#hiddenprincess

"My lady." He said as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Edd."

"You do not have to do it yourself." 

"Ours is the Old way. You must remember, Edd." It seems he had forgotten that she had taken Jonas Slynt's head herself on this very spot. Without any other word, he made his way down the gallows. Lyarra took a moment to study each of her murderers. Bowen and Wick's heads hung low, remorse and regret all over their faces. Perhaps they will beg for mercy. She almost chuckled at the thought. Thorne looked the worst - a bunch of bandages enveloping his shoulder were colored darker crimson with his blood by each moment. His face scowled in pain and defeat. She searched her heart for any pity; she found none. Olly, on the other hand, has anger embedded in the lines of his face, on his high kept head. He is fourteen, as old as my sister Sansa. I would have given my life to protect him, yet he chose to take it himself. 

Lyarra freed Longclaw from its scabbard. The sound of steel echoed through the silent yard. She approached the first in line, Bowen, and leaned on the bastard sword she had put before her feet.

"I will ask you once. Who else conspired with you?" His teeth were cluttering violenltly. She knew not from cold, but fear.

"Othell!" Wick, the second in line, shouted. He was either sweating or crying. Perhaps both. "He... Yarwick wanted to be there as well. But, but, but he was busy locking your wolf."

The yard rang with Yarwick's shouts. "Liar! Traitor!" He struggled for life as Torghen, Tormund's son, and his men seized him. "He is the traitor! You can not believe his words! LIAR! LIAR!" Torghen quieted his shouts with a punch as he carried him to the gallows. 

"Who else helped him?"

"Dywen and... and Joelle." The same commotion followed each of the traitors. By the time Edd added three more ropes, they were begging for mercy and forgiveness. The wails of grown men crying for mercy had swept over the sound of the wind. Lyarra looked at Ghost and motioned her forward. White Wolf's one long chilling howl was enough to quiet them all.

"What are your last words?" She faced Bowen again.

"You shouldn’t be alive. It’s not right."

Lyarra moved on, sobbing, Wick. "Forgive me, my lady. I sinned," he cried more. "Please... mercy." Yet he found no mercy in her eyes before she stepped to Thorne. His eyes were weak, and his skin was whitening like paper. From blood loss or pain, I reckon.

"I had a choice, Lady Mediator: betray you, or betray the Night’s Watch..." he was breathing hard. "You brought an army of wildlings into our lands... An army..." he coughed, "an army... of murderers and raiders. If I had to do it all over, knowing where I’d end up, I pray I’d make the right choice again." He gathered his strength once more. "I fought. I lost. Now I rest. But you, Lady Snow..." another attack of coughs "you’ll be fighting their battles forever." A wish, perhaps a curse, he sings on me. 

Olly was the fourth; he said nothing. Only stared into her eyes with rage. Your gaze could have made me feel something if my chest did not still throb with the wound of your knife, son.

"My mother is still living in White Harbor. Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the wildlings." Yarwick begged. So did the last two men. Lyarra said no word to any of them. They took my breath from my lungs, they are not worth any more of my breath.

Turning her back to her murderers, Lyarra raised Longclaw above her head. May the Gods forgive my soul. She prayed and brought the bastard sword down to the rope. She did not look as seven men choked to death behind her. Sheathing her sword, she left the gallows and returned to her children. 

As the door closed behind her, she took a deep breath. I just killed the men who murdered me. She had done well not to break before those men, but now a shiver ran through her body by herself. Arra freed Longclaw from the belt. Putting it on the table, she took in her surroundings. She was in the Maester's office alone. Despite it being the afternoon, the room was buried in the shadows of the bookshelves. Gloominess by afternoon was getting more usual. The sun has been colder, setting faster. Winter is coming.

