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Chapter Text

The sun was shining brightly as little Lyarra Stark walked through the glass gardens. Her curious grey eyes looked around, searching for her favourite flower. To her four-year-old mind, the flowers in the garden meant everything. She would skip her lessons with the Septa so she could pick the flowers and make crowns out of them.

She let out an excited squeal when she spotted the pale blue petals. She had found her favourite flower. Her little hands reached out and picked several winter roses and laid them on the ground.

Pushing her red hair out of her face, she sat down, careful not to muddy her dress in case her mother got mad, and started to weave the roses together.

An hour later, she had several crowns of winter roses in her lap. She had made one for all her family. Her father, her mother, her twin brother Robb, her half brother Jon and her uncle Benjen, who was due for a visit soon. She had also made one for Rodrik, Jory, Maester Luwin, Old Nan and Hodor because they were her favourite people outside her family.

As she went to put the crown on her head, she heard heavy footsteps and knew right away it was her father. He always knew where to find her. Apart from Robb, he knew her best.

“Lyarra Stark, your mother is worried sick.”

She turned around and saw her father frowning at her.

“Sorry, Papa.”

“Why did you run out on your lessons?”

“I wanted to make flower crowns.”

“You could have done that after your lessons.”

“I know.”

“Don’t do it again. You know how important your lessons are.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Her father smiled. “Now, let’s see your flower crown.”

“I made one for everyone, Papa.”

“Even me?”

Lyarra giggled. “Especially you.”

Her father kneeled down so she could put the crown on him. The pale blue looked good against his dark brown hair and brought out his grey eyes.

“You look pretty, Papa.”

“Do I? Why thank you.”

“Is Mama mad at me?”

Ned shook his head. “No, she’s just worried about you.”

Lyarra narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“So, she’s not mad.”

“I guess not.”

“Come on, Lya. We need to get back to your lessons.”

“Do we have to? Can’t we just stay here a little longer?”

“Unfortunately not. Your mother would never allow it and you can’t miss your lessons.”

“Not even just this one time?”

“No.”

“Alright then. Can I go to the library after?”

“Ask your mother.”

Lyarra frowned. “I’m asking you.”

“You still need to ask your mother.”

“If she says yes, can I go?”

“Of course.”

Lyarra raised her arms up for her father. “Then let’s go.”

Ned chuckled before lifting his young daughter and carrying her back to where her mother was waiting.

Catelyn was not as understanding as her husband was. She expected Lyarra to behave better, regardless of her young age.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to run away from your lessons?”

Lyarra frowned at her mother’s tone. “Sorry, Mama.”

Catelyn sighed. “I know how much you love the roses in the gardens, but it’s no excuse to miss your lessons.”

“I know. I just couldn’t wait to make you all flower crowns.”

“Well, next time, perhaps you can wait until after your lessons.”

Lyarra grinned at the growing smile on her mother’s face. “Alright, Mama. I promise I will.”

Catelyn knelt down and held her arms out for her daughter. Lyarra gratefully ran into them, hugging her mother tightly and breathing in the flowery scent of her long red hair.

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, my darling.”

As soon as she let go of her mother, Robb came bounding over to her and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Hello, little sister.”

Lyarra frowned, annoyed at her twin brother. “You’re only a few minutes older than me.”

Robb grinned impishly. “I’m still older than you.”

“I know. You won’t let me forget it.”

“You’re just upset because I’m older, and that means I’m better.”

“It does not.”

“Does too.”

Ned put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Now, children, there’s no need to fight over something so trivial. It doesn’t matter who is older. Your mother and I both love you the same.”

Lyarra huffed. “Robb started it.”

Robb stuck out his tongue in response, which caused their mother to frown in disapproval.

“Now, let’s get back to your lessons. Maester Luwin is waiting for you.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Maester Luwin was old, with grey hair and grey eyes. He wore grey robes with long sleeves that covered his hands. But despite his aged appearance, his mind was as sharp as her father’s sword. He was a fountain of knowledge and Lyarra eagerly lapped up its waters.

Luwin would help her select books from the library and help her read them when she tripped over the tricky words. Her father joked she would read the entire library before she was ten.

Lyarra loved to learn, and it showed. She was smarter than an average girl her age and her mother thought she would have made an excellent advisor. Of course, that wasn’t possible, as she had to marry a wealthy lord because she was a Lady of Winterfell.

Robb, on the other hand, preferred outdoor activities. He loved to practice sparring with a sword or shooting with a bow and arrow. Of course, there was a limit to what he could do, since he was too small to wield a real sword.

Their half brother Jon would join him and the two of them would try to outdo each other with the rubber swords Rodrik gave them.

Robb and Jon were alike in personality, though completely different in looks. Robb took after their mother with his red hair and blue eyes while Jon took after their father with dark brown hair and grey eyes.

Lyarra loved both of her brothers, but she loved Robb a little more. They were twins, after all. They had a special connection, one their mother encouraged them not to talk about outside the family.

They could speak to each other in their heads, something Jon was often jealous of. It frustrated their mother sometimes as well, since they would have conversations with each other all the while saying nothing out loud.

Lyarra listened with rapt attention while Robb and Jon tried not to fidget. They had been at their lessons for hours, and the boys longed to practice with their swords again.

Lyarra was fascinated when Luwin started talking about dragons. She loved to imagine what they looked like, and she often wondered if they were truly gone. Old Nan’s stories spoke about things that no longer existed. Who said that dragons weren’t in hiding too?

Lyarra pictured herself as a Targaryen princess riding on the back of a dragon. Perhaps she would name it Meraxes, after Queen Rhaenys’ dragon.

She would prefer a wolf, of course, but no man had been able to tame one.

The three of them were too young to learn about Robert’s Rebellion and how it ended the Targaryen dynasty, but Lyarra had heard about it. People whispered about it. It was in one of her books.

She knew her aunt Lyanna had died during it, although her father never talked about her. It was just common knowledge. She had been down to the crypts to visit Lyanna’s grave, where she had laid a crown of winter roses on it. Her father visited every day, although he rarely took any of his children down there. Lyarra had only been a couple of times and she wasn’t sure how many times Robb or Jon had been.

When the lessons were finally over, Robb and Jon rushed out to find Rodrik while Lyarra headed off to the library.

She wanted to finish the book she was reading. She grinned when she saw it. Wonders by Lomas Longstrider.

It was getting dark when someone finally joined her in the library. A girl around her age with curly brown hair and blue eyes.

“Hello.”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re Lady Lyarra.”

“I am. And you’re Alys, Ser Rodrik’s daughter.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’ve been living in Winter Town. I just arrived here.”

“Why have you been away from your father for so long?”

“I was sick. It was better for me to stay away. I couldn’t risk endangering the entire castle, or so my mother says.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never had a friend who’s a girl before.”

Alys gaped. “You want me to be your friend?”

Lyarra smiled. “Of course I do. I’ve only been around my brothers. It would be nice to spend time with a girl. I’ve only been with my mother and Septa and they don’t count. Oh, and Old Nan, but she doesn’t count either.”

Alys smiled shyly. “I’d love to be your friend.”

“Great. You can pick flowers with me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Alys left to find her mother a little while later, but Lyarra stayed until the sky outside was black.

The door to the library opened again and her father walked through.

Lyarra beamed at him. “Hello, Papa.”

Ned frowned. “It’s past your bedtime, little wolf.”

“Sorry, Papa, but I wanted to finish this book.”

“Perhaps Maester Luwin can read it to you in the morning.”

“I can read by myself, Papa.”

“I know, but he can help you.”

Lyarra sighed, but she didn’t like to refuse her father. “Okay then.”

Ned smiled. “Now, let’s get you to bed before your mother comes.”

“Okay.”

Lyarra felt content in her father’s arms as he carried her to her bedroom. She always felt safe with her father. She felt like nothing bad could happen to her as long as she was with him.

Lying in her bed, she dreamt of dragons and large wolves and silver-gold hair, and she wondered if any of it was true.

As the little wolf dreamed, so did another little boy. One day, their paths would cross, but not yet.

Chapter Text

Almost ten years had passed and Lyarra was now a young maid of fourteen. She had grown tall. She was as tall as Robb now, much to his dismay. She had grown in beauty too. She was called the Winter Rose or the Northern Beauty.

An image of her mother with the famed Stark eyes, many coveted to marry her, though her father refused to marry her yet.

She now had two younger sisters and two younger brothers. Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. She adored them all.

Today her father and brothers were out to execute a deserter from the Night’s Watch. It was Bran’s first time attending and their mother was worried. Of course, their father was not and he was certain Bran would be fine. Father never lied so she knew Bran would be alright.

Lyarra wasn’t allowed to attend the execution but she knew all the details anyway. Robb and Jon had told her everything during the many times they attended one.

Their Father’s ward, Theon Greyjoy, was also with them. Lyarra did not know what to think about Theon. He seemed nice enough and he was always kind to her. Robb liked him but Jon thought he was arrogant. Her mother always said never to trust a Greyjoy and she could never tell what her father thought about him.

So she didn’t know what to make of Theon. He had been with them for nine years and was raised amongst her and her siblings but she wasn’t very fond of him. She liked him and counted him as a friend but he wasn’t family.

She was with her sisters learning how to sew with Septa Mordane. Lyarra knew how to sew well and Sansa was very proficient at it, but Arya struggled with it. She hated sewing with a passion and Lyarra knew her little sister would rather learn sword fighting with their brothers.

Lyarra’s mind drifted back to her father and brothers. Her father was executing the man himself, something men in the South did not do. She remembered her father’s words when she asked him why he did it himself.

“My little wolf, the blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.”

She believed her father was a better man than King Robert, who had his own executioner. She would never say that out loud though. It might be perceived as treason. Besides, the King was like a brother to her father so she would never disrespect him. She was sure Robert was a good man. It was just in her eyes there was no better man than her father.

Her youngest brother Rickon was sitting by the fire, their mother keeping a close eye on him.

She could tell her mother was still worried about Bran, although Lyarra knew there was nothing to worry about. Robb had told her everything was fine and he wouldn’t lie about something like this.

“Mother is worried again.” Arya said quietly so Septa Mordane wouldn’t hear them.

“She’s worried about Bran. It’s his first time attending an execution.” Lyarra replied.

“She always worries when the king’s justice is done.” Sansa said, not looking up at them and instead focusing on her needlework.

“King Robert has an executioner of his own. He doesn’t do it himself.”

“No. Father says that a ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is. We are descended from the First Men, Arya. We stay true to the old ways.”

Sansa looked up from her embroidery. “Mother is still uneasy. Have you heard from Robb? Perhaps you could tell her that Bran is alright.”

“It’s not Bran that makes her uneasy. This is the fourth execution your father has had to do this year. The Wildings are taking over.”

Sansa frowned. “Will Father have to fight them?”

Septa Mordane sighed. “Perhaps but worry not, child. Your uncle Benjen is leading the Night’s Watch. He will keep them at bay.”

“Old Nan says there’s terrible things beyond the Wall.”

Septa Mordane frowned at Arya. “Do not listen to that old crone. Maester Luwin says the Others do not exist and I would put my faith in him.”

Catelyn walked over with Rickon in her arms. “There is some truth to what Old Nan says. Even your father says that the Others existed. But worry not, they have been gone for eight thousand years.”

Arya looked curious. “What are the Wildings like?”

Catelyn frowned. “Never you mind. The Wildings are none of our concern. It’s the job of the Night’s Watch to deal with them.”

“Can I join the Night’s Watch?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Women can’t join the Night’s Watch.”

Arya gave her a defiant look. “Then I’ll be the first.”

“You will not join the Night’s Watch, Arya.” Catelyn scolded.

“Yes, Mother.”

Things soon changed when Maester Luwin came with a letter for their mother. Lyarra watched as her mother’s face fell as she read the contents of the letter.

“What is it, Mother?” 

Catelyn’s blue eyes were filled with sorrow. “Your uncle Jon has passed away.”

Lyarra’s heart clenched. She didn’t know Jon Arryn well but he meant a lot to her father. He was fostered in the Vale as a boy and Jon Arryn became a second father for him.

“What does this mean?”

“It means the King is coming here.”

Sansa looked confused. “To Winterfell? But why?”

Before their mother could answer, the sound of horses reached their ears. Their father and brothers had returned.

Lyarra, Sansa and Arya all rushed out to greet them, Catelyn with 

Rickon in her arms and Septa Mordane following at a more sedate pace.

Lyarra’s eyes widened in shock when she saw the pups in her brothers’ arms.

“Are they direwolves?”

Jon nodded. “Aye, they are.”

“But direwolves haven’t been seen for two hundred years.”

Robb grinned. “And yet here they are.”

Lyarra used their connection to scold Robb for not telling her about this.

“Sorry, little sister, but I wanted to surprise you.”

Theon frowned. He had never gotten used to the connection she and Robb had. It unsettled him for some reason.

“How many pups are there?” Arya asked.

“Seven. One for each of us.” Bran replied with a grin, a grey pup squirming in his arms.

Catelyn frowned. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Direwolves are no pets.”

“Father said we could keep them as long as we trained them ourselves.”

Catelyn looked sceptical at Robb’s words so Jory spoke up. “It is true, My Lady. Lord Stark said the children could keep the wolves.”

Catelyn sighed. “Well, as long as your father is alright with it, then you can keep them.”

Arya and Bran squealed in delight while Sansa was smiling brightly. 

Each of the Stark siblings were given their own direwolf pup. Robb’s had smoky grey fur and yellow eyes. Sansa’s had light grey fur and yellow eyes. Arya’s had grey fur and dark gold eyes. Bran’s had silvery grey fur and yellow eyes. Rickon’s had black fur and bright green eyes. Jon’s had white fur and red eyes.

Meanwhile, Lyarra’s pup had silver fur with a white underbelly and blue eyes.

Catelyn sent them into the kitchens with Septa Mordane while she went to deliver the news of Jon Arryn’s death to their father. Lyarra knew that he would be in the Godswood. He always went there after an execution. She wondered how he would take the news of the King’s impending visit. 

As far as she knew, the King had never been North in years. Not since he was betrothed to Aunt Lyanna at least. Her father had last seen his old friend during the Greyjoy Rebellion. What was the King’s reason for coming here? Was it so they could mourn their foster father together or was it something else?

She pushed that to the back of her mind for now. She now had a direwolf pup to focus on.

Her sisters were arguing over names for their wolves while Robb and Jon were helping Bran and Rickon choose names for their wolves.

Lyarra thought about the perfect name for her wolf. She could tell she was a sweet wolf but she had strength too. 

Thirty minutes later, Jon had named his wolf Ghost and Robb chose the name Grey Wind for his. Rickon decided to call his wolf Shaggydog, Shaggy for short. Arya named her wolf Nymeria, after the warrior queen of Dorne. Sansa named hers Lady while Bran was undecided.

As for Lyarra, she decided to call her wolf Winter because of the white fur on her belly. It also referred to the words of House Stark and she was proud of her heritage.

Bran had gone through a thousand names when their parents returned.

Everyone excitedly told them what they had named their wolves while Bran told them he was still undecided.

“The name will come to you, my darling.”  Catelyn assured.

Ned smiled. “Of course it will. Now, we must prepare for King Robert’s visit. They should be here any day now.”

Lyarra wondered what the King was like. She had only met him once, when she was a baby and she didn’t remember that, of course. She had heard he was very tall and was an excellent fighter.

She was also curious about Queen Cersei. People had called her the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Lyarra wondered how true that was. She knew the Queen had golden hair and emerald green eyes, features typical of a Lannister. She didn’t know what she was like though. Was she as kind as she was beautiful?

Lyarra supposed she would find out soon enough.

Chapter Text

Lyarra stood in between Robb and Sansa as the King’s party came flooding through the castle gates in a stream of gold, silver and steel. She watched in fascination as they rode towards them like a proud army. The bannermen, knights, sworn swords and freeriders all loyal to their King. She wondered what it would be like to be a knight in the service of the King, not for the first time as well, much to Mother’s dismay.

She watched as the golden banners were mercilessly whipped back and forth in the harsh North winds, the crowned stag of House Baratheon emblazoned proudly in the centre. 

Lyarra enjoyed learning about the noble houses. It intrigued her that all of them had their own personal sigil. People talked about how the direwolf sigil fitted the Starks as it was said they had wolf blood. She wondered how much the King represented his house sigil. 

She knew many of the riders entering the courtyard from her father’s stories. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother, with his magnificent golden hair. Sandor Clegane with his burned face, flanked by a tall boy with golden hair that could only be Prince Joffrey. The little man behind them could only be Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.

She did not recognise the large man at the front, however. He did not fit anyone that her father had described. She was confused as to who he was, until he vaulted off his horse with a roar and crushed her father with a hug.

It was the King. Robert Baratheon himself.

“Ned! Ah, but it’s good to see that frozen face of yours.” The King said with a laugh. “You have not changed at all.”

The same could not be said about the King. He was no longer the muscled warrior her father described. He was a fat man with a red face who looked like he had too much to drink.

Her father showed no indication of noticing this, however, and simply smiled at his old friend. “Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.”

Lyarra noticed that the Queen and her younger children had entered the courtyard. Cersei Lannister truly was beautiful. Her golden curls were as bright as the sun and her emerald green eyes were striking. She stood tall and regal, like a queen should.

She watched quietly as her father knelt in the snow to kiss the queen’s ring and her mother was embraced by the king.

She smiled as her father proudly introduced the king and queen to her and her siblings. She didn’t miss the wistful look the king gave her, his eyes on the blue roses embroidered on her grey dress. He was thinking of Lyanna.

Lyarra bowed to each of the royal children. They all resembled their mother with their gold hair and green eyes. She noticed that Sansa seemed to be taken with the eldest, Joffrey. Myrcella and Tommen were very sweet, she thought. Joffrey was harder to read, though.

As soon as the formalities were done with, the king spoke up again, asking to visit the crypt to pay his respects. The queen protested saying they had been riding since dawn and surely they could rest first. The king merely looked at her and she was lead away by her twin brother.

While her father and Robert went down to the crypt, the rest of them went into the great hall for some refreshments.

Lyarra sat in between Sansa and Arya as instructed by her mother. No doubt, she wanted to make sure that Arya behaved herself in front of the king and queen. Sansa and Arya often fought with each other so it was better to keep them apart.

She watched as her mother tried to make small talk with the queen. Cersei was having none of it, however, likely too angry about her husband visiting the cyrpt. Lyarra didn’t blame her for being angry. She didn’t know how she would feel if her husband insisted on visiting the grave of his betrothed. She imagined it would feel like the worst betrayal. A husband should be loyal to his wife above all else and if he couldn’t be, then he should at least have the decency to respect her.

She was worried when she noticed Robb glaring at Joffrey but she calmed when she saw Bran was sitting in between them. Bran always diffused tension. He was a sweet boy who put everyone at ease. Nevertheless, she silently gave Robb a warning. It would do them no good if he offended the crown prince. Robb grumbled at her but agreed not to anger Joffrey.

Meanwhile, Tommen had slid off his mother’s lap and walked towards her.

“Hello.”

Tommen gave her a toothy smile. “Hello. You’re very pretty.”

Lyarra smiled back. He really was adorable. “Why, thank you. It’s an honour to receive such a compliment from a handsome prince such as yourself.”

“Can I marry you?”

Sansa and Arya chuckled but Joffrey, who was sitting beside Sansa, scoffed. “You’re too young to get married.” He said scathingly.

“Perhaps when you’re older, you can marry my sister.” Sansa appeased.

Joffrey rolled her eyes. “She wouldn’t want to marry a big baby like you.”

Tommen’s bottom lip wobbled so Lyarra knelt down and took his hands. “Don’t listen to him, my prince. Perhaps one day, we shall marry.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother smile approvingly, although the queen didn’t seem to notice as she was too busy drinking a goblet of wine.

“Can I show you my kittens? I think they’d like you.”

Lyarra smiled. “I’d be honoured, Prince Tommen.”

Tommen blushed, his chubby cheeks turning red. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”

Tommen clumsily kissed her hand before toddling back to his mother, who did not seem to notice that he had gone.

Cersei drained her glass before slamming it down on the table. “Come on, children. It’s time for bed.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Father?” Myrcella asked.

Cersei frowned at her daughter. “It’s getting late. Tommen is tired. He needs his nap.”

Lyarra frowned. Bran was the same age as Tommen and he no longer had naps. Then again, it could just be an excuse to leave. The queen did not seem fond of their company, perhaps because she was angry at the king.

Still, the queen and her children left. The welcoming feast for the king was to be held tomorrow night, and no doubt, the queen wanted to be ready for it.

Sansa was excited about the feast, saying it would allow her to spend more time with Joffrey. Arya rolled her eyes at that. Her youngest sister cared nothing for formalities. She would much rather learn how to fight than learn proper manners befitting of a noble lady. Lyarra dreaded the day Arya was to marry. Her sister would be screaming in protest the whole time, no doubt. 

As for the feast, Lyarra agreed with Arya. She wasn’t looking forward to it. Mother and Father had banned them from bringing their direwolves and nothing was enjoyable without them now.

Although, she did like singing and dancing and there would be plenty of that at the feast, so perhaps she would enjoy herself.

Hours later, she sat on her bed, discussing the royal family with Robb and Jon.

“The queen is very beautiful. The rumours about her were true.” Lyarra said admiringly.

“The king was a disappointment, though.”

Robb frowned at Jon. “What makes you say that?”

“He looks nothing like a king should. He’s nothing more than a fat old man.”

“Don’t let Father hear you say that.” Lyarra warned.

Jon frowned. “I’m sure Father was as disappointed as I was. He looked like he barely recognised him when he first arrived.”

“Well, he’s better than Joffrey. I hate him.”

“You don’t even know him, Robb.” Lyarra pointed out.

“I don’t need to know him to see that he’s awful.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous that he’s taller than you.”

“I am not.”

Lyarra sighed. “Well, just don’t do anything to upset him. He is the crown prince, after all.”

Jon snorted. “I think that’s gone to his head.”

“Oh, don’t you start. Father will be angry if you two upset the prince.”

Robb grinned. “Oh, I’m not going to upset him. I’m just going to beat him in a duel.”

Lyarra raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think beating him will upset him?”

“Oh, it will, but he can’t say anything because I will have beaten him fair and square.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“Jon, you keep an eye on him.”

Jon grinned when Robb made a noise of outrage. “I will do my best, sister.”

Father poked his head in and told them to go to bed, so Jon and Robb left for their rooms.

Lyarra noticed her father was more serious than usual. “What’s wrong, Father?”

Ned stroked her hair fondly. “Oh, nothing for you to worry about, little wolf.”

“I’m not little anymore, Father.”

Ned looked at her sadly. “You’ll always be little to me.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, Father?”

“I’m fine, my darling. It’s just been a long day.”

“Oh.”

Ned hesitated before speaking. “I want you to promise me you’ll look after your sisters.”

“Of course, Father. I’ll always look after Sansa and Arya.”

“Winter is coming, little wolf. Always remember that.”

Ned kissed her forehead before leaving the room.

Lyarra lay awake, wondering what he meant. It wasn’t the first time her father had said those words. It was their house motto, after all. It wasn’t unusual for him to use those words.

So, why did they sound so ominous this time?

Chapter Text

‘Winter is coming.’ Her father’s words to her had not left her last night and they still lingered in her head this morning.

Why did her father sound so worried? He should be happy to be reunited with the king, who was his oldest friend, his brother by choice. 

Perhaps it had to do with the direwolves’ mother. She had been found with a stag’s antler in her throat. Mother saw it as a bad omen. A stag was the Baratheon’s sigil. Perhaps her parents thought that the king’s visit could only end in disaster.

But her father did not believe in things like that. He dismissed them as silly superstitions. Surely he wouldn’t take it as a sign that something ominous was about to happen. Her mother definitely would, but not her father.

Then again, her father did not hide his disdain for the Lannisters. Perhaps he was just disgruntled at having to host them in his beloved home. 

That had to be it. Nothing bad was going to happen. The king was her father’s best friend. He considered him a brother. He would not harm him or his family. He loved her father too much to do that.

She put the doubts to the back of her mind and got dressed for the day. She chose a simple grey wool dress trimmed with white fur. She brushed her hair and put it in a long braid before leaving her room to attend her lessons with her sisters.

Sansa and Arya were already sitting with Septa Mordane when she arrived.

Septa Mordane looked up at her and gave a stern look. “It’s not like you to be the last to arrive, Lyarra.”

That’s usually Arya was left unsaid, but everyone heard it.

Lyarra took a seat beside Arya and resumed her needlework. Jeyne Poole, the steward’s daughter, and Beth Cassel, Alys’ younger sister, were sitting beside Sansa, giggling away.

Lyarra smiled at Alys, who was sitting on Arya’s other side. Her best friend was a comfort in these strange times and she was grateful for her presence.

Arya was busy stabbing the cloth with her needle, frustrated at not getting it perfect.

Lyarra was skilled at needlework, although she was not as good as Sansa. Her work had always been perfect. Lyarra had a few wonky stitches herself when she was Arya’s age. She much preferred reading and horse riding to needlework.

But Mother was insistent they learn, although Lyarra thought that Sansa didn’t need any more practice.

The door bursting open distracted her from sewing a likeness of Winter onto the cloth.

Septa Mordane looked thrilled. It was the queen and Princess Myrcella.

“Your Grace. Princess.”

Cersei inclined her head. “I understand you are the Septa here.”

Septa Mordane nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am. How can I be of service, Your Grace?”

Lyarra and Arya shared a look. They had never seen Septa Mordane so excited before.

“I’d like Myrcella to continue her lessons while we’re here. Can I trust you to teach her?”

Septa Mordane nodded so quickly that Lyarra thought her head was going to fall off. “Of course, Your Grace. The princess will be in good hands.”

Cersei nodded before turning to her daughter. “I’ll come back for you before the feast. Have fun, my darling.”

Myrcella kissed her mother’s cheek before taking a seat near Lyarra.

Everyone bowed to the queen before she left, although Arya did it with a frown.

Lyarra elbowed her when Mordane’s attention was on Myrcella. “What was that all about?”

“What?”

“Why did you frown at the queen?”

“I hate all these formalities. We never have to bow to Mother and Father. Why should we have to bow to her? She isn’t my queen.”

Lyarra sighed. “Alright, first of all, you don’t bow to family, and second of all, Cersei Lannister is your queen, whether you like it or not.”

Arya frowned, stabbing the needle in harder. “Well, I don’t like it. There’s something not right about her.”

“Well, keep your opinions to yourself.”

“Alright. Can I talk about how much I hate needlework?”

“You did that yesterday.”

“I know, but I’ve got a lot more reasons why I hate it.”

Lyarra looked at her youngest sister wearily. “Do I have to hear this?”

“Yes. Who else is going to listen?”

“I’m sure Jon would.”

“He’s too busy learning how to sword fight. I wish I could do that.” Arya said bitterly.

“Sometimes life isn’t fair, Arya.”

“Bran is learning how to sword fight and he’s younger than me. What’s wrong with the world?”

“It’s just the way things are. The men fight and the women stay at home, raising the children.”

“And you like it that way?” Arya said incredulously.

Lyarra shook her head. “No, I didn’t say that. I think that people should be allowed to follow their own path, no matter what that may be.”

Arya looked at her curiously. “Even if a woman wants to fight?”

“Yes, even then.”

“Maybe you should rule Winterfell instead of Robb. Life would be a whole lot better then.”

“Oh, I’m sure Robb will make a fine Lord. Besides, I can convince him to let women fight.”

Arya’s eyes lit up. “Do you promise?”

Lyarra smiled fondly. “I promise.”

“You’re the best sister ever.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Yes, I know. You’ve told me many times before.”

“Well, you are.”

“Arya, Lyarra, stop talking and get on with your needlework.” Septa Mordane scolded.

Lyarra apologised but Arya just glared. Typical Arya, she thought with amusement.

“Why do we always have to do needlework?” Arya grumbled when Septa Mordane had turned her attention back to Myrcella.

“Because it’s what Mother wants.”

“When is she going to learn that I’m never going to be good at needlework?”

“You’re only nine. You have plenty of time to improve before you get married.”

Arya shot her a fierce glare. “I told you, I’m never getting married.”

Lyarra sighed again. “You don’t get a choice, Arya. Every noble lady has to get married, including you.”

“I don’t want to be a lady. It’s suffocating.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure Mother and Father will put off securing a betrothal for you as long as they possibly can.”

“What about you? Mother has been nagging Father to betroth you for two years now.”

“I’m sure Father will find someone soon. He hasn’t secured one for Robb yet and his is the most important, with him being the future Lord of Winterfell.”

“I thought Father wanted you to stay close to Robb.”

“Mother does too. Perhaps that’s why it’s taking them so long to find a husband for me.”

“I hope you get to stay in Winterfell after you get married. I’d miss you too much if you had to leave us.”

Lyarra smiled. “I hope I get to stay too.”

Soon, it was time for the welcome feast and Lyarra was in her mother’s rooms with Sansa and Arya as Mother and Septa Mordane helped them get ready.

Mother was dressed in grey wool with a trim of white at the hem and sleeves. Father wanted them to wear the Stark colours tonight. Her long auburn hair was twisted up into a braid. Lyarra thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in Westeros as a child and she thought the same now.

Sansa was twirling gracefully in grey silk gown. Her hair was braided with white ribbons. She looked radiant.

Mother was currently braiding her hair to match hers while Septa Mordane had the unfortunate task of forcing Arya into a dress.

“You look wonderful tonight, darling.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Lyarra had chosen a while wool dress with a grey direwolf embroidered on the bodice. It was the perfect homage to their house.

“Make sure that Arya behaves tonight.”

“I will, Mother.”

“You’re growing up too fast, my darling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that I was helping you get ready for your wedding.”

“I don’t want to get married, Mother. I don’t want to leave you and Father.”

“You will get married to a Northern Lord. Your father will settle for no less for you.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you need to stay close to Robb. The connection you have means you must always stay together.”

“Is Sansa really going to marry Prince Joffrey?” Lyarra whispered, so no one but her mother could hear her.

“I don’t know. Your father hasn’t decided yet.”

“But surely he cannot refuse the king.”

“The king has given us time to decide.”

“Do you think Father will say yes?”

“I think he would be stupid to refuse.”

“So he does want to say no?”

“Don’t worry about that, my love. Your father will make the right choice.”

“I don’t want to wear a dress!” Arya screeched.

Catelyn secured her braid before turning to her youngest daughter. “Arya Stark, you will wear a dress tonight.”

“But Mother.”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. You will not embarrass us in front of the king.” Mother said sternly.

Arya sighed. “Fine, but I’m taking it off as soon as the feast is other.”

“Well, as long as you wear it for the feast.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Once Arya was ready, they all left the room to meet her father and brothers.

Father looked every inch a lord in his grey and white doublet embroidered with a direwolf. He looked much better than the king, who looked like he already had had a few cups of wine.

The queen, who was standing with her children, looked radiant in crimson and gold paired with an emerald tiara that brought out her eyes. Beside her, Joffrey was decked in gold and velvet while Tommen matched him and Myrcella’s gold hair shone in a jewelled net.

Lyarra’s curious eyes fell on the Queen’s brother, the Kingslayer and the Imp. They were as different as night and day, much like Robb and Jon.

Jaime Lannister was tall where Tyrion was short. Jaime’s hair shone like liquid gold while Tyrion’s was so blond it seemed white. Jaime had green eyes that reminded her of shining emeralds. Tyrion had one green eye and one black eye. Jaime had a chiselled face with a sharp jawline. Tyrion’s face was squashed and his head was too large for his body. 

They both fascinated her in different ways.

Her brothers wore variations of grey and white tunics, although Jon had managed to sneak in his signature black. 

Soon the time came for them to go into the Great Hall. Jon was not allowed to sit with them and so he had been sent in a few minutes ago.

Her father went first, escorting the queen, whose smile was as cold as ice. Then the king went in, escorting her mother. 

Little Rickon went after them, walking as fast as his three year old legs could manage.

Lyarra went after him, being escorted by Bran. Arya had grumbled about this, saying it wasn’t fair that she got to be escorted by one of their brothers.

Lyarra smiled gracefully as she and Bran walked into the hall. Their parents and the king and queen were sitting at a table on a raised platform. She and her siblings would be seated with the royal children at a table next to the platform.

Lyarra sat in between Robb and Rickon while Bran on the other side of their youngest brother. Myrcella was sitting on Robb’s other side. 

Sansa came next, looking radiant as she was escorted by Joffrey. Lyarra did not like the look of disdain he was wearing. He was as bad as his mother, who could be mistaken for an ice sculpture at the moment. 

Finally, Arya came with Tommen. Her sister was scowling. It was obvious she wasn’t happy at being saddled with Tommen.

After her sister and Tommen came the Lannister brothers. Lyarra saw that Jaime was wearing crimson silk like his sister and his tunic was embroidered with a golden lion. It didn’t escape her notice that Jaime Lannister looked more like a king than his goodbrother did this evening. Even Tyrion looked more composed than Robert, who had already downed several cups of wine.

Once everyone was seated, the feast began. Sansa was too busy trying to engage Joffrey in conversation to eat while Arya was busy stuffing her face and resolutely ignoring Tommen, who kept glancing her way.

Robb was politely talking with Myrcella, who kept sending him shy smiles while Bran and Rickon were arguing about which one of their wolves was better.

Lyarra wished that Jon was here with them. He always managed to make her smile and made boring situations more bearable.

She looked around the Great Hall. It was hazy with smoke and the smell of roasted meat and baked bread was overwhelming. The grey stone walls were covered with banners of white, gold and crimson, depicting the Stark direwolf, the Baratheon crowned stag and the Lannister lion.

The sound of a singer playing the high harp and singing a ballad soothed her. She had always loved singing.

She ate her honeyed chicken and sipped her glass of summerwine. Father had permitted each of them one glass of summerwine in honour of the occasion, even little Rickon.

Four hours into the feast and Lyarra was bored. She was sick of having to watch Sansa simper over Joffrey. The little brat did not deserve her sister’s affections. She couldn’t believe that her sister might marry him one day.

Rickon was already in bed and Arya had ran off somewhere. Bran as busy taking to Tommen and Robb was still stuck with Myrcella.

She glanced at the top table and saw that her father was sitting stiffly, looking over the hall with a blank stare. He rarely spoke, even to Mother. The king had been drinking heavily and devoured each meal put in front of him as if he had been starved. He was in a merry mood, laughing loudly and making many toasts. Beside him, the queen was colder than ice.

She let her gaze fall onto the table where Jon was sitting. He was talking to Uncle Benjen and they seemed to be having a serious conversation.

Lyarra stood up and walked in the direction of Jon’s table but she bumped into someone instead.

She blushed when she saw it was Jaime Lannister.

“My apologies, Ser Jaime. I did not see you there.”

Jaime smirked. “Oh, no, the fault is mine, Lady Lyarra. I fear I have had too many cups of wine.”

“Not as much as the king, I fear.”

Jaime let out a loud laugh. “You are full of suprises, my lady. I thought you Starks had no sense of humour. I see I was mistaken.”

“Perhaps you were.”

Jaime gave her a long look. “You resemble your mother but you have your father’s eyes. Are you more Stark or Tully, I wonder?”

“Perhaps you can tell me when you figure it out.”

“Perhaps.”

Lyarra looked over and saw Jon storming out of the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, Ser Jaime, I need some air.”

Jaime bowed before letting her past. She walked calmly out of the hall, remembering she was a lady.

When she found Jon, he was talking to Tyrion Lannister.

“You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?” Tyrion asked.

Jon stiffened but said nothing. Lyarra knew he was sensitive about this. He did not like a reminder of how different he was from his siblings.

Tyrion looked a little contrite. “Did I offend you? 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 mind.”

Lyarra chuckled quietly while Tyrion shot her brother a grin. “You are the bastard, though?”

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.” Jon admitted with a stiffness she had never heard before.

Tyrion studied his face. “Yes. I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers.”

“Half brothers.”

Lyarra noticed that he was pleased by that comment, although he would never admit to it.

“Let me give you some counsel, bastard.” Tyrion said. “Never forget what you are, for the world will surely not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be used as your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used against you.”

Lyarra was touched by the words, though she could tell that Jon was in no mood to hear them.

“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? 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.” Jon said sadly.

“Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.”

Lyarra doubted this made Jon feel better, but perhaps that wasn’t the dwarf’s intention.

Tyrion have a rueful grin. “Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.”

And then the youngest Lannister turned and walked back to the feast, whistling a tune.

Lyarra walked up to Jon. “I see you’ve met Tyrion Lannister.”

Jon turned to look at her. “Yes. He’s not as bad as his sister.”

“Can anyone be as bad as Cersei Lannister?”

Jon laughed. “I suppose not. What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you leave the feast. You seemed upset.”

“I’m fine, sister.”

“Did Uncle Benjen say something to anger you?”

Jon sighed. “He thinks I’m not good enough to join the Night’s Watch?”

Lyarra gasped. “You want to join the Night’s Watch?”

“It’s an honourable position.”

“It’s a dangerous one too.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to join? You can’t marry or have children if you’re a member of the Watch.”

“Who would want to marry a bastard?”

“Plenty of people, I’m sure.”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you think Father will let you join?”

Jon sighed. “Uncle Benjen didn’t seem keen, so I doubt Father will.”

“I don’t know. I think Father has more faith in you.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll let me join.”

“You won’t know until you ask him.”

“That’s true.”

“Ask him. You might be surprised.”

“Thank you.”

Lyarra smiled. “For what?”

“I can always count on you.”

“And I can always count on you.”

Jon kissed her forehead when she rested her head on his shoulder.

No matter what happened, they would always have each other.

Chapter Text

Lyarra looked up from her needlework when she heard Arya sigh. She looked over at her little sister and her heart clenched in sympathy at what she saw. Arya’s stitches were crooked again.

Septa Mordane had once told Mother that Arya had the hands of a blacksmith. Lyarra refused to speak to the woman for a week. 

Septa Mordane praised Lyarra and Sansa’s work while disparaging Arya’s. She didn’t think it was fair. Surely if their Septa wanted Arya to improve, she would give words of encouragement instead of insults.

Thankfully Septa Mordane wasn’t paying any attention to them, not even Sansa. She was too busy cooing at Princess Myrcella, who was joining them once again. 

After all, it was not often that the septa was privileged to instruct a royal princess in the womanly arts, she thought mockingly.

If Myrcella’s stitches were crooked, Septa Mordane wouldn’t tell her that, unlike she did with Arya. Myrcella’s stitches would be no less than perfect in Septa Mordane’s eyes.

It wasn’t fair. Myrcella didn’t even have to try with her needlework. Everyone would say it was perfect even if it wasn’t. It must be nice being a princess.

“What are you talking about?” Arya asked suddenly.

Lyarra followed her gaze to wear Sansa sat with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel.

Jeyne looked shocked but still giggled. Sansa looked embarrassed and little Beth blushed. Still, no one answered.

“Tell me.” Arya demanded.

Jeyne looked over to make sure that Septa Mordane wasn’t listening. Luckily, Myrcella said something and the septa laughed along with the other ladies.

“We were taking about the prince.” Sansa said softly.

Of course they were talking about Joffrey. Sansa couldn’t stop talking about him since she got to sit next to him at the feast.

“Joffrey likes your sister.” Jeyne whispered proudly. “He told her she was very beautiful.”

“He’s going to marry her.” Beth said dreamily. “Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm.”

Beside her, Alys sighed at her sister’s words.

Sansa blushed. “Beth, you shouldn’t make up stories.” She gently stroked Beth’s hair before turning to Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?”

Lyarra rolled her eyes at this. Robb had told her what Joffrey was like when he joined them for training with Rodrik. Gallant wasn’t the word she would use to describe his behaviour.

“Jon says he looks like a girl.” Arya replied.

Lyarra and Alys looked at each other in amusement. Joffrey did look like a girl.

Sansa sighed but didn’t stop her stitching. “Poor Jon. He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

“He’s our brother.”

Lyarra winced as Arya spoke a little too loudly. There was no chance that Septa Mordane hadn’t heard it.

As she predicted, Septa Mordane raised her eyes and a frown graced her bony face. “What are you talking about, children?”

“Our half brother.” Sansa corrected softly before turning to the septa with a smile. “We were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today.”

Septa Mordane nodded. “Indeed. A great honour for us all.”

 Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment and for a brief moment, Lyarra thought that the septa would go back to cooing over the princess.

Unfortunately she was wrong.

“Arya, why aren’t you at work?” Septa Mordane asked.

Lyarra looked at Arya in sympathy but it soon got worse.

Septa Mordane got out of her seat and walked over to Arya. “Let me see your stitches.”

Lyarra felt like crying on Arya’s behalf. She knew how angry and humiliated her sister must be feeling right now.

“Here.” Arya said, surrendering her work.

The septa examined the fabric with a frown. “Arya, Arya, Arya. This will not do. This will not do at all.”

Everyone was staring at her poor sister. Sansa was pretending not to look happy at Arya’s disgrace but Jeyne Poole was smirking. If it wasn’t completely unladylike she would have gotten up and slapped the smirk off her stupid face. At least Myrcella looked like she felt sorry for Arya.

Lyarra was about to put a comforting hand on her sister’s arm when Arya pushed herself out of her chair and ran for the door, her eyes filled with tears.

Septa Mordane looked enraged. “Arya, come back here! Don’t you take another step! Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our royal princess too! You’ll shame us all!”

