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vampirepirates · 1 month ago

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THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

CHAPTER FIVE - WINTER IS COMING.

every time, i'd burn through the world — i'd see

that the world, it burns through me.

Between raising two children, training to become a better swordsman, and managing her duties as a lady — Lyarra had very little time to herself. If she wasn't with one of her own, she was looking after one of the other Stark children for Eddard and Catelyn. Since Gogni's death, she hadn't once left Winterfell. Even traveling down that train of thought had her seizing with fear. Instead, she spent her nights practicing her work with a blade.

Reyne was seemingly growing taller by the minute. Her blonde locks reached down to her belly button by now, with similarly blonde lashes — almost a mirror image of the red-haired boy from years before. Initially, her appearance had caused a stir within the castle. Eddard had questioned her ceaselessly, but Lyarra never answered any of his inquiries. Similarly to when he had returned with Jon, she only told him that she couldn't answer him truthfully — pleading with him to not ask her to do so. Eventually, the man conceded. His wife did no such thing, however Lyarra paid her no mind. Reyne would be raised under Lyarra's care. In her eyes, she was a Stark — but neither she nor Jon would ever be able to take the name. Once she was old enough, it was decided that she would be given a job as a handmaiden. Lyarra argued that Reyne should be treated as her own daughter, and that she should not have to work to stay — but she had pushed her luck far enough already, and Eddard wouldn't do much more than blink at her. She had no Stark blood within her, unlike Jon.

The two were thick as thieves from the moment that Lyarra brought her home. The gap between the two was minimal, and it was evident in the way they treated one another as equals. Jon quickly accepted Reyne as his family, as she did with him. It was oddly reminiscent of Lyarra's own relationship with Benjen, and the thought forced a bittersweet feeling to course through her. Benjen had returned only thrice now, and each time he waited at the gate for Jon to come running. He'd accepted Reyne into his heart as easily as Jon had, and had taken to picking the girl up and spinning her each time he saw her. As much as seeing her brother overjoyed Lyarra, she couldn't help the beat of trepidation each time she watched him speak with Jon. More than once now, he'd brought up the Night's Watch to her. He was still too young to be a member now, a thought that calmed her ever-so-slightly, but one could see his own anticipation building. He wanted to be like his Uncle Benjen, and Lyarra couldn't fault him for that — but that didn't make dealing with the fact any easier.

While Lyarra was glad to see Jon have a friend — have family, even — other than Robb, it was growing increasingly evident that he wasn't any less of an outsider. He still longed to be Ned's true-born son, something that conflicted, as well as saddened her in equal measure. She viewed Jon as her own, and had since the moment he'd been placed in her arms. She knew in her heart that he wasn't hers, but to see him long to be someone else's entirely was not an easy thing for her to accept. Lyarra did her best to appease to her brother, coaxing him into allowing Jon into more familial settings. While Jon was never allowed to sit by the family at feasts, she herself would place herself next to him. It was torturous for Lyarra, watching the boy so desperately try to be a part of a family that he wasn't made for.

Beyond Jon and Theon, Lyarra was not particularly close with any of the Stark children. They were her kin, so she had always had love for them. But, she'd never struck a proper bond with the rest. Robb was too eager, a trait that only Jon had been able to match. Oftentimes when the two sparred, she would stand at Theon's side — critiquing their form. Robb had brushed off her advice more than once, but Jon would always correct himself — listening to each word. Sansa, from the moment she was born, was meant to be a lady. She welcomed the fact with pride, something that Lyarra herself had never been able to do. Within a few years, it had been decided that Reyne would be her handmaiden. Initially, the two hadn't gotten along-- which came as no surprise to Lyarra, considering Sansa's other relationships with the 'help'. But overtime, the two grew closer than she'd expected. Sansa hadn't seem to have accepted Reyne into the family by any means, but the two were good friends — close enough that she allowed Reyne to travel with her wherever they went.

It wasn't until the birth of Arya, that Lyarra found herself developing a true bond with one of the Stark children. Arya was the brasher, more cunning version of Lyanna Stark. There was a boundless list of similarities between the two, and yet Lyarra still felt as if she had never met someone like Arya. From the moment she was old enough, she wanted to learn to swing a blade. Jon had been hesitant, afraid of causing her any kind of harm — but Lyarra was more than willing.

Initially, Eddard had advised against it. He and Catelyn knew that Arya was also meant to be a lady of the court. Yet, in true fashion, Lyarra did nothing to heed his words. She only agreed to not allow Arya a true sword, instead promising to teach her with a wooden blade. Additionally, the two only ever practiced at night — just before Arya was meant to take herself to bed. Sometimes Jon would oversee their movements, chiming in to assist his sister. Other times, Eddard would watch from a distance — smiling softly in his own secretive way that Lyarra had come to know all too well.

Arya, similar to Robb, had never seemed to look at Jon differently for being a 'bastard.' The day that she'd learned what it meant, she had laughed in Lyarra's face. In her eyes, Jon was her brother — whether they shared the same mother, or no.

Catelyn, however, was a complicated figure. Lyarra sympathized with the woman, and tried to reach out to her more than once after the death of Brandon. Initially it had seemed as if Lyarra's connection with Jon had established resentment within Catelyn, however the woman did her best to maintain a connection between the two. More often than not, she would request Lyarra's assistance with the children — even if just to sit with her while she watched them. Lyarra longed to be closer with her, even if just to have a sister again. But their differences were too great. Again, she couldn't help but wonder how different things would have been if she had married Edmure Tully as she was meant to.

The birth of Brandon 'Bran' Stark served to surprise Lyarra further. The boy was even more adventurous than she had been at his age, often climbing whatever it was that he could find. She had half the heart to tell him of the clearing beyond the woods, before thinking better of it. Bran, who was hardly reminiscent of his namesake, had come to Lyarra more than once in the middle of the night — as if he knew he wouldn't be waking her from her slumber. He'd spend hours asking her about the world that she knew, asking her to tell him anything she could think of. Lyarra would spin her own stories more often than not, but there were a few times that she would tell the boy of the tales she'd heard with the Free Folk. Since she had fled from the camp, Lyarra never once mentioned any of their names. She wouldn't speak of any of it, not even to Reyne. When Bran had questioned where she'd heard the 'story of a man who had suckled at the teat of a Giant', Lyarra only shrugged — pushing him out of her chambers with a light smile.

More often than not, Jon had found himself in her chambers as of late as well. His nightmares had been more frequent than ever, resulting in him pounding on her door in the middle of the night. By the third time it'd happened, Lyarra had learned to leave her door open a fraction — if only to save herself from the harrowing sound of his loud knocking. Every night since Jon could remember, he dreamt of a girl with hair so blonde it could've been white — with eyes of a violet hue, and a snow-white complexion. In Jon's eyes, it didn't appear to be a dream — on either side. The girl had seemed to notice him as well, though she never told him her name. Lyarra had never heard of someone sharing dreams, and had half the mind to question Maester Luwin — if not for Jon begging for her secrecy. He did not want the girl to go away, as if he was scared of what it meant.

The Stark children had seemed to age at a speed beyond Lyarra's control. Before she knew it, Bran was standing tall at her hip — with Robb and Jon towering over her. Even Sansa had almost reached her in stature by now, though Arya seemed to have no such luck.

Lyarra watched from the stone window of her chambers, as the boys helped Brandon nock his arrows. Eddard and Catelyn were also watching from the platform above the group, and she observed as they had warm smiles of their own. Each time, Bran had missed. Lyarra herself had never been proficient with a bow, but the boy barely reached the target itself. Jon, unsurprisingly, stepped forward to assist the boy each time — recommending a different approach whenever Brandon had missed.

She couldn't make out what Jon had said to the boy due to their distance, but when they both turned back to glance at her — Lyarra couldn't help but shoot the boy a supportive grin. Jon matched it with one of his own, patting Bran on the back as the boy turned to the target once more. Again, the boy missed after a moment — and chuckles echoed through the courtyard. Just barely, Lyarra could hear Eddard admonishing the boys — and couldn't help but let out a laugh of her own.

Just as she had begun to settle down, Lyarra watched as an arrow met its mark — finally reaching the center of the target. She'd gone to clap instantly, before noticing the arrow still nocked in Bran's bow. From her spot, she couldn't see where the shot had come from — but after Jon's laugh echoed through the yard again, she could just barely make out Arya's retreating figure, with Bran on her tail.

Lyarra took the chance to make her way down to the yard then, as she watched Ned move from his spot on the platform. Jon hadn't moved an inch, and instead he was cleaning up after the other boys — as Robb was removing the arrows from the target. Lyarra placed her hand on the boy's shoulder, gently notifying him of her presence.

"You saw that, then?" Jon laughed, shaking his head as he replaced the arrows in the basket. Lyarra grinned, watching as the other Stark boys began to argue in the distance. Just barely, she could still make out Arya running in the distance — Bran not far behind her.

"It was hard to miss." Lyarra admitted after a moment, tilting her head as she felt eyes burning into her. There, still above the two on the platform, stood Catelyn. Her glare towards the boy was sharp, the hate within her eyes evident. In an instant, Jon seemed to shrink in on himself. Before she could allow herself to do much else, Lyarra smiled at the woman above them — attempting to placate her nerves. Catelyn, remembering herself, did seem to calm at that — even shooting Lyarra a timid smile of her own, before she marched off.

Lyarra rarely observed her brother's executions, so it came as no surprise when she'd only pulled Jon's furs tighter around him — before stomping off to find the girls. After Arya's stunt earlier, she was nowhere to be seen — but she was able to spot Reyne and Sansa together, as they were sewing something for Septa Mordane. Reyne's smile was instant, while Sansa's eyes only slightly brightened at her arrival.

"Ah, my Lady! You must see Lady Sansa's work. It's simply beautiful. The stitching is near perfect, wouldn't you say?" Septa Mordane clasped her hands as she spoke, the cheerfulness in her tone almost sickening. Lyarra couldn't bring herself to do much more than nod, as she placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. She'd never been very good at sewing herself, a fact that Old Nan had often criticized her for — but she did have to admit, her work was appealing. She stood there for only a moment longer, placing a kiss on the foreheads of the two girls — before she made her way through the castle.

Lyarra had only just made her way back to the yard before she just barely made out the sound of light footsteps. She willed herself to be silent, only taking a short breath before she reached her hand out — plucking the girl up by her furs. Arya grunted, legs swinging wildly in the air. She yelled for the woman to put her down, and after another fit of laughs Lyarra conceded. She was met with Arya's frustrated grin, a sight that only further amused her.

"That's no fair! You're twice my height, and then some. You don't see me kicking your ankles when you walk by, do you?" Arya's complaints were half-nonsense, as she grumbled to herself. Lyarra leaned back to watch the girl ramble in amusement. It was true, the action was unnecessary — and yet each time she had the opportunity, she found herself repeating it. Brandon was too large for her to successfully pick him up any more, which left only Arya for her to terrorize — as Rickon would cry each time she'd tried.

