'so foul and fair a day i have not seen'

_______

THERE WAS A piercing scream outside Reyona's window in the early hours of the morning. The sound was not entirely human the first time it met her ears, and, if she hadn't been awake prior, packing for the coming trip to Highgarden, Reyona would have been startled awake in fear. It sounded like a wounded animal.

     Fear gripped Reyona and she shuddered out a shaken breath, hopping delicately from her leather-cushioned chair. Reyona leant out of the window's the ledge in her room and peered down at the icy grounds of Winterfell, eyes searching for the cause of such an animalistic howl of pain.

     Not too far off, Reyona made out the sight a direwolf yapping and howling in the large blades of grass. She couldn't find the cause, nor the see the problem, but she could tell something was amiss. Beside Reyona's bed, Lyanna perked up at the sound, ears tipping up on her black-furred head. She jumped from her sleeping place and rushed to the door, claws digging into the stones as she barreled from Reyona's bed chambers, nudging the door open with her muzzle.

     "L-Lyanna!" Reyona yelled for her to come back, afraid that the unnamed wolf had been bitten by something deadly, or another misfortune that could, in turn, hurt Reyona's pup as well. "Damn it all," she bit out, leaving her dressing gown on the bed and grabbing a wool robe, not having time to change into a more proper attire before chasing Lyanna down.

     Reyona's bare feet padded swiftly down the Winterfell stone castle stairs as she tied a silk sash around her waist, praying to the old gods and the new that the robe would hold against her running. With her luck, Reyona was sure that Mother would catch her in her undergarments outside. Or worse: Septa.

     Reyona paused at that daunting thought, only for a moment, and she questioned returning back to her chambers for a proper dress. Another sharp howl of agony echoed as she met the cold, morning air outside. And, as it filled her ears, Reyona knew it was too late to go back. The pup was surely injured. Seeing the pup on her horizon, Reyona realised that it was Bran's unnamed direwolf howling at the top of its lungs.

     A horrifying thought flickered through her mind, freezing her stomach as Reyona ran, barefoot, through the sludge of the courtyard, following Lyanna as she took Reyona past the castle walls and towards the blacksmith's forge. 'Bran is never parted from his pup, they are practically bound at the hip!'

     "Bran?" Reyona called, chest heaving as she turned the corner, the unnamed pup in her sights. Reyona thought it was odd that the wolf was merely sitting in the tall grass, howling as loud as it possibly could.

     "Brandon, where are you?" Reyona called once more, this time turning my her onto the old, abandoned tower that rose above her, thinking he must be climbing. "Do you not hear your pup missing you?" She hollered, squinting her sight against the bleak stones as the morning sunlight reflected off their surfaces. She couldn't see her little brother on them.

     Dread filled her stomach, like a pit the size of a quail, as she thought of a hundred scores of bad things that could have taken place in that moment. Her heart grew in speed, as did her worry.

     Reyona slowed her walking as she approached the scene, the grey pup howling loudly in pain once more, its black eyes staring into hers with an almost human feeling of fear. Reyona's breath caught in her throat, the feeling of mud between her toes keeping her grounded.

     Refusing to remove her eyes from the pup, Reyona called out one last time, quieter than before. "Bran?"

     The sight that lay before her caused something dark to stir in the back of Reyona's mind, a fear that she brushed away as quickly as it arose. Reyona's toes sunk deep into the damp earth beneath her feet as she came upon Bran's direwolf, the bottom of her silk robe caked with mud and slip.

     However, none of that mattered when Reyona's eyes finally saw the small body that was previously hidden from her by distance, tall blades of grass, and the sheer will of her own brain to hide what she did not want to see.

     "B-Bran?!" Reyona choked out, eyes dancing from his bleeding head to the way his small legs jutted out in places that leg bones never should. "S-seven h-hel-," a scream of a mangled word erupted from her lips, something that Reyona hoped was along the lines of 'help' but may have come out as 'hell'; she was not sure.

