She came into this world screaming, as most children did. A small and frail human being, only seven months old. Much sooner than Grand Maester Pycelle anticipated. A bad omen, he called the incident and not even the Gods managed to restrain Cersei Lannister from strangling him. People say he learned the hard way something that, by all means, he should have already known: A lioness is still a lioness, strong enough to defend her pup even when tired and confined to bed.

Not long after, a fever nearly took her. It was such a long night, seemingly endless. "I was terrified, my little lioness." the Queen would say, eyes brimming with tears that refused to fall but which were present all the same. Her father, King Robert, was a different case. He didn't want to remember such heartache and mostly refused to address the subject "It passed. You are alive and you are here, with me and your mother. The rest is dumb history."

Ilara wasn't delusional. She knew their union had been a political move. The Crown needed money, will always need money so whom better to marry than a Lannister whose greatest talent was making gold appear out of thin air? And who else to marry if not a Baratheon crowned King over all of Westeros? The lions wanted to rule and the stag wanted money to spent while ruling.

And though they didn't love each other, they made an effort to be civil...at least around little Tommen and sweet Myrcella. She couldn't say the same about Joffrey. Or herself. Half of Ilara wondered whether his cruelty stemmed from that. The alternative that he was born with sadistic tendencies, that he was beyond helping...It just wasn't something easy to digest. He was as much her sibling as Myrcella and Tommen were. Her least favourite one, sure, but they were family nonetheless.

"Aren't you tired, dear sister?"

Ilara glanced to her left, where Joffrey sat, riding. His hair was fair, hers was dark, his eyes were forest green where hers were stormy blue. They looked nothing alike. She took after Robert while he took after Cersei. Maybe that's why we don't get along. She mused.

"No, I don't regret my decision to ride rather than travel alongside mother, if that's what you meant." she answered. "Do you, brother? I couldn't help but notice how your grip on the reins had weakened when we passed the Trident." Ilara taunted him. "Now it's almost non-existent."

Joffrey's lips pressed into a thin line, livid. "You can't talk to me that way! I am the Crown Prince. I will rule over The Seven Kingdoms one day while you will be married off to a fat lord."

She was no longer amused now though she knew not to make a scene, not when their father was no less than four meters ahead and their uncle Jaime four meters behind. "You should thank the Gods for making me a girl then." she leaned close to whisper. "Because that's the only reason why you are first in line of succession."

Ilara didn't want Joffrey to forget that.

I know I won't.

The anger that she made him feel helped strengthen his grip over the reins. Satisfied, she gently kicked her horse, putting two meters between the two of them. Winterfell shined in the distance like the strong and unyielding castle that it was. After hearing all sorts of stories and reading so many books, she was finally seeing it. The gates opened and silence reigned as her father, King Robert, climbed off his horse and trudged towards the Starks. Ilara remained seated on her white mare, as did Joffrey on his black stallion. She watched as their father embraced his long-time friend, Lord Eddard. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him smile so wide...or her mother look as disgusted with her surroundings as she did now.

Tearing her gaze away from what was yet another disagreement between spouses, she focused on the children. All of them had fire-kissed hair and clear blue eyes. All but a little girl. She, looked like a Stark, the splitting image of her lord father. The brunette hardly behaved as she should. It was entertaining, to say the least, especially since she stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of Tully colourings.

"Ilara, Joffrey, come. Let us rest until your father pays his respects." Cersei called, beckoning them to follow her.

"Why does father have to visit dead people? They are dead." her brother foolishly argued.

Everyone heard him.

She smiled sarcastically. "I will be sure to remember that when it's you who gets buried a hundred feet deep."

A few snickers echoed in the yard while the rest attempted to stifle their laughter.

"Ilara." the Queen warned. She forgot sometimes that Joffrey was her favourite. It was obvious, no matter how much Cersei pretended otherwise.

"Mother."

Likewise, she mirrored her and pretended not to notice.

.

.

Winterfell's banquet hall was a lot smaller than what she was used to, as were her chambers, though Ilara found that she didn't mind. The fire burned bright and hot, essential for survival in the North, but still a double-edged sword. Get too close and you shall perish. She wondered how many Targaryens got burned in the end by the very thing that made them great.

"Princess Ilara, I don't think we have officially met."