Soft mutterings and giggles were coming from the small creak of the door that connected the office to the bedroom where she had resided in the last three days. She swung down a cup of ale, and when that eased her shaking, she headed to her children. Uncle Aemon was sitting in the chair next to the fire as children lay on their cribs, laughing at the sounds Rysa made. She was one of the healers from Tormund's clan. Only at five and ten years, she knew much of the healing crafts and was a skilled fighter. Val had introduced them long ago when she had been captured by Ygritte. Ever since a kindred relation had grown between them. Rysa had also been at the birth of her children, and the weeks following had taken care of unconscious Arra. From those days, she and Munda had taken turns to help her with the twins, and Arra needed much help between the two infants and her duties.

"Is it done?" Maestor must've heard her come in.

"It is done, Uncle." She took Valia in her arms, putting soft kisses to her head. "Thank you, Rysa. Did they trouble you?"

"'course no." She rolled her eyes. Rysa also had a quick wit and sharp tongue.  "They woke, shaking the walls with their wails after you left. I have fed them. Now we play."

"Have you eaten yourself?" Arra moved on, Robdard lifting him on the other arm. A short moment of carrying them both ached her limbs, but it was worth all the pain.

"Nay."

"You should go and rest. I will have them for the rest of the day. Thank you, Rys."

"Whenever, wolf. I love them kids." With a wave, she left them. 

"What about you, uncle?"

"I have not eaten as well. Satin shall bring us something."

Kneeling before the hearth next to already seated Robbdard, Arra created support for Valia to sit. "There you go, baby." As Arra handed each of them a toy, the room came alive with their happy squeals.

"They sound happy."

"Aye, they love the little wolf stuffies I have made for them."

"Twins sound healthy as well, not that I know the rate or anything about a child's growth. I have not been in the presence of babes in decades."

"They are well, Uncle." Arra agreed. "They will be four moons old in a fortnight. They have already begun to keep their heads up. At this age, they mostly sleep. Learn their surroundings, learn the sounds and faces."

"They have strong lungs."

She chuckled, "That they do. They will only get louder, especially once they start teething."

"You sound experienced, child."

"I loved looking after my siblings. Especially when Rickon was born, I was older I could understand more. I loved taking care of him. He was so small, so adorable." Perhaps I could feel that warmth again. Perhaps my children could grow with such warmth. "When they are this young, they are so vulnerable. They have to learn every little thing one by one. I realized we take way too much of our capabilities for granted when I found out he had to be taught to roll over his tummy." Maester joined her chuckles.

"You love this."

"Who could not love babies? Every day is a wonder with them."

"I meant you love being a carer, a mother."

"I am too afraid to find enjoyment or joy in it, uncle."

"Oh, child, joy is not the only shape of love. You can love something, and never once find joy in it."

"Perhaps," Arra said halfheartedly as she played with the kids.

"How do you feel?"

"About killing my murderers, about being killed or coming back from being killed?"

"All of it."

"I do not know..." Arra looked at her heart to search for her feelings. Nothing she felt was bright enough. "Wrong. It feels wrong. Sometimes I forget. it's just another arduous day at Castle Black. I forgot for a moment. Then it comes to me." A silence followed.

"I wish I had the words to console you, my child. But I am equally out of my wits." Sadness and defiance were carved into his features. "You felt lost before. Unsure of your path. What about now?"

"I feel rage, uncle. I want them all to pay for what they did." Ice returned to her voice.

"You have. They are all dead, Visenya."

"What of Lannisters, Boltons, Freys, uncle? What of those rats who ravaged my family?"

"You want revenge."

"Sometimes justice is revenge."

"You sound..."

"Different, I know. Lyarra Snow, raised by the honorable Lord Stark, would never swear the vows of vengeance. But let me ask you, uncle. What did become of him? Betrayed and murdered as a traitor, not the noble man he was. What became of the just children he raised? Robb shared his fate, so did Bran and Rickon. And worst befell my sisters. What of the hidden princess he raised? His other child, sharing his fate - betrayed and murdered by her own men. I have been proven time and time again I can not repeat their mistakes, yet I did and died for it."

"That's why you take the Wall."