     Skidding the last of the distance to her brother, Reyona dropped to her knees, barely feeling her robe skirts sunk into the mud. "Brandon! Brandon!" She reached out her hands, to shake him by the shoulders, but then she stopped herself, noting the pooling blood that was collected around his head. A halo of scarlet soaking the earth in burgundy.

     "HELP! SOMEONE - HELP ME!" Reyona screamed louder than she had ever imagined she could as she tried to remember the healing techniques Septa Mordane had spent a useless amount of hours rambling at Sansa, Arya, and herself.

     Fingers fumbling around, trying to grasp at whispers and thoughts, Reyona decided to focus on the bleeding from Bran's cracked skull and tried not to focus on the pale hue his skin was taking. 'The color of death', Reyona's mind shouted, yet shaking her head to keep her mind from such thoughts. Swallowing her panic, Reyona ripped off her sash from around her waist and leant over Bran's body, scanning for the wound.

     Once she narrowed down the area, Reyona gingerly slid the grey fabric under his head, trying not to move him. Her fingers quaked, only for a moment, as she fought to remain calm. Bran needed her to be calm.

     'Why hasn't anyone come yet?' Reyona thought bitterly. "SEVEN HELLS! I NEED SOME FUCKING HELP HE-re!" She screamed, voice breaking at the end as tears began to well up in her throat. "My brother is dying," she croaked, staring down at him as hot droplets rolled down Reyona's cheeks.

     Sniffling, she rubbed at the tears and fought one more time for self-control. Reyona grabbed the ends of the sash that she'd tucked under Bran's head and lightly wrapped them around his head again and again until there was only enough fabric to tie a tight knot.

     Not once did Brandon stir. "Why were you climbing?" Reyona accused him, voice breaking in various places as fear tightened its grasp on her heart. She was afraid to move him by herself, but if Reyona had to, she would.

     Heavy footsteps sounded from behind Reyona. Relief sunk into her bones knowing someone was there to help her.

     "What happened?" The gruff voice behind Reyona was one she did not recognize; Reyona's bones tensed as she kneeled in the mud, hands covered in Bran's blood.

     Daring to crane her neck around, Reyona's eyes met with the thick, leather boots of a giant man. Her breathing slowed as she gazed up at the towering height that was the Hound. His long, brown hair was swept around as if to hide the marred flesh on the side of his face, but it did nothing to help. Under the knight's thick arm, his helm snarled at Reyona.

    "My brother," Reyona breathed out, emotions seeming to leave her body altogether. She felt inexplicably numb. It was as if all her panic, all her fear, all her anger had burned out as bright and as hot as it had arrived. "Please, please help me."

    "Move." He side-stepped Reyona, speaking abruptly and curtly. The Hound tossed the iron helm down into the mud, not caring where it landed. As the giant of a man lowered himself down beside her, Reyona marveled in her numbness. It surprised her, despite how horrid the thought seemed, that the Hound would be so quick to help her brother as he lay dying. But, as Reyona thought it over, she remembered that it was the man's duty.

    There was no sound from Bran's body as the Hound lifted him into his arms, blood from his head pooling against the sash that Reyona had tied. 'So much blood', Reyona whimpered in fear. Now that her brother was in stronger hands, she allowed herself to turn her gaze onto her blood-soaked palms, feeling ill at the sight of so much crimson.

    "It's just blood, girl," the man scoffed, nodding at Reyona's hands as she found a way to get back onto her feet, knees trembling from the shock. "Don't tell me you're going to faint."

     The resentment in his gruff tone was enough to snap Reyona's fleeting thoughts back to the present. Straightening herself out, Reyona rose her head and acted the way Septa had instructed her to act while in the presence of a soldier. "I am perfectly calm, ser." She evened out her shoulders, finding that she felt less nauseated in that stance. "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

    "Oh," he spat, upper lip curling in disgust as he turned his back to Reyona, causing a fury to boil in the pit of her chest. "Do not be so bloody dramatic. Of course I came," he shot Reyona a lidded eye as he began to trudge forward, long stride taking him a long distance from where she stood, "and I'm no 'ser', so you'd do best to drop that."