Lyarra’s heart dropped when Arya turned around. She was biting her lip and tears were running down her face. She bowed stiffly at Myrcella.

“By your leave, my lady.” She said.

Myrcella looked uncertain and turned to her ladies for guidance. Before she could say anything, Septa Mordane spoke again.

“Just where do you think you’re going, Arya?” She demanded.

Arya glared at the old woman. “I have to go shoe a horse.” She said sweetly.

Before Septa Mordane could say anything else, Arya spun around and ran out of the room as fast as she could.

Septa Mordane grumbled under her breath before walking out of the room, no doubt to tell their mother about what had just happened.

Lyarra turned to Alys. “I’m going to find Arya before Septa Mordane does.”

Alys nodded and Lyarra abandoned her needlework and ran out of the room.

She checked the guardroom first. Arya had left Nymeria there and she knew she would go to find her first. Arya loved her wolf more than anything.

She sighed when the guardroom was empty. Arya must have run off somewhere else with Nymeria. But where would she go?

A thought suddenly popped into her head. Before they started their  needlework, Arya had grumbled about not being able to watch the boys sword fight. 

She had gone to the covered bridge between the armoury and the Great Keep. There was a window there that gave you a view of the whole yard.

Lyarra ran there as fast as she could and lo and behold, there was Arya and Nymeria. She was talking to Jon, who was sitting on the wall. Ghost was sitting near his feet and he sniffed Nymeria, which alerted Jon to their presence.

Jon looked at her curiously. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?”

Arya made a face. “I want to see them fight.”

Jon smiled. “Come here then.”

Arya climbed up on the ledge and sat beside him. Lyarra chose this moment to make her presence known.

“There you are, Arya. Septa Mordane is furious.”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t care about that old witch.”

“You’ll care when Mother finds out.”

Arya sighed. “Are you going to stand there complaining or are you going to watch the training?”

Lyarra climbed up and sat beside her. “I guess I’ll watch the training. Someone needs to keep an eye on Robb.”

“I’ve been watching them for ages.”

Lyarra smirked at Jon. “Yes, but you don’t have a connection that you can use to tell Robb off.”

“Ah, I see your point.”

Arya scowled at them. “Can you two be quiet? I’m trying to watch.”

Lyarra and Jon shared an amused look before turning back to the training.

It was Bran and Tommen that were sparring and she could see that Arya was greatly disappointed by this. Both boys were heavily padded. Bran looked like he had belted on a featherbed and plump little Tommen looked rounder than Hodor. They were hitting each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik. Robb’s voice was the loudest amongst the spectators encouraging them. Theon stood beside him, his black doublet embroidered with a golden kraken. He had a look of wry contempt on his face and from the way the two boys were staggering, they had been at this for a while.

“A shade more exhausting than needlework.” Jon observed.

Arya glared at him. “A shade more fun than needlework.”

 Lyarra chuckled while Jon grinned and reached over and messed up her hair.

Arya and Jon had always been close. They were the only two who had their father’s look. Lyarra might have their father’s eyes but she definitely took after the Tullys, like the rest of her siblings. Sitting together, Arya and Jon almost looked like twins.

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him.

Jon gave a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes. Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.”

“The only real bastard here is Joffrey.” Lyarra muttered under her breath.

Arya, on the other hand, looked abashed. “Oh.”

“I could do just as good as Bran.” Arya said as they watched Bran whack Tommen. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”

Jon turned to face her. “You’re too skinny.” He took her arm and felt her muscle and then sighed and shook his head. “I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.”

Lyarra held back a giggle as Arya snatched her arm back and glared at Jon. 

“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked as they watched Bran and Tommen circle each other.

“What about him?” Lyarra asked.

“Look at the arms on his surcoat.” Jon suggested.

Both Lyarra and Arya looked. He was near the back, hidden in the shadows. On a closer glance, they saw what Jon was talking about. On his surcoat was an ornate shield where the arms were divided down the middle. On one side was the crown stag of the royal House and the other bore the lion of House Lannister.

“The Lannisters are proud.” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honour to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Jon merely chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” Arya laughed. “That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?”

Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

A shout from the courtyard below interrupted their conversation. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All that padding certainly didn’t help. He looked like a turtle on his back. The poor thing. Bran stood over him with an upraised wooden sword, ready to whack again once he got on his feet. The men began to laugh.

“Enough!” Ser Rodrik called out. He gave Tommen a hand and yanked him back to his feet. “Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armour.” He looked around. “Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?”

Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. “Gladly.”

Lyarra sighed. This could end in disaster. It was no secret how much Robb despised Joffrey. She was afraid that Robb would do something stupid so she told him as much. It seemed as though he was too eager to fight Joffrey to listen to her though, as he acted like he hadn’t even heard her.

Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Ser Rodrik’s summons. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked bored. “This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik.”

Theon gave a sudden bark of laughter. “You are children.” He said derisively.

“Robb may be a child.” Joffrey said in his usual arrogant manner. “I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.”

Lyarra looked on nervously. If Joffrey riled Robb up too much, then it would end in disaster.

“You got more swats than gave, Joff.” Robb said. “Are you afraid?”

Joffrey looked at him. “Oh, terrified. You’re so much older.”

Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Jon frowned. “Joffrey is truly a little shit.”

Ser Rodrik thoughtfully tugged at his white whiskers. “What are you suggesting?”

“Live steel.”

“Done.” Robb shot back. “You’ll be sorry.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened in fear. Robb was going to end up doing something stupid. She knew she should have told Father not to let him train with Joffrey.

The master at arms put a hand on Robb’s shoulder to quiet him. “Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords with blunted edges.”

Lyarra breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods for Ser Rodrik.

Surprisingly, Joffrey said nothing but a tall knight with black hair and a burned face pushed himself in front of the prince. “This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, Ser?”

“Master of arms at Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it.”

Clegane. This must be Sandor Clegane, known as the Hound. He served as something of a bodyguard for Prince Joffrey.

“Are you training women here?” Clegane demanded.

“I am training knights.” Ser Rodrik said pointedly. “They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of age.”

Clegane looked at Robb. “How old are you, boy?”

“Fourteen.”

“I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.”

Robb bristled. His pride was wounded. This would not end well.

Robb turned to Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.”

“Beat him with a tourney blade then.” Ser Rodrik said.

Joffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.”

There was more laughter from the Lannister men.

Robb’s curses rang through the yard. Arya covered her mouth in shock while Lyarra put her head in her hands. Theon seized Robb’s arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers in dismay.

Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to Tommen. “Come, Tommen. The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics.”

It brought more laughter from the Lannisters and more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik’s face was beet red with fury and Theon kept an iron grip on Robb until the princes and their party were safely away.

Lyarra had never appreciated Theon Greyjoy more.

They all watched them leave. Finally Jon climbed down and scratched Ghost behind the ears.

“The show is done.” Jon said as Ghost rose and rubbed against him. “You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.”

Lyarra laughed but Arya didn’t find it funny. “I hate needlework!” She said passionately. “It’s not fair!”

“Nothing is fair.” Jon said. He messed up her hair again before walking away, Ghost moving silently beside him.

“You better hurry, Arya.” Lyarra said as Nymeria moved to sit beside her. “Septa Mordane will be furious.”

Arya sighed before nodding and reluctantly turned and walked in the direction of her room, Nymeria following right behind her.

Lyarra watched her go with a chuckle before running to catch up with Jon.

“Hello, dear sister.” He said when he saw her.

“Hello.”

“You look deep in thought. What’s troubling you?”

“Oh, nothing apart from Robb nearly making a fool out of himself.”

Jon chuckled. “It could have been worse.”

Lyarra sighed. “Believe me, I know.”

“So what else are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about what you said earlier. It would be nice to have both Stark and Tully included in my arms. Perhaps on a dress or a piece of jewellery.”

“Mmm, that’s a good idea actually.”

Lyarra smiled. “You think so?”

“I do. Where’s Winter today?”

“She’s asleep in my room. Anyway, I better go. I need to talk to Robb about his behaviour in the yard.”

“Can’t you do that with your connection?”

“I need to do this face to face.”

Jon chuckled. “Alright. I’ll see you soon, dearest sister.”

“Goodbye, brother.”

When she found Robb, she gave him a good scolding. Mother and Septa Mordane would have been proud.

Chapter Text

The hunt had left at dawn and the king wanted boar at the feast tonight. Since Prince Joffrey was allowed to ride with his father, Robb had been permitted to go as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon, Ser Rodrik and Tyrion Lannister had all gone as well.

Without Robb and Theon’s company, she would have spent time with Jon but he and Ghost had left hours ago and they hadn’t been seen since. So she spent her time with her mother and her sisters and little Rickon. Bran had gone off exploring somewhere as he often did.

Today was her last day in Winterfell. Tomorrow she rode South with Father, Sansa, Arya and Bran. Septa Mordane was also going, much to Arya’s dismay. Even though she was excited to go with her father, sisters and little Bran, she was also dreading it.

Winterfell was her home and she didn’t want to leave it. She would also be leaving behind Mother, Robb and Rickon. That thought was almost too much for her to bear.

Mother and Father had discussed her staying behind. They didn’t know how she and Robb would take being so far apart. Mother said that theirs was a connection that they shouldn’t mess with but Father thought it was alright for them to be apart.

In the end, they couldn’t agree so they had to compromise. Lyarra would stay in King’s Landing for a short while and then she would return to Winterfell to be close to Robb.

But Lyarra didn’t want to leave at all. She wanted to stay here where she belonged. She didn’t belong in the south. No Stark did.

Winter lay by the fire, curled up with Lady, Nymeria and Shaggydog. Mother didn’t want the wolves to join them but she reluctantly agreed that they couldn’t separate them, much to everyone’s delight.

Rickon sat at Mother’s feet as she and Sansa sewed. Lyarra was reading a book while Arya was pretending to sew, not that Mother noticed. She was too preoccupied with worrying about all of them leaving tomorrow.

Robb was trying to tell her what was going on with the hunt but she told him to be quiet. She didn’t want to hear about the stupid hunt. She just wanted her beloved brother here with her. They would be separated for a long time tomorrow and Lyarra was dreading it already.

At least she would have Winter with her. Father would be too busy to spend much time with them, no doubt. Bran would be too caught up in becoming a knight. Sansa would be too preoccupied with Joffrey to pay them any mind and she didn’t know what Arya would do. Probably protest about Septa Mordane’s teachings all day long.

She would be on her own and so Winter’s company would be much appreciated.

“Arya, stop that.” Mother scolded.

Arya looked up from her needlework. “Do what, Mother?”

“You don’t think I can see you stabbing your needle. Do it properly please.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Beside her, Septa Mordane kept a watchful eye on Arya and in turn Arya was trying her hardest not to glare at the older woman.

“Don’t you think Joffrey is the most handsomest prince you’ve ever met?” Sansa asked dreamily.

“I’ve not met many princes, Sansa.” Lyarra replied.

“But don’t you think Joffrey is handsome?”

“I do.”

Sansa sighed wistfully. “I’m so lucky I get to marry him.”

Arya made a face of disgust and Lyarra had to nudge her to get her to stop before Mother or Septa Mordane noticed.

Mother smiled. “Of course you are, darling.”

“I’ll be queen someday.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “What’s so great about being queen?”

“It’s the highest honour a lady can have and it’s so romantic.”

Lyarra frowned. “Yes, getting imprisoned in a castle and made to squeeze out heirs is so romantic.”

“Lyarra!” Mother scolded.

Lyarra merely shrugged. “What? It’s true. A queen can never leave the castle and her only duty is to bare heirs.”

“It is the duty of all noble ladies to bear her husband heirs and I expect you to do the same one day.”

“I will marry a man of the North. Let Sansa marry the future king. My heart lies here in Winterfell.”

Mother sighed. “You’re getting as stubborn as Arya.”

“I’ve always been this stubborn, Mother.”

“Yes, you’re spending too much time with Robb and Greyjoy. You need to spend more time with your sisters. They need your guidance.”

“Mother, I’m only fourteen.”

“And you know a lot more than them. Guide them when I can’t be there.”

“I will, Mother.”

Mother smiled warmly. “I know you will.”

“I don’t need any guidance.” Arya grumbled.

Mother frowned. “You are nine years old, Arya.”

“What are you reading, Lyarra?” Sansa asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I’m reading about the dance of the dragons.”

“You always read that book.”

“I like it.”

Sansa frowned. “Almost everyone dies.”

Lyarra shrugged. “I like reading about history.”

“But it’s so sad.”

“History often is, darling.” Mother said sadly. “Real life doesn’t always turn out like your songs.”

“But why would you turn against family?” Arya asked.

“Nothing tears a family apart quicker than the desire for power.”

“But Father said we’re strongest when we’re united.”

“In the fight for power, family fades into the background. If you had the choice to betray your family for power, I know none of you would do it but some would. Power means more to some people.”

“But that’s awful.” Sansa said.

“It is but we cannot change it.”

“Can we go outside now?” Arya asked.

Mother sighed. “Alright, but stay close to the keep.”

Arya beamed. “Yes, Mother.”

Arya ran off with Rickon getting up to toddle after her. Sansa stayed put, content to work on her stitching.

“Will you keep an eye on them?” Mother asked her.

Lyarra nodded. “Of course.”

Lyarra got up and ran off after her youngest siblings. She helped them put their fur cloaks on before putting her own one on.

“Right, let’s go outside.”

Arya ran off ahead but Rickon held up his arms. She sighed before lifting him and holding him securely.

Arya was already making snowballs when they came outside. 

“Can I play, Lya?” Rickon asked excitedly.

“Okay but remember to be careful.”

“I will.”

Lyarra set him down and he ran over to Arya, who immediately helped him make a snowball of his own. She laughed before joining them.

Behind them, Nymeria, Shaggydog and Winter kept a watchful eye on them.

Lyarra giggled as Rickon hit her with a snowball. Arya hit him back in revenge and then Rickon hit her in revenge. Lyarra hit them both and soon it was a full blown snowball fight.

Half an hour later, they all lay in the snow, giggling. Snow covered their hair and clothes but they didn’t care. They were having too much fun.

“Shall we build a snowman?” Lyarra asked.

Rickon nodded enthusiastically and Arya gave her consent, although she wasn’t excited as Rickon was.

“Right, let’s get started.”

Arya rolled the snow into two big balls while Lyarra helped Rickon collect sticks and stones.

An hour later, they had built their snowman and were now putting on stones for the eyes and mouth.

“He looks wonderful.” Lyarra said as the three of them stepped back and admired their work.

Arya nodded. “He does look good.”

“Can we name him after Father?” Rickon asked.

Lyarra smiled. “That’s a great idea, Rickon.”

“It suits him.”

“Can I go running with Shaggydog now?”

“Only if you stay close.”

“I will, Lya. I promise.”

“Alright then. We’ll all go. Shaggydog would like some company, wouldn’t he?”

Rickon nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he would like it if Nymeria and Winter came for a run with him.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“I bet I can run the fastest.”

“Arya, you shouldn’t boast.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Mother.”

“In a few years, I will be her. I’ll be married and have children of my own. I need to learn everything I can from her and you should too.”

“I always thought you were meant for more than just marriage and babies.”

“That’s all women can be, Arya.”

“Nymeria was a great warrior and so were Rhaenys and Visenya. You can be anything you want to be, Lyarra.”

“That was in the old days. It goes against tradition to be anything else than what you’re supposed to.”

“That’s so boring.”

“Is being a wife and a mother really such a bad thing? If Mother had refused to marry Father, then none of us would be here.”

“Well, I’m not going to marry. I’m going to be the greatest warrior Westeros has ever seen.”

“This is peaceful times, Arya. Even if you could become a warrior, you’d have no battles to fight in.”

“I still want to train to be one. If Bran can become a knight, then so can I.”

“Bran is a boy. Life is much easier for boys. They can become anything they want to be and no one will care.”

“Bran wants to join the Kingsguard. Can I join?”

“I don’t think the Kingsguard has ever had a woman in their ranks before.”

“Then I’ll be the first.”

“You’d have to serve Joffrey.”

Arya sighed in disgust. “Then I’ll be the first woman to join the Night’s Watch.”

“A woman did join the Night’s Watch and it didn’t end well. Don’t you listen to Old Nan’s stories?”

“Not really.”

“Uncle Benjen usually tells it when he visits.”

“Well, I don’t care what they say. I’ll join if I want to.”

“You’re a girl.”

“So I’ll pretend to be a boy. It can’t be that hard, can it?”

“I think they’d figure it out soon enough.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“Life has never been fair, Arya.”

“Then we should make it fair.”

Lyarra frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re good at writing. You can come up with new laws making it fairer for everyone.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll threaten people who don’t want us to change things.”

“Yes, I’m sure that will help.”

“It will. Now, I’ll race you to the broken tower.”

“You’re on.”

Nymeria, Shaggydog and Winter ran beside them as they raced, Rickon holding on to Shaggydog’s back.

But as they got closer to the broken tower, the direwolves suddenly stopped.

“What’s going on?” Arya asked with a frown.

“I don’t know.” Lyarra said as she picked up Rickon.

Suddenly the direwolves howled and ran off ahead.

“Where are they going?” Rickon asked.

“Let’s follow them.”

“Arya, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? They’re obviously trying to tell us something.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Come on.”

“Arya, don’t run ahead.”

Arya ignored her so Lyarra sighed and ran after her.

But suddenly Arya stopped and Lyarra had to steady herself so she didn’t run into her.

“Arya, what’s wrong?”

“The wolves are upset. They haven’t stopped howling.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know I’m afraid to look.”

“Why?”

“There’s blood.”

Lyarra’s heart stopped. “Blood?”

“I don’t know who’s blood it is but they haven’t stopped howling.”

“Take Rickon. I’m going to see what’s going on.”

Arya nodded and Lyarra set Rickon down beside her.

“Don’t move until I come back, okay?”

Both of them nodded, Arya keeping a hand on Rickon’s shoulder to keep him there.

Lyarra felt her blood turn to ice and she walked closer to the wolves.

She noticed Jon running towards her and she took strength in his company. But then he turned whiter than the snow on the ground and she felt her heart break. What was going on?

As she stepped closer, she saw what Jon was looking at and she froze in shock.

Even years later, the image of Bran’s broken body lying in the snow would haunt her.

Chapter Text

Four days had passed since Bran’s accident and no one had been the same since. 

Mother never left Bran’s side and Lyarra suspected that she hadn’t slept properly since it all happened.

Father had taken to locking himself away in his rooms or sitting with Mother. The king often kept him company, both of them sitting in somber silence.

Bran’s wolf had not stopped howling since the accident. It was keeping them all up at night. Well, it would have if any of them were getting any sleep. Out of all of them, only little Rickon had been getting a proper nights sleep.

The trip to King’s Landing had been delayed indefinitely. The king had announced that shortly after Bran was taken inside. He felt that it wasn’t right for them to leave while Bran was clinging onto life.

If you had asked her a few days ago, Lyarra would have been glad to have an excuse to stay in Winterfell but now it just seemed tainted. She might not have wanted to leave her beloved home but she would walk to the ends of Westeros if it meant that Bran would be okay.

Everyone was dealing with the accident differently. Robb and Jon had taken to sparring. Sansa threw herself into her needlework. Arya spent her time either in the stables or running around with Nymeria. And little Rickon had not left her side since Mother had shut herself away with Bran.

Lyarra spent her time reading to him so he wouldn’t feel Mother and Father’s absence as much.

“But the First Men cut down the weirwood trees that were so sacred to the children of the forest so a war started. The children of the forest fought back with all their might but the First Men were too strong. Eventually the pact was made on the Iron Islands and peace and friendship between them lasted four thousand years. The First Men then adopted the religion of the children, the old gods, who we still worship today. They lived in a peaceful coexistence until the Andals came.”

“What happened next?”

“The First Men and the children resisted and war lasted for hundreds of years. The Andals burned the weirwood groves and killed the children because they considered them abominations. Their destruction of the trees meant that today no weirwood tree grows in the South. Although they fought, the First Men and the Andals did marry each other and so their blood intertwined. The Andal invasion meant that many customs were replaced and so the old gods are only worshipped in the North. The Andals’ religion, the faith of the seven, became widespread in the South and is the main religion of Westeros now.”

“That’s Mother’s religion.”

“Yes, it is and we worship it too as well as the old gods.”

“What happened to the children of the forest?”

“They haven’t been seen for hundreds of years. Most say that they’re extinct now but Old Nan says they fled to the Isle of Faces where they still live today, although their numbers have greatly dwindled.”

Lyarra didn’t know if Rickon fully understood what she was saying but he listened nonetheless.

When Rickon got sleepy, she put him to bed with Shaggydog curled up beside him.

She sat in a chair beside his bed and took out the leather bound book Father had gotten her for her last nameday. She turned it to the next blank page and began sketching a picture of Rickon and his wolf. 

She had already drawn Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran with their wolves. She had just finished Bran’s drawing the day he fell, she remembered sadly. Other drawings included Robb and Theon sparring, Old Nan telling a story, Maester Luwin teaching them, Mother and Father together, a picture of all the wolves sitting together and a family portrait of them all.

Mother said she had a rare skill at drawing and Father wanted to encourage it as much as possible. So they got her supplies so she could draw.

She was just starting to draw Shaggydog when Winter lifted her head up from her place at her feet.

“What is it, girl?”

She put her book down when she heard the door open. She turned around and saw Sansa standing in the doorway, Lady by her side.

“Sansa? What is it?”

“You didn’t come for our lesson with Septa Mordane and I was worried.” Sansa said quietly.

“I’m alright, sweet sister. I was looking after Rickon, that’s all. Did Arya show up?”

“You know she never does without being forced by Mother.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Sansa shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”

“Come in and sit, Sansa. I can’t leave Rickon by himself.”

Sansa nodded before taking a seat. Lady and Winter yelped in excitement at seeing each other and proceeded to curl up on the floor together.

“Will we ever go to King’s Landing?” Sansa asked.

Lyarra sighed. “I don’t know. We won’t leave until Bran wakes up.”

Sansa’s lip wobbled. “And what if he never wakes up?”

Lyarra patted her hand. “We can’t think like that. We must be strong, sweet sister. Bran would want us to be strong.”

“And what happens if he does wake up? Will he still come with us to King’s Landing?”

“I’m afraid not. If he does wake up, then he’ll never walk again. There’s no way we can take him all the way to King’s Landing.”

“But he was looking forward to going. He wanted to become a knight.”

“Life isn’t always fair, Sansa. I’m afraid Bran will never achieve his dream of becoming a knight.”

“But that’s so sad!”

“Sometimes life doesn’t turn out as happy as it does in your songs.”

“What will happen to Bran?”

“I don’t know. Right now, we’re just waiting for him to wake up.”

“Maester Luwin doesn’t think he’ll wake up, does he?”

“I spoke to him this morning. He said there’s been no change and that’s a good sign. He will likely wake up.”

“How’s Mother?”

“She’s exhausted. She stays up all night watching over him.”

Sansa sighed. “I’ll miss her when we go away.”

“I know. So will I.”

“Do you think Joffrey likes me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know him that well.”

“I want him to love me the way I love him.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Lyarra smiled. “How could he not like you? You’re beautiful and kind and a perfect lady. He’d be very lucky to have you as his queen.”

Sansa beamed. “Thank you, Lyarra. You always know what to say.”

“And you always make me smile.”

It was true. Sansa never failed to make her smile. Her optimism and bright outlook on life always cheered her up. There was no one quite like Sansa. She believed in the songs more than anyone she’d ever known but it only made Lyarra love her even more. Sansa would make a good queen. The people would love her. Sometimes she wondered if the people loved Cersei. Probably not. She was as  cold as Sansa was warm.

“When will you get married?”

“I don’t know. Probably when Robb does.”

“I hope he’s kind. You deserve that.”

“So do you.”

“Joffrey is kind. He will treat me well. He’s the perfect prince.”

Lyarra wished she could believe that for Sansa’s sake but she just couldn’t. What she had seen of Joffrey so far she didn’t like. He was just like his mother. Cold and unfeeling. Always wanting to get his own way and treating everyone around him badly. He would not treat Sansa the way she deserved.

“I’m sure he is.”

Septa Mordane came barging into the room, interrupting their conversation.

“There you are. I was wondering where you ran off to.”

Sansa smiled sweetly. “Sorry, Septa Mordane, but I wanted to find my sister.”

“It’s alright, child. You need your family at a time like this.”

“Have you seen Arya?” Lyarra asked.

Septa Mordane frowned. “Oh, she ran off and I can’t find her anywhere. That girl, I swear to the gods she’s wilder than a wolf sometimes.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

“She shouldn’t be running off at a time like this.”

“She won’t have gone far and Nymeria is with her. She’ll protect her if anything happens.”

“Mm. I can sit with them if you’d like to visit your mother, Lyarra. I’m sure she’d like to see you.”

Lyarra smiled gratefully. “I’d like that, Septa Mordane. Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Give your mother my regards.”

Lyarra nodded before heading in the direction of Bran’s room. 

When she got there, she saw something she never thought she’d see. Joffrey giving his sympathies to Mother and Father. She had to hold back a laugh. She knew Joffrey couldn’t care less about Bran. He had obviously been forced to do this, likely by his father.

Beside Father, Robb was doing his hardest not to laugh as well.

“This is the funniest thing I have ever seen.” She said, using their connection.

“I know. This is better than defeating him in a spar. He looks so angry.”

“How’s Bran?”

“Still the same.”

“Has Mother slept at all?”

“No. Father has tried to get her to rest but she won’t budge.”

“I’m so scared, Robb. What if he doesn’t wake up?”

“Fear not, darling sister. Bran is strong. He will live.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Prince Joffrey. They give us strength in these trying times.” Father said sombrely, Mother nodding but remaining silently by his side.

Without another word, Joffrey turned and stormed off in the opposite direction, Sandor Clegane dutifully following him.

Father noticed her standing there and smiled. “Lyarra, how wonderful to see you.”

Lyarra eagerly accepted his embrace. “I wanted to see Bran, Father.”

“I’m afraid there’s no change but you’re welcome to come and sit with him.”

“Mother, are you alright?” Lyarra asked, worried that her mother had not spoken.

Mother smiled weakly. “I’m alright, darling. Let’s go and see your brother.”

Lyarra nodded before following her parents inside, Robb holding onto her arm in comfort.

She had to hold back a sob when she saw Bran as she didn’t want to upset Mother any further.

Maester Luwin looked up from where he was feeding Bran honey and water and herb mixture and stepped back to let Mother take over. It gave her comfort to be able to feed him herself. Perhaps she felt that she was doing all she could to save him this way.

“How are your siblings?” Father asked.

“Rickon is asleep now. I read him a story earlier. Sansa and Septa Mordane are with him. Rickon doesn’t understand what’s going on in the same way the rest of us do but I think he misses Mother. Sansa is worried but she’s doing okay. I have no idea where Arya is. She ran off with Nymeria straight after breakfast.”

“And how are you, little wolf?”

“I’m fine, Father. How’s Mother been?”

Father sighed. “She’s barely slept but she’s holding onto the hope that he’ll wake up. I think it’s the only thing that’s keeping her going right now.”

“And what about you, Father? How are you holding up?”

Father smiled. “It is not your job to worry about me, little wolf. It’s my job to worry about you.”

“I still worry. Bran could have died.”

“Maester Luwin is confident that he’ll pull through now.”

“That’s good news.”

“Will you still leave for King’s Landing?” Robb asked.

“If the king commands it.”

“Surely he wouldn’t make you leave before Bran has woken up.”

“The king’s word is final, Robb. If he wants us to leave tomorrow, then we’d have to leave tomorrow.”

Lyarra frowned. “I thought he was your friend.”

“He is the king first, Lyarra.”

“Where’s Bran’s wolf?”

“He sits outside the window, howling for Bran. He’s not allowed in here while Bran recovers.”

Robb rolled his eyes. “I heard Joffrey complain about him. Said it kept him up all night. He had no concern for Bran. I can’t believe he’ll be king one day.”

Father frowned. “Don’t disrespect the prince, Robb. You’re right. He will be king one day, your king. And it would do you good to start respecting him.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I don’t like him either. He’s got too much Lannister in him.”

“Robb, Lyarra, stop insulting the prince. I raised you better than that.” Mother scolded.

It was the first time Mother had acted like her normal self since the accident. Lyarra was glad. Her beloved mother was still in there.

As for Father, Lyarra suspected that he agreed that Joffrey was too much like the Lannisters. It was no secret how much Father hated the Lannisters and perhaps he was hoping that the royal children would be more Baratheon than Lannister.

They certainly had the Lannister look. All three of them took after their mother, with shiny gold curls and emerald green eyes.

Lyarra wondered if the king and queen had had a fourth child, if that child would take after the Baratheons in look. Arya was the only one out of her trueborn siblings to take after the Starks. The rest, including Lyarra herself, took after the Tullys. Perhaps the fourth Baratheon child would be the odd one out, just like Arya.

She shook her head free of thoughts about the royal family and turned her attention back to Bran.

“Hello, sweet boy. I miss you so much. We all miss you. We’re waiting for you to wake up. We need you to wake up. I love you, Bran.”

Lyarra kissed his forehead and smoothed back his hair before getting up and walking out of the room.

She pressed a hand against her chest to stop herself from crying. She had to be strong. She couldn’t crumble now. Her family needed her.

She felt Robb’s arms pull her in for a hug and she buried her face in his chest, taking comfort from the only person who could make her feel better right now. She and Robb were two halves of one soul. She couldn’t imagine her life without him and she prayed she never would.

Chapter Text

Three days had passed and Bran had still not woken up. Mother had succumbed further to her grief and was barely functioning. Father locked himself away with the king. Bran’s wolf still howled, the same wolf he hadn’t got the chance to name yet.

Jon was spending more time with Uncle Benjen, learning all he could about the Night’s Watch.

She found the two of them sitting outside watching Robb and Theon spar.

Lyarra smiled. “Hello, Jon. Uncle Benjen.”

Jon smiled back. “Hello, sister. What brings you here?”

“I thought I’d watch Robb for a bit.”

“Have you read all the books in the library already, dearest niece?” Benjen teased.

“You can never read a book too many times.”

“My mother was the same. She liked to read so she could tell us stories every night.”

“What was she like?” Lyarra asked.

“Curious about your namesake?”

“Yes.”

“She was kind but strong. If you did something she didn’t like, then she’d tell you. She was very blunt that way. She was a wonderful mother.”

“What about your father?”

A look of sadness passed over Benjen’s face. “He was an avid reader. I think you got your love of books from him. He was all about knowledge. He said the only way to learn was to read about the past. He was a lot like your father. Strong and noble.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing for you to apologise for. I’m just sad that none of you got to meet him.”

“I’ve never met my other grandfather either.”

“From what I know of Hoster Tully, he’s a good man. He’s a clever man too. He knew how to make decisions to his advantage. Your mother is very fond of him.”

“I’d like to meet him one day.”

“You never know where life will take you, dearest niece.”

“Who’s winning?” Lyarra asked Jon.

“Robb, I think.”

“Are you just saying that because you hate Theon?”

“I don’t hate him. I just don’t trust him.”

“Why not? He’s practically family.”

“But he isn’t really family though, is he?”

Lyarra frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you can only trust your real family.”

“You’re about to join the Night’s Watch. You can’t think like that anymore.”

“She’s right, Jon. The Night’s Watch will become your family and you must trust them as much as you do your real family.”

“I will try my best.”

“Jon, do you want to spar?” Robb yelled.

“Okay.”

Lyarra watched as Jon walked over to Robb and Theon. Theon passed his sword to Jon and he and Robb began sparring.

“It’s amazing how two people can be so alike but then look so different.” Benjen mused.

“Robb takes after Mother while Jon takes after Father.”

“Jon certainly takes after Ned. I see none of his mother in him.”

Lyarra looked at him curiously. “Do you know who she was?”

“I don’t. Ned has been very secretive about it. I don’t know if he’s told anyone who Jon’s mother is.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Ned would never take a child away from its mother. He is too honourable for that. The only way Jon ended up here is because his mother is dead.”

“You really don’t have any idea who she was?”

“No, Ned was always shy when it came to girls. I don’t know if he had a girl he loved before he married your mother. Brandon was always the ladies man.”

“What was Brandon like?”

“He was very different from your father. He had a wild side to him. The wild wolf, they called him. They would call your father the quiet wolf. That’s how different they were. Brandon was more impetuous. Our father always said he had the wolf blood.”

“He could have been my father. Mother was supposed to marry him but he died so she married Father instead.”

“I can’t imagine you as anything other than Ned’s daughter. You’re so like him it’s unreal.”

Lyarra frowned. “I look nothing like him. I take after Mother. I only inherited my eyes from Father.”

“I don’t mean in looks. You do take after your mother there. You look more and more like her every day. Looking at you now reminds me of when I first met Catelyn. You look just like she did when she was your age, apart from your eyes of course.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You take after your father in terms of personality. I see so much of him in you. You’re a perfect mix of your parents.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t want to leave Winterfell, do you?”

“Not really. I belong here. I don’t belong in the South.”

“So much like your father.”

“My place is in the North with Robb.”

“How do you know what your true place is if you’ve never left the safety of your home?”

“You think I belong in the South?”

“I think you belong wherever your family is.”

“My family is here.”

“Your father and your sisters are going to King’s Landing. Do you not belong there with them?”

“But my mother and brothers will be here in Winterfell.”

“So you feel torn?”

“I do. My heart is about to be split in two and I don’t know which half to go with.”

“I have two families, Lyarra. My real family, the Starks, and the Night’s Watch. Sometimes I wonder, am I a Stark or a brother of the Night’s Watch? But then I remember that I am both. I am a Stark, I will always be a Stark, but I’m also the first ranger of the Night’s Watch. They are the two halves of me. One cannot exist without the other. If you are wondering where you belong, I’d say you belong to both the North and the South. You are just as much from the South as you are from the North. Your mother was born and raised there. It’s a part of you. The two halves of you. Embrace them both.”

“But what if I don’t fit in when I go South?”

“Lyarra Stark, you are your mother’s daughter. You are just as much a Tully as you are a Stark. You will thrive in the South.”

“You really think so?”

“You are every inch a wolf. You live up to the Stark name. And yet, you also live up to the Tully name. Sometimes you act so much like your mother that I have to do a double take to make sure that you’re not really Catelyn.”

Lyarra giggled. “It’s an honour to be compared to Mother. She is every inch a lady but she’s also made of steel too.”

“That she is and so are you.”

“Have you gone to visit Bran?”

“I went to see him last night. It’s terrible seeing  him like that. He’s so young and yet he looks so broken. It’s a tragic thing what happened.”

“How was Mother when you saw her?”

Benjen sighed. “She’s holding up as best she can but it can’t be easy seeing her boy like that. It’s a terrible thing for a mother to have to go through. She sits there, unable to really help him when that’s all she wants to do. She just has to watch helplessly as he lies there. I can’t imagine how much pain she’s in.”

“I can’t bear to watch her like this.” Lyarra said sadly.

“I know.”

“It looks like they’ll be at this for a while.”

Benjen frowned. “They’ve barely started.”

“This always happens with Robb and Jon. They’re evenly matched so it takes a while.”

“You know them well.”

“They’re my family. I know them just as much as I know myself. I just hope that Jon doesn’t miss us too much when he leaves.”

“You know, I joined the Night’s Watch a few months after your father returned North after the Rebellion. I was barely sixteen. Sometimes I think about how much I missed. I missed most of your namedays and I missed little Rickon’s birth. I missed my family very much when I first but my duty was to the Night’s Watch. It was only after a year that I came to see them as my brothers. I used to long to be with Ned, my blood brother. I wanted to see my brother’s children grow up. I still miss all of you but I take comfort that I’m surrounded by men who are not my family by blood but by choice.”

“Do you think that Jon will see them as family too?”

“He will struggle at first. He’s still very young. Younger than I was when I joined. But he’ll adapt. He’ll soon come to see them as his family, like I did.”

“It seems that we’re all splitting up. It’s strange. I thought that we’d always stay together. Just me, Father, Mother, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon here in Winterfell.”

“Life can’t always stay the same and people can’t always stay together. We must follow our own paths, even if it means going our separate ways. We’ll always find a way back to each other, little wolf.”

Lyarra smiled. “I hope so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to visit the library.”

Benjen chuckled. “You’re forever in that library. Your father tells me that you’ve almost read every book in there.”

“I like to read.”

“Don’t you like doing anything else?”

“I like picking winter roses and making them into crowns.”

Benjen sighed sadly. “Winter roses. My sister Lyanna was fond of them.”

“I know. Father told me. It’s the only time he’s ever talked to me about her.”

“It’s hard when you lose someone you love, Lyarra. Your father loved Lyanna very much. He was very protective of her. I think he regrets not being able to save her.”

“What was she like?”

“She was the best older sister I could ever ask for.”

Sensing that he didn’t want to talk anymore, Lyarra said her goodbyes and headed off to the library.

The library was usually empty so she got a shock when she saw someone sitting at one of the wooden tables.

When she stepped closer, she noticed that it was Tyrion Lannister. He was too preoccupied with his book to notice her presence.

Deciding not to disturb him, she walked over to the shelves and picked out one of her favourite books.

When she pulled her chair out, the scraping of it against the wooden floor alerted Tyrion Lannister to her presence.

His green and black eyes looked at her curiously and she looked back at him with just as much curiosity. She had no idea that the youngest Lannister shared her passion for reading.

“Hello, Lady Lyarra.”

Lyarra smiled. “Hello, Lord Tyrion.”

“Come here for a quiet read?”

“Of course. I know that I’ll never get peace in my room. Rickon is following me around all the time now that Mother is always with Bran.”

Tyrion looked at her in sympathy. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“Not yet. I can’t bear to see him like that anymore.”

“I know it’s hard but he will wake up. The Maester is certain of that.”

“But he’ll never get to be a knight. It was his dream to join the Kingsguard and be like Barristan Selmy.”

“He’ll find his way. It’s not the end for him.”

“I hope not.”

“What are you reading?”

“I’m reading about the lineage of the Starks.”

“Curious about your ancestors?”

“I love reading about the past.”

“So do I.”

“What are you reading?”

“Engines of War.”

Lyarra smiled. “Oh, that’s a wonderful read.”

Tyrion looked at her in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

Lyarra nodded. “I’ve read almost every book in the library.”

“Truly?”

“I’ve been reading by myself since I was four. Reading was my favourite part of Maester Luwin’s lessons.”

“So what books would you recommend?”

“All of them. If you love reading like I do, then you’ll enjoy every book in this library.”

“Thank you for your recommendations.”

“Are you close to your siblings?”

“Just my brother. My sister and I don’t get along.”

“Why not?”

“She blames me for our mother’s death. She died giving birth to me.”

“My grandmother died in childbirth and my mother doesn’t blame the baby. Of course he didn’t survive but she still doesn’t blame him.”

“I’m afraid that my sister doesn’t ascribe to that logic.”

“I could never hate one of my brothers like that. I adore them all.”

“Then you’re a better person than Cersei.”

“I don’t think that’s very hard. She always seems cold.”

Tyrion chuckled. “Try growing up with her.”

“At least you had your brother.”

“Yes, Jaime was the only one who was kind to me growing up. My father and my sister hated me. They still do.”

“Well, I like you. I’ve never met someone who likes reading as much as I do.”

“Likewise.”

“Are you coming with us to King’s Landing?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m heading to the Wall.”

“You’re not thinking of joining the Night’s Watch, are you?”

“No, that’s not my thing. I’m just curious about the Wall. I’ve heard a lot of interesting stories while I’ve been here.”

“I wanted to go to the Wall as a girl. Uncle Benjen and Old Nan would always tell me stories about it and I wanted to see it for myself. I was very disappointed when I found out that women can’t join.”

“Why don’t they allow women to join?”

“Apparently it’s too dangerous for us delicate women to handle.”

“You wouldn’t want to join anyway. It’s where they send all the rapers and thieves. It’s not as honourable a profession as you might think.”

“Defending your people from the dangers that lie beyond the Wall can’t be anything other than honourable.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“I suppose we will.”

So what did you want to be after you learned you could not join the Night’s Watch?”

“I dreamed of having my own dragon. I know it sounds silly but I’d have the same dream of flying on the back of a dragon every night for years.”

“It doesn’t sound silly to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

Tyrion shook his head. “No, I don’t. I did the same as a child. I even asked my uncles for a dragon as a nameday present. I wanted it to be little like I was. Sometimes when I was really lonely, I would pretend that I was a lost Targaryen prince or a dragonlord from Valyria. It was always a better existence than the one I had.”

“I’m sorry you were so lonely. I was always surrounded by my siblings growing up.”

“You know, I think you’re the first person since Jaime to truly understand me.”

“I see you for who you are. I don’t look at you and see the imp. I see the man beyond that. You’re intelligent and kind but your talents are overlooked by those around you. You’re not living up to your true potential because you haven’t been allowed to.”

“Are you sure you’re not some kind of greenseer?”

Lyarra looked at him in surprise. “You’ve heard of them?”

“I’ve read about many things, greenseers included.”

“I’m sure I’m not a greenseer but if I am, then you’ll be the first to know.”

“Why me?”

“Because you saw it before anyone else.”

“You’re far too intelligent to be some lord’s wife.”

“That’s my destiny, Lord Tyrion. I am a lady of a noble house. I am the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. Marriage is the only option for me.”