"You're good with a bow. I didn't know you'd been practicing." Came Lyarra's reply after she'd wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. Arya reeled from the sudden topic change, as her arms came to cross themselves across her defensively.

"Only when Bran leaves his behind." Arya muttered out, foot still swinging beneath her as she stomped. Lyarra's heart warmed at the sentiment. Had Bran left his bow out and Eddard noticed, the boy would have been admonished to no end. They were taught to have greater respect for their belongings. Arya knew this all too well, and took the opportunity to help both her brother and herself.

The two were interrupted, then, by the sound of the gate creaking open. They made their way to the crowd together, only pausing when they noticed the creatures in the boys hands. Each one held a wolf pup — a direwolf, she'd later come to know. While they were gone, they'd come upon a litter of pups — and Jon, she'd been told, was the one to suggest that each Stark child had one of their own. Robb had named his Grey-Wind, Sansa named her lady, Arya— Nymeria, Brandon— Summer, Rickon— Shaggydog, while Jon named his Ghost. Reyne had been delighted at the sight of the pup, and dashed forward to see him. At that, Ghost had almost cowered further into Jon's arms. From that day on, Jon rarely went anywhere without Ghost at his side. If he had to leave him behind for any reason, Lyarra was likely the one watching him. Reyne took the opportunity to visit more than once, normally when Sansa was at her lessons.

The death of Jon Arryn came suddenly, without warning. Lyarra hadn't known the man well, but she knew of her brother's love for him. She admired the man for protecting her brother — as well as the King — with honor. She'd been beside Eddard at the weirwood tree, when Catelyn had approached. Lyarra had come to the same spot with Eddard more than once, after an execution, as he took the time to collect his thoughts as well as himself. She would never say anything, choosing only to relish her time outside of the castle itself. As Catelyn stepped forward, Lyarra turned herself in the slightest to give the two more space.

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," She'd heard, observing as Catelyn stared wondrously at the tree. She knew the feeling all too well. Although she was a Stark, through and through, she'd felt like an outsider every day of her life. Unlike Catelyn, however, this was one of the only places that she'd felt as if she did belong.

"You have five northern children, you're not an outsider." Came Eddard's eventual reply. After that, Lyarra did her best to tune the two out. She had no part in their talks, and that much was apparent. She pulled her furs tighter around herself, sharpening her own blade as Eddard cleaned his. Lyarra only properly tuned back in, once she'd observed brother's sorrow — silent, but clear as day in the way his brow had pinched. Jon Arryn was dead. Though she'd only remembered Lysa Arryn as the girl who had glared at her in Riverrun, she was thankful to hear that the woman and her boy were alright.

The brunt of the news came after. This time, Catelyn spoke to the two equally — meeting Lyarra's eyes with a gaze filled with sorrow of her own. The King, alongside his family, was riding to Winterfell. With the death of the hand, that could only mean one thing. The realization hadn't seemed to dawn on Ned, as he was too conflicted by his own emotions. Robert was Eddard's best friend, and despite his connection with Lyanna — he had never cared for the man any less. Lyarra, however, despised the man. Since the death of her sister, he'd only become worse in his own grief. The King was known as a drunk with a harsh temper. He married Cersei Lannister not long after the death of Lyanna, and within a few years they'd had their own litter of children.

"If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after." Ned trailed off, staring into the reflection of his sword rather than meeting the gaze of the two women beside him. Lyarra met Catelyn's eyes warily, a fraction of her own fear reminiscent of the other woman's eyes.

"You don't have to agree, Ned." Lyarra all but whispered, as Catelyn had muttered her own words of agreement. The thought of her brother leaving to King's Landing, as Brandon had — as their father had, had her gut churning.

Once they had returned to the castle, Lyarra made her way to Jon within an instant. He'd been perched on a barrel, laughing as Theon demonstrated something vulgar with Robb. She'd seen this same act repeated between the boys more than once. Theon was the oldest of the group, and as such he felt obligated to teach the boys what he knew — more specifically, about the ways of women. When Lyarra had reached the group, she watched as Robb placed his hands on Theon's waist — leaning him towards the ground as if he meant to kiss him. They only stopped when Lyarra let out a light cough, raising her brow at their antics. Robb yanked Theon up with a laugh, patting Jon's back before he walked off. Theon, however, stood there for a moment — wobbling as if he couldn't stand properly. Lyarra could hardly hold back her laughter, as the boy's face was beet red. Robb called after him not long after, and she finally let out a chuckle once she noticed the speed Theon had chased after him. Jon only shook his head before he turned to face her properly

"I didn't mean to interrupt your fun," Lyarra posed the statement as a question, her brow still raised as she observed Jon's expression. He only shrugged, letting out a laugh of his own.

"I promise you, I wasn't the one having fun there." Lyarra couldn't help but agree, as she leaned against a post to look at the boy. Jon was unlike most boys his age. He never spoke of women, and when he did it was never in the way that Theon had. He seemed more interested in them as a concept, than as something to chase after.

"The King is riding for Winterfell. With his family." She told him after a moment, raising her elbows to place herself on a barrel of her own. Jon's eyes widened a bit, but he nodded all the same. He had never met the royal family, a fact that Lyarra herself had been thankful for. Beyond the color of his eyes, Jon appeared to be Lyanna's mirror-image. She could only imagine Robert's reaction when he saw him for the first time.

"You don't sound excited." Jon raised his own eyebrow at her then, tilting his head as if he didn't understand her intentions. Lyarra only shrugged, kicking her foot now that she had a bit of leverage.

"Can't say I have much reason to be. I'll look forward to when they leave, and I no longer have Catelyn up my arse' every minute of every day." Jon's laughter was hesitant, as if he was afraid the woman in question would hear. Lyarra, however, paid that no mind. She spoke freely, a fact that had landed her in trouble more than once. Before she could say another word, a snap of a twig echoed around them — and within a moment, a head of blonde hair timidly approached. Reyne, once noticing who the two were, noticeably relaxed — coming to stand by the two with a light smile of her own.

"What are they like? The Lannisters?" Reyne asked timidly, clutching the ends of her sleeves with her fingers. Lyarra paused at the question, thinking it over. She'd only ever truly met Jaime, and that was years prior. Now, he was a member of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. She'd only seen Cersei from a distance, and had never even met the notorious 'imp' of the family.

"I suppose we'll all find out in the days to come. Now, off to bed with the both of you. We'll all have duties to attend to in the morning, and staying up until the sun rises won't make it any easier." With that, she placed a light kiss on their heads — before making her way to her own chambers. Lyarra did her best to not think the worst, but she dreaded the days to come. If Robert had his way, her brother would be leaving with the family by the end of their visit — no doubt with one of his children in tow. The thought only further sickened Lyarra, and she was only able to escape it once she shut her eyes — a feather pillow harshly placed over head to drown out the light.

The day of the King's arrival came all too soon. Throughout the morning she had been at Ghost's side, marveling at the size of the wolf. It'd only been a few weeks, and yet he was half her size. In the back of her mind, it reminded her of how quickly Jon grew. She only left the beast be when she heard Eddard calling for her. The family lined themselves up, standing in wait by the front gate. Lyarra herself stood on Catelyn's left. If she peaked past the two beside her, she could see Robb, followed by Sansa and Bran. Behind her stood Jory, Theon, and Jon. She longed to be at her boy's side, but Lyarra stood solemnly all the same. Just behind the two boys, she could see Reyne peaking over the crowd. Jon shifted, allowing her to see past him, and the sight brought a smile to her lips before she could control herself. After a moment Arya came barreling through with a helmet on her head. The girl's antics forced a reluctant chuckle from Lyarra's lips, though she was silenced with a glare from Catelyn.

Rickon bristled beside her as the riders approached the family, and Lyarra couldn't help but place a comforting hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. She noticed first, that the King wasn't leading the line. An unsurprising fact, but it left Lyarra to scan over those she could see. In the front was a member of the Kingsguard, though she couldn't see beyond the helmet to further look over who exactly it could be. Behind him, rode a blonde boy — too proud to be anyone other than the prince. Joffrey, then, she decided. Catelyn had described the members of their traveling party in length, and Lyarra only forced herself to listen in order to relay the information to Reyne.

The moment she looked beyond the Prince, Lyarra's breath caught in her throat. Catelyn glanced at her in concern, but she only waved the woman off. There, rode a man with chain-mail armor — with a helm resembling some sort of beast. As he opened his helm in the slightest, Lyarra found herself leaning forward to observe what was underneath it. She was only broken out of her stupor by the sudden movement beside her, as Catelyn tugged her sleeve down to kneel with the rest of the family. King Robert approached then, climbing off of his horse with a hefty grunt.

His stomps could be heard from inside the castle, Lyarra thought to herself. Once Robert motioned for them to stand, Lyarra was the first on her feet. He'd glanced over at her in that moment, eyes widening as he scanned over her features. She had met with Robert a handful of times now, and each time he would pause as if he thought she truly was Lyanna. He seemingly shook himself out of his own shock then, as he only turned back to her brother with a glare.

"You've got fat," Robert claimed after a beat of silence. Eddard only raised his brow, motioning towards the man himself. After another moment of quiet, the two laughed between themselves — hugging with joy that could only be found in reuniting with a loved one. Robert made his way to Catelyn then, pulling her close as well, as if the two were good friends. He paused when he came to stand in front of Lyarra, his smile slipping off of his face — making way for something uncertain. Lyarra forced a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, moving to curtsy in a way unbecoming of herself.

"Your Grace," She greeted, voice tight as she did her best to appear jovial. Robert moved to hug her then, his arms snug around her waist as she was forced to lean into his furs.

"Ah, Lyarra. As beautiful as ever." Lyarra could hardly hold back the flash of disgust that bled through her, but she held her head high as ever. The man moved from her then, ruffling Rickon's hair before standing beside the other children. She'd glanced back at Jon, meeting his worried glance with a smile that she could only hope was convincing.

As a woman with hair as blonde as the mane of a Lion stepped out of the carriage, Lyarra realized then that she could only be one person. Cersei Lannister. Her features were all too similar to that of Jaime's, though she could only vaguely recall them. She was beautiful, and carried herself in a way that Lyarra was certain she knew it. After a moment, more children climbed out as well. They all appeared to be smaller copies of herself, none even slightly resembling Robert Baratheon's round features. True lions, Lyarra thought to herself. She watched as the King made his way through the other Stark children, greeting them each with separate comments.

She only stopped when the Kingsguard from before reached to remove his helmet, releasing a pile of golden locks. In an instant, Lyarra knew it was Jaime Lannister. He'd grown ten-fold since last she'd seen him, and yet his eyes were just as youthful as they had been before. She found herself growing concerned on whether he would recognize her — or even remember her, for that matter — after all this time. Her concerns were only buried when he met her eyes from across the yard, his gaze sparkling with familiarity. She smiled at him then, eyes conveying a message that only he could understand. Similar to before, amusement flooded into his expression as he communicated with her through glances alone. All at once, he shut himself off — moving to stand behind the Queen, as Cersei turned to look in confusion. Following her brother's gaze, she met Lyarra's eyes with distrust. Lyarra forced herself to smile at the woman, doing her best to not shrink at her intensity. This seemed to do nothing to placate her, however she approached nonetheless.