     Swallowing the words he had forced back at her, Reyona reached out a shaky hand and grabbed the heavy helm from the mud. The Hound seemed unbothered that he'd discarded it in place for her brother's corpse. That won points from Reyona to his character. The snarling mask glowered up at her as she gingerly brushed the clumps of dirt and grass from its muzzle, revealing the shiny metal underneath.

     Tucking the helm under an arm, Reyona carefully followed the Hound, wishing to know where he was planning to take her brother, walking in eery silence. "You're not a knight?" Reyona broke the silence, tracing her fingers over the lines and dips in the helm, wondering if this had been the last terrifying thing that many warriors on the battlefield saw -- and how many.

      "No," he briskly replied, never taking his gaze from the path in front of them as they trudged quickly on. Reyona had to speed up her pace to keep up with his wide stride. "I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. . . My brother is a knight."

       Deep inside, Reyona knew not to press the matter any further. The way he had proclaimed 'my brother' was nowhere near the tone she would use when talking about Rob, not even Jon. Pure hatred attacked her brain in those five words uttered so forcibly by the king's guard.

      Not soon enough, The Hound and Reyona made it under the protective cover of Winterfell's balconies. Guardsmen, that stood watch around the door, parted to allow Clegane and her access, eyes wide at the sight of Bran's crumpled figure and Reyona's disheveled, improper attire.

     "What has happened here?!" The furious accusation echoed from the stone stairwell as Jory stalked down to meet them, steel eyes only seeing the corpse of Bran and the improper, dirt-clad robes Reyona was clutching closed against her chest. Her sash was acting as a bandage, which left her in the uncomfortable position of grasping her robes shut with a single, free hand. Reyona's other was clutching tightly to the snarling dog helm.

      "Ser Jory," Reyona breathed out, stepping forward as The Hound snarled out a snide insult, causing Jory to reach for his sword. "I found Bran laying in the grass like this, he was climbing and must have lost his footing. He needs to see Maester Luwin as soon as possible, please."

      The captain of her father's guard stumbled a bit, hand hovering over his longsword as he watched The Hound with a glare of uncertainty. His eyes wavered over Bran for a brief moment and he nodded, calling his second in command, Varly. "Varly, send for Maester Luwin immediately. I'll escort Ser Clegane to Lord Bran's chambers," his authoritative gaze locked with Reyona's and a frown of disapproval flickered across his lips as Varly nodded, rushing towards the Maester's chambers. "Lady Reyona, what happened, pray tell, to you?"

     A blush stained her cheeks as Jory's gaze traveled Reyona's gaping robes, Septa's face of horror filling her mind's eye. "I heard a scream and I rushed out in my bed robes. I used my sash to stead Bran's bleeding."

    Jory nodded slowly, glare resting on his weathered face as he turned back to the giant man holding Bran in his arms. And then Reyona understood what her father's Captain of the Guard had been thinking: assault. Rolling her eyes, Reyona huffed out an inaudible curse. The men of Winterfell thought she was as fragile as Sansa. That was hardly the case.

    "I'd love to stand here and get accused of touching a bloody child, but," The Hound sneered gruffly, lifting Bran's body up in the air slightly. In any other situation, Reyona may have been offended at the title of a child. "If you are willing to let the little lord die, let's keep standing here. I could not be bothered."

    Frowning, Jory gripped the handle of his sword, but he nodded briskly. "Right, Ser Clegane. Follow me." As Jory motioned for The Hound to stalk up the Winterfell stone stairs, he did not hear the annoyed response that the man muttered, irritated at the title.

    Jory Cassel noticed as Reyona followed closely behind, as a shadow does, and he stopped. "Not you, Lady Reyona. Perhaps you should return to your chambers and get cleaned up?" The way his voice filled with concern made anger boil inside Reyona's chest, but she managed to push it down.

