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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27905 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
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All around him the battle raged fiercely inside the tunnel. Jon panted, quickly ducking a blow from a wildling armed with a large Warhammer. Dancing to the side, he swung his sword and cut down his attacker, before turning to face the next, with the sound of loud grunts, screaming, and the clash of weapons ringing in his ears. Men were shouting and crying out as they died, falling to the snow-covered ground, their blood staining the snow-packed earth and the walls of ice that formed the tunnel around them red.
The wildlings were falling back, as they pushed forward, steadily gaining ground. Lost in the steady haze of the battle, Jon barely noticed they were pushing forward through the other side of the gate. Beyond the edge of the tunnel, arrows fell in waves as more and more archers mounted the battlements at the top of the wall. Ahead of them, Mance Raider moved this way and that, shouting orders as he attempted to organize the wildlings for a second round. Meanwhile, Jon and the volunteers flooded out of the tunnel, preparing to charge the wildling host, buying the builders time to repair the damaged gate.
Lord Bolton and the Blackfish rode out of the tunnel on two large destriers at the head of a column of foot soldiers, forming them up just beyond the wall as the archers kept the wildlings penned down. Jon joined them on the front lines as they massed.
“Forward! No quarter!” The blackfish called out, mounted on his horse as they raced forward, stepping over the bodies of dead wildlings felled by arrows.
The charging host of soldiers continued forward, crashing headlong into the ragtag army of the Free folk. They met in a clash of steel, swords swinging and spears thrusting as all around them men fell on both sides, their cries filling the air. Ahead of him, charging through the press and swinging the trunk of a tree like a club, the ground shaking as he walked was a giant. Jon swore, dropping and rolling aside to dodge the blow of the massive tree.
Overhead, archers had begun targeting the giant, firing arrows at him. Most were swatted away by the giant as he raised his massive club into the air or bounced off his thick furs, but a few lucky arrows found purchase, sinking deep into his exposed hands and face. As they struck him the giant roared in pain and rage, lashing out with the makeshift club again, sending wildlings and soldiers alike flying through the air, their bodies collapsing in a broken heap of limbs and torsos, lifeless and unmoving. Ducking and dodging the blows, Jon scrambled to his feet, racing forward and grabbed ahold of the mess of animal pelts that made up the giant’s clothing, climbing deftly up onto its back, he raised longclaw high, bringing it down hard, the blade sinking into the flesh of the giant’s back. The giant let out an almighty howl of pain, twisting and turning, trying to shake him loose as Jon hung on for dear life, while blood pooled out of the wound, making the giant’s back slick. The giant finally tumbled, falling forward, and collapsed, crushing several unfortunate wildlings that had rushed to the giant’s aid.
As the giant fell the wildlings scattered, demoralized as Lord Bolton and the Blackfish led their forces forward, routing the fleeing wildlings. Jon staggered to his feet, wrenching longclaw free of the giant’s back as a loud shout rang out.
“Traitorous cunt. Damn you, Snow.” Mance Raider shouted as he raced forward with surprising speed and strength for his age, swinging his sword, cutting down Bolton soldiers left and right as he raced towards Jon, intending to kill him. Jon recovered his wits and spun around, bringing his sword up just in the nick of time. Mance swung his sword in a downwards slashing move intending to cut Jon open from neck to navel but Jon parried the stroke just barely before the next blow came. Dodging and blocking blow after blow, Jon struggled to find an opening, the sweat of battle dripping into his eyes, clouding his vision, as he struggled to fend Mance off.
The pair danced around, ducking, parrying and slashing, neither gaining an inch as the battle slowed down around them, the wildlings now in full retreat. A few brothers of the Night’s watch had gathered around to watch, cheering on their commander as he battled the deserter, Mance Raider, King beyond the Wall when Jon slipped on a patch of ice and lost his footing, tumbling to the ground. Mance stood over him, sneering down as he held the tip of his sword to Jon’s throat. “You lose, Snow.” He said in a mocking tone.
Suddenly, a loud growl sounded, and all Jon saw was a flash of white as Ghost pounced, his jaws sunk into the back of Mance’s neck, knocking him to the ground, his sword landing several feet away. Mance struggled as Ghost’s jaws snapped and shook him around like a ragdoll. Finally, Mance’s neck snapped and he lay motionless as Jon climbed to his feet, Ghost running to his side, muzzle stained red with blood. “Good boy, Ghost. Good boy.” Jon said, running his fingers through the wolf’s fur as he surveyed the battlefield around him.
