Chapter 3

"It's a dress, of course I look silly."

"Arya, you don't look silly."

"I look like Sansa." Arya wrinkled her nose and Lyla rolled her eyes. They'd been at it for hours, the two Stark girls, but it wasn't growing old. Not one bit. In fact, Lyla was amused by her little sister's ranting. "Besides, I don't see why I have to wear a dress. It's not like they've never seen a girl in breeches before."

Lyla sat her sister down and began brushing through her hair. I'm certain they haven't. Not in court... She sighed. "You look like our aunt, not Sansa. She has our mother's Tully looks- but you? You're a Stark through and through."

Arya smiled to herself then, eying her sister through the looking glass. "You look more like her than I do. Aunt Lyanna, that is. Everyone says so."

"Father said you have her eyes. So pretty and grey. Mine are Tully, not Stark"

It was no contest; Arya by far was her favorite sister. While she still loved Sansa with all her heart, the brave, bold, courageous Arya was so much of what she wanted to be herself. It was hard not to simply adore her.

Arya's smile held while Lyla braided and twisted her hair into a northern styled bun. "You look lovely," she complimented, a hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Oh shut up," Arya shot back, embarrassed. Her sister blushed, and then turned to her. "Jon told me you were talking to Jaime Lannister."

Lyla certainly wasn't expecting that. "I was," she replied carefully.

Arya's eyes glittered. "Really? Did you ask him what it was like to fight? Or how it felt to hold a real sword?"

"I could tell you that much." Lyla mused, patting her sister's back lightly until she slipped from the chair. "He did ask about my direwolf, though."

Arya rolled her eyes. "I could have asked you that much." They both laughed.

"Come on now. Mother will be cross if we're not there on time."

They walked through the halls quickly, being joined by Sansa and Rickon, who clung to Lyla's blood red skirt for life it seemed. "Come here, you," she murmured, holding her brother to her hip and kissing his cheek.

"Lya, will you dance with me at the feast?" he asked, looking up at her through his hair in a way that reminded her of Jon. She frowned then, remembering her mother's insinuation, and the talk that followed earlier that night.

"He's a Stark too, by blood if not by name," she reasoned. Her hands were on her hips and she had her eyes narrowed. Her mother had none of it.

"Lyla, I'll hear no more. The king has born many bastards, and it would make the queen uneasy."

She was brought back to reality when Rickon tugged a strand of her hair. "Lya!"

"Yes, wild wolf, I'll dance with you." She laughed tightly and set him down, watching him run to where their mother stood at the end of the hall. She was reluctant to see her mother, and the way that Lady Catelyn looked at her made her feel even more so. Such ice in her eyes, one wouldn't think she's southern.

"Lyla, you look beautiful." Lord Eddard stood tall, wearing his best clothes- all grey and black and white. "And you, girls, so pretty." Arya hugged him and Sansa, as ladylike as ever, blushed and curtsied.

Lady Catelyn smiled at the girls and kissed them. Rickon too. She gave them their praises, along with Bran and Robb as they arrived. All the while, avoiding her eldest daughter.

"Ned, still in grey I see," bellowed the king as he neared. He was draped in fancy velvets and furs, his crown looking as light as a feather the way he held his head so high. Still yet, his stomach was robust and his beard, unkempt and too scruffy, did a weak job covering his chins. "Lyla, you look more like your aunt every time I see you."

"Your grace." She bowed and smiled up at him as best she could. "I'm honored."

King Robert laughed and hugged her as though he'd known her for her whole five-and-ten years. "I feel more honored than any to be in your presence," he murmured to her.

Lyla gasped, holding her breath until he released her. He stunk like wine already. "You are too kind, your grace."

Queen Cersei was standing beside him the whole time and yet Lyla had seemed to miss her yet again. Always her husband's shadow, she observed. The queen was adorned in her maiden House colors, red and gold, with a small tiara fixed into her hair, an emerald in the center of it. Far too extravagant for such a small feast.

Lord Eddard took the queen's arm and led her into the hall after Lyla's mother had gone. Sansa and the other three little Starks walked in together, and when they were alone Robb looked his sister up and down from raised brows.

"You cleaned up well, sister. Is that red? I've never seen that color on you before."

Lyla pursed her lips, looking down at her dress. It was one her mother had sent her the night before, though gave no word. The gown was nice enough, fitting like a glove in all the right places and draping out at the bottom. It was lined with black, rather than Lannister gold, and her sleeves were lace, though they could hardly be seen through the masses of thick brown curls that covered them. "You flatter me, Robb."

Theon walked in then, looking at her the way Robb had. "Has this anything to do with your encounter with the Ser Jaime Lannister?" he mused.

"Both of you so quick to judge? No, it was sent by mother," she replied, frustrated at their japes.