     "Hardly, Ser Cassel," Reyona replied, "what kind of sister would I be if I left my brother due to some blood stains and mud?" Reyona questioned, showing Jory her stained hands, stained with her kin's blood. Reyona had meant for the question to come off airy and polite, but instead her voice quivered as a scared girl's would.

      Jory's mouth tightened into a thin line, but he stalked up the stairs, not desiring to push her temper. In front of Reyona, The Hound chuckled under his breath, finding her words funny. "That's a new one," he barked, sarcasm dripping from his words, venom in the ears of Reyona. "Run off and tell your mother, little rose. It will be better to receive the news from her own pack."

     'Little rose?' Reyona's brow furrowed as she stopped climbing after them, staring up at the unchanging back of the Hound. Had he called her by a nickname on purpose? Was he aware of the fact that she was to be a ward of Highgarden?

       'Most likely,' Reyona thought. The King had traveled the King's Road with the Tyrells for a time. Surely Lady Margaery and her grandmother told them about their 'acquiring' of Reyona, the 'Reincarnated Wolf'.

      The night of last Reyona had heard servants of the Queen muttering those words under their breath as she passed, laughing to themselves as if it were some clever jest. Reyona found them to be dim-witted to laugh at a joke such as that one. After all, it was not uncommon for the Starks to be called different wolf titles. It was a joke among other highborn families. Father had once been called 'the Quiet Wolf' and Uncle Benjen had been 'the Pup'. It seems traditions, even of odd sorts, carry on.

      Turning to Jory for approval, he offered Reyona a nod. The Hound was right. Her mother needed to be told as soon as a messenger could tell her. Reyona's father was out hunting with the King and the rest of his guard, but she was certain he would be informed soon enough. Gathering her resolve, Reyona clasped her robe around her body with one hand while she attempted a half-hearted curtsy, taking her leave of the soldiers. "As you wish, Hound."

       As those words slipped from her lips, Reyona took off down the hall towards her mother's chambers, not wanting to look back and see whether he had been irritated at the name. It was the first time she'd ever informally addressed a man outside of her kinsmen, and Reyona felt an odd sense of rebellion seep into her stomach as she dwelled on it.

       Reyona moved down the halls until she reached the door to her parents' chambers, feeling her confidence begin to drain from her bones. Mother will be distraught. Reyona had hope for Bran, of course, but even she could admit that things did not seem bright for his future. Lifting a hand to knock on the weathered wood, a voice cut out from the inside, stopping her.

       "But, Reyona, Maester?" Mother's voice was worried and muffled as she talked from inside her chambers. "First the ward, now this? With Lysa's letter . . . I cannot be certain of anything anymore."

         Maester Luwin's voice soothingly attempted to reassure Mother while Reyona quieted her breathing, to hear what they were discussing. "Dark times are ahead, that is the truth, but remember: your lord husband has already refused the King on that matter, she shall not be going. There are greater matters."

        "You are right, of course," she sighed. Reyona inched closer as their voices grew quiet, ears prickling to pick up on what Mother could be referring to. "But, an-an engagement, to that, that awful Prince? He's much too young for her, and Ned explained that."

       "So, he is still determined then?"

       "No, I'm afraid Ned has agreed to the arrangement of Joffrey and Sansa in her stead," Reyona's stomach lurched in disgust. Her? With that . . . horrible beast of a boy? "But, what was Robert thinking?"

       "The Queen would never have agreed, this is true. She hated Lyanna," the maester's old, knowledgeable voice crept out, "Reyona would never have made a good match for the Pr--"

      Reyona had been so intent on listening to their conversation that she had not noticed another presence in the hall. From behind her, Varly approached, eyeing her in slight confusion, but knocking quickly upon the door to get the attention of Maester Luwin.

      There was a shuffling of old, steady footsteps before the door was pulled open, displaying the somber face of Maester Luwin. His white, thin hair was neatly brushed down and his chain of multicolored links was tidy as well. His eyes scanned over Reyona and Varly with a false warm glow. "Ah, Lady Reyona, Ser Varly."

