Lyanna and Ryson had slipped out in secret. For days now, she had been waging a one-sided cold war with her father.
A few days prior, a raven had brought a letter from Robert Baratheon, the future Lord of Storm's End. Baratheon was clearly out of his mind with joy over the betrothal, even letting slip some rather inappropriate words.
Imagine that in the modern day—telling a young woman, "Although I am involved with many people in both body and mind, I love you too..." Try that and see what happens!
Not to mention Lord Rickard; though her mother knew full well that Lyanna disliked the man, she still forced her to practice embroidering countless wedding gowns and various tailoring patterns, as well as learning how to socialize with nobles and manage the domain for a husband...
As for the young girl expressing her longing and yearning for true romance, Lady Stark merely patted her head with a pitiful fondness.
Furious, Lyanna had directly mounted her horse and galloped off with her friend. Who could have foreseen that that very night, deep in the dark and silent wilderness, she would rescue a snow-white wolf?
When Lyanna and Ryson returned to Winterfell with Ghost, Lady Stark was running around in a panic. Lord Rickard did not know she had sneaked out for a night away, though even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared.
Ned and little Benjen were training in the yard when they saw Lyanna riding back like a whirlwind. Benjen threw down the small wooden sword in his hand and ran over.
"Big sister is back! Big sister is back!"
Ned didn't dare run; Ser Rodrik was still watching him. He could only raise his stiff arm and shout to his younger brother, "Ben, get back here! You've barely practiced for a moment."
Lyanna deftly reined in her mount, spinning the horse in place as it snorted. She dismounted lightly and stroked the horse's muzzle. Then she scooped up her little brother with some difficulty.
"You're slacking off again, though big sister didn't bring any treats for you today." The boy was growing heavier by the day; she could hardly lift him anymore.
Ben puffed out his cheeks unhappily, but Lyanna changed her tune with a smile. "However, big sister brought back a pretty dog!"
Ben let out a squeal of "Oh!" and began pestering Lyanna with questions. Lyanna had no choice but to tell him the dog was injured and she would let him play with it in a few days, before ruthlessly dumping Ben back into the training yard.
Lyanna had Ryson place Ghost in her own room, then trotted all the way to find Maester Luwin.
Maester Luwin's quarters constantly exuded a strange odor mixed with raven droppings and bitter potions, the room filled with ancient scrolls and tomes perhaps as old as he was. Many of these books never saw the light of day, rotting away from bookworms and mold.
Aside from a narrow wooden cot, the room was almost entirely given over to his work—herb tables, tool benches, and, most of all, towering shelves and piles of books.
Perhaps maesters from the Citadel were all so rigid and uninteresting, Lyanna often thought.
Yet she was very fond of the maester's methods for breeding and training ravens, and the maester knew many legends and tales of Westeros besides. When she was little, she loved pestering Maester Luwin with endless questions, especially regarding the tales of the Kings of Winter and ancient heroes.
Master Luwin was writing and sketching on a scroll while carefully storing some finely ground powder into small vials.
A burst of hurried footsteps sounded in the hardwood corridor, and Lyanna rushed in like a small pony, shoving the door open with a bang and letting in a gust of cold air.
"Master Luwin, please help me! My little wolf is hurt."
Maester Luwin looked up in mild surprise as the heavy black metal chain around his neck clinked together, producing a crisp chime. "I didn't know you had acquired a wolf. It seems I haven't stepped outside in far too long."
Lyanna eagerly dragged Luwin away with her, leaving the maester no time to grab his tool kit.
When Maester Luwin caught sight of Ghost, he froze for a moment—he had never seen a wolf of such pure coloration in the North; in the flickering torchlight, it cast a faint silver sheen, dazzling and beautiful.
Moreover, this wolf's size was clearly much larger than ordinary breeds. Could it be a direwolf? It had been many years since a direwolf was last seen anywhere inhabited by men in the North.
The white wolf was quite heavily wounded, the two arrow wounds being secondary. The main issue was that the arrow in its upper limb had been pulled out with brutal roughness, causing it to lose far too much blood.
The maester inspected the white wolf's injuries, took out his tools, and carefully extracted the arrow from the wolf's back. After washing the wounds with boiled wine, he wrapped them neatly; the rest depended on the wolf's own recovery.
The maester wiped his clean hands and said, "It must have narrowly escaped from hunters. Judging by its teeth, it's still a pup."
Lyanna's brow knitted tightly, almost twisting into a knot. After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "Master Luwin, do you suppose there really are skinchangers beyond the Wall?"
Luwin nodded, then shook his head. "According to the records of the Citadel, one skinchanger is born among every thousand First Men. They can use their consciousness to command any animal. Thousands of years ago, skinchangers and the Children of the Forest were everywhere."
Luwin turned his head to look in the direction of the heart tree within the castle, letting out a slight sigh. "They're gone now. They've all vanished. No one has seen a skinchanger or a Children of the Forest in ages."
In truth, there was another legend he himself felt lacked foundation—the secret annals of the Citadel recorded: [For every thousand of the First Men's bloodline, a skinchanger is born, and for every thousand skinchangers, only a single greenseer.]
