peace here, away from the hustle and bustle of the camp.

When Elaene left Winterfell, she thought that all she would have to do was tolerate annoying nobles, try not to go mad from wearing corsets every day, and have Jon chase off any suitors who might want to marry her. The silence lingered in the air, her head occupied with her thoughts.

The brunette heard a rustle of leaves, as if there was someone or something watching from the bushes of thick forest. Elaene stilled herself, tilting her head to see if she could get a better look from the shadows. There was a pause in the air, then it stepped out. A stag emerged into the clearing, one with a coat that was as pure white as fresh-fallen snow.

The beast stared at her, and she stared back.

There was a pause between them, the leaves rustling in the wind as she breathed in the air filled with the smell of pine needles, wildflowers, and damp earth. She then watched as the stag bowed its head to her, and Elaene returned the gesture back. Then it took off back into the forest, leaving the brunette standing in the clearing. A few seconds later, she trekked back to the Royal party's camp, back to her tent.

The morning sun now fully illuminated the area, and Elaene noticed, as she returned, that the camp was beginning to stir with activity. Servants and soldiers were starting to go about their daily tasks, preparing for another day of travel. Her encounter with the stag lingered in her thoughts. When she was a little girl, the maester told her how the white stag was a symbol of royalty before dragons ruled over Westeros, and that seeing one meant that the gods were displaying their favor. She couldn't help but wonder if it was an omen, a sign of something significant to come.

She spotted Jon approaching her from his tent, with a concerned expression. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, giving a light smile. “Yes, just needed a walk to clear my head this morning.” Jon raised an eyebrow, skeptical for a moment but said no more on the matter. As the pair headed to the mess tent, the air lingered with the aroma of breakfast being prepared.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jon asked again as they walked towards the mess tent.

"I'm fine," she said, but she couldn't help but think about the white stag. She mentioned it to her twin not wanting to have him worry or anything. As they entered the mess tent, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the air. The tables were already filling up with people, and the noise level was rising. Elaene couldn't see their father, so it was safe to assume that he was with the King at the moment.

Elaene and Jon found a table near the back of the tent and sat down. A serving girl brought them bowls of porridge and a pitcher of milk. As they ate, Elaene tried to focus on the conversation around her, but her mind kept wandering back to the white stag. It could not be a sign from the Gods; the creature probably stumbled upon her by accident, not as a messenger of some kind. There was no point in worrying about it now. Besides, she was getting good at blocking things out, which was usually how she dealt with problems.

As they ate, Jon glanced up at Elaene, seeing that her eyes seemed rather distant, as if her mind was somewhere else. "What is it?" he asked. "I’m your brother, I know when something is bothering you."

"Just thinking about what happened last night," Elaene replied softly.

Jon frowned at her response. He hated seeing her worry over everything, especially when she had no control over what happened. "How could you possibly be worried about that?" he asked curiously.

"You didn't start a brawl," Jon insisted.

"That doesn't change the fact that Jaime Lannister punched a man in the face for me," Elaene said. He paused momentarily, trying to work out where she could possibly have encountered the man who attacked her to begin with. "Why did he punch a man?" he asked, unsure if that question mattered, but it might answer his own suspicions.

She sighed as she looked at her twin. "The knight that he punched in the face said it was a shame such a pretty girl was a bastard, but that I might make a good whore."

Jon's eyes narrowed, his protective instincts flaring up at the insult directed at his sister. "He said what? That bloody son of a-"

Elaene cut him off, placing a hand on his arm. "Jon, don't worry about it," she said softly, giving him a quick but reassuring smile. He relaxed slightly but didn't drop his guard completely. "Besides, I think the man won't go a foot near me after Jaime dealt with him."

Jon smiled a little, then took another bite of food. After swallowing, he looked up at his sister and spoke. "If this thing happens again, though, please tell me."

"I promise you."  She gave him a nod and a smile. They finished their breakfast and left the mess tent to continue the preparations to move onwards.

◇──◆──◇──◆

Elaene made her way through the busy camp, the sounds of soldiers packing up their tents and preparing for the day's journey filled the air. She headed towards Jaime's tent once she was done with her meal, to check up on him. It was partly her fault that he had gotten into that brawl in the first place. She finally arrived at Jaime's tent and pulled back the flap to find him sitting on a makeshift chair, polishing his sword. He had a slight cut on his lip, and a bruise coming up below his left eye.

He looked up, noticing her entrance, a hint of surprise on his face. "Elaene, what brings you here?" he asked.

"I came to check on you," she replied, her voice tinged with concern.

Jaime put down the cloth he was using to polish his sword and smiled at her. "It's just a minor scrape, nothing to worry about," he said dismissively. "I've had worse."

"Yes, but those were in battle," Elaene replied. "This was a drunken brawl at the royal party's camp."

Jaime shrugged. "I was only protecting your honor," he said. Elaene rolled her eyes. "I don't need your protection, Jaime," she replied. "I thank you for defending me," she said, her voice soft. "But you didn't have to punch him."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because it was unnecessary."

Jaime leaned back in his chair, studying Elaene with a serious gaze. "Unnecessary, maybe," he conceded. "But sometimes, people need to be taught a lesson. That man insulted you, and I couldn't stand by and let it go unchallenged."

"You did not need to," Elaene retorted, her frustration evident in her voice. "You don't need to defend my honor as if I'm some delicate flower in need of protection. I can handle myself just fine." She shook her head. "You're not my husband."

Jaime laughed. "No, I'm not," he said. "But if you were mine, I would have protected you in the same way."

"Well, I'm not yours," Elaene dismissed, turning to leave his tent.

Before she had taken three steps, however, she felt a hand gripping tightly onto her wrist. She stopped and turned to meet Jaime's intense gaze. Jaime's thumb continued to brush against her wrist, the intimate touch making her heart race. "Is that what bothers you?" he pressed quietly. "You don't want someone like me protecting you?" Elaene hesitated for a second, feeling torn between her emotions. "That isn't what bothers me," she said at length.

Jaime tilted his head, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Then what is it?" he prodded further. "Tell me."

"You don't want to marry me," Elaene replied flatly.

Jaime laughed, a low and bitter sound. "I'm serious," she insisted, letting go of his wrist and crossing her arms defensively. "I'm Ned Stark's bastard daughter. You're a Lannister, a member of one of the most powerful families in Westeros. It's preposterous to think that we could ever be together."

Jaime looked at her, his eyes holding an intensity that sent a jolt of electricity through her. "I never cared about any of that," he said, his voice steady. Elaene glared at him, her frustration bubbling over. "You don't understand!" she exclaimed. "Do you really think your family, your father, would approve of you marrying a bastard girl from the North?"

"What does it matter?" Jaime asked, his grip on her wrist tightening slightly.

"It matters," Elaene countered, trying to maintain her composure.

"Why?" he persisted.

"I'm not worth marrying!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. She paused, the pain of her insecurities laid bare. "I don't want you to ruin your life over someone you've known for just a month," she said, her voice softer now. Elaene then turned and left, not looking back at the tent once. Trying to ignore the pain in her heart, she forced herself to keep walking.