      "Reyona?" Mother's voice rose in surprise as she stepped around Luwin, her soft smile faltering at her daughter's wide expression. "Reyona, what is the matter?"

      Reyona was unaware that she had begun to cry until her mother asked the question. Lady Catelyn cupped her eldest daughter's face in her hands.

     "Mother," Reyona choked out, losing all allusion of the confidence she had been grasping onto. Lady Stark's face was enough to strike the fear of Life and Death back into Reyona's bones.

     Ser Varly gathered the broken fragments of her gargled response, bowing his head. "M'lady, 'tis your son. He fell from a tower while climbing; Reyona found him and managed to bandage his head," he paused, eyes flickering from Lady Stark's composed features to Reyona's tear-stained cheeks, "Captain Jory commanded me to alert Maester Luwin immediately. I was told he would be here."

     Mother straightened herself out, face cooling into a mask of stone, waving Varly off. "Thank yo; we shall see to him straight away." She then turned to Maester Luwin, eyes set. "Maester," her voice broke, only for a moment, crumbling her facade.

     Varly bowed once more and took his leave, realising when he was no longer needed, nor wanted. Maester Luwin offered the ladies a curt bow and began on his way to his new ward, walking as quickly as his old bones would allow.

     "Reyona," Mother's voice was a quiet and forced attempt of calm. Taking in her face, Reyona felt her bottom lip quiver as she swallowed the sob that wracked her chest. However, Reyona could not stop her eyes from watering, no matter how much she willed them not to.

     "Reyona, shush," her mother cooed as she stepped forward, eyes searching her daughter's with horror. She could tell by Reyona's atmosphere that Bran was in trouble. Reyona offered her hands to her mother, and Lady Stark clasped onto them as a couple stray tears streaking down her cheeks.

     In the midst of the hall, the two Stark women stood, gaping at Reyona's bloody hands with fear gripping their souls.

♕ ♕ ♕

     Every morning for the next few days Reyona tended to the godswood. Waking long before the morning larks, Reyona would dawn a thick, buckskin cloak and make the trek to the wood, a book of prayers in her hand and a sorrow in her heart.

     There was a weirwood in the midst of the godswood with big, thick branches that reached, like blood-soaked fingers, to the sky. Just the same, Reyona was reaching her fingers out to the sky in the hopes that the old gods would hear her pleas for Brandon.

     She dared not utter any prayers to the new gods on these sacred grounds, though her mother had often done so on their visits to the godswood in the past. Unlike the new gods, the gods of the forest did not have names to call upon in times of trouble.

      Yet, Reyona felt that they heard her calls, just the same.

       Sitting in the midst of the heart tree, Reyona closed her prayer book and pulled her arms into her bodice, listening as the wind rustled through the leaves, hoping that there would be some sign.

      Reyona had always found solace in speaking to the old gods, finding that nature spoke to her more often than the Seven Septa Mordane spoke of so fondly. The Mother had never granted her peace quite like the godswood. The Warrior had never fulfilled her lust for anger quite like the bubbling brook as it beat back the fish, weeding out the weak.

      She reached out a thin finger and trailed a path across the carved face of the weirwood, the sticky sap stained her forefinger, resonating the color of Bran's blood in her mind. However, she wasn't afraid. In fear's stead, Reyona found a morbid curiosity in the face.

       Old Nan had told her tales of the children who roamed these lands long before the First Men. Children of the Forest who never seemed to age and worshiped the old gods with these very trees. It was the Children who had carved faces into the weirwoods in the Dawn Age. And, as the First Men came to the land, they too took up the old faith.

        In a sense, Reyona's blood was attached to the heart tree just as much as the Children. It was kinsman blood on her fingers, the sap passed down from generation to generation.

