A/N: Most of this belongs to George RR Martin. I just enjoy playing in the world he so graciously created for us.
This story begins before the shows and books, and I have tinkered with the ages a bit. Robb and Jon are seventeen, but Theon is still nineteen.
So, this is my first fanfiction story. I really wanted to get to the meat as quickly as possible, so if you have any major questions about Lysandra, please ask them. However, I do plan to reveal some things as the story progresses and as the Stark family interacts with Lysandra. Also, don't be too harsh on me in the comments…. Please?
I hope you enjoy.
Chapter One
"I will not marry him."
Lysandra Mormont stared her mother, Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, directly in the eyes as she stood tall in her mother's study. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and for a moment, the crackle of the fire was the only sound. Maege gave her head a slight shake before slamming her hands on the desk in front of her.
"Lord Stark has asked this of us, Lysandra, and I cannot refuse him. Not after the disgrace that my nephew brought upon this house."
Lysandra resisted the urge to scream. It had been years since her cousin Jorah had been caught attempting to sell poachers to slavers, and had fled Westeros. Surely House Mormont had redeemed itself by now.
"Mother, I am your eldest child. You have no sons, and Bear Island is rightfully mine. I will marry, but I will marry a lesser lord so that my children will rule over Bear Island. I am the Mormont heir; I am meant to stay on Bear Island and fight for my liege lord when called upon. I am not meant to be Robb Stark's pretty little wife and run his household." Lysandra tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder as she straightened her back until it was ram-rod straight, and she took a deep breath before averting her green eyes to the floor. "Have I dishonored you, Mother? Have I brought shame on our house? Is that why you are taking my birthright from me?"
She heard her mother's boots stomp on the floor as the woman made her way to her eldest child. Maege placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders and squeezed. "You are the most honorable person I know, my child. And if it was enough to redeem the Mormont family, I would let you marry a lesser lord and retain Bear Island, but it is not enough. We need to reinforce our fealty to House Stark and Winterfell, and Lord Eddard has requested this union. We cannot refuse him." Maege placed her hand under her daughters chin so that they looked one another in the eye. "Lysandra, you will strengthen the Stark line with Mormont ferocity and wit. Northerners stand together, and the Starks are our people. You can do this."
Lysandra clenched her jaw in anger, but nodded. Her mother was good at combining guilt and honor, and that is what made Maege Mormont fierce – that and the fact that she had no trouble at all drawing her sword and fighting a man twice her size.
"I will do as requested, then, mother. I will become the next Lady Stark of Winterfell."
The following day, Lysandra looked back at Bear Island one last time before she mounted her black horse, Storm, and turned to join the small party of men accompanying her to Winterfell. A ship had carried the six men, Lysandra, seven horses, and a cart filled with her clothing and personal effects from Bear Island to the mainland. They rode in relative silence for a while before old Beor broke the silence with a sharp laugh.
"What has tickled your fancy, Beor?" Lysandra asked, glancing over at him.
The old man leaned from the seat of the cart to look at Lysandra across Emory who was riding beside her. "The look on the young lord's face when you ride up straddling that horse in a dress with a sword in your belt." He cackled again before leaning back into the seat and pulling his furs tighter around his shoulder. The other men chuckled as well, and Lysandra barely succeeded in suppressing a smile. Yes, the Starks were northerners, but they were not the same as the Mormont's when it came to the role of women. Her hand ghosted over the hilt of Longclaw, reassuring herself that the family sword was still on her hip. It had been a pleasant surprise when she had found the Valyrian sword on her bed after her cousin Jorah had fled Bear Island in disgrace with his wife.
"And imagine his wedding night when he finds the knife she hides in her bosom." Benjamin said, punching Pryor in his shoulder as they rode.
"Imagine your morning when you wake to find I've used that knife to cut out your tongue, Ben." Lysandra said serenely, giving him a sweet smile. She was quite finished with their laughter at her expense. She had only just started to slowly come to terms with her pending nuptials; she did not need them making her more uncomfortable about the differences between her family traditions and the traditions of betrothed's family.
"Now, lass, they're only jesting." Emory said, walking his horse closer to Lysandra's and nudging her with his foot. "You're not the only one upset that you're leaving Bear Island."