A greenseer possessed nature magic and greensight, knowing almost everything. They could even peer into the future.
Lyanna turned her gaze to Ghost, whose breathing had grown much steadier. There shouldn't be any major trouble; a wolf's constitution was far more robust than a human's.
Yet, how was she to explain the cry for help she had heard in the Wolfswood, and that strange figure?
Could it really have been that the night was too deep, and the shadows of the trees and the wind had played tricks on her imagination?
Maester Luwin packed away his instruments and cautioned Lyanna in a solemn tone, "Although this is still a wolf pup, its size is already enough to easily kill a grown man. You'd best keep it penned up, and once its wounds heal somewhat, release it back into the Wolfswood."
Lyanna did not agree right away. Hesitating, she asked another question: "Master Luwin, if there are skinchangers who can control animals, could there also be animals that can turn into humans? Like... werewolves?"
Master Luwin laughed aloud, teasing, "Does Miss Lyanna still enjoy listening to old nans' fanciful tales?"
"I'm off, then. I'll have Ryson bring you a cage so the wolf can be moved to the stables."
Though a bit disappointed, Lyanna still thanked him politely, "Thank you, Master Luwin."
Right up until suppertime, Lyanna remained somewhat distracted. She didn't even notice when Benjen mischievously piled all his carrots into her bowl.
Because of Lyanna's ongoing quarrel with her father, the atmosphere at the Stark dinner table was rather tense. Only the thick-skinned Brandon and little Benjen were laughing and bickering without a care in the world.
"Lyanna, I heard you caught a pretty snow wolf?" Brandon asked between wolf-down bites.
Brandon took after their father in looks, with a slightly elongated face, thick brows, and large eyes. He was robust and tall, his manners a bit coarse. Yet he was a formidable swordsman, and Ser Rodrik's favorite pupil.
During swordplay lessons, Ser Rodrik loved using Brandon as an example to scold the young nobles who didn't practice seriously.
Brandon called out several times before Lyanna snapped out of her thoughts and nodded. "Mm. Rescued it in the Wolfswood. I want to keep it."
Lord Rickard Stark chewed hard on a piece of tough beef and chimed in, "I heard from Master Luwin that it's a rare direwolf?"
Before Lyanna could speak, Ned's eyes widened in surprise. "Is that true? A direwolf?"
"Yes." Lyanna turned her gaze to Ned. "I'm very fond of it."
The unspoken implication was that the rest of them needn't bother; it was hers.
Brandon muttered something about her being stingy, and Ned drooped his shoulders. Benjen, meanwhile, was making a racket, demanding to go see the "white doggy."
Their mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, voiced her concern: "What if it hurts you? I heard from the master-of-horse that if you don't raise a wolf pup from birth, it's hard to tame."
"Mother, don't worry. If it proves truly impossible to tame, I'll release it back to the Wolfswood."
Lady Catelyn opened her mouth to say more, but Lord Rickard cut her off harshly. "Enough. It's merely a wolf. The children of House Stark are not so useless."
Seeing him frown, the children all fell silent, lowering their heads to eat their meal obediently.
Lord Rickard Stark looked at Lyanna in silence. At the thought that his darling daughter would one day leave the North for a wretched place battered by wild storms year-round, a twinge of reluctance stirred in his heart.
Slowly, he spoke: "If you truly like it, you may keep it. Have the master-of-horse see to it."
A smile finally broke across Lyanna's face, her voice as chirpy as a little bird's: "Thank you, Father."
The moment she finished eating, Lyanna hurried back to her room to write and draw; she needed to find a name for her little wolf.
Her younger brothers came running to join the fun, throwing out a bunch of bizarre names. Benjen even suggested his favorite fruit—White Sweetberry.
Lyanna sighed at the messy names scrawled across the paper. *Never mind, let it choose for itself.*
That very night, Lyanna had a dream that made her heart race and her cheeks flush.
In the dream, she was surrounded by a sea of blooming ice roses, yellow lilies, and daisies. She rode her beloved horse, galloping wildly with the white wolf at her side.
Amidst the dazzling, blinding golden sunlight, a tall figure leading a white horse walked toward her up a hillside against the light.
She strained to make out his face, but suddenly the ground beneath them cracked apart, and both of them plummeted into the void.
Lyanna jerked awake, only to find herself rolled up in her blanket and lying on the floor.
It was still dark. She scratched her head, yawned, and climbed back into bed, hoping there was still time to pick up where the dream left off.
Instead, the dream changed. She dreamed that the fickle Robert Baratheon had turned into a black boar, chasing her all over the place...
When she woke the next morning, Lyanna's face was still dark. *Wretched Robert Baratheon, coming to ruin my dreams.*
She hated him even more now!
A soft knock sounded at the door, and a maid entered carrying a basin of water and fresh clothes. "Lady Lyanna, Master Orwulf is waiting for you outside."
Lyanna perked up at once, kicking off the covers to leap barefoot out of bed. She had instructed the master-of-horse the night before to let her know the moment the wolf woke up.
"Quickly help me change, hurry, hurry." She couldn't wait to go see her little darling.