Cersei held out an expectant hand to Eddard, as he leaned to kiss her hand. With the woman distracted, Lyarra turned to catch Jaime's gaze again — but he was all-too focused on the ground beneath him. She had no doubt that she wouldn't get the chance to even speak with him until later. Cersei came to stand in front of her then, moving into her line of sight with another curious glance.

"My queen," She greeted, curtsying as Catelyn had. Cersei lingered for a moment, scanning over Lyarra in a way that only further discomforted the woman. After a moment, she'd stepped away — giving Lyarra the chance to take a breath. She took the time to search for the man with the beast-shaped helm again, furrowing her brow as she came to notice that he was already looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment too long. He seemed familiar, in a way that she could not quite decipher. Lyarra was certain she hadn't met the man before, and yet his eyes glimmered in a way that she knew all too well. Before she had the chance to further investigate the man, she was interrupted by her brother stepping away from the group.

She shot him an inquisitive look, bordering on concern, but Eddard only smiled back at her — in a way that had not truly met his eyes. Lyarra took a breath then, choosing to listen in on the conversations beside her.

"Where's the imp?" She overheard Arya questioning, her tone expectant as if she had asked the same thing only minutes prior. Lyarra was seemingly not the only one who'd heard, as Cersei then turned to ask Jaime of his whereabouts. He shot Lyarra another quick look before he turned. She took the opportunity to glance over at Jon and Reyne, who almost stood side by side now. Theon, who had previously been at Jon's side, stood just behind Robb. Catelyn shot the two boys wary looks, but they seemed to pay her no mind. Once the group had begun to disperse, Lyarra quickly moved to Jon's side.

The rest of her night was spent preparing for the feast. While most ladies often had a handmaiden to take care of them — and ready them for most occasions, Lyarra had all but refused one. Instead, if she did need any help she would often ask for Reyne's assistance alone. Tonight in particular had been one of those nights. While the girl was braiding Lyarra's hair, Jon sat in the corner — perched on her dresser.

"D'you know Ser Jaime?" Jon questioned after a moment, twirling a dagger in his fingers. The inquiry gave Lyarra pause, and she glanced over at the boy with a raised brow.

"I knew him when we were children, yes. But it's been many years since we last spoke. Why do you ask?" She leaned back, wincing as Reyne tugged on the front of her hair. She liked to avoid these intricate designs when she had the chance, but Catelyn had all but demanded that everyone dress 'properly' for their guests.

"He's sort of beautiful." Jon whispered, trailing off as if he hadn't realized he spoke at all. At Lyarra's inquisitive glance, he grunted — sitting up and placing the dagger beside him. "In the way that all Knights are, I mean. He looks like he fell out of one of Bran's stories."

Lyarra couldn't help the laugh that followed. When she'd first seen Jaime, she'd traveled down a similar train of thought. It was hard to picture a man more perfect than Jaime Lannister. However, when she thought of the man there was far from attraction in her mind. She adored him, but not in the way that she'd felt for Gogni — nor Petyr, for that matter. Still, he was difficult to look away from.

"You were right the first time, I think. He's beautiful." Reyne whispered, curling her hands around Lyarra's locks wistfully. With a sharp look, she returned to her previous movements. Jon's response was an audible chuckle, one that was only interrupted by the distant sound of Catelyn shouting after one of her children. Lyarra sat up then, pulling her furs tighter around herself. She was adorned with a white fur pelt, a red gown trailing down her figure. Jon solemnly nodded as he moved to open the door for her. Jon wasn't to attend the feast at all, while Reyne was not to leave Sansa's side. As they approached the hall, Lyarra paused to kiss Jon's forehead — before entering with Reyne at her side. She took her seat beside Eddard, while Reyne was placed next to Sansa.

The feast itself passed agonizingly slow, as Lyarra had no choice but to mingle with guests. The man with the beast-shaped helm from earlier was nowhere to be found, a fact that only further suited to disappoint her. As she watched Eddard pour himself another drink, her heart only lightened when she heard a familiar voice.

"You two at a feast.." Benjen announced his presence, "It's like a bear in a trap." The sight of her brother instantly filled Lyarra with joy, and she could hardly hold herself back as she jumped into the man's arms. With a grunt, he picked her up with just as much fervor. He only pulled back to pat Ned on the back, before he slung an arm around Lyarra's shoulder.

Rather than meet Benjen with the same level of enthusiasm, Eddard had only forced a light — almost unnoticeable smile, on his lips. Within a moment, he was describing the beheading from earlier. Lyarra allowed herself to tune the two men out, taking the opportunity to peak over her brother's arm and gaze at the crowd. In the center was the King, with a woman on his lap. Beside him, men were cheering — arm in arm.

"Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the walkers, and my brother might be the next Hand to the king." Lyarra allowed herself a light laugh, leaning further into Benjen's arm as he trailed on. "Winter is coming." He'd finished, watching in amusement was Ned let out a laugh of his own.

"Winter is coming." Both she and Eddard repeated, nodding solemnly as the familiar words of their house poured from their lips. She'd said the same words so many times that Lyarra was convinced they'd lost their meaning, but they still held a weight in her chest each time. It was only when Robb approached to greet Benjen, that Lyarra allowed herself to slink away from her brothers.

The bite of the cold air was a welcoming gift as she snuck out of the hall. Lyarra perched herself on a bench, watching as the men walked the ramparts. She'd half expected Jon to be out here when she arrived, but the thought that he'd taken an early night to himself wasn't altogether surprising either. Instead, she relished the chance for comfortable silence — until, of course, that was broken by a sharp voice.

"Ah! The Lady Lyarra Stark. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. The stories do not do you justice, I must say." In truth, Lyarra was growing quite sick of golden-haired men. As the man approached her, she took notice of his stature. There was only one person he could be, due to his height alone.

"You must be Lord Tyrion, then?" She'd greeted, clasping her hands together on the wooden table to capture a bit of warmth. As he came closer, he'd taken her greeting as a warm welcome, placing himself on the bench across from her.

"My, is it that obvious?" He'd questioned, mock-offense littering his tone. For the first time in hours, Lyarra found herself struggling not to grin.

"All you Lannisters have the same hair. It's harder not to point you out." Sarcasm was heavy in her words, and she found herself longing for a drink to hide her smile in. As if he sensed her thought, Tyrion offered his cup of wine — presenting it as if he no longer wanted it. She had half the heart to wave him off, before she'd nodded and took it from his hands.

"Oh, of course. The hair! Not the 'impish' bits, at all."

"I've seen shorter." Lyarra admitted, shrugging as she took another sip of the wine. Her words brought an honest cackle out of the man, loud enough that she had to struggle not to startle where she sat. After she'd calmed, she found a giggle building its way in her chest.

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

Lyarra only guffawed at his words, glancing longingly down at the now-empty cup of wine. As Tyrion noticed her now solemn state, he let out his own roar of laughter. Within minutes, the two were leaning against the table with tears in their eyes.

"You two sound like a couple of fucking' drunks." A voice called out, then, harsh stomps following. It sounded distantly familiar, yet it was harsher than anything she'd heard in years. Lyarra forced herself to look up, taking in the large man's form. It was the man from earlier, who now only carried the helm in the crevice of his arm. Due to the lack of light in the yard, she couldn't properly see his face.

"Takes a drunk to know a drunk, Clegane." Tyrion's words shot a chill through Lyarra's body, and although the effects of the liquor began to take hold of her — she forced her eyes to narrow on the man's features. The name Clegane was familiar, forcing Lyarra to return back to years prior. To Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal. She remembers the fear in her heart as Gregor Clegane approached her, and then the overwhelming relief as she was saved by a smaller boy. One with burns littering his cheek, and eyes that appeared to stare back at her in this very moment. The man in front of her was the boy she'd been longing to find all throughout the tourney, Lyarra realized suddenly. The thought was almost sobering, but his glare was enough to muddle her brain.

The man before her seemed harsher than the boy who had come to her aid. His glare was heavy, though if she looked close enough — into the light of familiarity she had seen before in his eyes, she could see his own youth peaking through the cracks. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, as relief at finally finding the boy after years flooded through her. Her expression seemed to only further worry the man, and she only looked away when Tyrion coughed expectantly.

"And, as a drunk, I can say with confidence that it would appear that our lady is rather inebriated. Would you mind?" Lyarra could distantly make out, as she rested her temple against the cool wood of the table. She'd felt so many emotions within the past few moments that it was hard to hold back her exhaustion now, and she felt sleep over coming her. Before her eyes could properly shut, she felt herself being raised into the air — pressed against someone's chest. The chain-mail pressing into her sent chills through her body, and Lyarra found herself leaning into the warmth of whoever had been carrying her.

Distantly, she noticed the familiar feeling of her quilts, as she was seemingly placed within her bed. Just as quickly as the warmth had arrived, it disappeared. Lyarra was left to curl into her furs, and she couldn't fight back the sleep that overtook her this time.

The remaining days of the King's stay were just as dreadful as the days leading up to it. Lyarra knew, the morning after his arrival, that her brother had decided to go back with him to King's Landing. He'd been standing in front of her door, silent as ever, as she'd gone to make her way to the yard for the morning. His presence was enough to startle her, and she had to clutch her dress to calm herself.

"Forgive me, sister. I don't know how long I've been out here. Hours, maybe. I didn't want to disturb you, but.." Ned trailed off, avoiding her gaze as he readjusted his furs. Lyarra's own head was pounding after the night before, and she could hardly make out his words — but she did her best to focus, moving to place a comforting hand on her brother's arm. "I wouldn't ask this of you, had I another choice. I've asked too much of you as it is, I know that already."

Lyarra's heart went cold, as the implications of his words sunk in. He intended for her to come to King's Landing with him, with his daughters. He only looked further from her as she admitted her realization. She took her hand from his arm as quickly as she'd placed it, moving to curl around herself instead. She'd have to leave Winterfell, leave the only home she'd ever known. She'd have to leave Jon. That alone was enough to have Lyarra shaking her head in denial, stepping back from the man in despair. She couldn't leave him, not in Winterfell. Not alone. Reyne would be coming with them to serve as Sansa's handmaiden, but Jon? A bastard had no place in the royal court, something that Lyarra knew all too well.

"Maester Luwin came to me last night, just after the feast ended. He wants to join the Watch, Lyarra. Told Benjen so himself. He'll be safe among them. You know that, as well as I do. He'll be better off on the Wall, than here." Ned did his best to placate her, leaning down then to place his hands on her shoulders. She only shook her head, forcing herself to not allow tears to fall.

