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vampirepirates · 2 months 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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vampirepirates · 1 month ago

Text

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE WOLF AND THE LION.

i can't remember being nothing, but fearless

and young. we've become echoes, but echoes

they fade away.

The Small Council meetings seemed run for hours, as Lyarra paced through the halls of the Keep. More than once, she had escorted Eddard to one — if only to peak her head in to see Petyr. Each time, she'd been met with another uneasy glance from Varys. She had half the mind to confront the man, to question what his issue was — but thought better of it at once.

After Catelyn's departure from the Capital, Petyr had taken to walking with Lyarra throughout the gardens rather than have her make the journey from the Keep. Sansa had joined them only once, though she spent more than half of the afternoon sneaking glances at Petyr himself. The man was an enigma, as was their relationship itself. She'd caught Eddard glaring after him in his wake each time he'd left Lyarra's side for the night. She knew well enough that the man was hard to trust, but their open wariness of him gave her pause.

Sandor, on the other hand, had all but disappeared after the last time the two had drank together. She thought of asking Petyr about the man, and likely would have had she been a few years younger — but she swallowed the thought with a grimace. It'd do no good, giving Petyr any reason to think that she was interested in the whereabouts of Sandor Clegane.

As the members of the Small Council filed out of the room, Lyarra lingered to the side — awaiting the sight of her brother. Just as she'd noticed Petyr coming into view, her gaze was blocked by a figure standing in her way. Varys, with his hands clasped within the sleeves of his crimson robe — stood before her, his expression unreadable.

"A moment if it'd please you, my Lady?" He requested, tilting his head so that she could not look past him — no doubt blocking her view of Petyr intentionally. Lyarra nodded after a moment of considering his words. She'd been advised more than once not to trust the man, typically by Petyr himself — but it would do no harm to hear what he had to say.

Varys guided her then to what she could only assume was his own study, taking his place across a desk as he gently shut the door behind them.

"I come only with a warning, my Lady. Be wary of whom you call friend. These are troubling times, and it would do you no good to put your trust in the wrong person." He all but whispered, lips curving to form a look of intensity. Lyarra paused, taking in his words, as she took a seat across from him.

"How am I meant to trust you, then?" She questioned in retaliation, nerves crawling under her skin. She was partly aggravated already by the disruption. Her words caused him no surprise, though his grin did pull a bit further across his face — giving way to his approval.

"It's quite simple, I'm afraid. Don't," He stated, his words final. Lyarra cocked a brow as he continued, "Don't trust me. I am only a man — if you choose to see me as such, that is — and men lie."

"However, I must say it would be in your best interest to trust my word." All the while, Varys' hands remained clasped within the confines of his robe. He raised a brow of his own to Lyarra, bidding her to respond. She only gaped for a moment before she collected herself, nodding as she processed it all. The moment she'd given her approval, the man dawned an expression of disinterest — sitting back in his seat, as he made it clear he was finished with the conversation. Lyarra excused herself just a beat after, rushing back to her quarters with a mix of confusion and trepidation. The man was more cryptic than she would have liked, and Lyarra did not know whether to appreciate that she had someone who cared for her well-being — or frightened at the thought of being watched.

As she rounded the corner, she came face-to-face with a familiar sight. Just before her, stood Arya — who was balancing her weight on one of her feet. Behind her, she could just barely make out the sound of approaching footsteps — and she turned with amusement to her brother. Eddard raised a brow at her expression, before noticing his daughter as he looked past her.

"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours," Arya claimed, her smile bright as she spoke. Lyarra's heart tugged at the thought, as she leaned against the stone wall to watch the girl. She glanced down at her feet then, before meeting her gaze with mock-confusion.

"Doesn't look like you're standing on your toes to me," She argued, growing further amused by the scowl that pulled across Arya's face. Behind her, Eddard scoffed, as he came to stand at her side. Arya repositioned herself, attempting to place weight on one toe alone — before she stumbled just slightly.

"It's a hard fall down these steps." He remarked, though all things considered he did not appear particularly worried. His expression was once of intrigue alone, as he smiled up at his daughter. Arya did not seem perturbed by his words, and instead only stood taller — replacing her weight on the other foot.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better." After a moment, Arya placed both feet on the ground — finally meeting their gazes properly.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to be chasing cats."

"Cats?" Eddard questioned, turning to Lyarra then — before they both noticed Arya moving to speak again.

"Syrio says," The siblings started in tandem, though Arya did not allow it to disturb her. Instead, she carried on as if they hadn't spoken a word to begin with.

"He says every swordsman should study cats. They're as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them." Arya stated, approaching the two until she was just past Lyarra — standing directly in front of her father. Eddard met his sister's gaze only once, seemingly taking note of her intentions, before he leaned into Arya's space.

"He's right about that," He started, glancing up at Lyarra as she lunged — picking the girl up in one quick motion. Arya flailed for a moment — shouting at the top of her lungs, before she grumbled, throwing her arms down in defeat.

"Too bad you are not a cat!" Lyarra exclaimed, spinning the girl — before placing her back down on her feet. Once she had collected herself, she turned back to her father as if nothing had happened at all, save for the glare she shot in Lyarra's direction.

