The Little Wolf

Self-Destruction

"Forgive me!" her Conscience cried in all the softness and sweetness little Lyra Stark, trapped deep within her, an innocent victim of her own destruction, could muster.

Outwardly, no emotion flowed on the girls face. She reached through the blood and guts, endured through the dreadful smell, and proceeded to saw off the animals head with not a word, not a blink, not a flinch.

Kaelo stared at her like she had fallen from the sky. This girl was so strange to him, so odd, yet interesting like a closed book he just had to read. Kaelo watched as Lyra sawed of the head of the fish, threw it in the air, and allowed Lev, a magnificent white owl, to swoop down and seize his prey. Next, Lyra removed the scaled tail of the fish and flung it into Chief's snapping jaw. He swallowed it whole and opened his mouth, eagerly awaiting more.

Lyra cut the remaining body in half. She flung one half to Kaelo, who, in his fixed curiosity in this strange girl, failed to catch the fish and instead felt it slap him hard in the face. Red appeared from the hard, scaled slap, but he didn't care. Instead he chuckled to himself and his eyes sparkled in admiration at Lyra.

"Thank you, Ser!" he said with glee, before sinking his teeth into its flesh.

While Kaelo ate, Lyra stared at him in her own curiosity. She knew he had once meant a lot to her, but the happiness had been pushed so far back in her mind, she knew it would take a quest to retrieve it.

Happiness.

Lyra had all but forgotten what happiness was; she could not recall what it meant to be happy, but she vaguely remembered the feeling. Warm. Warm like the summers sun settling on her head. Warm like her father's smile shining down on her. Warm like her mother's kisses, or Bran's sweetness, or Rickon's playful antiques or Robb's protectiveness. Warm like Jon giving her a piggyback ride through the halls of Winterfell.

Happiness was warmth, she thought, waiting and wishing for an echo from Lev, but there was nothing. She curled up in a ball and ignored the coldness; the bitterness and bite of the wind, mimicking the cruelty of the world. Warmth had retreated the moment she had felt the slight warmth of her father's blood, and her world continued to grow colder and darker every day Ser Deacon's axe handle would smack down hard on her innocent little frame.

She uncoiled herself, and like a snake, she slithered to bathe in the sun. She was hidden in a forest so dense the sunlight would barely break through the heads of the trees, but when it did it offered the odd ray of light; a ray of warmth. In the sun, she remembered more of the feeling she'd lost.

Her world had grown colder when she moved to King's Landing, she recalled. Yet, there was one ray of light that kept it fun, and that ray was a man who thought himself a knight, and she too.

Kaelo. The man of such a name offered warmth, she remembered. She would grin when she would see him, and he would cackle at the sky like it was telling him a joke. She would sword fight with him, dream of him, long for him, and ache for him like she did her own family.

Realisation suddenly hit her, and she felt like something small came alive within her once again. Like little, sweet Lyra, scared, trapped and alone in the chasm of her emptiness and brutality, found a gap in the rubble and reached her hand through.

She looked over and saw the man's face. His eyes were sad, looking at the girl like it broke his heart. And it was then that she realised the truth: it did.

She was so broken, so detached, so cold and merciless, but alive in the man's memories of the warmer days they'd shared together. There, basking in the sunlight, she allowed a small crack to open in her mind. She remembered Toothpick, Ser Kaelo and Ser Lyra fighting side by side on an imaginary battle field. More than that, she not only remembered - she remembered fondly.

The man, as if he knew what she was thinking smiled gently at her. Warmth.

He moved onto his knees, and extended his hand, slowly, toward Lyra. Then he spoke, "You are Lyra Stark".

The name rattled around in her head, a ghost of a person long gone. Perhaps they were once, but they were now no more. Yet, it kept coming back to her- Lyra Stark. Lyra Stark. Lyra Stark.

The name only rang one bell in her mind, and for that she spat, "Vicious little monster!"

Kaelo shook his head sadly, and the girl spat again, "Monster!"

"No, you are Lyra. You are my Little Knight."

"Monster", she said softly, like a gentle breeze.

Kaelo sighed and reached for the smooth rocks on the ground. Everyday, in ritualized actions, Lyra would spread out the stones with the names of her family and encircle them around her. Each name was tenderly and meticulously carved with much love, but intense sorrow. Sometimes, Lyra would move the family out of the circle and into other positions. Eddard and Catelyn would stand together, while Robb, Jon, Bran, Rickon, Sansa and Arya would be separate.

"Where are you?" Kaelo asked, and when Lyra didn't respond, he continued, "You have a rock for everyone in your immediate family, yet you don't have one for you?"

Lyra's silence was still deafening, and Kaelo was beginning to get restless. He reached forward toward Jon, and before he could pick up the rock, Lyra smacked his hand away, snarled like a wolf and gathered up her family like a she-wolf, protecting her cubs.

They were more than stones, Kaelo realised, they were all she had left of her family. And, in an odd way, all she had left of herself; her old self.

Voices swam to her head. They started out faint, but grew louder. Lyra scratched at her ears to stop the noise, but ceased her clawing when she noticed Kaelo drawing Toothpick and standing guard. Chief had his hackles standing up and was growling, and Lev had taken off to scope from the sky.

The voices were not in her head. The voices were real, and they were coming.

Warmth retreated, and the coldness of her world returned. Fear, hatred, rage, and emptiness returned.

She braced herself and readied for more destruction.

But then, just as she was ready to throw her sword and plunge into a deeper darkness and state of loss, the strangest of sights blundered onto the path.