"It is rather becoming a gown, if I may be so bold." Lyla spun around and stepped back quickly when she saw Ser Jaime Lannister smiling in front of her. She could feel Robb and Theon's stares hot on the back of her head, sensing their uneasiness at his spreading smile.

"Ser," she said in quick greeting. He looked dapper, as one could only expect, in fine velvets and furs, all of a warm golden red with a pale cloak about his shoulders.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Robb and Theon give her wavered looks before turning and walking into the hall. Upon returning her gaze to Ser Jaime, she flushed slightly, noticing that he hadn't taken his eyes from her.

"May I?" He held his arm out for her and she slipped her own through it. "I wasn't lying, you know. You do look lovely. Red suits you."

Lyla smiled. If he was lying, he didn't show it. "I admit, I've always felt too stiff in silk." She gestured her hand down the length of the gown and laughed quietly.

Jaime raised a brow. "You don't look it."

They entered the hall then, and Lyla marveled at it. The chandeliers were full of thick yellow candles and there were banners of grey and black and white everywhere. People danced and sang and drank, some eating and some simply enjoying the company.

She hadn't noticed her father come up to speak to her until Ser Jaime spoke. "I hear we might be neighbors soon. I hope it's true."

He still smiled, but his tone made Lyla uneasy. "Yes," her father said. "King Robert has honored me with his offer."

Lyla frowned, remembering the reason for the king's visit.

"I'm sure we'll have a tournament to celebrate your new title. If you'll accept. It'll be good to have you in the field. Competition's a bit stale." So her father had accepted the position as Hand of the King?

Her eyes shot to Lord Eddard, who looked at her with his ever somberness for only a moment before his eyes were back to the Lannister knight. "I don't fight in tournaments."

"No?" He leaned in to her father's ear and whispered of him getting too old for it. She stared incredulously at him. He had been so kind to her, yet was a beastly thing to her father.

"I don't fight in tournaments because when I fight a man for real, I don't want him to know what I can do," Lord Eddard explained. Lyla fell from Ser Jaime's side and went to stand near her father.

Ser Jaime's unyielding smile grew then. "Well said."

Her father raised a brow at her and she looked down, knowing his stare was a reprimand for how openly she'd welcomed this lion. She saw her mistake now.

She was about to leave too, then, but Ser Jaime caught her arm. "I am sorry about that. I hadn't meant to be so crass."

"No need to apologize, Ser Jaime." She gave him a false smile before turning again- gasping. "Uncle Benjen!" she cried, running and jumping into his waiting arms, throwing her own around his neck. He smelled of snow and pine and ice and family. "I have missed you so terribly," she whispered to him.

Her uncle, who looked nearly a twin to her father only younger and darker haired, smiled thoughtfully. "And I you, my darling little one." He kissed her forehead and raised a brow at her choice of gown. "Summer colors have never suited the Starks, and yet you pull it off so well."

She blushed, as she so often did for her uncle, and twirled for him. "Why thank you, uncle. Mother sent it for me."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. It was warm, and she knew then that he'd just taken off his thick leather gloves. "Where's your father?" he asked, and Lyla looked to where the king sat, kissing a thick waisted serving wench with dark northern hair and coal eyes. She felt a pang of sympathy for the queen then, but quickly remembered the last time she'd shown kindness towards a Lannister. The queen's eyes were hot on her husband.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yes?" Benjen smiled and her eyes were on his again as she smiled in return. He left then, leaving Lilliana's eyes to linger to where Jon sat in the back of the room.

"Jon," she called, waving as she strode to him. She took a seat across the table and grabbed a cup of wine. They were only allowed one per feast, the Stark children, so she would make this last.

His grey eyes met her blue ones as hard as stone. "Lady Stark will be cross, seeing you back here with the bastard."

"Oh, Jon. You're my brother. I won't leave you lonely," she reminded him, sipping the wine tastefully. It warmed her throat and the sweetness made her want to hum. "Have you danced yet?"

Jon shook his head, near-black ringlets swaying. "Nor will I."

"Oh you won't?" Lyla smirked challengingly at him and took him firmly by the wrist. "I think I can change your mind."

She swung him around the room like a couple of children, and men and women alike laughed at them, jesting that Lyla was leading like Jon should have been. Jon didn't like that, though, and took her hands firmly, waltzing her and spinning her around the room, worries melting away. She did not even think of her mother, who she could feel staring haughtily at her.

Robb cut in, Theon after him, and little Rickon after him. "You promised me a dance," he reminded her with his sweet little voice. Lyla smiled warmly and lifted him into the air, assaulting his cheeks with kisses.

"Lady Lyla."

Rickon howled like a wolf as she sat him down, looking up and raising a brow. "Ser Jaime. You might well leave me be, lest others think of you as persistant."

He folded his arms, furrowing his brows. "Is that so terrible? I thought we were getting along well enough."