“You could easily rule in your father’s stead. I see an intelligence in you that I’ve not seen in anyone before.”

“Thank you.”

Tyrion winked. “Us intellects have got to stick together.”

Lyarra looked at him. They could not be more different. He was short while she was tall. He was dressed in Lannister gold and red and she in Stark grey and white. One of his eyes was Lannister green while hers were Stark grey. His white blond hair spoke of his Lannister heritage while her red hair spoke of her Tully roots.

And yet he understood her better than most people. She found that she had discovered a true friend. King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad if Tyrion Lannister was there.

Chapter Text

 A week later, the journey to King’s Landing couldn’t be delayed any further. King Robert wanted to leave Winterfell before nightfall and there was nothing that Father could do but to accept that.

So she, Father, Sansa, Arya and Septa Mordane were leaving Winterfell with the king, despite the fact that Bran hadn’t woken up yet.

Everything was changing too fast for her liking. Jon was leaving with Uncle Benjen and she didn’t know when she was going to see him again. Mother, Robb, Bran and Rickon were staying here in Winterfell. Bran was now crippled. Life would be hard for him now.

She didn’t want to leave Winterfell. Mother needed her. Robb needed her. Bran needed her.  Rickon needed her.

“Sansa and Arya need you too.” Robb said through their connection.

“I know but I belong here.”

“You’ll come back here eventually but Father needs you to go to King’s Landing. You must be there for Sansa and Arya.”

“I know.”

“We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Promise me that you’ll tell me if Bran wakes up.”

“I promise.”

“Have you seen Bran today?”

“Yes, there’s no change.”

“I’ll miss him. I wish I could be here when he wakes up.”

“Maybe a part of you can be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Leave Winter here. That way Bran has a part of you here with him. It’ll be like you never left him.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. I need to talk to Mother and Father.”

“They’re with Bran.”

“Thanks, Robb. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Lyarra rushed off in the direction of Bran’s room, her grey skirt whipping about her legs.

Mother and Father were sitting close together, watching over Bran.

“You must go, Ned. You cannot refuse the king.” Mother said.

“I know. I just don’t want to leave Bran.”

“You must, my love. You are the Hand of the king now. Your duty is to Robert.”

“I belong here in Wintefell, with you.”

“Your place is in King’s Landing now.”

“My place will always be in in the North, Cat.”

“You know why you must go to King’s Landing. You must find out the truth.”

“I know.”

Lyarra frowned. What truth were her parents talking about? And why did it mean that Father had to go to King’s Landing?

“Mother? Father?”

They both turned to face her and Lyarra noticed that they looked weary.

“What is it, darling?” Mother asked.

“I was wondering if I could leave Winter here with Bran. I need to be with him in some way.”

Father smiled. “She’s your wolf, Lya. You can do what you want with her.”

“Is that alright with you, Mother?”

“I’m sure Robb will look after her.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Now have you finished packing?”

“I have.”

“Can you check on your sisters?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Lyarra gave Bran a kiss on the forehead before leaving the room to find Sansa and Arya.

When she found Sansa, she was already packed and was busy sewing in her room.

“What are you sewing?”

Sansa smiled. “I’m stitching a new dress. I want to look my best for Joffrey.”

“You have plenty of beautiful dresses, Sansa. You don’t need another one.”

“You can never have too many dresses. We’re going to the royal court. We have to look our best.”

“You always look your best, sweet sister.”

“Thank you but I need a fancy dress.”

“Why?”

“There’s bound to be a joust and I need a fancy dress. Joffrey will surely give me his favour in the joust and if I don’t look like his future queen, then I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweet Sansa. Joffrey will surely love you no matter what you wear. You are the prettiest maiden he could ever marry. He would be a fool to turn you down.”

“Thank you, Lyarra. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Lyarra shrugged. “I’m your sister. It’s my job.”

“Will you leave King’s Landing after I marry Joffrey?”

“We cannot be together forever. You will marry Joffrey and I will marry someone else and live with him in his castle.”

Sansa frowned. “But I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”

“Then you’ll be with me forever.”

“You won’t need me forever. You’ll find your own path and live your own life. You’ll have your own children one day and you won’t need me anymore.”

“But you’ll still come and visit me?”

Lyarra smiled. “Of course I will.”

“Who will you marry? I hope he’s as handsome as Joffrey.”

“I don’t know. It’s up to Mother and Father.”

“If Tommen was a little older, then you could have married him and then we’d both be princesses.”

“I think Arya has a better chance of marrying Tommen than I do.”

“Arya can’t be a princess. She hates wearing dresses.”

“She could be one if she wanted to.”

“But she doesn’t want to. She wants to fight with a sword and ride a horse all day.”

“I’m sure that she’d be better than you think.”

“Septa Mordane says that Arya can never be a proper lady.”

“Septa Mordane doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Arya still has plenty of time to become a proper lady.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Lyarra sighed. “I know that you and Arya don’t always get along but she’s still your sister. You have to look out for each other.”

“Arya and I are too different to get along.”

“No, you’re not. You’re sisters. You’ll always have each other.”

“I’d rather have you.”

“Well, you’re going have to at least try to get along. We’re all going to King’s Landing together.”

“Why is Arya even coming?”

“Mother wants her to learn some Southern customs.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Arya will never agree to that.”

“She might not agree but she’ll have no choice. Mother says it’s about time she became a proper lady.”

“But Arya doesn’t want to be a proper lady.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants. She has no choice. If she doesn’t start learning how to become a proper lady, then she’ll never find a good husband and that’s the only life we can have.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Father is a wonderful husband. Arya will be lucky if she gets a husband just like him.”

“Not all men are like Father.”

“That’s not true. Joffrey is the perfect prince.”

“They say the Mad King was cruel to his wife.”

“The Targaryens are all gone. They can’t hurt anyone now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Sansa frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter. Are you excited to go to King’s Landing?”

Sansa’s eyes lit up. “I’m so excited. I can’t wait to marry Joffrey and go to jousts and wear beautiful dresses. It will be just like a song.”

“Aren’t you sad to leave Winterfell?”

“Of course I am. I’ll miss Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon. But at least Father is letting us bring our wolves. I couldn’t bear to be apart from Lady. Are you happy to be bringing Winter?”

“Actually, I’m leaving Winter here.”

Sansa frowned. “Why?”

“I want to leave her here with Bran.”

“But won’t you need her with you?”

“I’d feel better if she was here watching over Bran for me.”

Sansa smiled. “I understand. You’re always looking out for us. I know how hard it must be for you to leave Bran and Rickon.”

“It is. I’ve never been apart from them before and with Mother’s collapse, I’m worried about leaving them.”

“Robb will be here.”

Lyarra sighed. “I know. I don’t want to leave him either.”

“Why don’t you just stay here?”

“But you and Arya need me.”

“We’ll be fine with Father. If you need to stay, then you should stay.”

“Thank you, sweet sister, but my place is in King’s Landing, at least for now.”

“So you’ll be there for my wedding?”

Lyarra smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Even if I have to travel a thousand miles, I’ll be there. Missing your wedding would be my biggest regret.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweet Sansa. I’m your sister. It’s my job to be there for you.”

“Are you excited to be going?”

“I’m excited to be with you and Arya.”

Sansa frowned. “Aren’t you excited to attend a joust?”

“I’ve never really thought about it before.”

“But a joust is so romantic.”

Lyarra frowned. “What’s so romantic about men knocking each other off their horses?”

“First of all, they’re not men, they’re knights. Second of all, giving a knight your favour is the most romantic thing in the world.”

“Even more romantic than marrying Joffrey?”

“No, nothing is but this is a close second.”

“Are you hoping that Joffrey will ask for your favour?”

“He has to ask me. I’m his betrothed.”

“He might ask for his mother’s.”

“No, the king will ask for hers. He has to ask for mine because he loves me.”

“How do you know that he loves you?”

“Jeyne said he was very taken with me.”

“I think you should wait until he says it himself.”

Sansa’s eyes turned sad. “You don’t think he loves me?”

“No, I do. I just think he’s waiting until your wedding day to tell you.”

Sansa gasped. “Oh, that would be so romantic.”

“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride ever.”

“Thank you.”

Lyarra looked at her younger sister. Looking at Sansa always reminded her of her younger self. They had the same face, the same high cheekbones and long thick auburn hair. The only difference between them was their eyes. Lyarra had the Stark grey eyes while Sansa had the Tully blue eyes.

Both of them were the image of their mother. The same mother that they’d be leaving behind. It hurt her more than she’d like to admit. Their mother was a constant comforting presence that would be hard to live without.

Lyarra would miss the way her mother would brush her long hair and braid it for her. She’d miss her mother’s warm hugs and the flowery scent of her hair. She’d miss her smile and her laugh.

She’d miss little Rickon who’d run after her with Shaggydog by her side. She’d miss Bran, who was currently lying unconscious in his bed. She’d miss Robb who she hadn’t been separated from since they were babies in the cradle.

She’d miss picking winter roses and taking rides in the snow with Robb and Jon. She’d miss having snowball fights with Sansa and Arya. She’d miss hearing Old Nan’s stories.

She’d just missed Winterfell, the only home she had ever known.

After checking up on an unhappy Arya who had been asked to repack by Septa Mordane, Lyarra went down to the yard where Robb currently was, Winter a constant presence at her side.

He was shouting out orders surrounded by the other men. Wagons were being loaded and and horses were being saddled and led from the stables.

Grey Wind and Winter yipped excitedly when they saw each other and nuzzled each other when they got close enough.

Lyarra smiled. “Hello, brother.”

Robb grinned, snow already covering his red hair. “Hello, little sister.”

“I wish you would stop calling me that.”

“What? It’s true. I am older than you.”

“Only by a few minutes.”

“It still means I’m older than you.”

“Alright, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then what did you come here for?”

Lyarra sighed sadly. “I came to spend time with you before I have to leave.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“A part of me still doesn’t want to leave.”

“You want to know something? Sometimes I wish I was going with you. Going to King’s Landing sounds awfully exciting.”

“You have to stay here. You’re the Lord of Winterfell in Father’s absence. You must be strong for Mother. She needs you.”

“Have you seen him today?”

“I’m dreading going to see him, to be honest. I know it’s going to be the last time I see him before I go and I don’t want to say goodbye. What if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will wake up. I know it. I can feel it.”

“Where’s Father?”

“He’s with the king. He wanted to visit the crypts one last time before he left.”

“Who, the king?”

Robb nodded. “He wants to pay his respects. I think Father was going anyway. He always visits his father, brother and sister before he leaves Winterfell, even if it’s just for a hunting trip.”

“Do you get the feeling that Father doesn’t want to leave?”

“I don’t blame him. It must be killing him to leave Bran, especially when he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“I know.”

“Where’s Sansa and Arya?”

“In their rooms. Sansa is ready to go but Arya still has to finish packing.”

Robb frowned. “But Mother made you all pack this morning.”

“Septa Mordane has made her do it again. She said she didn’t do it right.”

“She better hurry. Uncle Benjen wanted to leave an hour ago.”

“The snow will make it a little harder to leave.”

“You’ve not seen Jon at all? Uncle Benjen has been looking for him.

“I’ve not seen him since breakfast.”

As if he sensed that they were talking about him, Jon came walking towards them, Ghost by his side.

“Uncle Benjen is looking for you.” Robb said. “He wanted to be gone an hour ago.”

“I know. Soon.” Jon said as he looked around the yard. “Leaving is harder than I thought.”

Robb nodded. “For me too. Did you see him?”

Jon only nodded.

“He’s not going to die. I know it.” Robb said.

“You Starks are hard to kill.” Jon agreed, his voice flat and tired.

Robb hesitated, sensing that something was wrong. “My mother…”

“She was… very kind.”

Robb looked relieved. “Good.” He smiled. “The next time I see you, you’ll be in all black.”

Jon forced a smile. “It was always my colour. How long do you think it will be?”

“Soon enough.” Robb pulled him in and embraced him fiercely. “Farewell, Snow.”

Jon hugged him back just as fiercely. “And you, Stark. Take care of Bran.”

“I will.” Robb said as they broke apart. “Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you.”

“I have one more stop to make.”

“Then I haven’t seen you.”

Jon turned to her. “I need you to meet me outside Arya’s room.”

Lyarra frowned. “Why?”

“I have something for you. Just meet me there.”

“What was that all about?” Robb asked after Jon had walked away.

“I don’t know but I better go to Arya’s room. It sounded important.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later, little sister.”

“Goodbye, brother.”

Lyarra took the covered bridge to the Keep. She decided she would check on Arya instead of just waiting outside. Arya was busy packing when she opened the door to her room, muttering under her breath.

“How’s it going?”

Arya scowled. “I hate this. What does it matter how I pack? It’s just going to get messed up anyway.”

Nymeria put another dress in the chest and Lyarra  chuckled. She knew that Septa Mordane would be annoyed if she ever found out that Arya had gotten her wolf to help her pack.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

Arya frowned. “Aren’t you going to stay and help me?”

“I think you and Nymeria have it covered. Besides I don’t think Septa Mordane would be happy if she knew I was helping you.”

“Since when are you afraid of her?”

“I’m not but I’m still not helping you.”

Lyarra spotted Jon walking towards her as she closed the door to Arya’s room. Ghost and Winter yelped when they saw each other and sat beside each other.

“So what is it that you have for me?”

“Remember how you said you’d like something that had both the Stark and Tully arms on it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, I made you something that has both.”

“What is it?”

Jon unwrapped a beautiful silver pendant with the Stark and Tully arms on it. The direwolf had diamonds for eyes and the trout had one ruby eye and one sapphire eye.

“Where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”

“I had Mikken make it.”

“Wow, I had no idea he was so good at making jewellery.”

“I asked him to make this for you. It’s my parting gift for you.”

Lyarra hugged him tight. “I wish you didn’t have to go but I know we’ll see each other soon.”

Jon pulled back from the hug. “Take care of Arya for me.”

“I will. She’s not happy being stuck in her room, by the way. Seeing you will surely cheer her up.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodbye, Jon.”

Lyarra’s next stop was Bran’s room. She knew that she could not delay saying goodbye any longer. They had to leave soon or they could risk travelling in the dark.

Mother was sitting holding Bran’s claw like hand when she entered the room. She was sitting slumped over and she looked like she had aged twenty years. Lyarra’s heart broke at the thought. She knew that Mother would not survive losing Bran. She prayed that Robb was right and Bran would wake up.

“Mother?”

Catelyn turned around and wiped her tears away with her free hand. “Lyarra, what are you doing here, darling?”

“I wanted to say goodbye to you and Bran.”

Catelyn smiled. “Oh, darling, I will miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too, Mother.”

Catelyn let go of Bran’s hand and stood up to embrace her eldest daughter. Lyarra hugged her back just as fiercely.

“I love you very much, Lyarra. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too, Mother.”

Catelyn stroked her hair. “We’ll see each other again soon, darling.”

“I’ll send Sansa and Arya up to say goodbye.”

“Alright, darling. Now you take care of your sisters. They need you.”

“I will, Mother. I promise.”

Catelyn reluctantly let her daughter go. “I’ll let you say goodbye to him.”

Lyarra walked over to Bran’s bedside and took his little hand. “Hello, sweet Bran. I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit you today. I’ve been busy getting ready to leave for King’s Landing. I’ll miss you very much. I know how much you wanted to go with us. I promise I’ll tell Ser Barristan how much you admired him. I know you would have made a great knight. You’re so brave, sweet boy. I hope you’re having a nice dream but don’t dream too long, okay? We need you to wake up. I love you, Bran.”

Lyarra kissed his forehead and stepped back over to her mother. She gave her another tight hug before leaving the room.

After Father, Sansa and Arya had said goodbye to Mother and Bran, it was time for them to leave Winterfell.

She hugged Robb tight and patted Grey Wind and Winter. As soon as she stepped away from Robb, Rickon surged forward and grabbed onto her legs.

Robb and Hodor had to pry him away from her as he screamed begging her not to go.

Lyarra wiped her tears away as Hullen helped her mount her horse.

She took one last look at her beloved Winterfell before riding off with her father and sisters.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t even been on the road for a day when Arya got herself in trouble with Septa Mordane. She had gotten her dress all muddy while playing with Nymeria and the Septa was furious.

“A proper Southern lady does not get her dress dirty, Arya.” Septa Mordane had scolded.

“I’m not a southern lady, though. I’m from the North.”

Septa Mordane frowned. “One day you will marry a southern lord and gods help me, you will behave like a proper southern lady with proper southern manners.”

As usual, Arya didn’t listen and ran back out to play with Nymeria in the mud.

They had stopped briefly for lunch but Arya hardly ate with them. She kept sneaking off somewhere and Lyarra didn’t know why. She just hoped that she wasn’t getting into trouble.

They were currently travelling to the kingsroad. Jon, Uncle Bran and Tyrion were still travelling with them. They would separate when they reached the kingsroad. Jon, Uncle Benjen and Tyrion would go North while they went South.

After the king had taken in the sights, they set off for the kingsroad.

Lyarra found herself riding with Tyrion Lannister. It gave her a good view of Arya who was riding between Sansa and Septa Mordane. 

“What’s the library at the Red Keep like?” Lyarra asked.

“It’s vast. I’m sure you’ll love it. I’ve read many great books there.”

“I’m excited to read them all.”

Tyrion chuckled. “Your mind is very sharp, my lady. You’ll devour the books in no time at all.”

“I see that you’ve taken the book about the properties of dragonbone with you.”

“I have. I take it that you’ve read it.”

Lyarra nodded. “I have. You’ll enjoy it very much. I certainly did.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to read on the journey to the Wall.”

Lyarra chuckled. “I hope you’ve brung enough books.”

“Like you, my lady, I don’t mind reading books more than once.”

“Then you’ll be fine. That is, if you’ve packed clothes that are warm enough.”

Tyrion frowned. “I can assure you that I’ve packed my warmest clothes, my lady.”

“Yes, warm clothes that were made in the South. Here in the North your warmest clothes will never keep away the cold.”

“But I wore them in Winterfell and I was fine.”

“It gets colder the further North you go. Trust me, you won’t be prepared for what’s coming.”

“Have you been to the Wall before, my lady?”

“Of course not but Uncle Benjen has told me many stories about it. It’s frightfully cold up there but I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re far stronger than people give you credit for.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“You’re welcome, Lord Tyrion. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak to my brother.”

Tyrion inclined his head respectfully and Lyarra guided her horse to where Jon was riding with Father and Uncle Benjen.

“Hello, Father, Uncle, and brother.”

Jon smiled. “Hello, sister.”

Uncle Benjen grinned at her. “Enjoy the ride, dear niece?”

“Of course you know how much I love riding.”

Father looked at her fondly. “Yes, we all know. But I hope you’ve been keeping an eye on your sisters too, little wolf.”

Lyarra grinned. “Of course, Father. I always watch over my dearest sisters.”

“I hear that Arya has already made friends with the butcher’s boy.” Jon said.

“She has. He’s a nice boy. Mycah, he’s called. He’s a little filthy but then Arya has no trouble getting filthy herself so they’re a perfect pairing.”

“And how’s Sansa?” Father asked.

“She’s fine. She’s excited to arrive at King’s Landing.”

“I hope Arya hasn’t been giving Septa Mordane too much trouble.”

“You know she always does but she’s mostly been with Mycah. We haven’t seen much of her today.”

“Are you sure Tyrion Lannister has to come with us to the Wall, brother?”

Father frowned at Uncle Benjen. “He’s the queen’s brother. We can’t refuse him.”

“I don’t he’ll cause any trouble, Uncle. He mostly just reads.”

“He’s still a Lannister, Lya. You can’t trust them.”

Lyarra frowned. “They’ve done nothing to us to cause us suspicion. You don’t have to like them but you can’t accuse them over nothing.”

“She’s right, Benjen. By all means, be wary of Tyrion Lannister but do not give him a reason to think we do not trust them.”

“I’m sure he’s more than aware of that.” Jon whispered to Lyarra, who chuckled at his comment.

“I’m really going to miss you, you know.”

Jon sighed. “I know. I’ll miss you too.”

“I hope you get to come back soon. I’d love to see you dressed in all black.”

“I always dress in black, dearest sister.”

Lyarra chuckled. “You know what I mean. I can’t wait to see you as a member of the Night’s Watch.”

“I can’t wait to finally join the Night’s Watch.”

Lyarra smiled. “You’ll be great. I just know it.”

Jon smiled back. “Thank you, dear sister.”

All too soon they came upon the Kingsroad, which meant it was time to say goodbye to Jon and Uncle Benjen.

Lyarra and Arya hugged each other tight as they watched Jon ride away.

Seeing him getting further and further away was harder than she thought it would be. She would miss him so much.

As they turned south onto the kingsroad, there was already talk of how far they would go before they stopped for the night. It was decided that they would not stop until nightfall.

Their next stop was the Barrowlands, most of which was flat and windswept. Long Barrow was here, one of the castles that Uncle Benjen had told them about. The wide hilly plains contained the ancient graves of the First Men, which Lyarra was excited to see.

 It would take them around a week to get to the Barrowlands but Lyarra didn’t mind. It was nice to see more of the North.

As the days passed, Arya spent more time with Mycah and Sansa was preoccupied with trying to get Joffrey’s attention and Father was busy with the king, so Lyarra spent her time reading the books she had brung with her.

When they finally reached the Barrowlands, Father went riding with the king. Arya had gone to explore with Mycah and Nymeria. Sansa stayed with her at the inn with Septa Mordane keeping an eye on them.

“I’ll need to put on my best silks for dinner tonight. I must impress Joffrey. I must look like a proper queen.” Sansa was saying as she spun around the room.

Lyarra sighed. “I doubt that Joffrey will care about what you’re wearing. Men rarely do.”

Sansa stopped her pacing and frowned at her. “Of course they do. Father is always telling Mother how beautiful she looks.”

“Joffrey is only twelve. He’s probably never been around a pretty girl that wasn’t his sister. He’s just as new at this as you are.”

“But I want to impress him.”

“You don’t need to impress anyone, Sansa. You just need to be yourself.”

Sansa looked stricken. “But what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Then he’s the stupidest prince ever. How could he not like you? You’re beautiful and kind. What more could he want?”

Sansa sighed. “I just want him to love me.”

“Mother says that love takes time. Father didn’t love her right away and she didn’t love him. They fell in love over time. You and Joffrey will do the same.”

“But I already love him!”

“Just give him time, sweet Sansa. You won’t be married for a few years anyway. He might grow to love you before then.”

“What if he doesn’t want to marry me?”

“You don’t have to worry about that now. Just enjoy getting to know him.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to know me?”

“Who wouldn’t want to get to know their beautiful betrothed?”

“I still need a dress for dinner. I want to look my best for him.”

Septa Mordane nodded in approval. “A lady should always look her best for her lord.”

Lyarra drowned out the sounds of Sansa and Septa Mordane talking about dresses and opened her book.

She didn’t know anyone who cared more about dresses than Sansa. Arya was the exact opposite, she thought with a chuckle. Arya hated wearing dresses and would happily spend all day in her riding leathers. Lyarra was more in the middle. She liked wearing dresses but it didn’t matter to her how she looked. As long as she was happy, then she didn’t care what other people thought.

Sansa cared too much about what people thought. She barely knew Joffrey and she was stressing herself out over his opinion. She wondered what Mother would think of that. Would she approve or would she tell Sansa that other people’s opinions didn’t matter?

Shaking off thoughts of Sansa and Joffrey, she got back to her book.

A few days later, they had left the Barrowlands and were now crossing the Neck. It was going to be difficult to cross. The causeway they’d be using was very narrow and the whole region was covered in swamps and bogs.

Sansa kept shuddering at it all but Arya revelled in it. She would leave and come back covered in mud every day. She would also come back bruised and Lyarra was thankful that Septa Mordane never seemed to notice this.

One day Arya came back and told her excitedly about how she had saw flowers she had never seen before and that Mycah had shown her a lizard-lion. Sansa was especially disgusted when she heard that part.

 It was difficult crossing the Neck. The air was damp and clammy and they had to camp right on the kingsroad because of how narrow the causeway was. She could see why Sansa hated it so much.

A few days later, Arya came back with a wide grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes all muddy. She was clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. 

Sansa hoped that Father would scold Arya for not behaving like the highborn lady she was, which she whispered to Lyarra as they watched Arya hand Father the flowers.

But Father only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers.

Unfortunately it turned out that the purple flowers were called poison kisses and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa told her that she hoped it would teach Arya a lesson but Arya just laughed about it.

The next day, Arya rubbed mud all over her arms. Sansa compared her to an ignorant bog woman. When Lyarra asked her why she rubbed mud on her arms, she said that Mycah told her that it would stop the itching.

“Why does she spend time with that butcher boy? He has no manners.” Sansa complained.

“He’s harmless, San and I think it’s nice that Arya has a friend.”

“But he’s a bad influence on her.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Arya would have done all those things without Mycah’s influence. It’s just who she is.”

Sansa frowned. “She needs to start acting like the highborn lady she’s supposed to be.”

“Leave her be. She’s only nine. She has plenty of time to become a lady.”

“If she doesn’t start behaving, then she’s going to embarrass me in front of Joffrey.”

Lyarra stroked her hair soothingly. “Don’t worry about Arya. I’ll make sure she doesn’t embarrass you.”

“Really?”

Lyarra smiled. “Of course, sweet sister. She’ll probably spend most of her time with Mycah anyway so you won’t have to worry about her embarrassing you.”

“I love you, Lya.”

“I love you too, Sansa.”

Almost a week later, they had successfully crossed the Neck and had made camp at the inn at the crossroads near the banks of the Trident.

Chapter Text

Father had left before dawn, Septa Mordane informed them as they broke their fast. 

“The king sent for him. Another hunt, I do believe. There are still wild aurochs in these lands, I am told.” Septa Mordane was saying.

“I’ve never seen an aurochs before.” Sansa said as she fed a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. Lady took it from her hand in a delicate and gentle way.

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. “A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table.”

Lyarra rolled her eyes as the septa broke a piece of comb and let the honey drip onto her bread. Septa Mordane could be so haughty sometimes.

“She’s not a dog, she’s a direwolf.” Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers. “Anyway, Father said we could keep them with us if we want.”

Septa Mordane was not appeased by this. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as wilful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?”

Lyarra and Sansa shared a look. They knew that Arya had probably snuck down to the kitchens and and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy but they didn’t dare say this to Septa Mordane.

“She wasn’t hungry.” Sansa said.

“Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best.”

Lyarra and Sansa already looked their best. They had brushed their long auburn hair until it shone and wore their best blue silks. They had known they were riding with the queen and princess today so they had dressed in their finest, helping each other get ready.

Sansa looked uncertain. “I’ll tell her but she’ll dress the way she always does. May I be excused?”

“You may.”

Lyarra watched Sansa run from the inn’s common room, Lady at her heels.

“Aren’t you going to join her?” Septa Mordane asked as she helped herself to more bread and honey.

“I’d like to finish my breasfast first.”

Septa Mordane hummed. “I’m glad you were sensible enough to leave that wolf of yours at Winterfell. Those creatures have no place at a royal court.”

Lyarra frowned. “I would have brung her if it wasn’t for Bran. Besides, if Father says we could keep them with us, then it’s not your place to question that.”

Septa Mordane looked at her in disapproval. “A noble lady knows how to hold her tongue.”

Lyarra stood up. “A noble lady does a lot of things, according to you, and none of them are enjoyable. May I be excused?”

“You may.”

Lyarra ran outside as fast as she could, eager to get away from Septa Mordane and to see her sisters.

She found her sisters on the banks of the Trident. Arya was trying to brush Nymeria’s fur and Sansa was trying to convince her to come to the royal wheelhouse with them.

“Rubies? What rubies?” Sansa asked, looking lost.

Arya looked at her like she was stupid. “Rhaegar’s rubies. This is where King Robert killed him and won the crown.”

Sansa looked at Arya in disbelief. “You can’t look for rubies. The princess is expecting us. The queen invited us all.”

“I don’t care.” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows. You can’t see a thing.”

“What could you want to see?” Sansa asked, annoyed. “It’s all just fields and farms and holdfasts.”

“It is not.” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.”

“I hate riding.” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.”

Lyarra watched the exchange between her younger sisters silently. The two of them could not be more different and this conversation simply highlighted that fact.

Arya shrugged. “Hold still.” She snapped at Nymeria. “I’m not hurting you.” She turned to Sansa. “When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion.”

Sansa shuddered at the memory of this.

“Arya, it wouldn’t do if you refused the queen. You can’t be rude.” Lyarra intervened.

“I don’t care. I’m not going. I’m enjoying exploring too much.”

“Arya, please.”

Arya brushed out Nymeria’s tangles and ignored what she said. “Last week we found this haunted tower, and the day before we chased a herd of wild horses.  You should have seen them run when they caught a scent of Nymeria.”

Nymeria wriggled in her grasp and Arya scolded her. “Stop that. I have to do the other side. You’re all muddy.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the column.” Sansa reminded her. “Father said so.”

 Arya shrugged. “I didn’t go far. Anyway, Nymeria was with me the whole time. I don’t always go off, either. Sometimes it’s fun just to ride along with the wagons and talk to people.”

Lyarra could tell that Sansa was running out of patience. “You have to come with me. You can’t refuse the queen. Septa Mordane will expect you.”

Arya ignored Sansa. When she gave a hard yank with the brush, Nymeria growled and spun away. “Come back here!”

“There’s going to be lemon cakes and tea.” Sansa went on, all adult and reasonable, something she had no doubt picked up on from Mother. “Why would you want to ride a smelly old horse and get all sore and sweaty when you could recline on feather pillows and eat cakes with the queen?”

“I don’t like the queen.” Arya said so casually that it shocked Sansa. “She won’t let me bring Nymeria.”

Lyarra watched as Arya tried to trick Nymeria into letting her brush her.

“A royal wheelhouse is no place for a wolf.” Sansa said. “And Princess Myrcella is afraid of them, you know that.”

“Myrcella is a little baby.” Arya grabbed Nymeria around her neck, but the moment she pulled out the brush again the direwolf wriggled free and bounded off. Frustrated, Arya threw down the brush. “Bad wolf!” She shouted.

Lyarra shared an amused look with Sansa. The kennelmaster once told them that an animal takes after its master and Nymeria was certainly as wilful as her owner.

Sansa giggled at the thought and Arya heard this and whirled around, glaring at her older sister.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m going out riding.” Arya said wilfully, that familiar stubborn look on her face.

Sansa let out a sigh. “Gods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child.”

She is a child, Lyarra thought, and so are you, sweet Sansa.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself with Lyarra. It will be ever ever so much nicer that way. Lyarra, Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you.”

In that moment, Lyarra thought that Sansa sounded just as wilful and stubborn as Arya was.

Sansa went to turn away but Arya shouted after her. “They won’t let you bring Lady either.”

And then her youngest sister ran off after Nymeria before either of them could say anything.

Lyarra wrapped a comforting arm around Sansa’s shoulders. She could tell that her sweet sister was upset and needed some comfort.

“It’s probably better that Arya isn’t coming.” She soothed. “If she said something to offend the queen, then we’d all be in trouble.”

Sansa sniffed. “I guess so. I just don’t understand why Arya can’t be more like you and Myrcella.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You and Myrcella are so sweet and kind. Arya is nothing like that. We’re so different that sometimes it feels like we’re strangers.”

“You’re not strangers, Sansa. Sisters can never be strangers, no matter how different they are.”

“Mother has a sister. Do you think they were close?”

“I’m sure they were as children but they haven’t seen each other in years. They still love each other, though. That never fades, even if twenty years have passed and you’ve never seen each other in all that time.”

“Father had a sister too but he never talks about her.”

“He had a brother as well and we never hear about him. It’s painful to talk about the dead. Mother never talks about her own mother and she died many many years ago. It hurts to talk about a loved one when they’re no longer there.”

“Who told you that?”

“Old Nan. She’s had many losses in her life.”

“How old is Old Nan?”

“I don’t think anyone knows but Father said that Old Nan was there when he was a boy.”

“Are you excited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella?”

“I enjoy Myrcella’s company.”

Sansa frowned. “But not the queen’s?”

“No, I’d rather have Mother’s. I miss her.”

“Me too.” Sansa said quietly.

“She’ll come for your wedding and I’m sure she’ll visit us before then.”

“I know but sometimes I wish that Mother was here instead of Septa Mordane. Maybe Arya would behave better if she was here.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Arya never behaves, not even for Mother. Sometimes she behaves for Father but it’s rare. Arya likes to do what she wants.”

“It’s no way for a lady to behave.”

“Maybe not but I love her just the same.”

As they neared the centre of the camp, a commotion halted their conversation and they looked at each other curiously.

As they inched closer, they saw that a crowd had gathered around the queen’s wheelhouse. They heard excited voices and Lyarra wondered what was happening. The doors have been thrown open and the queen stood at the top of the steps, smiling down at someone.

“The council does us great honour, my good lords.” Lyarra heard her say.

“What’s happening?” Sansa asked a squire they were both familiar with.

“The council sent riders from King’s Landing to escort us the rest of the way.” The squire told them. “An honour guard for the king.”

Sansa was anxious to see so she let Lady clear a path for them and Lyarra followed her sister faithfully.

People moved hastily for the direwolf so they got to the front of the crowd very quickly.

 Two knights were kneeling before the queen, dressed in armour so fine it made her blink. She turned and saw that Sansa was having a similar reaction.

The first knight wore an intricate suit of white enamelled scales as brilliant as newly fallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. As he removed his helm, Lyarra noticed that his hair was the same colour as his armour, and yet he still seemed strong and graceful. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard.

Lyarra knew exactly who he was. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and one of Bran’s heroes.

The second knight was much younger than Ser Barristan. He looked to be in his twenties and his armour was a deep forest green. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, far more attractive than that pompous twit Joffrey. He was tall and powerfully made with jet black hair that fell to his shoulders. His face was clean shaven and he had laughing green eyes that matched his armour.  Cradled under his arm was an antlered helm, its magnificent rack shimmering in gold.

This was Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, and King Robert’s youngest brother. Lyarra guessed that this was likely what Robert had looked like in his youth. Renly was a tall muscled warrior, exactly the way Father had described the king.

The third knight, she noticed, did not kneel like Ser Barristan and Lord Renly.  He stood to the side by the horses as silent as a shadow. He was a gaunt grim man with a pockmarked clean shaven face and deepset eyes and hollow cheeks. He was not an old man and yet he had a few wisps of hair, sprouting above his ears. The hair he did have was as long as a woman’s. His armour was iron grey chainmail over layers of boiled leather, plain and unadorned. It was obvious it was old and well used. Above his right shoulder,  the stained leather hilt of the blade strapped to his back was visible;  a two handed greatsword, too long to be worn at his side.

This was Ser Ilyn Payne, the King’s Justice. Lyarra remembered him from her lessons with Maester Luwin.

“The king has gone hunting but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns.” The queen said.

Lyarra looked at Sansa and noticed that her frightened gaze was trained on Ilyn Payne. She put a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

Ilyn Payne seemed to feel the weight of her sister’s gaze as he slowly turned his head to look at her.  Lady growled and Lyarra could practically feel her sister’s terror.

Sansa stepped backwards and bumped into someone. Lyarra’s eyes widened in fear when she saw it was Sandor Clegane. She knew how much his burned face had terrified Sansa when they first saw him.

The Hound’s strong hands grabbed Sansa’s shoulders and Lyarra felt a surge of protectiveness flood through her. 

The Hound’s face twisted in a mocking smile. “You are shaking, girl.” He said, his voice rasping. “Do I frighten you so much?”

Sansa wretched away from him and Lyarra rushed forward with Lady as the Hound laughed.  

Lyarra stood in front of her sister protectively as Lady rumbled out a warning. Sansa dropped to her knees and hugged the wolf tightly. Lyarra continued to glare at the Hound.

But while Sansa took comfort from Lady’s presence, the men around them were unsettled by the direwolf.

“A wolf.” One man said.

“Seven hells, that’s a direwolf.” Another muttered.

“What’s it doing in camp?” The first man asked.

“The Starks use them for wet nurses.” Came the Hound’s rasping voice.

The two stranger knights looked down on them with their swords drawn. Sansa trembled and tears filled her eyes.

Lyarra clenched her fists in anger. “Leave my sister alone. What’s she ever done to you?”

One of the knights chuckled. In her anger she forgot which was which. “Feisty thing, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you dare harm my sister or her wolf.”

The queen noticed the commotion and said “Joffrey, go to her.”

And Joffrey was there, standing over her sister in blue wool and black leather, his golden curls shining in the sun. He looked every inch like the prince that her sister had always dreamed about.

“Leave her alone.” Joffrey said. He held his hand out for her sister and drew her to her feet. “What is it, sweet lady? Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Put away your swords, all of you. The wolf is her little pet, that’s all. And you will show some respect to my lady’s sister.” He looked at the Hound. “And you, dog, away with you. You’re scaring my betrothed.” 

The Hound, ever faithful, bowed and slid away quietly through the press.

Lyarra was a little bitter that Joffrey could comfort her sister better than she could. But then again, Sansa always did love chivalry and the songs of courtships.

Sansa was trying not to tremble. “It was not him, my sweet prince. It was the other one.”

Ser Barristan and Lord Renly exchanged a look.

Renly then chuckled. “Payne?”

But Ser Barristan spoke to her sister gently. “Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect.”

 “As well he should.” The queen had descended from the wheelhouse and the spectators parted to make way for her. “If the wicked do not fear the King’s justice, you have put the wrong man in office.”

“Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace.” Sansa said and a gale of laughter erupted around her.

Lyarra was glad that Sansa had gotten over her fear and found her voice again but she could not agree with what her sister had just said. She believed that the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword, as per the beliefs of the First Men, and she was sure that Ilyn Payne had never passed any of the sentences he had carried out.

“Well spoken, child.” Ser Barristan praised. “As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honoured to know you, both of you, however irregular the the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.” He then bowed to both of them.

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and councillor to Robert our king and Aerys Targaryen before him.” Sansa said. “The honour is mine, good knight.  Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold.”

Lyarra thought of Bran and how excited he was to meet Ser Barristan and her heart clenched painfully. What she wouldn’t give to be by his side right now.

Lord Renly laughed again. “Barristan the Old, you mean. Don’t flatter him too sweetly, child. He thinks overmuch of himself already.” He smiled at her sister. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

Joffrey stiffened beside Sansa. “Have a care how you address my betrothed.”

“I can answer.” Sansa said quickly, in order to quell Joffrey’s anger. “Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, and councillor to the king, and so I name you.”

Lyarra smiled with pride at her sister. She had shown extremes strength to be able to talk eloquently with knights of the Kingsguard after being terrified only a few minutes before.

Ser Barristan chuckled. “By his extreme youth, he can only be a prancing jackanapes, and so I name him.”

There was general laughter, led by Lord Renly himself. Lyarra found herself joining in, despite her discomfort at being surrounded by a large crowd of strangers. She could tell that Sansa was feeling comfortable as well, despite the earlier tension.

That was, until Ser Ilyn Payne shouldered two men aside and stood before them, unsmiling. He did not say a word, which unsettled Lyarra who more often than not preferred silence. 

Lady bared her teeth and began to growl, a low rumble of menace, but this time,  Sansa silenced the wolf with a gentle hand to the head.  

“I am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn.” Sansa said sweetly.

But no answer came and Lyarra knew she was missing something but his soulless gaze grated at her nerves and she couldn’t remember something she knew Maester Luwin had taught her.

Sansa looked confused as Payne turned and walked away without saying a word.

Her sister turned to Joffrey. “Did I say something wrong, Your Grace? Why will he not speak to me?”

Lord Renly gave a sly smile. “Ser ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened in realisation just as Joffrey gave his uncle a look of loathing and said “Aerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers.”

Lyarra remembered Maester Luwin telling her, Robb and Jon about it once. They had all huddled together in fear until Maester Luwin told them that the Mad King was long dead and they didn’t have to worry about such treatments at the hands of the new king.

“He speaks most eloquently with his sword, however,” the queen said, “and his devotion to our realm is unquestioned.” Then she smiled graciously. “Sansa, Lyarra, the good councillors and I must speak until the king returns with your father. I fear we shall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my apologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guests today.”

Lyarra patted Sansa on the arm. “I shall see you later, sweet sister. There’s a book I need to finish and then I want to find Arya.”

Cersei smiled. “Then you shall just be entertaining Sansa, Joffrey.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mother.” Joffrey said very formally. He then held out his arm to her sister and led her away from the wheelhouse.

Lyarra turned her gaze back to the queen and the two knights. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’ll return to the inn now.”

Cersei inclined her head. “Of course, my dear. I hope to see you and your sisters join us in the wheelhouse soon.”

“I’d like that, Your Grace. It was an honour meeting you, Ser Barristan, Lord Renly.”

Ser Barristan bowed respectfully. “The honour was mine, sweet lady.”

Lord Renly took her hand and kissed it chastely. “To meet a brave maiden like you is a high honour. The way you defended your sister was admirable.”

Lyarra blushed. “Thank you, Lord Renly.”

After bowing gracefully to the queen, Lyarra returned to the inn where Septa Mordane was waiting in their rooms.

“Lyarra, you’re here alone.” Septa Mordane said sharply.

“Yes, I thought I’d come back here to do some reading. I suppose you’ve heard that we’re not riding in the royal wheelhouse today.”

