This is an idea I've been playing with for a while and thought I'd see how the first chapter went. I would love to hear what people think of it.
Chapter 1
'I'm not denyin' the women are foolish. God Almighty made 'em to match the men'
George Eliot
Lyra huddled further into thick bear skin cloak. She stood on the deck of a galley as they sailed for Deepwood Motte. The sea had not been kind to the travellers. The winds howled and rains pelted onto the slippery deck making it near impossible to stay afoot. Lyra sniffed and tried to rub feeling back into her red nose with a gloved hand. As the galley tumbled over another wave the deck disappeared beneath Lyra's feet. She gripped the rail tight and stumbled towards the warped wooden door to the dryness below deck where the biting wind couldn't reach her. As the galley rose and fell with the waves Lyra stumbled down the narrow corridor stepping between the burly men shouting commands to the comfort of the small cabin she shared with her sisters.
It was with great relief that Lyra stepped onto dry land a week and a half later. A storm had blown them off course delaying their arrival. Shouts and bellows filled the air as the travellers prepared to continue their journey and make up for lost time. The firm ground beneath her feet was a great comfort for Lyra who swung up into the saddle of her horse and followed the column as they left Deepwood Motte heading through the Wolfs Wood to their destination in Winterfell.
Tired and achy from days of sailing and riding the last thing Lyra Mormont wanted was to be paraded in front of the Lord of Winterfell who had called his banners. Lyra wanted a hot bath, something eat and a warm comfy bed. Instead she was caked in mud, wearing riding leathers and exhausted. She curtseyed when she was supposed to and smiled at the unfamiliar faces. Her mother had taught them from a young age to behave like proper ladies.
"Lord Stark," Lady Mormont greeted, "may I introduce my daughters; Dacey, Alysane and Lyra." Lyra remembered her manners and curtseyed. She was going through the motions again not at all bothered by the Lord until she met she his eyes. He was not what she had been expecting. The Lord of Winterfell in her mind was a robust man with a weathered face and a beard not a young man barely older than herself. He was as green as grass in this game, not that Lyra could talk this was her first time away from home. Remembering her manners Lyra smiled and mumbled a 'nice to meet you' in turn she was thanked for her upcoming efforts. The Lord of Winterfell led the way into the stronghold. Lyra followed behind her sisters keeping her head high.
Lyra Mormont had lived on Bear Island all her life until the Lord of Winterfell had called his banners. Her mother, Lady Maege Mormont of House Mormont had answered the call to arms and taken her three eldest daughters with her along with two hundred men from the island. Lady Maege was a stout grey-haired woman who dedicated herself to the old gods. Her stubborn and short-tempered personality made her a force to be reckoned with, the spiked mace and preference for chain mail was enough to put anyone in their place. The woman commanded respect wherever she went.
The Mormont family heralded from Bear Island an island with limited resources. Lyra had grown up knowing only the wooden hall surrounded by an earthen palisade she'd never seen towering stone castles until now. Hear we stand; her family's words had never been truer. Here she stood in a castle readying itself for war. Lyra Mormont would be under the command of Lord Stark and her wilful mother from now until they returned to the safety of home or died.
From the moment she could walk her wilful mother had encouraged Lyra to defend herself against ironmen and wildlings. She hated it. Her sisters all seemed better at it than her. She lacked the strength the others had. Lyra was the third daughter of Lady Maege Mormont and was forever in the shadow of the elder two. Lyra couldn't fire an arrow with precision or swing a sword with force enough to tear a head from its body. She was constantly criticised by her mother and sisters. Growing up she'd wanted to sew and read. To be a proper Lady like the ones in the stories but women of House Mormont weren't proper lady's they were warriors.
Lyra had hidden away in the room she was to share with her sisters for most of the first day until Lady Mormont had dragged her from the safe confines of the four walls with a lecture, a reprimand and strict instructions to practice with her bow until her hands bled.