"Not when you insult my father. Now if you'll excuse me…" Lyla inclined her head to Sansa and Arya, then turned on her heels and walked from the hall.

Immediately fresh air filled her lungs, and she realized how calm it was out in the yard. She traced her finger on a post and leaned her head on it, inhaling the scent of the wood.

"You're cross with me." She hadn't even heard him follow her.

"By the gods, you gave me a fright!"

"What did I say to offend you?"

Lyla spun around, holding her head high. She felt dizzy, moving so fast, and her curls swung and rested over her shoulders. "You were standing there, with my arm in yours, as you insulted my father. If I'm not mistaken, ser, you called him old- too old to ride, or to battle, take your pick. Well, you know, you're rather old yourself."

Ser Jaime's eyes widened, and Lyla could swear it was from amusement. It made her all the more furious. "First I'm insulting and now I'm old? Tell me again, who is offending who?"

"You're only a couple years younger than my lord father," she replied quickly. Her direwolf came around the corner then and jumped at Lyla's skirts, licking her hands as she was pet. "Hello darling," she cooed, scratching her ears. For a moment, she'd forgotten the presence of Jaime Lannister.

"Truly, you're rather bold to speak to me as such," Ser Jaime observed once more, as he had when she'd first spoken to him in the yard, patting the direwolf's back. "A quality one does not often find in a lady."

Lyla eyed him warily, wondering how he could do it. How he could be so infuriating one moment, but gentle the next. It made her head spin. "Then perhaps I'm not quite a lady," she replied quietly.

"Of course you are. Just not a practiced one it seems."

"I guess I don't have a desire to please anyone but myself."

"Another rare quality. You're turning out to be a rather unique rose."

Lyla frowned. "A rose? Certainly a Stark more resembles a wolf. I'd rather be a wolf."

Jaime's smile returned and he raised a brow. "Wouldn't you just."

Their eyes held for a while and it took Lyla's wolf shifting on its paws, whining, for them to look away from each other. "You're not forgiven," she warned, though caught her lips tugging into a smile.

"I suppose if I'm to stay here for so long, I might as well get on your good side," Ser Jaime remarked lightly. "And I guess asking for forgiveness won't do?"

Lyla shook her head, trying to blow away hair that fell in her eyes away without avail. Before she knew it, Ser Jaime's hand was at her face, brushing the curls behind her ear. She stepped back, brows furrowing. "I should go."

Ser Jaime frowned. It was the first time she'd seen him frown, and probably would be the last, so she absorbed it; the way his forehead wrinkled and his eyes dimmed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Goodnight, Ser Jaime." Lyla turned her back to him and began walking up the stairs to the balcony, and then to her room- not being able to help the way her lips curved towards the stars. She'd already forgotten the crude things he'd said to her father.

"Don't you look right happy?" She turned quickly, seeing a figure in the dark of the night. Theon sat on the end of the balcony, by the door to his room.

"You're not at the feast?" Lyla raised a brow and tried to think of that Theon might have known. Jaime Lannister had just- What? What had he done? Brushed hair behind her ear? She bit her lip. She was so giddy because he'd shown kindness to her? Most likely false at that. She was a Stark, she ought to act as such.

It was easy to think of these things away from his company.

Theon shrugged at her question. "Too hot," he told her, "too loud."

Lyla sat beside him and sighed. "Indeed."

"I heard you and the Kingslayer talking."

Her eyes widened and she faced him. "What did you hear?"

"Enough to be worried." Theon's eyes were sharp and dark. "Don't go messing around with a man like that. He's no good. Do you not remember his name? Jaime Lannister. He's the Kingslayer, Lyla."

Any happiness in her fell and she looked away. "I will not be reprimanded by my father's ward. Goodnight Theon." She rose abruptly and turned away, entering the castle before he could think to apologize.

Warmth embraced her quickly, wrapping itself around her and sucking away the cold she didn't know was suffocating her. She pulled pins from her hair and shook what little of it was contained with her fingers as she entered her chamber, the direwolf at her heels.

"You're a loyal girl, aren't you? Always following me about." Lyla smiled and kissed the pup's nose before she slid from her silk gown and shimmied into her sleeping shift. She stood by the windowsill for a moment before retreating to her bed. The fur covers had never looked more inviting and she curled around them as fast as she could, sighing as she sunk into the feathery mattress. "Come on, girl." She patted the bed beside her and the wolf bounced onto the furs, rolling around before cuddling around Lyla's feet.

"Rose," she whispered to herself once she was settled, toying with the fur on the wolf's back. She no longer felt the way she had when she was in Theon's company-angry for befriending the knight- and recalled her conversation with the lion warmly, smiling. "Maybe I should call you rose. How about that?"

The wolf perked up and she laughed. The sound echoed off of her walls. "Well, Rose it is. Goodnight, little Rose," she murmured, yawning and allowing her weighted lids shut for the night.