Chapter 2

Has it been a month already, she thought melancholically as she lay unmoving atop her featherbed. As she had predicted, Lyla hadn't been able to sleep. Ultimately she had accumulated less than an hour's worth before giving up and dressing. The king would be arriving at midday, and the dread of it was what deprived her of dreaming. Her direwolf had been equally as restless, but sat vigil at her side while she took residence at her vanity ran a brush through her unruly curls.

Her chamber door screeched as it was pushed open. "Not out riding, yet?"

She turned and smiled sadly, seeing her father standing at her doorway. He looked as solemn as ever, grey eyes unyielding. She must have looked much the same. "With the king arriving mother forbade it, though I rather disagree. I shouldn't be forced to change my ways simply because a fat man with a crown has come to our home uninvited."

Her father frowned. "Robert is our king and sovereign and a dear friend, Lyla, do not speak ill of him."

Lyla grimaced and set her brush down. "I don't understand how you can be so happy about the king's snatching you from your bed," she said incredulously, resting her head in her hand, arm propped on her elbow. "What good will this bring us? They have decided to drag the most honorable man in Westeros to his death. Hands never live long, father."

Lord Stark looked grim now, as if there were things in the making that she did not understand, and she wanted to ask about what it could be that she was missing, but he turned his gaze to her little wolf, who was resting at her feet. "Have you named her yet?" asked her father,

To be honest, in the month she'd had the pup, she'd not given a single thought on its name. She simply called it you or girl. "No," she replied. "It'll come in time, though." She noticed a scrap of paper in Lord Eddard's hand and raised a brow. "News from the king?"

He looked down at the paper and then shook his head, brown hair dancing about him. "Yes, he will be here soon. His procession was spotted an hour ago. You will be kind to them, Lyla?"

"Of course, father." She frowned, watching him as he turned and left. Regardless of personal standing, Lyla would not go against her father's wishes. "Come on you," she murmured to the little brown wolf, tying a cloth-of-silver cape around her shoulders and making her way down to the main hall.

Sansa and Arya were already there, along with Bran and Jon. "Where are Robb and Rickon?" Lyla asked as she neared them, taking a seat by Bran and mussing up his hair.

"Rickon is with mother and Robb and Theon are training," Arya told her, gulping down some milk.

Septa Mordane, who Lyla hadn't seen sitting by Sansa until she spoke, glowered. "Arya, you're a lady of Winterfell. Must you gobble your milk and your food like such a beast?"

Sansa nodded in agreement to Septa and Arya rolled her eyes.

"Septa, why don't you go dress. I'll see to the girls." Lyla turned to see her mother. She looked lovely in a gown of river blue, one of her finest. Rickon was perched on her hip, tugging at her soft reddish curls.

"Yes, my lady," the septa said, excusing herself and leaving the hall to change.

"Good morn, mother," Lyla greeted, offering a warm, welcoming smile.

Lady Catelyn returned the smile with one of her own, and sat to Lyla's left, Rickon greedily grabbing a glass of milk and burping after the cup was empty. "Rickon," their mother reprimanded, raising her brow at him.

"May I be excused?" he asked, his voice so innocent in contrary to his monstrous, yet sweet, little personality. Their mother nodded her consent and watched him go off with Bran, who also was excused.

"You come and all the Stark children flock like pigeons," Lyla mused, looking to Arya as she ran off to join Jon, who left as soon as Mother was seated. Sansa looked to be about done with her breakfast but stayed, like a proper young lady, until everyone at the table had finished.

Lady Catelyn smiled and gently ran a hand through her daughter's rusty brown curls. "You used to run off like that too. You've always been your father's girl more than mine, but I cannot fault you for that. He always was softest to you."

Lyla leaned against her mother's shoulder. "I'm your girl too, mother, don't fret." After a moment she straightened up grabbed an apple before asking permission to be excused.

"Go on, my little wolf girl," Lady Catelyn said laughingly, affectionately, as she watched her eldest exit the great hall.

The practice yard was bitterly cold, enough so to turn Lyla's nose pink and her cheeks pinker. She didn't mind though, no true northerner did. The smell of the pine that lay beyond the yard made Lyla want to curse her mother's wishes and ride off to the Wolfswood on Morrow regardless, but she leaned against a post and instead watched as Robb and Theon swung steel at each other, mindlessly eating her apple.

