A/N: No changes or edits, I was just asked to put the story back up. There was really no reason for me to delete it to be honest, other than I was just kind of getting disheartened every time I got a notification for this story. Feels like I abandoned my pet or something. But since there are people who like to re-read it, I decided I wouldn't take that away from them. So enjoy!
Lydia
The cold greeted her as gently as a mother's hug, and the Northern wind caressed her freckled cheeks but despite its sharp bite, Lydia felt nothing but warmth wash over her. "Are you excited m'lady?" Ser Roland asked, "It has been nearly four years since you've last seen home."
Lydia smiled, "and so much has changed in those four years. I wonder if my brothers have finally become men or if they're still claiming to be." Ser Roland let out a bark of laughter in response. Lydia smiled, but a part of her did wonder. When she had left Winterfell at the age of two and ten, she had been a plump little thing with no womanly features to speak of and now... Lydia glanced down.
Highgarden had treated her well. Her breasts had developed, as well as her hips and waist, and the baby fat that had clung to her face since childhood seemed to melt away in the Southern heat. Her hair had lightened considerably, and golden strands were now mixed in with the Tully red. The only complaint she had was the mess of freckles the sun had given her. Then again, Willas never seemed to mind them, and had admitted to liking them on occasion.
Lydia hummed at the thought of Willas Tyrell. If she managed to get her way, he would be her betrothed in a few short weeks. She was brought out of her thoughts when her horse huffed and shook his head, trying to chase away a very persistent fly. "Sweet Boy is such a calm tempered horse, my lady," her handmaiden Nora commented. "I don't think I've seen him shy once since Lord Willas gave him to you." The draft horse's ears twitched at his nickname, and Lydia gently patted his thick neck.
Originally named Florian, the large horse was a parting gift from Willas, and by far the best horse Lydia had ever ridden. Sweet Boy was large, a few inches short of being six feet at the shoulder, and a stool was required for Lydia to mount and dismount the gentle beast. Both saddle and headgear had to be specially made for the draft horse, but Lydia would have gladly paid a King's ransom for her sweet giant. Though she would never admit it, Lydia also enjoyed the surprised looks she received whenever Sweet Boy was brought to her. No one ever believed such a large beast could belong to her.
Sweet Boy huffed, neck muscles twitching beneath her hand.
"Hopefully the stable master will be able to find housing for him," Lydia said. "I'd hate for him to stay outside."
"I'm sure Hullen will find room for the beast," Ser Roland assured. "If not, then a couple of stalls can be built for him. Gods know the beast needs at least two stalls for himself."
Lydia laughed and gently pressed her heels against Sweet Boy's ribs. "Come, the sun will soon set and I'm sure we're all eager to be home." Her horse went from a walk to a trot quickly, eager to burn off some energy, and the rest of her company followed suit.
Night had fallen by the time Lydia spotted the Heart Tree on the horizon. Despite her eagerness to be in the comforting walls of Winterfell, Lydia knew she would only harm her horse if she brought him to a gallop. Reluctantly, she guided Sweet Boy to a jog, then a walk as she crossed the first gate. The guards welcomed her home but as she entered the courtyard, she was surprised to see how empty it was. Reining her horse in, she glanced around. There was a lavishly decorated carriage in the far corner, bearing the banners of the roaring lion of House Lannister and the rearing crowned stag of House Baratheon. "The King has come to visit?" Nora questioned as she drew her mare near her lady. "Has something happened?"
"Lady Lydia!" A voice greeted. An older man with a receding hairline appeared, along with a gaggle of pages. "My lady, we did not expect you for a few more days."
"I am pleased to see you too, Master Poole," Lydia teased, grinning at the old steward.
The steward bowed his head slightly. "Forgive me, my lady. With the King and his horde feasting, I'm afraid Winterfell has become the host to organized chaos."
"Indeed it has," Lydia laughed. "Tell me Master, what brings the King here? Has something happened?" Ser Roland held out his hand, which Lydia graciously took. Her legs were beginning to cramp from the day's riding.
"No, no, nothing has happened. At least nothing that's reached these old ears," Poole said, signaling the pages to help. "As far as I've gathered, the King simply wished to visit. Gods know why he decided to bring half of the court with him, but the King will do what he wants."
A stable hand appeared to lead the horses to the stables, and Lydia caught the mutterings of Master Hullen as he pondered where to put Sweet Boy. "Well then, it seems I must get ready for a feast."
Both Poole and Nora balked at the notion. "My lady you must rest!" Both said. Lydia shook her head.
"And risk insulting the King? I think not, and Gods knows those Southerners are itching for something to gossip about," Lydia said. "Nora, see if you can find Arwyn. I won't have time for a proper bath, but I should be able to wash the dirt off at me at the least." Nora nodded before taking off to the kitchens. "Ser Roland, please have my blue chest brought to my quarters immediately –my rooms haven't been taken over, I presume?" Poole nodded. "Excellent! Everything else can be unloaded when hands are available. If you will excuse me, I must condense an hour and a half of prepping into fifteen minutes."
