A/N: Most of this belongs to George RR Martin. I just enjoy playing in the world he so graciously created for us.
I'm having a slightly difficult time writing in the vernacular, so if there are any obvious terms or phrases that stand out, please tell me and, if possible, offer an alternative. Any help or advice would be greatly appreciated.
Chapter Two
Lysandra retraced her and Alice's steps until she found herself outside the castle. She followed the sound of male voices and clashing steel to the training yard. There she found the men of Bear Island gathered with Jory Cassel, an older man with white hair and whiskers, and a younger man with a beard. They were watching Robb Stark spar with another young man with shoulder length black hair and a severe expression on his face. Lysandra walked up to Emory and stood beside him as she watched the two practice.
"Who's the pretty one?" She asked, nodding her head in the direction of the dark haired man.
"Jon Snow. The Stark bastard." Emory told her quietly.
"Ah."
Lysandra watched the two as they sparred, and she had to admit that they were not terrible. However, she doubted that they had ever killed anyone with those swords. She still remembered the shock of killing a wildling that had attempted to circumvent the wall using a boat and had landed on Bear Island with the rest of his group.
"Lady Lysandra."
The young man with the beard appeared in front of her so quickly that her left hand instinctively went to the grip of her sword. The man noticed her movement and smirked slightly.
"I am Theon Greyjoy. The ward of Eddard Stark. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"You are Balon Greyjoy's son? Of the Iron Islands?" Lysandra snapped her head to look at Emory and then Beor. Why had they stood here in companionable silence with this ironborn menace?
"I am. I'm sure that it is a refreshing experience to meet an ironborn that doesn't have his sword to your throat." Theon said, smirking again.
Lysandra could not control herself, and before she knew it, she had balled her left hand into a fist and punched the young lord in the face. She felt the bones of his nose crack underneath her fist and a gush of warm blood spread over her hand.
"Shit!" Theon gasped, his hands flying to his face in shock as he staggered back from her.
Lysandra was panting hard, her chest heaving. The yard went silent at Theon's exclamation, and she looked around to see both Jon and Robb staring at her, their swords still in their hands.
"Those who are foolish enough to raid a poor island and attack its inhabitants deserve to die." Lysandra pulled her sword from its sheath and leveled it at him, placing the point against his throat. "An ironborn has never had the chance to place a blade at my throat, yet you've been bested by a mere woman. Perhaps I should put an end to your foolish pride once and for all."
Emory placed his hand on her arm and spoke quietly into her ear. "My lady, now is not the time. An audience has gathered, and slitting the throat of Lord Stark's ward is not the best way to start off a betrothal. Besides, he has been in Winterfell since the failed rebellion, and before that, he was too young to know of the raids."
"He is still ironborn." Lysandra said through gritted teeth, but she lowered her sword and sheathed it. It was then that she noticed the audience that Emory had mentioned. Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard had appeared at the edge of the yard and were watching the exchange, and Lysandra felt a sudden rush of shame wash over her. It was immediately followed by anger, however, as she realized that the shame was in response to the violent reaction, not her hasty and ill-thought actions.
"Let's take a walk, cub." Beor said as he stepped over to Lysandra and pulled her away from the crowd.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, and the farther that they got from the training yard, the angrier Lysandra became.
"This is a terrible idea, Beor."
He looked over at the young woman that was supposed to be the next Lady of Bear Island, and he hated to see the look of misery on her face.
"What if I just married the bastard and took him back to Bear Island? That way Lord Stark gets one of his sons married, I get to go home, and Robb can marry some pretty little lady from the south. That would be more beneficial for everyone, honestly."
"That's not what Lord Stark wants, though."
"Well fuck what Lord Stark wants. No one asked me what I wanted." Lysandra scowled, wrapping her arms around herself. In her haste to change clothes and find something to hit, she had forgotten her furs.
Beor let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. "Listen to me, cub. You can't keep thinking of it like that, or else you'll never find any sort of happiness here. And you can't threaten to kill the Greyjoy whelp either."
"Lady Stark doesn't want me to talk to her youngest daughter about swords and fighting, Beor. She said that I wasn't a proper or respectable lady."