It took some time but Lyra managed to locate the area for target practice in Winterfell. She was lucky that everyone was busy settling themselves leaving her to practice in peace. The last thing Lyra wanted was her mother to interfere or sisters giving her hints and tips to improve her technique. Lyra pulled back with her right hand and let go of the arrow. It sailed over the target hitting a wooden pillar behind. It didn't embed itself in the pillar but clattered to the floor with the other eight arrows she'd fired.
"You're never going to hit it like that," a voice interrupted her practice. Startled Lyra looked up. The man leaning against the wooden pillar was familiar. It was one of the men Lyra had met upon their arrival.
"I'm not aiming for the target," it was a poor excuse on her part.
The man raised an eyebrow. "I'd prefer it if you did not try to deliberately damage my home," realisation hit Lyra. This was Lord Stark. Their arrival had been chaotic with so many new faces that she had not been able to put a face to Lord Stark's name until now. Her eyes took in the site of the Lord savouring every detail. Lord Stark was nothing like the men of Bear Island. He was tall and lean. His dark hair curled on the top of his head but it was his eyes that had Lyra mesmerised. A rich blue that pierced through her. "Don't let me put you off," Lord Stark crossed his arms across his chest and waited for the woman to stop staring.
She blushed at being caught staring and returned to her embarrassing archery skills. The Lord of Winterfell who had called her mother to arms had just seen her fail to fire an arrow, just perfect. "Sorry my lord," Lyra took another arrow from the pile by her feet. She could hit the target. It was bad enough that her family believed her to be useless with a bow she didn't need anyone else to know least of all the Lord who would be leading her into battle.
"If you stood to the side more," he stepped closer and placed his hands on her elbows from behind tilting her body, "and kept your arm level." Lyra wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, never had she been this close to a man before. It sent her heart fluttering with nerves. If only she had been graced with the gift of archery or any gift that had her in her mother's favour she could be spared the embarrassment.
As Lyra let go of the arrow the Lord of Winterfell stepped back. He smiled in satisfaction as the arrow hit the target this time. Lyra smiled too, it soon spread into a wide grin, "I should thank you, my Lord."
"Robb," he held out his hand.
"My Lord Robb," she placed her hand in his.
"Just Robb," he kissed her hand as if greeting any lady.
"Lyra," she turned back to the target and took up another arrow. If she could prove to her mother that she could hit a target then maybe she would ease off on her criticisms.
Lyra practised all afternoon until her fingers blistered. They weren't bleeding so Lady Mormont still wouldn't be happy but she had hit the target and in Lyra's eyes that was all that mattered. Satisfied with her days work Lyra returned to her room to clean herself up for dinner. Lord Stark apparently dined with each of the banner men when they arrived according to the maid that was assigned to the Mormont girls.
The Mormont's sat down at the dark wood table where Lord Stark sat with his siblings and other significant people that Lyra had failed to recall he names of. As they'd walked into the hall all eyes had been on her eldest sister Dacey. Dacey was wearing a deep green dress that Lyra was envious of, she was stunning. Her own pale blue one was a hand me down of Alysane's that she had shortened so that she didn't trip over it.
Lyra's mother had even donned a dress for the occasion. That didn't happen very often. "Lyra why aren't your hands bleeding?" her mother scowled drawing the attention of those around them.
"I hit the target," she protested under her breath. Lyra looked down at her half empty plate in shame.
"Did you hit the middle?" her mother asked with hints of disappointment having heard her daughter.
"No," Lyra admitted to the table as she speared a carrot with her fork.
"Not a bad shot though," Robb spoke up from his seat. Her mother had nothing to say to that and returned to her meal. Lyra knew better than to smile but couldn't help the quirk in the lips as she sipped on her wine.
Over dinner talk turned to King's Landing. Lyra had no inclination to go south she liked the north with its cold wet winds. It was bleak and cold. Lyra wanted to make the most of it before they marched south in a week's time. The Mormont's had been the last to arrive having travelled by sea from Bear Island. The weather had not been in their favour.
The wine made Lyra's head fuzzy. She'd had a bit too much with dinner. The man opposite her was crude and stared at her chest frequently. It made Lyra feel uncomfortable but she guessed she would have to get used to it being on the march with twenty thousand men and very few women. She chose to sip from her cup again instead of joining the conversation. Lyra tried to recall his name Theo or Theon, something like that.