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Sansa sat on a small stool at the side of Robin’s throne as he sat hearing petitions from his smallfolk. Occasionally, she would smile, offer words of encouragement or advice to him. Still reeling from the betrayal of his stepfather and the murder of his mother, Robin was wont to throw tantrums or fits. She and the Lords Declarant were working to curb this behavior and help him to grow into his position as Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, but it was slow going. All the years of being coddled by his mother had taken their toll and he was woefully inept in many key areas. Already, he had had his first lesson with Lord Yohn Royce who was attempting to train him for combat. Sansa had watched from the sidelines and while she did her best to encourage her cousin, she knew he would never become a great warrior. The boy was simply hopeless with a sword.
Robin was currently sitting in judgment of a young man in his late teens with lanky hair and dark eyes, who was accused of raping a girl from a nearby village. The man in question, stood bound in chains, flanked by guards while the girl and her parents stood nearby, casting glares at the man. “I find you guilty of the crime of rape. You have two choices. Death or the Wall.” He said, glancing sidelong at the moon door in the middle of the hall.
“I... I choose the wall.” The young man said, resignedly.
Suppressing a sigh, Robin nodded. “Take him to a cell for now until he can be delivered to the wall.” At his command, a pair of guards frog-marched him out of the hall.
With the last petition heard, the hall cleared save for Sansa and the members of the Lords Declarant who stood to the side. Robin hurried down from his throne and raced over to Sansa, grinning excitedly. “Did you see? Did you see, Alayne? They listened to me. I heard their petitions like mother used to do and they obeyed.” He said.
Sansa smiled sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, I did. Well done, Sweet Robin. You’re becoming a proper lord.” She said. Robin grinned and hugged her.
“Ahem. Well done, my lord. Now, I do believe it’s time for your lessons.” The elderly maester said, approaching the pair. Robin frowned and began to pout.
Sensing trouble, Sansa quickly spoke up. “Why don’t I come with you, Sweet Robin, and when you’re all done with your lessons I’ll tell you a story.” She spoke softly.
“Alright, I guess,” Robin said resignedly, as Sansa took his hand and together they followed the maester to the library.
Later that day, after Robin’s lessons and his story, Sansa had some time to herself while Robin went over the account books with the help of his steward and the maester. Sitting in the Godswood, Sansa spent some time reflecting on all that was happening and missing her family. A letter had arrived from her mother, who was lodged in Maegor’s Holdfast in King’s Landing. She sniffled as she read her mother’s handwriting, the ache of longing weighing heavy on her. Tywin and Arya were expecting a child. Her wild, younger sister was pregnant. It was a shock, considering Arya’s stubborn nature. When she was younger she had rebelled against their septa and her lessons. Tywin had even hired a master at arms to teach Arya to use a sword. Only her sister could manage to pull off something like that, she thought with a sigh and a shake of her head.
“I hope we’re not intruding, my lady.” A voice spoke.
Sansa looked up to see Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood standing a short distance away. “Not at all. Please join me.” Sansa said making room on the long wooden bench she was sitting on.
“Thank you, my lady.” Lord Royce said as he and Lady Waynwood sat down beside her.
“What can I do for you, my lords?” Sansa asked politely, tucking the letter inside her pocket as she turned to face them.
“A letter from the north, my lady. The fighting at the wall has ended and the Wildlings have been driven back. The realm is finally at peace again, and Lord Bolton of Winterfell and the Dreadfort has sent an offer for your hand in marriage. Your great uncle Brynden Tully and your half-brother, Jon Snow, have accepted on your behalf. Lord Bolton is coming south personally, to escort you home to Winterfell. They’re expected to arrive in the next few weeks.” Lord Yohn Royce spoke softly.
Sansa sat there, stunned and at a loss for words. She had always known she would be expected to marry one lord or another for the good of her family and the North. She was of age and a daughter of one of the oldest noble families in the realm,, but still, it took her by surprise that it was happening so suddenly. She wasn’t sure what to say or do now that the time had finally come. Speechless, Sansa sat there, hands fidgeting in her lap, unsure of how to respond. Mercifully, Lady Waynwood took pity on her and moved to reassure her, while Lord Royce looked on, uncomfortably silent.
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Cersei sat in the chair in front of her vanity, sipping a glass of Arbor gold, as her handmaids did her hair. For once she was in a good mood. Nothing could spoil her day. The wedding of her halfwit stepdaughter to her horrid little dwarf of a brother had taken place in the Sept of Baelor a week ago, and they had set out for Casterly Rock. That little oaf Theon was a hostage of Lord Bolton at Winterfell, and the only obstacle to her seizing power in the Iron Islands was her idiot husband, Balon. Soon enough, she would be rid of him too, and then she would seize power for herself and rule the Iron Islands. Cersei glared at her handmaid’s reflection in the mirror of her vanity. Finally, she finished, and Cersei stood, dressed in one of her finest gowns as she strode out of her chambers and made her way down to the private dining hall for dinner.