      She stuck her sap drenched finger between her lips and sucked, cheeks puckering at the rancid taste. It was bitter and tasted of blood, and for a moment Reyona thought she would be ill, but after a moment the taste began to change. Like a budding flower, the taste evolved from bitter to sweet, tasting of honey to pheasant, to unknown sweets that ignited and danced across her tongue.

       'Reyona,' the wind howled as she began to reach for another taste. Reyona dropped her book of prayers and turned her head at the sound, finding only trees and mist swarming the area. Her heart sputtered as the tang on her tongue faded.

       Collecting her book, Reyona gathered herself and made her way out of the godswood, feeling as if her movements were being watched by a trained gaze. Once more, Reyona could hear her name being whispered, beckoning in the soft hush of morning. It sounded inviting, and she paused, breathing heavily as she searched for the source of the voice. Alas, there was only her breathing in the thick of the wood.

       Reyona caught her breath with a piercing cold wind and wrapped the buck cloak around her shoulders, heading back to the safety of her home as the morning sun broke the horizon.

     The dining hall was silent again. It had been heavy and quiet for the last few days, and Reyona was sure that it would continue to be so until Bran awoke from his fevered sleep. Reyona sat, her eyes trained on her plate before her, but her mind pondering the events that had taken place in the godswood.

      Had the old gods spoken to her? Should she have traveled deeper into the wood instead of turning her back on it? Reyona feared that her actions would have consequences.

     "Lady Reyona," Margaery's light voice soothingly called her attention, "Grandmother and I fear for your well-being. Please, eat something." Margaery motioned towards the untouched platter of roasted pheasant in front of Reyona, worry in her beautiful, blue eyes.

      For a moment, Reyona wondered if Loras had his sister's looks. For a moment, Reyona feared the future she may have in Highgarden. No one was truly ever safe, not even little Bran.

       "Thank you, Margaery," Reyona extended her courtesies, "you are right, of course. I am afraid that I do not have the stomach for much food this morning."

       Margaery nodded, placing a warming hand over Reyona's clenched one, sparing her a quirky smile. "Do not worry, Reyona. Lord Stark has one of the best Maesters. Bran will awake any day now."

      "Does your Grandmother still wish to leave before the Lannisters?" Reyona interjected, wondering how much longer she had to say goodbye to Arya and Jon. Sansa was too elated about being engaged to Prince Joffrey for a proper goodbye, and Rickon was too young to understand, but Reyona wished to part ways with them as well.

     Margaery paused, her face showing how much she detested the subject. Reyona found it nice that Lady Margaery cared enough to feel sadness towards her situation, even if it was just a courtesy. "The plan is to leave on the morrow after the Night's Watch leaves with their new brother."

     "New brother?"

     "Yes," she nodded, serving herself a pickled plum, "your father's son, Jon Snow."

     "Jon Snow?" Reyona pushed her plate away from herself as Margaery watched in confusion. "Will you excuse me?" It was not a question, only a mere courtesy as Reyona stood from her seat in the dining hall and stalked outside, in search for her half-brother.

     Reyona had known Jon had always wanted to leave for the Night's Watch, but she had not planned for him to leave so soon. How could he abandon Bran and Rickon at such a time? Reyona was leaving, as was Sansa and Arya. How could he leave now? How could the Night's Watch accept someone so young? Surely, sixteen was too young for a man of the Night's Watch.

      Trudging through the muck of the courtyard, Reyona passed the blacksmith. In the front of the building, Lyanna and Lady, Sansa's direwolf, were playing and bounding about happily. Reyona smirked at the sight, happy to see that one of them were enjoying their last day at Winterfell.

     In the corner of the yard, Sansa was sitting with a few kinsmen, young girls that always flocked around her, excited to be in her presence. Sansa had always been popular with the girls of Winterfell, but now her popularity had tripled as news of her engagement to Prince Joffrey spread.

    Sighing, Reyona slunk her way to Sansa with the hopes that she would know the whereabouts of Jon Snow. "Sansa," Reyona called, earning a sharp eye from the gaggle of girls as she interrupted their daily gossip, "have you seen Jon Snow anywhere? I need to hit him."

