Lydia
A hundred different thoughts danced about in her head. A marriage to a Lannister opened far more doors than being married to Willas. The Lannister name already had respect, due to Lord Tywin. On the other hand, Lydia would be marrying Ser Jaime Lannister, the infamous Kingslayer. She already knew both her father's and brothers's opinion on the man; they thought him to be without honour, and Lydia agreed. There was, however, a small part in the back of her mind that nagged her constantly. A burning question that she knew she would never get the answer to. Why? What would drive a man to break sacred vows?
Marrying Jaime Lannister could reveal that drive.
Lydia was not so naïve as to believe that, but she saw the potential. House Stark would gain its Southern allies, and Lydia's sons would become heirs to Casterly Rock. She would be feared and respected. However, there was a great chance she would never have the marriage her mother and father had. There was a chance she would never grow to like Jaime like she had grown to like Willas. There was a chance Ser Jaime would never respect her.
In the four years she spent in Highgarden, Lydia had become fond of its heir. Willas Tyrell was eight years her senior, and quite comely. Like his younger siblings, Willas had curly brown hair and brown eyes. He kept his hair short, stating that he did not like the way his hair curled into his eyes, and always seemed to have scruff on his face. Lydia had asked him once why he did not simply shave every morning and Willas had sworn to her that he did. "I'm simply destined for a beard," he had explained. Lydia had questioned him, asking if he was destined for a beard than why shave every morning. "Sometimes, my lady, you need to fight your destiny," he had responded. Lydia called him a strange man, making him laugh. She had been three and ten at the time and had heard many songs played on many instruments, but in that moment Lydia had never heard anything quite as lovely as Willas Tyrell's laugh.
A friendship had blossomed between them after that moment, and soon a light courtship. They both knew that there was a chance that nothing would come from it, but it had not stopped them. Small gifts were exchanged, flirtatious words, the odd chaste kiss but nothing with promise. Promises belonged to those who had control over their lives, Lydia had told him once. Even when she was a child, Lydia knew what her hand meant. She was the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. Her hand was at the beck and call of her father, and now it was at the mercy of the King's.
Despite that, she was given some control and she had a decision to make. Power or comfort? Influence or familiarity?
"Is everything alright, my lady?" Nora asked.
Lydia startled from her thoughts, and looked around. She was in her room, when she had got there she did not know, and she had her sketch book out. Glancing down, she saw that she was sketching a man but he had no facial features. "Yes, forgive me. I was... sketching," Lydia sighed. "I was sketching my future by the looks of it."
"May I?" Lydia handed her friend the sketchbook, hoping Nora would be able to identify the faceless man. "By the looks of him, he could either be Lord Willas or... Ser Jaime. My lady, has something happened?"
Lydia laughed dryly. "Everything and nothing, Nora. The King has made my father a proposition, and to make a long story short... I have the chance to marry Ser Jaime Lannister. The trouble is..."
"You had hoped to marry Willas Tyrell," Nora finished. "May I sit my lady?" Lydia nodded and gestured to the chair across from her. "May I also speak my mind?"
"Nora, you have been my maid for seven years and my friend for six," Lydia said. "I always want you to speak your mind."
"You may come to regret that, my lady," Nora laughed. "My lady, you are a bright young woman. I'm sure you've already thought of the benefits and consequences of agreeing to or rejecting the offer, but my question to you is, what marriage would be the most exciting?"
"Exciting?" Lydia repeated, smiling at her maid. "Nora you know marriage between nobles isn't about excitement. It's about duty and benefits, and legacy and other boring noble things."
"True, my lady, but you have a choice now," Nora said. "Ser Jaime is twice your age, and has a world of experience. By the Gods, he's the infamous Kingslayer! He's the son of Lord Tywin, the former Hand of the Mad King and Warden of the West, the twin to the current Queen, and uncle to the royal children. Your children would be golden lions, and heirs to Casterly Rock." Nora paused to let Lydia interrupt. When she didn't, Nora continued, "Lord Willas is the son of Lord Mace Tyrell, and grandson to the Queen of Thorns. The Reach is beautiful and rich. If the Lady Olenna gets her way, Lady Margary will be queen," Nora whispered the last part. "Your children will be roses, and cousins to the future royal children." Nora paused once more. "Either way you will want for nothing, my lady, but I must add that Lord Willas... with his leg there is a chance he will not be able to give you children."
Lydia nodded, knowing she would most likely receive the blame for lack of heirs. She knew there was a chance that more than his leg was crushed by his horse so many years ago, and if she was a different lady she would have taken the chance. But she was Lydia of House Stark, and her summer was ending. She could not afford to be a reckless little girl. "So, House Lannister would be a better choice? I would risk a husband who may not care for me or even respect me, and a good-father that will likely think of me as nothing but a broodmare for his legacy."