"Don't wait for him to make a move, Robb, go for it," she shouted. Her free hand was cupped over her mouth so they could hear her over the sounds of the chandeliers being hoisted to the ceiling in the main hall.

Robb took a swing at Theon and smacked his back right thigh with the flat of his blade, causing him to fall and roll. "Fuck, Stark!" he cursed. "Damn it, Lyla, don't give him advice!"

The two Starks were laughing then, Robb giving Lyla a wink before Theon sliced at him, the blade barely scraping her brother's breastplate before he jumped away.

"Hold your blade arm closer, Theon. It'll give you more control," she called out, Theon drew his arm closer to him, immediately, and successfully, blocking a swing from Robb.

Bran and Rickon ran across the field with wood swords, battling as though it were the Rebellion all over again. Lyla remembered Old Nan telling her the story of how the Rebellion began.

"Robert's Rebellion, they call it." The crone crowed. "A true man, King Robert. An old friend of your father's. They fought together, you know."

Lyla, as impatient as any five year old would be, rolled her eyes. "The story Nan, get to the story!"

"They fought endlessly, battling steel on steel, blood on blood. All for your aunt Lyanna. Poor child, spirited away by Rhaegar Targaryen. Taken from her room, plucked from her bed! The very bed and room that you now occupy. It lasted nearly two years and thousands died- including your uncle and grandfather, at the commands of King Aerys."

"The Mad King." Lyla whispered, blue eyes wide with awe. "Go on, go on!"

Old Nan smiled and nodded. "The Mad King he was called, truly an evil man. Do you remember who it was that slayed him, girl?"

Lyla frowned and recalled what her father had told her, years passed. "T'was the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister," she replied. "Papa says the Lannisters are bad."

She hadn't realized how pitted she was against them, at so young an age, until she remembered that night. Now, at nearly six-and-ten, she thought much the same. She trusted her father's opinion.

"Lyla?"

She snapped her head up and smiled to Jon, who looked mildly concerned. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."

"It would seem so…" He raised a brow but shrugged, leaning on the other side of the post. Bran and Rickon had ran off somewhere with their sticks though Robb and Theon remained.

Theon looked over to them as Robb got to his feet- another blow from Theon, Lyla observed. "How about it, Lyla? Want to hit your brother?" His arm was outstretched, sword hilt facing her.

She seriously thought about it and was about to say yes when her mother, who she didn't realize was standing over the balcony above them, spoke for her. "No, Theon."

"I'm sorry, my lady. I did not see you there." Theon looked at his feet and recoiled his arm.

"If it were any other day, Theon, I'd say yes," Lyla called, smiling at him. He seemed to brighten up at that, her mother releasing a loud sigh.

"Lyla, come walk with me," her mother called, descending from the stairs that led to the yard and waiting.

Lyla looked to all three boys and curtsied in farewell, then took her mother's arm and proceeded to nowhere in particular.

"You'll be on your best behavior when the king arrives. No sword fighting with the boys, at not least while the royal family is here."

Lyla looked up at her mother through the hair that the wind blew into her face, frowning. "I dread the month that the king will remain here. I cannot ride, I cannot swing a sword… perhaps you'll be telling me that speaking to Jon will be forbidden as well."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that…"

"About what, mother?" Lyla pulled away, pausing her step. Surely she did not intend for her to abandon Jon during the king's stay?

Her mother's eyes waivered for as short a moment as her lip quivered, as though in fear. Fear of me, she wondered, or of father's reaction when I told him? "We'll talk later."

Lyla stared after her mother as she walked off, then continued on to the stables, unable to forget what she'd meant to imply. Some rubble fell before her feet and she peered above her, seeing a small figure atop of the wall that wrapped around Winterfell. The lurker's identity was concealed by the sunlight, but it did not take her long to guess who it might be.

"Bran?" she called out, furrowing her brows. Her eyes were narrowed as she tried out the figure that was scaling the wall that overlooked the road. "Bran!"

Bran finished climbing down from the wall and hopped from the stable roof to the ground. "The king is coming! He's almost here!"

Lyla smiled down at her brother. He might have been a dangerously obscene boy when it came to climbing, but he was always safe. "Run off and tell father, then. Oh, and Bran!" He was already running off but turned. "Don't let mother catch you."