"He's just a boy, Ned. He's not ready for the Watch. I'll never see him again." Her words were panicked, jumbled rambles coming from her lips as her hands began to shake. In an instant, she was met with overwhelming warmth — as Eddard wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She couldn't help the tears that came then, as she all but sobbed in her brother's arms. "You can't. Please, Ned. Please, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice. I wish I did. I wish I was not asking this of you, but I am. I need your help." Eddard pulled back, wiping the pad of his glove against her cheeks as she closed her eyes to keep her tears at bay. "The Lannisters .. They had something to do with Jon Arryn's death, I know it. Robert needs my help, now more than ever. And I need yours." The revelation that the Lannisters could have done something so dastardly only had Lyarra's head shaking in disbelief. It was only when she peeled her eyes open, and was met with the true despair in Ned's eyes — that she knew he was telling the truth. He believed all that he was saying.

Lyarra couldn't bring herself to say anything then, only choosing to stand upright as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Eddard retreated then, telling her to think about it — though they both knew he wasn't giving her a choice.

Since that day, Lyarra had not left Jon's side. A fact that he seemed both grateful of, and annoyed by in equal measure. He did not know the life he was giving away. How could he, after all? She tried her best to not resent Benjen for the boy's decision, knowing that it was his alone to make — but if she found herself keeping away from her brother for a few days, that was her business alone. Jon was never her son. He was not her boy, though she would never see him as anything less. The fact alone only made his departure harder to handle.

Each night, once she was certain Jon was asleep, Lyarra would meet Tyrion Lannister in the yard. Despite her brother's best wishes, Lyarra couldn't force herself to be wary of the little lion. Some nights he would leave early to visit the closest brothel he could find. Other nights, they would be joined by the man from the previous night — the man she'd only come to know as 'Clegane'. Those nights, he would drink at Tyrion's side, chiming in only to let out a harsh laugh, or grunt. Despite how little she knew about the man, Lyarra couldn't hold back her fascination. More often than not, the man would scowl as she stared after him — likely assuming the worst. Yet Lyarra's face never held much more than a light smile, as she glanced over his features.

One night, when Tyrion had already slunk off, it was just the two sitting side-by-side on the bench. They hadn't spoke a word to one another, only passing the bottle back and forth when one needed a refill. After another beat of silence, the man grunted — sliding off of the bench as if to make his retreat.

"Oh, er— Ser!" She called after him, climbing off of the bench in haste to catch him before he disappeared into the darkness. He'd turned back to her hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure she was calling for him. When he noticed her focus, he only grimaced — forcing another swig down his throat.

"I'm no Ser," His words a familiar repetition of those that she'd heard years prior, and that alone was enough to shoot vigor through her. She only moved closer to him, a fact that made the large man seemingly shrink in on himself.

"So, it was you, then. You were at the tourney. You saved me that night, from Ser Gregor." Lyarra whispered in wonder, her eyes widening as she processed her own words. She'd been looking for the man for so long, that it was almost laughable that they'd reunited here — now.

"The fucks' it matter?" The man's words were harsh, but they alone were not enough for Lyarra to back down — and again, she took a step towards him, properly taking in his features. He was just as fascinating to her now, as he had been all those years ago.

"I'd like to know your name, if you'd let me. I've only known you as 'Clegane' for all these years." The name itself seemed to force the man to flinch, and he moved to stand taller as he remembered himself. Again, silence stretched between them. Lyarra had half the mind to question if she had overstepped, before the man turned on his heel. He took no more than four steps, before he paused.

"Sandor," he called over his shoulder, the name rough on his lips — as if he hadn't spoken it in years. With that, he was gone, and she couldn't have caught up to him if she wanted to. She tried the name on her lips a few times, before she turned to retreat to her own chambers. That night, she went to sleep a little lighter — a familiar name on her lips, and a certain weightlifted from her shoulders.

The day that Ned had left to hunt alongside Robert-- with Benjen and Robb in tow, Lyarra had been practicing with Theon in the yard. Catelyn had advised her against any swordplay while the King was their guest, but she paid the woman no mind. Theon was not the most proficient with a blade, but Lyarra relished the chance to spend time with him regardless. The boy was still harsh — particularly unkind to Jon. But she forced herself to push resentment aside. He was just a boy. And regardless of his less-than desirable attitude, she couldn't help but care for him.

The two were only disrupted by a familiar grunt. Lyarra asked the boy to clean up, as she made her way to Tyrion. He was perched on a set of steps, leaning his head against a wooden door — with furs draped over him. He was hungover, no doubt, but her figure blocking the sun in the slightest seemed to flood him with relief.

"Well, don't you just look lovely, my Lord Tyrion." Lyarra settled on his right, placing herself on the step just below him. He barely raised a brow at her, before leaning back against the door.

"Not all of us can handle our liquor as well as you, my Lady. Though, if I recall, you were the one who needed Clegane to carry you through your own castle." Tyrion grumbled out, though his words held no heat. Lyarra, however, felt heat course through her. She had thought it was Sandor who carried her to her bed, but she wasn't certain. Tyrion snickered to himself, as the two were interrupted by a rough stomp. Sandor all but threw himself down by the two, fastening his boots as he glanced over them both.

"Rough night, Imp?" He grunted after a moment, seemingly taking amusement at the disheveled state of the man. Tyrion only groaned, squinting to look at Sandor.

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle." Came his eventual reply, and Lyarra only just barely cringed at his description. Sandor let out a noise that bordered on another grunt, and a laugh — at her expression.

"I didn't take you for a hunter, my Lord." Never once did the honorifics slip, though Lyarra had grown increasingly comfortable in the man's presence. Tyrion seemed to lean towards the direction of her voice, but didn't properly open his eyes to address her.

"On the contrary, my Lady, I am the greatest in the land. My spear never misses." Sandor, seemingly displeased at Tyrion's response, only grunted — standing to unsheathe his dagger.

"It's not hunting if you pay for it." He admonished, turning to Lyarra with a curious look. She had half the heart to question it, before she noticed Theon making his way towards her brother. Lyarra paused then, standing before turning back to the two men at her side.

"I wish you both good fortune." She declared, her gaze lingering on Sandor for a moment longer than necessary — before she bid them farewell, moving to follow Theon towards her brother. She delivered similar wishes to her brothers, making her way inside as they departed. The rest of her afternoon was spent at Reyne's side, as she, Sansa, and Catelyn were all sitting together. In the back of her mind, she thought over the location of the Queen — but made no motion to question her whereabouts. Catelyn seemingly had a similar thought, as she scanned over the hall. It was only when they heard a desperate cry ring through the castle, that any of them moved.

Brandon had been discovered in the courtyard, unconscious — and alone. No doubt, he'd fallen from the wall he'd climbed so often. Lyarra did not allow herself to cry, and only moved to help the boy — if only so that his mother herself did not have to do so. Once Bran was safely placed in his bed, with Maesters pushing the women out of the room, Lyarra allowed herself to shed a tear. In an instant, Catelyn was in her arms — shedding tears of her own.

She wasn't certain how long the two sat, wrapped in one another, muddled in their own sorrow. The only thing ringing through Lyarra's mind was the thought of how unfortunate it was, that she'd only once again found a sister through grief.

First proper episode of Game of Thrones.. AND a Sandor introduction. Guys are we winning or what. I loved writing this chapter and I am not sorry about it. Lyarra loves her two children (who aren't at all her children) so much. Theon as well, sometimes.

So. Lyarra can't hold her alcohol. Tyrion is too easy to drink with. Jon wants to leave. Ned does not want to leave. And Jaime is being weird ... what a great set-up! Stay tuned btw.. Reyne's storyline is not as predictable as I am setting it up today.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And as always, feel free to leave any comments you have.

Thank you,

Zevran.

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c512h · 2 years ago

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If Sansa ever got married, Arya would be her best man.

Change my mind

#sansa stark #queen in the north #arya stark #house stark #sansa x daenerys #sansa x theon #sansa x sandor #theonsa #daenerys x sansa #daensa #sansa x margaery #sansaery

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blade-liger-4ever · 6 months ago

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I can hardly believe I just did this, but...

Here's my take for Rhaego Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, plus small ideas for a minor AU of sorts.

Warning, I'm putting a cut here because Tumblr is stupid and won't let me order the pictures side by side in the proper order.

So for this take - which is personally how I'd like to see an AU of Game of Thrones, give or take some details that are or aren't changed - I like to imagine that both Drogo and Rhaego lived, with Daenerys and Drogo teaming up to retake the Iron Throne, Daenerys acting as the great strategist/political powerhouse (while being backed by her three dragons, who keep their names and most of their personalities), while Drogo leads the troops and trains all the men Daenerys brings him through her alliances. I'd probably let it be done so that Daenerys, maybe through a dealing with the witch that, obviously, doesn't involve her husband and son's deaths, does leave her unable to bear more children. Regardless of whether or not that's a factor at all in this AU, Rhaego has no more biological siblings, but quickly grows to view Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as his brothers, while the dragons in turn also view him as their youngest brother and protect him as fiercely as their mother and father (Drogo being their father - oldest boy is named for him, after all.)

Robb would also live, and I'd like to, personally, introduce a tribe of white tiger shape-shifters from "The Land of Always Winter". I'm....honestly wanting him to marry the tribe's princess, who can really kick butt, too. The reason for this is that I feel the Night King's home for the last few centuries is underdeveloped, and I feel Robb should marry someone with experience in warfare - that, and I really like white tigers. Additionally, I'd probably have White Tiger Princess sent to find the Starks and reveal to them their ties to House Targaryen, and organize an alliance with House Stark as they battle the frozen zombies (by the way, this revelation is achieved by prophetesses from their land, and all members of the tribe learn to fight and care for each other because of the constant threat of the Night King.)

So....hrm, let me think. I guess it otherwise goes according to canon, but they manage to fix enough things that when Daenerys and Drogo - who have practically reclaimed most of the Seven Kingdoms, I suppose - meet them and learn of their family ties, Robb and Jon come to an agreement with them: Daenerys will rule the Seven Kingdoms, with Jon acting as her Hand and ruling most of the North. House Stark is still intact, though Ned, Catelyn, and Rickon are still dead, and Robb marries the White Tiger Princess and unites the two lands through their marriage. Additionally, the white tiger tribe (which I'm terribly sorry I forgot to mention earlier) has access to ice dragons, allowing for the regrowth of the dragon presence in Westeros through crossbreeding the species, and giving Jon his own dragon so that he can embrace his Targaryen heritage.

Other bullet points that I want to leave here:

Rhaego rides Viserion, who is the only unclaimed of the three dragons (I feel Drogo should ride Rhaegal, who in this story, grows to be nearly as big as Drogon.) Viserion is also the fastest, earning him the nickname "The Pale Wind".

Grey Wind lives, and gets to remain by his master's side all through to the war's end.

Nymeria reunites with Arya, who perhaps returns to the North or chooses another future for herself.

The Hound lives, always accompanying Arya, regardless of her life choice.

Jaime lives, actually gets to redeem himself, and maybe marries or otherwise has a relationship with Brienne.

Cersei gets to die, hopefully horribly (I hate her, okay?)