"Now that Bran's awake, will he come live with us? And Reyne? Will she come too?" She questioned, and at once all jovial feeling was sucked out of Lyarra. Reyne was only still in Winterfell due to Bran's condition. Now that she'd arrived at King's Landing without her, part of her longed to see her daughter again — and the other part knew better than to invite her into the Lion's den.

"Well, he'll need to get his strength back first. And Reyne will be at his side, all the while."

"He wants to be a Knight of the Kingsguard. He can't be one now, can he?" At her inquiry, Lyarra reached out to rub Arya's shoulder. The girl shot her a confused look, as if she did not understand her sympathy. She wasn't asking out of pity, instead out of pure curiosity alone. Eddard took a seat by Arya's side, then, while Lyarra placed herself beside the two. They spent a moment thinking of what the boy's future could be. He could become a lord of a holdfast, he could sit in the Small Council — or he could become a builder. Reyne herself could serve as his handmaiden, or even become a Septa with time.

"Can I be lord of a holdfast?" Arya inquired, her eyes trained on Lyarra rather than her father. She felt herself swallow dryly, at that. In some moments, she and Lyanna were so similar. Always seeking to rise above their station, to rise above the ideals placed on women. Just before Eddard had gone to speak, Lyarra grabbed Arya's hands — her eyes leveling, to meet her gaze.

"You can be anything you'd like, my dear Arya. You don't have to marry a high Lord and rule his castle, have sons that grow to be Knights and Lords," Before she could say much else, she was met with a stern look from Eddard. But Arya shook her head all the same, agreeing with her words.

"No, that's not me."

Lyarra only tightened her grip on Arya's hands, nodding as she had expected the answer.

"That's not me, either, nor was it your Aunt. I found my place, as you will find yours." She stated simply, willfully ignoring Eddard's flinch at the mention of their sister. They did not often speak of Lyanna, and when they did it had never been so freely. Yet in that moment, she couldn't help but see her sister staring back up at her — through the eyes and spirit of her niece.

The following morning, Petyr had sent word that he would not be able to attend their usual walk through the gardens. The message gave her pause for only a moment, before she begrudgingly allowed herself to tend to her other duties. Aianna had spent the morning guiding her through the keep, before the two came across the solemn force of her brother. Eddard greeted Aianna by name, something that he'd only taken a second meeting to learn, and she bid the two farewell with a quick nod. Lyarra watched the girl retreat with fondness, as she turned inquisitively to her brother.

At his side stood Jory, whose eyes carried a flicker of concern within them. Before she could say much of anything, a thick scroll was placed in her hands.

"I need you to deliver this to the King. I have .. other matters to attend to," He trailed off, glancing over her shoulder as he spoke. Lyarra furrowed her brow in confusion as he continued, but nodded all the same. She hadn't seen the King much, since arriving at King's Landing — though she could hardly complain. Jory marched ahead of her, scroll in hand, as the two made their way to the King's quarters.

As they approached the room, they were met with the sound of resounding moans. Lyarra couldn't help but snort as she noticed the blush creeping up Jory's neck. She had half the mind to tease him, before she took note of Jaime Lannister standing by the door — his expression conflicted, though his eyes gave way for the anger within.

"This is for the King, from Lord Stark." Jory greeted, his own embarrassment never halting his motions. All the while, Jaime did not raise his head to meet their eyes — instead, his stare bore holes into the floor beneath them. "Should I leave it with.." He continued, but was quickly cut off by a sharp hush from Jaime.

"Listen," He motioned to the door, as moans rang through the halls. The King's laugh was a familiar sound, as they only increased in volume. The sound made Lyarra sick, and after a moment all humor fled from her. She was finding it increasingly difficult to not pity the Queen, with the more time she spent in King's Landing. "Do you hear them?" He asked, addressing Jory alone. He'd yet to meet Lyarra's gaze properly, a fact that she could only assume was intentional.

"How many do you think are in there with him?"

"Is there a point to this, Ser Jaime?" She questioned as the man continued. Finally, he met her stare then — his eyes wide, as if he hadn't expected her to speak. Jory bristled at her side, but said nothing.

"He likes to do this when I'm on duty. Makes me listen as he insults my sister," Jaime continued, never once breaking from Lyarra's gaze. She almost shied away from the intensity of it, but contained her hesitation with a grimace. She might not look at Cersei fondly, but no one deserved the treatment the King was giving her. After a moment, one of the girls ran out — shooting them all a wary glance.

"Forgive me, my Lord—" Jory started, but was quickly cut off before he could say much else.

"Why do I have to forgive you? Have you wronged me? Or you, Lyarra, for that matter. Have you wronged me?" The lack of formalities was not lost on Lyarra, though she couldn't bring herself to do much more than stare back at the man before her. Jaime tilted his head, awaiting her response.

"Have the two of you met before?" Jory chimed in, breaking the tension between the pair. Jaime, at that, took a step back — as if he'd finally reached his senses, his vision now clear of any emotion.

Lyarra paused for only a moment, willing Jaime to speak. When the man made it clear he'd intended on giving no response, she nodded — moving back in the direction that she'd once came. Just barely, she could hear the men speaking behind her — though she no longer cared for what they had to say. Jaime Lannister was not the man she'd met years ago. She could only wonder who he'd become.