Lydia walked swiftly threw the stone halls of Winterfell, taking extra care to avoid the halls that led directly to the Great Hall. She could hear the boisterous merriment, and silently cursed herself for her eagerness to be home. "And now I must put on a show for the King and his kin," she sighed. She was tired and dirty, and wanted nothing more than to sleep until noon but Lydia knew she could not. Lady Olenna had taught her better.
She threw her gloves onto her bed and began to unbraid her hair, leaving the door open. Moments later, Nora appeared with Arwyn. Arwyn had barely changed since Lydia last saw her, however her black hair had gotten considerably greyer, and she had a few more wrinkles around her sharp brown eyes. "It's good to see you after so many years, my lady," Arwyn greeted as she walked in. "We'll have to skip the pleasantries though. The feast has just begun, and we need to get you dolled up before every one gets drunk and stupid." Lydia laughed.
"I'm glad to see that sharp tongue of yours hasn't dulled."
Arwyn smirked, "Someone has to keep those daft little maids on their toes. Gods know one of them will end up pregnant by the end of this mummer's show." Arwyn turned her gaze to Nora, raising a thin eyebrow at the brunette.
Nora bristled at the silent accusation. "No man is going to lay a hand on me without my permission, Mistress. It's that stupid Rowan you have to keep an eye on."
Arwyn clicked her tongue, "Time will tell. Where are those useless boys? Gods, Old Nan moves faster than those green boys!"
Warm water was brought in in a large bowl, and while they waited for Lydia's chest, Nora quickly wiped the dirt and sweat from her lady. The pages soon showed with Lydia's trunk, and were greeted with a stern gaze from Arwyn. While the head maid chastised the young boys, Nora opened the trunk. "The dark blue dress with the white patterned skirt and silver stitching, my lady?"
"Yes and the silver belt. I'll wear my black slippers," Lydia replied as she slipped on her chemise. "No jewelry, but bring out my makeup." Lydia grimaced at the dark circles that were forming under her eyes. Her makeup would hide them quite well, but sleep would remove them permanently. She cast a longing gaze at her bed, before sighing and dragging her comb through her hair. Nora placed the small containers on her vanity table, and then took the comb from her lady so she could apply the thin paste under her eyes. Arwyn attended to Lydia's dress, making sure there were no rips or loose stitches.
Soon her makeup was applied, and her hair was in a braided bun. The dress slipped on easily enough, though Lydia noted the tightness around her chest. Quick as a couple of foxes, Nora and Arwyn applied the finishing touches to Lydia. "I must say, my lady, I did miss helping you dress," Arwyn said as she pulled the silver waist belt tight. "You always knew what you wanted to wear. The Lady Sansa is just beginning to understand how to use clothes to compliment one's self, and spent hours tittering over what dress she wanted to wear. The Lady Arya on the other hand... well she's probably in her bed by now."
"Along with my little brothers I'm sure," Lydia commented as she straightened her dress. She held her head high, allowing Nora to gently rub some perfume on her neck. "I'll have to give them their gifts on the morrow." Glancing at herself in her mirror, Lydia smiled. "Thank you for your assistance, both of you. Gods know I'd be a mess without you. Nora you are free to do what you wish for the evening, and do not worry about waking me tomorrow." Nora nodded. "If you would both excuse me, I must go make my presence known."
By the time Lydia arrived to the feast, the Great Hall had become impossibly loud causing Lydia to grimace inwardly. Like her father, Lydia had no care for the festivities of the South but she knew what was expected of her, and if everything went according to her plans the overly lavish festivities would become part of her life. She smiled and nodded at the doormen, noting that the youngest of the pair greatly approved of the cut of her dress. Straightening her back, Lydia moved gracefully through the crowd, saying her hellos to the lords and ladies. She soon found herself in front of the high table, where her mother and the Queen sat.
Her lady mother beamed at her as she approached. "Lydia!" her mother said as she extended her hand, "I wasn't expecting you for a few more days!"
Lydia grasped her mother's hand and smiled. "I was too eager to return home, and asked Ser Roland to travel at a quicker pace." Releasing her mother's hand, Lydia curtsied towards the Queen. "Your Grace, it is an honour to meet you."
Queen Cersei had the typical Lannister colouring, golden hair and green eyes, but to Lydia the Queen was far from a typical Lannister. Her hair looked as if it was spun gold, while her sharp eyes could make emeralds jealous from their beauty. With high cheek bones, glowing sun kissed skin, and full lips, Lydia could not help but feel inspired. I must remember to sketch her, Lydia thought as she rose. The Queen smiled, and Lydia watched as she quickly assessed her.
"You must tell me your secret, Lady Catelyn," The Queen said, her gaze unwavering.
"My secret, Your Grace?"
"You must have one, how else would you have given birth to two beautiful daughters?" Queen Cersei complimented. Lydia smiled, while her mother softly laughed. "Your mother tells me you were being fostered in Highgarden."
"Yes, Your Grace. This is the first time I have been home in four years," Lydia replied.
"And how does your home compare to the Reach?"