Sansa...TBD, either by myself or anyone else who reads this and enjoys it.

Jorah lives, acting as Rhaego's guardian and teacher as he grows.

Jon marries either Ygritte or some other woman; I personally prefer Daenerys x Drogo.

And lastly, we would probably get an epilogue of sorts where we see a young adult Rhaego, having inherited his family legacy and trained Dothraki dragonriders, embarking on a conquest of Valyria, which I'd use as a Sequel Hook for a future series.

And that's it. If you like this, thank you for reading it. If you didn't, just skip this post; it's merely a way for me to kick out the ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for Heaven knows how long.

Also, if anyone wants to make a story out of this, you have my blessing to do so. I only ask you credit me for the source of the concepts and original inventions for this. I'm not a fan of Game of Thrones, nor have I really watched it - I just looked up the characters, found I liked them, and thought "what if?"

Have fun people, and take care.

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fairyde222 · 1 year ago

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TikTok handle @ VXMPWOLF

His baby girl 😭

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chic-beyond-the-wall · 1 year ago

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What Sansa Stark would wear as the queen of The North

(Alexander McQueen Fall 2011)

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daniellewritesfr · 1 year ago

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𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Welcome!

I will write for almost every GOT character, if you have requests feel free to send them in! If you're wondering about my rules see This Post

Fluff ✼ Angst ✾ Smut ★

Jon Snow

My Lady (Jon Snow x f!Reader) ✼

Robb Stark

Amongst The Ice And Snow series (Robb Stark x f!Reader)

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norakbubbles · 8 months ago

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I just finished the final episode of Game of Thrones about two hours ago and....*sighs*

I have many feelings and I'm going to list them:

1. Braime and Theonsa could have been endgame couples if the writers weren't COWARDS-

2. "Bran the Broken" makes me giggle bc they literally couldn't find any other nickname for him

3. I still low-key think Gendry should have been king in the end, given he technically was supposed to have the iron throne after Robert died in the first place

3. Yaayyy Jon, Tormund and Ghost are together again (if s8 ended with me not being able to see Tormund for one last time I would've thrown hands)

4. Literally poor tyrion being made another hand of someone he barely knows when he doesn't want to

5. Bronn wanting to prioritize rebuilding brothels over ships makes me laugh

6. Robin Arryn's glow-up shocked me bc he actually doesn't look like an iPad kid anymore 👏👏

7. Sandor being one of the casualties in the final fight saddened me more than Jaime I'm sorry but it did

8. Ngl I forgot who Edmure Tully was for a hot minute when he showed up

9. Dany's death did not make me upset but Drogon's reaction to her death did idk why

10. Did anyone else go "Now what?" during the last few minutes? Like Sansa being crowned queen of the North and Jon and Tormund going off with the wildlings and Ghost? Like what are they gonna do now? There really aren't any more threats. If anyone does know of any still existing threats by the end of the series let me know

Anyway, I'm pretty sure my mom is tired of hearing me yap about Braime all the time and my sis and I both agree that Theon should have been there with Sansa as she was crowned. I loved the series, and will most likely be moving on to HotD next bc I've heard it's good. Yes season 8 could have been better but in the end, we just have to accept that that's how the series ended and there's nothing we can do about it....

that's what fanfiction is for... 😗

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silverflameataraxia · 4 months ago

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Arya sure tries to get to Jon at the Wall a lot for someone who's supposedly at the House of Black and White because she's so full of hate and vengeance.

Arya thinks about going to Jon instead of finding her mother and brother:

Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair..."Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.' "Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad.

- Arya VIII, ASoS

She tells The Hound, when she's his captive, that he could take her to Jon:

"I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He'll call me "little sister" and muss my hair. It was a long way, though, and she didn't think she could get there by herself. She hadn't even been able to reach Riverrun. "We could go to the Wall."

- Arya XII, ASoS

She asks the ship's captain to take her to Jon and only goes to Braavos because that's the only place he's going:

"I want to go north, to the Wall. Here, I can pay." She gave him the purse. "The Night's Watch has a castle on the sea."

- Arya XIII, ASoS

Even while serving in the House of Black and White, she wants to ask the first man of the Night's Watch she sees to take her to Jon:

When Dareon had first appeared at the Happy Port, Arya had almost asked if he would take her with him back to Eastwatch, until she heard him telling Bethany that he was never going back.

- Cat of the Canals, AFFC

She only goes to Braavos because she has nowhere else to go. She even tells the kindly man that she wants to enter and serve in the House of Black and White because she has nowhere else to go. She does what they ask of her because she's scared that they'll turn her away...and she has nowhere else to go.

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drymushroomfics · 2 months ago

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Reminiscing

Sandor Clegane x Female Reader

Previous Next

Chapter Four

You sit up, looking around. Brienne is standing close by, looking confused.

"Podrick, where are our horses?", she asks.

You stand up quickly, realizing all three horses are gone. Panic sets in, and you're quick to gather your things.

"I hobbled them.", Pod replies to her.

"How did you hobble them?"

"A figure eight, like you taught me."

"If you did it like I taught you, then the horses would be here!"

"Are you lot done? Maybe we can find who took them if we get a move on?", you suggest.

Brienne looks at you with a nod.

"It's at least 30 miles to the Eyrie from here. You're carrying the saddlebags.", Brienne snaps at Pod.

He nods and quickly gathers their bags.

You all start walking toward the Eyrie.

Your mind starts to wonder as your eyes scan the trail ahead of you.

You were always fiesty. You never let anyone treat you with too much disrespect. You always stood up for yourself. That's what got you into trouble, mostly.

Maybe that's what Sandor Clegane liked about you the most. He always called you bullheaded.

You remember one night when you'd mouthed off to King Joffrey and Meryn Trant blackened your right eye. Sandor had been furious at you for talking back to the King, but he'd been even more furious with Trant.

"You have to be more careful, y/n... What would you expect me to do if the King had ordered me instead of Meryn fucking Trant?", he lectures you.

"I would've expected you to do your duty, Sandor."

"You want me to hit you?"

"No..."

"You've got to hold your tongue, bunny... Or I might not be able to stop it next time."

"Fine... But does that mean you'll pay Ser Meryn Trant a little visit?", you ask with a smirk.

"I'm going to teach that cunt what happens when he puts his hands on what's mine."

"Yours?"

"Aye."

He pulled you close and kissed you deeply.

He had threatened him and cornered him later that night. He left him with his own black eye. He figured it was fair to give him what he gave to you.

You had never seen anyone stick up to anyone for you. It warmed your heart.

You're still not sure why he wasted all that time on you. If he had no problem leaving you at Blackwater, then why did he care if Trant beat you?

You're pulled out of your thoughts by Pod and Brienne.

"I see the horses.", Pod says, relieved.

You're also relieved when you spot your mare up ahead.

That's when you also spot Arya Stark. You feel your heart beating faster.

"Morning.", Brienne smiles at her.

"Morning.", she replies, swinging around a small sword.

"I like your sword. Are we getting close to the bloody gate?", she asks her.

"About 10 miles more."

"Did you hear that, Pod and y/n? Only ten miles to the bloody gate."

"Are you a knight?"

"No."

"But you know how to use a sword?"

"I do.

Brienne gestures to you, "She's quite mean with a dagger."

"Does your sword have a name? Or your dagger? I've never heard of people naming daggers though."

"Oathkeeper.", Brienne responds.

"Memorial.", you respond, unstrapping it from your leg.

"Mines needle.", Arya tells you.

"Good name.", you reply.

"Who taught you how to fight?", she asks both of you.

"My father taught me.", Brienne replies.

"I taught myself.", you reply as well.

"My father never wanted to. Said fighting was for boys."

"Mine said the same, but I kept fighting the boys anyway. Kept losing, and finally father said, If you're going to do it, you might as well do it right.", Brienne explains.

Your heart practically leaps out of your throat when Sandor walks up to the four of you. Confusion and annoyance on his face.

"Seven blessings. I'm Brienne of Trath. This is Podrick Payne and my friend Y/N.", Brienne introduces.

Sandor looks directly at you, and his eyes widen for a moment.

"You want something?", he asks.

"That's Sandor Clegane. The Hound.", Pod says, fear laced in his tone.

"You're Arya Stark.", Brienne says, a relieved look on her face.

You're guessing she didn't know what either of the two looked like.

"I asked if you wanted something.", Sandor repeats, putting his hand on the handle of his sword.

"I swore to your mother, I would bring you home to her.", Brienne tells Arya.

"My mother's dead.", she replies."I know. I wish I could have been there to protect her."

"You're not a Northerner."

"No. But I swore a sacred vow to protect her."

"Why didn't you?"

"She commanded me to bring Jamie Lannister back to Kingslanding."

"No?", Sandor quiestions, stepping closer to her, "Fancy sword you've got there. Where'd you get it?... I've been looking at Lannister Gold all my life. Go on, Brienne of fucking Tarth, tell me that's not Lannister gold."

"Jamie Lannister gave me this sword."

"The bloody gates ten miles!", Arya chimes in, her voice growing loud.

"I swore to your mother by the Old Gods -"

"I don't care what you swore!"

"Arya!"

"You heard the girl! She's not coming with you."

"She is."

You watch as they draw their weapons.

"You're not a good listener. Valaryian steel... I've always wanted some Valaryian steel."

"Come with me, Arya. I'll take you to safety.", Brienne offers.

"Safety?! Where the fuck's that? Her aunt in the Eyrie's dead. Her mother's dead. Her father's dead. Her brother's dead. Winterfell's a pile of rubble. There's no safety, you dumb bitch. If you don't know that by know, you're the wrong one to watch over her.", Sandor exclaims, regusing to back down.

You feel so much rage and anger coursing through you. You waited for this day to come, and you will give him what he deserves.

"And that's what you're doing, Clegane?!", you chime in, moving next to Brienne.

"What the fuck are you doing, y/n?"

"Still remember me? I'm surprised. You haven't seen me since... Since you left Kingslanding, I believe."

"You don't understand."

"I understand, and I don't need some fucking excuse, dog! You're trying to watch over this girl?! How?! You swore to protect me once and look where that got me. Do you really think the safest place for anyone is with you? You'll do nothing but poison them. That's all the bloody Clegane's are; A fucking poison."

Y/n lunges at him with her dagger and he's quit to dodge.

"Figured you'd learn something by now.", Sandor jokes, tapping his sword on the ground.

"Fuck you.", you spit, turning around and slicing meerly an inch from his face.

"You did. As I recall... A lot."

You groan, lunging at him again, this time he doesn't dodge fast enough and the handle of your dagger lands on his cheekbone, cutting it open.

"You're quick. Still like a bunny. Hopping about."

"Shut up.", you shout, your ears starting to ring.

He holds up his sword, "If you want to fight me, go ahead. That puny fucking dagger I gave you won't do much."

You hold it up anyway, trying not to think about the fact that he recognized it.

"I can hold my own quite well since someone decided to run and leave me on my own."