The remainder of Lyarra's days leading up to the tourney were spent alongside Aianna. Petyr had yet to reappear, and thus each morning Aianna had taken to walking her through the gardens. Despite the sense of impending doom she'd felt with each growing moment in King's Landing, she was grateful for the girl's presence. At the very least, she'd made one friend. Aianna had intended on escorting Lyarra to the first day of the event itself, but had been ushered out by Septa Mordane. Instead, she requested that Lyarra stay by Sansa's side through the event. Despite this, Lyarra ensured that Aianna would sit beside her throughout it — with Sansa on her left.

Sandor, she'd learned, would be competing in the tourney. Though he was not an anointed knight, he was a sworn-sword of the Crown Prince. One would not argue with his authority, and Robert clearly never had the mind to forbid him from participating.

Just as they had gone to take their seats, Lyarra took note of a familiar figure flitting in and out of the tents surrounding the grounds. She snuck out of her line just before Septa Mordane could say a word, waving off a concerned glance from Aianna. Though she had half the mind to consider what she was doing, Lyarra allowed her feet to carry her into the tent — stopping only when she came to stand in front of Sandor. Surprise was evident within his gaze, though he did not move at the sight of her. Before he could say a word, Lyarra removed a cloth with a sapphire hue from within her sleeve, moving to tie it around his chain gauntlet. As she pulled back to face him, her breath caught at the intense look in his eyes.

Sandor didn't appear angry, nor was he outwardly pleased. He seemed to be more confused than anything, as if it was his first time receiving a favor. In that same breath, it was Lyarra's first time giving one. Though she could not bring herself to regret it, as he tied it tighter around his wrist. She did not allow him to say anything else, and instead turned on her heel — rushing to take her spot beside Aianna and her niece. Septa Mordane questioned her after a moment, but unsurprisingly Lyarra only waved her words off.

Just as she'd settled, she noticed Sansa gazing at the Prince — who met her stare after a moment, but tore away with haste. She moved to comfort her niece, at her forlorn expression, before a voice cut in.

"A lover's quarrel?" Petyr inquired, ignoring the confused glances of the girls at Lyarra's side. Arya had never met the man, to her knowledge, though Sansa had become familiar with him in time.

"Do we know you?" Arya asked childishly, and Lyarra could hardly hold back her snort. To her side, even Aianna appeared sheepish.

"Arya dear, this is Lord Baelish. He's known.." Septa Mordane began, and Lyarra chimed in just as quickly to interrupt her — before she could name the monicker he'd been given.

"A friend of the family," She provided, relaxing in the slightest at the grin he shot her.

"I've known your mother — as well as your aunt," He added, nodding in the Lyarra's direction, "a long, long time."

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya retorted, and Lyarra had half the mind to step in — before she was silenced by a wave from Petyr. Sansa chided her sister, a fact that only seemed to further amuse the man.

"When I was a child, I was very small. I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So, you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname." Petyr remarked, though she could sense the sarcasm in her tone. Just as he moved to speak again, the King let out a shout — commanding the knights to 'get on with it already'. Lyarra watched as a large figure approached the stands. She hardly noticed Petyr's voice fading into the background. She knew the man well enough, without any description necessary. Just before her, stood Gregor Clegane. The Mountain. The sight of him alone was enough to have Lyarra's blood running cold. Aianna clasped onto her hand then, ducking into her line of view.

As the joust carried on, Lyarra found herself clutching onto Aianna's hand with fervor. The sight of Gregor's opponent falling from his horse was not a shocking one, but she found herself tensing all the same.

"Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" Petyr's voice faded in, still intent on spinning tales for Sansa. For once, Lyarra found annoyance building within her — as the man continued to speak. Had the subject of his tales been anyone else, she would have been ducking beside him — whispering as the two carried on. Only this time, she couldn't find herself clinging to his words. Instead, bile rose in her throat by the second.

"Lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was just a pup, six years old, maybe. Gregor, a few years older, already a big lad. Already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence," As the tale dragged on, Lyarra found herself glancing behind her in the direction of Sandor — only to find he had been looking at her already. His stare bore into her for a moment longer, before he turned back towards the tournament. "One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire. Gregor's toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted." Petyr paused then, glancing at Lyarra for only a moment — before turning his attention back to Sansa.

"There aren't many people who know that story," He claimed. Sansa swore not to tell anyone else, which only seemed to further please the man. Lyarra could hardly bite her tongue as the minutes stretched on, just barely maintaining her own disgust.

"Good, please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you," Petyr all but promised, all the while never breaking eye contact with Lyarra. He was goading her, forcing what he could out of her — and Lyarra knew, just as the dam broke, that she was giving him exactly what he wanted.

"I'm sure 'The Hound' has better things to worry about than the whisperings of rats," She bit, standing then to take her leave. Aianna was soon to follow, as the two returned to her chambers within the Keep. The next joust wouldn't begin until the following morning, but she knew well enough the implications of her actions. Those within the stands were not permitted to leave until the King himself allowed them to. Though she doubted the thought of catching Robert's gaze, the act had left her uneasy.

"My lady, if I may?" Aianna inquired once the two had settled within Lyarra's chambers. She waved for the girl to continue, taking note of her trepidation.

"Why come to the defense of 'the Hound'?" Her question was just barely over a whisper, as if she was afraid of someone overhearing. Lyarra only shrugged, pouring herself a mug of wine — as she took a seat beside Aianna.