The company went silent after that comment, and the smiles and laughter died. In Lysandra's sixteen years, all of these men had been friends and sparring partners with her. The first six years of her life had been a mild winter, while the last ten were summer, and through them all, these men had taught her to fight, hunt, fish, and prepare her for her place as Lady of Bear Island. They were as much her family as her mother and sisters were, and the thought of losing them brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly – Mormont women did not cry. They did not show that kind of weakness.
For Lysandra, the three-day journey to Winterfell passed by far too quickly. Jory Cassel, the head of the Stark honor guard, and five guards met the company as they closed in on the castle. The closer Lysandra got to the walls of Winterfell, the thinner her pale, pink lips became until she was grimacing. There was no wind in Winterfell, and to Lysandra, it felt as if she was suffocating. As they rode through the gate, Lysandra spotted the Stark family lined in front of the entrance to the castle. It had been years since she had seen Lord Stark, but she recognized him standing beside his wife, Lady Catelyn. She could not distinguish between the children, but she assumed that the oldest looking young man would be Robb.
Lysandra pulled Storm to a stop in front of the family and handed the reins to Emory. Lord Eddard stepped forward to help her off the horse, but Lysandra had already dismounted and was smoothing her skirt and adjusting the furs around her shoulders before he could reach her.
"My lady." He said with a tight smile, grasping her hand and kissing it. His eyes flickered to the sword at her side that was visible underneath her furs, but his eyes moved back to her face quickly. "Welcome to Winterfell. May I introduce my family – my wife, Lady Catelyn, my daughters, Arya and Sansa, and my sons, Bran, Rickon, and Robb."
Lysandra swallowed as Lord Eddard stopped in front of his son Robb. Her betrothed. He was handsome, that much was obvious. He had the Tully coloring – red-brown hair on his head and in his beard, and brilliant blue eyes. He was taller than she had expected, and that meant that he was taller than her. Lysandra was not a tiny woman, but she was not as tall as her mother had been at her age. Unfortunately, it seemed that she would take after her father when it came to height.
Beor coughed behind her from the cart, and Lysandra gritted her teeth.
"It is an honor to meet you, my lord." She said jerkily as she descended into a half-curtsy. "Thank you for inviting me to your home."
"I am glad you arrived safely, my lady." Robb replied, and Lysandra noticed that he spoke as stiffly as she had. At least he was as unhappy with the situation as she.
"You are most welcome here, my dear. We are pleased that you arrived safely. I trust you were not troubled by weather?" Lady Catelyn said, stepping forward and hesitantly placing a hand on Lysandra's shoulder.
Lysandra did not shrug off the hand, but she did not lean into the touch either. "We were fortunate to not be trouble by a summer storm. It was an uneventful trip."
"I am glad. Perhaps you would like to come inside and warm up? We can have your things placed in a room and the men can have a warm meal before they leave." Catelyn said as she put a small amount of pressure on Lysandra's shoulder, pushing her towards the door to the castle.
Lysandra turned and looked at Emory for direction, and he nodded and smiled gently. She nodded back and said, "You will not leave without telling me." It was not a question.
"Of course not, cub." Beor said, standing up in the cart and slapping Emory on the back. "We won't be far."
Lysandra nodded and swallowed hard once again before turning back toward Lady Catelyn and allowing herself to be led into the castle. Quick footsteps followed behind them, and the youngest of the girls pulled on her hand.
"Is that a real sword?" Arya demanded, staring at the bear on the pommel.
Lysandra smiled and nodded. "Yes. It is made of Valyrian steel and is named Longclaw. It's been in my family for five centuries."
"My brother Robb says women shouldn't carry swords, but I think he's wrong." Arya said proudly, looking up at Lysandra. "My father has a sword made of Valyrian steel. It is named Ice. His sword is much bigger, though."
Lysandra bristled at the comment about women not carrying swords, and she felt Lady Catelyn's hand falter on her shoulder.
"Arya, perhaps we should let Lady Lysandra rest before you have any more questions. I am sure Maester Luwin or your Septa have lessons for you to study." Lady Catelyn said, giving the girl a firm look.
"She's fine, Lady Catelyn." Lysandra said to the older woman, attempting to give her a tight smile, but not succeeding. They had stopped in a small sitting room and Lysandra stepped up to the fireplace to warm herself by the fire. "My sword is smaller than Ice because Longclaw is a hand and a half sword, Arya. Your fathers' sword is a broadsword. It is much heavier and longer than mine, and therefore is not as maneuverable."