"Seven hells," Lyla cursed, "seven hells, seven hells!"

She'd gone to see her stallion, Morrow after she had caught Bran scaling the wall. Her poor darling boy was going to get fat sitting idle in the stables, and so she'd walked him around the paddock on a lead until she, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, fell asleep on the stacks of hay upon their return. It wasn't until the stable boy came to her and shook her awake that she realized she even dozed off.

"The king's come, m'lady," he told her as she jolted up, ripping hay from her curls.

She ran as quick as she could, panting the whole way. When she reached the courtyard, Lyla had never felt so alienated. There the king was, greeting her father, not a single spot open for her in her family's lineup. Lady Catelyn's cold blue eyes were on her in an instant, and cut her like a knife.

She pulled out one last piece of hay from her hair and ran her hands over her skirts to smooth them as she steadied her breathing and scooted in between Robb and Sansa.

"I knew we were a girl short," the king jested, placing a firm grip on her shoulder. He didn't truly see her until after he'd spoken, and his eyes popped a little. "Looks like Lyanna, this one."

Her father looked at the king with sadder eyes then. "She's my eldest daughter, Your grace. Lyla."

"Lyla," King Robert repeated wistfully, tasting the name on his tongue.

She folded her hands in her lap and straightened her back. "I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your grace."

King Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness." He ripped his eyes from hers then, looking to Lord Eddard. "Where are all your people?"

"Likely they were too shy to come out," her father jested. "Kings are a rare sight in the North."

The king gazed at her again and Lyla shifted uncomfortably. "Take me to the crypt, Ned. I would pay my respects."

"We've traveled a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." Lyla didn't even notice the Queen before then, but now her eyes flickered to where she stood. She was a tall woman, thin for the three children she'd had, with high cheekbones to compliment her emerald green eyes. Her hair was as golden as the sun, and she was dressed in thick robes of red and orange and pink, as if the warm tones of fabric would shield her from the northern winds. The queen, she realized.

King Robert narrowed his eyes at his wife for a moment, and Lyla observed that the queen's twin, the man she was raised to hate, was at her side, his hand gracing her elbow to silence her. When no more was said, King Robert and Lord Stark went off, the queen walking up to her mother, who bowed and smiled, introducing the children.

Lyla didn't hear her though, her eyes set on Jaime Lannister. He was tall, like his sister, but more so, with light skin and thick set brows that weren't unbecoming of him. His hair was golden and his eyes were greener than any grass Lyla had seen. His eyes wandered to her and she immediately looked to her feet, bowing as the queen passed by her, murmuring a, "your grace."

He had not seemed so evil, then, and in fact, if she had not been raised to mislike the Lannisters, she might have thought him lovely.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya whispered boldly, tugging at Lyla's skirts and staring from the Lannister twins to the Baratheon children, all smiles with green eyes and golden hair.

Sansa hissed a quiet shut up, and Lyla raised a brow at her auburn haired little sister to quiet her.

The queen, Lady Cersei, looked over to Ser Jaime. "Where is our brother? The little monster…"

Her mother had started walking off with the queen, which meant to Lyla that it was time to leave. While Sansa stayed and walked with her mother, and Rickon as well, she, Robb, and Bran went off to the training yard, Jon joining them from the back of the crowd with Theon. Arya had run off on her own, not telling where she was headed to.

"Why were you so late?" Robb asked her once they reached the yard.

Theon pulled a sole surviving strand of hay from the back of her head and grinned. "Sleeping in the stables, were we?"

"Quiet, you," Lyla threatened musingly, snatching the hay from Theon. She tossed it behind her shoulder.

"Lady Stark was not happy," Jon added, folding his arms.

Lyla sighed, knowing the truth of it, and sat on a chair by the fence. Russet brown ringlets tumbled over her shoulders. Bran pulled himself onto her lap then, and smiled charmingly.

"Will you tell a story, Lyla?" They all looked at her, waiting, and she smiled. She could not help but indulge her brother.

"I will tell you one better- I will tell you a truth. Do you know why I was so late?" Bran was quiet but his body shivered with curiosity and excitement. "I was snatched up by a dragon. His scales were onyx black, his eyes so red that a million men's blood couldn't have done it justice. He swept me up and spirited me away, only I tamed him and flew back just in time to greet the king."

"How'd you tame it?" he asked, blue eyes wide.