"I would have done the same for you. Or Lord Baelish himself, for that matter. It is unbecoming to spew such rumors, when the one in question is not present to defend themselves." Her response seemed to give Aianna pause, but the girl nodded all the same after a moment. The remaining hours of the evening were spent in that same spot, as the two shared stories between themselves. Aianna seemed to become more comfortable in her presence by the moment, though coaxing more than a few words out of her came at a great effort.

The following morning, Lyarra had been met with the unexpected presence of her brother, who sat at Sansa's side in the stands. With Aianna in tow, the two sat just behind the pair — with Petyr looming on her left. The moment he noticed her, he'd gone to speak up — but was quickly silenced by the sound of boisterous horns. The second day of the tourney was starting. She made a mental promise to deal with him later.

With the start of the second day, came Sandor's first round in the tournament. She did not recognize the man on the horse opposite him, though she hardly concerned herself with him to begin with. As Sandor approached the King, Lyarra took note of the sapphire cloth — still tied snugly around his wrist. Though she hadn't been outright in her actions, she felt Aianna's gaze on her regardless. The round itself was over just as quickly as it'd started, with Sandor's opponent on the ground — alive, unlike the man who'd gone against his brother last. She could hardly count how many times he had gone up again, after that. She didn't dare take her eyes off of the man, even to address her niece.

As Sandor moved to take his position once more, Lyarra noticed one of the servants approach him — with a basket in hand. She'd observed moments prior, as the man had been all but shoved in the Hound's direction. Even then, he seemed reluctant to present what ever it was that he'd been holding. Sandor lingered for a moment longer, before riding in the direction of the stands — stopping only when he was in front of Ned and Sansa. He reached out, and Lyarra noticed then that he had a rose in hand. Ned, who looked more confused by the minute, held the rose by the stem — as if he was afraid to touch it.

"I'm not certain of what I've done to give you the impression that—"

"Oh, for fucks' sake, it's for your fucking sister." Sandor grumbled, meeting Lyarra's eyes with an almost shy expression. He waited only for Ned to hand the rose to her, before he rode off to prepare for the joust. Lyarra was certain she was flushed in that moment, though she couldn't do much more than clutch the rose to her chest. The act had inspired numerous onlookers, and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd done such a thing before. Ned himself had turned to look at her in that moment, though he hadn't looked entirely shocked — rather more concerned than anything. She did not dare meet Petyr's wandering gaze, even as she felt his stare.

Soon after, Sandor's part in the tournament came to a close — with another pair soon to follow. Lyarra observed with only a shred less horror, as Gregor presented himself to the king.

"Where's Arya?" Eddard questioned then, peaking over his eldest daughter's shoulder — as he took note of her absence.

"At her dancing lessons," Sansa answered just as quickly, disinterest evident in her tone. Eddard met Lyarra's eyes then, with a wary expression. Just before he could say anything, Sansa loudly marveled at the sight of another knight. Lyarra was sure he was beautiful, in the same way that Jaime Lannister was. It came as no surprise to her that Sansa could not tear her eyes from him, especially as he rode on to stand before her.

"The Knight of the flowers," She cooed, wonder clear in her words. For the first time, Lyarra met Petyr's gaze — as the two shared a look of exhaustion. Tourneys were entertaining, as it was, but they seemed to never end. The Knight reached out then to present Sansa with a flower of her own, a coy smile curling across his lips. Sansa almost turned as red as the rose in her hands, as she no doubt attempted to contain her giddiness.

"Thank you, Ser Loras."

As Loras rode off to stand before the King, Lyarra couldn't help but notice Gregor's own horse's strange behavior. It spun the large man, before he could get control of it. Petyr, seemingly having the same thought, met her eyes once more — nodding in the direction of the beast, as it whinnied in discomfort. Lyarra had spent enough time with her own horse, Frost, to know what it meant, and could only hope that Ser Loras knew the same. Gregor's horse was in heat. If Loras used that knowledge to his advantage, he'd prove victorious — regardless if it was a cheap win.

"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa pleaded, clinging onto her father's arm. Eddard met Lyarra's gaze then, and within a moment she placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Have more faith in Ser Loras, my dear. He knows well enough what he is up against. Only a fool would feel safe against Ser Gregor," She bit the name out, swallowing down her own displeasure at speaking of the man. Sansa had only relaxed in the slightest, but she did lean into Lyarra's touch.

"A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain!" Petyr called then, seemingly ignorant to the girl's fear. Behind her, a voice met his call.

"I'll take that bet," Renly, the youngest of the Baratheon brothers, replied. Her brother had come to know him well, both due to his friendship with Robert — and his time on the Small Council. She, however, had never had the pleasure of meeting the man. Though, she admitted he appeared to be one of the more trustworthy men of the capital.

"Now, what will I buy with one hundred gold dragons?" Petyr questioned to himself, "A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"Do us both a favor, and buy yourself a moment of silence," Lyarra hissed, removing herself from Sansa's side if only to grab Petyr's hand. His brow furrowed at her aggravation, before he seemed to collect himself — brushing off the front of his coat. No doubt, he wouldn't take her belittling him publicly well, but she'd had about enough of his quips for one day.

"Seems like it'd do you some good to listen to your friend, Lord Baelish." Renly claimed, shooting Lyarra a not unkind smile. She forced one of her own in return, but was certain it came out as more of a grimace than anything.