"I didn-"

He's cut off by you stalking toward him. He's always loved how fiery you were. It seems you hadn't changed.

He swings his sword and you dodge, using your quick reflexes to your advantage. You know you can wear him down.

You twist yourself around, knocking your shoulder into his back, full force. He stumbles a little. Not before elbowing right into your lip, busting it open.

You taste the blood and smirk as he turns toward you.

"You always were fuckin' stubborn.", he smirks back.

"So were you."

He barrels toward you suddenly, almost catching you off guard. You dodge once more, lowering yourself to kick right between his legs. He groans, dropping to his knees. That's when his sword unexpectedly catches your arm, cutting a huge gash.

"Fuck.", you groan, feeling the burning pain.

You look up, realizing you and him have slowly fought your way up a mountain.

"Bastard.", you grit out.

He takes in a breath, looking at you and noticing your arm. Something flashes through his eyes.

"I didn't fucking leave you!", he yells.

"Of course you fucking did, Sandor! I waited... You never bloody came... I waited!", you yell back, tears welling in your eyes.

Out of nowhere, Brienne steps in front of you, holding her sword to his throat.

"I have no wish to kill you, ser.", she says, "But I will if it means saving my friend and the girl."

You move back a little watching them, ready to help at any moment.

Sandor grabs her sword with both hands, squeezing. Blood oozes from them.

"I'm not a knight.", he growls before pushing her sword out of the way and landing a blow to her cheek.

Everything moves so fast as they brawl. Your head spins watching them roll around on the dirt. When Brienne starts to scream and land blow after blow with a rock, you feel bile forming in your throat. You realize that you can't let him die. Not without answers.

"Brienne, stop!", you yell.

You grab her around the waist and she falls to the ground. You look up and your eyes widen as he falls from the cliff edge.

"No!", you scream, standing.

"This is what you wanted!", she yells at you."I need to know the truth , Brienne!" You run as fast as you can, trying to make it to the bottom.

You can hear them yelling for Arya and you don't care.

When you find him, Arya's kneeling over him. You watch her grab his coin satchel and leave. You don't bother going after her. You know Brienne will surely find her. It's not your job to interfere with her plans.

You turn your attention to Sandor.

You can hear him choking on his own blood as you step closer. He turns, looking at you.

You kneel down to him and he grabs at your arm, blood still soaking through your tunic at the gash.

Every pint up feeling you've had for Sandor starts to pour out of you and you start to cry.

You touch his cheek, "I've hated you for so long... Now look at you. Revenge doesn't feel as good as people say."

He almost laughs.

"I di-din't leave you, y-y/n... I se-searched for you."

You've never heard such pain and sadness in his voice. It almost breaks your heart to hear and you hate yourself for it.

He chokes again, more blood running from his mouth. His eyes meet yours and his hand finds yours. You find yourself holding it. You haven't felt his touch in so long. Your body naturally reacts and you sniffle, trying not to cry again.

"Please... kill me."

You can see tears welling in his eyes. You pick up your dagger with your good hand, moving it to his heart.

Taking a breath, your hand starts to shake.

"I-I can't... I wanted to for so long, but... I can't."

You look up and realize his eyes have closed.

7 notes · View notes

vampirepirates · 29 days ago

Text

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

CHAPTER SEVEN – LORD SNOW.

when i was a girl, i fell into your arms. we

fell on hard times — and lost our bright colors.

you went to the dogs, and i lived by my charms.

The south is no place for a wolf, Lyarra had come to realize. The moment that she had been advised to remove her furs, she began to take note of her own regret. Without them, she felt bare — open for all to see. She replaced them with clothing more suitable for the weather, but in doing so she had to remove her leather trousers as well. Thus, she'd had no choice but to remain on the carriage for the remainder of the journey — as riding her horse with a dress would have been all but impossible.

In all, the move was not the worst thing. She placed herself between her nieces, who still did all they could to avoid even looking at the other. Septa Mordane looked over her pleadingly, but Lyarra could not do much more than shrug. She had never met a pair more stubborn than the girls beside her. It almost reminded her of her own sister. She and Lyanna hardly fought, but when they did they would not speak to one another for days. Lyarra reached out to rub Arya's shoulder, who had only tensed at the touch.

Their arrival at King's Landing had become apparent by the foul scent that rushed through their noses. Winterfell did not often smell pleasant, as Lyarra was sure most cities did not, but it failed to rival to this. She contained her disgust with a grimace, leaning back only to cover her nose with her sleeve, as imperceptibly as she could. Arya, however, made no such move to contain it. She gagged loudly, to Septa Mordane's dismay. As the carriage came to a stop, Lyarra watched as her brother dismounted his horse. Jory followed suit, holding the reins of both his own horse, and Lyarra's. Frost bristled at his touch, but seemed to calm as he ran his gloved hand through the horse's mane.

"Welcome, Lord Stark." A voice declared, as a man approached Ned. As her brother took charge, Lyarra allowed herself to glance over the scenery. This was the furthest South she'd ever been. With each growing moment, she could only think of Brandon. How far had he and her father made it? The gory details had never been shared with her. Had he stood where she was now?

"Get the girls settled, I'll be back in time for supper." Eddard called out then, interrupting Lyarra's thoughts. In an instant, she was standing on her own two feet — brushing her dress down with haste. Ned met her gaze, nodding with resoluteness — a fact that comforted her only slightly. Jory guided the girls to their rooms, and only paused once Arya and Sansa had filed in. Septa Mordane followed quickly after the two, though she only lingered in Sansa's company.

"My lady?" Jory questioned, tilting his head to point in another direction. Lyarra nodded herself, and within a moment followed a step after him. Jory had been beside her family for years now, longer than she could properly recall. The two had only spoke to one another a handful of times, but she cherished the man for how he took care of the girls. They were silent as they came upon a wooden door — further from her niece's rooms than she would have liked. In an instant, Jory was gone — turning on his heel to head back towards the Stark Girls. As Lyarra entered the room, taking in the decor — she found herself once again longing to return home.

The quilt was thinner than she was used to, though she could not deny its comfort. In the corner stood a large stone window, with flowers littering the sides. It was a beautiful room, all things considered, and yet she felt more discomfort than she had in years. Before she could do much else, she was interrupted by a harsh rap at the door. Instantly, she relaxed. Eddard's presence would make the move easier. Only, as Lyarra swung open the door — she wasn't met with the solemn expression of her brother. Instead, a woman with dark hair and warm, tan skin — stood there, hands clasped with a timid smile. She couldn't help but furrow her brow at the sight.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I did not mean to disturb you. I am to be your new handmaid. I thought it best to assist you in unpacking your belongings now, seeing as you just arrived." All the while, the girl did not raise her head — nor meet her eyes properly. The handmaidens in Winterfell were often shy, so it was not an entirely surprising sight — and yet she could not help her own frown. Lyarra ushered the girl in, clasping onto her arm comfortingly. She did her best to ignore how the girl had startled, and only moved to shut the door.

"What is your name, my dear?" Lyarra questioned, moving back to stand in front of the girl. Again, she startled — though, she met her gaze at once. She seemed confused, as if no one had ever addressed her properly, or had spoken to her for this long.

"Aianna, my Lady." The girl, Aianna, amended. Though she still appeared bewildered, she had seemed to relax in the slightest — her shoulders dropping almost unnoticeably. Lyarra nodded then, taking in the information.

"Please, call me Lyarra. I'd much rather us be friends." Lyarra claimed, grasping onto Aianna's hands delicately. The girl tensed, but nodded all the same — a shy smile creeping onto her features.

She'd spent the remaining hours of daylight alongside Aianna, as she begrudgingly allowed the girl to unpack her belongings. Lyarra was more than capable of the task herself, but she would not take no for an answer. In their time together, she'd learned only a handful of things about Aianna. She had only just turned Twenty the fortnight prior, though she seemingly did not remember much of her life before the Keep. She'd poured the girl a glass of wine instantly, though she'd been unsurprisingly turned down. Aianna did not seem to enjoy speaking about herself, but that did nothing to dissuade Lyarra. Once the sun began to sink below the peaks of the city, she'd requested that Aianna escort her to her nieces. The inquiry had given the girl pause, as if she'd never been asked such a thing before, but she complied all the same. As Aianna bid her farewell, Lyarra entered the room.

Unsurprisingly, the girls were arguing — while Septa Mordane did her best to interrupt the two, though they paid her no mind. Arya was stabbing the table with her knife, as Sansa complained.

"He's a liar and a coward, and he killed my friend!" Arya exclaimed, all the while poking at the wooden table with her knife. Once her presence had been noted by the Septa, the woman once again gazed at her pleadingly. Lyarra took a breath, meaning to step in — before she'd been interrupted by Sansa herself.

"The Hound killed your friend," Sansa argued, narrowing her eyes at Arya's outburst. Lyarra couldn't help by sympathize with both of the girls. Sansa was only doing what she thought best. She couldn't argue with the Prince, even to defend her sister. While Arya was mourning the loss of her friend, and wasn't wrong in doing so.

"The hound does whatever the Prince tells him to," Arya continued, her voice rising in aggravation. She couldn't help but agree with her niece, at that. Sandor was responsible for killing Mycah, but it was not an action of his own volition. She winced at the name they'd bestowed upon him more than once, but did nothing to argue against it.

"You're an idiot," Sansa stated, finality ringing in her voice. Lyarra stepped forwards as Arya continued to argue, and the two startled at her appearance. Within a moment, the two were pleading with her to 'shut the other one up', which only caused her to pinch the bridge of her nose. As the two girls continued, another voice rang out.

"What's happening here?" Eddard questioned as he stepped into the room. Lyarra continued her movement until she was sitting at Sansa's side, clasping onto her arm comfortingly. Sansa glanced over at her, her lip slightly quivering. Arya had made her way across the room, intending on fleeing before she noticed her father. Septa Mordane had gone to chime in then, before Lyarra beat her to it. She was in no mood to hear any of the woman's complaints.

"What do you think, Ned? The girls are upset." She grumbled, doing her best to keep any venom out of her words. She was there to care for her nieces, not start fights with her brother. Eddard furrowed his brow, stepping forward to address his youngest daughter.

"Go to your room, we'll speak later." With that, Arya nodded and exited the room promptly. Sansa seemed to deflate with her absence, a silent sigh of relief leaving her in a wave. Though Lyarra could not fault her for her feelings, her heart dropped at the sight. She took her own seat, then, observing as Ned placed a gift in front of Sansa.

Inside the wrappings laid a doll, with strings of red hair. The sight almost brought a laugh to her lips, before she contained it with a swig of wine. Ned knew nothing of how to raise daughters, but he was trying all the same. Though she found the gift itself humorous, something that was only strengthened by Sansa's disgusted reaction — the act itself filled Lyarra with warmth. Their father, Lord Rickard Stark, had never given her a gift of any kind. He was not a cruel father, but he was not often present. After the death of their mother, she rarely saw him — beyond important occasions. She found herself reaching out to grab the doll, passing it between her hands. As Sansa stood to leave, Septa Mordane was quick to follow.