Nora reached across the table to grasp Lydia's hands. "My lady, you are as clever as you are beautiful, and the four years in Highgarden have only sharpened your cleverness," Nora squeezed her hand and grinned. "I think you'll be able to charm an old lion and his golden cub."
The afternoon had passed quickly, and Lydia found herself in the glass garden waiting for the evening meal. His hair is not as golden as the Queen's, Lydia thought. She had thought over Nora's words, finding wisdom in the older woman but she had until tomorrow evening to finalize her decision. Until then, she was content to simply draw her potential husband. Golden yes, but just a bit darker. Beside her, her newly acquired direwolf pup stirred. The pup had been unceremoniously given to her in the early morning, along with her brothers's direwolves, Grey Wind and Ghost. Lydia had been left to watch over the pups while her brothers joined the King in his hunt. Luckily, she had gifts to give to her siblings, which meant a day of searching for them and in the end she had three tired direwolves. She had named her little pup Bluebell for her livid eyes.
Bluebell's head raised and she barked. Looking away from her drawing, Lydia smiled pleasantly. "Good evening Lord Tyrion, I had hoped to see you again. Tell me, how fare you?" Lydia asked as the little lord approached.
"As well as any man that drank as much as the King," Tyrion replied. "I had hoped to see you again too, my lady. We left off on such a wonderful conversation!" He took a seat on the bench across from her, his feet just above the ground. "Ah, I see you have a little direwolf too. Hopefully yours is friendlier than Ned Stark's bastard's."
"You mean my brother Jon's," Lydia corrected.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to offend."
"I am not offended, Lord Tyrion. Just correcting a mistake."
"Of course. I understand completely," Tyrion said. "To change the subject, may I know what you're drawing?"
"Your brother," Lydia answered. She rubbed her finger against the paper, smearing the different shades of yellow together. "It's a stroke of good luck that you've come to the gardens, my lord. I would like an opinion on it. I can't seem to get the hair quite right." Handing the sketch book over, Lydia wiped her hands on a rag. "I've noticed that despite being twins, there are a few differences between your brother and sister. The hair for instance. The Queen's is the classic Lannister gold, but Ser Jaime's… I can't quite place it."
Lydia watch as Lord Tyrion studied the drawing. After a short while, he looked up. "The roots of his hair are darker than the rest." He turned the drawing towards her and gestured at the sketching, then turned it back. "May I look through your book?" Lydia nodded and started to collect her pastels. She listened to the soft flicks of turning pages, waiting for Lord Tyrion to comment. "These are beautiful, my lady. I've never known a lady with this much artistic talent."
Lydia blushed. "Thank you, my lord. I've been drawing since Maester Luwin left his inks unattended."
Lord Tyrion chuckled, before closing the sketchbook. "So tell me Lady Lydia, what has inspired you to draw my brother?"
Lydia glanced at the man carefully. How much did he know? How many people knew about the King's plans? After witnessing the King at the feast, it would not surprise Lydia if he accidently shouted his plans after one too many cups of wine. "It's as you say, Lord Tyrion. Inspiration."
"Ah, so beauty inspires you?"
Lydia sniffed. "History inspires me, my lord. Sooner or later, I will be dead as will everyone I have ever known, but I refuse to die without leaving something behind. Even if it's just a simple book with drawings of the places I've been or the people I've seen."
Lord Tyrion nodded thoughtfully. "That is an honourable task."
"Thank you," Lydia said. She smiled at Tyrion and stood, Bluebell following her lead. "The evening meal is most certainly about to happen, my lord. Would you care to escort me to the Great Hall? I find myself enjoying your company."
"You would be the first!" Tyrion laughed as he slid off the bench, and handed her her sketchbook.
"And hopefully not the last."
The evening sup was only half-way done and Lydia had already reached the limit of her patience. The King was, unsurprisingly, drunk, making him both loud and obnoxious. Every time the King talked, he yelled, and Lydia felt pity for both her father and the Queen. Her father took it with grace, but Lydia saw the way he flinched whenever the King began to bark orders. The Queen had a cold look on her face, and Lydia could see she wanted nothing more than to knock her husband into an early slumber. The Queen's only solace seemed to be her twin. Lydia had watched them converse throughout the meal, and slowly Lydia had become irritated.
She had gotten Ser Jaime's nose wrong.
It's so much wider than the Queen's, and how could I have not noticed that bump? Lydia thought. She would have to redraw him, which meant finding the right colours for his hair. Lydia sighed to herself. Three hours of effort for nothing.