They were interrupted then, by the trumpets blaring once more. At once, the men were off. Loras made quick work of his lance, jabbing Gregor's horse in the right position — as the beast collapsed beneath the large man. Resounding gasps shot within the stands, as they observed the Mountain's defeat. She couldn't help her own grin, as Renly stood up — all the while laughing, no doubt celebrating Loras' victory. If the Mountain's loss brought Lyarra a bit of peace, that was her own business. Petyr, however, did not seem pleased — though he did seem to relax at Lyarra's joy.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger. Perhaps it would do you well to listen to your friend more," Renly exclaimed, never once meeting Petyr's stare, instead staring after Ser Loras. Lyarra could hardly help her own snort, causing the Baratheon to meet her gaze with mirth.

"And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?" Within an instant, any hint of amusement from within Renly had vanished. Lyarra's gut churned, as she took in the implications of his words. Due to the man's reaction alone, she could hardly bring herself to doubt them. Though, she could not help but wonder how that was any of Petyr's business. He knew everything about everyone, she was sure — a fact that she often admired him for. However, he had no right to share information of the sort so willingly. Lyarra glanced over the crowd, though no one had seemingly taken in his words. Reply's gaze was vacant, his lips curled into a scowl. She had half the mind to say something to him, before Petyr's voice chimed in again.

"Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite crafty, really." He claimed, turning to Lyarra for confirmation. She nodded, glancing ahead at the man who now approached the king.

"Ser Loras would never do that, there's no honor in tricks." Sansa argued, her pout becoming more pronounced within seconds. Eddard himself looked conflicted, as he glanced between Petyr and his sister.

"There's rarely any honor to be found in fighting the Mountain," Lyarra stated, moving to grab onto Sansa's shoulder once more. As if her words alone summoned him into action, Gregor stood then — throwing his helmet beyond the stands.

"Sword!" He called. A man came running then with a blade, and the sight of the Mountain wielding such a weapon gave her pause. No one else had seemed to notice, save for Sandor — who hadn't once taken his eyes off of his brother. Everyone else had been captivated by Loras, who now bowed before the King. Lyarra sat back in horror, as Gregor brought his sword down on his horse's head, cleaving it off in one quick motion. Aianna grasped onto her hand, then, shaking almost unnoticeably. Even Petyr paused, though one look in his eyes gave way to his fascination.

Gregor rushed forward, knocking Ser Loras from his horse. The crowd stood then, gasps littering through them — as screams of horror rose from their throats. Just as Gregor moved to bring his blade down on Loras' head, he was pushed by another figure.

"Leave him be," Sandor commanded, shoving the boy behind him — as he raised his blade to meet his brother's. The sight filled Lyarra with another dose of horror, though this time she'd felt her fear more viscerally. The two continued to brawl, taking swing after swing. Lyarra pulled her gaze away only to look to the King, who hadn't moved a muscle. He'd seemed almost enthralled by the action. As Gregor raised his blade once more, the man finally rose to his feet.

"Stop this madness in the name of your king!" He called out, and for the first time in what could have been minutes — Lyarra found her breath. She collected herself then, coming to notice that she'd had Petyr's robe balled into her fists. She released him just as quickly, muttering a low apology — all the while never taking her eyes off of Sandor. The man had dropped to his knee the moment he'd been addressed, while Gregor continued to stumble. The Mountain threw his sword down then, stomping out of the crowd. Ser Loras approached Sandor then, timidly, but with purpose all the same.

"I owe you my life, Ser." He breathed, and the moment the words left his lips, Lyarra knew what the other man's response would be. Though she hadn't known him long, he'd taken a presence in her life for years now. His words were familiar, and more often than not — predictable.

"I'm no Ser," He grumbled, true to Lyarra's expectations. Regardless, Loras reached to raise his hand victoriously — though, Sandor kept his gaze trained on the ground. Sansa was on her feet in an instant, applauding the men — with the remainder of the crowd soon to follow. Lyarra herself remained seated, though she applauded fiercely — nudging Aianna with her boot to do the same. After a moment, Sandor reluctantly pulled his eyes to the crowd, seemingly scanning through it before he caught sight of his target. Lyarra met his gaze then, and within an instant — the man appeared timid, shrinking in on himself. The sight forced Lyarra's breath to catch in her throat. She'd never seen such a large man appear so small, due to praise alone.

Eddard rocked in his seat as he waited for the reappearance of his daughter. Since the tourney, Lyarra hadn't once left his side. Arya hadn't been seen for hours, a fact that had Ned on his heels — calling quickly for his men to find her. It was no cause for concern, in Lyarra's mind. Arya often ran off, something that reminded her of herself as a child. She did her best to comfort her brother, assuring him that no harm had likely come to the girl — before they were interrupted by two guards.

The men escorted Arya into the room, who'd been covered in dirt from head to toe. Lyarra contained her laughter, and instead moved to clean the girl off. Arya leaned out of her grasp more than once with a scowl.

"You know I had half my guard out searching for you?" Eddard grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. Her heart panged with sympathy for a moment, before she turned back to brush off her niece. "You promised me this would stop,"

"They said they were going to kill you," At once, Lyarra ceased her motions — pulling back to look into Arya's eyes.

"Who did?"