"War is easier than daughters." Ned claimed, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Lyarra couldn't help but nod, still holding the doll in her palm — as she thought of her own daughter. As a child, Reyne had been particularly difficult to wrangle. She had Tormund's energy, though she'd never met the boy. Her ferociousness was a mirror image of his. That on its own was trouble enough. Lyarra placed the doll back on the table, handing it off to Ned once more. As she stood, meaning to follow after Arya, he raised his hand — bidding her to take her seat.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd enjoy supping with family." He requested, his voice only wavering at the end — giving way to his desperation. Lyarra had been so caught up in her own discomfort, that she hadn't paused to think of her brother. He was just as out of place as she was. Lyarra nodded in an instant, taking her own plate of food as she sat to listen to Ned's description of his first small council meeting. The King intended for another Tourney, one that they didn't have the coin to pay for. The thought gave Lyarra pause. She'd only been to one tourney in her life, and while the event itself had been almost enjoyable — what came after was not. She couldn't help but think of Sandor, then. Would he be participating in the tourney, now that he was in a higher position? He was no Knight, but he was the Prince's bodyguard. She mulled the thought over in her mind, before she was met with the expectant glance of her brother.

"I'm sorry, Ned. What did you say?" She questioned, mentally kicking herself for being so distracted. Eddard only huffed out a laugh as he repeated himself. He'd been naming those present at the small council. Renly Baratheon, brother of the King — Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys — whom Ned had described as 'The Spider', and just as he'd gone to continue, he paused. One look at the man gave way for the hesitation underneath. Ned did not want to name whomever the last member was. After a moment, he took a breath, wringing his hands with a cloth.

"And Lord Petyr Baelish," He continued, eyeing Lyarra warily. In an instant, her gut plummeted. Petyr was here, in King's Landing. Ned had seen him, spoken with him. She had half the mind to consider her brother's hesitation, before she was on her feet. Eddard met her instantly, raising his arm to halt her motions.

"Lyarra, it's the middle of the night. Please, just rest. I'll take you to him in the morning." He pleaded, and Lyarra saw then what he had been doing his best to hide. He was afraid. For some reason, Ned did not trust Petyr. He didn't want her near him. Lyarra took a breath before she nodded, agreeing to wait — against her better judgment. Eddard relaxed, at that. The walk to her quarters felt longer now that she had such a weight on her shoulders. Just before she'd reached the door, she noticed the figure ahead of her. Sandor was just passing out of view, before she called out for him, calling him directly by his name. He'd only paused at first, turning after what felt like hours.

Just as he had gone to speak, another voice rang out — the familiar bitter tone of the prince. Sandor only glanced over her once more, the calm of his expression replaced by an aggravated scowl, before he followed after the voice. Lyarra took no longer than another moment before she entered her own quarters, harshly throwing herself on top of her quilts. The Prince and his party had traveled ahead, after what had happened at the Inn. Thus, she hadn't spoken to Sandor in weeks. She could just vaguely remember his words from the night before his departure. 'I'll keep you safe, Little Wolf', he'd promised. How was he meant to protect her when the two could not even be near one another?

The following morning, Aianna had been the one to wake her. She'd dressed her in traditional Southern clothing, braided her hair in a style reminiscent of the ladies of the court. Aianna had ensured that she looked 'beautiful', but when Eddard met her at the door — and nearly stumbled backwards out of shock, any shred of confidence fled from her. She felt as if she were donning another woman's skin.

True to his word, Ned appeared just as he said he would — with the intention of bringing her to Petyr. Leaving the Red Keep was more uncomfortable than Lyarra would have expected. The moment they were on the streets of the city, tension rose within her. Eddard guided her up a series of steps, with Jory quick on their heel. They only stopped once they reached a small room, a comfortable one at that — with sofas and chairs littered about. Red curtains were strewn across the windows, giving way for a warm feeling within the room. Lyarra realized then where they were. She'd never been to a Brothel herself, but she'd heard numerous descriptions of the buildings from both Theon and Tyrion. As she turned to question her brother, she was met with an almost unfamiliar face. The man before her was sharp, tall and thin — with long features. Lyarra paused, taking him in. It was undeniable who the man before her was, and yet he seemed so different from the boy she'd known all too well.

Lyarra did not give herself the opportunity to speak, and instead launched herself into the arms of Petyr Baelish. The first thing she'd noticed is his hesitation. It took him a beat before he wrapped his own arms around her, and even then it seemed an unusual motion for him. Dread built within her, as she forced herself to hug him tighter. She'd remembered then, all of what had happened. The boy had never answered her letters — had never even attempted to send his own, to her knowledge. As important as he was to her, she realized then how insignificant she might have been in his life. They'd only known one another as children, and even then it had been for weeks alone. As she reluctantly pulled back to face him, she was met with only an intense stare. Lyarra searched within his familiar eyes for some sort of sign of how he was feeling. It was then, that she realized her brother had slunk from the room — leaving the two alone. Petyr, as if sensing her thoughts as he had before, clutched her hand — bringing it to his heart.

"My dear, Lyarra Stark. I thought I'd never see your face again." He rasped, age evident within his voice. She'd almost let out a sigh of relief at hearing his familiar tone, before she collected herself.

"I could say the same for you, Lord Baelish." Lyarra parried, a mixture of mockery and admiration coating her words. However, unlike he had in the past, Petyr stood taller at her words — chin raising in his own mix of pride. Not that she could blame him. He had done exactly as he'd set out to do, he'd risen in the ranks until he worked directly under the King. She couldn't hold back the pride that blossomed within her, at the thought.

"Please, call me Petyr. I dread the sound of such formalities, especially from the lips of a friend." Though he carried a level of confidence with him, the last few words were painted as more of a question than anything — as if he was ensure of his place in her heart. Lyarra only flipped her hand, squeezing his with fervor. The man before her was a mystery, that much was clear. He was not the boy that she'd cherished as a child, and yet she couldn't help the way her heart longed for him.

"Now, Petyr, you must tell me of how a boy from the Fingers became the Master of Coin to King Robert Baratheon," She requested, taking a seat then — all the while pulling the man to sit beside her. His movements were delicate, wary in an unfamiliar way. Lyarra did her best to ignore it, as he began to spin his tale. She was unaware of how much time passed, reminiscent of their nights in Riverrun. The two sat side by side, telling one another of their lives up until that moment. Petyr was not just the Master of Coin, but also the head of the most successful brothel in the city. The younger version of himself would struggle to recognize him now, she couldn't help but think. Throughout their talks, Lyarra was quick to avoid the topic of her own letters. She didn't want to broach a sore topic, or worse — discover that he had been ignoring her ravens as it was.

She was reluctant to say goodbye, as if she were afraid of losing the man all over again. And yet she did so all the same, kissing his cheek as she went. He quickly requested for her to return again, once she had the chance. After that, she took to visiting every few days — when she was sure he wouldn't be busy, with the Small Council or any other task. More than once, she'd met Lord Varys on his way out. The man's features were unique — with a bald head, and long robes. Each time, he would shoot her a wary, though not unkind, grin, before making his way back to the Red Keep, no doubt. Lyarra couldn't help but wonder what the two discussed, though she never outwardly questioned him.

However, Lyarra couldn't help but question Petyr on the other happenings of the city. As children, the two would share everything with one another. Lyarra knew of every minor event that took place within Riverrun, solely because of how well Petyr was able to gather information. Only, he seemed reluctant to share his findings with her in King's Landing. Outwardly, this fact was not clear. Petyr Baelish's secrecy was impressive, and the blind eye would not notice the way he bit his tongue. Lyarra held no blind eye, however, and she knew the man well enough to tell he was not being forthright with what he knew. She did not allow that to give her pause, and instead she did her best to ignore it. It would do her no good, questioning him, after she spent years longing to return to his side.

When she wasn't with Petyr, Lyarra was observing Arya's training. Unbeknownst to her, Jon had a blade made for Arya before they'd left Winterfell. A thin blade, with a thick handle — one that she had named 'Needle.' Through their previous training, Arya had never been permitted to learn with a steel blade. It was only when she began her 'Dancing' lessons, that she was allowed to use her new sword, something that almost had Lyarra's chest blossoming with pride. More than once, Lyarra had been asked to assist with her teachings. She was not accustomed to the style itself, but she knew how to hold a blade. Sansa, however, was more often than not searching after the royal family. She stayed at Septa Mordane's side, often sewing — or tending to something more ladylike than Lyarra had come to know.

Lyarra spent her nights in her brother's study, as the two poured over the work he'd been tending to. In truth, she'd rather have been anywhere else — but being by Eddard's side brought her more comfort than anything. More than once, she'd caught Sandor making his way through the halls as she'd left. Each time, the two would only share a few words, before he was forced to go chasing after the Prince. One night, in particular, he'd been posted at the end of a long hallway — noticeable only due to the torch hanging by his side, lighting up the unburnt side of his face.

"Stalking the halls are you, Little Wolf?" He'd called after her, a light smirk only noticeable by the slight curve of his cheek. Lyarra couldn't help her own snort in return, as she made her way to him.

"Aren't you meant to be tending after the Prince?" She'd questioned in response, raising a brow as the man seemed to tense. He only shook his head, glancing over towards a set of stairs. More than once, she'd seen him retreat up them — which allowed only one explanation, they lead to the Prince's quarters.

"The King relieved me of my duty for the night. Said he'll be tending to the Prince for now." He grunted, the gruffness of his tone coating any emotion he might have felt. Lyarra only paused for a moment, before she nodded in understanding. Robert, though he'd often sympathized with Ned over his own family, did not have a kind heart. Especially with his Wife and children. Lyarra could only assume that another fight had broken out. As she took in the information, she glanced back towards the direction of her own quarters.

"Would you care for a drink, then?" Lyarra asked after a moment, fidgeting with her hands as the silence crept on. Sandor seemed to observe her for a minute, before nodding himself. If the two lacked a common ground anywhere else, they found one with drinking. She found the act frighteningly familiar, as his heavy footsteps thudded after her own — the chain of his armor clinking behind her. Sandor stood at the entrance for only a moment, taking in his surroundings — before he all but threw himself down on a wooden chair.

Once their drinks were poured, Lyarra took a seat across from him. Not unusually, the two were silent for most of the night. Had it been anyone else, she was certain it would be discomforting. However, the silence that transpired between the two had always been a comfortable one. She took the chance, then, to look over him. In the light spewing in from the moon, the right half of Sandor's face was clearer than ever. Though the burn marred a good portion of his features, she couldn't see what was so 'monstrous' about the man. Why so many feared him. Why the women of the Red Keep would whisper behind him, and flee at his gaze. In the light of the moon, Sandor was just a man — with dark eyes, and a perpetual pout. After another moment of looking him over, Lyarra came to a sudden realization that the eyes she'd been staring into, were now staring back at her. His expression was a mix of distrust and confusion, mirroring what it had been the day of the tourney all those years ago.