"And since when have you cared about being a proper or respectable lady?"
"I am respectable." Lysandra demanded, standing up a little straighter and dropping her arms to her side. "I am honorable, I am strong, and I would teach Arya many things that a woman needs to know besides stitching and parroting the words of a septa." She paused for a moment and then continued. "I cannot stay in a place with people who believe that I should not carry a sword; that I should not fight alongside men; that my daughters will not have the same worth and strength as their brothers."
"Perhaps the young Lord Robb doesn't believe those things. Perhaps he thinks differently from his lord parents."
Lysandra scoffed and stopped walking. She grabbed Beor by his arm and squeezed. "Most likely, the young Lord Robb does not have a single original thought in his head, and instead relies on the beliefs of his father. He will have me pregnant and disarmed a month after we are wed; I know it, Beor."
"That is a rather harsh and quick judgement, don't you think, my lady?"
Beor and Lysandra turned to see Robb walking toward them with a blank expression on his face. Lysandra gritted her teeth and suppressed a growl; that was the second time today that one of these men had gotten close to her without her knowing.
"Do you mind if I speak with the lady alone, my lord?" Robb asked, inclining his head toward Beor.
"Not at all, my lord." Beor said, reciprocating the gesture. Before he stepped away, he whispered to Lysandra, "Behave, cub. I do not need to start a war in the north because you killed the Stark heir."
Lysandra glared at his retreating back before focusing her eyes on the young lord in front of her. Robb Stark. Her betrothed.
"You broke Theon's nose." Robb said conversationally, as he started walking in the same direction Lysandra and Beor had been going. She started to follow him after a few moments, lengthening her stride to catch up with him, her hand on the pommel of Longclaw.
A shiver passed through her as a small gust of wind swirled around them. It was nowhere near as strong as on Bear Island, but it chilled her nonetheless. She cursed herself for forgetting her furs and for pulling her hair back. The cold air was assailing her exposed neck and creeping down her body between her clothing and skin.
To take her mind off her chill, Lysandra observed Robb from the corner of her eye. When she first met him, she had noticed that he was tall; however, standing beside him now, she realized that he was a full head taller than her. She did not like that at all. He was broad-shouldered from what she could tell – after all, he was smart enough to wear his furs. He had a longsword hanging on his side. It was well made, of course, but she would have expected nothing less.
"I should have killed him." Lysandra replied resolutely. "The ironborn have raided Bear Island for years, claiming it as their own. They're cowards."
"I've grown up with Theon." Robb said stonily. "He is as much my brother as Jon, Bran, or Rickon. I trust him with my life."
"Then you are a fool."
"That is the second time you have insulted me today. If I were a lesser man, I would have put an end to it."
Lysandra let out a bark of laughter and stepped in front of him, placing her hand on his chest, forcing him to stop walking. She raised her head and looked him in the eye before saying, "Anytime you think you are ready to 'put an end to it,' you let me know, my lord. I will happily knock you on your pretty little lord arse."
Lysandra smirked before stepping around him and walking back toward the keep. "See you at evening meal, my lord." She called over her shoulder.
Lysandra felt her heart contract at the sight of her men atop their horses. Beor, Emory, Benjamin, Pryor, Roarke, and Angus. All surrogate fathers or brothers. And they were abandoning her.
"I could stay, my lady." Emory said, looking down at her. "I don't think the Starks would be opposed to you retaining a guard."
Lysandra's heart leapt at the thought, but she shook her head. "Bear Island needs every capable person. And my sisters need good instructors." She paused. "I will be fine."
Emory nodded. "Well, Bear Island is only a few days' ride. If you need us…"
He left the sentence open ended, and Lysandra nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. She had embraced each one before they had mounted their horses, but now she found herself wanting to hug them again.
"Farewell, cub." Beor said, and Lysandra could have sworn that she saw a tear in the corner of his eye.
"Farewell." She whispered as they turned and rode through the gates.
She was a bear in a den of wolves, and she had never felt more vulnerable. Bears were fierce, but even they went down when outnumbered.