"I supposed that Ser Jaime is handsome enough, but nothing to sigh over," Theon Greyjoy said.
Lydia twitched. When she was a child, she was smitten with Theon but her years in the South taught her that she only liked him because he was something unique. A kraken in a den of wolves. Now, as a woman grown, she was embarrassed that she ever thought he was to be her betrothed. Lydia had hoped Theon would have forgotten her girlhood crush on him, but as fate would have it... he did not.
"And I suppose you know what's sigh worthy, Theon?" Lydia jested. She smiled sweetly, despite wanting nothing more knock Theon across the head.
Theon pretended to tuck a loose lock behind her ear. "You, for one, Lydia. The South has done wonders to you."
And what does that mean?! True, she had not been as pretty as Sansa when she was younger but she was not homely! Her baby fat had simply clung to her face far longer than it was supposed to! "Theon, you flatter me." Ass.
"Theon, leave my sister alone," Robb said. "And move over, I have something I need to discuss with her."
"As you wish, my lord," Theon jested. Robb rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his face told a different story. Theon and Robb had grown as close as brothers in the four years she was gone.
"What did father want?"
"Straight to the point as always," Lydia commented. "I'm glad to see that hasn't changed."
"We Northerners have no need for flowery words," Robb replied, puffing his chest. "Or have you forgotten?"
Lydia shoved him playfully. Taking her goblet, she took a small sip as Robb looked at her expectantly. "You are not to make a fuss, or protest," Lydia ordered. Robb's eyes narrowed but he nodded all the same. "The King wants to marry me to Ser Jaime." Tully blue eyes widened and Lydia had to pinch Robb to keep him from shouting. "I said not to fuss!"
"I'm sorry! How am I to keep calm if there's a chance my sister is going to marry the Kingslayer!" Robb hissed. "And how is that possible? The Kingsguard swear the same vows as the Night's Watch! They shall have no wives, father no children, etcetera, etcetera."
"Vows mean nothing if the price is right," Lydia replied. "This is a good match, Robb, and it leaves you free to take a Northern wife."
"I don't care about who I wed! You can't want this." Lydia remained silent, not daring to meet her brother's eyes. "Tell me you don't want this."
"I said it once, and I'll say it again. It's a good match." Standing, Lydia dusted off imaginary lint. "Now, if you excuse me, the King is beckoning me." She heard Robb curse under his breath, but ignored him. She did not expect him to understand. Robb was a man, and had a choice in this lifetime. How could he possibly understand what she wanted? "Your Grace." Lydia curtsied and smiled.
King Robert was even worse in person. His face was red from the many cups of wine, and a thick, black beard hid a double chin. Sweat had begun to stain the yellow silk tunic he wore, as well as wine stains. How anyone thought this man should be King, Lydia would never know.
"There's the lovely Stark girl! My Gods Ned! Where have you've been hiding this beauty?" King Robert bellowed.
"She has been in Highgarden for four years, Your Grace. She only returned last night," her father responded.
"Highgarden, eh? They sure grow them pretty in the Reach." The King leaned against the table, causing it to creak under his mass. "There have been rumours about those little roses. They say they were grooming a wolf and trying to turn it into a rose! Tell me girl, is that true?"
"Lady Olenna taught me the ways of a Southern lady, Your Grace, and I consider Lady Margaery a dear friend," Lydia said. "But as to turning me into a rose, I must deny that accusation. I am as much as a wolf as I was four years ago."
The King laughed, a bit of spittle flying from his mouth. "That's good to hear! Last thing I need is to wed some rose covered wolf to the Kingslayer! Speaking of him. Kingslayer! Get over here!"
"Robert is this really necessary? Lydia hasn't even given her answer," her father argued.
"I'm just introducing them, Ned. Calm down, for Gods' sake."
"You called, Your Grace?" Ser Jaime drawled. Lydia looked up at him. Ser Jaime was tall, not as tall as the King but still over six feet. His blond hair curled towards the end, and Tyrion was correct. His roots were darker than the rest of his hair. Overall, he was quite comely. Strong jaw and chin, straight nose, and a pair of sharp green eyes.
"Lady Lydia, this is Jaime Lannister. Tywin's golden boy," the King introduced.
"Ser Jaime," Lydia said, curtsying. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard many tales of your skills as a knight."
Jaime Lannister bowed his head towards her. "Lady Lydia Stark. I've heard a few rumours about you in King's Landing."
Smiling, Lydia replied, "I hope they are all positive."
Jaime hummed in response. "If you excuse me, my lady, my brother is in need of me."
Lydia watched Ser Jaime leave, and sighed to herself. The Lady of Casterly Rock was looking less appealing to her.