Septa Mordane frowned. “Yes, I heard but I didn’t think you’d come back here. You should be keeping an eye on Arya. That girl always gets herself into some kind of trouble.”

“Arya doesn’t need to be minded all the time. She’s not a baby.”

“No but she can’t behave herself.”

Lyarra opened her book and sat down with a sigh. “Arya will do what she likes, regardless of whether I’m there with her or not.”

“Do you even know where Arya is?”

“She’s off exploring. She wanted to find Rheager’s rubies. Nymeria is with her.”

Lyarra didn’t dare mention that Arya was also with Mycah because that would only anger Septa Mordane. The old woman had no tolerance or love for the poor butcher’s boy and had frequently made her feelings clear about him, even when he was in earshot.

After a few minutes of Septa Mordane’s ramblings, she knew that she wasn’t going to get to read in peace so she decided to go find Arya. Her sister may be rambunctious but she always let her read her books in peace.

Leaving the inn, she saddled up her horse and rode off along the banks of the Trident.

Lyarra felt at peace as she took in the scenery. The air was warm here and the sweet smell of flowers hung heavily. The woods here had a serenity to them that the woods in the North didn’t. The grass was a brilliant shade of green and the trees were tall and lush with green leaves. It was so peaceful here. So quiet. The only sounds were the steady flow of the river and the tread of her mare’s hooves on the soft grass.

As she got closer to the ruby ford, she heard a loud commotion and suddenly her peace was shattered. She urged her mare to run faster and she gasped in shock when she finally reached the ford.

Joffrey was lying on the grass, screaming in pain, his shirt soaked in blood. He was clutching his arm and Lyarra could see the blood dripping down it. The back of his head was also bloody and she dreaded to think about what had happened.

Arya threw Joffrey’s sword into the water and galloped away on her horse, Nymeria at her heels. Mycah was nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile, Sansa had rushed over to Joffrey’s side and began to sob. “Joffrey. Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.”

Lyarra slid off her horse as Sansa gently brushed back Joffrey’s hair.

Joffrey’s eyes snapped open and he looked at her sister with loathing. There was nothing but utter contempt in his eyes. “Then go. And don’t touch me.” He spat viciously.

Sansa stumbled back as if burned and Lyarra rushed forward. The sound alerted Sansa to her presence and she let out a sob before collapsing in her arms.

Lyarra held onto Sansa tightly as her sister sobbed into her chest.

“It’s okay, sweet Sansa. It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not. Everything’s ruined.” Sansa wailed.

Lyarra kissed the top of Sansa’s head softly. “Shh, it’s going to be alright. Get on your horse. We need to get help.”

Sansa nodded and slowly untangled herself from Lyarra and moved over to her horse.

Meanwhile Lyarra moved over to kneel beside Joffrey. “Are you alright, Your Grace?”

“Get away from me!” Joffrey spat.

“I only want to help. You need to see a Maester. You’re hurt.” Lyarra said soothingly.

Joffrey only moaned in pain and Lyarra felt a surge of worry flow through her, despite not really liking Joffrey.

“Sansa, go get help!” Lyarra ordered.

Sansa nodded and sped off on her horse.

Lyarra turned back to Joffrey. “Where does it hurt?”

Joffrey whimpered in pain. “I want my mother.”

“Help is coming, Your Grace.”

Lyarra worried at the steady flow of blood coming from Joffrey’s arm so she ripped off the white edge of her sleeve and pressed it on his arm.

“Get away from me! Stop it! Stay away!” Joffrey screeched.

“Stay still. Don’t move. You’ll make it worse.”

Joffrey continued to whimper and writhe about and Lyarra hoped that help was on its way. She also had no idea where Arya had run off to and that filled her with a sense of dread.

By the time Sansa returned with Ser Barristan and Lord Renly, her ripped sleeve was soaked with blood.

Chapter Text

When they returned to camp, Joffrey was whisked away to have his wounds treated and Lyarra led Sansa in the direction of the inn. Her sister had not stopped sobbing since it happened.

Lyarra wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. She didn’t know how Joffrey ended up bleeding on the ground but she knew it had something to do with Arya and the thought made her sick to her stomach. What would happen to Arya if the queen decided she wanted revenge? How far would she go?

Sansa let out a broken sob as she saw their father standing beside the king. It looked like they had just come back from their hunt and they were confused by the loud commotion.

As soon as they got close enough, Sansa ran into Father’s arms and he immediately wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace.

“What is going on here?” The king boomed, irritation clear in his voice.

“It’s gone wrong. It’s all gone wrong.” Sansa sobbed.

“What’s gone wrong?” Father asked gently.

Sansa didn’t reply. She just sobbed louder, her tears soaking their father’s leather jerkin.

Father looked to her instead. “Lyarra, what happened?” He asked.

Before Lyarra could answer, Lord Renly came strolling out of the royal wheelhouse, looking far too pleased for someone whose nephew had just been badly wounded.

The king gave his brother a sharp glare when he stopped right in front of him with a smirk on his face. “What do you want?!”

“That’s no way to speak to your little brother.”

Robert huffed. “I don’t have time for your childish antics. Tell me what the bloody seven hells is going on? Now!”

Renly sighed. “There’s been an incident.”

Robert looked at his younger brother in suspicion. “What kind of incident?”

Beside him, she could see her father eyeing her torn sleeve and the spots of blood on her hands. Sansa hysterically crying only heightened the graveness of the situation and she knew that her father would be wondering where Arya was.

The king growled with impatience. “By the gods, Renly, I don’t have time for your dillydallying. Tell me what’s going on.”

For the first time, Renly looked regretful over the situation. “It’s your son, Robert.”

“Joffrey or Tommen?”

“Joffrey. He got hurt while out riding with Lady Sansa. We don’t know what happened yet. He’s in too much pain to tell us anything.”

Lyarra didn’t think that the stout king could run very fast but as soon as the words had left Renly’s mouth, Robert had run almost as fast as a direwolf.

“Lyarra, what happened?” Father asked, still keeping a tight hold on a sobbing Sansa.

“I.. I don’t know, Father. I wasn’t there when it happened. By the time I got there, Joffrey was lying injured on the ground and Arya was running away.”

Father’s eyes flashed with concern. “Arya is missing?”

Lyarra nodded. “I’m sorry, Father. I couldn’t stop her.”

“It’s alright, little wolf. It’s not your fault.”

Lyarra sniffed. “We need to find Arya.”

“We need to get inside and calm down first.” Father said gently.

“But Arya could be hurt!”

Father let go of Sansa, who was now sniffling quietly, and walked over to her. He stroked her hair softly, a gesture that had always soothed her as a child.

Soon Father left go of her and Lyarra immediately moved to embrace Sansa. The two sisters held on tightly to each other as the king came striding out of the wheelhouse, a look of thunder on his face.

When he got closer to Father, the king began to calm down as if seeing his oldest friend soothed his anger.

“My son has been injured and it seems as though your two youngest daughters were there. Joffrey is claiming that Arya did this to him.”

The king had an undertone of anger in his voice but her father didn’t flinch or looked remotely intimidated. “My youngest daughter is missing, Robert. Whatever happened between Joffrey and Arya has caused my daughter to flee in fear.”

Robert’s eyes flashed with concern. “Well, we must find her at once. A nine year old girl lost in these conditions, it doesn’t bear thinking about. We will find her, Ned, and I promise you that no harm will come to her.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Robert frowned. “What have I told you about this Your Grace nonsense? You’re my oldest friend, for gods sake. You can call me by your first name.”

“I apologise. I’m merely concerned for my daughter.”

“As you should be.”

Ned turned to Jory. “Take the girls back to the inn, Jory. I will search for Arya myself.”

Jory nodded. “Would you like me to join you, my lord?”

“Yes, I need everyone I can get on this. I will not stop until my daughter is safe and with her family.”

“Nymeria is with her, Father. She’ll be able to protect her.” Lyarra said.

Ned sighed. “Only for so long. Take care of your sister, little wolf.”

Lyarra nodded. “I will, Father.”

“We cannot stay at the inn forever. We need to move on.”

“I understand that, Robert, but I’m not going anywhere without my daughter.”

“We’ll stop at Castle Darry.”

Ned frowned. “Is that wise, Robert? They fought for the Targaryens during the Rebellion.”

“They hosted us on the way to Winterfell. They should host us now.”

Ned nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “Alright. Jory, take the girls back to the inn and tell everyone that we’re heading to Castle Darry. Once you’ve safely escorted my daughters, come back with our men and help me search for Arya.”

Jory nodded. “It will be done, my lord.”

“I will send some of my men out to help find her.” Robert said.

Ned looked grateful. “Thank you.”

Lyarra let Jory take her and Sansa back to the inn where Septa Mordane was waiting for them.

Septa Mordane frowned when she took in the state of her young charges. “What’s happened? Where’s Arya?”

Sansa started crying again at the mention of what had happened and Lyarra put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Let the girls get inside, Septa. It’s been a difficult day.” Jory said.

“Sansa is crying hysterically and Lyarra’s dress is torn and her hands are bloody. I have been teaching these girls since they were old enough to leave their mother’s breast. If something has upset them, then I have a right to know.” Septa Mordane said in her usual disapproving tone.

Jory hesitated. “There has been an… incident between Arya and the prince. Arya has run off and the girls are rightly upset about it.”

“Arya is missing?”

“Yes and we’re doing all we can to find her. It is your duty to take care of the lord’s daughters, Septa.”

“And I will do so now.”

“The king has ordered everyone to head to Castle Darry. It will be our base while we find Arya.”

“We are to go there now?”

“Yes, Lord Eddard has approved of the king’s order. I’m to escort you there before I return to help him find Arya.”

Septa Mordane put a comforting but firm hand on Lyarra’s shoulder and she followed the Septa inside, keeping a tight hold on Sansa.

“Let’s get both of you washed and changed. It will be a long ride.” Septa Mordane said when they got inside.

Darry was only half a day’s ride from the Trident but Lyarra was grateful for the offer of a nice warm bath.

Alys and Jeyne came to help them bathe. The two girls weren’t allowed to ride with them in the royal wheelhouse so Lyarra and Sansa had not seen their best friends all day.

Lyarra couldn’t describe how relieved she was when Joffrey’s blood came off her hands. She felt like it had tainted her. It was a memory that she didn’t want any reminder of. The blood that was previously on her hands and was now floating in the water was blood that her beloved sister had potentially spilled.

It wasn’t something that she could bear to think about. Arya couldn’t have done this. She wouldn’t have hurt Joffrey on purpose. It had to be an accident. Arya might hate Joffrey but she wouldn’t hurt him. She just wouldn’t.

Lyarra’s mind was filled with thoughts of Arya out there alone and hurt. She barely noticed that Alys had helped her out of the bath and was now wrapping her in a robe.

“Are you alright, Lya?” Alys asked as she guided her to her room.

“No.” Lyarra whispered.

“Arya will be fine. Your father will find her.”

“But what if she’s hurt?”

“Then the Maester will tend to her.”

“I know my father will never stop looking for Arya but I can’t help thinking about what will happen if we don’t find her.”

“You can’t think like that. Arya will come back safe.”

“But they’re saying that she attacked Joffrey. What if the queen wants her punished? What if my father can’t stop her?”

“Your father is the king’s best friend. He wouldn’t risk alienating your father by having your sister punished.”

“But Cersei is his wife. His loyalty is to her.”

“The king will be just. He will not punish Arya until he knows what happened.”

“And what happens if Arya is guilty?”

“Do you believe she is?”

Lyarra shook her head. “No but Joffrey is still injured and Cersei will want justice for that.”

“They need to find Arya first.”

Lyarra sighed. “I hope she’s alright.”

“Of course she is. This is Arya, the girl who tried to steal Ice when she was five years old because she wanted to be a warrior like your father. She’ll come back unscathed.”

“And thrust into the jaws of an angry lioness.”

“Don’t think about that. Just focus on Arya coming back safe.”

“Okay.”

Once her hair was dry, Alys helped her get dressed. She put on white stocking and a white shift and her corset. She then put on a grey wool dress with fur lined sleeves and her riding boots.

She then did her hair in a single braid that lay on her shoulder and flowed down her back.

Lyarra then left the room to find Sansa, who was getting changed in Father’s room.

Her sister was fully dressed in a blue silk dress but her hair remained unbrushed.

Jeyne noticed her coming in and walked over to her. “I’ve helped her dress but she won’t let me brush her hair. She said she wants you to do it.”

“When Sansa is upset, she wants me or Mother to brush her hair and since Mother is not here, then it’s down to me.”

Sansa’s deep blue eyes were red from all her crying and she had become very pale.

“Sansa?”

Her sister looked up and looked relieved when she saw her.

“Lya.”

Lyarra smiled and knelt before her sister. “I’m here, sweet sister.”

Sansa gripped her hands tightly and let out a broken sob. “Where’s Father?”

Lyarra sighed. “He’s out looking for Arya.”

“Nymeria bit Joffrey.”

“Yes, I figured that was what had happened.”

“She only did it because her and Joffrey were fighting. It wasn’t her fault.”

“She was just protecting Arya.”

“Yes.”

“Why were they fighting?”

“I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

Lyarra sighed. She figured that Sansa might lie to protect Joffrey but she thought she’d do so in front of the king and queen, not her own sister.

“Okay, I won’t ask you about it anymore.”

Sansa sniffed. “Will Arya be alright?”

“Father won’t stop until he finds her.”

“Everything was ruined. That butcher’s boy ruined everything.”

“Butcher’s boy? Mycah was there?”

“It was his fault. Arya shouldn’t have been with him. Joffrey wouldn’t have gotten hurt if we hadn’t found them at the ford.”

“And where is Mycah now?”

“He ran off before you arrived. I don’t know where he would have gone.”

“Perhaps it’s better that he never comes back.”

Sansa frowned. “What do you mean? He’ll die if he stays out there alone.”

“And he’ll be punished if he comes back.”

“Isn’t that better than dying?”

“Attacking the crown prince is a serious offence. He might be sentenced to death.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Surely he can’t be put to death for that. Joffrey will be okay, won’t he?”

“He will but that might not appease the queen.”

“The queen is kind. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Sansa protested.

“When it comes to their children, mothers are fierce. Mother was furious when I fell out of a tree on Jory’s watch. She wouldn’t speak to him for a whole month.”

“You fell out of a tree?”

Lyarra nodded. “I was five and Robb said I couldn’t climb it so I did to prove him wrong. I fell on the way back down. I slipped on a branch and crashed to the ground. Luckily there were no broken bones, although Maester Luwin said it was a close call. I had a large cut on my arm and I was bruised all on one side. I don’t know who Mother was more angry at; Robb who had dared me to do it or Jory who was supposed to be watching us.”

“I’ve never heard that story.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Mother doesn’t like to be reminded of it so I rarely talk about it.”

Septa Mordane walked into the room and their conversation stopped. The old woman had a rare gift of being able to suck all the joy out of a room.

“Girls, it’s time to leave for Darry. The queen is waiting on us.”

“Are we to ride in the royal wheelhouse with them?”

Septa Mordane shook her head. “No, the queen doesn’t want anyone in the wheelhouse except for family while Prince Joffrey recovers.”

Sansa looked disappointed. “Oh.”

“Let’s go, children. We don’t want to hold everyone back.”

Lyarra threaded her arm through Sansa’s as they both followed the Septa outside.

Lyarra got on her horse while Sansa and Septa Mordane reluctantly got on their own horses. She knew that Sansa preferred the wheelhouse as she hated horse riding. Alys rode beside her while Jeyne followed Sansa.

As they rode along the road, Lyarra saw that Sansa was looking longingly at the royal wheelhouse in front of them, as if she wanted nothing more than to be by Joffrey’s side. Knowing her sister, that’s probably exactly what she wanted.

Lyarra thought that Sansa should be concerning herself with Arya rather than Joffrey. She barely knew the blond prat and yet she was already doing everything for him. Arya was her sister and she acted like she didn’t even care about her.

During the rest of the ride, Lyarra couldn’t shake the feeling of dread she was feeling. As they got further away from Father, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Father would protect them. Father wouldn’t let anything happen to them. 

But Father wasn’t here. He was out looking for a missing Arya. And so Lyarra and Sansa were left alone with Lannisters and Baratheons with only Septa Mordane as their protection.

She was sure that Father would come back. He couldn’t stay out there all night, even if he swore he wouldn’t leave without Arya. And once Jory was helping, then Father would be able to spend more time with them.

But what would happen before Father came back? Would Cersei take her anger out on her and Sansa? And while she was sure that the king would make sure that nothing happened to them in their father’s absence, he couldn’t control his wife. If she wanted revenge, then there was little Robert could do about it. Not unless he locked her away until Father came back.

Lyarra was torn between feeling relieved and scared when Castle Darry came into view. On the one hand, she would be grateful to rest after half a day’s riding. But on the other hand, it meant having to see Cersei and Lyarra didn’t want to feel the queen’s wrath without Father present.

Lyarra jumped off her horse and watched as Jory and Alyn helped Sansa, Septa Mordane, Alys and Jeyne down from their horses.

She kept her eyes firmly on the stone walls of the castle as the doors to the royal wheelhouse swung open. She didn’t want to see Cersei or Joffrey. She couldn’t handle their anger, not when it was aimed at Arya.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur as Lyarra felt the absence of both Father and Arya. She barely noticed Cersei’s accusing glare as she walked into the castle or the silk bandages gracing Joffrey’s arm. The only thing keeping her steady was Sansa’s hand wrapped around her arm as Jory and Alyn led them inside.

Ser Raymun Darry, the lord of the castle, met them at the entrance of the castle. He looked at the king with barely concealed contempt and the king looked at him in the same way. She remembered her father saying that House Darry fought for the Targaryens in the Rebellion and that Lord Raymun’s three elder brothers died fighting in the Rebellion, so she did not blame him for his contempt towards the Baratheon king.

“My Lord Darry, I thank you for your hospitality.” Robert said gruffly.

Ser Raymun managed a polite smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “It is my honour to host you again, my king.”

“Let’s get inside, my love. Joffrey needs his rest.” Cersei said, her children by her side.

Robert turned to look at her. “Of course.”

After the royal party went inside, Lyarra and Sansa followed them. The two of them were housed in a spacious room that they were to share. Septa Mordane would sleep in here with them and so would Arya when she inevitably returned. Father was to be hosted in another room upon his return.

It was only when the night fell that Father returned with Jory and the others. He looked exhausted upon his return and only came in to kiss them goodnight. She had no doubt that him not finding Arya had taken its toll upon her father.

She just hoped that they’d find her soon.

Four days had passed, they had still not found Arya and Lyarra was beginning to get worried. 

It had been a tense four days stuck in the castle. They were not welcome guests here. Ser Raymun still held a grudge against the king for the Rebellion and that hostility extended towards her father since he had fought with Robert against the Targaryens. The added presence of the Lannisters only added fuel to the fire due to the Mountain killing Elia Martell and her children, Rhaegar’s children, on the orders of Tywin Lannister. And of course Jaime Lannister had killed the Mad King which she was sure Darry wasn’t happy about.

The longer they stayed here, the more the tension rose and add that to the animosity between the Starks and the royal family because of Arya and Joffrey’s fight, staying in the castle was unbearable. On top of that she was extremely worried about Arya, who was alone out in the cold, and Sansa, who hadn’t said a word since they arrived at the castle.  

Sitting in her room with a silent and upset Sansa was becoming too much for Lyarra, so as soon as she heard that her father was back, she didn’t hesitate running straight to his room.

When she entered the room, she immediately noticed that her father was tense and she knew that he had no luck in finding Arya.

“Father?”

Ned looked up at the sound of his daughter’s voice, his eyes tired. “Little wolf, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be with your sister.”

“I was but Sansa doesn’t want to talk. I get the feeling that she wants to be alone.”

Ned sighed. “I understand the feeling.”

“So you didn’t find Arya then?”

“No. It’s like she’s vanished.”

“She’s scared, Father. She got into a fight with the crown prince. It’s no wonder that she doesn’t want to be found.”

“Jory’s still out there looking for her. I hope he finds her before the Lannister men do. I don’t want the Hound or the Kingslayer finding her.”

“Nymeria won’t let them hurt her.”

Ned sighed wearily. “But that’s what I’m afraid of, Lyarra. If Nymeria attacks someone else, then the queen will be even more furious, especially if it’s her brother who gets attacked.”

“I’m sure that Jaime Lannister is smart enough not to aggravate a direwolf.”

“Nymeria will be overprotective if Arya is frightened. She may lash out without any provocation.”

“Well, that’s Joffrey’s fault. He got Nymeria all riled up in the first place.”

Ned frowned. “Don’t say that to anyone else, do you hear me? If the queen gets wind of what you’ve said, she’ll have you punished.”

“I understand, Father.”

Ned squeezed her hand. “I don’t say this to frighten you, Lyarra. I’m saying it to protect you. I will not have any of you face the queen’s wrath.”

“But what about Arya? Won’t the queen want justice for Joffrey’s wounds?”

“I’m sure that if I can speak to Robert alone, then I can convince him to let me deal with Arya.”

“And what if the queen doesn’t like that?”

“She can’t defy the king’s orders, Lya. If Robert lets this go, then nothing can be done to change his mind, not even the queen.”

Lyarra sighed. “I hope you’re right, Father.”

Ned pulled her close and Lyarra willingly moved to sit on his lap, her head tucked against his chest. “I won’t let anything happen to Arya. I promise, little wolf. She’ll be safe.”

“We’re always safe as long as we’re with you, Father.”

She felt him kiss the top of her head as she said this and she buried her face deeper into his chest, inhaling the comforting and familiar smell of his leather riding doublet.

“I love you, Father.”

“I love you too, little wolf.”

Lyarra jumped up from her father’s lap when his steward, Vayon Poole, entered the room. She didn’t want him to think she was a child needing comfort. She was almost a woman grown and she wanted to be seen as such.

“They’ve found her, my lord.” Vayon Poole said.

Ned rose quickly. “Our men or Lannister’s?”

“It was Jory. She’s not been harmed.”

Ned breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods. Where is she? Tell Jory to bring her here at once.”

Poole looked regretful and Lyarra felt a sense of panic flood over her. Whatever Poole was about to say, it wouldn’t be good.

“I am sorry, my lord. The guards on the gate were Lannister men, and they informed the queen when Jory brought her in. She’s being taken directly before the king…”

Father’s eyes filled with fury. “Damn that woman!” He strode towards the door. “Find Sansa and bring her to the audience chamber. Her voice may be needed.”

Lyarra ran after her father as he descended down the tower steps in a red rage. She had never seen her father so angry. He wasn’t as furious as this when Robb and Jon had tried to steal Ice when they were Bran’s age and she thought that was the angriest her father could ever get.

Lyarra was out of breath by the time she got up with her father. She always thought she was a fast runner. She could almost always outrun Robb and Jon as a child but it seemed her father had an advantage over her. Perhaps it was because of his long legs or maybe he was just so angry that it made him quicker than a direwolf.

“Father?” 

Ned turned to look at her, the fury in his eyes softening a little. “Stay close, little wolf. A vengeful lion is a dangerous one.”

She ran her hands over her blue woollen dress and took a deep breath.

When they entered the audience chamber, the room was crowded and she saw her father’s face fall. She knew that he was hoping to settle the matter alone with Robert and he couldn’t do that in a room full of people.

The king was slumped in Darry’s high seat at the far end of the room, his face closed and sullen. The queen and Prince Joffrey stood beside him. She had a hand on his shoulder. Thick silken bandages were still wrapped around his arm.

Arya stood alone in the centre of the room with Jory, every eye in the room on her. She looked terrified, a rare sight for her brave and bold little sister.

“Arya.” Ned called out, moving towards her, his boots ringing on the stone floor. When she saw him, she cried out and began to sob.

Father knelt down on one knee and took her in his arms. She was shaking.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lyarra’s heart broke for her little sister and she cursed the king and queen for putting her through this. She didn’t dare look at Joffrey because she knew that she would do something she would regret if she did. This was all his fault, that she knew for certain.

“I know.” Father said soothingly. She looked so tiny in his arms and Lyarra refused to believe that this was her fault. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Arya’s face was dirty and her tears left pink tracks down her cheeks. She didn’t want to think about what her sister had gone through these past four days. “Hungry some. I ate some berries but there was nothing else.”

“We’ll feed you soon enough.” Father promised. He rose to face the king and Arya ran to Lyarra who immediately embraced her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father demanded, his voice ringing. “Why was I not told that my daughter had been found? Why was she not brought to me at once?”

Cersei Lannister spoke before the king could. “How dare you speak to your king in that manner!”

“Quiet, woman!” The king snapped. He straightened in his seat. “I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly.”

 “And what business is that?” Father asked, ice in his voice.

The queen stepped forward. “You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher’s boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.”

“That’s not true.” Arya said loudly, “She just bit him a little.  He was hurting Mycah.”

Lyarra knew that Arya was telling the truth. She knew when her sister was lying and she wasn’t this time. So she wouldn’t believe anything the queen or Joffrey said because it would be lies.

“Joff told us what happened.” The queen said. “You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.”

 Lyarra scoffed. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to believe that?”

The queen looked furious. “How dare you?”

“No, how dare you let your son lie like this?”

“Lyarra, enough.” Ned said.

“That’s not how it was.” Arya said, close to tears again. Father put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 “Yes, it is!” Joffrey insisted. “They all attacked me and she threw Lion’s Tooth in the river.” 

Lyarra noticed that he didn’t even look in Arya’s direction as he spoke, a sure sign he was lying.

“Liar!” Arya yelled.

 “Shut up!” The pathetic bastard yelled back.

“Enough!” The king roared, rising from his seat, his voice thick with irritation. Silence fell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. “Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.” Then he looked to his pathetic excuse for a son. “When she is done, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your tongue.”

As Arya began her story, she heard the door open behind them and when she turned, she saw Vayon Poole enter with Sansa. They stood quietly at the back of the hall while Arya spoke.  

When she got to the part where she threw Joffrey’s sword into the Trident, Renly Baratheon began to laugh.

The king bristled at this. “Ser Barristan, escort my brother from the hall before he chokes.”

Lord Renly stifled his laughter. “My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself.” He bowed to Joffrey. “Perchance later you’ll tell me how a nine year old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river.”

As the door swung shut behind him, Lyarra heard him say “Lion’s Tooth”, and guffaw once more.

Prince Joffrey was pale as he began his very different version of events. Lyarra had to hand it to him. He was a good actor. It would be  almost believable if it wasn’t so utterly ridiculous.

When his son was done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. “What in all seven hells am I suppose to make of this? He says one thing, she says another.”

Lyarra glared at the king. It was obvious who was lying and she cursed the man for not seeing it.

“They were not the only ones present.” Father said. “Sansa, come here.”

Lyarra fiddled with her white sleeve cuff nervously as Sansa stepped forward. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She looked extremely nervous.

 “Tell us what happened.” Father said.

Sansa looked at Arya and then at Joffrey. “I don’t know.” She said tearfully, looking like she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see…”

“You rotten!” Arya shrieked, breaking out of Lyarra’s hold. She flew at Sansa like an arrow, knocking her to the ground, pummelling her. “Liar, liar, liar, liar.”

“Arya, stop it!” Father shouted. Jory pulled Arya off Sansa, kicking.

Sansa was pale and shaking as Father lifted her back to her feet. “Are you hurt?” He asked but she was staring at Arya and didn’t seem to hear him.

“The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers.” The Lannister bitch said. “Robert, I want her punished.”

“Seven hells.” Robert swore. “Cersei, look at her. She’s a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It’s over. No lasting harm was done.”

Lyarra winced as the queen became furious. The king shouldn’t have said that last part. “Joff will carry those scars for the rest of his life.”

Robert looked at his eldest son. “So he will. Perhaps they will teach him a lesson. Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son.”

Lyarra could practically feel the relief coming from her father. “Gladly, Your Grace.” He said.

The king started to walk away but the queen was not done. “And what of the direwolf?” She called after him. “What of the beast that savaged your son?”

The king stopped, turned back around and frowned. “I’d forgotten about the damned wolf.”

 Lyarra saw Arya tense in Jory’s arms. “We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” Jory said.

Robert did not look unhappy. “No? So be it.”

 The queen raised her voice. “A hundred golden dragons to the man who brings me its skin!”

Lyarra tugged at the cuff of her sleeve which was embroidered with golden flowers. Was Nymeria going to die? Would Father be able to stop it?

“A costly pelt.” The king grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened in shock. Wasn’t the king going to stop his wife?

The queen regarded her husband coolly. “I had not thought you so niggardly. The king I’d thought to wed would have laid a wolfskin across my bed before the sun went down.”

The king’s face darkened with anger. “That would be a fine trick without a wolf.”

“We have a wolf.” The queen said. Her voice was very quiet but her green eyes shone with triumph.

Lyarra paled at this. She couldn’t be talking about Lady, could she? Lady had done nothing wrong. She wouldn’t be so cruel as to kill her for this. Sansa was supposed to marry her son. Surely she wouldn’t risk upsetting Sansa like this. Surely Joffrey wouldn’t want to upset his future bride.

The king shrugged irritably. “As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it.”

“No, this cannot be happening.” Lyarra whispered in horror.

“Robert, you cannot mean this.” Father protested.

But the king was in no mood for an argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.”

That was the moment where Sansa finally understood what they were talking about. 

Her eyes were frightened as she turned to Father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face and looked at him in horror. “No.” She said. “No, not Lady. Lady didn’t bite anyone. She’s good…”

Lyarra’s heart broke for her sweet sister. “Don’t let them do this, Father.”

“Lady wasn’t there.” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!”

“Don’t let them hurt her, Father. You can’t let them do this.” Lyarra begged.

“Stop them.” Sansa pleaded. “Don’t let them do it, please. Please, it wasn’t Lady. It was Nymeria. Arya did it. You can’t. It wasn’t Lady. Don’t let them hurt Lady.  I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise…”

She began to cry and Father took her in his arms and held her as she sobbed. Lyarra sent a glare in the direction of the queen and her brat of a son.

Father then looked across the room at Robert, his oldest friend. “Please, Robert. For the love you bear me. For the love you bore my sister. Please.”

Lyarra knew how desperate her father was for Robert to listen him because he never mentioned Lyanna even in private company. So for him to do it in front of a crowd just showed how much he loved his daughters and how much he believed in Robert. She just hoped that the king wouldn’t disappoint her father.

The king looked at them for a long moment, then turned his eyes on his wife. “Damn you, Cersei.” He said with loathing.

Father stood up, gently disentangling himself from Sansa’s grip. He looked at the king wearily. “Do it yourself then, Robert.” He said, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “At least have the courage to do it yourself.”

The king looked at her father with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps as heavy as lead.  Silence filled the hall.

Lyarra could hardly believe that this was the same man who had slaughtered Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident, earning himself the nickname demon of the trident. Right now, here in this moment, he was nothing more than a cowardly man. Little Rickon had more courage than the king did right now.

“Where’s the direwolf?” Cersei Lannister asked as soon as her husband was gone. Beside her, Prince Joffrey smiled, and for one dark moment, Lyarra wished she had left him to bleed out in the grass.

“The beast is chained up outside the gatehouse, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan answered reluctantly.

“Father, you can’t let them do this.” Lyarra pleaded one last time.

“Send for Ilyn Payne.” The queen said.

“No.” Father said. “Jory, take the girls back to their rooms and bring me Ice. If it must be done, I will do it.”

 The queen looked at him with suspicion. “You, Stark? Is this some trick? Why would you do such a thing?”

Lyarra held Sansa close as she gave their father a look of betrayal. 

“She is of the north. She deserves better than a butcher.” Father said.

Father strode out of the room and Sansa’s wails only got louder. She knew what was about to happen and her poor sweet sister couldn’t handle it.

 Lyarra followed Jory out of the audience chamber, Sansa and Arya attached to her sides like limpets. 

When they made it back to their room, Septa Mordane ordered Arya to bathe right away and Lyarra brushed Sansa’s hair while they waited.

Her two sisters were still not on speaking terms by bedtime. Still they snuggle up to Lyarra as they waited for Father to come in and say goodnight.

It was a little tense when Father did come in to say goodnight as Sansa was still upset with him over killing Lady and Arya was distraught at the news of Mycah’s death at the hands of the Hound.

That night, the three of them all slept in the same bed, snuggled together for comfort, all mourning over the losses they had faced.

Chapter Text

The rest of the journey to King’s Landing was fraught with tension. Ever since Lady’s death, the Starks and the Lannisters weren’t on speaking terms, which devastated Sansa because Joffrey wouldn’t speak to her.

Lyarra tried to assure her that Joffrey would speak to her eventually. He was just a little upset over getting bitten by Nymeria but he would soon see that it wasn’t Sansa’s fault and he would talk to her again.

This did little to comfort Sansa as she was still distraught over Lady. Lyarra’s heart clenched in pain when she thought of the sweet little direwolf. She didn’t deserve a fate like that, even if her father had made it kinder by doing it himself. To be honest, she wasn’t sure that Nymeria deserved the fate that Lady got. Yes, she bit Joffrey but it was only to protect Arya and Lyarra couldn’t fault the direwolf for that.

To add to the ever growing tensions, Sansa and Arya were not on speaking terms either. Sansa blamed Arya for fighting Joffrey because it led to Lady’s death and Arya blamed Sansa for not telling the truth about what happened.

Both had a point but that was no excuse to ignore your sister. And Sansa was right to be angry with Arya. She did attack her in front of a large crowd of people. Yes, Sansa lied about what happened and that was wrong. But what was she supposed to do? Call Joffrey a liar? He was the crown prince and her future husband. She couldn’t afford to upset him. None of them could, no matter how much they hated him.

Luckily, the king didn’t hold what happened against Father and the two of them were laughing together on their horses as if nothing had happened. She was sure that the queen would be furious if she saw this but she could presume to tell the king what to do so it didn’t really matter.

Lyarra glanced over at her sisters. Sansa was riding with Jeyne Poole, a look of melancholy on her face. Meanwhile Arya was looking at Sansa like she wanted to hit her again.

So Lyarra guided her mare closer to Arya. “What are you doing, little sister?”

Arya looked at her and frowned. “Why didn’t Father punish Sansa? She lied and he’s always telling us that lying is wrong.”

Lyarra sighed. It seemed as though Arya wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon. “You’re right to be angry with Sansa. You’re right. She did lie and that was wrong.”

“So why didn’t Father punish her?”

“What was she meant to do, Arya? If she told the truth, then she’d be calling her betrothed a liar.”

“But he is a liar.”

“You must never insult the royal family, even if your insults are simply the truth.”

“Sansa should be loyal to us. She’s not married to Joffrey yet.”

“No but she will be and he probably wouldn’t have forgotten the time that she called him a liar in front of everyone. He might have held it against her.”

“Then she shouldn’t be marrying him.”

“Not every man is like Father. Mother was lucky to marry him but she still had no choice in the matter. Sansa will have no choice but to marry Joffrey if the king commands it. Husbands can be cruel to their wives, it’s true. Still, Father cannot stop the wedding even if Sansa asked him to.”

“But that’s so unfair.”

“Life is unfair, little sister. Haven’t you learned that by now? If life was fair, then Lady and Nymeria would still be here with us.”

Arya sighed. “I miss her.”

“What happened to Nymeria anyway? I know that she wouldn’t have left you willingly.”

“I don’t know.”

Lyarra frowned. “I know you’re lying, Arya. Tell me what happened. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Even Father?”

Lyarra nodded. “I won’t tell him, I promise.”

“She was still with me when Jory found me. I knew the queen would hurt her if she came back with me and Jory knew it too. So we hit her with rocks and sticks until she ran away.”

Lyarra looked at her sister with sympathy. She couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been to do. She missed Winter but she was safe in Winterfell with Robb. Arya might never see Nymeria again.

“I’m sorry, Arya.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been there. Maybe if I was, then she wouldn’t have bitten Joffrey.”

Arya shook her head. “No, that’s not true. You couldn’t have stopped Joffrey. He was like a madman when he attacked Mycah. Maybe if I didn’t defend him, then Joffrey wouldn’t have turned on me and then Nymeria wouldn’t have bitten him.”

“It wasn’t your fault either. Joffrey shouldn’t have attacked either of you in the first place. I don’t know what he expected Nymeria to do when he was the one attacking you.”

“Will the queen be okay with Joffrey marrying Sansa? I know she hates us all after what happened.”

“She won’t have a choice in the matter. If the king wants Joffrey and Sansa to marry, then they will. Nothing the queen can say or do will change that.”

Arya snorted. “I almost feel sorry for Sansa being stuck with that vicious cow as her goodmother.”

Lyarra shushed her sister. “Lower your voice before you say something like that again. We can’t risk angering the queen again. It’s barely been a week since the direwolf incident.” She hissed in warning.

“Sorry.”

Lyarra chuckled. “You’re still young, Arya. You can’t always hold your tongue. If you want to criticise the queen, then do it where no one can hear you.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s the coldest person I’ve ever met. She’s even colder than the statues down in the crypts.”

Arya laughed. “So you hate her too?”

“Of course I do. What she did to Lady was horrible. She would still be alive if the queen hadn’t sentenced her to death.”

“The king did nothing to stop her. Will he allow the queen to be cruel to Sansa?”

“No, he’d never allow that. He loves Father like a brother and I doubt that the king is a man who disrespects women. He would make sure that Sansa was treated kindly.”

“She’ll make a better queen than Cersei.”

Lyarra snorted. “I don’t think that’s very hard to do.”

Arya laughed again and Lyarra joined her, which caused Septa Mordane to look back at them with disapproval.

“We can survive this as long as we’re together.”

“What about the queen?”

“We’ll just try to ignore her as much as we can.”

Arya sighed. “I wish Jon was here.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Do you miss Robb?”

Lyarra’s heart broke at the thought of her twin. “I miss him so much. It’s like there’s a part of me missing.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

Lyarra sighed. “It’s too late now. We’re almost at King’s Landing.”

“No one would blame you if you turned back now. You and Robb have a special bond and you must miss Winter.”

“I can’t go back. Father needs me in King’s Landing.”

“He would understand if you needed to go back. He understands your connection with Robb better than most.”

“I can’t leave King’s Landing.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “We’re not even in King’s Landing yet.”

“You know what I mean. It’s my duty to stay in King’s Landing with you, Father and Sansa.”

“Oh, forget duty. You need to do what’s right for you.”

“It’s never that easy, Arya. Mother would be angry if I just left. I’m supposed to keep you out of trouble while Father is off doing work for the king.”

“Robb has to be the Lord of Winterfell in Father’s absence. I think he needs you more than we do.”

“Robb will tell me if he needs me. I made him promise to do that before we left.”

Arya looked curious. “Has he said anything to you?”

“He’s just been keeping me updated about Bran. There’s been no change so far.”

“Will you go back if he asks you to?”

Lyarra sighed. “I don’t know.”

Arya frowned. “Why not? If he needs you, then you need to go.”

“And what if you and Sansa need me more?”

“We’ll have Father. He’ll protect us.”

Lyarra tightened her grip on her reins. “He doesn’t need me yet so there’s no point in talking about this.”

Arya gave her a long look. “You look like Father when you frown like that.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I heard Mother say that Father is too honourable for his own good sometimes. I think the same could be said about you. You won’t leave us even if Robb needs you more. You’re honourable like Father. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Mother’s house words are Family, Duty, Honour.”

“Exactly. Family comes before duty and honour. If Robb needs you, then you need to go to him.”

“And what if you and Sansa need me?”

“What if Mother needs you?”

“She’s got Robb.”

“He can’t support her on his own, especially not with Bran still not awake.”

“You’re very wise for a nine year old.”

Arya shrugged. “You learn a lot when you sneak around the castle.”

Lyarra frowned. “Father told you to stop doing that.”

“Mother told Bran to stop climbing and he didn’t.”

“And it nearly got him killed. You should listen before you get hurt.”

“I’m not climbing on roofs. I won’t get hurt.”

“You better hope you don’t. Mother and Father can’t take another injured child.”

When night came, Lyarra shared the tent with her sisters under the watchful eye of Septa Mordane and Father. 

Arya had curled up in a ball on her bed as to avoid seeing or talking to Sansa. Lyarra could tell that this made Father sad. Arya and Sansa had always bickered but they had never not been on speaking terms before. They had never fallen out like this before. Seeing the rift between them was awful.

Sansa climbed in beside her when Father left to talk to the king.

“Is it all my fault?”

Lyarra frowned. “What’s all your fault?”

Sansa sniffed. “If I had told the truth about what happened, would Lady and Mycah still be alive?”

Lyarra stroked Sansa’s head. “No, I don’t think so. Nymeria still attacked Joffrey and the queen wanted justice for that. If it wasn’t Lady, then it would have been Nymeria who got killed.”

“And Mycah?”

“I’m not sure if the queen gave orders for him to be killed. Either way he would have been punished.”

“Would telling the truth have made any difference?”

“No. Cersei was out for blood and nothing anyone could have said would have changed her mind. If Nymeria hadn’t run off, then she would have taken Lady’s place. And Lady still would have died, even if you had told the truth because Joffrey was bitten and Cersei wanted someone punished for it. And if it couldn’t be Arya, then it was going to be one of the wolves.”

“I thought the king cared about Father.”

Lyarra looked at Sansa in confusion. “He does. They’ve been close friends since their childhood. They’re practically brothers.”

