Snows of Home

Chapter 1

"Summer snows are one of a kind."

Lyanna could not believe that she had said this – and to him, of all people. Blaze Gargalen, her… not quite jailor but not quite an escort either. She did not know what she should call him. He was certainly not her savior, and a good thing it was. At least he did not give her any false promises. Granted, this was because he barely talked to her about anything of any importance but still, he did not lie. Save for the handmaiden that she had been given upon leaving her prison, she had few people to talk to – the guards seemed instructed not to answer her questions – and while it reminded her of her time in Dorne quite uncomfortably, it seemed that they were headed home, as she had been told they would.

"How do you know they are summer snows?"

Lyanna gave him a look of indignation. "How could I not know? They're softer and not quite so gleaming, and…"

He shook his head and smiled – a real smile that stole her breath. After all these years in an isolated place with just Rhaegar and two Kingsguard to keep her company, she could recognize the yearning for socializing with others but still, he was young – somewhere her own age, and he was so handsome… He did not look like a Dornishman at all. Certainly nothing like the Princess Regent.

"Ben tried to explain the differences to me many times but to me, snow is snow is snow is snow. I've never seen any snow differing from the other. There is melting snow, and there is hard-packed snow, that's it."

Lyanna felt strangely disappointed. For some reason, she had hoped that he had never seen snow at all before. But she quickly rebounded when she remembered that summer snow meant that she was getting closer to home.

Blaze was looking at her curiously. "So, snow is something like a map showing the direction to you?"

Lyanna thought about this and nodded. "You can say so. The amount of snow here is almost equal to the snow I saw on my way to Harrenhal but the quality…" Her voice faded.

The silence stretched. The enchanted tale where Lyanna could pretend to be the guide to someone young and clueless gave way to the reality of the situation: she was going back home in shame after eloping with a married crown prince and he was her jailor. Her captor. The one sent with her to make sure that she would not try to escape and also, make sure that her father got their version of the truth. Her captors'.

She was going home just because of the so-called mercy of the woman who had kept her imprisoned for years as she had been busy to secure the stolen throne for her children and herself. And by the little words the two of them had exchanged, Lyanna Stark and Blaze Gargalen, she could say that he expected of her to be grateful to his cousin, Alynna, the mother of the new King.

"I am told that we should near the region around Winterfell in a few days," Blaze said and this was the end of their conversation. In the darkening sky that brought out the faint shimmer of the summer storm, Lyanna was left to reflect on the welcome that she would find home. As much as she wanted to believe that she would be met with open arms and readiness to avenge her, Ben's words at their first meeting after all these years would not fade from her mind. He did not think there was anything to avenge. He thought there was blame – and he laid it at her door. That's because the Dornishmen and women he has been living with have sickened his mind, Lyanna told herself but this sounded hollow, too.

How would her father greet her?

Winterfell met her with coldness that had nothing to do with the snow everywhere. Brandon was the first person she encountered after passing through the gates and heading for the living quarters and while he grabbed her and held her tight, a moment later he pushed her away and stared at her, the anger and pleading across his face playing a vicious battle. "They said you went willingly," were his first words and she nodded because suddenly, she could not say the word.

He seemed to read it in her eyes because his face became closed and the light in his eyes faded. "Come with me," he said. "Let Catelyn take care of you before you meet Father."

Lyanna looked down at her heavy travelling attire. Sometime in the last few hours, she had snapped her hood off to better feel the stinging caress of northern wind and her hair could attest to this. Under the cloak, her skirts were dusty and spotted by mud. Her shift was far from clean and she was sure that this could be smelt through the gown. "Yes," she agreed and for a moment let herself feel relieved by the familiar routine – trying to look the perfect lady as not to anger her lord father more when she had misstepped.

It lasted until she felt the eyes on her, the eyes of those people who recognized her. Cold. Accusing. Avoiding hers. Full of fear. No benevolent smiles or whispers at how Lady Lya was in trouble again. The Dornish girl next to her shivered when many of those looks meant for Lyanna fell on her, albeit occasionally. "Are you going to cry?" Lyanna snapped and immediately regretted it. Ramala had been a good and experienced handmaiden and not a bad company.

