There were stories sung in every tavern from King's Landing to the Titan's shadow.
The Tale of the Wolf Maiden, they called it — a song of a northern lady who forsook her betrothed, a great lord of storm and fury, to flee with a nameless common man.
Minstrels in gilded halls told it as tragedy.
In the streets, beggars sang it as romance.
And all agreed on one thing: Lyanna Stark had vanished, her life ending in whispers and rumor.
But now, the songs had changed.
The same tongues that once mocked her now trembled to speak her name. She lives.
Not as some fallen girl hidden in a tower, but as Lyanna Gryffindor, Queen of a land beyond the known maps, wife to a powerful king, mother to a boy whose eyes gleamed like emerald fire.
The girl they had once pitied had returned a legend.
In Braavos, news spread faster than wind on water.
By the second day, painters were sketching her likeness in the plazas. Merchants whispered that she had arrived on a ship made of gold. Priests of the Many-Faced God murmured that she carried an aura untouched by death itself.
Every noble house sought her favor. Every merchant dreamed of trade with Narnia, the kingdom that had grown rich from crafts and business.
That evening, the Sealord of Braavos himself held a feast in her honor.
The grand hall of his palace shimmered with candlelight reflected in pools of still water. Perfumed braziers filled the air with sandalwood and myrrh. Every noble in the Free City attended, and every eye turned when she entered — Lyanna Gryffindor, dressed in silver-gray silk embroidered with the grey wolf, her hair braided with moonstone.
Sirius walked beside her in a green tunic lined with gold, his small hand clutching hers, his expression as steady as his father's. Behind them trailed her Narnian guard, their cloaks a moving river of scarlet and bronze.
The Sealord rose from his seat and bowed.
"Lady Lyanna of Narnia, daughter of Winterfell, Braavos is honored."
Lyanna inclined her head gracefully. "And Narnia is grateful for your welcome, my lord Sealord. You honor not only me, but the house of my birth — and the house I have built."
Wine was poured. Music swelled. Conversation rippled through the hall.
One merchant, flushed with courage and drink, dared to approach. "My lady, is it true you once fled a lord for love of a common man?"
Lyanna's smile was faint, but her eyes glinted like steel. "If that is the song you choose to believe, sing it. But remember — songs are for men who watch life from afar. I lived mine."
The hall went quiet for a heartbeat, then laughter and applause followed, admiration spreading through the crowd.
As the evening went on, Sirius explored the edges of the feast, marveling at the Braavosi fashions and the masks some guests wore. A magister knelt before him, offering a sweet shaped like a lion.
"You are the prince of Narnia?" he asked softly.
Sirius tilted his head, thinking. "Father says I'm not a prince. He says I'm just Sirius."
The man chuckled. "Then 'just Sirius' must already be a name to fear, if even the wolves follow you."
From across the room, the two direwolves lay near Lyanna's seat, their golden eyes watchful.
That night, minstrels performed again. But the tune had changed.
No longer was Lyanna the foolish girl who ran from her fate. She was now the Wolf-Queen, the woman who defied her fate and returned crowned in her own right.
And in every verse, the singers spoke of her son — the boy with eyes like spring leaves and wolves for shadows, the heir of magic and winter alike.
Sirius fell asleep on her lap before the song ended, and Lyanna stroked his hair gently, half smiling, half lost in thought.
"Let them sing," she murmured to Orlino as the final notes faded. "They finally sing the truth — or something close to it."
Orlino bowed. "Braavos remembers greatness when it sees it, my lady."
Lyanna looked toward the dark sea beyond the open balcony. "Then let them remember. For soon we sail home."
Morning light streamed through the latticed windows of Orlino's mansion, a sprawling estate of marble courtyards and silk-draped halls that overlooked one of Braavos's smaller canals. The faint scent of jasmine drifted through the rooms, mixed with the faraway clatter of gondoliers calling to one another.
Lyanna woke to the quiet murmur of servants already at work, while Sirius still slept beside her on the cushioned bench near the window, one arm draped over the gray fur of a dozing direwolf. For the first time in many days, peace felt almost ordinary.