“If he cares about him so much, then why didn’t he stop it all? Father begged him to let Lady live and he didn’t say anything.”

“It was Cersei who ordered Lady’s death.” Lyarra reminded, her heart filling with hate at the thought of the golden haired queen.

“I don’t understand why she did that. It was Nymeria who bit Joffrey.”

“She wanted Nymeria dead but she had run off.”

“And she chose Lady instead of Nymeria. It was all Arya’s fault anyway.” Sansa said bitterly.

“You know that’s not true. Joffrey attacked Mycah. Arya was just defending him.”

“She shouldn’t have gotten involved. Lady would still be alive if she hadn’t.”

“Mycah was her friend, Sansa. It’s natural that she wanted to defend him.”

“Joffrey wouldn’t have killed him!”

“But she didn’t know that, did she?”

“Well, she should. Joffrey is the perfect prince.”

Lyarra sighed at Sansa’s blind devotion to Joffrey. “No one is perfect, Sansa.”

“Joffrey is.”

Lyarra knew that she could say more but she also knew that Sansa wouldn’t listen. She would defend Joffrey every time because she was in love with him. Or in love with the idea of him, to be more accurate.

So she just told her little sister that it was getting late and they should get some sleep.

The next morning, they were all up extra early because King’s Landing was only a day’s ride away and the king wanted to get there before it got dark.

Ever since the direwolf incident, the Stark party had ridden far ahead of the royal party. To make things worse, things had become tense between her father and the king.

It seemed as though Father was just pretending to be alright with the king as he hadn’t said a word to him in days. He still performed his duty as Hand, despite not being at court, but the friendship between him and Robert seemed nonexistent at the moment.

She didn’t blame her father for being angry with the king. He did nothing to stop Cersei from demanding Lady be executed and had even told her to get Ilyn Payne to do it. Perhaps Sansa was right. The king obviously didn’t care about Father too much.

Of course the king was put in a difficult position as it was his son who was hurt but it didn’t excuse his actions afterwards. He should have stuck to his word. He should have disciplined Joffrey and let Father discipline Arya but he didn’t. As soon as Cersei had demanded Lady’s head, he had caved. He let poor little Lady die when she didn’t deserve it. He had hurt Father and Sansa and Arya. And for that she couldn’t forgive him, just like she couldn’t forgive Cersei and Joffrey.

Suddenly Alys cleared her throat and Lyarra shook herself out of her thoughts and turned to look at her best friend.

“What is it, Alys?”

“Would you really stay with your sisters if Robb asked you to come back?”

Lyarra sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Your heart will always be with Robb, you know that. I know how much you love all of your siblings but the bond you and Robb have is special. You need each other. I can see how being away from him has affected you. And how could it not? You’ve always been together, even before you came into this world.”

Lyarra looked at her sadly. “I always said that I would be there for my family, no matter what. But how can I be there for them if we’re all apart? Mother, Robb, Bran and Rickon are in Wintefell, Jon’s at the Wall and I’m here with Father, Sansa and Arya.”

“Sansa and Arya have your father. He’ll protect them.”

“And Robb has Mother. He doesn’t need me.”

“So what will you do?”

“If Robb asks me to come back, then I will. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Alys frowned. “Why not?”

“Because if Robb needs me to come back, then it means that something terrible has happened.”

“You can’t be with your sisters forever. You’ll have to marry soon.”

“At least I’ll be with Robb when I do.”

“I still don’t understand why you aren’t already betrothed.”

“Robb isn’t and he’s my father’s heir. I suppose I’ll marry when he does.”

“You could always marry Theon.”

Lyarra wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Marry Theon? You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s like a brother to me.”

“Would it really be so terrible? You know he would never hurt you.”

“I’m not marrying someone who’s like a brother to me. That’s just ridiculous. Besides, Robb would probably cut his balls off before the wedding so he could touch me in any way.”

Alys laughed. “That sounds like Robb. Do you remember the time he punched a servant because he looked down your dress?”

Lyarra smiled at the memory. “I do. Jon and Theon were cheering him on. I think if Father hadn’t walked in right after then Jon would have punched him as well.”

“They’re very protective of you. It must be nice to have older brothers to look out for you.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

“Who do you think Robb will marry?”

“Someone from the north, no doubt.”

“I hear the Tyrell girl is very pretty and she’s around our age.”

“Father would never agree. He wants to strengthen our bond with the northern houses through marriage.”

“And Sansa will be queen one day.”

“I don’t think it’s something my father ever considered but the king suggested it and he couldn’t refuse him, even if they are as close as brothers.”

“I’m surprised the betrothal hasn’t been broken after the incident with the direwolves.”

“It might yet be broken. Father hasn’t spoken to the king since we left Darry.”

“What will happen if it does get broken?”

“I don’t think much will change. Father is still the Hand of the King. We’ll still be staying in King’s Landing but Sansa won’t be marrying Joffrey anymore.”

“She’ll be devastated.”

“She can’t get any more devastated than she is now. Lady’s death has hit her hard.”

“Do you miss Winter?”

“I do. I miss her very much but at least she’s alive and safe back in Winterfell.”

“How’s Arya?”

“She’s been in a foul mood since Father told us about Mycah. I know she’s devastated. She just hides it behind anger.”

Alys sighed sadly. “That poor boy. He didn’t deserve such a brutal death.”

Lyarra looked at her best friend sadly. “I know. He was such a sweet boy and a good friend to Arya. I will miss him.”

“We’re almost at King’s Landing.” Alys observed.

Lyarra sighed. “I will be glad to get there. The journey has been hard but I’m also dreading getting there. Being in close quarters with the Lannisters is not going to be easy.”

“We’ve managed to avoid them for the last two weeks of this journey.”

“It will be impossible to avoid them once we arrive in King’s Landing. Father will have to take up his duties as the Hand of the King and Sansa is still betrothed to Prince Joffrey.”

Alys chuckled. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just turn back now? It sounds like this is going to age your father by ten years.”

“Arya will do that just fine on her own as will Sansa if she keeps ignoring Arya like she’s doing right now.”

“She can’t stay mad at Arya forever.”

“Sansa might be the sweetest of my siblings, well except for Bran, but she’s still stubborn. She won’t forgive Arya anytime soon.”

“Sounds like we’re going to have a lot of fun in King’s Landing.”

Lyarra laughed. It certainly was going to be an eventful year in King’s Landing. It certainly wouldn’t be boring, that was sure.

Chapter Text

A couple of days later, Lyarra could see King’s Landing atop its three high hills. Even from a distance, she could see the sprawling buildings covering the land. Manses, arbors and granaries, brick storehouses, timbered inns and merchant stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled on one another. 

As they got closer, she could hear the clamour of the fish market. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets and alleys so so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. Lyarra doubted that she’d get to see anything beyond the safety of the Red Keep, though.

 Visenya’s hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Even from a great distance, its beauty was breathtaking to behold.

Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors now closed for a century. Lyarra wondered what it was like for the Targaryens to lose their dragons. The great beasts had always been a part of them. Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives founded the Targaryen dynasty with dragons. It must have been such a great loss to lose them.

The Street of the Sisters ran between the two hills, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.

And above it all, towering over them on Aegon’s high hill as the Red Keep. She saw the seven huge drum towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim Barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. 

Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it to be built, she remembered from her lessons, but his son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, every woodworker and builder who had laboured on it.  Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.

Lyarra wondered how he would feel if he knew that the dragons had not occupied the Red Keep for fifteen years. 

The black banners that once flew from the battlements had been replaced with golden ones. The three headed dragon that had breathed fire over the Keep for three hundred years was no more. Now the crowned stag of House Baratheon pranced over the mighty fortress.

Robert Baratheon had won his throne by conquest, just like Aegon the Conqueror. He was a mighty warrior and he fought to bring back his kidnapped betrothed, an honourable cause.

But would his heir be a worthy successor to him? She had heard tales of how Maegor the Cruel had stabbed a palfrey to death after it kicked him and slashed half the face of a stableboy who had tried to come to the animal’s aid when he was only eight years old. She thought of Joffrey slashing the cheek of Mycah and trying to attack Arya. Would Joffrey become like the cruel king, the son of the first Targaryen king?

Joffrey was the son of the first Baratheon king. The parallels were unsettling. She hoped that he would be like Aenys I, the son Aegon had by Rhaenys. He was kindhearted, courteous and charming, and he aimed to please those around him. She hoped that Joffrey’s bouts of cruelty was a phase. She hoped that it was just a result of him starting to become a man grown. She didn’t want Sansa to be married to a man like Maegor the Cruel or Aerys the Mad, Robert’s predecessor.

Lyarra was tired, hungry and sore by the time they rode through the towering bronze doors of the Red Keep. 

She saw her father looking irritated as he talked with the king’s steward as they came riding through the gate.

Father turned when he saw them riding towards them and he called out to Vayon Poole “It seems the council has urgent need of me. See that my daughters find their bedchambers and tell Jory to keep them there. Arya is not to go exploring.”

Arya found after hearing their father’s words and Lyarra looked at her in amusement. She knew that Arya would love nothing more than to explore the vast castle with all its secrets inside.

“Come, children.” Vayon Poole said. “Your father will be waiting for you in your new chambers when he returns.”

“Do we have to go now?” Arya asked. “He can’t expect us to stay trapped all day.”

Septa Mordane frowned. “Your father has forbidden you from leaving the chambers and you will listen to him. Now stop whining and get a move on.” She barked.

Arya grumbled but listened to the Septa nonetheless.

Sansa flinched when her younger sister got too close to her and Lyarra sighed in despair. This had been going on for the last two weeks. Ever since Lady’s death, her two younger sisters had been at odds with one another.

Sansa ignored Arya during the day and cried herself to sleep at night. She blamed Arya for Lady’s death and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died, which devastated Arya.

Meanwhile, Arya hadn’t been the same since Nymeria had run off and Mycah had been brought back to them, almost cut in two. Arya brooded all day long and there was nothing Lyarra could do to ease her pain. Or Sansa’s.

It made Father weary. She could see it on his face every time Sansa ignored Arya or cried herself to sleep at night. She could see the anger and devastation on his face when Sansa said it was all Arya’s fault. She also saw it whenever Sansa would weep for Lady.

Jory and Vayon led Lyarra and her sisters through the noisy and crowed courtyard to the Tower of the Hand, their new residence.

The Tower of the Hand had crenellated battlements and its bricks were as red as the rest of the keep.

As they climbed the tower steps, Lyarra could feel the tension between Sansa and Arya. She didn’t know how long this was going to last but it as quickly becoming unbearable.

The inside of the tower was furnished with Myrish rugs and wall hangings. It had a gold tinted round window and the rest of the windows were tall. The ceilings were also high vaulted. Lyarra was led to a bedchamber that had a small canopied bed with Myrish rugs and sconces on the wall. A hearth was carved into the far wall. She imagined that Sansa and Arya’s rooms were very similar to hers.

She sighed in relief as she sunk into the hot bath that Alys had run for her. Jeyne was doing the same for Sansa and Arya was being watched over by Septa Mordane, much to her dismay.

She washed the grime off her body and soaked the dirt out of her hair. As she watched the water turn murky, she thought of Winterfell, her home. She wondered what Robb was doing right now. She wondered how Mother was coping. If Rickon missed them. If Bran was awake.

Just as she was getting out of the bath, Robb’s voice rang out in her head. She almost slipped in shock. She hadn’t heard from Robb in two days. He was busy with his duties, apparently.

“Bran is awake. He’s named his wolf Summer.”

“How is he?” She asked him urgently.

“He’s fine. He’s still very hurt but he’ll recover.”

“How’s Mother? Has she left his side yet?”

“Yes, she has. In fact she’s not even in Winterfell.”

For the second time in the last five minutes, Lyarra almost slipped in shock. “What? Where is she?”

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Why?”

“It’s important, Lya. No one can know.” Robb said urgently.

“I promise.”

“She’s on her way to King’s Landing with Ser Rodrik.”

“Why? She wouldn’t leave Bran for no reason. So why has she left?”

“About a week after you left Winterfell, an unknown catspaw set fire to the library.”

Lyarra’s heart clenched at the thought of her beloved library being burnt down. “Why would someone do that?”

“As a distraction.”

Lyarra frowned in confusion as she got dressed. “Distraction for what? Robb, you aren’t making any sense.”

“As a distraction to kill Bran.”

Lyarra froze in horror, her grey velvet dress falling from her hands. “Kill Bran? Why would anyone want to kill sweet little Bran?”

“Because he saw something that day, something he wasn’t supposed to.”

“And someone tried to silence him before he could tell anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“But what did he know? And is Bran alright? They didn’t hurt him, did they?”

“No, they didn’t. Mother got hurt though. The dagger cut her fingers to the bone when she was trying to protect Bran and herself. She’s alright though. Luwin attended to her.”

“What happened to the assassin?”

“Summer killed him. He tore out his throat before he could get to Bran.”

“So why is Mother coming to King’s Landing?”

“She needs to talk with Father.”

“Why? Did Bran tell her what he saw?”

“No but Mother believes that the Lannisters are responsible.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because according to Aunt Lysa, the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn. Perhaps Bran overheard them talk about killing him and they pushed him out of the tower to silence him.”

Lyarra let out a long breath. “And if it’s true, what does Mother plan on doing?”

“She’s not doing anything until she speaks to Father.”

“If it is true, then it will mean war, Robb.”

“Not if the king listens to Father.”

“Do you really think that the king will be alright with accusations being levied against his wife and her family?”

“They won’t be accusations if we can find proof.”

“And how will we do that? The Lannisters aren’t just going to confess.”

“Father will know what to do.”

“He’s the Hand of the King. He’s supposed to be loyal to the realm and that includes the royal family, which the queen is a part of. This could prove risky for him.”

“It’s worth it if it can bring justice for Bran and Jon Arryn.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth the risk. I’m saying that the risk is huge. If the Lannisters hear about this before Father has found proof, then he’ll be charged with treason and I don’t know how lenient the king would be, given the circumstances.”

“The proof will be there and Father will find it.”

Robb sounded so sure but Lyarra wasn’t as confident. If the Lannisters were prepared to go as far as killing the Hand of the King, a man who was like a father to Robert, and to kill the son of the new Hand, the king’s oldest friend, then they would have covered their tracks well. Finding proof would be near impossible.

But she knew that Father would try to get it because Bran and Jon Arryn deserved it and Father was an honourable man. He would get justice for them, no matter what the cost.

She didn’t voice any of her concerns to Robb and if he sensed her doubts, he didn’t say anything about them to her.

“I miss you, Robb.” She whispered sadly.

“I miss you too, Lya.” Robb replied, his tone just as sad as hers.

“Look after Bran and Rickon for me.”

“I will. Look after Sansa and Arya. I know Mother worries about them.”

“I’ll always look after them.”

 “I love you, Lya.”

Lyarra held back tears. “I love you too, Robb.”

“And remember don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t.”

“Come back to me. Don’t stay in King’s Landing forever. I need you.”

This time Lyarra did nothing to stop the tears from falling. “I could never stay away for too long. I need you too, remember?”

“I know.”

“Tell Bran and Rickon that I love them.”

“I will. Goodbye, sweet sister.”

“Goodbye, beloved brother.”

She finished changing into her grey velvet dress which had a white direwolf sewn into the bodice. She had been solely wearing Stark colours since the Trident as a subtle protest against the Lannisters and to show her unwavering support for her family.

Sansa and Arya were already sitting at the table when she arrived in the Small Hall, Septa Mordane and Jeyne between them so they didn’t have to sit close to each other. It honestly broke Lyarra’s heart to see them so divided like this.

She had thought about telling Father about what Robb had told her but when he walked in halfway through their meal, looking exhausted and defeated, she said nothing.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Lyarra watched as her father became more and more stressed. Every day he’d leave them to attend small council meetings and each time he would come back looking like he had just fought in a war.

Lyarra desperately wanted to ask him if he’d seen Mother, if she was still here but she couldn’t. Father would come back with such weariness that she couldn’t bear to burden him with this.

But she knew she had to ask sometime. If Mother would risk coming all the way to King’s Landing where the people who tried to kill Bran lived, then it was worth Father telling them.

Perhaps Sansa and Arya were a little young to know about the assassination attempt but they should still know that they were in danger here. She would advise Father not to tell them that it was the Lannisters who were dangerous to them as it would devastate Sansa. She had only just begun to get over losing Lady. Finding out that Joffrey’s family meant them harm would only devastate her further.

Part of her wondered why Father just didn’t resign as Hand and take them all back to Winterfell. They would be out of danger that way. But Father always stuck to his honour and staying and serving the king was the most honourable thing to do. Father would never go back on his word, especially not for his old friend Robert.

She had always known that her father didn’t want to accept the position of Hand. He likely only agreed because of his lifelong friendship with the king. Father always said that his place was in Winterfell and he had only left it for the sake of Robert Baratheon.

Lyarra hoped that it was the right decision. She could see how much Father ached to be by Bran’s side. He had looked lost ever since her little brother’s fall and he only got more lost the further they journeyed from Winterfell.

She hoped that serving his old friend was worth it to her father. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to leave his friend in the hands of the Lannisters, who had proven themselves to be most dangerous, and it was honourable of her father not to want any harm to come to his friend. But the king had lived with the Lannisters for nearly twenty years. He knew how to survive them and he did it all without her father’s help.

Bran needed him more than the king did and she hoped that her father would come to realise that protecting his old friend just wasn’t worth the danger it put them all in.

The next day she found him in his bedchamber. It was a lot fancier than her and her sisters’ rooms were. The canopied bed was larger and there were rushes on the floor, giving the room a sweet smell. The hearth was also larger and more grand. Scones and wall hangings adorned the walls.

He was sitting on edge of the bed, brooding. He often did that now. Sometimes he would still here for hours and miss meals. King’s Landing didn’t suit her father.

She gently sat down next to him. “Father?” She asked tentatively, softly touching his arm.

Father looked at her, his grey eyes troubled. “Little wolf, I thought you’d be with your sisters.”

“They’re both in their rooms. How was the small council meeting?”

Father sighed. “As stressful as always.”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

Father gently pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s not your fault, my sweet Lya. I knew what I was getting myself in to.”

“That still doesn’t mean you’re prepared for it.”

Father sighed. “I thought the stress would be behind me after the incident at the Trident but your sisters aren’t speaking to each other and Robert wants to hold a damned tourney in my honour.”

“And you don’t approve of that?”

“I don’t.”

“They’re very popular with the people, Father.”

“They wouldn’t enjoy it so much if they knew it might bankrupt the realm.”

Lyarra frowned. “The crown is in debt?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with things like this.”

“I’m old enough to carry a few burdens, Father. I know about the attempt on Bran’s life.”

Father looked at her in shock. “How?”

“Robb told me. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone else.”

“I should have known that he’d tell you.”

“If the Lannisters killed Jon Arryn, then why are we still here? Aren’t we in danger?”

“I need to find proof of it first. We only have the word of your aunt Lysa and while your mother is certain that her sister would never lie about something like this, I can’t go accusing anyone without any proof.”

“Cersei is more than capable of murder. There was no remorse in her eyes when she ordered Lady’s death.”

“Murdering an animal and a person are two different things. Men go hunting all the time and don’t feel remorse. It takes a lot to kill someone in cold blood.”

“But why would Cersei want Jon Arryn dead?”

“That’s what I have to find out.”

“If you’re so certain of Cersei’s guilt, then why are you letting Sansa marry her son?”

“It was the king who suggested the betrothal. I can’t suddenly break it without arising his suspicions.”

“But Sansa will be in danger if she marries Joffrey.”

“They won’t marry for another few years and I’ll have proof by then. Your sister won’t be in any danger.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened. “You never planned on going through with the betrothal, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I was reluctant to betroth Sansa in the first place but when your aunt’s letter came, your mother and I agreed that Sansa would never marry Joffrey. If I can get proof of Cersei’s guilt, then the betrothal will be broken.”

“Joffrey is still the king’s son and he had no part in the murder. The betrothal could still stand.”

“I’m sure that Robert will understand my reluctance to let my daughter marry the son of a murderess.”

“He’s still the king’s son and he might take offence that you think Sansa isn’t safe with Joffrey.”

“I hope it will never come to that.”

“Sansa will be devastated when she finds out. She loves Joffrey.”

“She barely knows him. I’m sure she’ll get over it in time.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“She’ll have no choice. Besides if Robert thinks that his son can be trusted with Sansa, then I might consider letting the betrothal stand.”

“You know you can’t trust him. He’s the reason Sansa lost her wolf.”

“And his mother’s.”

“Speaking of mothers, I know that Mother came to see you. Is she still here? Can I see her?”

Father looked regretful. “I’m sorry, my darling, but she already left. It wouldn’t be safe for her if she was spotted.”

“But I wanted to see her. I miss her.”

“I know you do but you’ll see her again soon. Once I arrange a suitable betrothal with a northern house, you’ll return to Winterfell.”

“You said I could leave in a year.”

“And that’s when the betrothal will be arranged.”

“I don’t want to marry now. I want to stay with Robb in Winterfell.”

“Oh, you won’t leave Winterfell after you’re married, I promise.”

“Will Sansa and Arya come back with me?”

“I need you to protect them. Wherever you go, they go.”

“Sansa won’t want to leave.”

“As long as the Lannisters are in power, we’re not safe here. I need you to protect your sisters. I won’t have harm coming to any of you.”

“That’s why Sansa and Arya fighting has you so worried, isn’t it? You’re afraid that the Lannisters will find out and use it to target them.”

Father nodded. “If they see any kind of divide between us, they’ll use it to their advantage. If we don’t look out for one another, then we’re always susceptible to danger. The Lannisters mean us harm, Lyarra. We must remain strong together.”

“I understand, Father. I’ll watch over Sansa and Arya. I won’t let them out of my sight.”

“Winter is coming, my little wolf, and in winter we must protect ourselves. Hard times are coming. We saw them when Bran fell and on the Trident but that is only a taste of what is to come. You must be strong for your sisters. I need you to protect them. I need you to protect yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, Father. I promise I won’t let you down.”

Father kissed the top of her head. “You could never let me down, Lyarra. You have always been strong and you’ve always protected your siblings and I’m proud of you for it. You remind me so much of your mother. You look just like her.”

“I know.”

“But your eyes remind me of my sister.”

Lyarra looked at him in shock. He never talked about her. “Lyanna?”

Father nodded, a wistful look on his face. “I see the same fire burning in your eyes that I once saw in hers. She would do anything to protect the ones she loved, just like you. She was beautiful, yes, but there was iron hiding beneath, just like you.”

“You must miss her.”

Father sighed sadly. “Very much. Don’t fail to protect your sisters, little wolf, like I failed to protect mine.”

Lyarra looked at her father, her hero, with sympathy. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

Father pressed another kiss to her head before standing up. “Come now, we’ve talked about the past for long enough. Let’s go and find your sisters. It’s almost dinnertime.”

Father swept out the room without another word and she was left wondering why he had brought up Lyanna.

As always, the meal was silent since Sansa and Arya were determined to ignore each other.

The next day Lyarra spend the morning and afternoon reading in her room. Sansa had come in earlier to talk about Joffrey and complain about Arya but she left almost as soon as she had come in. She must have sensed that Lyarra didn’t want to listen so she found her favourite gossip partner, Jeyne Poole, who was more than happy to criticise Arya with her.

The sun was setting when Jory came in to tell her it was time for dinner. He was wearing a heavy grey wool cloak with a white satin border. A hand of beaten silver clutched the woollen folds of the cloak, which marked him as a man of the Hand’s household guard. 

“Is my father there?”

Jory sighed. “No, sweet lady, he’s still at the small council meeting, but your sisters are waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Jory. Are they fighting?”

Jory gave her a wry smile. “No, they’re just ignoring each other.”

“Well, that’s something at least.” Lyarra said before she followed Jory to the Small Hall.

 The Small Hall had been given its name to differentiate it from the Great Hall, where the king could feast a thousand. It was a long hall with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred at its trestle tables.

Sansa was seated between Jeyne Poole and Septa Mordane, as far away from Arya as she could get without a reproach from Father. Arya was sitting at the end of the table and Lyarra sat down in the space beside her.

Arya looked surprised when she saw her. “Wouldn’t you rather sit with Sansa? I’m sure she’s turned you against me.”

Lyarra frowned. “Why would I do that? I love you very much, Arya, and I will not ignore you like Sansa is right now. And no one could ever turn me against you, do you hear me?”

Arya nodded. “I’m glad you’re here. If you had stayed with Robb, then I’d have no one.”

“What about Father?” Lyarra asked as they were served the first course, a sweet thick soup made with pumpkins.

“He’s always busy. I’d be alone if it wasn’t for you.”

Lyarra took Arya’s hand. “You’ll never be alone as long as I’m here.”

“I love you, Lyarra. You’re my favourite sister.”

Lyarra chuckled. “I don’t think that’s very hard to achieve, considering your other sister is Sansa. You two have always argued, even before Lady and Mycah.”

Arya’s eyes filled with tears at the mention of Mycah. “I miss him.”

“I know.”

Father walked in before Arya could say anything else. He was late again as always, perhaps a bit later than usual. Their soups had already been taken away by the time he strode in, that same defeated and angry look on his face.

He had been fighting with the small council again. He was always fighting with the small council. She didn’t ever remember Father fighting with Maester Luwin. He had always taken the older man’s advice, even if he always didn’t use it. So for him to be fighting so much with the small council was unusual for her father. She had to wonder what they were arguing about to get Father so mad. He wasn’t the type of man to anger easily.

“My lord.” Jory said when he saw Father. He rose to his feet and the rest of the guard rose with him.

“Be seated.” Father said. “I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city.” He signalled for the meal to continue and the servants brought out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.

“The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord.” Jory said as he took his seat. “They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honour of your appointment as Hand of the King.”

Lyarra could see that Father was not very happy about that. “Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?”

Sansa’s eyes grew as wide as the plates. “A tourney.” She breathed excitedly. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?”

“You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert’s games and pretend to be honoured for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly.”

Lyarra expected her father to respond that way but she also knew that Sansa would not give up her dream of attending a tourney so easily.

“Oh, please.” Sansa said. “I want to see. Lyarra can watch over me.”

“Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa and Lady Lyarra.” Septa Mordane said. “All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honour, it would look queer if your family did not attend.”

Sansa was lucky that Septa Mordane chose to speak in her favour as she wouldn’t have. Lyarra had no desire to see a tourney unless she had to. She would much rather spend the day reading.

Father looked pained. “I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you and Lyarra, Sansa.” He looked at Arya. “For you as well, Arya.”

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney.” Arya said.

Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.”

Lyarra sighed sadly. Would this rift between her sisters last forever?

Anger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you’ll change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?”

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She watched as her youngest sister wiped tears away angrily.

This was not what she had imagined when she came to King’s Landing. She thought it would be like it was back in Winterfell. Arya would try to train with the boys and Sansa would sit and do needlework. But then sometimes the two sisters would come together and they’d have snowball fights and laugh together.

But the incident at the Trident made sure that wasn’t the case. Sansa and Arya blamed each other for what happened and only spoke to each other when Father forced them to.

It wasn’t the fun adventure that she imagined she’d have with her sisters. In truth, nothing was the same since Bran’s fall and she desperately wished for it to go back to the way it was before.

Suddenly Father spoke up. “Pray excuse me. I find I have small appetite tonight.”

Lyarra watched in concern as her father left the hall. He had never walked away from a meal before they came to King’s Landing.

After he was gone, Sansa exchanged excited whispers with Jeyne and Jory laughed at a joke down the table. Hullen started talking about horseflesh but Lyarra didn’t bother listening. She could vaguely hear Desmond, Jacks and Harwin shouting him down together and Porther called for more wine.

But Lyarra was more concerned about her father. She wondered how well he was coping being in king’s Landing. She had heard him praying for Bran and the dark circles under his eyes only darkened. Bran’s fall and the subsequent consequences of Arya and Joffrey’s fight had really taken its toll on her father and she worried how much more he could take before he snapped.

She missed her mother and brothers more than anything. She wanted mother to braid her hair for her. She didn’t do it nearly as well as Mother did. She wanted to read books with Bran and play with little Rickon. She wanted to go riding with Robb and Jon. She even wanted to laugh at Theon’s terrible jokes.

She wanted to curl up with Winter in her bedroom and hear Old Nan’s stories.

But she was stuck here in King’s Landing with a troubled father and sisters who had not spoken to each other in weeks. She was here in a strange place full of strange people.

Nothing was the same as it was back in Winterfell. This was the first time they had eaten with the men since arriving in King’s Landing. They usually ate alone in the solar, just her, Father, Sansa and Arya. And if Father had to dine with the king or some other lord, they’d eat alone in their bedchambers.

Back in Winterfell, they would eat in the Great Hall almost half the time. Father always said that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them.

“Know the men who follow you and let them know you.” He had once told Robb. “Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.”

She didn’t dwell on the fact that her father was slowly becoming a stranger to his men now.

At Winterfell, Father always had an extra seat set at his own table and every day a different man would be asked to join him. She remembered it being Vayon Poole the most often. Mikken, Hullen, Septon Chayle, Jory, Ser Rodrik and Old Nan had also been invited.

Lyarra loved listening to the unique stories they’d all tell. Ser Rodrik even told some stories about Father training as a boy. She liked those stories the best.

But that was Winterfell, where her father was comfortable. Here in King’s Landing he was a different man. He was plagued with worries he never had to deal with back home and it took its toll on her father. He never did the things he used to anymore.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Arya get up out of her seat until Septa Mordane yelled at her.

“Pray, where do you think you are going, young lady?” Septa Mordane asked.

“I’m not hungry.” Arya said. “May I be excused, please?” She asked stiffly.

“You may not. You have scarcely touched your food. You will sit down and clean your plate.”

“You clean it!” Arya yelled.

Before anyone could stop her, Arya bolted for the door as the men laughed and Septa Mordane yelled after her.

Lyarra looked at Septa Mordane’s angry face and Sansa who was still talking excitedly with Jeyne before pushing herself away from the table and moving towards the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Septa Mordane asked angrily.

Lyarra turned back to look at the septa. “To check on my little sister.”

“Leave your sister to me. I’ll deal with her insolence.”

Lyarra frowned. “You will not. I’ll talk to MY sister, Septa. I need to make sure she’s alright.”

Lyarra ran off before Septa Mordane could say another word but she soon heard the sound of the septa’s footsteps behind her.

She flew passed Fat Tom, who was guarding the door to the Tower of the Hand, not having time to greet him like she usually did.

She raced up the winding stone steps, knowing that Septa Mordane was hot on her heels. She sure was fast for an old woman.

 Lyarra reached Arya’s closed bedroom door before Septa Mordane did and she knocked on it gently.

“Arya?” She asked softly. “Are you alright?”

Septa Mordane caught up to her and pushed her aside so she could loudly bang on the door.

“Arya Stark, you open this door at once, do you hear me?” Septa Mordane screeched.

“You better not come in here!” Arya yelled.

“The Hand will hear of this!” Septa Mordane raged.

“I don’t care.” Arya screamed. “Go away!”

“You will rue this insolent behaviour, young lady, I promise you that.”

Lyarra sighed heavily. “Return to the hall and see to Sansa, Septa Mordane. I’ll talk to Arya. She’ll listen to me.”

Septa Mordane regarded her suspiciously. “Alright but your father will hear about this.”

She watched as Septa Mordane walked away, likely going to tell Father about Arya’s ‘insolent behaviour’.

Lyarra knocked on the door again. “Arya? Will you let me in?”

There was silence at the other end and she thought that Arya was ignoring her until the door opened and a tearful Arya stood at the other side.

Lyarra hugged her tight and Arya let out a sob.

“I’m sorry.” She wailed. “I didn’t mean to storm off like that. I just couldn’t stand to be there any longer.”

Lyarra shushed her. “Don’t apologise, Arya. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t have to stay if you didn’t want to.”

Arya pulled back and that’s when Lyarra saw the sword in her hand. “Since when did you have your own sword?”

“Um..”

“Jon gave it to you, didn’t he?”

Arya shook her head. “It wasn’t him!”

“You don’t have to lie, Arya. I won’t tell anyone.”

“How did you know it was Jon?”

“He told me he had a gift for you. He didn’t tell me what it was though. I should have know he’d give you a sword. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

A soft knock interrupted their conversation. 

“Arya.” Father called out. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

Arya crossed the room and lifted the crossbar. Father was alone and he seemed more sad than angry.

“May I come in?” He asked.

Arya nodded, then dropped her eyes, ashamed.

Father closed the door. “Whose sword is that?”

“Mine.” Arya said.

“Give it to me.” Father ordered.

Arya handed over the sword reluctantly.

Father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. “A Braavos blade.” He said. “Yet it seems to me that I know this maker’s mark. This is Mikken’s work.”

Arya lowered her eyes, not being able to lie to their father.

Father sighed. “My nine year old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. Lyarra knew that she wouldn’t betray Jon, not even for Father.

Father looked to her but Lyarra only shook her head. She wouldn’t betray her siblings.

“I don’t suppose it matters, truly.” Father said after a while, looking down at the sword gravely. “This is not a toy for children, least of all a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?”

Nothing good, Lyarra thought. Septa Mordane had nothing good to say about Arya.

“I wasn’t playing.” Arya insisted. “I hate Septa Mordane.”

“That’s enough.” Father said, his voice curt and hard. “The septa is doing no more than her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady.” Arya said hotly.

“I ought to snap this toy across my knee here and now, and put an end to this nonsense.”

“Needle wouldn’t break.” Arya said defiantly.

“It has a name, does it?” Father said with a sigh. “Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. ‘The wolf blood’, my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.” Lyarra heard sadness in his voice. He rarely spoke of his father, brother and sister who died before any of them were born. “Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her.”

“Lyanna was beautiful.” Arya said, startled.

“She was.” Father agreed. “Beautiful and wilful and dead before her time.” He lifted the sword, holding it out between them. “Arya, what did you think to do with this… Needle? Who did you hope to skewer? Sansa? Septa Mordane? Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?“

“Stick them with the pointy end.” Arya blurted out.

Father snorted back laughter. “That’s the essence of it, I suppose.”

“I was trying to learn but…” Arya’s eyes filled with tears. “I asked Mycah to practice with me.” She turned away, shaking. “I asked him.” She cried. “It was my fault. It was me…”

Lyarra moved forward in concern but Father got there quicker. He wrapped his arms around Arya in a gentle hug, letting her sob against his chest.

“No, sweet one.” Father murmured. “Grieve for your friend but never blame yourself. You did not kill the butcher’s boy. That murder lies at the Hound’s door, him and the cruel woman he serves.”

“I hate them.” Arya said, red-faced and sniffling. “The Hound and the queen and the king and Prince Joffrey. I hate all of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn’t the way he said. I hate Sansa too. She did remember. She just lied so Joffrey would like her.”

“We all lie.” Father said. “Or do you truly think I’d believe that Nymeria ran off?”

Arya blushed. “Jory promised not to say anything.”

“Jory kept his word.” Father said with a smile. “There are some things I do not need to be told. Even a blind man could see that wolf would never have left you willingly.”

“We had to throw rocks.” Arya said miserably. “I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn’t want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with. We heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she’d have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so ‘shamed, but it was right, wasn’t it? The queen would have killed her.”

“It was right.” Father said. “And even the lie was… not without honour.” 

He’d put Needle aside when he went to embrace Arya. Now he took the blade up again and walked to the window, where he stood for a moment, looking out across the courtyard. When he turned back, his eyes were thoughtful. He seated himself on the window seat, Needle across his lap. 

“Arya, Lyarra, sit down. I need to try and explain some things to you.”

Arya perched anxiously on the edge of her bed and Lyarra sat down beside her, Arya clutching her hand right away.

“You are both too young to be burdened with all my cares, but you are also Starks of Winterfell. You know our words.”

“Winter is coming.” Arya whispered.

“The hard cruel times.” Father said. “We tasted them on the Trident, and when Bran fell. You were born in the long summer, sweet one, and you, little wolf, will not remember the taste of anything but summer. Both of you have known nothing else, but now winter is truly coming. Remember the sigil of our House.”

“The direwolf.” Arya said, no doubt thinking of Nymeria. Lyarra missed Winter too and it hurt when she thought of her.

“Let me tell you something about wolves, children. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and moon, but the same blood flows through both of your hearts. You need her as she needs you… and I need both of you, gods help me.” He looked at Lyarra. “I need all of you. We all need each other.”

“I don’t hate Sansa.” Arya said. “Not truly.”

“I did not mean to frighten you, but neither will I lie to you. We have come to a dark and dangerous place, my daughters. This is not Winterfell. We have enemies who mean us ill. We cannot fight a war amongst ourselves. Arya, this wilfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience… at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It’s time to begin growing up.”

“I will.” Arya vowed. “I can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb.” She looked to Lyarra. “And Lyarra too.”

Father held out Needle to Arya, hilt first. “Here.”

Arya looked at the sword with wonder in her eyes, but she didn’t touch it. It was like she was afraid it would be snatched away if she reached for it.

“Go on. It’s yours.” Father said.

And Arya took it in her hand.

“I can keep it?” Arya said. “For true?”

“For true.” Father smiled. “If I took it away, no doubt I’d find a Morningstar hidden under your pillow within the fortnight. Try not to stab your sister, whatever the provocation.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Arya clutched Needle tightly to her chest as Father took his leave.

Lyarra kissed Arya on the forehead before standing up. “Enjoy your sword. Don’t stab anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Actually, just don’t stab anyone with it.”

Arya smiled. “I won’t.”

Lyarra found her father in his study. “So you let her keep the sword. If Mother was here, she’d have your hide for that.”

Father chuckled. “Your mother knows as well as I do that nothing will stop Arya once she gets her hands on a sword. It would have been stupid to take it from her. I couldn’t risk her stealing a more dangerous weapon from someone.”

“Are you going to teach her how to use it?”

“Not me, no.”

“Jory?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.”

Father smiled. “Like you don’t have your own, little wolf.”

Lyarra frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you get Arya that sword?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you know who did.”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Care to share them?”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

Father chuckled again. “Alright, run along now. I’m sure you have lots of books to read.”

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, little wolf.”

The next morning, as they all sat down for breakfast, Arya apologised to Septa Mordane and asked for her pardon. The septa peered at her suspiciously but Father nodded.

Lyarra would never forget the look of shock on Septa Mordane’s face when she realised that Arya was being serious. Things were finally looking up.

Chapter Text

A couple of days passed and Lyarra was in her room reading but her mind wasn’t on the words she was reading. As was usual these days her only thoughts were of Bran.

On the night the raven had came from Winterfell to deliver the news of Bran’s awakening, Father had taken her and her sisters to the castle godswood. It was an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines. But they had knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving as if it had been a weirwood tree.

Sansa was the first to fall asleep, followed by Arya and Lyarra soon joined them, the three of them curled up in the grass under Father’s cloak as the moonlight shone down on them.

She remembered waking up when dawn broke, surrounded by the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath. When Sansa awoke, she had whispered “I dreamed of Bran. He was smiling.”

Lyarra liked to think that he was. Bran had always been a happy child and she hoped that despite his fall, he kept his happy and sweet nature.

From her seat by the window, she could see the bustling courtyard down below. It was always noisy in the courtyard. There were always merchants and lords arriving to do business with the king and the Kingsguard were always practicing down in the yard.

Bran would love watching them practice, she thought wistfully.

She saw his hero Ser Barristan with his shining white armour fight with the portly Ser Boros Blount. She knew how much Bran would love seeing the old knight in action, even if it was just for training.

Sansa had not stopped talking about the upcoming tourney and she was always talking about which dress she was going to wear with Jeyne Poole. Lyarra thought that even Septa Mordane was getting fed up with Sansa’s constant ramblings about the tourney.

Meanwhile Arya was busy training with Syrio Forel, a former First Sword of Braavos. He was hired by Father to teach Arya the Braavosi water dancer style. It would better suit the slender blade of Needle, according to Father.

Arya came to her every day after her lessons excitedly telling her everything that Syrio had taught her that day. Lyarra was glad that her little sister was so excited about something again. She had been sulking ever since Nymeria’s disappearance and Mycah’s death.

“Syrio is teaching me to think like a warrior. He’s teaching me to be perceptive, to move with grace and to command my fear.” Arya had told her breathlessly after her lesson yesterday.

Lyarra didn’t fully understand what she was talking about but she smiled and said that she was glad she was enjoying herself. Arya had beamed at her in response and told her that she was going to be as great as Syrio one day.

Lyarra hoped that she was right. She could imagine Arya in Braavos, fighting with her sword. It suited her, she thought.

She yawned suddenly. She had not slept well last night. She was too busy worrying about Bran to sleep. Robb had told her that Mother was not back yet and she wondered how Bran was taking the fact that Mother was not here when he woke up.

She wished she had never left him. He needed her more than ever now that Mother had made the journey to King’s Landing. To be honest, she was shocked that Mother had left at all, no matter how important it was for her to see Father. Bran had always been her favourite child and she was always loathe to leave him. She was devastated when Father told her that Bran would be coming with them to King’s Landing.

And then Bran had fell and Mother never left his side for a minute. She said that she had to be there when he woke up.

But she wasn’t there when he woke up. She left for King’s Landing to tell Father about the attempt on Bran’s life. She understood why Mother thought she had to be the one to tell Father. If it got out that they suspected the Lannisters, then it would cause them to be plunged into a war.