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard's heir, cleared his throat. He was broad and strong. Not as tall as her brother Joffrey but certainly far more courteous. He took her hand and kissed it.

"No, I believe we didn't." she replied, graciously accepting the arm that he offered. Robb lead the way, their siblings following closely behind. Soon, they stopped walking. Ilara courtesied prepared to join her family, not expecting more from their interaction.

"How do you like Winterfell so far?" he asked, halting her movements, and seeming genuinely curious.

"Much more than I expected, if I may speak frankly, Lord Robb." she glanced ahead at the high table, where Joffrey sat, draped in gold and red, looking every inch a prince. Only on the outside. "I apologize on his behalf."

He shook his head. "You don't have to." he assured her then grinned. "Besides, your clever retort this afternoon was more than enough to make up for it."

Her lips curled upwards. "You think so? Then I'm glad we didn't start on the wrong foot." she found her mother's piercing eyes and quickly got the message. Don't get friendly with the wolves. She imagined her say. "Thank you for escorting me."

Robb nodded as if he understood and bowed his head. "The pleasure was all mine. I hope you enjoy the feast."

Ilara courtesied once more. "Likewise, my lord."

Singers played their cheerful, overrated songs while servants kept bringing different types of food. In the South, nobles were more reserved, cautious of how they behaved. The northern had strict principles out of respect for their lord though those were soon forgotten after a few glasses of wine. Now they were a lot more talkative and loud. Ilara tried a little bit of everything, from meat to dessert and found the food to be delicious. She quietly observed the people and smiled. Then her eyes fell onto King Robert, flushed, drunk and quite attached to a kitchen woman. She loved her father dearly. What she didn't were his habits. Ilara willed the smile to stay plastered onto her lips as she rose from the high table and joined Myrcella. The young girl didn't seem to have noticed her presence. It'd take a blind man not to see why. "Is that Robb you are admiring, little sister?"

The blonde-haired beauty gasped, eyes wide and cheeks red. "Ilara! You startled me."

"I'm sorry. That wasn't my intention." she gave her a pointed look. "Do not change the subject, though."

Myrcella looked down at her feet as if she were ashamed and whispered a soft: "Yes."

"Do you like him?"

If possible, her sister turned even redder than before. Ilara feared she'd faint.

"I..." she hesitated.

"It's alright, you can tell me."

"You won't be mad?" she mumbled quietly.

Ilara's eyebrows shot up. "Mad?" she retorted, shaking her head. "Why would I be..." she trailed off and then it hit her. Her eyes softened as she grasped her hands. "Oh sweetling. The only reason why Robb escorted me is because I'm the eldest. If upsetting me is what you are worried about, you shouldn't be."

Her sister squeezed her hands and though now she looked less mortified and clearly happier, something was still eating at her. "It's not just that. Bran was the one to escort me. He is nice and tells interesting stories but I don't want to offend him..."

Ilara spotted Tommen and Lord Stark's second son talking. "I wouldn't worry. Bran seems more concerned about achieving knighthood."

Myrcella's eyes brightened at that. "Really?"

"If what uncle Tyrion said about uncle Jaime is true, then Bran resembles him when he was young. Men like them look for an adventure, glory. Not necessarily love." Ilara paused. "Robb might be different. Think about it."

"I will." she whispered her promise.

I hope he is better than our father. Ilara silently prayed as she rose, the sight of Robert disrespecting Cersei making her flee the banquet hall. In her rush to get away, she forgot to take her furs. Out of habit most likely since in King's Landing another layer of clothing was scarcely needed. The sound of nearby voices steered her curiosity so, she stopped to listen.

"You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

Silence.

"Did I offend you?" Her uncle asked. "Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." He grinned. "You are the bastard though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," the boy admitted stiffly.

He studied his face. "Yes," he said. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."

"Half-brothers," he corrected.

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Uncle Tyrion began and Ilara prayed the boy would listen. She hardly knew anyone smarter than her uncle. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

He frowned. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

"You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister."

"Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure."

"I don't even know who my mother was."

"Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." Tyrion favoured him with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune.

A small smile creased her lips as she stepped away from her hiding place. "You ought to take his advice. It's good."

The tension in his shoulders was visible. It didn't surprise Ilara when he snapped, whirling around afterwards. "And what would you know of that?" His eyes widened upon seeing who she was. He dropped to his knees. "Pardon, your Highness. I didn't..."