Lyla looked around the group of elder boys and they all had become curious as well, taking seats around her while Bran wiggled on her lap. He was surprisingly light for a seven year old. "At first he was relentless," she began. "He set me atop the tallest mountain he could find and wrapped around me like I were his prisoner. I simply could not let him have me, so I waited until he slumbered to climb onto his scalding hot neck and smacked him awake. He did not know what hit him! Before I could say "Go!" he flew up into the air and swung past Winterfell, where I slipped off of him and landed in a pile of hay, just in time to greet the king."

Bran looked astounded, mouth gaped open. "More, Lyla, more!"

She laughed then and kissed his brow before sliding him from her lap and stretching her legs. "Later, little one."

Her direwolf sat at her side quietly the whole time, but suddenly perked up, running off. "Girl!" Lyla called, but it did not return. The boys looked at her, confused, and she took off running after it.

It didn't take long to find her, sitting atop someone and licking them profusely. "You, come here!" Lyla called, and this time the direwolf obeyed, bouncing back to her master happily. "Stay," she commanded, and the wolf sat.

"I'm so sorry, she's just a pup-" Lyla stopped when she saw the face of the man who was knocked over.

It were Ser Jaime Lannister, sitting up already, dusting his hair off by running his fingers through it. He looked up at her and smiled charmingly. "Don't worry about it. I've had worse."

"I'm sure," she managed, offering him her hand and helping him up. His grasp was firm and there were callouses on his hand, though it was gentle.

When he stood, Lyla realized how small she was. He must have been at least a foot taller than her, if not more. He seemed to notice it too, and grinned down at her. "You're the late Stark, are you not?" he asked.

Lyla blinked. "I suppose I am."

"Perhaps, Lady Stark, we were merely early," he told her, winking.

"Perhaps." She smiled too then. "I trust you're settling in well, ser? Is your room accommodating enough?"

Ser Jaime nodded as he began dusting off his clothes. "Everything is perfect. How is it that the castle is so warm, though? I mean, it's dreadful out here."

"On the contrary, it's rather a warm day, today," Lyla commented, then remembered she was speaking to a southerner. "The castle was built on a hotspring. It's always warm within its walls."

"Interesting…" He knelt, patting the ground before him. "May I?"

Lyla noticed he was staring at her direwolf and nodded. "Come here, girl," she called, and the beast sprang up, padded towards her happily.

The direwolf's brown eyes glittered in the sunlight, and she pranced to Jaime as he patted the ground, and then her red-brown fur. "Have you named her?"

"No." She smiled down at the wolf and stroked her. Their fingers touched for a moment and he looked up at her with a gleam in his eyes of emerald green.

She pulled her hand away and kept her eyes off of him, focusing on the wolf. He shrugged and buried his hands in her fur. "Pretty, pretty girl," he praised the wolf. "You should name her something southern. She has warmth in her."

"The Wall will melt before we have southron wolves in Winterfell," she remarked, not unkindly.

He laughed and straightened himself, the wolf taking its place beside Lyla's side. "You're rather bold, considering you're speaking to the Kingslayer." She caught his wince at the title. In truth, she'd forgotten who he was. He did not seem the crude, evil man of her father's stories.

Lyla looked away. "You are not what I had thought you to be," she admitted, for he was not at all. His smiling face and casual musings reminded her much of Robb and Theon.

"Really?" He looked down at her and she nodded. "How apt." He folded his arms and his green eyes bore her blue ones for a dangerously long time before she looked away.

"You should get some rest, ser. You've traveled far and there's going to be a feast tonight, in the king's honor."

"Yes, of course." He smiled and stepped closer to pat the direwolf between the ears. "Good day, my lady."

Lyla watched as he went, smiling to herself. How could that man have been the one who slayed the Mad King? He was so kind to her. She turned to make for her chambers but stopped, seeing Robb, Theon, and Jon before her, all with raised brows.

"What?" she questioned.

Theon was the first to speak, laughing in the way that comforted her. "You two seemed comfortable."

"Too comfortable," Jon roused.

Robb nodded in agreement. "I didn't like it. He's the Kingslayer, Lya."

"Whatever he may be, I find I rather enjoyed his company," Lyla replied, even surprising herself, who had been so spiteful of the Lannisters before their arrival. Perhaps it was not so unusual to hear one thing but see another.