In the chambers next to Brandon's, a young woman rose to meet her, her face carefully blank. Lyanna was stunned at how pretty and feminine Catelyn Tully looked. She had always imagined a southern lady wife, a passionless fish, nothing like the girls Brandon had chased once. This one looked like a woman whom many men would chase. But her courtesy and lack of any warmth were those of a true lady wife – disapproving, scared that another girl might try the same thing Lyanna had committed with her won husband. Lyanna felt a brief pity for Brandon but did not refuse Lady Catelyn's help, recognizing that it would make things harder.

Half along the way, she came to realize that Old Nan who had tucked her in bed in her childhood, tutted disapprovingly, told her wild tales of wights and romance, did not have a word for her. Just the silent obedience that a servant owed to a mistress and that had never been a thing between them. "Nan," she started but the old woman pretended not to hear. I'll make things right with her later, Lyanna thought. After all, for all her disapproval, Nan had never been able to stay angry with her for long. Even her father had never carried out his punishments till the end.

This time, though, everything was different. She had never seen him this stern… or this old. She stopped dead on her tracks at the threshold, realizing all too late just how much wrong she had done. The Lord of Winterfell had never been meant for looking so old, so reconciled. Even the fierce anger hidden behind his icy exterior could not lend him life.

Brandon was sitting in a high-backed chair at their father's right. For the first time, he was a fellow judge and not Lyanna's accessory in her dealings with their lord father. She was startled to see Blaze Gargalen seated in another chair, well apart from her family. The coldness between them almost chilled the solar despite the huge fire burning in the fireplace.

"He's part of this," her father said, noticing her look. "I am just not quite sure how. I want to know how the two of you found yourselves together. I want to know what our agreement with the Princess Regent has turned into."

Bitterness rose in Lyanna. He would not even give her the consideration of listening to her side of the story. He only cared about his game of politics and not his daughter at all.

Then again, Lyanna's care for herself had been more than enough already. She remembered the eyes of those who had known her before and no longer wished to. She had not disappointed her father alone.

Blaze did not stir or look at her. But Ben had introduced him as his friend and he had told her much about Ben's time in Dorne. His struggles. His adventures. Could Lyanna put all of this to risk because of her own feelings? Again?

"They… his family and him found me as I washed on the shores of Dorne when I ran away from Essos," she finally said. "I was near drowned. There was a savage storm and I was left without the few coins I had about my person… Two fishermen took me to their village and the maester of Salt Shore made some guesses about my identity due to my resemblance to Benjen and so…"

She went on with the tale that sounded quite convincing – to her own ears. Blaze was staring at her in a way that showed her that he was barely keeping his mouth from falling open and Lyanna almost yelled at him to stop looking so surprised. Did he not see that she was trying to save the peace this time? Wasn't this peace the justification his family used for the wrong that they had done her? For destroying her reputation and turning her into a whore who had turned her back to her family to live in love bliss with a married prince? For robbing her of years of her life? She might not hate him but the rest of them, she would happily shoot off with an arrow herself.

But Winterfell clearly desired this peace. The fear in the people's eyes… it was not of her but because of her. Because they thought she had come to wreak new destruction or at least were scared that she had. Brandon had almost died in his attempt to right the wrong done to her and Lyanna was stunned that she could only feel it now when she had known it from the very beginning.

At least then, she had been a child. Now, she had no such excuse, no matter the very sensible reasons that she had listed to Ben. Here, they suddenly felt less true. She had only one way of righting this: she had to avoid creating further tension between the North and the regent at King's Landing, no matter how the woman had come to this office. So she kept spinning the tale.

Until Blaze interrupted her. "It's a good tale," he announced, giving her a look that held none of the admiration she had hoped to see. "It only has one flaw: it's blatantly false."

And then, to Lyanna's stunned mortification, he proceeded to tell the truth without any hint of fear or shame.