Lydia smiled sweetly, knowing what game the Queen was playing. Lady Olenna had posed similar questions to her during her fostering. "The Reach is as beautiful as they say, Your Grace. I spent many an hour simply walking in the gardens, and taking in the exotic flowers. Truly, there is no other place quite like it," Lydia answered. "But, if I am to be honest Your Grace, as lovely and warm as the Reach is, Winterfell is my home. Nothing truly compares to the warmth Winterfell gives me." Lydia glanced at her mother, who was looking at her with pride and happiness.
The Queen smiled at her once more, appearing to be satisfied with her answer. "I'm glad to hear that you still hold your true home in your heart."
"For as long as I draw breath, Your Grace," Lydia said. "May I be excused, Your Grace? I would like to greet my father." The Queen nodded, and Lydia curtsied once more before walking back into the crowd. She had yet to see her brothers, or her sister Sansa.
Gently, Lydia placed a hand on her father's shoulder, drawing his attention from the Lord he was speaking with. "Father."
Eddard Stark turned his head, and his usual stoic face was replaced by a wide grin. "By the Gods, Lydia. I wasn't expecting you for a few more days," her father said as he drew her into an embrace. "Highgarden has been good to you, pup."
"Indeed it has," a voice behind her said.
"Uncle Benjen!" Lydia cried as she embraced the older man. "It's been so long!" She looked at her uncle, and smirked. "You've gotten greyer."
"And you, my dear, have grown into astonishing beauty. Gods, let me look at you," Benjen said. Lydia laughed and twirled, her dress swaying about her. "It looks like we'll be busy chasing away Southern suitors, Ned."
"Between us and her brothers, no Southerner will be able to get near her," her father said. Both Stark men laughed, and Lydia could not help but giggle. "I should introduce you to Robert, pup, but…" Her father searched through the crowd, and his cheery grin slipped. Lydia followed his gaze, and was unsurprised by the sight she saw.
She had vague memory of the King from her childhood. The last she saw of him was nine years ago and even then he did not impress her. Before, he was a tall man broad man with glimpses of a belly but it would seem that he had gained three stones since then. Red faced and fat, King Robert struck her as more of a merchant then a King, or even a simple drunken whoremonger. From the way he groped and laughed as serving wenches passed him, Lydia was leaning towards whoremonger. It confounded her that the King had gotten so fat, while her father had barely changed since Robert's Rebellion.
"Perhaps tomorrow," Lydia interjected, not wanting to meet the King while he was deep in his cups. "I simply wished to see you and mother. Perhaps I'll mingle before heading to bed."
Her father gazed at her softly. "You do not have to mingle if you are tired, Lydia. No one would blame you if you went to bed now."
No one but me, Lydia thought. "And leave all the fun? Truly you jest father," Lydia said, placing a reassuring hand on her father's arm. "Do not worry; I will only stay for a short while. Now, Uncle Benjen, how have you been?"
By the hour of the eel, Lydia felt as if she mingled enough. By tomorrow, most of the Northern Lords would return to their Keeps, and she would be left to small talk in peace with the Southerners. Both her father and mother had retired for the evening, along with the Queen, and Lydia knew she could retire without feeling guilty. She said her goodnights to her brothers, and her father's ward, before leaving the Great Hall. She shivered in delight as the cold air greeted her.
In the distance, she heard a wolf howl and Lydia stopped to listen. The single howl of a lone wolf was music to her ears. "Hearing something interesting, I presume?" Someone asked.
Lydia turned swiftly, unsettled at the fact that she had been caught in a vulnerable moment. "Lord Tyrion, I presume?"
She knew it was him. Gossip of the Lord Tywin's dwarf son had reached as far as the North, and only increased while she was in Highgarden. They spoke of his lechery, and drunkenness, as often as they spoke of his wit and cunning. But most of all, they spoke of his height and appearance. Lydia had taken these tales with a grain of salt, wanting to forge her own opinion rather than rely of second-hand accounts, and now she had her chance.
"You presume well, my lady," Lord Tyrion said. He had a wineskin in one hand, and from the way he swayed as he approached her, Lydia knew it wasn't his first. "I assume you are Lord Stark's eldest daughter?"
"Lydia Stark," she greeted, curtsying. "It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my lord. I have heard many a tale of you."
"And I you," Lord Tyrion replied. "Shall we exchange tales?"
Lydia chuckled. "They say you are a cunning man, and always have a witty comeback at the tip of your tongue."
"I'm sure that's not the only thing they say about my tongue," he laughed. "I've heard that the Tyrells were grooming Lord Stark's eldest daughter into a lady of the highest caliber." He squinted at her, and smirked. "You certainly look the part. I dare say you could give my sweet sister a run for her money."
"You flatter me, my lord. However, I must politely disagree. The Queen is a beauty that happens once in a lifetime."
"And you speak the part," Lord Tyrion laughed. "Now, tell me, my lady, do you think like a lady or is there a cunning mind inside that pretty little head."
Lydia grinned at the small man. "You will have to find that out for yourself, my lord."
Lord Tyrion chuckled. "I always did like a challenge. If you excuse me, my lady, I must get back to the festivities."
"Goodnight, Lord Tyrion. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."
"And goodnight to you, Lady Lydia. I hope to converse with you again."