Lyarra moved then, whether to defend herself or apologize she did not know, but she was cut off by a harsh slam of Sandor's mug — and in a blink, the man was gone. She couldn't do much more than take a breath, in that moment. The two were not friends, by any stretch of the word, but she did value the man's company. He'd become a familiar presence in her life. Lyarra could only hope, then, that she hadn't scared the man off properly.

The following morning, Lyarra made her journey to the brothel as she normally would have. Jory had long since stopped accompanying her, and rather his presence had been replaced by one of the Lannister guards. It was not safe for her to travel through the streets on her own, they'd claimed. By the time she made it to the brothel, the sun had reached its peak. The first thing she noticed as she entered the building, was shouting — a voice loud enough that she could hear it from the bottom of the approaching steps.

"You take me for some back-alley Sally you can drag to a..." The voice trailed off as Lyarra threw open the door, stepping into the small room. She came to realize then that the shouting had been coming from her sister-by-law, Catelyn Stark. Her presence gave Lyarra pause, as she considered what it could mean. Robb must be watching over Bran in Winterfell then, she thought, unless he'd made his recovery already. Beside Catelyn, Ser Rodrik bristled at the sight of her — though he said nothing himself.

"Cat," She breathed, rushing to embrace the woman before her. She'd never been so happy to see the red-head in all her life. Catelyn returned the hug after a moment, though she stepped away just as quickly. She was tense, and still glaring holes into Petyr. Lyarra could only turn to the man in confusion, before pausing at his expression. To all eyes other than her own, the man appeared surprised — unexpecting of Lyarra's own arrival. She, however, knew better. Petyr was counting on her appearance, though for what reason she was not certain.

"I meant no disrespect to you, of all people." Petyr stated, stepping forward while he raised his arms. Catelyn only let out a disbelieving scoff, crossing her arms indignantly.

"How dare you bring me here! Have you lost your mind?" Catelyn exclaimed, stepping forward herself to argue further. Lyarra willed her mind to collect itself, but she couldn't control the speed it was moving.

Petyr continued to defend himself, arguing that she'd be safe here — that no one would come looking for her. Lyarra could not do much more than grab Catelyn's arm, rubbing her thumb along the side of it comfortingly. The woman beside her had paused, at that, eyes wide as she took in the knowledge that Lyarra trusted the man before them. Their stare was only broken by the voice of another man ringing out.

"Lady Stark," The man, Varys, called out as he stepped into the room. He paused then as he looked over Lyarra, though he did not look entirely surprised by her presence either. "Lady Lyarra," He addressed her, nodding in her direction as well.

"To see you again after so many years is a blessing. Your poor hands," He remarked, reaching for Catelyn's hands — which Lyarra had only then realized were covered in cloth. She shot her sister-by-law a questioning look, but was only met with a sharp shake of Catelyn's head. She'd question it later, then.

"How did you know she was coming?" Lyarra questioned, disbelief rising in her tone. As she turned back to glance at Petyr, she was met with an almost amused expression — though he swallowed it down just as quickly, giving way to his usual coy grin.

"Knowledge is my trade, my lady. A fact that I'd assumed you'd know quite well, seeing as you spend your days with Lord Baelish." Varys stated, his blank expression never swiping from his face — despite the bite of his words. Lyarra was only further confused by his argument, but stepped back as the two beside her continued to speak between themselves.

"Did you bring the dagger with you, by any chance?" As Catelyn glanced at Ser Rodrik questioningly, Lyarra could not do much more than shift the balance of her feet.

"My little birds are everywhere, even in the North." Varys amended, as silence had stretched throughout the room. Catelyn nodded to Ser Rodrik, permitting him to unsheathe what Lyarra could only assume was the dagger they'd been speaking of before. With another glance to Petyr, who had not moved a muscle, she continued watching the scene unfold. After a beat, the dagger was placed in Varys' hands, who quickly examined in the blade.

"Valyrian steel," He remarked, seemingly marveling over the sight.

"Do you know whose dagger this is?" Catelyn continued, exhaustion clear within her tone. She was here for one reason alone, and would not allow the conversation to carry on unnecessarily. Varys hummed, pressing the dagger to the tip of his finger.

"I must admit I do not," Varys announced, though he glanced over Catelyn's shoulder to meet Peter's gaze. He appeared solemn, resigned as he considered his own words. Petyr, however, seemed almost giddy.

"Well, well, this is an historic day. Something you don't know, that I do." Lyarra whipped around, looking over Petyr in confusion. He met her gaze for only a moment, his smile falling in just the slightest — before he carried on, taking the dagger into his own hands.

"There's only one dagger like this in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It's mine," He declared, his grin only widening at Catelyn's confusion. "At least it was, until the tournament on Prince Joffrey's last nameday."

"I bet on Ser Jaime in the jousting, as any sane man would," He continued, all the while avoiding Lyarra's questioning gaze, "When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, I lost this dagger."

"To whom?"

"Tyrion Lannister. The Imp." Petyr stated with finality. The words seemed to shoot horror through the woman beside her. At that, a dam broke within Lyarra. She'd had enough of dancing around her own confusion. She said as much, only pausing when Catelyn's own devastated expression became too pronounced.

"Only a few nights after you left, Winterfell was attacked," Catelyn explained, her words sending a spike of terror into her heart. "An assassin came in the night, with this dagger — to make quick work of my boy. To kill Bran."

She broke free from her terror to glance at Petyr, whose grin had not dropped. His expression only faltered when he met Lyarra's gaze, but he seemed to correct himself just as quickly.

"I am sorry for what you have been through, Catelyn, I am. But I know Lord Tyrion. He would never cause Bran harm, let alone make an attempt on his life." Lyarra claimed, grasping onto her hands with determination. Catelyn's mind had been made, however, and she did not meet her eyes.

"How well can you know a Lannister, truly?" Petyr chimed in, his eyes boring into Lyarra's almost pleadingly. He wanted her to agree with him, to back up his story — take his side against Tyrion. The thought had her stomach churning. She wanted more than anything to blindly take Petyr's side, as she would have years ago. And yet in that moment she couldn't bring herself to do much more than gape at the man.

Varys left only a moment after, taking one more glance over at the dagger — before meeting Lyarra with an uneasy look. Petyr followed suit, stating that Catelyn should stay as long as she saw fit. Lyarra sat by her for the rest of the morning, mostly in silence — though she'd asked after her daughters more than once. In return, Lyarra had asked about Reyne. The girl had still not left Bran's side, she'd learned, even standing in front of a blade to defend him. The thought had her melting with pride and fear in equal measure.

Not long after, Eddard's voice rang through the building. Catelyn followed the sound quickly, peaking her head over the balcony to call after him. Lyarra followed suit, observing as he crowded Petyr against the wall — clasping a hand around his throat. The sight had Lyarra reeling, but he removed the pressure before she could say anything. Before Ned had made it up the stairs, she'd already stepped into another room — intent on giving the couple their privacy. Eddard, in his years since Brandon's death, did not shy away from his love for his wife. The two had more adoration for one another than Lyarra would have expected, and the sight of their love was enough to have her heart swelling.

After another moment, Petyr stepped into the — -- almost silently placing himself at her side. She only looked over in his direction, before allowing her head to drop to his side — resting herself on his shoulder. Years prior the action would have seemed humorous, as he stood just below her in height — but now, he only slightly stood over her. After what had occurred earlier, Lyarra knew better than ever that she had no reason to trust the man at her side. That he'd changed into something she could hardly recognize. And yet, she couldn't help but think back to the pleading look in his eyes. He wanted her to trust him, to stay by his side. Against her better judgement, Lyarra continued to settle into his side — leaning further into him, as he hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder.

Despite how much the man had changed, she knew one thing to be true. In Petyr's heart, love for Catelyn still lingered. That much had remained clear, as he'd ensured her safety within the Capital. Much to Eddard's chagrin, she imagined, his love for her had not faltered. Lyarra couldn't help the bitter feeling that swept through her, though she did her best to swallow it down.

Catelyn bid her farewell not long after, with Ned following in her wake. She'd pulled her aside, into another one of the brothel's many rooms — whispering under her breath.

"Listen to me, Lyarra. Petyr is not to be trusted. He is no longer the boy that you or I knew as children." She claimed, only grabbing onto Lyarra's hands with more passion as she'd attempted to pull away.

"He would never hurt me, Cat. I understand he may have changed, but that much is true as ever," Lyarra argued, bending her knees to look into Catelyn's eyes properly. The woman before her stood taller, shaking her head at Lyarra's words.

"He may not directly cause you harm, but is it any better if he seeks to hurt those around you?" She continued, imploring Lyarra with her gaze. Her words gave her pause, as she took them in properly.

"And yet you trust him well enough to take his word against Lord Tyrion?" Lyarra questioned, willfully ignoring the guilt churning within her.

"I trust his word over the Lannisters, that is all." With that, Catelyn was gone. Lyarra stood there for only a moment longer, before creeping back to the main room. Petyr met her solemn expression questioningly, but she only waved him off. The path back to the keep was dark by the time she'd left, and she almost kicked herself for not waiting for Eddard. As she approached her door, she was met with a familiar face. There, standing a few feet from her door — was Sandor, a bottle of wine in hand. His brow furrowed at her expression, as Petyr's had, but she waved him off similarly — opening the door in one quick motion. He filed in after her, pouring her a drink alongside his own. Just as before, he did not speak more than once throughout the night. Lyarra, however, did not allow that to dissuade her — and rambled through the hours to come.

As Eddard passed by her quarters to bid her a good night, he paused at the sound of raucous laughter from within. For half a moment he'd waved it off, expecting it to be Petyr Baelish. However, the gruff chuckle he'd heard had not been anything close to a noise that Littlefinger could have made. This noise was deeper, more genuine. Just as quickly as he'd heard it, the sound ceased entirely. Eddard pinched the bridge of his nose as his mind wandered, questioning what his sister could have involved herself in now.

Well. There's that. We introduced another character, and got a reunion! How great is that. Woo. So, a few thoughts. One, I love Aianna. I have decided to cast her with Angel Coulby (who plays Gwen in Merlin. So. Yes. Morgwen content) She's just a girl. Two, Catelyn's relationship may seem a bit different from her dynamic with Petyr in the show but that is very much intentional. In my writing, Catelyn does not have the same trust for him that she did in the show. Instead, Lyarra takes up that position. (Though she is obv very conflicted) Three, Sandor's characterization may seem a bit different from how he is typically portrayed, but that is also intentional? For one, the two knew one another as kids (sort of) and even then Lyarra never shied away from him. And also, Sandor is not the grump that a lot of people portray him as?? Within the first two episodes he literally laughs with Tyrion and tries to talk to Sansa. I feel like he becomes a lot more standoffish after everything that happens with Ned later on in the season, which isn't something that I see a lot of people taking note of.

I think those are my main points for now.. Just know that I have a lot planned. As always, feel free to leave any comment below

Thank you,

Zevran.

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