Lyarra was finally back home, at Winterfell. She had felt a sense of warmth and familiarity as soon as she and her escort approached the gray ancient walls. It had been four years since she left to be fostered at Bear Island under the care of Maege Mormont. Lyarra had left her family and castle behind at two and ten name days, as she had finally had her moon blood and Lady Stark had insisted on Lord Stark to start looking into betrothals to finally get the stain on her family's honor out of her home. But Ned had a better alternative, and so a senight later Lyarra was sent off to be fostered at Bear Island, and after a while, she couldn't help but be happier for it. For she was happier there than she ever was at Winterfell.
She never was constantly reminded that she was a bastard or a symbol of her father's infidelity. She never was forced to constantly prove herself to anyone, forced to show them that she wasn't the stereotypical bastard that they were told stories of as children. Prove that she wasn't a villain, a whore, a murderer, a thief. The women at Bear Island never judged her based on her bastard status, and she was thankful for it.
Lyarra had come to accept the women as a family, only second to the Starks of Winterfell. Dacey and Lyanna were her sisters in every way they could be, all in but blood and name. She relished the moments when Dacey and she would practice their swordsmanship and swim in the river with Lyanna. And Maege was like the mother she never had. Would never have.
But alas, home is home. And Winterfell would always be her real home, despite the times she felt unwelcomed. So when her father had sent a raven to the Lady Mormont requesting that Lyarra be sent home, it would have been an understatement to say that she was anything but happy. When she had started packing, she began to reminisce about the times she had with her father and siblings.
She missed playing the High Harp for father in his solar, on those rare moments when he had enough time to pay attention to her. She missed willful little Arya Underfoot, with her dark messy locks and her dirt stained dresses. She remembered Robb and how they used to be as thick as thieves, until he got Theon that is, then he started to drift away and spent more of his time with Theon, much to Lady Catelyn's pleasure. But could Lyarra really fault him for finally having a boy around his age to play with? Not to mention with an even better status than hers, hostage being just above bastard. She remembered Bran, who you could always find dangling from a tree or climbing a tower, as sure footed as he was. She even missed proper Sansa, always trying to live up to her mother's southern expectations to become a proper lady. Lyarra didn't have many memories of Rickon, as he was only a year old when she left and was always under Lady Starks care for her to be around him, but as soon as she got back she would right that.
And home she was. As soon as she rode her black stallion into the gates of Winterfell, she was greeted with familiar sights and even more, slightly older, but familiar faces. Oh, how she missed them.
Later that night they would have a small feast to welcome her back home. With venison, honeyed duck, boiled vegetables, lemon cakes, with her favorite honeyed iced milk. All was there, well except Lady Catelyn but Lyarra didn't mind. The last thing she wanted was to be constantly under the gaze of Lady Starks cold stare.
She enjoyed the attention her family were giving her at the moment. With the constant questions on her experience at Bear Island.
Arya and Bran had the most ridiculous of questions.
"Do the women there really turn into she-bears?" Bran would ask curiously.
"No more than the women here can turn into she-wolfs."
"Did they let you practise with a sword Lya?" Arya would ask with hope in her eyes.
"Aye, they did little sister."
As the feast went on, she couldn't help but feel an intense gaze, but when she looked to where it was coming from, she saw no-one.
But soon the feast was over, and they were sent to their chambers to rest.