#####Chapter 2

Elira Stormguard stood near the foot of the great staircase, her arms crossed tightly, face pale but fierce with determination.

Her eyes met those of Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, who had come to update her on the latest news.

“Lady Stormguard, it’s been days since Bran’s fall,” Rodrik said quietly. “Still no sign of waking. The maesters have done all they can.”

Elira’s jaw clenched. “The boy remains unconscious, and I can’t shake the feeling that this was no accident.” Her voice trembled slightly with barely concealed anger. “I want every corner of Winterfell searched again. No stone unturned. If the Lannisters had a hand in this, I will find proof.”

Rodrik hesitated. “The servants whisper. Some say the queen’s men were near the tower just before the fall.”

Catelyn’s eyes narrowed. “I do not care for whispers. I want facts.” She turned sharply and walked toward the tower where Bran lay.

As she entered the chamber, she knelt beside Bran’s still form. His pale face was smooth, unmarked by pain, but still. Her hand brushed back a lock of his dark hair, and a single tear escaped. “Wake, my son. Please.”

Suddenly, a faint glint caught her eye on the floor beneath the window. She reached down and picked up a single blonde hair strand. “This... This is no servant’s hair,” she muttered, fingers trembling. The queen’s golden locks.

Far to the south, in the capital of Alpha’s Landing, Alaric Stormguard paced the stone floors of the Red Keep’s solar. His daughters, Elara and Seraphine, stood nearby, anxiety etched deeply into their faces.

“Father,” Elara whispered, clenching her small fists. “When will Bran wake?”

Ned paused, his face grave. “Soon, I hope. The maesters are doing all they can, but the gods have their own plans.”

Seraphine looked down, twisting the edge of her gown nervously. “I hate being here. Everything feels wrong.”

Alaric reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We must be strong, for Bran, for our family.”

Meanwhile, Kaelyn rode north with Rodrick. The journey was harsh, the roads muddy and unforgiving, but Kaelyn’s mind was troubled by thoughts of the Wall, the Night’s Watch, and the strange bond he felt with the wild lands beyond.

Rodrick, ever the keen observer, broke the silence. “You carry more than just a sword, Kaelyn. There’s a burden in your eyes.”

Kaelyn glanced at him. “I have my own battles to fight.”

“And so do we all.”

Kaelyn’s smile was thin, knowing.

Back in the lands where Catherine Valeris resided in, she struggled to find her footing. New customs, strange words, and the fierce, untamed wolf in her made her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

Her handmaiden, Doreah, patiently guided her through the rituals, instructing her in how to please Drogon , her powerful and unpredictable husband.

“Your grace, you must show strength and submission in balance,” Doreah advised softly. “The Drogon respects power but demands loyalty.”

Catherine looked out over the endless grasslands, resolving hardening in her eyes. She would learn. She would become the lady her people needed.

Back at Winterfell, the threat was more immediate. An assassin, cloaked in shadow, crept silently toward Bran’s chamber under cover of night.

As the figure raised a dagger, Bran’s direwolf erupted from the shadows with a terrifying growl, teeth bared. The assassin faltered and was quickly overpowered.

Elira arrived moments later, breathless but resolute. “No one will harm my son again.”

The cruel winds of fate blew even harder in Alpha’s Landing.

Elara’s wolf had strayed near the castle grounds, and when Joffery mocked the young girl, the wolf lunged in defense. Joffrey screamed of attack and injury.

He screamed in pain and the news reached the Queen's ears. Though the Queen knew the truth that the wolf had acted to protect Elara she demanded justice, demanding a direwolf be punished for the boy’s injuries.

The innocent Lady’s direwolf was condemned, a cruel symbol of power’s injustice.

Bran’s eyelids fluttered as if caught between two worlds. His breath came slow and uneven, the steady rise and fall a fragile promise. Elira leaned close, tears glistening in her eyes.

“My son,” she whispered, voice cracking with hope and fear intertwined. “Wake for me, Bran. We need you.”

Slowly, Bran’s eyes opened, revealing a cloudy blue gaze. Confusion mingled with pain as he blinked against the light. His lips parted, but no words came. The room seemed to hold its breath.

The maester, an elderly man with deep-set eyes, stepped forward cautiously. “He is waking, my lady. The gods have spared him.”

Her face softened for a moment, relief flooding her. Yet beneath it lay a fierce resolve. Bran’s fall was no accident, and the shadow of suspicion over the Lannistersgrew darker with every passing day.

The days that followed were tense. Catherine oversaw the investigation personally, questioning servants and guards. She insisted that all those who had been near the tower be accounted for.

“My lady,” Rodrik Cassel reported one evening, “I have spoken with the men who guard the walls. None admit to seeing anyone suspicious, but the queen’s guards are... reticent.”

She narrowed her eyes. “They hide something. We will find it.”

At King’s Landing, tension simmered beneath the royal court’s glittering surface. Elara was restless, shadowed by the loss of her direwolf and the knowledge that justice was warped by power.

Seraphine mourned her sister's dead wolf quietly, her grief bottled behind a fragile smile. The injustice stung deeply, but she dared not speak against the queen.

“Mother,” Seraphine said one evening as they sat in their chambers, “how can they condemn the innocent while the guilty roam free?”

Elara’s gaze was steady. “Because power bends the law, my daughter. But we will not bend. We must hold fast to what is right.”

Far from the courts and castles, Kaelyn continued his harsh journey to the Wall, the looming cold and unknown tests ahead weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He spoke rarely with Tyrion Lannister, but when they did, Tyrion’s sharp wit and insight cut through Kaelyn’s brooding silence.

Tyrion had joined Kaelyn on his journey as Rodrick had to return to lord Stormguard’s household .

“The Wall is no place for a wolf’s pup,” Tyrion said once, handing Kaelyn a flask of strong wine. “But it’s where honor is tested.”

Kaelyn looked out at the barren landscape. “I do not seek honor. Only purpose.”

Tyrion’s smile was wry. “Then perhaps you’ll find it where the cold bites deepest.”

Meanwhile, in the wide grasslands ruled by the Drogon, Catherine had embraced her destiny with quiet determination. Each day brought new challenges, harsh customs, the fiery spirit of Drogon, and her own fears.

One evening, Doreah sat with her beside the fire, her voice soft but firm.

“The Drogon respects strength, but he fears weakness. Show him you are both fierce and loyal.”

Daenerys nodded, her eyes blazing with a growing fire. “I will be the wife he needs. Not just for him... but for our people.”

One night, as the wind howled outside, Elira sat beside the fire, pondering the tangled web of danger and deceit.

“There are wolves in this castle,” she murmured to herself, “but some wear the crown of lions.”

Her mind raced with possibilities, alliances, and betrayals. She knew the fight was just beginning.

In King’s Landing, the palace halls buzzed with whispers and schemes. Joffrey’s claim of attack fueled his mother Lady Morgana’s cruelty, and the punishment of Lady Elara’s direwolf was a bitter wound to the Stormguard children.

The young wolf’s death was a stark reminder that justice was often a plaything of the powerful.