"And the Gift. Do you not approve?" His answer was interrupted by Robard's short squeal over his fallen wolf toy. Before the squeals turned into cries, Arra returned his toy with shushs in her tongue.

"I want to know why, child." A moment later, he began. "Taking the Wall will not bring you any closer to the Boltons or the Lannisters. Do you want to stake your claim to the throne? Is the Wall where you start your conquest?" Arra flinched at the words of claim and conquest. 

"I can not take back the North. I can not sacrifice Free Folk for my fight. But I can make this place safer for them. We should take the other castles as well, then in the Gift, there could be some safety."

"You should or you will?"

"I can not decide for the Free Folk. You know them, they don't take orders."

"You sound like you have already decided for them. Have you sent men to other castles?"

"Aye, they will take Stonedoor in a day or two."

"Sounds like they do take orders. I also heard you have increased number of wildlings in the Wall. I presume there will be even more wildlings on this side of the Wall."

"Aye, I mean to let them all pass South one way or another."

He hummed thoughtfully. "You said you are no longer King's Mediator. Then who do you do all of these as?"

"For the realm. I do these because someone must."

"Now you sound as blind as I am."

"I do what I can, uncle. Hoping one day I could do what I wish. Restoring my mother's house, avenging my family. I do what I must, snows have fallen and white winds have blown." 

"I am afraid I am not familiar with the saying, my child."

"Mother used to always make us say it before bed." She reminisced lovingly, stroking her children's hair. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. A Stark saying," the babies smiled, "of course, we didn't know it then."

"What a wise saying. Truly captures the Stark and Northern values." 

"Aye. We grew up with the tales of old men leaving their houses to hunt in winter and never returning."

"A sacrifice for the pack."

"I..." she hesitated for a moment. "I had thought it was Father. He was the Lone Wolf, and we, the pack, had to survive. Now there is no more pack. But a lone wolf."

"You do not consider your children your pack?"

"Of course, I do. I have named them Starks for it. But I am not a true Stark - we are of dragon blood. There will be no more true Starks. I dare to consider myself one, as Father’s ghost would curse me if I do not. Yet the truth is there, the Starks are gone. The pack, uncle, died, and lone wolf still stands."

"Hmm... interesting. Have I told you about the prophecy of the Song of Ice and Fire?"

"You have not. What is it?"

"A long story, child. We do not have a saying like Starks that passed through generations, but we have a prophecy. Some believe it has been passed through Aegon the Conqueror himself."

"A prophecy..."

"I will tell you all about it when we have more time. Why do I tell you this now? Because there is more than one way to interpret such things. For generations, our ancestors believed themselves the promised ones because their lives would fit some lines of the prophecy. You believe yourself to be the Lone Wolf and the pack as gone. But, tell me, child. Didn't you, Lone Wolf, die as well? And yet here you stand. If we consider the saying, does that not mean you died so the pack survived?"

"I had not thought it as such."

"Ah, you should perhaps. I know you avoid talking about the future, I understand."

"I apologise if I disrespected you earlier, ignoring your meaning, uncle."

He waved his hand in dismissal. "You have not, my child. I know you are running from yourself, not me. But the decision shall be made. You must make it." He leaned closer. "Would you entertain this old man in his advice to you, child?"

"Of course, uncle. Please." Arra did not try to hide her desperation. 

"Now hear me well, child. You were born the princess of House Targaryen, rightful heir of the realm. I understand why you had to unrecall your heritage. You told me yourself - you had to be a bastard. That time had required the bastard. But what is past is past. The ink is dry. The bastard did what she had to do for you to survive, and is no longer needed. You must kill it, Visenya. You must remember your true self. Whoever she is. Because it is not the bastard you believe yourself to be. You have achieved much more than a bastard could, and you know it. Free Folk follows you because you earned their respect and loyalty. They chose to avenge you. As Rhaenyra's men did after her fall. Kill the bastard, girl. Let the queen be born. You have taken the Wall and the Gift. You give orders and you are listened to. Yes, it is not that easy to be a queen. But you can be. Only if you allow yourself. Kill the bastard, Visenya. Let the queen be born."