"I didn't see them," She trailed off, glancing down at Lyarra then. "But I think one was fat."

Lyarra whacked the girl with her rag then, but Arya did not budge. Her words were final. She believed what she was saying, a fact that had her own blood running cold.

"I'm not lying! They said you found the bastard, and the wolves are fighting the lions and the savage," She paused, her eyes moving wildly as she seemed to conjure what she could remember, "something about the savage."

"Where did you hear this?" Lyarra questioned, bending her knee to meet Arya's stare.

"In the dungeons, near the dragon skulls."

Their conversation continued for only a moment longer, before Jory entered the room. At once, their heads all snapped to him. Lyarra could see the tension building within her brother. Something Arya said had given him pause. She wished then, more than anything, to lift the burden from his shoulders — if only to see him filled with peace for but a moment.

"Pardon, my Lord. There's a Night's Watchman here begging a word. He says it's urgent," Jory stated, leaning through the doorway to face Eddard. The mention of the Watch had Lyarra frozen, as she thought of Jon. She wondered, then, if he'd become assimilated with the Night's Watch yet. If he'd become a brother, having sworn his vows.

A man walked in shortly after, with long brown hair — and a suit of leather. His expression was grim, though not particularly unkind. She moved to stand by Arya, then, curling an arm around her shoulder while Eddard stepped to their side.

"Your name, friend?"

"Yoren, if it please." The man greeted, standing tall before the group. The name came as no reminder, as she'd never heard Benjen mention him — but the sight of him had her longing to be at her younger brother's side once more. "This must be your son," He claimed, pointing in the direction of Arya, "He has the look,"

"I'm a girl," Arya argued, pouting at his words. Lyarra could hardly hold back her snort, though she collected herself at the exasperated look Ned shot her.

"Did Benjen send you?" Lyarra asked, tilting her head as she took in the sight of him. Jory stood solemnly in the doorway, crossing his arms over himself.

"No one sent me, my Lady. I'm here to find men for the wall, see if there's any scum in the dungeons that might be fit for service."

Eddard promised Yoren recruits, and moved quickly to take his seat once more — before noticing the man had not moved an inch. "Thank you, my Lord, but that's not why I disturb you now. Your brother Benjen, his blood runs black, makes him as much my brother as yours. It's for his sake I rode here so hard, I damned near killed my horse. There are others riding too. The whole city will know by tomorrow."

"Know what?"

"Best said in private, my Lord." His gaze only grew more final, as he turned to glance at both Arya and Lyarra. She realized then that the pair weren't welcome for what ever it was the man had to say.

"Come, Arya. Let's get you cleaned up for supper," Jory followed suit behind the pair. Only a brief moment of silence lasted, before Arya began questioning the pair on anything she appeared to think of. How many men her father had in his service, how loyal were they, whether they'd protect him. The thought only had Lyarra's stomach churning stronger, as she grasped onto Arya's shoulder.

Eddard summoned Lyarra to his study just before the sun fell. He told her then, everything he had been keeping to himself. First, he had reason to believe Jon Arryn's death was no accident, as he'd claimed in Winterfell. Lord Arryn had seemingly been looking into King Robert's bastard children, before he'd fallen ill. Second, a Targaryen babe lived — across the world, and seemingly grew stronger every day. The Targaryens themselves had always been fantastical, in her mind. They were beautiful, strong — as if they'd fallen out of the history books themselves. King Robert wanted her dead, alongside her brother. Unsurprisingly, Eddard had argued with the men to no end — resulting in him stepping down from the title as hand.

Third, and most distressing — Catelyn had taken Lord Tyrion, accusing him of an attempt on her son's life. As word had it, the two were on their way to the Vale. The thought alone had terror running through Lyarra. The act itself was enough to create more tension between the Starks and the Lannisters — but to condemn Tyrion, of all? The man was a fool, and Lyarra hadn't known him for long. But she knew him well enough to know he'd never cause Bran harm. Lyarra's heart tugged as Eddard's voice began to shake. As his facade cracked, giving way to the scared man beneath it all. She hardly waited a second before making her way to his side, leaning to pull him against her.

The two rarely embraced, even in their childhood. It was only when the other was crying — or they knew more than anything, they needed one another. Her heart shattered at the thought of Ned shouldering it all alone. Catelyn's act was brash, but she was doing it for the sake of her family. She wasn't sure how long the two sat together, until Jory all but barged in — concern evident in the frown pulling across his face. Within an instant, Eddard jumped into action, packing his belongings into a chest.

"I'll go ahead with my daughters. You get them ready, do it yourself." He nodded to Jory, turning at once back to his work.

"Right away my Lord," Jory agreed, though he paused a moment longer, "Lord Baelish is here for you."

Ned halted in his motions, as Petyr flitted into the room. His gaze hovered on Lyarra for only a moment, as he took in the surprise of her presence.

"His grace went on about you at some length after you took your leave. The word "treason" was mentioned,"

"What can I do for you?"

"If you're still here before nightfall, I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill, if that sort of thing still interests you." Petyr promised. He wore a mask of confidence, though Lyarra observed as his eyes flickered between Eddard and herself more than once. He wasn't taking her presence well, she could only assume.

"I don't have the time," Eddard argued, turning at once back to the chest. Petyr bowed then, only appearing disappointed for but a moment, though Lyarra knew better than to take his word as it was. Frustration built within her, as she recognized her own intentions in advance. She wanted to take the burden off of Eddard's shoulders. It'd appear this was the only way to do so.