She raised an eyebrow, thoroughly amused. "Mean to?" she completed his sentence. "But you did. Had I been anyone else though..." She shook her head. "Please stand."

He did so, a little reluctantly, the wolf pup by his side oddly tame. "If I had known..." he tried again. Now that they were face to face, she saw what uncle Tyrion meant. Jon Snow looked to be quick on his feet, graceful and slender. Unlike his brothers, he had the Stark face with grey eyes that looked almost black and brown, unruly hair.

"You would have done your best to shower me with empty pleasantries and untrue compliments, yes?" she retorted. "I have had my fair share of those in King's Landing. There, everyone lies." Ilara paused. "Better than you."

"No offence taken." he replied.

"Really?"

"Yes. I'd rather be honest, my lady." Jon paused, adverting his eyes all of a sudden. "You should get back to the feast and stop talking with a bastard such as myself."

"I met your siblings, it would have been bad manners on my part not to show you the same amount of courtesy as I did them." Then Ilara thought better of what her mother would do if she found them talking and relented. "Alright, but not before I answer your question."

At this, his eyes narrowed in confusion before it clicked. He didn't object. Whether out of fear or curiosity, she wasn't sure.

"I am King Robert's and Queen Cersei's firstborn. But, since I am a girl, that hardly matters. I have no claim to the Iron Throne. On the other hand, my younger brother does as he never ceases to remind me. He tells me, every day, how my purpose in this world is to marry, do as my lord husband tells me to no matter what, and bear children. I won't marry for love and what little freedom I have now shall be stripped away." she looked up, lips curled upwards. "So, I return his sharp words with ones of my own. I'm a breathing reminder that gender difference is the only reason he will be king. Joffrey knows it, feels it in my presence even. I don't have to say anything at all though it's funnier that way."

When Jon smiled the tiniest bit, a smile which replaced his brooding features, the Princess wished he would have been the one to escort her that night. Robb was handsome and charming yes but he wasn't forbidden and Ilara discovered forbidden was far more tempting than safe. "You are your uncle's niece, that's for sure." he seemed amused, less gloomy.

No other praise would have sounded this beautiful. Growing-up, Ilara had picked Tyrion as her role model, much to her mother's dismay. "That's what I'm aiming for." she confessed and adverted her eyes. "Well, it was nice meeting you but I must get back inside."

"Aye, that you should, my lady." There was a trace of disappointment in his voice that left Jon wondering where it could have come from.

A few days after they arrival at Winterfell, Ilara's hair was being brushed when Myrcella burst inside her chambers, sobbing quietly. She glanced at her handmaidens. "Leave. I will call for you later."

The women bowed low and did as ordered. Once they were alone, she rose and gestured for her sister to sit in her place. "What's wrong?"

"They say Bran fell from the top of a tower and hasn't woken up ever since."

Ilara's eyes widened slightly. "He fell?"

"It doesn't make any sense! He told me how much he loves climbing and that he had done it a thousand times before!" Myrcella protested.

"Maybe he wanted to impress you..." she suggested, not knowing what to make of the situation.

"That's not it. Bran didn't lie, wouldn't lie! I saw the dedication in his eyes when he told me all about it. He didn't lie." Her sister seemed very sure of what she was saying.

The Starks are honest people. They rarely lie and when they do, they are horrible at it.

"Okay, I believe you but how do you explain him falling then?"

Myrcella started crying harder, covering her eyes with her hands. "It's because of me. He fell because of me. I..."

Ilara felt her heart melt. She gently pried away her hands, embracing her. "Sweetling, you liking Robb and not Bran as more than a friend has nothing to do with it." she tried comforting her.

Myrcella wasn't convinced. "But Joffrey said that princes and princesses can kill people with just a thought. That we are lions and stags and thus very powerful."

Her knuckles turned white after hearing such absurdity. I will strangle Joffrey for this. Ilara looked her in the eyes. "Did you wish for Bran to fall?"

"Of course not."

"Then his tragedy is not your fault, little sister."

"But I wished father would marry me to Robb instead of Bran and now he..." Myrcella started crying again.

She sighed and tried consoling the girl to the best of her ability. "Crying won't do him any good. But you know what would? Visiting him. As princesses, we ought to show our support to Lady Catelyn. Think of our mother when Tommen fell from his pony that one time. How was she?"