As the sky shone bright the last time at dusk, Tormund’s entourage entered Castle Black. Maester Aemon and Lord Davos at her heels, Lyarra crossed the yard and approached the newcomers.

"Mance. Are you well?" He looked pale with blue-purple bruises around his neck. His clothes were stained with blood and dirt. There was a slight limp in his right step.

"Aye, lass. No need to fret."

"What happened? Where have you been? Why did you go?" With every muttered word, her worry turned into rage, hurt to be abandoned.

"I will tell you all. I promise."

"You better, Mance. Because I am using all of my patience not to strike you down at once. You abandoned us. You'd better have a good explanation."

"I know. I will. But first, tell me. Is it true what Tormund says? You died and came back?"

"I did."

His onyx eyes widened. "How could it be..." 

"We will speak later." Arra cut him off with her cold tone

"How are the children?"

"They are safe. They were unharmed. Sleeping upstairs." She motioned to the Maester’s Tower.

"Thank the Gods."

"Aye, the Gods. Tell me before the Gods why, Mance. Why did you leave?" Her shouts turned into whispers in the cold winds.

"Let's sit first, ha?" Tormund stepped between them. "Aye. Let's take a breath first." 

Quietly, they followed Tormund to the empty dining hall. In the hall, Arra walked to the table near the fire, and she ripped her cloak off, sitting down with an exasperated sigh. Her anger had heated her much. Ser Davos and Uncle Aemon took seats beside her as Mance sat on the other side, in front of her. Torghen gave each of them a cup of ale and joined them at the table next to Mance and his father.

"I have heard there have been changes to the Watch." Mance broke the silence.

"There have been many changes, Mance."

He hesitated. "I was not expecting this much rage from you."

"You were not?! My husband was murdered next to our tent while I was sleeping. I almost died birthing my children. We were in danger from the south and the north. And you had promised to stand by my side. But you... You just left. We were supposed to do it together. I was alone with two newborns and a barely surviving body. Then you left. You just left us…"

"I was grieving my son…"

"I was grieving my husband while grieving my father, my brothers, and my sisters. Do not speak of grief to me. I understand I am not your family. But my children are your son's. You had to be here to protect them."

"I knew you would protect them." A bitter laugh escaped Arra. "Aye, I protected them well until sons of bitches put a knife to my heart."

Mance flinched at her words. "I did not want to go. I did it for Free Folk. I know how I did it was wrong, but I had to do it."

"Do what, Mance?" Tormund cut him off, interfering the second time. "What could be more important than standing by your people, your family, as they were crushed between the Watch and the Boltons?"

"After Val, I made a deal with Stannis. I will tell you, but Arra. I need you to listen to me till the end."

"Alright." 

"Right after Rattleshirt died, Stannis and his red witch called me. He had heard of my sneaking into Winterfell during Robert’s visit. After I confirmed, he wanted me to go again and retrieve someone. He told me I can kill Boltons in their sleep."

"Retrieve who?" Ser Davos spoke up for the first time.

"Well… not retrieve but save. Stannis had received a raven saying your sister was sold to Ramsay Bolton…." The room began to spin around her. All of the blood-freezing rumours she had heard of him rushing through her brain she became as pale as Ghost. 

"Which… which sister?"

"Little one, Arya."

"What…" Her hands, grabbing the cup, shook, threatening to spill the ale.

"She was not there." Mance hurriedly continued. "They did not know, but I did. They sent another girl as Arya Stark."

"How could you be sure?"

"I had seen you all. I never forget a face I see, you know." She did know it. But. "It was not her. It was one of your squire’s daughter. Jeyne. Her name is Jeyne."

Lyarra's mind kept spinning, "Tell me all of it. Now!"

"Stannis knew he could not make it, take the North, in the snow with winter so soon. So while he attacked from outside, I was gonna attack from inside. We made a deal. I was gonna save your sister, so when the time came, you would be loyal to Stannis. He allowed me to do what I want with Boltons."