"Ned, I'll go. You get the girls ready." He gaped at the suggestion, before she narrowed her eyes. He'd shared with her everything she needed to know, only moments prior. It was more common for her to be at Petyr's side than him, at the moment. Alongside that, it would reduce the risk of intensifying Robert's wrath. He hesitated only a moment longer before bidding her to continue. Just as she moved to take her leave, he grasped onto her shoulder. Eddard said nothing, though it was not necessary — as his stare alone carried the weight of his words. He still did not trust Petyr, not that she could doubt him at this point. She only squeezed his arm, before turning on her heel to retreat.

"She looks like him, don't she, my Lady? She has his nose, his black hair." The girl cooed, bouncing a babe in her arms. Petyr had taken Lyarra to his brothel, a fact that came as no surprise. On their journey, he hadn't said more than a word — though her appearance had seemingly not come as a shock to him. He only silently guided her into a room, shutting the door behind him. There in the center of the room, stood a girl — with a black-haired babe nestled against her.

"Aye," Lyarra rasped, her throat dry as she attempted to swallow. The sight flooded her with numerous emotions at once — with only more questions to meet them. Why had Jon Arryn come here, just before his death? What was so important about another bastard?

"Tell him when you see him, my Lady. If it please you, tell him how beautiful she is."

Lyarra could hardly bring herself to reply, before the girl continued.

"And tell him, I've been with no one else. I swear it, my Lady, by the old Gods and new. I don't want no jewels or nothing, just him. The King was always good to me.." Lyarra's heart burned with sympathy as she rambled on. She wanted more than anything to promise that the girl would be given everything and more, that she'd have a safe home for herself and her babe — that the King would give her one. Petyr met her gaze across the room, though he appeared more pleased than anything.

"When Jon Arryn came to visit you," She started, coming to realize she had yet to address her true purpose for her presence, "what did he want?"

"He wasn't that sort of man, my Lady. He just wanted to know if the child was happy, healthy."

Lyarra gulped, moving to gently lift the babe's hand. "She looks healthy to me. The girl shall want for nothing, I'll see to it myself."

She stepped out of the room quickly, Petyr quick on her heels. Lyarra felt as if she was forcing herself to move forward, as she harshly placed herself on one of the sofas. Petyr delicately took a seat at her side, tentatively reaching over — clasping one of her hands in his.

In an instant, she ripped herself out of his grasp — standing across from him, balling the lower half of her gown in her hands.

"Do you understand now, why you're here?" He inquired, all but ignoring her previous outburst. Lyarra let out a sharp laugh, one that was coated with hurt.

"What did Jon Arryn want with King Robert's bastards?"

"Perhaps, the King wanted them looked after. He was overcome with fatherly love. Or perhaps, Jon Arryn had another motive. How are we meant to understand the inner-workings of a dead man's brain?" Petyr added, as he moved to stare into Lyarra's eyes imploringly. He was waiting for a shoe to drop, for her to notice something she had yet to. Her own brow furrowed, as she stared back into his eyes — considering the information itself. The sound of footsteps broke the tension, as Lyarra stepped away — moving to the door.

"So, I take it this has changed nothing for you? You'll be leaving the capital, alongside your family?" Petyr called out just before she could reach the door. Lyarra paused in her motions, never once taking her gaze off of the handle before her.

"What would you have me do, Petyr?" She questioned bitterly, scowling ahead as her head came to fall.

"Stay. Here, in King's Landing. I have more than enough room for you. Stay, and learn the truth of it all — with me. You could be so much more," Lyarra finally turned then, her breath catching as she took in the sight before her. Petyr was disheveled, his eyes desperate — as he approached her, one step at a time. "Is this not what we always wanted? Everything we dreamt of is within our grasp. Are you willing to let it slip away?"

Lyarra almost allowed herself to lean into the illusion, to dream of what the two could have. Petyr had come to power almost unnoticeably. One could only imagine what else he was capable of — what the two could do, side by side. She stepped back then, and observed as Petyr's resolve crumbled. Within an instant, any hint of emotion faded from his gaze. A grin pulled across his lips, as he stepped further into her space.

"Are you willing to leave your Hound?"

For a moment, nothing could be heard but the sound of distant moans — ringing through the brothel. Lyarra let out a sharp breath through her nose, before she shot forward. Her palm made contact with his cheek before she could stop herself, the sound of the slap echoing through the room but a moment after. She did not allow herself the opportunity to do anything else, before she stomped out of the room — shooting one more look to the man, who now seemed to curl pathetically in on himself. Eddard, alongside Jory, met her at the door. He halted in his step as he noticed her expression, but she only waved him off — moving further out of the building.

Once they'd made their way outside, Lyarra was met with the sight of Lannister guards. More than she could count, as they circled the group. Eddard came to stand at her side, holding her back by the arm — as Jory lingered on their right. Just a moment later, Jaime Lannister came into view, riding his own horse. The sight of her had his head cocking, though only in the slightest. He seemed to hesitate, before moving to dismount.

"Such a small pack of wolves," He remarked, all the while never meeting Lyarra's stare. Jory stepped forward then, placing himself in front of the two Starks.

