The Wolves Will Howl

Happiness Is The Blindest Form Of Ignorance

Author's Note: This is a very short chapter, but the next one will be much longer, as it will be Robert arriving in Winterfell.

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The gods had blessed Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully by allowing the seed that Eddard had planted in his wife's womb on their wedding night to attach and grow and fester into a child. Her new husband had gone gallivanting off to war, to avenge his brother and father, to save his sister, and to bring down the reign of House Targaryen. So there Catelyn was, a new bride, alone. She was left by him in her childhood home of Riverrun, with only the comfort of the growing babe in her stomach to keep her going through the days. While her husband was away, beyond her thoughts and even her prayers, he had at least left her with a part of him. A child that would be theirs, half-Stark, half-Tully. And though the love between them did not grow until much latter, her love for their child was instant. A small thing, buried deep inside her, her only solace in that mad world, where war raged across the land. While House Targaryen was crumbling, life grew inside her.

And nine months after that wedding night, Maester Luwin helped Catelyn Tully, now Catelyn Stark, delivered her first child. And mere minutes later, her second. A boy, Robb Stark, came first, looking ever like the family of his mother. And shortly after the heir of Winterfell, came a girl. Sirenia Stark. All pink and curled up, the dark hair of the Starks already evident upon her. In the same year that the young Aegon Targaryen was getting his head bashed across the walls of the Red Keep, and Rhaenys Targaryen, was being dragged from under her bed, and stabbed with "half a hundred thrusts", Catelyn Stark was holding her dear twin babes in her arms, keeping them safe and sheltered from the bloodshed... but you cannot keep your children safe forever. Eventually, the violence finds them, and blood will spill over their bodies as well...

Two wolves of Winterfell were born upon the river. Two children born amidst war. Their births were nothing of remark. Children are born every day, coming from their mothers, crying and screaming. But it seemed the gods did not plan on their lives being as calm as the day they came into the world. Seventeen years they had gotten of relative peace, of comfort, of happiness, before they were thrown back into the chaos they were born into. Except this time, they were not innocent creatures relatively unaffected by the destruction and devastation. No, when war came down upon their heads again, they would be actors upon the stage. Pawns upon the board. Players within the game.

When the raven carrying the news of his children's birth came to Lord Eddard Stark, he was unaware of the fate that lied ahead for all of them. He was unaware that he had spawned both a king and a queen, two pieces who would both crumble. Two children caught in the game of thrones.

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Grey eyes stared down the sights as she breathed, heavy but slow. Calm. Patient. Like a soft breeze in the wind, unwanting to move any stone in its path, or bend any house to its will. She felt the feathers of the fletching brush against her nimble fingers as she petted at them, like a cat upon her lap. In a swift motion, she pulled the string, bringing it up to her face. Focus. It was as if time stood still for her. She could feel the slightest brush of the wind upon her face. She could see every movement around her. In the trees that stood outside the walls, branching over them. The shift of the clouds that stood at the top of her vision. The curl and slight shake of her fingers. The sounds around her were muted. She could hear distant talking, the sounds of hounds barking, birds cawing. It was as if her ears were stuffed with cotton and all noise around her was unable to break through the barrier. Calm. Patient. Steady. Peace.