But surely there was another way to let Father know.  Mother didn’t have to leave Winterfell, leaving Bran alone with only Robb, Rickon, Luwin and Old Nan for company.

Yes, he was surrounded by loved ones and she was sure that he would be well looked after. Robb would make sure of it. But Bran needed their mother and the longer she was away, the more Bran suffered.

If Father had to stay in King’s Landing, then Mother had to stay in Winterfell. Bran was old enough to understand why Mother left but Rickon wasn’t. He was only three years old. He was still a baby. He shouldn’t be left with just Robb to look after him.

Because she had no doubt that Maester Luwin and Old Nan would be focused on Bran so Rickon would be left to his own devices.

She was glad that he had Shaggydog for company. He’d make sure that his little master was well taken care of.

Still, Bran and Rickon needed Mother more than anyone else. She hoped that Mother got back soon.

Lyarra closed her eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.

When she woke again, she saw Bran sitting at the window, staring out with a frown on his face. Winter was sitting at his feet, keeping a close eye on him. It seemed that she had not left his side since they had all left for King’s Landing.

Following Bran’s gaze, she saw Rickon running in the yard with the wolves.  Grey Wind came after him first, followed by Shaggydog and then lastly Summer. It was a testament to how serious Winter had taken Lyarra’s order to watch over Bran because she had chosen to stay with Bran instead of going running with her brothers and baby Rickon.

She looked at him sadly. She had missed his eighth nameday and that stung. She had been the first to hold him after he was born, right after Mother and Father. She had always been there for Bran and it killed her that she couldn’t be there now.

Bran angrily wiped away tears and her heart broke for him.

“It was just a lie.” He said bitterly. “I can’t fly. I can’t even run.”

“Crows are all liars.” Old Nan agreed from the chair where she sat doing her needlework. “I know a story about a crow.”

“I don’t want any more stories.” Bran snapped, his voice petulant. “I hate your stupid stories.”

Lyarra sighed sadly. Bran used to love Old Nan’s stories. He had always sat and listened to them when no one else had.

Old Nan smiled at him toothlessly. “My stories? No, my little lord, not mine. The stories are, before me and after me, before you too.”

“I don’t care whose stories they are.” Bran said. “I hate them.”

“I know a story about a boy who hated stories.” Old Nan said with a little smile.

Bran said nothing. He only stared at Old Nan with contempt.

“I could tell you the story about Brandon the Builder.” Old Nan said. “That was always your favourite.”

Lyarra had liked the story of Brandon the Builder. How thousands and thousands of years ago, he had raised Winterfell and according to some, the Wall as well. Bran knew the story but it wasn’t his favourite.

“That’s not my favourite.” Bran said. “My favourites were the scary ones.”

 “Oh, my sweet summer child, what do you know of fear?” Old Nan said quietly. “Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.”

“You mean the Others.” Bran said petulantly.

“The Others.” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story you like?”

“Well.” Bran said reluctantly. “Yes, only…”

Old Nan nodded. “In that darkness, the Others came for the first time. They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.”

Her voice had dropped very low, almost to a whisper and Bran and Lyarra leant forward to listen.

“Now these were the days before the Andals came, and long before the women fled across the narrow sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those times were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken these lands from the children of the forest. Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods, the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost.  He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds-”

The door opened with a bang and Bran jumped in fear and Lyarra held her breath, but it was only Maester Luwin, with Hodor looming in the stairway behind him.

“Hodor!” The stableboy announced, as was his custom, smiling hugely at them all.

Maester Luwin was not smiling. “We have visitors and your presence is required, Bran.”

“I’m listening to a story now.” Bran complained.

“Stories wait, little lord, and when you come back to them, why, there they are.” Old Nan said. “Visitors are not so patient, and ofttimes they bring stories of their own.”

“Who is it?” Bran asked.

“Tyrion Lannister, and some men of the Night’s Watch, with word from your brother Jon. Robb is meeting with them now. Hodor, will you help Bran down to the hall?”

“Hodor!” Hodor agreed happily, ducking to get his great shaggy head under the door. Hodor was nearly seven feet tall. Lyarra remembered being fascinated by him as a child, never having seen someone so tall before. 

It was almost hard to believe that he was the same blood as Old Nan. Bran had always wondered if he would shrivel up as small as his great grandmother when he was old. Lyarra told him it was unlikely and Bran soon agreed with her.

Hodor lifted Bran as easy as if he was a bale of hay and cradled him against his massive chest. She remembered he always faintly smelled of horses but it wasn’t a bad smell. It was almost comforting. His arms were thick with muscle and matted brown hair.

She had always loved Hodor, even more than Old Nan. He might only be able to say his name, which wasn’t his real name, according to Old Nan. But he always helped her with anything she needed. He helped her mount her horse when she was a little girl and he always had a smile for her.

She remembered that Old Nan had cackled like a hen when Bran told her that Theon said that Hodor didn’t know much but he certainly knew his name. She had confessed to them that his real name was Walder and no one knew where Hodor had come from. But when he started saying it, they called him it and it was the only word he had.

Hodor hummed tunelessly as he carried Bran down the steps and through the gallery. Maester Luwin followed behind them, hurrying to keep up with the stableboy’s long strides.

She saw Robb sitting in Father’s high seat, a stern look on his face. He was wearing ringmail and boiled leather, his sword across his knees, the steel bare. Theon Greyjoy and Hallie Mollen stood beside him. A dozen guardsmen lined the grey stone walls beneath tall narrow windows.

In the centre of the room Tyrion Lannister stood with his servants, and four strangers in the black of the Night’s Watch.

Lyarra could sense the anger in the hall the moment that Hodor carried Bran through the doors. She knew it was because Mother blamed the Lannisters for Bran’s assassination attempt and his fall.

“Any man of the Night’s Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to stay.” Robb was saying in a voice reminiscent of Father.

“Any man of the Night’s Watch.” Tyrion repeated. “But not me, do I take your meaning, boy?”

Robb stood and pointed his sword at Tyrion. “I am the lord here while my mother and father are away, Lannister. I am not your boy.”

“If you are a lord, you might learn a lord’s courtesy.” Tyrion said, ignoring the sword pointed in his face. “Your bastard brother has all your father’s graces, it would seem.”

“Jon.” Bran gasped out from Hodor’s arms.

Tyrion turned to look at him. “So it is true, the boy lives. I could scarcely believe it. You Starks are hard to kill.”

“You Lannisters had best remember that.” Robb said, lowering his sword. “Hodor, bring my brother here.”

“Hodor.” Hodor said, and he trotted forward smiling and set Bran in the high seat of the Starks, where the Lords of Winterfell had sat since the days when they called themselves the Kings in the North. The seat was cold stone, polished smooth by countless bottoms; the carved heads of direwolves snarled on the ends of its massive arms. Bran clasped them as he sat, his useless legs dangling.

Lyarra remembered sitting in the chair beside her father as he held audiences.

Robb put a hand on Bran’s shoulder. “You said you had business with Bran. Well, here he is, Lannister.”

Bran looked uncomfortable under Tyrion Lannister’s stare.

“I am told you were quite the climber, Bran.” Tyrion said. “Tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?”

“I never.” Bran insisted.

“The child does not remember anything of the fall of the climb that came before it.” Maester Luwin said gently.

“Curious.” Tyrion said.

 “My brother is not here to answer questions, Lannister.” Robb said curtly. “Do your business and be on your way.”

“I have a gift for you.” Tyrion said to Bran. “Do you like to ride, boy?”

Maester Luwin came forward. “My lord, the child has lost the use of his legs. He cannot ride a horse.”

“Nonsense.” Tyrion said. “With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride.”

Bran’s eyes filled with tears at this. “I’m not a cripple!”

“Then I a not a dwarf.” Tyrion said with a twist of his mouth. “My father will rejoice to hear it.”

Theon laughed at this.

“What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting?” Maester Luwin asked.

“A smart horse.” Tyrion replied. “The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you must shape the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to the reins, to the voice. I would begin with an unbroken yearling, with no old training to be unlearned.” He drew a rolled paper from his belt. “Give this to your saddler. He will provide the rest.”

Maester Luwin took the paper from Tyrion’s hand, curious. He unrolled it and studied it. “I see. You draw nicely, my lord. Yes, this ought to work. I should have thought of this myself.”

 “It came easier to me, Maester. It is not terribly unlike my own saddles.”

“Will I truly be able to ride?” Bran asked, hopeful.

  “You will.” Tyrion told him. “And I swear to you, boy, on horseback you will be as tall as any of them.”

Robb looked puzzled. “Is this some trap, Lannister? What’s Bran to you? Why should you want to help him?”

“Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things.” Tyrion put a hand over his heart and grinned.

The door to the yard flew open and sunlight came streaming across the hall as Rickon burst in, breathless. The direwolves were with him. 

Rickon stopped at the door, wide eyed, but the wolves came on. Their eyes found Tyrion or perhaps they caught his scent. Summer began to growl first. Grey Wind picked it up. They padded towards Tyrion, one from the right and one from the left.

“The wolves do not like your smell, Lannister.” Theon said.

“Perhaps it’s time i took my leave.” Tyrion said.

He took a step backward and Shaggydog came out of the shadows behind him, snarling. Tyrion recoiled and Summer lunged at him from the other side. Winter stood up and growled, standing in front of Bran protectively. 

Tyrion reeled away, unsteady on his feet. Grey Wind snapped at his arm, teeth ripping at his sleeve and tearing loose a scrap of cloth.

“No!” Bran shouted from the high seat as Tyrion’s men reached for their steel. “Summer, here. Summer, to me!”

The direwolf heard the voice, glanced at Bran and again at Tyrion. He crept backward, away from Tyrion, and settled down below Bran’s dangling feet, right next to Winter.

Robb had been holding his breath. He let out a sigh and called, “Grey Wind.” His direwolf moved to him, swift and silent.

Now there was only Shaggydog,rumbling at the small man, his green eyes burning like wildfire.

“Rickon, call him.” Bran shouted to their baby brother.

And Rickon remembered himself and screamed, “Home, Shaggy, home now.”

The black wolf gave Tyrion one final snarl and bounded off to Rickon, who hugged him tightly around the neck.

Tyrion undid his scarf, mopped at his brow and said in a flat voice, “How interesting.”

“Are you well, my lord?” One of men asked, his sword in his hand. He glanced nervously at the direwolves as he spoke.

“My sleeve is torn and my breeches are unaccountably damp, but nothing was harmed save my dignity.”

Robb looked shaken. “The wolves… I don’t know why they did that…”

 “No doubt they mistook me for dinner.” Tyrion bowed stiffly to Bran. “I thank you for calling them off, young Ser. I promise you, they would have found me quite indigestible. And now I will be leaving, truly.”

Lyarra suddenly woke up, lurching forward in a cold sweat.

What had just happened? She had dreamed about Bran and Rickon and Robb back in Winterfell. Only it wasn’t a dream. 

She didn’t know how but she knew what she just saw was real. She had just seen what was happening back in Winterfell.

But how was that possible? How could she have seen what was happening in Winterfell when she was hundreds of miles away in King’s Landing?

She prayed to the old gods and the new that she wasn’t starting to go mad

Chapter Text

It was unbearably hot today and Lyarra was glad that she had chosen to wear a silk dress instead of a wool one.

She was sitting in the solar with Sansa, Alys, Jeyne and Septa Mordane, all five of them doing needlework.

Arya was busy with her lessons with Syrio, which was a good thing as Arya would no doubt complain about having to do needlework.

Sansa was still chattering away about the tourney and how she hoped that Joffrey would sit beside her.

“He’s your betrothed. It would be unseemly for him not to sit beside you.” Lyarra said and she sewed in diamond eyes on her direwolf.

“I hope he’s still not angry about Nymeria. It was all Arya’s fault what happened to him.”

Lyarra frowned. “Sansa, Father told you to stop fighting with Arya. This constant blaming her for everything is wrong and is not proper behaviour. Arya is your sister and you do not treat family like that.”

Sansa blushed in shame. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want Joffrey to hate me.”

“Why would he hate you? He has no reason to.”

“But I let him get hurt and he was angry with me when I tried to help him.”

“He can’t still be angry now, Sansa. It happened weeks ago and you weren’t really involved. It’s in the past now, sweet sister, and we can’t dwell on it.”

“What about the queen? Is she still angry?”

“Oh, pay no mind to what she thinks. It’s Joffrey you have to impress. You’re not marrying the queen. The king got that unfortunate honour fifteen years ago.”

Septa Mordane frowned at her. “Lyarra, do not talk about the queen that way. That is unseemly behaviour for a highborn lady like yourself.”

“Why should I watch my words? The king doesn’t even like the queen.”

“Lyarra, you are behaving as bad as Arya!” Septa Mordane said sharply. “I expect better from you.”

“Sorry.”

“Where is Arya today?” Septa Mordane asked.

“She’s at her sword lessons with Syrio Forel.” Lyarra answered.

Septa Mordane tutted. “A most unseemly hobby for a lady.”

This was the first time Septa Mordane had voiced her disapproval of Arya learning how to use her sword. Since Father had approved of Arya having a sword and even arranged for someone to teach her how to use it, Septa Mordane couldn’t voice her dissent without it seeming like she was questioning her lord’s decisions.

So she had stayed silent and only spoke up when Father was out conducting business with members of the small council.

“Will Arya come to the tourney with us?” Jeyne asked. “She has no interest in things like this.”

“Arya likes knights and jousting.” Lyarra said.

Sansa snickered. “Only because she wants to be one.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having dreams, Sansa.” Lyarra reminded her softly.

“But that dream will never come true. Women can’t be knights. Arya will only be disappointed.”

“That’s true, sweet sister, but let her dream. They’re our only escape from this cruel world we live in.”

Sansa frowned. “The world isn’t cruel, Lyarra. There are gallant knights and handsome princes.”

“Bran fell from a tower, never to walk again. Nymeria ran away and Lady is dead, all because of the queen. The world is cruel, sweet Sansa. It always have been.”

“But it’s also good and happy!”

“Happiness is back in Winterfell, Sansa. I find no goodness or happiness here.” Lyarra said with a sigh, rising out of her seat.

Sansa frowned. “Where are you going?”

“To read in my room.”

“You don’t have to go. I want you to stay.”

Lyarra smiled sadly at her sister. “I’m sorry, sweet sister, but I need to be alone for a bit.”

Sansa frowned, this time in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, sweet one.”

Lyarra bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry in front of her sister and Septa Mordane and fled out of the solar and ran to her room.

She bolted the door shut and collapsed onto her bed. She had already bitten her lip raw and she could feel the bitter taste of blood on her tongue.

She picked at the edges of her nails as she tried to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.

Lyarra startled when she heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” She sniffed.

“It’s Alys. Will you let me in?”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“I won’t stay long. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Just leave me, Alys. I need time to myself.”

Alys sighed. “I can’t leave you alone like this.”

“I’ll be fine, Alys. I just need a little time to myself.”

“Are you sure?” Alys asked in a disbelieving tone.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Alright then but if you’re not out by dinnertime, then I’m breaking down the door.”

Lyarra chuckled despite herself. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I’ll just get Jory to break the door down.”

“I won’t be that long, I promise.”

“Okay.”

Lyarra listened to her friend’s footsteps as she walked away. She didn’t know why she had turned Alys away. Usually she would welcome her friend’s comfort but today was different, it seemed.

She wanted to be alone and she didn’t know why. In Winterfell she was never alone and that was how she liked it. If she wasn’t with Robb and Jon, then she was with Bran or Rickon or Sansa and Arya. Alys was a constant companion and as a child, she was never away from Old Nan for very long, always wanting to hear her stories. If she got tired of her siblings company, then she’d be with her mother and father.

At Winterfell the only place she could be alone was the library as it wasn’t a place that her brothers and sisters frequented. But unless she was reading, she loved to be in their company.

So why did she shy away from Alys and Sansa’s company? What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been happy since she left Winterfell.

But she had always wanted to see the Red Keep and King’s Landing. She had read about it in the history books and was completely fascinated by it. It was always a dream of hers to see where the Targaryens once lived.

So why did achieving her dream feel like she had just walked into a nightmare?

True, it was filled with people she hated, like the queen and Prince Joffrey, but that didn’t mean that she had to hate the place.

So why did it feel so suffocating? Why did it feel like a death sentence?

Perhaps she needed to explore the Keep. She had only seen the Great Hall where the Iron Throne sat only once and she had barely ventured from the Tower of the Hand since they had arrived.

Yes, she needed to get out of here. She was always exploring Winterfell as a child. She would go from the yard to the glass gardens to the library. It was as familiar as the back of her hand.

This place wasn’t familiar. It was strange and she felt it was suffocating because of that.

So she stood up and looked out the window. She could see her reflection in the shining glass. Her lip and nails were bloody and there were dried tears on her cheeks. Her eyes were red rimmed and her face was flushed. People would ask questions if she went out like this.

But she ran to the door anyway and raced down the winding steps before anyone could see and stop her.

Halfway down the stairs she saw Arya standing on one leg, holding out her arms to steady herself. She was barefoot and her feet were already scuffed.

Lyarra moved to stand beside her, making sure that Arya could see her so she wouldn’t startle her and cause her to fall.

“Must you do that barefoot? You’re going to end up cutting your feet.”

“Syrio says that the pain is worth it.”

“Is it really?”

“Yes, I have to do this if I want to be a water dancer.”

“Where’s Syrio? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Our lessons are finished. I just wanted to practice.”

“How is this helping you exactly?”

“Balance is key if you want to be a good water dancer.”

Lyarra frowned in confusion. “But you want to learn how to use a sword.”

“This is how I’m learning to use a sword.”

“Oh.”

“What happened to your fingers?”

“What?”

“Your fingers, they’re all bloody. What happened to them?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweet one.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No.”

“You did it to yourself, didn’t you? You’re biting your nails again.”

Lyarra hung her head in shame. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, little sister.”

Before Arya could say anything else, Father came up the stairs. He stopped and looked at her.

“Arya, what are you doing?” He asked.

“Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Arya said, her hands failing at the air to steady herself.

Father smiled. “Which toe?” He teased.

“Any toe.” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance.

“Must you do your standing here?” Father asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.”

“Syrio says a water dancer never falls.” Arya said, lowering her leg to stand on two feet. “Father, will Bran come and live with us now?”

“Not for a long time, sweet one.” Father said. “He needs to win his strength back.”

Arya bit her lip. “What will Bran do when he’s of age?”

Father knelt beside her. “He has years to find that answer, Arya. For now, it’s enough to know that he will live.”

“He was going to be a knight.” Arya said. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight now?”

“No.” Father said. “Yet someday he may be a lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Bran the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s faith and become the High Septon.”

Arya cocked her head to one side. “Could I be a king’s councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?”

“You,” Father said, lightly kissing her brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”

Arya screwed up her face. “No, that’s Sansa.” She folded up her right leg and resumed her balancing.

Father sighed and turned to Lyarra. “Are you alright, little wolf?” He asked gently, his eyes roaming over her face in concern.

“I’m fine, Father.”

Father frowned. “Don’t lie to me, little wolf. You’re upset about something. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Lyarra sighed. “I just miss home, Father. I miss Robb and Winter.”

Father took her hands gently. “You will see them again soon, sweet one, I promise.”

Lyarra hissed when his thumb swept over one of her bloody nails and he pulled back in shock.

“Did I hurt you, darling?”

Lyarra looked away in shame, not wanting to tell him that she had started biting her nails bloody again.

Father lifted her hands when she didn’t answer and his face turned sad when he saw the state of her nails.

“When did you start this again?”

“Just today.”

“Why are you doing this again? You haven’t done this since you were ten.”

Lyarra’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t like it here, Father. I want to go home.”

“Oh, little wolf, I promise you that you’ll go home soon.”

“But not now?”

“I need you here for now. I’m sorry, sweet one.”

“I’ll stay and do my duty, Father. I will never leave you, Sansa and Arya when you all need me.”

Father pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I can arrange for you to go home now if you wish.”

Lyarra shook her head. “No, I need to stay here. I won’t leave Sansa here with Joffrey. She hasn’t seen him for who he is yet. She needs me to be there for her.”

“I admire your selflessness, my daughter, but you need to put yourself first this time. If you need to leave and go home, then that’s what you’ll do.”

Lyarra smiled shakily. “I want to stay, Father. I just need a little time to get used to being here.”

Father kissed her forehead. “Alright, little wolf, you can stay here for as long as you wish. But you must tell me if you feel like this again. I don’t want you to hurt yourself like this anymore, do you understand?”

Father’s tone was firm but gentle and Lyarra found herself nodding. “I understand, Father. I promise I’ll tell you if I feel like this again.”

“Where were you going? I don’t believe you were simply watching Arya balancing on one leg.”

“I was planning on going to the library.”

Father smiled. “Ah, I see. That was always your place of refuge. Go then, my sweet daughter, but come back before dinner.”

Lyarra kissed his cheek. “I will, Father.”

She descended the rest of the winding stone steps, careful not to disturb Arya and made her way across the Keep.

On her way to the library she saw dusty suits of black armour, relics of the old Targaryen dynasty, lining the corridor. She was surprised that the king hadn’t had them all destroyed as his burning hatred for the Targaryens was well known and it would surely enrage him to know that pieces of that dynasty still lingered in his castle.

But then again, he probably didn’t have time to oversee the destruction of everything Targaryen and perhaps those who were in charge of destroying it all decided that the king would surely not frequent all the corridors of the Red Keep so they kept a few suits of armour in the corridors.

And it likely was impossible to destroy everything that was associated with the Targaryens. They did build this castle and everything in it from Maegor’s Holdfast to the Great Sept of Baelor. The ghosts of all the Targaryens who lived here haunted these walls and they always would, no matter which House ruled it.

She was almost at the library when something caught her eye. Conspicuously tucked away in a corner was a curved oak door with a broken handle and a large crack right in the centre.

Curious, she walked closer and saw that someone had tried to repair the crack but had did a poor job. They hadn’t even tried to repair the handle. It lay crooked and almost snapped in half.

She knew she shouldn’t go in. It would be wrong. She would be violating someone’s privacy. She shouldn’t let her curiosity get the better of her.

But then again, no one would want to occupy a room that had a broken handle and a large crack, so perhaps it was one of the few rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast that remained unoccupied. She was sure that the queen would not let any of her children use this room and the queen herself wouldn’t use it. She had her own rooms, as did the king.

So this room wasn’t used by any member of the royal family and it certainly looked abandoned. So maybe it was safe to go in.

Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed open the door and walked inside.

A heavy layer of dust covered all the furniture, giving credit to her theory that these rooms had been abandoned for a long time.

The first bedroom was decorated in a Dornish style. Mosaic tile work littered the walls, often orange with a red sun. The furniture was made of light wood and intricately craved and is cushions were patterned with red suns. 

The oak canopied bed had red curtains with golden sun embroidery and the covers on the bed were the same.

The heraldry of House Martell was everywhere as well as the heraldry of House Targaryen.

This was the bedroom of Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne and wife to Rhaegar Targaryen. The same Elia Martell whose children were murdered in front of her eyes and then was brutally raped and murdered in this very room.

A little cot was next to the bed, likely for poor Prince Aegon who was only a babe when he was savagely killed by Gregor Clegane.

It was said that Princess Rhaenys hid under her father’s bed when Tywin Lannister’s men came for them and she pushed open the connecting door and saw a room that could only belong to Prince Rhaegar.

It was decorated in the Targaryen red and black and bookshelves brimming with books lined two of the walls.

She saw an open book sitting on the table by the large canopied bed and she walked over to it, her love for books getting the better of her.

A single sentence was written on the page in fancy loops.

“He is the prince that was promised and his is the song of ice and fire.”

Who was this so called ‘prince that was promised’ and why did Rhaegar think he was so important? And what was the ‘song of ice and fire’?

Her eyes flicked to the page next to it and she saw something written at the bottom. It was written in capital letters and underlined three times.

“The dragon must have three heads.”

What did that mean? Did it refer to the Targaryen sigil, which had a three headed red dragon? And why was it written in all capital letters and underlined three times? Was it really so important that it had to be written that way?

What was Rhaegar thinking when he wrote these things down?

And then she remembered that she didn’t care what Rhaegar was thinking? He had kidnapped her aunt Lyanna and left his wife and children to die. She didn’t care about him at all. What he did was wrong and unforgivable.

She left Rhaegar’s room and went back into Elia’s.

As she was about to leave, she saw a glint in the corner of her eye. 

Moving towards it, she saw it was a hairpin. It was made of gold and had a red sun made of rubies going through a golden spear.

This was obviously given to Elia before her marriage to Rhaegar and was likely a treasured possession. It did not deserve to sit in the room where Elia and her children had been brutally murdered for no other reason that being the wife and children of Rhaegar Targaryen.

So she picked up the hairpin and put it in a secret pocket in her dress.

She realised how odd the hairpin looked in her hands. She was wearing a grey silk dress embroidered with white direwolves, the colours and sigil of her house. Her hair was a brilliant copper red while Elia’s was a shiny black. Her skin was pale while Elia’s was a tanned olive. Elia had brown eyes while she had grey.

The hairpin wouldn’t suit her so she decided to keep the pin until she had the opportunity to give it back to a member of House Martell, Elia’s family. They would treasure this more than she would.

When she returned for dinner as promised, she only smiled and nodded when her father asked if she had enjoyed her time in the library, saying nothing of the abandoned rooms of Elia and Rhaegar.

Chapter Text

The day of the tourney had arrived and the apartments in the Tower of the Hand were buzzing with excitement.

Sansa and Jeyne Poole were fluttering about the room, pulling out various dresses to try. Lyarra and Alys watched them with amusement. Arya had simply rolled her eyes and said she wasn’t going to the tourney as she had her lesson with Syrio today.

Sansa called Arya a spoilsport and said she would be missing out but said nothing else and simply went back to choosing a dress.

“It needs to be the fanciest dress I have. I need to impress Joffrey.” Sansa said as she held up one of her dresses.

“All your dresses are beautiful, Sansa. Prince Joffrey will love you in whatever dress you choose.” Jeyne encouraged, her brown eyes glittering with excitement.

Lyarra smiled at her sister. “Jeyne’s right, Sansa. You will look beautiful, no matter what you wear. Choose whichever dress you like best.”

Sansa turned to her with wide eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so. Joffrey will be blinded by your beauty today.”

Sansa let out a squeal and ran forward to hug her tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Lyarra chuckled. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just telling the truth.” She said with a smile. “Now hurry up and get dressed before we’re late.”

In the end Sansa chose a beautiful green silk dress that brought out the auburn in her hair. She truly looked radiant, a perfect wife for a future king.

Jeyne was wearing a silver dress and Alys wore a white dress.

As for Lyarra herself, she had been planning on wearing a white wool dress with grey direwolf embroidery on the bodice but Sansa had taken one look at the dress and turned her nose up in disgust.

When she asked her sister why she hated the dress, Sansa replied that it wasn’t fancy enough for a tourney. She had said that she wouldn’t impress the knights at the tourney if she wore that dress.

So Lyarra asked her what dress she would have chosen and Sansa went into her wardrobe and emerged with one of Lyarra’s fanciest dresses.

It was a dark blue velvet dress with beautiful white pearls in the shape of roses embroidered on the bodice.

Lyarra chose to wear it, trusting her sister’s opinion. So she put on the dress and threaded blue ribbons through a single braid on the crown of her head, the rest of her hair cascading down her back. Her necklace from Jon still hung around her neck and she treasured it dearly, seeing it as her brother being here with her in spirit.

Septa Mordane came into the room after Sansa had finished getting ready, telling them to hurry along before they were late.

Father would not be attending the tourney with them, seeing it as an unnecessary expense for the realm. He did promise Sansa that he would attend the second day of the tourney, but Lyarra knew he only agreed out of love for his daughter. If it was up to him, then he wouldn’t have attended at all.

So Septa Mordane would be the only adult that would accompany them today.

They followed Septa Mordane out of the tower and into a litter that would take them to the tourney. The curtains were made of yellow silk so fine you could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold as they passed it.

Beyond the city walls,  a hundred pavilions had been raised by the rivers, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. Lyarra didn’t care much for tourneys but she had to admit the splendour of it all took her breath away.

The shining armour, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind and the knights, they were magnificent.

“It is better than the songs.” Sansa whispered as they found their places that Father had promised them, among the high lords and ladies.

Lyarra sat beside Sansa, Alys sitting to her right. Jeyne was sitting on Sansa’s other side and Septa Mordane sat at the end, keeping a close eye on them.

They watched as the riders took to the field. The seven knights of the Kingsguard came first, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armour the colour of milk, their cloaks as white as fresh fallen snow. Jaime Lannister wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was in shining gold from head to foot, with a lion’s head helm and a golden sword.

Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain Who Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. Lyarra shuddered at the sight of the man who killed Elia Martell and her children in cold blood.

How that man was still alive was beyond her comprehension. If there was any justice in the world, then Gregor Clegane would have been executed for the murders of Elia and her children.

All it did was show how horrible the Lannisters were. They had gotten away with murdering an innocent woman and her equally as innocent children and had even convinced the king to pardon their killer. The Lannisters truly belonged in the deepest pits of the Seven Hells.

 Lord Yohn Royce, glad in bronze armour engraved with magical runes, passed them next. Lyarra remembered him from his visit to Winterfell two years prior. He was a nice man.

“His armour is bronze, thousands and thousands of years old, engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm.” Sansa was telling Jeyne Poole in a low whisper.

 Septa Mordane pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, clad in indigo armour chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. He had cut down three of Rhaegar’s bannermen on the Trident, the septa told them.

Sansa and Jeyne giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr with his flapping red robes and shaven head. They soon stopped when Septa Mordane told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand.

There were riders that Lyarra didn’t recognise. Hedge knights from the Fingers and Highgarden and the mountains of Dorne, unsung freeriders and newly made squires, the younger sons of high lords and the heirs of lesser houses. All younger men, most of whom had done no great deeds, but Sansa and Jeyne said that one day the Seven Kingdoms would resound to the sound of their names. Lyarra hoped that they were proved right.

Among them were Ser Balon Swann and Lord Bryce Caron of the Marshes. Lord Yohn’s heir, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother, Ser Robar, were also present, their silvered steel plate filigreed in bronze with the same ancient runes that warded their father. The twins Ser Horas and Ser Hobar, whose shields displayed the grape cluster sigil of House Redwyne, burgundy on blue, could also be seen amongst the riders. Lord Jason’s son, Patrek Mallister, had also entered the lists. Six Freys of the Crossing were also there: Ser Jared, Ser Hosteen, Ser Danwell, Ser Emmon, Ser Theo and Ser Perwyn, all sons and grandsons of old Lord Walder Frey. His bastard son Martyn Rivers was there too.

Jeyne confessed that she was frightened by the look of Jalabhar Xho, an exiled prince from the Summer Isles, who wore a cape of green and scarlet feathers over skin as dark as night. But when she saw Lord Beric Dondarrion, with his hair like red gold and his black shield slashed by lightning, she pronounced herself willing to marry him on the instant. Lyarra simply laughed at her girlish antics.

The Hound had entered the lists as well, as did the king’s brother, Lord Renly of Storm’s End. Jory, Alyn and Harwin rode for Winterfell and the north.

“Jory looks like a beggar among these others.” Septa Mordane sniffed when he appeared.

Lyarra reluctantly agreed. Jory’s armour was a grey blue plate without decide or ornament, and a thin grey cloak hung from his shoulders like a soiled rag.

Yet he acquitted himself well, unhorsing Horas Redwyne in his first joust and one of the Freys in his second, which proved that appearances weren’t always the most important thing. In his third joust, he rode three passes at a freerider named Lothar Brune, whose armour was as drab as his own. Neither man lost his seat, but Brune’s lance was steadier and his blows better placed, so the king gave him the victory.

Alyn and Harwin fared less well. Harwin was unhorsed in his first tilt by Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard while Alyn fell to Ser Balon Swann.

The jousting lasted all day and went into the dusk, the hooves of great warhorses pounding down the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. A dozen times Sansa and Jeyne cried out in unison as riders clashed together, their lances exploding into splinters while the common people screamed for their favourites. Jeyne covered her eyes whenever a man fell, like a frightened little girl, but Sansa and Lyarra were made of stronger stuff. A great lady always knew how to behave at tournaments, Mother used to tell them. Alys followed her lead, only wincing slightly when someone fell off their horse.

Septa Mordane noticed their composure and nodded in approval.

The Kingslayer rode brilliantly, Lyarra noticed. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord Bryce Caron as easily as if he were riding at rings, and then took a hard fought match from old Barristan Selmy, who had won his first two tilts against men thirty and forty years his junior.

Sandor Clegane and his frighteningly large brother, Ser Gregor, seemed unstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor’s second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. 

He fell not ten feet from where Lyarra and Sansa were sitting. The point of Ser Gregor’s lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life’s blood flowed out in slow pulses, each one weaker than the one before. His armour was shiny new, she thought sadly, a bright streak of fire running down his outstretched arm as the steel caught the light. His cloak was blue, the colour of the sky on a clear summer’s day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

Jeyne Poole began to weep so hysterically that Septa Mordane had to take her away to gain her composure. Lyarra felt a little sick at the sight of the point in his neck but she maintained her composure and sat watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. It was an odd experience, to say the least. The blood flowed out of him in a way that was almost poetic but it was haunting at the same time. Beside her, Sansa watched with her hands folded in her lap, completely calm.

As she heard Jeyne’s sobs get fainter and fainter, she realised that perhaps she also ought to cry for this poor man but the tears wouldn’t come. She had cried all her tears for Bran, she thought. Seeing this stranger lying dead was nothing compared to the feeling of seeing Bran lying on the ground, his little body broken.

Perhaps she would have cried if it was Father or Jory lying there but she didn’t even know this man’s name. He was nothing to her. It made her sad to think that no one would remember his name after this.

After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shovelled dirt over the spot where he had fallen to cover up the blood. It was almost disturbing how coldly it was done.

After it was done, the jousts resumed again as if nothing had happened.

Ser Balon Swann fell to Gregor Clegane and Lord Renly to the Hound.

 Renly was unhorsed so violently that he seemed to fly backwards off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit the ground with an audible crack that made the crowd gasp, but it was just the golden antler on his helm. One of the tines had snapped off beneath him. When Lord Renly climbed to his feet, the common folk cheered loudly, for King Robert’s handsome younger brother was a great favourite. He handed the broken tine to his conqueror with a gracious bow. The Hound snorted and tossed the broken antler into the crowd, where the common folk began to claw and punch over a little bit of gold, until Renly walked out among them and restored the peace.

By them Septa Mordane had returned, alone. Jeyne had been feeling ill, she explained, so she had escorted her back to the castle. She had completely forgotten about Jeyne, she thought guiltily.

Later a hedge knight in a checkered cloak disgraced himself by killing Beric Dondarrion’s horse and was declared forfeit. Lord Beric shifted his saddle to a new mount, only to be knocked right off it by Thoros of Myr. 

Ser Aron Santagar and Lothor Brune titled three times without result. Ser Aron ended up losing to Lord Jason Mallister and Brune to to Yohn Royce’s younger son, Robar.

In the end it came down to four; the Hound and his monster of a brother, the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the youth they called the Knight of Flowers.

Ser Loras was the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. At sixteen he was the youngest rider on the field, yet he had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Lyarra had never seen someone so handsome before, not even Lord Renly could compare. His hair was a mass of lazy brown curls and his eyes were like liquid gold. His plate was intricately fashioned and enamelled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to some fair maiden in the crowd.

Lyarra wanted a husband like that, one who would bring her roses of every colour. Blue winter roses were always her favourite but she liked all roses. She wouldn’t mind a bouquet of red and white roses.

Loras Tyrell’s last match of the day was against the younger Royce. Ser Robar’s ancestral runes probed small protection as Ser Loras split his shield and drove him from his saddle to crash with an awful clanger in the dirt. Robar lay moaning as the victor made his circuit of the field. Finally they call for a litter and carried him off to his tent, dazed and unmoving.

Lyarra had watched him go but Sansa saw none of it. She only had eyes for Ser Loras. She thought her sister was going to faint from joy when his white horse stopped in front of her.

He had given white roses to the other maidens but the one he gave to Sansa was red. 

“Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half as beautiful as you.”

Sansa took the flower timidly, looking dumbstruck. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the rose and sat clutching it long after Ser Loras had ridden off.

Lyarra knew that Sansa thought she was special as Loras had given her the only red rose and said those sweet words to her but she had noticed that Loras had barely looked at her when he said them. It seemed like he was looking at something else instead.

Lyarra chuckled at the wondrous look on Sansa’s face. Her sister was clearly awestruck at the mere sight of a gallant knight.

She looked up when she felt eyes on her and she shifted in her seat when she saw a strange man standing over them, looking at her and her sister. The movement alerted Sansa and she looked up too.

He was short, with a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair. She just that he must be almost as old as her father.

“You must be her daughters.” He said, his grey green eyes did not smile when his mouth did. “You both have the Tully look.”

Lyarra frowned. Who was this man and how did he know Mother?

He wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, fastened with a silver mockingbird and had the effortless manner of a high lord but she still had no clue who he was.

“Lyarra Stark.” She said uncertainty, feeling a little uneasy under his gaze

“I’m Sansa Stark.” Her sister said, feeling ill at ease. “I have not had the honour, my lord.”

Septa Mordane quickly intervened. “Sweet children, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the king’s small council.”

Lyarra’s eyes narrowed. This still did not explain how he knew her mother.

“Your mother was my queen of beauty once.” Baelish said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. His fingers brushed against Sansa’s cheek, who was closer to him, as he stroked one auburn lock while eyeing her auburn curls eagerly.

Quite abruptly he turned and walked away.

By then the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While the common folk began their walk home, talking of the day’s joust and the matches on the morrow, the court moved to the riverside to begin the feast.

Six monstrously huge aurochs had been roasting for hours, turning slowly on wooden spits while kitchen boys basted them with butter and herbs until the meat crackled and spit. Tables and benches had been raised outside the pavilions, piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and freshly baked bread.

Lyarra, Sansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honour, to the left of the raised dais where the king sat with the queen. 

When Joffrey sat himself down to Sansa’s right, she saw her sister freeze with fear. He had not spoken a word to her since the incident at the Trident and she had not dared to speak to him, out of fear that he would send her away. So she could see why Sansa was nervous when he sat down beside her.

She was dismayed when she saw that Joffrey was wearing the same colour as she was. She didn’t want to be like him in any way. He was wearing a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lions, a slim coronet of gold and sapphires on his brow. Lyarra had to admit that he looked very handsome.

Sansa looked at him and trembled, fearful that he might ignore her or turn her away, weeping. Lyarra hoped that wasn’t the case.

But instead Joffrey smiled and kissed her hand, and said, “Ser Loras has a keen eye for beauty, sweet lady.”

“He was too kind” Sansa demurred. “Ser Loras is a true knight. Do you think he will win tomorrow, my lord?”

“No.” Joffrey said. “My dog will do for him, or perhaps my uncle Jaime. And in a few years, when I am old enough to enter the lists, I shall do for all of them.”

He raised a hand to summon a servant with a flagon of iced summerwine and poured a cup each for her and Sansa. Her sister looked anxiously at Septa Mordane for approval, until Joffrey leaned over and filled the septa’s cup as well, so she nodded and thanked him graciously and said nothing else.

The servants kept the cups filled all night and Lyarra savoured the sweet flavour, though she stopped drinking it after a few cups. 

The entertainment was captivating. Singers sat before the king’s pavilion, filling the dusk with music. A juggler kept a cascade of burning clubs spinning through the air. The king’s own fool, the pie faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Lyarra wondered if he was simple after all. Even Septa Mordane was helpless before him. When he sang his little song about the High Septon, she laughed so hard she spilled wine on herself.

And Joffrey was the soul of courtesy, to Sansa’s delight.  He talked to Sansa all night, showering her with compliments, making her laugh, sharing little bits of court gossip, explaining Moon Boy’s japes. Sansa was so captivated that she ignored her and Septa Mordane all night. Lyarra didn’t mind because Sansa was so happy.

All the while the courses came and went. A thick soup of barley and venison, which was delicious. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey garlic, which she had never eaten before. She watched Joffrey get the snail out of the shell for Sansa and she copied him. She soon found out that she didn’t like eating snails very much.

Then came the trout fresh from the river, baked in clay. Lyarra was surprised when Joffrey leaned over to help her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within after he had helped Sansa do the same. She thanked him courteously, trying to hide her surprise at his behaviour.

And when the meat course came out, Joffrey served Sansa himself, slicing a queen’s portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. He served Lyarra a slice when he had politely asked her if she would like some and she said yes. The smile never fell from his face. This was certainly a different Joffrey from the one at the Trident.

Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar. Lyarra was stuffed at this point so she only managed a few baked apples and a couple of lemon cakes. Even Sansa, who loved lemon cakes, could only manage two.

Lyarra was contemplating leaving the feast when the king began to shout.

The king had grown louder with each course. Occasionally Lyarra heard him laughing or roaring a command over the music and the clanger of plates and cutlery, but they were too far away for her to make out his words.

Now everyone could hear him.

“No.” He thundered in a voice that drowned out all the others.

Lyarra was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was as drunk as a man could be.

“You do not tell me what to do, woman.” He screamed at the queen. “I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight for tomorrow, I will fight!”