"Stay back, Ser. This is the hand of the King."

"Was the hand of the King. Now I'm not sure what he is. Lord of somewhere very far away." Jaime noted, never once moving from the side of his horse. Petyr came barreling out soon after, concern evident to those who did not look too closely.

"Get back inside where it's safe," Jaime requested, pausing then as he finally met Lyarra's eyes, "and take Lady Lyarra, while you're at it. This is no place for a woman,"

Lyarra moved to argue, but was quickly silenced as Eddard shot an arm out in front of her — pushing her behind him, and to Petyr's side. Jaime made his intentions clear then, stating that he was looking for his brother. News had traveled quicker than Eddard had expected, it'd seemed, as he recounted the tale she'd only been told earlier. Someone took Tyrion on the road, and Jaime wanted him back. Against her better judgement, Lyarra found herself clutching Petyr's sleeve. He moved closer to her, taking a hand in his as he had only moments prior.

"He was taken at my command to answer for his crimes." Eddard claimed, and at once Lyarra felt her heart drop. Of course, he would stop at nothing to protect his family. Before he could say anything else, Jaime unsheathed his blade — with the Lannister guards soon to follow.

"My lords," Petyr started, silenced only by a wave from Ned. The two shared a silent look, one that conveyed a message she could not understand. Petyr rushed forward then, taking Lyarra by the arm then to usher her inside. She shot a desperate look to Jaime, pleading with him silently to not do this — to not harm her brother. At once, his expression went blank, but he moved forward all the same.

"No, no. He's the hand of the King, you can't do this! Ser Jaime, please," She begged, her vision fading as Petyr all but dragged her back to the brothel. "Jaime, please don't do this!"

Once they were up the stairs, Petyr moved to hush her — taking her into his arms. She clutched his tunic, then, bringing it to her face as she fell apart in his hold. She could just barely make out the sound of blades clashing — the shouts of men following. Lyarra forced herself not to think of what could be happening in that moment. That her brother could have been slain, or Jory for that matter. That she'd have to make the journey to Winterfell alone, save for her nieces. Lyarra was not certain she could take much more loss. It was only when all sound ceased all together, that she pulled back.

Before Petyr could stop her, Lyarra took off — making quick work down the stairs, and back to the bloody scene. Jaime was back on his horse, with one Lannister guard at his side. He turned, taking in the sight of her with a blank look. He seemed to be turning words around in his head, before thinking better of it. He rode off quickly, the guards following behind him. She paused for only a moment as she scanned over the rubble. Each of Ned's men were dead, some with blades still sticking out of them. The sight was enough to have her stomach flipping — before she caught sight of something that had her frozen in place. She could hardly recognize her own screams, as she ran to her brother's side. Eddard was unconscious, with blood oozing from a gash on his leg. At his side, laid Jory — who'd been punctured through the eye.

From that moment on, Lyarra felt like a guest in her own body. She hardly recognized herself moving, as someone ushered her back inside. Hours later, Eddard had been placed in his quarters. Sweat coated his forehead, and the sight of him alone was enough to have Lyarra promptly keel over — clutching her stomach as a wave of nausea hit her. She spent that night at his side, curled in a wooden chair by his bed. He did not wake once, and similarly she could not find sleep. The only moment she was able to find rest, was when a rough rap came at the door. She'd told the Maesters to allow no one in, save for herself. She'd half expected Aianna to meet her at the door, before she was met with the sight of Sandor — whose expression was all but unreadable, as usual.

She had half the mind to shut the door on him then, tired of putting her trust in the wrong people — before he stepped in, shutting the door behind him as delicately as he could manage.

"It's alright, Little Wolf. I won't hurt you," He rasped, nodding to the man in bed, "Rest, I'll watch over you both." Lyarra paused for only a moment, before wobbling back to the seat beside Eddard's bed. The sound of Sandor bolting the door had her ears perking in the distance, but she didn't take note of much else. Sleep crept up before she knew it, overtaking her — as she leaned into Eddard's quilt. Distantly, she felt a weight placed on her — feeling vaguely of the familiar weight of her furs — but by then, she was too far gone to acknowledge it properly.

Okay, so. A LOT happened in this chapter. It was really dialogue heavy, and I apologize for that. But they have a lot to say alright ... 9k words oh my golly. Someone call the yapping police. So, let's work through this. We got through the tourney! And in turn got the hilarious moment of Ned thinking the rose was for him, instead of Lyarra. Varys is being.. strange. A good strange or bad strange though.. we don't know.

No one:

Varys: Be careful who you call oomf...

Speaking of. Have I made it clear how complicated her relationship is with Petyr yet? If not, I feel like her slapping him only to end up crying in his arms a minute later should have made that pretty obvious. She doesn't trust him, and yet she cares so much about him that it's hard to think about much else. How does he feel about her though?? We'll have to see.. He wants her at his side, but for what reason? Jaime, on the other hand, is so incredibly confused. Someone please help that man.

Anyways, I do have some things I want to say here. One, Lyarra does not know the true extent of the fight that broke out between Brandon and Petyr. She only knows that it was enough to have Petyr sent back to the Fingers. Two, Lyarra does not know literally anything! Ever! She only learns of the whole 'Bastard Scandal' by the end of the chapter basically. So she's very emotional throughout the whole second half of the chapter.

Thank you,

Zevran.

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