     Sansa rolled her icy eyes, adjusting her braid as the girls watched intently, waiting for something to spread rumors about once Reyona turned her back. Reyona noted that Sansa was wearing her hair in a Southern fashion today.

      "You and Arya sound too much alike some days, Reyona." Sansa paused, crinkling her nose in distaste as the girls giggled beside her. "I saw him at the Smith's earlier, but Freya says that he went to Arya's chambers to say his goodbyes. Jon is leaving on the morrow for the Wall, you know."

       "Yes," Reyona curtly spat, jaw tight in annoyance at her sister's behaviour. Reyona frowned as she backed away from them, no longer needing to hear their words. She'd found out the information she had desired. Behind her, Sansa scoffed out how rude she was acting, comparing Reyona to savages for not bothering to excusing herself. Sansa's gaggle of girls giggled in agreement.

      The steps to the bed chambers never seemed so steep as Reyona pulled her tired bones up their carved faces, wishing that she was a bird. If she was a bird, Reyona would never have to climb steps again.

      On her heels, Reyona could hear the panting of Lyanna as she followed her.

      As Reyona rounded the stone hall leading to her and Arya's bedchambers, she found Jon stalking down the hall, reaching out a fist to pound lightly on Arya's door. "Hey, bastard!" Reyona spit, getting a rise from Jon as he paused, fist mid-air to the oak door.

     "Reyona?" He questioned, offended at the name she had blurted out at him. She had never called her brother that before, and Reyona had never imagined that she would. "Is something the matter?"

     Reyona placed her hands on top of her hips, quite like Mother when she was furious, and shot him a frustrated frown. "You are traveling to the Wall on the morrow?"

    "You are traveling to Highgarden on the morrow?" He jested, mimicking Reyona's question with his own, valid one.

      Reyona clenched her jaw, relaxing and tightening once, twice, thrice, then sighed. "You are too young, Jon. Who's going to look out for Rickon and Bran? How can you abandon them?"

      Jon's stance softened as confusion filled his brown eyes, his mother's eyes. He shifted on his feet and glanced down at Reyona's slightly shorter frame. "Reyona, I am three months your elder. I am sixteen; that is the age of a man. You, of all people, understand how long I've been planning to take the Black."

      "Yes, but when you are older, Jon. Sixteen? Are you pleading to be alone? Do you not desire a woman? Children?" Reyona clutched a hand against her forehead, feeling her brain reeling from shock as Jon watched her, flabbergasted. "Was that just I, or did I sound like Mother right then?"

      The drastic change in Reyona's tone sent Jon reeling, and she could read the confusion flickering across his stoic features. Crossing his arms over his chest, he offered Reyona a stubborn frown. "I do not care for glory, or a woman, or children. The Night's Watch is an honorable position and I have grown weary of being told how grand a 'mistake' I am making."

      By Reyona's leg, Lyanna whimpered at a sound she picked up on, but the two children could not hear. Frustrated, Reyona started a retort when Arya shoved her chamber door open, glaring fiercely at the two.

       "Would you both shut up? Some of us are trying to pack here," the grin on her lips told the two that she was merely joking. "Well," she rose a tiny brow, "are you both coming in, or are you going to stand there, mouths gaping open like trout?"

        "Very funny, Arya," Reyona smirked, walking around Jon so she could step into Arya's room. It was a very plain room decorated by different kills that their father had made. Reyona pondered the differences between Sansa and Arya, as her room spoke volumes about the girls' different tastes. Sansa would never step foot into Arya's room without complaining about one thing or another.

       "You trained her to do that?" Jon chuckled and pointed at Nymeria, Arya's direwolf, as she grabbed Arya's clothes with her jaws and helped her pack her bags. Laughing along, Reyona pet Lyanna and smiled at Arya. "You should work with Lyanna too."

       Arya huffed a snarky laugh, folding a hideous dress that Septa forced Arya into on special occasions. "Lyanna is untrainable."