This mansion, like much of Braavos, was the work of wealth and patience. Orlino's banners—deep red trimmed with gold—hung from the balconies, and everywhere there were signs of prosperity: fine tapestries, silver lamps, and murals painted by Essosi artists.
Orlino himself was waiting in the dining hall when Lyanna entered, his beard neatly trimmed, his violet robe heavy with embroidery.
"My Queen," he greeted warmly, rising from his chair. "You honor my table again this morning. The boy sleeps well?"
Lyanna smiled faintly. "He dreams of snow, I think. He misses home."
"Home," Orlino echoed, pouring her tea. "A word that means many things. For me, it is Braavos—and for that, I must thank you and King Harry. Without Narnia, I would have died like a common librarian. Now…" He spread his hands, chuckling. "Two mansions, two wives, three ships, and a warehouse full of Narnian fire whiskey. Old age, it seems, agrees with me."
Lyanna laughed softly. "You've done well, Orlino. You earned every bit of it."
The morning meal passed with easy conversation. Sirius soon joined them, hair tousled, rubbing his eyes but alert the moment he saw the platters of sweet bread and fruit.
"Good morning, Orlino," he said with boyish cheer. "Mother says you own half of Braavos."
"Not half," Orlino said with mock solemnity. "Only the parts that make money."
Sirius grinned. "Father would like you."
Lyanna looked between them, amused. "He already does, though he hides it behind gruff words and letters full of business figures."
When the laughter faded, Orlino's tone grew serious. "I have arranged everything for your voyage, my lady. The ship Sea Maiden waits in the harbor. Her captain is one of mine—loyal and discreet. You'll sail with the tide tonight."
Lyanna nodded. "You've done more than I could ask, Orlino. You always have."
The old man leaned forward. "There are still those who would pay dearly to know where you are. I have made certain their eyes turn elsewhere. No word of your stay here will leave Braavos."
"Good," Lyanna said softly. "Harry trusted you for a reason."
Orlino hesitated, then spoke again. "Let me come with you, then. Or at least take fifty of my guards. The Narrow Sea is not kind to travelers, even royal ones."
Lyanna shook her head gently. "You have your duties here. Your merchants need you, and Braavos needs a man who speaks for Narnia when Harry cannot. I have enough protectors—ten skinchangers and thirty soldiers besides. You would only add to the attention I wish to avoid."
Orlino sighed but bowed his head. "As you command, my lady. But I will not rest until I hear word of your safe landing at White Harbor."
As the sun dipped low, the mansion's courtyard filled with the quiet hum of preparation. Servants carried trunks, and the Narnian guards inspected weapons and beasts. Sirius ran from one end of the courtyard to the other, excitement spilling from him like light.
Orlino stood at the gate, watching them with fondness. "I remember when I first saw you, my lady," he said. "A young woman who have a greater purpose, even when she was a nothing. And now look at you. The songs in Braavos speak your name again—but this time, they sing it with pride."
Lyanna smiled, though there was a glint of melancholy in her eyes. "I'll feel at peace only when I see the towers of Winterfell again."
Sirius tugged at her sleeve. "We'll come back, won't we? After we visit Grandfather?"
"Perhaps," she said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "But first, we go home."
Orlino bowed low, his voice thick with emotion. "Then may the winds favor your sails, my lady, my lord."
Lyanna took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You've done more for us than most kin ever did, Orlino. Never doubt that Harry and I are grateful."
The old man smiled through moist eyes. "And I am grateful for the life you gave me."
By moonrise, the Sea Maiden slipped from Braavos's harbor. Lyanna stood on deck beside Sirius, the two direwolves resting at their feet. The lights of the Titan burned in the distance, and beyond it lay the endless black of the sea.
"Goodbye, Braavos," Sirius murmured.
Lyanna looked back at the city that had sheltered her, at the glow of Orlino's mansion high above the canal, and whispered, "Goodbye, old friend."
The ship turned westward, its sails catching the wind. Ahead lay White Harbor… and the North she had not seen for a long time.
The Sea Maiden cut through the water like an arrow of polished oak and gold. The Narrow Sea was notorious for its dangers—pirates of the Stepstones, raiders from the Three Sisters, even rogue sellsails who preyed on merchant ships. But fortune favored them. For five calm days, the winds held steady and no black sails appeared on the horizon.