"Why did you not tell us? Take us?" Tormund hit his cup on the table. 

"You had to be here, Tormund. I needed a few men, and I took them with me."

"What did you do with Boltons?" Lord Davos asked.

"We snuck in as stable workers.” Turning his attention to Davos, Mance ignored Tormund’s anger-filled stare. “Bastard often kills his servants, so no one bats an eye when two new men join. We worked there a while to see what’s what…" There was a deep sadness in his eyes, and Arra knew it meant he saw awful things happening at her home.

"One night when we were gonna attack, he knew. His hounds…they smelled us. I ran away and hid in the crypts. I remembered your tale of you and your brothers. At odd times, I would go up and check the ongoings. 4 days later, I found out where they kept Morrs." His face was getting redder, his voice harsher. "The bitch… he craved. Ramsay… he is the devil’s spawn, I swear to Gods. In four days, he had broken the men who roared at White Walkers."

"Morrs? What could he have done?" Tormund sounded as confused as Arra felt.

"I did not see much. But what I saw… half of his face was skinned. He did not have any fingers or ears. There were burns on his skull, a few hairs here 'n there. It took me time to realize it was Morrs. Even his voice had changed with torture. It was pitched but also low." King Beyond the Wall shuddered at the memory.

"Do you know what he said? Did he speak about you?" But Lyarra knew his answer before he spoke. His eyes shone with the warning of the impending doom. "He spoke about everything, Arra."

"What do you mean?" Alarms were ringing in her ears.

"He told Ramsay everything there is to know about us. He told him how we worked. Who is who. Arra… Morrs told Ramsay everything about you. How you joined us. Married Val…" Everyone around the table stiffened.

The horrors in her heart began screaming, scratching their way to tear through her heart. "He knows about the twins. He knows you have named them Starks. He knows what they look like, where they stay. He is coming for you and the twins, Arra…" Lyarra could not find her voice. 

“Is he raising his banners?” Uncle Aemon broke his silence with a cracking voice.

“Only a few would rise for him, maestor.” Ser Davos spoke. “And I presume even less would rise against the true Starks.”

“Aye, he speaks true. He will not come with an army. He will come like a coward. Hidden, covered…” Knives in shadows. Melisandre’s voice rang through her mind. “You need to go, Arra. You have to take the twins and go!”

"How could you be sure? How could you be sure he does not have my sister? How could you be sure he knows about us? Did you hear Morrs say it all?" She spat out.

"I heard Morrs confess, but not all of it. I heard it from the person who helped me escape." "How did you escape?" Tormund's face was as red as his hair.

Mance's unsure eyes found Lyarra's. "Theon helped me. Greyjoy. We ran away together." Arra's spinning head stopped now that she felt slapped.

"He... lives?"

"Barely, Arra... He has got worse torture than Morrs. He found me in the dungeon the same day I found Morrs. He promised silence if I helped him and Ramsay's wife to escape. I did... We could escape. That's how I am sure. The girl's not better than him, tho. Bastard has broken her deeply. But she confessed to not being Arya Stark. " Ser Davos leaned closer. "Where are they now?" "Theon left to distract from our scent. To throw off Ramsay's hunt. I brought the girl with me. She is in the camp with Munda." 

"The Gods..." Davos swore.

"Arra, you must listen to me. You must go. He knows, and he will come."

“I can not leave you here. I can not leave Free Folk. I have given them a promise.”

“I know. Tormund told me what you have been doing for us. We understand your honor to keep your promise. But you are vulnerable here. You must go."

"My lady." Ser Davos turned his body to her. "Forgive me if I overstep, but Mance speaks the truth. Your and your children's presence puts all of Free Folk in danger. You can not hide in the camp, for it's the first target. And you can not hide in the Wall. Not after the betrayal."  Lyarra looked desperately at her Uncle for direction. His already unseeing eyes trained on her had the same gleam he had earlier. Kill the bastard.