Everyone was staring. She saw Ser Barristan and Lord Renly and the odd man who Septa Mordane had introduced as Petyr Baelish, but no one had made a move to interfere.

The queen’s face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing after her.

Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king’s shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell.

The king guffawed. “The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer.” He slapped his chest with the jewelled goblet, splashing wine all over his silk tunic. “Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!”

Jaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. “As you say, Your Grace.” He said, his voice stiff.

Lord Renly came forward, smiling. “You’ve spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a fresh goblet.”

Suddenly Lyarra felt a wave of dizziness wash over her and she leapt up out of her seat and rushed outside for some fresh air.

She leaned against a wooden pole, slowly taking deep breaths. As suddenly as the wave of dizziness had come on, it faded away just the same.

She saw Joffrey striding out of the tent and he looked surprised to see her there.

“My lady, what are you doing out here all alone?” Joffrey asked, his tone slightly brusque.

“I needed some fresh air, Your Grace.”

“Your sister will be wondering where you are. I sent my dog to escort her back to the castle.”

“You mean the Hound?”

Joffrey looked at her in annoyance. “Yes. Go back to the castle, my lady. It’s too dark for a fair lady like yourself to be out alone in the dark.”

“Surely then, I shouldn’t walk back to the castle all alone in the dark.”

Joffrey nodded stiffly. “I suppose you’re right. Would you like me to find you an escort? The Hound has already left with your sister and I doubt you’ll catch up now.”

Lyarra frowned. “You’re not going to escort me yourself?”

“As you wish, my lady.”

“If it’s too much trouble, I can walk back myself, Your Grace.”

Joffrey gave her a long look, his eyes unreadable. “You’re very beautiful, my lady.”

Lyarra felt her cheeks heat despite not liking Joffrey. “Thank you, my prince. My sister and I both take after our mother, who was said to be a great beauty in her youth.”

“Your sister is very beautiful but you have grown into your beauty very well. Truthfully I would have been happy if my father had betrothed me to you instead of your sister. You are both great beauties.”

“Do you not like my sister, Your Grace?”

“I like her very much but you are beautiful too.”

“Thank you, my prince.”

“You may call me Joffrey, my lady.”

“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be proper. You’re a prince, the future king, and I’m just a noble lady from the north.”

“You’re also the lady who saved my life.”

Lyarra shook her head. “I did no such thing, Your Grace. It was the Maester who saved you, not me.”

“You helped me. You stayed with me even though I tried to send you away. You tried to stop the bleeding. I owe you my thanks.”

Joffrey was looking at her with a strange sort of fascination and it unsettled her so much that she had to avert her gaze. “There is no need to thank me, my prince. I did not help you for praise.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Out of kindness. You did not deserve to bleed out on the grass so I helped you.”

“Your dress is exquisite, my lady. You look like a true princess.”

“But I’m not a princess.”

Joffrey looked her up and down appreciatively. “Perhaps you should be.”

Before Lyarra had to subject herself to finding a response to Joffrey’s words, a familiar lilting voice called out to them.

“Prince Joffrey, Lady Lyarra, what a pleasure to see you both.”

Lyarra spun around gratefully and saw Loras Tyrell emerging out of the shadows and walking towards them. He had taken off his armour and now wore a green silk tunic embroidered with golden roses with a matching green cloak.

Lyarra smiled brightly at him. “Ser Loras, it certainly is a pleasure to see you.”

Joffrey was not so enthused. “Yes, what a pleasure.”

Ser Loras had a smile that was as graceful as he was. “I hope you enjoyed the jousting, my lady.”

“I did. You rode like a true knight, Ser Loras. It would be a great pleasure to see you win tomorrow.”

Loras dipped his head in gratitude. “I thank you sincerely, my lady. I do hope that I won’t disappoint you tomorrow.”

“Oh, I doubt you could disappoint me, my lord. The way you ride a horse is simply magnificent. It is truly a pleasure to see.”

Loras’ eyes lit up with interest. “Do you enjoy horse riding, my lady?”

Lyarra nodded eagerly. “I do. It’s my favourite thing to do, besides reading.”

Loras smiled crookedly. “You would get on well with my brother Willas. He loves reading and he breeds horses.”

“He’s your older brother, is he not?”

“Yes, my father’s heir.”

“Does he joust?”

Before Ser Loras could answer, an indignant Joffrey interrupted them, clearly hating being ignored for so long.

“I’m still here, you know, and it’s rude to ignore the crown prince.” Her sister’s betrothed said arrogantly.

“I apologise, my prince, I did not mean to ignore you.”

“Shall I walk you back to the castle, my lady?” Joffrey asked, eyeing Ser Loras with malice.

“I can walk Lady Lyarra back to her chambers, my prince.” Loras offered gallantly.

“I will walk Lady Lyarra back to her chambers, Ser Loras. She is my betrothed’s sister. It is my duty to see her back safe.”

Ser Loras ignored Joffrey’s angry tone. “I think we should let the lady decide.” He turned to her, his eyes gentle. “Who would you like to escort you back to the castle, my lady?”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do than escort me back to the castle, my prince, and I’m sure Ser Loras is perfectly capable of escorting me instead.”

Joffrey’s eyes hardened and Lyarra thought he was going to shout at her, but he simply nodded and walked away.

Lyarra didn’t watch him walk away. Instead she turned back to Ser Loras with a smile, and he offered his arm for her to take, which she did gratefully.

“So you did not answer my question before.” Lyarra said as they made their way down the road. “Does your brother joust?”

Loras looked at her sadly. “I’m afraid not, my lady. He did joust once when he was a little bit older than your sister, Sansa. My mother and grandmother protested against it, saying that he was too young to enter a joust. Willas agreed to do it because my father wished it and in the end my father’s pressure was too much and he gave in, despite Mother and Grandmother’s worries. He entered as a squire and my father was thrilled. I was too young to attend the joust myself so I didn’t see what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“You have not heard the tale?”

Lyarra shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“My brother was doing well despite his young age and it being his first tourney. My father was convinced that he was going to come out unscathed and my mother was starting to believe it too. She had even stopped covering her eyes every time Willas entered the field, according to my grandmother. But then he came up against Oberyn Martell. The man was a skilled horse rider and had been jousting before Willas was even born. He knocked Willas off his horse and everyone assumed that he would just fall to the ground like everyone else did.”

“But he didn’t?”

Loras sighed. “No, he didn’t. His foot got caught in his stirrup as he fell and it pulled his horse on top of him. It crushed his leg and has left him crippled.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, that’s awful. How is he now?”

“He’s perfectly fine, my lady. He cannot fully use his leg without a brace but my father had one fashioned the minute his leg was crushed by his horse. He was always intelligent and he threw himself into scholarly learning after the accident. He excelled at it, to no one’s surprise. He will be a wonderful leader one day.”

“He certainly sounds wonderful.”

Loras smiled at her, showing off his straight white teeth. “I think the two of you would get along well. You could spent all day reading together. Seems rather boring to me, but Willas hardly ever leaves the library anyway so each to their own.” He said as he helped her off the cart that had brought them back to the castle gates.

“He did not come to see you joust?”

Loras shook his head. “No, he has to stay in Highgarden as my father’s heir.”

“Is your father here?”

“No, he’s at Highgarden as well.”

“Are any of your family here?”

“They do not have the stomach for jousts since Willas’ accident. I do not expect them to come and watch me.”

“I’m surprised that your mother didn’t ban you from participating in them.”

Loras chuckled. “She almost did but Grandmother told her that it wasn’t her decision to make now that I was old enough to participate in them. She reluctantly accepted my decision. Luckily I have never faced Oberyn Martell in a joust yet. I think my father would combust with rage if that happened. He still hasn’t forgiven him for what happened to Willas, though it was an accident and Willas wholeheartedly agrees with that assessment. He holds no ill will towards Oberyn but I’m afraid my father is not so forgiving.”

They stopped walking when they reached her chamber door.

“I’d like to meet your brother one day.” Lyarra said with a smile.

“Perhaps you will, my lady.”

“Good luck tomorrow, Ser Loras.”

Loras smiled and pulled out a white rose from his pocket. “Thank you, my lady. Here’s a token of my appreciation. I hope you bring me luck tomorrow.”

Lyarra took the rose from his hand and wished him goodnight. Loras kissed her hand before walking away. She waited until he was down the corridor before entering her chambers.

Alys was sitting up, waiting for her, and when she asked her where she had been, Lyarra simply smiled and said nowhere.

The brunette looked at her with suspicion but let it go. 

Lyarra slept with the rose on her bedside table, dreaming of what Willas Tyrell and Highgarden might be like.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lyarra and Sansa were getting ready for the melee. 

“Septa Mordane is ill today.” Sansa noted as she skimmed through her dresses.

Lyarra giggled. “It must have been all that summerwine she drunk last night.”

Sansa giggled too. “She had fallen asleep with her head on the table when I left. She was snoring and I couldn’t get her to wake up.”

“Where’s Jeyne today?” Lyarra asked.

“She says she’s still unwell so she’s not coming today. I think seeing that poor knight dying has put her off tourneys for life.”

Lyarra sighed. “I don’t blame her. It was horrific to watch.”

“Do you think Ser Gregor meant to kill him?”

“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve heard rumours about him. Terrible rumours.”

Lyarra frowned. “What rumours?”

“They say he killed his first two wives and had a hand in the accident that burned his brother’s face. They say that he was the one who killed Elia Martell and her children.”

“Where did you hear these rumours?”

“They whisper them around court. Jeyne told me about them. She said that the kicthen maids often gossip about it.”

“We don’t know if any of it’s true and if it is, I wouldn’t want you repeating it. If this got back to Ser Gregor, then who knows what he would do to us? If he can kill innocent children, then he can kill the people who are spreading rumours about him.”

“Do you think he will win?”

“It’s hard to tell. I think that everyone left has a good chance of winning.”

Sansa sighed dreamily. “I hope Ser Loras wins. He’s so beautiful.”

Lyarra chuckled. “I don’t think beauty is going to help him win, Sansa.”

“But he’s the best knight out there. He has to win, right?”

“I don’t know. He’s up against tough opponents. The Kingslayer is said to be the best sword in the Kingsguard.”

“I hope he does win.”

“Me too.”

Lyarra looked at Sansa’s sky blue dress and saw that the red rose that Loras had given her was pinned to her bodice. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“He’s so beautiful and dreamy.”

“Do you like him more than Joffrey?”

Sansa shook her head frantically. “Oh, no, I could never. I love Joffrey. He’s my golden prince.”

“So why are you wearing the rose Loras gave you?”

“Because I want it to give him luck for the jousts today.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

Sansa blinked in confusion. “Of course it is.”

Lyarra looked at her sceptically but nodded anyway. “Okay then. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. Are you?”

Lyarra frowned in confusion. “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“Aren’t you going to wear a nicer dress?”

“This dress is made out of silk. It’s a perfectly good dress for a tourney.”

“Your other one was better.”

Lyarra sighed. “I’m not wearing the same dress again, Sansa.”

“It was a stunning dress. It’s a shame you’re not wearing it again.”

“You’re not wearing the dress you wore yesterday. So why should I?”

“Because I’m wearing an appropriate dress today.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?”

“It’s a little simple.”

“It’s got embroidery on it.”

“Just two grey direwolves on the bodice. You can do better than that.”

The gold swirly embroidery covered the whole bodice of Sansa’s dress and it shone every time she stepped into the light. Perhaps she could dress a little better but she didn’t want to. She liked the dress she was wearing today. She was proud of her house and liked showing it off as much as possible. She would never forget she was a Stark. She would take her husband’s name when they married and her children would bear his name too but she would always be a Stark at heart.

“I don’t want to do better. I like this dress and I will not change it for anyone, not even you.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You can be as dramatic as Arya sometimes. Let’s go before we’re late. I don’t want to miss the jousts.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Father was already on the grounds. He had gone early to see the king. Arya was attending her lesson with Syrio but would joining them after the jousts. 

Father was not there when they took their seats and Lyarra could only assume that he was with the king. 

She saw him a few minutes later walking across the field with the king. When the king took his place, the queen was notably absent. Lyarra didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.

Father sat down beside them as the horns blew for the day’s first joust. Sansa was so engrossed in it all that she didn’t even notice Father’s presence but Lyarra gave him a small smile in greeting.

The Hound was the first rider to appear. He wore an olive green cloak over his soot grey armour. His hound’s head helm completed the ensemble.

“A hundred golden dragons on the Kingslayer.” Petyr Baelish announced loudly as Jaime Lannister entered the lists, riding an elegant blood bay destrier. The horse wore a blanket of gilded ringmail and the Kingslayer glittered from head to toe.

“Done.” Lord Renly shouted back. “The Hound has a hungry look about him this morning.”

“Even hungry dogs know better than to bite the hand that feeds them.” Baelish called dryly.

The Hound dropped his visor with an audible clang and took up his position. Jaime Lannister tossed a kiss to some woman in the commons, gently lowered his visor, and rode to the end of the lists. Both men couched their lances.

Father was looking at both men with contempt and Sansa was watching it all moist eyed and eager. Lyarra didn’t particularly care who won this joust. She just wanted Loras Tyrell to win the whole thing. He was the nicest one out of the four who were left.

The hastily erected gallery trembled as the horses broke into a gallop. The Hound leaned forward as he rode, his lance rock steady, but the Kingslayer shifted his seat deftly in the instant before impact. The Hound’s point was turned harmlessly against the golden shield with the lion blazon, while his own hit square. Wood shattered, and the Hound reeled, fighting to keep his seat. Sansa gasped and a ragged cheer went up from the commons.

“I wonder how I ought to spend your money.” Baelish called down to Lord Renly.

The Hound just managed to stay in his saddle. He jerked his mount around hard and rode back to the lists for the second pass. Jaime Lannister tossed down his broken lance and snatched up a fresh one, jesting with his squire. The Hound spurred forward at a hard gallop. Lannister rode out to meet him. This time when Jaime shifted his seat, Sandor Clegane shifted with him. Both lances exploded, and by the time the splinters had settled, a riderless blood bay was trotting off in search of grass while Jaime Lannister rolled in the dirt, golden and dented.

“I knew the Hound would win.” Sansa said.

Baelish overheard this. “If you know who’s going to win the second match, speak up now before Lord Renly plucks me clean.” He called out to her. Father smiled at this.

“A pity the Imp is not here with us.” Lord Renly said. “I should have won twice as much.”

The Kingslayer was back on his feet now, but his ornate lion helmet had been twisted around and dented in his fall, and now he could not get it off. The common folk were hooting and pointing, the lords and ladies were trying to stifle their chuckles and failing, and over it all the king’s laughter could be heard, louder than anyone. Finally they had to lead the Kingslayer off to a blacksmith, blind and stumbling.

By now, Ser Gregor Clegane was in position at the head of the lists. He was huge, the biggest man Lyarra had ever seen. The king and his brothers were large men as was the Hound, and until today, Lyarra thought that Hodor was the tallest man alive. But the Mountain dwarfed them all, even Hodor who was seven feet tall. Gregor Clegane was well over seven feet tall, closer to eight feet, with massive shoulders and arms as thick as small tree trunks. He made his destrier look like a pony and his lance looked as small as a broom handle.

When Ser Loras made his entrance, a murmur went through the crowd and she heard Sansa whisper fervently about how beautiful he was. The Knight of Flowers was as slender as a reed and he wore a suit of fabulous silver polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget me nots. She realised that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires and the commons realised this a moment later, a thousand gasps coming from their throats. Across the young knight’s shoulders hung a heavy cloak woven with real forget me nots, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to the heavy wool.

His destrier was as slim as her rider, a beautiful grey mare, built for speed. Ser Gregor’s huge stallion trumpeted as he caught her scent. Ser Loras did something with his legs and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. 

Sansa clutched at Father’s arm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him.”

“These are tourney lances.” Father told her. “They make them to splinter on impact so no one is hurt.”

Sansa looked relieved at his words but Lyarra could tell from the look on his face that Father didn’t quite believe his own words.

Ser Gregor was having trouble controlling his horse. The stallion was screaming and pawing the ground, shaking his head. The Mountain kicked his horse savagely with an armoured boot. The horse reared and almost threw him.

“Father, what’s wrong with the horse?” Lyarra asked worriedly.

“I don’t know, little wolf.”

Ser Loras saluted the king, rode to the far end of the list, and couched his lance, ready. The Mountain brought his horse to the line, fighting with the reins. And suddenly it began.

The Mountain’s stallion broke into a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly, while the mare charged as smooth as a flow of silk. Ser Gregor wrenched his shield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly mount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his lance just there, and in a blink of an eye, the Mountain was flailing. He was so huge that he took his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

Lyarra heard applause, cheers, whistles, shocked gasps, excited muttering, and over it all, the rasping raucous laughter of the Hound. 

Ser Loras reined up at the end of the lists. His lance was not even broken. His sapphires winked in the sun as he raised his visor, smiling. The commons went mad for him. 

In the middle of the field, the Mountain disentangled himself and came boiling to his feet. He wrenched off his helm and slammed it down onto the ground. His face was dark with fury and his hair fell down into his eyes. “My sword.” He shouted to his squire, and the boy ran out to him. By then his stallion was back on its feet as well.

Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal’s neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. By then Ser Gregor was striding down the lists towards Ser Loras, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. 

“Stop him!” Father shouted, but his words were lost in the roar.

Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying. Lyarra clutched her sister’s hand as the Mountain strode towards Ser Loras, fire in his eyes.

It all happened so fast. Ser Loras was shouting for his own sword as Ser Gregor knocked his squire aside and made a grab for the reins of his horse. The mare scented blood and reared back. Loras Tyrell kept his seat, but barely. Ser Gregor swung his sword, a savage two handed blow that took Ser Loras in the chest and knocked him from the saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as Ser Loras lay stunned in the dirt.

But as Ser Gregor lifted his sower for the killing blow, a rasping voice warned, “Leave him be.”, and a steel clad hand wrenched him away from the boy.

The Mountain pivoted in wordless fury, swinging his longsword in a killing arc with all his massive strength behind it, but the Hound caught the blow and turned it, and for what seemed like an eternity the two brothers stood hammering at each other as a dazed Loras Tyrell was helped to safety. 

Ser Gregor aimed three savage blows at the Hound’s helmet, yet the Hound did not send a cut at his brother’s unprotected face once.

It was the king’s voice that put an end to it, his voice and twenty swords. 

“STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!” Robert Baratheon boomed.

The Hound went to one knee. Ser Gregor’s blow cut air, and at last he came to his senses. He dropped his sword and glared at the king, surrounded by his Kingsguard and a dozen other knights and guardsmen. Wordlessly, he turned and strode off, shoving past Barristan Selmy. 

“Let him go.” Robert said, as as quickly as that, it was over.

“Is the Hound the champion now?” Sansa asked.

“No.” Father said. “There will be one final joust between the Hound and the Knight of Flowers.”

A few moments later, Ser Loras walked back onto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to the Hound, “I owe you my life. The day is yours, Ser.”

“I am no Ser.” The Hound replied, but he took the victory and the champions purse. The crowds cheered him as he left the lists and returned to his pavilion.

As Lyarra walked with Father and Sansa to the archery field, Baelish and Lord Renly and some of the others fell in with them.

“Tyrell had to know the mare was in heat.” Baelish said. “I swear the boy planned the whole thing. Gregor has always favoured huge, ill tempered stallions with more spirit than sense.”

The notion seemed to amuse Lord Baelish but it did not amuse Barristan Selmy.

“There is small honour in tricks.” The old knight said stiffly.

“Small honour and twenty thousand golds.” Lord Renly smiled.

That afternoon a boy named Anguy, an unheralded commoner from the Dornish Marches, won the archery competition, outshooting Ser Balon Swann and Jalabhar Xho at a hundred paces after all the other bowmen had been eliminated at the shorter distances.

The melee went on for three hours. Nearly forty men took part, freeriders and hedge knights and new made squires in search of a reputation. They fought with blunted weapons in a chaos of mud and blood, small troops fighting together and then turning on each other as alliances formed and fractured, until only one man was left standing.

The Victor was Thoros of Myr. He had won melees before as his fire sword frightened the mounts of the other riders, and nothing frightened Thoros. The final tally was three broken limbs, a shattered collarbone, a dozen smashed fingers, two horses that had to be put down, and more cuts, sprains, and bruises than anyone cared to count. Lyarra shuddered at the brutality of it all.

After they had sat down at the feast, Jory had brought Arya down to join them and she seemed to get on alright with Sansa for a change.

“The tournament was magnificent.” Sansa said to Arya, her tone pleasant. “You should have come. How was your dancing?”

“I’m sore all over.” Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.

“You must be a terrible dancer.” Sansa said doubtfully.

Later on, Sansa went off to listen to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the “Dance of the Dragons.” Father inspected Arya’s bruise, fretting over her and asking her if Syrio was too hard on her.

Lyarra spotted Ser Loras entering the room and she walked over to him.

“I hope you’re not too hurt, Ser Loras.” Lyarra said.

Loras turned to her in surprise. “Lady Lyarra, how lovely to see you.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Oh, just some bruising on the chest. It’ll fade in a few weeks.”

Lyarra winced. “Is it painful?”

“Only if you touch it.”

“It was nice of you to give the victory to the Hound.”

Loras smiled. “I owe him my life. He deserved to win.”

“You put up a valiant fight against the Mountain. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’m glad you think so, my lady.”

“Please, call me Lyarra. I can’t deal with these pleasantries and courtesies all the time.”

“Then call me Loras.”

“Alright, Loras.”

“Are you enjoying the feast, Lyarra?”

“Not as well as I would like.”

Loras looked as if her words had offended him. “Why ever not? You are the prettiest maiden here. Lords should be falling over themselves and fighting each other to ask you to dance.”

“No one here is dancing.”

“What a pity. There’s always dancing at feasts back in Highgarden.”

“What’s it like there?” Lyarra asked curiously.

Loras smiled fondly. “It’s a beautiful place. It was truly a privilege to grow up there. It’s made of white stone and has many towers. I always enjoyed exploring every nook and cranny of the castle when I was a boy. It overlooks the Mander and the castle sits on a broad hill so you can see the river and its surrounding land for miles away. It gives you a brilliant view of the many fields of golden roses. My sister Margaery loves to walk among them. She often brings us some roses back with her.”

“Are you close with your sister?”

“Oh, yes. We played all the time together as children. We were inseparable. We used to chase each other through the briar labyrinth but one of us would always end up getting lost so Father banned us from going there without an adult. Are you close to your sisters?”

“Yes but not as close as I am to my brothers.”

“You have a twin, don’t you? Robb Stark.”

Lyarra became sad at the mention of Robb. She missed him so much. “Yes, we were always inseparable. No one understands me like he does.”

“You must miss him.”

“I do. Do you miss your siblings?”

“I do. In fact I’m trying to convince my father to let my sister come to court. I think you’d get on well. She’s about your age and she’s always wanted a sister.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Well, I have two she can take.”

Loras laughed too. “I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t. I love them, even when they drive me crazy.”

“But Sansa seems so ladylike and sweet.”

“She is. My mother always says that Sansa was a lady at three, but when she’s fighting with Arya, she can be a nightmare. And Arya’s no better. My father was at his wits end over their fighting.”

“What were they fighting about?”

“It’s a long and complicated story. Everything’s sorted now though. And you can tell your sister that I’d like to meet her.”

Loras grinned. “She’d like that very much, I’m sure. I hear you’re very fond of roses.”

“Yes, where did you hear that?”

“Renly told me. He heard your father saying to his brother that you loved winter roses. You’re so fond of them that you sew them onto your dresses and wear them in your hair.”

“Yes, I do. Why are you asking me about this?”

“I just think you’d look good wearing golden roses, that’s all.”

Surprise coloured her face. “Oh.”

Loras walked away before she could say anything, his whole being lighting up when he stopped to speak to Lord Renly, and leaving Lyarra struggling to figure out what he meant.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely risen when an excited Sansa burst into her bedchamber and jumped onto her bed. Lyarra groaned at her sister’s, still half asleep. She sat up and levelled her sister with a glare.

“What are you doing, Sansa?” She asked, her tone thoroughly unimpressed.

Sansa beamed at her. “I’m sorry. I just had to talk to you.”

“And you had to do this at sunrise?”

“It just couldn’t wait.”

Lyarra raised an eyebrow. “And what’s so important that you had to jump on top of me like a madwoman?”

Sansa clapped her hands together excitedly. “I saw you talking to Loras Tyrell. I think he likes you!”

Lyarra sighed. “That’s what was so important? I know that Loras likes me. We get along well.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “No, I meant that he likes you like a husband likes his wife.”

Lyarra looked at her sister in disbelief. “You think he’s in love with me?”

Sansa pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, no, you’ve only just met, but I think he could love you. He obviously likes you.”

Lyarra rolled her eyes. “We’re just friends, Sansa.”

“What if he wants to be more than friends?”

“Why are you so concerned about this anyway? I thought you were too busy trying to impress your beloved Joffrey.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up at the mention of her betrothed’s name. “I’m still trying to impress, Joffrey. I want to be the perfect queen for him, but I still want to help you.”

“Help me with what?”

“With impressing Ser Loras, of course.” Sansa said in a tone that implied she thought Lyarra was stupid for even asking.

“I don’t want to impress Ser Loras.”

Sansa frowned. “Why not? He’s so handsome and chivalrous. He’d be the perfect husband.”

“I’m going to marry someone from the north. There’s no point in trying to impress Ser Loras.”

Sansa’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Why would you want to marry someone from the north when you could have a chivalrous knight like Ser Loras?”

“It’s not my choice who I marry. It’s Father’s.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up again. “Then we’ll just have to convince Father to betroth you to Ser Loras.”

“Why do you want me to marry Ser Loras anyway?”

“He’s so handsome and kind. He’d be the perfect husband for you. And if you marry him, then you can stay here and live at court with me.”

“I might have to live at Highgarden if I marry Ser Loras.” Lyarra pointed out gently.

“He’s the youngest son. He has two older brothers. He can live at court full time. You must marry him. I need you here with me when I marry Joffrey.”

Lyarra frowned in concern. “You don’t think you’ll be happy here on your own?”

“I will. I just want you to stay with me. We can raise our children together. I’ll have little lions and you’ll have little roses.”

“Little stags.” Lyarra corrected. “You’ll have little stags. Joffrey is a Baratheon.”

Sansa shrugged. “He takes after the Lannisters and our children will take after him.”

Lyarra smiled. “I bet they’ll be beautiful.”

Sansa grinned back. “Yours will be beautiful too. They’ll have beautiful curls just like you and Loras.”

“Father might not agree to let me marry him.”

“I’m sure he’ll let you marry whoever you wish. He’ll agree to let you marry Loras.”

Lyarra didn’t have the heart to tell her little sister that she didn’t want to marry Loras at all so she just nodded and smiled.

Septa Mordane must have noticed that Sansa was out of bed because she entered Lyarra’s room with a disapproving frown.

“What are you doing in here at this hour?” Septa Mordane asked Sansa, that disapproving frown still on her face.

“I wanted to see my sister.” Sansa said softly.

“At this hour?”

“I needed to speak with her.”

“What was so important that you had to get up before sunrise?” Septa Mordane asked primly.

“It was a private matter.”

Septa Mordane’s frown deepened. “I see. Well, you better get dressed. Your father will want to have breakfast with you. Leave your sister in peace to get ready.”

Sansa frowned. “I’ve not finished speaking with my sister yet.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk to your sister. Now get dressed before you freeze.”

Sansa grumbled but got up and walked out the room without complaint, although she did level a subtle glare at the septa.

Septa Mordane gave her a nod before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Lyarra sighed before falling back onto the pillows. She hadn’t expected Sansa to barge into her room so early in the morning, all excited and talking a mile a minute. It had taken all her energy to not snap at her sister and tell her to get out. She didn’t want to talk about marrying Loras Tyrell when the sun hadn’t even been up for an hour. Sansa thought of marriage like it was in the songs. She didn’t realise yet that not all marriages were happy. Mother and Father were a rare exception where an arranged marriage turned into love. Most became friends or managed to get along but they didn’t fall in love. Occasionally they despised each other like the king and queen or Aegon IV and Naerys Targaryen.

Sure, she liked Loras Tyrell but she didn’t know if their marriage would be a happy one. How could she? They barely knew each other. She was not like Sansa, who was convinced that her and Joffrey were already in love with each other, despite not knowing each other well. She would like a marriage like Mother and Father’s, but she knew it wasn’t a guarantee. Nothing in life ever is.

Sighing gently, she pushed the covers off her body and got out of bed. It had been so hot in King’s Landing that she didn’t feel the chill she usually did when she first got out of bed in only her thin nightgown. Today was no different. The top of her nightgown was already sticking to her chest and the sleeves were uncomfortably clinging to her arms.

After cooling herself down in a bath, she went to her wardrobe and picked out a dress.

She chose a grey silk dress with pearl embroidery at the neckline. It was light enough for her to wear in this heat but still fancy enough to wear at court.

Arya came bounding into her room as she was braiding her hair, clad in a brown jerkin and brown roughspun pants. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“Lyarra, guess what?”

Lyarra sighed. “What?”

Arya grinned at her. “Syrio says I’m going to catch cats today.”

“What’s so exciting about that?”

Arya frowned at her lack of excitement. “It’s the next step in my training.”

“Are you sure you want to catch cats? They have sharp claws.”

“I’ll be fine. Syrio says that every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better.”

“As long as you’ll be safe.”

“I will be.”

“Does Father know about this?”

Arya nodded. “He does.”

Lyarra raised an eyebrow. “And he’s alright with it?”

“He is.”

“Well, have fun then.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s training.”

“Well, good luck then.”

“Thank you.”

Arya scurried out of her room without a another word and Lyarra wondered what Septa Mordane would say when she saw what Arya was wearing.

After tying the end of her braid, she stepped out of her room and walked to the solar where her family would no doubt be.

As predicted, Father, Sansa and Arya were already at the table when she arrived. Septa Mordane was there too.

“It’s an inappropriate outfit for a lady to be wearing, Arya.” Septa Mordane was saying. “I pray to the gods that no one sees you looking like this.”

Arya scowled at her. “I have to wear this. You can’t catch cats in a floor length court dress.”

Septa Mordane’s frown deepened. “What kind of activity is this? Surely this is not teaching you how to use a sword, though I still think that’s inappropriate for a lady of your station.”

“Syrio says that this is how he trained and I trust him. He’s the best at what he does.”

“He’s the only water dancer you know.” Sansa pointed out. “How do you know he’s the best?”

Arya glared at her. “I just do.”

Father frowned. “Arya, don’t take that tone with your sister.”

“But she’s making fun of me.” Arya whined.

“That’s no excuse to be rude.” Father turned his gaze to Sansa. “Try to be more understanding of your sister, Sansa.”

Sansa looked down at her plate. “Yes, Father.”

“Are you sure you want to catch cats, Arya?” Lyarra asked as she took her seat at the table.

“I already told you that I did.”

“Arya, don’t snap at your sister like that.” Septa Mordane scolded.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Arya. It just seems like a strange choice.”

“Syrio says that catching cats will help me see clearly.” Arya explained.

Lyarra frowned in confusion. “See what clearly?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Lyarra could see that Father was not happy with the idea of Arya running around, trying to catch cats, but he kept his thoughts to himself, likely because he didn’t want to upset Arya.

Sansa sighed. “Can we stop talking about cats?”

Arya scowled. “Well, what do you want to talk about? Joffrey?”

Sansa ignored Arya’s mocking tone. “No, I have something important to talk about.”

Father looked at Sansa curiously. “What is it, sweet one?”

“Lyarra was talking to Loras Tyrell last night.”

Arya frowned. “Who’s Loras Tyrell?”

“He’s a knight who participated in the tourney. He’s the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden.” Lyarra said. 

“What’s so interesting about Lyarra talking to him?” Arya asked.

Sansa rolled her eyes at Arya’s obliviousness. “He’d be a good husband for Lyarra.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Lyarra doesn’t want to get married to someone from the south.”

Septa Mordane’s eyes glittered with approval. “I think that Loras Tyrell is a fine match for Lyarra.”

“It would be so romantic if you did marry him.” Sansa gushed.

Father ignored everyone else and focused on Lyarra. “Do you want to marry Loras Tyrell, little wolf?”

Lyarra felt uncomfortable under everyone’s gazes. “I, I don’t know. I’ve only just met him. I don’t know him well enough.”

“I can’t say that it’s not a good match because that would be a lie.” Father said. “Your mother would certainly approve of it but I will do nothing until you tell me that this is what you want.”

Lyarra looked at him gratefully. “Thank you, Father.”

Sansa frowned. “But you said you liked him. How can you not want to marry him?”

Father sighed. “Leave your sister be, Sansa. Deciding to marry someone is not a decision that’s made lightly. Your sister is well within her rights to take some time to think on it.”

“I think you should do it. You’d be stupid not to.”

Arya scowled at Sansa. “Don’t call her stupid! She’s much smarter than you are.”

“Arya, enough with the insults.” Septa Mordane said sharply. “And leave your sister alone, Sansa. Your father has given his permission for her to think about the betrothal and you will respect his decision.”

Sansa nodded, her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, Sansa.” Lyarra soothed. “I know you want this to happen because you want me to stay at court with you.”

Father looked surprised. “Is this true, Sansa?”

Sansa nodded shyly. “I don’t want Lyarra to go back to Winterfell when I marry Joffrey. I want her to stay with me.”

Father sighed again. “I hope that doesn’t affect your decision, Lyarra. I don’t want to feel you have to say yes just to please Sansa. There are other ways for you to stay here without having to marry.”

“I know, Father. I won’t let anyone affect my decision making.”

Father nodded before going back to his meal.

“How do you even know that Loras Tyrell would want to marry Lyarra?” Arya asked.

“Because he likes her.” Sansa said, a pleased expression on her face.

Arya rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what they were talking about.”

Sansa seemed to realise this was true because she turned to Lyarra, eyes bright with curiosity. “What did you talk about with him?”

“He told me about Highgarden and his family.”

Sansa squealed in delight, startling Arya and Septa Mordane. “That means he wants to marry you.”

Father frowned. “Where did you get that idea?”

“If he cares enough to tell her about his home and his family, then he must want to marry her.”

“It could be the case.” Septa Mordane said. “If he’s telling her about his home, then he might be trying to convince her she’d like it there. Of course, none of this matters if Lyarra turns down the proposal.”

Arya scoffed. “He hasn’t even asked Father to marry her.”

“That’s true but I won’t ask him anything unless Lyarra tells me she wants to marry him.” Father said.

“I’d want to marry him if I was in her place.” Sansa said dreamily. “I’ve never seen someone so beautiful and he fights like a true knight.”

“We’ll talk about it no more until Lyarra makes her decision.”

It was silent after that and soon everyone went their separate ways. Arya went off to catch cats, Father went to see the king and Lyarra went off to her room, leaving Sansa and Septa Mordane in the solar.

Lyarra was halfway through reading the “History of the Rhonyish Wars” when Sansa burst into her room, her blue skirts flying behind her.

Lyarra closed the book with a sigh. “Mother and Septa Mordane would be horrified if they knew that you barged your way in here without knocking.”

“I needed to talk to you.”

Lyarra looked at her younger sister wearily. “I think you’ve talked enough already.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to marry Loras Tyrell?”

“I never said I didn’t want to marry him. I said that I needed some time to think about it.”

Sansa flopped down onto her bed, for once not caring that her dress was getting ruffled. “What is there to think about? Loras is perfect.”

“No one is perfect, Sansa.”

“Joffrey is.”

Lyarra sighed. “No, he isn’t. It’s impossible for someone to be perfect.”

“What about Florian and Jonquil? No one ever says anything bad about them.”

“I’m sure they had some flaws. I don’t think the gods make perfect people, otherwise we’d have no reason to pray to them.”

 “I think Loras is like Florian. They’re both perfect knights. You could be his Jonquil. It would be so romantic.” Sansa gushed.

Lyarra frowned. Sansa had obviously not taken in anything she said and was still dreaming of the legendary knights from the songs. She didn’t know what she could say to convince her sister that Joffrey was nothing like the knights from the songs. He was a monster just like his mother. But she knew it was pointless to try right now so she steered clear of mentioning Joffrey.

“Do you really think that marrying Loras is a good idea?”

Sansa frowned in confusion. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I always planned to stay in Winterfell with Robb.”

“And who were you planning on marrying?”

“Someone from the north.”

“Really? You want to marry someone from the north when you could have a beautiful knight from the south, who’s just like everything the songs said knights would be?”

“I didn’t really care who I would marry, as long as I got to stay with Robb.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose in disgust. “And who were you going to marry? Wendel Manderly? He’s older than Father!”

“Well, no, I wasn’t. Lord Jon Umber has many sons and at least one of them must be close to my age.”

“Loras is his father’s third son. He has no responsibilities as his heir. He’s not tied to Highgarden the way his oldest brother is. You could live here at court or go back to Winterfell with him. And even if he refused to live in Winterfell permanently, he would surely understand that you must be with Robb at least for part of the year, so he would allow visits.”

“You don’t know him, Sansa. He might refuse to let me leave Highgarden.”

“You really think he would do that? You said he was nice.”

“But I don’t know him well enough to take that at risk. I need to have the option to go back to Winterfell.”

“Why don’t you tell Father that? Tell him that you won’t marry Loras unless he allows you to at least visit Winterfell.”

“That’s a good idea actually.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up. “So you want to marry him?”

Lyarra shrugged. “I suppose marrying Loras wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Is the thought of leaving Robb behind permanently the only thing stopping you from saying yes?”

Lyarra sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I wish Mother was here. She’s better at talking to you than I am.”

Lyarra smiled. “I think you’re better than you think you are.”

Sansa’s face lit up. “So I helped?”

Lyarra ran a loving hand through Sansa’s hair. “You’ve given me a lot to think about and I can definitely see why you want me to marry Loras.”

“So you’ll marry him?”

“I didn’t say that. I still need to think about it.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to think then.”

Sansa skipped happily out of the room, no doubt thinking that Lyarra would agree to marry Loras.

In truth, Lyarra was torn over the decision. Marrying Loras wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, she supposed. From the few times they had talked, they seemed to get on well so even if they didn’t fall in love, they could still be friends, which is what most women hoped for when faced with an arranged marriage. Well, the reasonable ones, anyway. Sansa was among those who wanted to marry only for love. She couldn’t imagine not being in love with her husband and him returning those feelings.

Unfortunately, most arranged marriages didn’t turn into love matches. She sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t be the one to have to tell Sansa this. She might realise it on her own a few years into her marriage to Joffrey. He surely wouldn’t play the part of the kind and handsome prince forever.

Thinking about Joffrey made her realise just how lucky she was. Sansa got the raw deal there, not that she realised it yet. She could tell that Loras’ kindness to her wasn’t an act like it was with Joffrey. He would treat her right and she would love to see Highgarden with its fields of golden roses.

Perhaps she should marry Loras.

She sighed when her door swung open again, expecting it to be Sansa asking if she had made up her mind about Loras yet.

To her surprise, it was Arya, looking like she had fallen into a bush. She had scratches all over her arms and chest and her knees were bleeding.

“What is it, Arya?”

“Sansa’s squealing about how you’re going to marry Ser Loras. Is it true?”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Don’t say yes, Lyarra.” Arya begged. “I need you here.”

“Why do you need me here?”

“You can’t leave me here with Sansa. All she talks about is Joffrey and I hate him.”

“I won’t be gone forever. I’ll come back to visit you.”

“You can’t marry him, Lya. You just can’t!”

Lyarra frowned at the distress on Arya’s face. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve already lost Jon. I can’t lose you too. Sansa doesn’t understand me the way you and Jon do.”

“You haven’t lost Jon, Arya.” Lyarra said gently. “He’ll come to visit us with Uncle Benjen.”

“Uncle Benjen hardly came to see us at all. Now Jon will do the same and you’re leaving me now. I want us all to be together again.”

“Maybe someday we will.”

“Don’t leave, Lyarra. We all need you here.”

“I have to marry one day, Arya, and Highgarden isn’t far from King’s Landing. It will be very easy for me to visit you.”

“You promise you won’t forget me?”

Lyarra ruffled Arya’s hair, just like Jon used to. “I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be in my heart.”

“I still don’t want you to marry him.”

“Why not?”

“Because you deserve better.”

“Loras Tyrell is a celebrated knight and he’s very chivalrous.”

“You still deserve better.”

“Alright, who do I deserve then?”

“A king.”

Lyarra wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I don’t want to marry Joffrey.”

“No, that’s Sansa’s burden to bear but you do deserve a king. I can see you as a queen. You’d be loved by everyone and they’d call you the smallfolk’s queen because you’d be so kind to them.”

Lyarra smiled. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Marry Loras if it will make you happy but I’ll be giving him a warning.”

“What kind of warning?”

“I’ll threaten to stab him with Needle if he hurts you.”

Lyarra chuckled, trying to imagine her sister stabbing Loras, who had once defeated the Kingslayer in a joust. It was an amusing thought but she didn’t dare tell Arya that.

“I’m sure he’ll heed your warning.”

“If you marry Loras, they might call you the Lady of Flowers.”

Arya scurried out of the room after that, leaving Lyarra to her thoughts.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to finish her book until she made a decision about Loras. But she didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t planned on getting married or even betrothed right now.