Arya flicked her eyes from Lysandra to Longclaw and back again before running to her mother and grasping her hands. "I want a sword like the one Lysandra has, mother!"
"Go and find Sansa and your Septa." Lady Catelyn said, pushing her daughter towards the door. "Lessons, now, Arya."
With one last look at Lysandra, Arya started toward the door, but she paused and turned around quickly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Arya. I will be here to answer more questions after your lessons. Now, do as your lady mother bids you, or she will never let us talk of swords again." Lysandra said with a smile, shooing the young girl with her hands.
Arya smiled at her before disappearing into the hallway. Lady Catelyn shut the door behind her with a small smile and a slight shake of her head. Lysandra turned back towards the fire, pulled the gloves off of her hands, placed them on top of the mantle, and held her palms toward the fire. Winterfell certainly wasn't as windy as Bear Island, but the cold was still as present as ever. Surprisingly, though, the castle didn't feel as shatteringly cold as it should have.
"I'm sorry to have excited Arya so much, Lady Catelyn." Lysandra said quietly with her back still to the woman. "I know that most men feel that women should not carry swords; however, it is not a thought that I spend much time pondering. I suppose I should try to not encourage your daughter, particularly if your lord husband and son do not approve."
A hint of sadness crept into Lysandra's voice at that thought. Would she have to fight Robb on this? Would she have to fight her husband to allow her own daughter to learn to wield a sword? To hunt? To fight? This would not have been a worry if she had stayed on Bear Island, married a lesser lord, and become the Lady of Bear Island. Instead, she willingly came to a place where women were not warriors. The feeling of suffocating came back to Lysandra and hit her so hard that she went to the nearest window at almost a run. She clawed at the wooden hatch that covered hole, and gasped in the fresh cold air as she flung the shutter open.
"Lysandra?"
The voice was soft behind her and Lysandra tried to calm herself. She pushed the furs off of her shoulders and let them drop to the floor. She was flustered and hot, and she couldn't understand why. Other than her mild panic attack, of course.
"I am well, my lady. For some reason I am just very warm." Lysandra panted as she felt the cool air wash over her. It was soothing her, slowly but surely.
"It is the hot springs, my lady. Winterfell was constructed above a multitude of hot springs so that the castle is naturally heated. It is still cool at night and during the winters, but it is much warmer than the castle on Bear Island, I imagine." Lady Catelyn stepped up behind the young woman and placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She remembered what it was like to come from a different place with different traditions and be expected to marry a stranger. Even though Lysandra was a northerner, the Mormonts lived a life different from the Starks in many ways.
"However, I would appreciate it if you did not speak to Arya too much about swords and fighting, my lady. We hope to still raise her to be a proper and respectable lady."
Lysandra stiffened under Lady Catelyn's hand and stepped away from the older woman. She snatched her fallen furs off the floor and laid them across her arm before looking coldly at Lady Catelyn. "Yes, of course, my lady. Arya cannot possibly be a respectable lady if she handles a sword like a man."
Lady Catelyn immediately regretted her choice of words and opened her mouth to speak, but Lysandra spoke again. "I find myself quite exhausted, Lady Stark. Do you think it possible for me to lie down before joining you and your family for the evening meal?"
Lysandra did not wait for an answer as she walked across the room, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway to wait for Lady Catelyn. She did not give the older woman much of a choice but to follow her. Lady Catelyn led Lysandra down the hallway until their path converged with that of a young dark haired woman.
"Alice will show you to your room, Lady Mormont. I suspect your things have already been brought up. Alice will come for you when it is time for supper." Lady Catelyn said with a small smile.
Lysandra did not return the smile as she mumbled a 'thank you' and followed Alice up a flight of stairs and through the castle. After they arrived at her room, Alice offered to keep Lysandra company but Lysandra claimed she was tired and wanted to rest. As Alice left, Lysandra shut the door firmly behind her before turning to her chest of clothing. She pulled out a tunic and a pair breeches, pulled off her sword belt and her dress, and then dressed in the tunic and breeches. She refastened the sword belt onto her hips and pulled her hair back from her face with a bit of cloth before she slipped quietly out the door and into the hall.
Lysandra Mormont felt a great need to hit something, and she was going to find an outlet.