       "Not true," Reyona defended her wolf, turning to Lyanna with a half-smile quirking up the left side of her face. "Lyanna, sit," Reyona motioned down. Lyanna bore her light eyes into her master's with a stubborn air, staying as still as a rock. "Lyanna, sit."

      Still, the stubborn wolf refused to move.

      "Great training, Yona," Arya snickered, getting Jon to add some chuckles as well. "You're doing rather well with her." She turned on her heel and grinned at Nymeria. "Nymeria, gloves." The young wolf stared at her in confusion.

    "Impressive," Jon arched a brow at the confused wolf.

    "Shut up," Arya snapped, offering her pup a pointed look. "Nymeria, gloves!" No response.

    "Oh, Arya," Reyona mused, a feigned look of sadness crossing her face, "how will I go on without you and your wolf whispering ways?" Arya shot her older sister a scowl and Jon sighed, watching us with a brotherly annoyance.

       "I have something for you, Arya," Jon cleared his throat, "and, it has to be packed very carefully."

     "A present?" Arya and Reyona said together. Reyona craned her neck to see what Jon was holding in the leather wrappings he was carrying. Jon nodded and shut the door behind the three of them, closing their view off from any that may pass.

      Unwrapping the leather halfway, he pulled out a tiny sword, with a sheath and all, and presented it to Arya who's eyes grew triple in size. "This is not a toy. Be careful that you do not cut yourself." Jon unsheathed the weapon and showed the girls the thin blade and its intricate hilt.

      "It's so skinny," Reyona commented. It was odd for a blade to be that thin; she wondered how much damage it would do to an attacker.

       Jon nodded towards Arya with a flat eye. "So's she." He offered Arya a stern look. "The sword won't hack a man's head off, but she'll poke about a hundred holes in a man if you're quick enough."

       "I can be quick." Arya held the blade with awe, never in her life had she pictured having a real life sword of her own. Reyona found herself grinning, pleased that Jon cared enough to arm her for the preparation of King's Landing.

       "First lesson," Jon pat Arya's head, mussing up her already untidy braids, "stick 'em with the pointy end."

        Arya rolled her eyes at Jon's words and she set her new sword to the side so she could fling herself into Jon's arms, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much. Sansa's got her needles, now I've got mine."

        "So, is that what you'll be calling it, then?" Reyona chuckled at the odd name. "Needle?"

      "Well of course," Jon nodded, smirk on his lips but a frown in his eyes. "Every good sword's got to have a name." Jon turned back to his leather wrappings and unfolded the rest of it, displaying a second weapon underneath. This one was significantly smaller, a dagger.

     "Is that for me?" Reyona questioned, feeling her palms begin to sweat. The thought of having to use that knife one day caused an unsettled feeling to stir in her chest, and her heart pumped madly with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

     Jon merely nodded and held the leather sheathed weapon out for Reyona to take. It was the blacksmith's work, castle forged and very beautiful with a wolf head design on the hilt. The sheath was made of leather and had a buckle so it could be worn under dress skirts, strapped onto a thigh, or even a calf.

     An awe fell over Reyona as she gingerly pulled the blade from it's resting place, glancing up at Jon with a soft smile playing at her lips. "Thank you, Jon. I will carry this always." He simply nodded at the two of girls. There was emotion behind the gesture.

       "I am going to miss you both," Reyona admitted, watching her siblings with dewy eyes. It was not enough for her to cry, but it was enough to cause Reyona to ponder once more over how drastically different her life was changing come tomorrow.

       For, in the end of it all, she was no longer a wolf of the Starks.

       Reyona was now the little rose of Highgarden, come tomorrow.

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[not edited, the beginning is slow, I know - things should start to pick up soon]

comment/vote for more, if you like it :)

I figured that I should tell you how to say Reyona's name, as there have been variations of it :

rey (as in g'rey') - yo (like yo-yo) - na (like nah, dude)

(people have asked it if was like rihanna ...no it's not)