Lyanna stood on the quarter-deck each morning, her hair whipping in the sea breeze, eyes fixed westward. "Thor smiles on us," she murmured more than once. "No storms. No blood."
Sirius leaned over the rail beside her, watching dolphins race the ship's prow. "So that's the sea of my grandfather's tales," he said. "It doesn't look so dangerous."
Lyanna smiled faintly. "The sea can change its face quicker than men can draw breath. Never trust calm waters, my son."
But calm they remained. By dawn of the sixth day, the smell of pine and cold earth reached them, and before noon, the white-stone towers of White Harbor rose from the mist.
After five long years away, Lyanna Stark set foot once more in the North.
The docks were busy even in the chill of morning. Fishmongers shouted prices, gulls screamed overhead, and the banners of House Manderly rippled above the harbor walls.
When the Sea Maiden glided to the quay, its Narnian flag drew stares at once. No Narnian ship in living memory had come to White Harbor with sails woven in gold thread and figureheads shaped like dragons.
Curiosity turned quickly to fear when the direwolves bounded down the gangplank. The beasts were massive—shoulders as high as a man's chest, eyes burning amber in the gray light. Their low growls rolled across the stone pier like thunder.
"Seven save us," someone whispered. "Direwolves. Real ones."
Panic spread among the dockworkers. Men stumbled back, dropping ropes and barrels. Children cried out.
Then the city guard came running—dozens of men in green and blue livery, steel drawn and shields raised.
"Hold!" their captain barked. "Step away from the beasts!"
The skinchangers of Narnia moved just as swiftly. Ten of them fanned out around Lyanna and Sirius, their own companions—hawks, foxes, wolves, and a black bear—emerging from cages and shadows to stand ready. The air hummed with tension.
Sirius pressed closer to his mother, eyes wide but unflinching. "Mother?"
Lyanna raised a hand. "Stay behind me."
The direwolves bared their fangs, a low snarl rising from deep in their throats. Across from them, the Manderly soldiers hesitated, knuckles white on sword hilts. One wrong move and the dock would erupt in blood.
The captain of the guard swallowed hard, taking a cautious step forward. "State your name, stranger! What business brings you to White Harbor with monsters at your heels?"
Lyanna's voice cut through the noise, calm and clear. "I am Lyanna Gryffindor, daughter of Winterfell, daughter to Lord Rickard Stark, wife to Lord Harry Gryffindor of Narnia. These are my protectors, and this—" she laid a steady hand on Sirius's shoulder "—is my son."
The words struck the dock like a bolt of lightning. Murmurs rippled through the ranks of soldiers; a few men even lowered their blades.
"Lyanna Stark?" the captain breathed.
Sirius frowned. "Don't act like you knew her before, call someone who might recognise her."
The captain blinked, taken aback by the boy's words. Lyanna's lips curved in the faintest smile.
A horn sounded from the harbor wall, and moments later, riders appeared—Manderly men in silver armor, bearing the sigil of the merman. At their head rode Ser Wylis Manderly, the Lord's heir. He reined in hard at the sight before him: the wolves, the soldiers, the glittering ship behind them.
"What in the gods' names—" he began, but then his eyes met Lyanna's. He froze.
"My lady… it is you."
Lyanna inclined her head. "It has been long, Ser Wylis. But yes—it is I."
Wylis dismounted at once, dropping to one knee. "Forgive us, Lady Lyanna. We did not know you were coming."
She stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I am here for my brother's marriage."
The tension broke like a snapped bowstring. Soldiers sheathed swords; dockhands slowly returned to their work. The direwolves lowered their heads but kept watchful eyes on the crowd.
Sirius looked up at his mother, relief bright in his face. "Does this mean we're really home?"
Lyanna gazed at the gray northern sky, at the gulls wheeling above the white towers. Her voice was soft but sure. "Yes, Sirius. This is home."
And behind them, the waves of the Narrow Sea lapped gently at the hull of the Sea Maiden, as if sealing the long journey with a whisper.