"Furious. Sad." the youngest of the girls answered.

"Exactly. Shall we go then?"

Myrcella wiped at her eyes and called back the servants to braid their hair, looking every inch a princess as she did so. She is dignified, like mother, and far stronger than people give her credit for. "Yes, we shall."

She couldn't have been prouder of her sister.

Maester Luwin showed them to Bran's room. "Princess Ilara and Princess Myrcella, my lady." he said upon opening the door.

Catelyn Stark pried her eyes away and rose to greet them properly to which the eldest of the two shook her head and said there is no need. Ilara looked down at the lively boy rendered unconscious and crippled. All he has now are shattered dreams. She couldn't begin to grasp just how painful that must be. To feel useless, capable of doing nothing for your child other than watch him fight death.

"Our prayers are with you, Lady Stark." She looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep. Whatever peace of mind she might have had, was gone now. Her words barely registered.

"Thank you, your Highness." Catelyn responded weakly, a quiet, full of grief whisper and nothing like the strong and proud woman who had greeted them when they arrived.

Myrcella took hold of Bran's hand. Without doubt, she had a tender heart, especially for someone she already considered a friend. "I heard you want to become a knight..." she began. Want, not wanted as if that was still within reach and all he had to do was open his eyes. "To do that, you must be brave and strong. Just like Ser Aemon The Dragonknight." she drew in a sharp intake of breath. "I really like stories and I wish to listen to another one but only if it's from you." she squeezed his hand. "Wake-up soon, alright?'

Ilara opened her mouth to say they should leave Lady Stark alone with her son. Myrcella let go of Bran and faced his mother. "I apologize for intruding."

Catelyn gave them a teary smile. "There is nothing to apologize for. I thank you for your thoughtfulness."

With that, they courtesied and walked away.

.

.

Ilara found Joffrey outside, a sword in his hand, the Hound by his side. Unsurprisingly. Her brother relished holding weapons as well as being surrounded by men braver than he was. He thought that made him a warrior. It was his fierce desire for approval that worried her.

"Sweet sister, how has the North been treating you so far?" he asked upon noticing her presence.

"Better than it did you, I imagine."

Joffrey had a mask he hid behind for the sake of keeping up appearances. Winterfell knocked down his ego a few steps since people around here weren't fond of singing lies and there was nothing he loved more than receiving praise. The mask he wore had cracks in it now.

His jaw clenched. "We are surrounded by fools. I didn't come here expecting to be treated as I should."

That's exactly what you got though.

"May we speak alone?" she asked.

He was clearly surprised by her request. Rarely did she talk to him without having to do it or without a public that would laugh at him afterwards. "Clegane, leave us." he gestured with his hand in dismissal.

Once they were alone, Ilara's eyes hardened. "You made our sister cry. Care to explain why?"

Joffrey's mirrored her own, except they were green with envy. She always defended others but never him. "How is that my fault? Myrcella is a girl. Girls have weak hearts and slow minds."

"I am a girl. Do I look like I have a weak heart or a slow mind?" she spoke through gritted teeth.

He frowned in disbelief. "Are you scolding me because of a Northern baby?"

"Bran is the son of Lord Stark. You ought to speak properly, especially at a time like this." she replied.

"And deny the truth? Death would be a mercy." he paused. "Father said so."

Ilara sighed and sought out a place to seat. She patted it with her hand and he reluctantly accepted. Both couldn't remember the last time they willingly sat next to one another.

"In some ways, father never left the battlefield of his rebellion. If he said that, he said it as a warrior, not as a parent himself." she bit her lip. "A few days after my birth, I fell with a fever. A powerful one, unbeatable. The maesters thought it but didn't have the courage to say it out loud. Then, it passed. No one knows how, just that it did." A smile creased her lips. "Father was the happiest. Mother said he left his duties to Jon Arryn and stayed with me for days." Ilara placed a hand on his shoulder. "And that's only an example. I watched him do the same whenever you, Myrcella or Tommen got hurt. I don't expect you the understand the fear or the pain of nearly losing your child." she looked him in the eyes. "What I am asking, is for you to respect it."

Joffrey was silent for a few moments. He looked to be deep in thought. Then, he slowly nodded. "Father said one thing but thought another?" he concluded.

Ilara shook her head. "Not just him. Sometimes, we all do."