Ser Loras Tyrell was certainly a worthy husband but Lyarra didn’t know if she would be a worthy wife.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lyarra got up early and sat by the window, still in her nightgown. She had barely slept at all last night but she just couldn’t will herself to go back to bed.

She had thought long and hard about whether or not she would agree to marry Loras and she just couldn’t come to a decision.

It wasn’t that she hated Loras. She actually quite liked him. She could see them being good friends once they got to know each other better. But marrying him wasn’t the real problem.

Once the wedding was over and done with, they would expect it to be consummated and that frightened the life out of her. She had no doubt that Loras would be gentle with her but she was still scared at the thought of it.

She was broken out of her thoughts by Alys coming into the room.

“What is it?” She asked her oldest friend.

“Breakfast is about to be served.”

Lyarra nodded. “Okay, I’ll get dressed now.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Alys peered at her suspiciously. “Is something wrong? You’re usually up and dressed at this time.”

Lyarra sighed. “I’m alright. I’m just thinking about something.”

“About Loras Tyrell?”

“Yes.”

“He would make a good husband. He’d treat you well.”

“I have no doubt about that and I like him a lot.”

Alys frowned. “So then what’s the problem?”

Lyarra shifted uncomfortably. “Well, marriage is usually followed by children and you can’t have children without, well, you know…”

“So you’re worried about consummating the marriage.”

“Yes.”

“My mother says it’s nothing to worry about. If the man is gentle, then it’s only a little uncomfortable at first but then it goes away. Father was very gentle with her, she said.”

Lyarra wrinkled her nose at the thought of Ser Rodrik performing his martial duties. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt? Your father is a kind man.”

“And you think Ser Loras isn’t?”

“No, I don’t. He’s proven to be very kind so far.”

“If he’s kind, then why are you worrying so much?”

“I’m not worried.”

Alys raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You’ve bitten off the skin around your nails again.”

Lyarra sighed and guiltily put her hands behind her back so Alys couldn’t see them. “I’m sorry. Please don’t tell my father.”

Alys sighed softly. “I won’t tell him but I think he’ll notice anyway. You’re bleeding, Lya.”

“But I promised my father I’d stop! He’s going to be angry with me.”

“Your father could never be angry with you. He’ll understand.”

“I don’t think he will.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Hurry up and get dressed before Septa Mordane comes to scold you for being late. She’s already in a bad mood because Arya is wearing the same clothes she was wearing yesterday.”

Lyarra chuckled. “Well, I better be quick then.”

She hopped down from the window seat and went over to the wardrobe. She chose a grey dress that had red weirwood leaves embroidered on the neckline and a silk belt with a silver buckle with a direwolf engraved on it.

Alys helped her lace up the dress before exiting the room. 

Lyarra then brushed out her long auburn curls and left it loose for  once, forgoing her usual braids.

Father, Sansa and Arya were already seated when she entered the solar. Septa Mordane looked up at her with a frown, as if she wanted to scold Lyarra for being late, but she said nothing. Perhaps because Father was present. She always tried not to scold them too much in front of Father.

Sansa smiled at her when she sat down. “Good morning, Lyarra.”

Lyarra smiled back. “Good morning, Sansa.”

“I’m going to catch cats again.” Arya grinned. “Syrio says I’m improving. I’ve almost caught all the cats in the keep.”

“That’s wonderful, Arya.”

Septa Mordane tutted. “Catching cats is a most unseemly task, Arya. If you want to use a sword, then I can’t stop you, but catching cats is a step too far. This Syrio Forel is a bad influence on you.”

Arya scowled. “Syrio knows what he’s doing! He’s an expert!”

Father raised a sceptical eyebrow. “An expert at catching cats?”

“Well, no, but he says that it’s part of the training.”

Father sighed. “Well, just don’t take too long catching cats. I hired Syrio Forel to teach you how to use a sword and I expect him to do so.”

Lyarra put a hand on her father’s arm. “I’m sure that Arya won’t be catching cats forever. Soon she’ll be an expert water dancer, I’m sure of it.”

Arya beamed at her. “Thank you, Lyarra.”

Lyarra smiled back and ruffled her hair.

“Have you thought any more about marrying Ser Loras?” Sansa asked, clearly unhappy with their current topic of conversation.

“I have thought about it.” Lyarra said reluctantly.

“And what did you decide?”

Father frowned. “Sansa, I told you not to pester your sister about this. Let her make the decision in her own time.”

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Arya asked. “It’s not like you’re the one who’d be marrying him.”

“I want Lyarra to be happy and Ser Loras would make her happy.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “And how would you know that? You haven’t even met him properly.”

“I just do.”

Septa Mordane sighed harshly. “Girls, stop with your incessant bickering. It’s very unladylike.”

“Arya started it.” Sansa said petulantly.

“I did not!” Arya said hotly.

“Girls, stop it.” Septa Mordane scolded.

Sansa had the decency to look ashamed at her behaviour but Arya just stared defiantly at the septa.

Father looked stressed. “Sansa, Arya, why don’t you head off now? I need to speak to your sister alone.”

Arya went without a fuss, clearly excited to continue her lessons. Sansa, however, lingered in the doorway, not even moving when Septa Mordane lightly tugged on her arm.

Father sighed when he saw Sansa was still here. “Sansa, I asked to speak to your sister alone and I’d like for you to respect my wishes.”

“But I want to know if Lyarra has made her decision.” Sansa whined.

Septa Mordane looked horrified and Lyarra knew what she was thinking, “A lady does not whine or beg.” Lyarra had heard that one many times through her childhood.

Father ran a hand over his face. “Sansa, please, just go. If your sister is willing, you can ask her about it later, but for now, just go.”

Sansa nodded and left the room reluctantly, no doubt to find Jeyne Poole to gossip with, Septa Mordane hot on her heels.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Lyarra asked once they were alone.

Father didn’t answer. In fact it looked like he hadn’t heard her at all. He was staring into the distance, looking deep in thought.

Lyarra moved forward and gently touched his arm. “Father?”

Father shook his head before turning to face her. “What is it?”

“You said you wanted to speak with me.”

“Oh, yes. I was speaking to Robert yesterday.”

“The king? What did he say?”

“He asked me when I was going to betroth you to someone.”

“Oh.”

“He said that since Sansa is betrothed to Joffrey, then you should be betrothed as well, since you’re older than Sansa.”

Lyarra frowned. “You promised that you wouldn’t betroth me until I said I was ready.”

“I know, little wolf, but the king is insistent. He wants you betrothed soon.”

“Why does he even care? He hardly knows me.”

Father sighed, looking regretful. “It’s just how things are done here, sweet one. Fathers send their daughters to court to secure a coveted match. Betrothals are often made as young as twelve and marriages happen as soon as the bride has flowered, regardless of her age. Of course most fathers insist on waiting until their daughter is of age before the marriage goes ahead but there are some who stick to the old fashioned method. I will not let you marry until you are at least sixteen but the king wants you betrothed and we cannot refuse him.”

“So you’re asking me if I’ll agree to marry Ser Loras?”

“I’m asking you if you’d consent to getting married at all. I know it wasn’t the plan when we came here.”

“If I do not agree to marry Ser Loras, then the king will betroth me to someone of his choosing, won’t he?”

“He will and if we’re very unlucky, he’ll let the queen decide who you marry and she’ll no doubt choose a Lannister, and I will not have you marry a Lannister, not after everything that has happened.”

“Who would the king choose?”

“His youngest brother Renly is still unmarried so perhaps the king would choose him.”  

“And what do you think of Lord Renly?”

“He is a good man, though his continued reluctance to marry is rather famous nowadays.”

 “He’s around twenty, isn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

“Is that too old for me?”

 Father chuckled. “You are wise beyond your years, little wolf. I fear that any possible suitor may be too young for you.”

Lyarra rolled her eyes. “Oh, be serious, Father.”

“I’m always serious, aren’t I? At least that’s what Robert has been telling me.”

“You really think I’m wise beyond my years?”

Father took her hands in his. “I do. You have always been a precocious little thing, even when you were small. You walked a few months before Robb did and you’ve been reading on your own since you were four. Even as young as three, I knew you were listening to our adult conversations and understanding every word. I know Arya has always told you that you’re too smart to just be someone’s wife and I agree. If I only had daughters, I would say that you’d made a fine ruler one day. You would rule Winterfell with ease. Alas, Robb will succeed me and you must lower yourself to only being some lord’s wife.”

“So you think I should marry Ser Loras?”

“He seems to be the only match you’re considering.”

“I don’t want to marry a Lannister or anyone related to the queen, even very distantly or only through marriage.”

“So you wouldn’t want to marry Renly then?”

“I’m sure he’s very nice but the thought of Cersei becoming my family is too much for me to handle. I can’t forgive her for her part in Lady’s death.”

“Would you like me to ask Ser Loras if he would consider the match?”

“Not yet. I need to ask him something first.”

Father nodded. “Alright, my little wolf, but don’t take too long. Robert is an impatient man and I will not have you saddled off to a Lannister against your will.”

“I’d become a septa if it came to that.”

Father chuckled. “I’m sure you would.” He glanced down at her fingers and frowned. “I thought we agreed that you’d stop this.”

Lyarra sighed. “I’m sorry, Father. I couldn’t help it.”

“What’s got you so worried that you must bite and pick your skin bloody?”

“I was worried about getting married.”

“Sweet one, I won’t let you get married until you are of age. This is just a betrothal.”

“I don’t want to get married, Father, not to someone from the south. I want to stay with Robb in Winterfell.”

Father kissed her hands softly. “I know but this is the path you have been given and you must tread wisely. The Lannisters have always been an ambitious family and I always had my concerns about them. But now with everything that has happened, I cannot allow you or Sansa to marry into that family. You won’t be safe. You must marry either Loras Tyrell or Renly Baratheon. They are the only ones I can think of that aren’t under Cersei’s thumb.”

“How are you going to break Sansa’s betrothal?”

“If I do this right, I may not have to, but if I must, then it will be with great difficulty.”

“If Sansa has to marry Joffrey, then I’ll protect her. If he tries to hurt her, I’ll do him more damage than Nymeria did. I won’t let anything happen to Sansa and if I have to get Arya to run through him with Needle, then I will.”

Father chuckled. “How did I end up with such violent daughters?”

“You didn’t. You ended up with daughters who will do whatever it takes to protect their family.”

Father smiled, a proud look in his eyes. “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“I love you, Father.” Lyarra said, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

Father hugged her back just as fiercely kissed her on the forehead. “I love you too, little wolf.”

Lyarra pulled back from the hug. “Now, I must go. I must make sure that I don’t marry a Lannister.”

Father looked at her fondly. “You’re as determined as your mother.”

Lyarra felt that familiar heartbreak she got whenever she thought about her mother but pushed it away. “I hope she doesn’t mind that I might marry a Tyrell.”

“I think she’d be quite pleased. She always said that Highgarden would suit you. She said that you’d feel at home amongst all those roses. She was joking, mind, but I think she’d be happy regardless. She had always wanted you to marry a southron lord.”

“I hope I can make her proud.”

“You already have.”

Lyarra walked down the steps of the Tower of the Hand with her head held high. She was a wolf of Winterfell and she would cower to no man. She was strong, as strong as her lady mother and lord father. She had the blood of the First Men running through her veins. She was descended from the Kings of Winter and the legendary Brandon the Builder. She was descended from the Tullys who had held Riverrun for a thousand years.

She had strong and noble blood running through her veins. She was a Stark and a Tully and her honour and strength could not be quenched or diminished.

As she walked through the corridors, deep in thought, she was unaware that someone was walking in front of her until they came to a sudden stop and she unceremoniously crashed into them.

Lyarra let out a startled yelp as she tumbled over but strong arms caught her and stopped her from crashing to the ground.

As she was placed back onto her feet, she saw that it was Lord Renly that she had crashed into. He was wearing a rich blue doublet and she noticed that his eyes were as blue as Robert’s were, and not the brilliant shade of green she had saw when they were still on the road.

“Lord Renly, I apologise. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Renly gave her a crooked smile. “It’s no trouble, my lady. I know it wasn’t intentional.”

Lyarra blushed as red as her hair. “Still, I’m very sorry. It wasn’t very nice of me.”

“May I ask what has got you so preoccupied that you didn’t notice I was in front of you?”

“I’m thinking about what my father has just told me.”

“And what has he just told you?”

“The the king wants me to get married.”

Renly laughed. “I didn’t know that my brother was so insistent about these things. He’s always complaining about his own marriage.”

“He suggested the betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa. My father wanted to refuse him but the king was adamant. Sansa was too young to be betrothed in my father’s opinion but he couldn’t deny the king, I suppose. And he wants to join our families in matrimony, like it should have been years ago.

“Don’t tell me he’s suggesting you marry Tommen because that would be a step too far. He’s only seven.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Ah, he’s suggesting you marry a Lannister. My condolences, my lady. The Lannisters are a hard lot to deal with.”

Lyarra shook her head. “My father says that the king wouldn’t suggest a Lannister unless he let Cersei decide.”

“And is he going to do that?”

“He might. He was going to let the direwolf incident go until that woman whispered her poison.”

Renly sighed. “My goodsister is a poisonous old bitch. I’m surprised that my brother hasn’t drunk himself into an early grave having to put up with that woman. I’m sorry about your sister’s wolf.”

“Nymeria could have ripped Joffrey’s arm off if she wanted to. She was just giving him a warning by biting his arm. She was just protecting Arya and Lady wasn’t even there. And even if she was, I doubt she would have bitten Joffrey. She was the sweetest one of the wolves. She wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

“Do you not have your own wolf?”

“I do. I left her back in Winterfell. She’s watching over Bran for me.”

“Bran is your brother that fell, isn’t he? Robert told me about that. He said he was lucky to still be alive.”

“Bran is so sweet. He likes everyone and always had a smile for you. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“It must be hard being away from him.”

“It is. I miss him every day. I think my father is taking it the hardest. I see him late at night, unable to sleep. I think he regrets having to leave him behind. If it was up to him, then we never would have left Winterfell, not after Bran’s fall anyway.”

“I’m sure your wolf is taking good care of him.”

Lyarra smiled. “She is and he’s got his own wolf to look after him. His name’s Summer.”

“What’s your wolf called?”

“Her name is Winter.”

“After your house words?”

“Yes.”

“I see you’re very proud of being a Stark. You always wear your house colours and I see you’re wearing a belt with your sigil.”

“I’m proud of who I am and I’m not afraid to let the Lannisters see it.”

“Ah, so this is you showing Cersei that you’re a Stark through and through.”

“Well, partly. I usually always wear my house colours. I’m not just a Stark though. I’m a Tully too and sometimes I wear my mother’s house colours.”

“You’ve certainly got the Tully look.”

“But the Stark eyes.”

“Yes.”

“I get that a lot, Lord Renly. It’s always the first thing people notice about me.”

“And they overlook how smart you are, I’m sure?”

Lyarra frowned. “How did you know that?”

“Ser Loras told me how smart you were. He told me that you’ve been reading on your own since you were four.”

“I didn’t realise you and Loras were so close.”

“He was my squire a few years ago and we’ve been close ever since.”

“That’s so sweet. My brother Robb has always been close with my father’s ward, Theon, even though my mother doesn’t trust him.”

“And what do you think of him?”

“He’s alright.”

Renly chuckled. “Robb is your twin brother, isn’t he? I imagine it must be difficult being away from him.”

Lyarra sighed, her eyes turning sad. “Yes, I miss him very much. This is the first time we’ve been separated before. We even shared a cradle, even though there were two. We liked being close together as babies and that has never changed. We used to sleep in the same bed until my mother put a stop to it after I flowered.”

“I’m on my way to see Loras, my lady. Would you like to come with me? I’m sure he’d like to see you. He enjoyed speaking with you.”

“I enjoyed speaking with him as well.”

“Perhaps Loras and I can take your mind off your brother. Loras is good with girls. He has a sister who’s about your age and he always manages to get her to smile when she was upset.”

“I’d like that.”

Renly held out his arm and she took it gratefully. He certainly was handsome with thick shoulder length hair as black as coal and a clean shaven face. He was almost as tall as his kingly brother with the same deep blue eyes that looked green in certain lights. Unlike his brother, he was lean and lithe. Lyarra assumed that this was the Robert her father remembered from her youth and she wondered if he had ever mistook him for his brother. She hoped that Renly didn’t turn out like his brother did, fat and useless.

“Loras told me that I’d like his sister Margaery.” Lyarra commented as they walked through the corridors.

“I think you would. She’s always wanted a sister from what Loras has told me.”

“Does she look like Loras?”

“There are some who say she resembles your late aunt Lyanna.”

“Really?”

“I showed your father her portrait and he didn’t seem to agree.”

Lyarra looked at him in amusement. “My father knew her best so if he says they don’t look alike, then I dare say that they don’t. She looks like my sister Arya, according to my father.”

“But Lyanna was beautiful.”

“My sister is pretty when she’s not covered in mud or cuts and bruises.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“I’ve only ever seen Lyanna’s statue down in the crypt. There’s no portraits of her in the castle. It’s hard to tell what she really looked like from a statue. She would have had brown hair and grey eyes and I think her hair was straight. She loved winter roses and she had what my father calls the wolf blood.”

“My brother still talks about her.”

“They were betrothed and she was stolen away from him. Of course he still thinks about her and I wouldn’t blame him for doing so with a wife like Cersei.”

“You really hate her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. What she did was unforgivable.”

“Who would you like to marry?”

“No one if I can help it.”

Renly laughed. “I feel the same way.”

“My sister Sansa can’t wait to get married. She wants to have Joffrey’s babies. I scoffed and told her how romantic it must be to get imprisoned in a castle and made to squeeze out heirs. She didn’t get the point I was trying to make.”

“I’m surprised your sister likes my nephew so much. I’ve always found him to be too much like his mother for my taste.”

“I quite agree but my sister is taken by the songs. She thinks that Joffrey will be her Florian.”

“And you don’t want a Florian of your own, my lady?”

“Oh, please call me Lyarra. I don’t like formalities.”

Renly grinned. “Then call me Renly.”

“Alright, Renly.”

“So you don’t want a Florian then, Lyarra?”

“No, I don’t. I doubt he’s even real.”

“You don’t think he’s real?”

“I don’t think the story is as romantic as they make it out to be. He spied on Jonquil when she was bathing. Men aren’t allowed entry there. It’s hardly romantic spying on someone like that. Besides Maester Luwin says it’s just a story, a fable.”

“And you trust him?”

“Usually but he said that direwolves were extinct and then my siblings and I all got one.”

“If you got married, would you have Winter brought to you?”

“Of course I would. I want her to protect my children.”

“That’s usually what sworn shields are for.”

“The strength of a direwolf can be matched by no man. I trust my children with no one else.”

“Then your husband must be a strong man. Most would wet themselves at the mere sight of such a beast.”

“Did Lady scare you when you saw her?”

“No.”

Lyarra looked thoughtful. Perhaps Renly would make a good husband after all.

“What is it?” Renly asked, noticing her thoughtful expression.

“Nothing.”

Renly looked suspicious but said nothing as he led her out to the courtyard.

“Where are we going?” She asked curiously.

“Loras is practicing in the training yard today.”

“He was very good in the tourney. Do you think he would have beat the Hound?”

“He’s unhorsed him before.”

Lyarra looked surprised. “Really?”

“Oh yes and he’s unhorsed the Kingslayer as well. Robert nearly pissed himself laughing when it happened and you should have seen the look on Cersei’s face. She couldn’t handle seeing her precious brother lose it seemed and on Joffrey’s name day as well. It was brilliant.”

“Was Tyrion Lannister at this tourney?”

“Of course he was. He’s the queen’s brother. Why do you ask?”

“Did he win anything?”

“No, he lost his winnings because he bet on his brother.”

“So he didn’t win a Valyrian steel dagger?”

“No, I believe Robert won that.”

“Who did it belong to?”

“Littlefinger, I think.”

“Would Robert kill a child?”

“Not unless they were a Targaryen. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I was just curious.”

“I don’t think asking if my brother would kill a child is mere curiosity.” Renly said, looking amused.

“I know what happened to Rhaegar’s children. My father said that he called it war when he called it murder.”

“So who do you think Robert would kill?”

“I couldn’t possibly say but I had to make sure. I need to know if my family is safe.”

“I think you’re safe. I dare say that my brother likes you and your siblings more than he does his own children. Not that I blame him. Joffrey was too much for him to deal with and it put him off his other children.”

“But Tommen and Myrcella are nothing like Joffrey. They’re sweet.”

“They’re still Cersei’s children, a woman he hates.”

“I suppose so.”

When they got to the training yard, Loras spotted them right away and his eyes lit up. He said something to the man he was training with before running over to them.

“Renly, Lyarra, how wonderful to see you.”

Lyarra smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Loras.”

“And you. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Well, I bumped into Renly and he told me he was coming down to see you so I thought I’d join him.”

“And what are you doing here, my lord? Have you come to spar with me?” Loras asked teasingly.

“I told you to stop calling me that. You’re not my squire anymore and we’ve been friends for a long time.”

Loras grinned. “Yes, we’re very good friends, aren’t we?”

Renly grinned back. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

If Lyarra didn’t know any better, then she would have said that Loras and Renly were flirting with each other. She shook away the thought as quickly as it had sprung to her mind. Even if Loras and Renly were flirting, then it was none of her business and surely they wouldn’t do it in public and with witnesses.

Not that they had to worry about her knowing if they were. She didn’t care who people desired. There was nothing wrong with desiring and loving someone of the same gender. Besides she had had some unsavoury thoughts about women herself so she didn’t care if Loras and Renly were flirting.

“I like your dress, Lyarra.” Loras complimented.

Lyarra startled a little but shook it off. “Thank you, Loras. I made it myself.”

Renly’s eyes widened in surprise. “You made this yourself?”

“I did. My mother taught me and my sisters how to make our own dresses. Arya didn’t take to it but Sansa and I have been making our own dresses ever since. Well, most of them. The more elaborate ones are made by others.”

“Is that weirwood leaf embroidery?” Loras asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why did you choose to embroider that specifically?”

“Because weirwood trees are sacred to us. The children of the forest carved faces into them and the old gods watch us through these faces. We call them heart trees and we get married and take oaths under these trees because it is said to be impossible to tell a lie in the presence of one. We say our prayers to these trees instead of in a sept, although my father had one built for my mother and we were taught to pray there as well.”

“You follow both the old gods and the new?”

“Yes but mostly the old gods since I was raised in the north.”

“Would you raise your children to follow both?”

“Of course I would.”

“What are the old gods like?” Loras asked curiously.

“They are nameless and numerous. Weirwoods are sacred to them and they watch us through them. They only have power through these trees and so they have little power here in the south. They know when you’re telling a lie, which is why you can’t lie in front of a weirwood tree. The First Men started worshipping them after the Pact. The laws of hospitality are sacred and if you break them, you invoke the wrath of the gods. Incest, slavery and kinslaying are offensive and prayers to the gods are done in silence. You worship in the godswood alone or with family. Animals are not allowed to enter. It is very different from the Faith of the Seven.”

“In what way?” Renly asked.

“Well, there are no priests or holy texts or songs of worship. It is a folk religion that is passed down from generation to generation. Marriage ceremonies are short and have no priests.”

“What’s a wedding like?”

“It all happens under the heart tree. The bride’s father escorts her there. The bride always wears a shade of white. The bride and groom stand in front of the weirwood tree and the identity of the bride, the groom and the person giving her away is said. Then the bride is asked to accept her husband and upon her agreement, the bride and groom join hands, kneel before the heart tree and bow their heads in front of it. After a moment of silent prayer, they rise and the groom removes the maiden cloak and places his cloak on her shoulders. He then carries her to the feast in his arms. After the feast comes the bedding and after that day, the two are married until death separates them. Marriage vows said at sword point, whether literal or figuratively, are not valid.”

“And you bury your dead in a crypt?”

“Yes, all members of House Stark are buried in the crypts below Winterfell, although only the Lord of Winterfell gets a statue carved in his likeness. My father made an exception for his brother and sister and so they’ve got their own statues.”

“So you follow the Seven?”

“I do.”

“Isn’t it confusing following two different religions?”

“No, not really. There are similarities too.”

“How so?” Renly asked.

Before Lyarra could answer, Septa Mordane came running up to them, her face frantic.

Lyarra put a comforting hand on her bony arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Your sister is missing.” Septa Mordane said, clearly out of breath.

“Arya?”

“Of course Arya! Who else would disobey your father  and go beyond where she’s allowed?”

Lyarra sighed. “She’s gone beyond the castle gates?”

“Jory and the other guards can’t find her anywhere. Your father is beside himself with worry.”

“Should I go looking for her?”

Septa Mordane shook her head. “No, your father doesn’t want you to get lost next.”

“Where’s Sansa?”

“In her rooms where she’s safe. I suggest that you go there now.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the Sept to pray for your sister’s safe return.”

“Does the Lord Hand need more guards out looking for his daughters?” Renly asked.

At Renly’s words, Septa Mordane seemed to realise that she wasn’t alone and she pursed her lips in disapproval.

“Lyarra Stark, what are you doing out here alone with two strange men?”

Lyarra frowned. “They are not strange men. They’re my friends.”

“You are an unmarried woman. It is unseemly for you to be alone with men.”

Lyarra crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “And will that change once I’m married?”

Septa Mordane huffed. “I can’t tell you what to do when you’re married. That’s your husband’s job.”

Lyarra rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have prayers to be saying?”

Septa Mordane, remembering her duties, turned around and stormed off in the direction of the Royal Sept.

Renly laughed. “Well, isn’t she a ray of sunshine?”

Loras joined in the laughter. “How do you put up with her, Lyarra? She’s grumpier than my grandmother.”

“I have to put up with her. She’s my septa. Hopefully she’ll die before Robb’s children have to suffer her.”

“And what about your children?”

“Hopefully far away from her.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to look for your sister?” Renly asked. “I can get some of my guards to look for her.”

Lyarra smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Renly, but I’m sure my father’s guards will find her. They know all the places she likes to hide.”

“Would you like to watch me train?” Loras asked.

“Perhaps another time. I should go and see my father. I’m sure he’s worried about me now that Arya is missing.”

Loras nodded. “Would you like me to escort you back?”

“I can do that, Loras. You get back to your training.” Renly said.

“You could both walk me back, if you’d like.”

And that was how Lyarra found herself in the middle of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell, one hand tucked under one of their arms.

“I hope your future husband will stay at court, Lyarra. It would be a shame to lose you so soon.” Renly said.

Loras looked confused at that. “What future husband? I didn’t know you were betrothed, Lyarra.”

“Not yet but the king has ordered my father to find a match for me.”

“And who is the lucky man your father has picked?” Loras asked.

“No one yet. He’s letting me decide.”

“Have you got anyone in mind?”

“Perhaps.”

They reached the door of the Tower of the Hand where Fat Tom was stood guarding.

“Hello, Tom.”

“Lady Lyarra, your father will be pleased you are back.”

“Has my sister been found yet?”

“Not yet, my lady. Your father is in his solar if you wish to speak to him.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

Lyarra turned to Renly and Loras. “Thank you for escorting me. I hope to see you both again soon.”

Both Loras and Renly wished her the same and she gave them a smile before heading up the steps of the tower.

Father was alone in his solar, bent over a huge old book with cracked yellow pages. It was a great thick tome, bound between faded leather covers. She wondered what her father could possibly want with such a book.

“Father?”

 Father turned to look at her, the oil lamp giving his face a soft glow. “Lyarra, I expected you back earlier.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I was busy talking to Ser Loras and Lord Renly.”

“Ah, I see. Have you made your decision then?”

Before Lyarra could answer, Harwin and Fat Tom escorted Arya into the room.

Lyarra gasped and knelt down to pull Arya into a hug. Her sister was dirty and her clothes a little more torn than they were yesterday, but otherwise she was safe and well.

Father dismissed Harwin and Fat Tom after he had listened to the former’s report. Lyarra stood up and noticed the stern look on her father’s face.

“You realise I had half my guard out searching for you?” Father asked once they were alone. “Septa Mordane is beside herself with fear. She’s in the Sept praying for your safe return. Arya, you know you are never to go beyond the castle gates without my leave.”

“I didn’t go out the gates.” Arya blurted. “Well, I didn’t mean to. I was down in the dungeons, only they turned into this tunnel. It was all dark, and I didn’t have a torch or a candle to see by, so I had to follow. I couldn’t go back the way I came on account of the monsters. Father, they were talking about killing you! Not the monsters, the two men. They didn’t see me, I was being still as stone and quiet as a shadow, but I heard them. They said you had a book and a bastard and if one Hand could die, why not a second? Is that the book? Jon’s the bastard, I bet.”

“Jon? Arya, what are you talking about? Who said this?”

“They did.” Arya said. “There was a fat one with rings and a forked yellow beard, and another in mail and a steel cap, and the fat one said they had to delay but the other one told him he couldn’t keep juggling and the wolf and the lion were going to eat each other and it was a mummer’s farce.” She tried to remember the rest. She hadn’t quite understood everything she’d heard, and now it was all mixed up in her head. “The fat one said the princess was with child. The one in the steel cap, he had the torch, he said that they had to hurry. I think he was a wizard.”

“A wizard.” Father said, unsmiling. “Did he have a long white beard and tall pointed hat speckled with stars?”

“No! It wasn’t like Old Nan’s stories. He didn’t look like a wizard, but the fat one said he was.”

“I warn you, Arya, if you’re spinning this thread of air—”

No, I told you, it was in the dungeons, by the place with the secret wall. I was chasing cats, and well . . . ” Arya screwed up her face.  “ . . . well, I went in this window. That’s where I found the monsters.”

“Monsters and wizards.” Father said. “It would seem you’ve had quite an adventure. These men you heard, you say they spoke of juggling and mummery?”

“Yes.” Arya admitted. “only—”

Arya, they were mummers,” Father said. “There must be a dozen troupes in King’s Landing right now, come to make some coin off the tourney crowds. I’m not certain what these two were doing in the castle, but perhaps the king has asked for a show.”

“No.” Arya shook her head stubbornly. “They weren’t—”

“You shouldn’t be following people about and spying on them in any case. Nor do I cherish the notion of my daughter climbing in strange windows after stray cats. Look at you, sweetling. Your arms are covered with scratches. This has gone on long enough. Tell Syrio Forel that I want a word with him —”

Father was interrupted by a short, sudden knock.

“Lord Eddard, pardons.” Desmond called out, opening the door a crack. “But there’s a black brother here begging audience. He says the matter is urgent. I thought you would want to know.” 

“My door is always open to the Night’s Watch,” Father said.

Desmond ushered the man inside. He was stooped and ugly, with an unkempt beard and unwashed clothes, yet Father greeted him pleasantly and asked his name.

“Yoren, as it please m’lord. My pardons for the hour.” He bowed to Arya and Lyarra. “And this must be your son and daughter. They have your look.”

Lyarra smiled. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m a girl.” Arya said, exasperated. “Do you know my brothers?” She asked excitedly. “Robb and Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon’s on the Wall. Jon Snow, he’s in the Night’s Watch too, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger yet? I’m Arya Stark.” 

The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her sister oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking. “When you ride back to the Wall, would you bring Jon a letter if I wrote one?”

“My daughter often forgets her courtesies.” Father said with a faint smile that softened his words. “I beg your forgiveness, Yoren. Did my brother Benjen send you?”

“No one sent me, m’lord, saving old Mormont. I’m here to find men for the Wall, and when Robert next holds court, I’ll bend the knee and cry our need, see if the king and his Hand have some scum in the dungeons they’d be well rid of. You might say as Benjen Stark is why we’re talking, though. His blood ran black. Made him my brother as much as yours. It’s for his sake I’m come. Rode hard, I did, near killed my horse the way I drove her, but I left the others well behind.”

“The others?”

Yoren spat. “Sellswords and freeriders and like trash. That inn was full o’ them, and I saw them take the scent. The scent of blood or the scent of gold, they smell the same in the end. Not all o’ them made for King’s Landing, either. Some went galloping for Casterly Rock, and the Rock lies closer. Lord Tywin will have gotten the word by now, you can count on it.”

Father frowned. “What word is this?”

Yoren eyed Lyarra and Arya. “One best spoken in private, m’lord, begging your pardons.”

As you say. Desmond, see my daughters to their chambers.” He kissed both of them on the brow. “We’ll finish our talk on the morrow.” He said to Arya.

Lyarra walked away willingly but Arya stood rooted to the spot. “Nothing bad’s happened to Jon, has it?” She asked Yoren. “Or Uncle Benjen?”

“Well, as to Stark, I can’t say. The Snow boy was well enough when I left the Wall. It’s not them as concerns me.”

Desmond took Arya’s hand. “Come along, milady. You heard your lord father.”

Arya reluctantly left with him and Lyarra followed them out. She didn’t pay attention to what Arya was saying. And when they stopped at Arya’s chambers and her sister asked her if she believed what she had said, Lyarra said yes without knowing what she had just said yes to.

When she was sure that the black brother had left, Lyarra returned to her father’s solar and said “I’ve made my decision. I’ll marry either Ser Loras or Lord Renly, and only them.”

Father looked up from the old book and gathered her onto his lap, nodding his head and kissing her hair over and over again.

Lyarra snuggled into his embrace, knowing that very soon she wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Father left for a small council meeting right after they had eaten breakfast so Lyarra didn’t have the chance to talk to him about her betrothal.

“Are you continuing your lessons today?” Lyarra asked Arya.

Arya grinned. “I am.”

“I hope you’re not catching cats. Father doesn’t like that particular lesson.”

“We’re done with cats. I’m learning how to balance properly.”

Sansa frowned. “But you already know how to balance.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I know that. I need to learn how to balance with Needle. I have to have perfect balance to be a water dancer.”

Sansa clearly didn’t understand but she nodded anyway.

“Just don’t come back with cuts this time or Father might dismiss Syrio.” Lyarra said.

“He wouldn’t. I need him.”

“Jory could teach you how to use a sword. You don’t need Syrio.”

“But he’s the only one who can teach me how to be a water dancer.”

“Are you sure you want to be a water dancer?”

“I’m sure.”

“If you’re not, then I could get Ser Loras to teach you. He’s brilliant with a sword.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

Arya frowned. “You don’t like anything to do with swords.”

“But Ser Loras is so handsome.”

“He’s Lyarra’s future husband. You can’t say things about him like that anymore.”

“Oh, shut up, Arya.”

“Sansa, don’t be rude. Your father wants you and Arya to stop this behaviour.” Septa Mordane scolded.

“Sorry.”

“Have you two been fighting again?” Lyarra asked.

Sansa shook her head. “No, we haven’t. Not like we did before, anyway.”

“I suggest you keep it that way. Your father was at your wits end with your constant fighting. With the stress he’s under as Hand, he couldn’t take a repeat of your fighting.”

“Septa Mordane is right. We have to be strong for Father. He needs us to be united.”

“What’s wrong with Father?” Arya asked.

“It’s not easy being the Hand of the King, Arya. Even if things are going smoothly, then it’s still a lot of work, stressful work. The Hand helps the king rule and that’s a difficult job.” Lyarra explained.

“What about the people who are trying to kill him?”

Septa Mordane frowned. “Trying to kill who? What nonsense are you spouting now, Arya?”

“It’s not nonsense!” Arya insisted. “It’s the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” Septa Mordane asked.

Lyarra frowned. “Is this about the two mummers you were talking about? The ones in the dungeons?”

“They weren’t mummers!”

“Then what were they?”

“One was a wizard.”

Lyarra sighed. “Wizards aren’t real, Arya.”

“This one is real. He was talking to the man with the forked beard. They said if one Hand could die, then another could too. They said that the wolf and the lion would eat each other. They want to kill Father!”

“You don’t know that, Arya.” Lyarra said soothingly.

“But I do! They said he had a book and a bastard and that he would die soon!”

“They were mummers, Arya. Father said so.”

“Why would they be talking in the dungeons if they were mummers?”

“Mayhap they were practicing their show for the king.” Septa Mordane said.

“What if that’s just an excuse to kill Father?”

“They have no reason to kill him.”

“But-”

“Arya, stop this nonsense at once!” Septa Mordane snapped. “No one is trying to kill your father. Stop saying such things.”

Lyarra put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Arya. Father is perfectly safe here. Now, run along to your lesson. I’m sure that Syrio is already waiting for you.”

Arya shot her a grin before running off.

“Will you stay and embroider with me?” Sansa asked.

Lyarra smiled. “Of course I will.”

Lyarra moved to sit with Sansa, Septa Mordane sitting and keeping an eye on them.

“Why don’t you embroider something for Ser Loras?” Sansa asked with bright eyes.

“We’re not betrothed yet.”

Sansa frowned. “But you told Father that you wanted to marry him.”

“How do you know that? I only told Father.”

“I saw you leaving your chambers and followed you.”

Lyarra frowned. “You were spying on us?”

Sansa blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”

“Being curious is no excuse for eavesdropping, young lady.” Septa Mordane scolded. “It’s very unladylike to listen in on private conversations. You were raised with better manners.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve agreed to marry Loras Tyrell.” Septa Mordane said.

“I have but it’s not official yet. Father hasn’t had the chance to talk to the king or Ser Loras about it.”

Sansa smiled. “I’m sure Ser Loras will agree to marry you. You’re very beautiful and kind. He’d be lucky to have you as a wife.”

Lyarra smiled back. “Thank you, sweet sister.”

“So are you going to make something for Ser Loras?” Sansa asked.

“I don’t know. What would I make him?”

“You could make him a favour. He could wear it at future tourneys to bring him luck, not that he needs it. He’s already brilliant.”

“I think he would like that.”

“So make him one. You can put golden roses on it and surround it with wolves. A perfect symbol of your marriage.”

“I’m sure it would please him.” Septa Mordane said.

“But the betrothal isn’t official yet.”

“But it will be.”

Lyarra sighed. “He might not want to marry me, Sansa.”

Sansa frowned in confusion. “Why wouldn’t he want to marry you? You’re perfect. He’s perfect. You’re a match made in the seven heavens.”

“No one is perfect, sweet sister.”

“It would be in the Tyrells’ best interest to accept the proposal, Lyarra.” Septa Mordane said. “You are the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell and the Hand of the King. Your grandfather is the Lord of Riverrun. One day your brother and uncle will inherit these titles. You have two powerful houses behind you for as long as you live.”

“Loras is the third son. I doubt they’d be focused on who he marries right now. I hear that the heir, Willas, is still unmarried.”

“And yet they married the second son to a daughter of the Fossoways. Marriages are marriages, Lyarra. It doesn’t matter if the eldest isn’t married. It’s about cultivating alliances through marriage. If they can get you as a gooddaughter, then I doubt the Tyrells will care which son you marry.”

“I wonder what Highgarden is like.” Sansa breathed, a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Loras has told me that it’s very beautiful. There are fields of golden roses as far as the eye can see and there’s beautiful groves and fountains and courtyards within the walls. He told me that he and his sister Margaery would get lost in the briar maze as children. He said that I would love the godswood there. There are three weirwood trees, said to have been planted by Garth Greenhand, and they are so entwined that they look like one tree but with three trunks. They call them the Three Sisters.”

Sansa’s face shone with delight. “Oh, how wonderful. It sounds like such a magical place.”

“Loras says that once you visit Highgarden, you never want to leave.”

“Will you let me visit you there once you’re married?”

Lyarra smiled. “Of course I will. I could never be without you for too long. I’d miss you too much.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Highgarden isn’t too far away from King’s Landing. It should be easy enough for both of you to visit each other.” Septa Mordane said.

“And Arya. I want her to visit me as well.”

“If she can behave herself.”

Lyarra sighed. “Arya is not a feral animal, Sansa. She is capable of behaving herself.”

“I’m sure she’ll be on her best behaviour at Highgarden.” Septa Mordane agreed.

“Will you bring Winter to Highgarden.”

“I will if the Tyrells don’t mind.”

“And what if they do mind?” Sansa asked.

“Then I won’t accept the betrothal.”

“It won’t be possible for you to do that, I’m afraid.” Septa Mordane sighed. “Once a betrothal is made, then it can’t be broken.”

“That’s why I’m going to ask Father to tell them that I will only accept the betrothal if Winter is allowed to come with me.”

“Will Winter even like Highgarden?” Sansa asked. “It’s very different from Winterfell.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy being wherever you are.” Septa Mordane assured.

“I hope so.”

The door swung open and shut and Desmond entered the solar.

Lyarra smiled at him in greeting. “Hello, Desmond.”

Desmond bowed his head. “Lady Lyarra, Lady Sansa.”

“What brings you here? Does Father need us?” Lyarra asked.

“No, I have a visitor here to see you, Lady Lyarra.”

“Oh. Who is it?”

“Loras Tyrell. He is asking to speak with you. Should I let him in, my lady?”

“Yes, Desmond. Send him in at once.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Desmond left the solar and a few minutes later, Loras Tyrell came in, a bright grin on his face.

“Hello, Loras. It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Lyarra.” He looked at Sansa. “This must be your sister. You look like twins.”

Sansa beamed. “I’m Sansa. It’s nice to see you again, Ser Loras. You jousted beautifully. I’m sorry you didn’t win the tourney.”

“That is alright, Lady Sansa. You can’t win them all.”

“Have you won before? I’m sure you have. You’re absolutely brilliant.” Sansa gushed.

“I have won before. I won the tourney the king held for Prince Joffrey’s twelfth nameday.”