After many hours of dining and drinking the feast came to a close. Lord Stark had welcomed the Mormont's with a speech and thanked them for their help equally Lyra's mother thanked him for his hospitality. The hall began to empty. Lyra saw her chance and took it. She excused herself and went up to her room. Alysane and Dacey were putting Theon in his place much to the amusement of Lord Stark whose laugh Lyra could hear as she retreated from the hall. She wanted to join them but didn't have any exciting stories of combat or adventure. Lyra was good at sewing and not much else.
Lyra awoke early and dressed silently. She crept out of the room into the courtyard where she practiced her archery the day before. Lyra took up her bow and stood ready to fire her first arrow. Thwack. It hit the target but fell to the floor. Frustrated she picked up another arrow and tried again. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and adjusted her arm. Thwack. Lyra couldn't believe what she was seeing imbedded in the target was her arrow. It was not in the centre but at least it has made contact and stayed in place. Lyra grinned triumphantly.
A clapping caught her attention; she whipped around to find the source, "well done my Lady."
"Ah, Lord Stark, you startled me," she fumbled with her bow and a curtsey. How long had he been watching her? It unnerved her.
"Robb," the Lord of Winterfell corrected her and bowed his head to hide his amusement.
"Sorry. Robb," her voice was weak as she corrected herself. Lyra didn't feel right calling the Lord by his first name but if he requested it who was she to argue? She took in his appearance. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes and his hair was dishevelled. It looked like he hadn't slept. Leading a force to war was no easy thing especially for someone so young. Lyra judged that he had been kept up entertaining his banner men. He could not afford to lose them.
"Do you mind?" Robb gestured to her bow.
"Not at all," she was glad to hand it over. Lyra watched as he notched an arrow with ease and sent it hurtling towards the target. It hit close to the centre shaming her earlier attempt. He handed the bow out for her. Lyra picked up an arrow as she tried to hide her panic. She couldn't miss this one. Her arrow sailed much closer to the centre of the target. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief.
"What are you doing up so early?" Robb asked when she handed the bow over so he could have another go. The bow always felt as if it didn't belong in her hands.
"My mother likes to tell me that I will never get any better without practice," Lyra offered in explanation, she had to show the young Lord that she wasn't as hopeless as her mother made her out to be or as hopeless as her poor attempt the previous day. The third eldest Mormont hoped to show her mother bleeding fingers when they sat down to break their fast. Her blisters from the previous day were already throbbing.
"It is a little hard to sleep when there's a war to lead," Robb sent the arrow towards the target with more force as he swapped an answer for an answer with the Mormont girl. Lyra looked at the young man with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders she hadn't asked for him to share that information and yet he had. Her heart went out to the young leader.
"Would you rather have my mother on your back?" she meant it as a jest but there were elements of truth beneath her words. Robb laughed. He was well acquainted with Lady Mormont. She was quite the force to be reckoned with.
"Lady Mormont is quite something," Robb replied as he once again handed the bow to Lyra.
Lyra laughed and notched her arrow, "I guess that is one way of putting it." Her arrow hit close to her previous one. She gave the last arrow from the handful she'd taken to the young Lord.
Her hands weren't bleeding when she broke her fast with her family. "Lyra, a sewing needle will not protect you on the battlefield," her mother berated her.
"I know that!" she snapped in annoyance, "I got up early to practice." It was no use arguing with Lady Mormont but she tried anyway.
"Clearly not enough," all of the Mormont's eyes flashed to Lyra's dainty hands. The blisters had been wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Lyra lost her appetite. She set her napkin down and went up to her room away from her mother.
"Lyra?" Dacey popped her head around the door, "you know mother means well."
Lyra gave her sister a doubtful look, "why am I here? I can't shoot, I can't wield a sword and I definitely cannot hit someone with any force."
"It is mother's attempt to make something of you," Dacey sat down on her own bed and watched Lyra stab at her fabric with the needle in her hand.
"I didn't have a choice is what you are saying," Lyra accused.
Dacey sighed; it was no use trying to get through to her sister.