Striding into the hall, she looked around finding the dining hall empty save for Balon who was waiting for her. The servants had already set the table for a private dinner. Sitting down, she offered Balon a falsely sweet smile as the servants carried out the first course. A soup consisting of fish, rice and the few local vegetables they managed to grow here on the Iron Islands. A servant opened a rare bottle of Arbor gold and moved to fill their glasses. After filling Balon’s glass, he moved the fill hers, and Cersei thanked him with a discreet nod. Everything was going according to plan.
They ate their soup, sipping their wine as the second course, a dish of venison baked in spices, was brought in and the servant once again refilled their glasses. Before she could raise the glass to her lips, Balon smiled at her and proposed a toast.
“To our long and happy future together, and the prosperity of the Iron Islands.” He said, drinking deeply from his glass. Cersei echoed his words and downed her glass, in one long gulp, motioning for the servant to refill her glass. But then Balon spoke again.
“And to the bond of brotherhood we Iron Islanders share.” He said, as Cersei motioned again for the servant only to find he had left, replaced now, by a face she recognized with dawning apprehension and horror, the wine glass slipping from her hand.
“We Iron Islanders share a bond that you Greenlanders will never know,” Balon said, standing up and walking around the table, as Cersei began to wheeze, her hands clutching her throat as she began to choke. “It’s a bond of trust and brotherhood that binds us together. We support each other, stand by each other through good and ill. We’d never betray each other for the sake of a Greenlander’s ambitions.” Balon spoke, standing over her as the man from the apothecary looked on at the edge of the hall, silently watching as she climbed clumsily to her feet and staggered a few paces from the table only to collapse in a heap on the hard stone floor. “Such a shame that you couldn’t share in that bond,” Balon spoke from above, as Cersei went limp, no longer moving. “Such a shame.”
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Tywin stood on the edge of the docks dressed in a crimson doublet with gold buttons, a pair of black breeches, and one of the two Valyrian steel swords forged from the remains of ice strapped to his hip, his hand of the king badge on his shirt. To his left, her hand in his, stood Arya in her usual tunic and breeches, needle at her hip. To his right, Tommen wore his golden crown, a cream samite doublet and matching breeches, a cloth of gold sash and the ancestral sword of House Baratheon strapped on a belt at his waist. They were surrounded by the Kingsguard, soldiers from House Lannister dressed in crimson armor, and the members of the Small Council consisting of Varys, Tyrion, Grandmaester Pycelle and Lord Mace Tyrell. Pulling into the dock in front of them, the Dornish vessel came to a stop, the sigil of House Martell imprinted on the yellow sails.
As the crew anchored the ship, Prince Oberyn, his paramour and the Sand Snakes appeared on deck, slowly making their way down onto the docks to meet them. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Prince Oberyn,” Tommen said politely.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Prince Oberyn replied in as polite a voice as he could manage, coming to a stop a few paces away, a strained smile on his face as he glanced at Tywin.
“It’s a lovely city you have here, Your Grace,” Ellaria spoke, offering a polite smile as the Sand Snakes stood a few steps behind her.
“Your Grace, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand, and my children,” Prince Oberyn stated, motioning to them.
After the introductions were made, the group made their way on horseback to the Red Keep. Tywin rode beside Prince Oberyn a few paces behind King Tommen and his Kingsguard. The city was once again prospering now that realm was at peace and the smallfolk lined the streets to see their king and the delegation from Dorne. They cheered and tossed flowers in the path of the procession. Already, the memory of Joffrey and Cersei’s tyranny was fading fast. Upon reaching the Red Keep, the procession filed into the Great Hall where servants waited to escort them to their chambers to freshen up for the welcome feast that had been arranged for them. Arya had struck up a conversation with the Sand Snakes, and already a friendship was forming between them.
Later that evening, at the feast Prince Oberyn and Tyrion traded crude jests and raunchy stories, each laughing as they sipped their wine. For his part, Tywin smiled and nodded along, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Beside him, Arya and the Sand Snakes were discussing various fighting styles and trading tips. After the feast and the official welcome, Prince Oberyn was formally invited to take up his position on the Small Council. That evening, after they retired to their rooms for the night, Tywin and Arya lay in each other’s arms. The next day promised to be the start of a long and prosperous future for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The Lords Paramount of the realm had dismissed their bannermen and retired to their castles once more after sending in formal declarations of fealty to Tommen as their King.
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Author’s note. After this is the epilogue and the end of the story. It’s very author’s universe but it has been an altogether pleasant alternative story. I want to thank everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed this story. I appreciate all the support and hope you all enjoyed it very much. Thank you again.
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl