Chapter Four

Catelyn's third pregnancy proceeded well and soon, the red-haired, blue-eyed Sansa Stark bloodily slid out into the world. She proved her wolf heritage well enough with the power in her tiny lungs, making her mother wince in pain and her father laugh out loud. Edmure Tully hadn't left yet so he was the one to escort Robb and Lyarra in to meet their new sister. The former looked at his fussy, violently pink sibling with a dubious expression and wondered aloud if the baby would always be bald. The latter hit his arm and told the new parents that Sansa was adorable.

"She's an awful liar, Cat. Definitely Ned's genes right there," Edmure joked.

'You would be surprised little brother.' Catelyn offered the Snow child a tired smile. "She'll look far more normal when her hair grows in a bit Lyarra."

Sansa was followed by a second daughter, dark-haired and grey-eyed Arya, that Lyarra was quickly smitten by. Any moment where the eldest two children were not practicing their letters or their sums was devoted to amusing one sister or the other. The years passed peacefully in this manner and any of the bannerman that visited Winterfell in that time were able to note the quiet contentment of their liege lord. Ned made a happy picture besides his wife, heir, and three daughters, two of whom were as blatantly of the First Men blood as it was possible to be. She grew ever closer to Ned in this period, their love sparking and growing like wildfire without her resentment to hold it back, and Cat attributed this to the fact that Arya was barely turning on her stomach before she fell with child again.

'I'm praying for this one to be a son,' she wrote to Edmure later, 'Ned is pleased to have three daughters to spoil but a spare heir for the harsh North would not be unappreciated. I think he would like to have a son to name after Brandon too…'

'A second grandson may even distract Father from his attempts to marry me off,' Edmure wrote back, 'One would think Riverrun empty of all sound and joy from how he complains of the quiet. You must make time to visit us after the birth, so the halls can echo with children's laughter once again. Bring Lyarra as well, Father appears willing to meet her…'

Lady Catelyn Stark was entirely satisfied when she received the invitation and even more so when her husband agreed to the planned visit. Not only did she miss her childhood home and family but it allowed her the chance to solicit the advice of two of the wisest men she knew. Should Lyarra's identity ever be revealed, the Baratheons and Lannisters would call for her head. Since her husband and son would never acquiesce to those demands, the North would be dragged to war. With Jon Arryn as the King's Hand, the Martells smarting from the death of Elia's children, and the other Houses unfamiliar with or actively hostile to the North, it would be the Riverlands she would turn to first. She knew her Lord Father would never allow his grandson to march to war alone.

Thoughts of a potential war casting a pallor on her day, Catelyn pushed the thought from her mind and made her way to the kitchens. She had a sudden and inexplicable craving for candied yams.

The morning of Robb's sixth nameday heralded the first serious fight between the two friends. Neither of them were aware of the eventuality though as they were dressed up by the servants, Lyarra and Sansa in wool dyed dresses and Robb in a matching forest green doublet. Of the three, only Sansa looked in any way pleased by her fashionable attire.

"Do you think they made lemon cakes?" Sansa asked hopefully, reaching for her elder sister's hand.

"Of course they did. Everyone knows that they're your favorite treat," Lyarra assured. "Let's go down before Robb gets his hands on them."

The knowledge that her brother might get to them first and even feel entitled to enjoy them all on his nameday lent wings to her most well-behaved sibling's feet. Rather than attempt to gracefully walk down to the hall- "just like mama!"- Sansa sprinted down the winding stairs like a champion. Lyanna kept pace beside her, well used to one sibling or the other dragging her around their home.

"Faster Lyarra! He'll be down there by now!" Sansa leapt down the bottom four steps, fishtail braid bouncing in the air, and ran straight down the corridor to the great hall. Lyarra slowed down to a jog behind her to apologetically smile at all of the amused servants that her sister had run by.

"I'm sorry about that. Sansa didn't mean to push anyone." She helped pick up the bedsheets before leisurely walking into a scene where an unrepentantly pleased redhead was being halfheartedly scolded by her father. The reason for that pleasure was probably the sugar-frosted cake being nibbled on while Sansa babbled her apologies. Arya had her own treat in front of her though it was mashed more into a paste than any form of cake now.

"She pushed me off my seat to get to the platter," Robb told her, more amused than irritated as he offered her one. "Here. I saved two before Sansa stole the rest of the plate."

"Thank you." Lyarra crumbled hers over the porridge the servants brought in and took a bite. The tart sweetness of the lemon only added to the warm honey flavor of the hot oats. Breakfast passed peacefully from there until Ned Stark put his fork down.

"Robb, you've reached six namedays now. I think it's time that you begin your swordsmanship lessons in earnest."

The red-haired boy's eyes widened in eagerness. Lyarra's stomach filled with anticipation too. She knew her brother had been waiting for this day for over a year now. "Father, do you mean-"

"Yes. I've spoken to Ser Rodrik and he will expect you to join him until noon each day for lessons. You will use a blunted sword in training rather than the wooden one you play with now."

Robb practically beamed at the news. "I will not let the Stark name down Father!"

"I'm sure that you'll do well son," Lord Stark replied, the ends of his mouth lifting up.

"May I attend Robb's lessons too?" Lyarra's excitement dropped as her father's smile faded. "Do I need to wait until my own name day? It's only two months away… can't I practice earlier Father?"

"You won't be attending my lessons, Lyaa."

"But it would be silly to have Ser Rodrik explain the basics twice when he can teach us at the same time."

"No. I mean that you won't be attending lessons at all. You won't have any sword lessons."

"Why not? You're allowed to have lessons and you're the same age as I am!"

"I'm a boy and you're not," Robb tried to explain, "I need to be a swordsman to protect the North. You're a lady and ladies don't need to learn how to use a sword."

"And why don't ladies need to learn how to use a sword?"

"Because they have men to take care of them." Robb saw the distress lining her features and tried to make her feel better. "You needn't worry, Lyaa. I'll protect you from anyone that tries to hurt you."

"I don't want you to protect me! I want Ser Rodrik to teach me how to fight!"

"Why don't you want me to protect you?" Now it was Robb's turn to be hurt. "Do you think I can't?"

"I want to learn to fight," Lyarra repeated. "Father, please, can't I learn besides Robb?"

"That's stupid!" The Heir to Winterfell exploded. "Father, Lyaa shouldn't be out there fighting! She could get hurt!"

"You could get hurt!"

"I'm a boy!"

"You're an idiot!"

"Enough!" Lord Eddard Stark's voice boomed throughout the great hall, attracting more than his family's attention but forcing the eldest two children silent. "Robb, kindly do not shout over your sister's words. You are six-years-old now and I expect you to act with greater maturity than this."

"And Lyarra…" Ned sighed and considered how to respond to her. "Do not call your brother an idiot. I know that you would like to attend Robb's lessons but he is correct. A lady does not wield a sword."

The two murmured their assent and fell quiet. Robb attempted to covertly catch dark violet eyes but Lyarra determinedly refused to face him. And Lady Stark watched it all with a contemplative frown.

Before Catelyn Tully had grown up to be a Lord Paramount's wife, she was the eldest daughter of a Great House without any sons. Edmure was eight years her junior and her mother, Lady Minisa Whent, had had a difficult pregnancy with Lysa. On her uncle's advice, her father had reluctantly allowed her to attend lessons meant for an heir: advanced mathematics, history and geography, diplomacy, strategy, and yes, even warfare. Catelyn had even shown some talent with a rare weapon used primarily in the Riverlands: the trident. The lessons were swiftly ended after Edmure reached his first name day and her family was assured that he would live but Catelyn had received them.

They were a feature of her education that Hoster Tully had never mentioned to Rickon Stark. Despite the motivation behind her son's declaration, he was essentially correct. Ladies do not fight, not even in the North unless they come from the isolated and fierce Bear Island. Any daughter hoping for a proper Southron marriage would eschew the sword.

Unfortunately the realities of the situation made such a marriage unfeasible. Even had she not been a bastard, Catelyn would never be so foolish as to allow Lyarra south of the Neck. Similarly, Sansa would make for an excellent Southron lady but her decision would need to be carefully weighed to a son that would neither advocate war nor hand over a hostage to the Lannisters and Baratheons. There was the additional concern of cementing the North's loyalty before the truth came out. Lord Rickon lost much influence when he tried to marry his children off to the South and Catelyn's matchmaking would be received even less favorably.

'If marriage is not the concern, why not let her fight?' Lyarra would have her father's guardsmen to protect her but her mother could boast the same before a dragon stole her away to Dorne. Done with some discretion and it could benefit all of her daughters to learn to protect themselves.

Her decision made, she followed her husband to his solar. As she waited for him to notice her, the Lady Stark admired the understated beauty of the room. It was simply furnished in dark woods, a black bear skin rug, and pale blue curtains. The desk had a tidy pile of parchment, an opened ink bottle, a small portrait his siblings, and a direwolf seal.

"Catelyn? Is there anything you need to discuss with me?"

"Lyarra's lessons. I understand that you would like to keep her away from Septa Mordane?"

"Lyarra is of the North. She shouldn't be educated on the Seven," Ned responded. "And I do not approve of the way the Septa describes bastards."

"I'll speak to her about that. But if she won't receive any lessons from the Septa than I think she should have them with me."

"What do you intend to teach her?"

"As Maester Luwin's lessons on history and maths are more than adequate, I'll leave those subjects to him. There are other topics to be covered for a highborn lady: the arts of conversation, of music, of dance and so on. Running a household is an important skill. Falconry was popular enough at court, we may do that as well. And I do not see why a few games of cyvasse could not be played."

Her husband's brow furrowed. "You mean to teach Lyarra the strategy of warfare?"

"Nonsense, husband. My Uncle Bryden and I played many games together when I was a young girl. It is a perfectly respectable pastime and one that I enjoyed very much."

"Ah, my good father must have forgotten to mention that talent." Ned's tone shifted to amusement.

"It escaped his memory entirely, I'm sure," Catelyn responded flippantly. "And think, you'll have your own opportunity to conveniently forget your daughter's abilities when a sensible young man appears."

"My daughters are all far too young to marry any man," Ned declared. "Not that I would consider one that fears a game of cyvasse with his own wife."

"A sensible decision. Mayhap we needn't share all of their skills though. There's no reason for a lady to unsheathe her sword when there are men to protect her."

"You… mean to give Lyarra a sword?"

"I mean to train her with a sword and gift her with a dagger," Cat corrected, "The latter is far easier to slip into sheath underneath a lady's skirts."

"I see. I didn't think you would ever approve of such lessons for the girls," Ned admitted. "Since it would damage their marriage prospects."

"There won't be anyone to know of the lessons. Ser Rodrik is one of our most loyal men. The cellar is cool and empty at this time of the year and other areas can be found in a castle this large, I'm sure."

"Mind you, I will never allow a daughter of mine to ride to war," she added.

"Neither would I." A smile crossed her husband's face and he stepped around his desk to clasp her closer. "It seems I was promised a Southron flower and received a hidden Nymeria instead."

"I command no men to war, my lord," Catelyn responded, attempting to appear nonchalant with her cheeks flushing. "I beg your leave now to discuss this with Lyarra."

"Very well." The twinkle in her husband's eye was her only warning before he pulled her into a short yet fiercely passionate kiss. "We will return to our discussions tonight then."

Catelyn offered only the briefest of curtsies before stepping outside and into the nearest empty alcove. She could hardly meet any servants with her heart beating at such a pace or her cheeks competing with the Tully sigil for their brightness. 'That damnable man…' she thought fondly.

When her composure had been regained, she moved to secure all three of her girls and bring them to her private sitting rooms. Arya and Sansa were occupied by their teething toy and dolls respectively while Lyarra was sat across from her on a small settee. Cat dismissed all but Kara, her personal childhood maidservant, and picked up her most recent sewing project. Lyarra picked at her own simple shooting star pattern.

"Lyarra, I would like to speak to you of your brother's lessons. Do you understand why you cannot attend them?"

"Because ladies aren't allowed to fight," was the sullen response. "But I'm not a lady so Father should allow me to attend."

"And what makes you think that you're not a lady?"

"I'm a bastard," Lyarra pointed out, matter-of-fact. "Bastards can't be ladies but they can be knights."

"Women cannot be knights regardless of whether they are trueborn or bastards, my dear," Catelyn replied. "And I do not want to hear you call yourself a bastard again. You are a lady."

The dark-haired girl pouted. "Am not. Pollock said that Snows are the names of bastard children."

"Does Pollock know more than I do?"

Lyarra appeared to consider that for a moment. Pollock was six-and-ten and lived up in the mountains before he became a guard. Lady Catelyn had never been to the mountains but she was from the Riverlands, which was even further away, and Lyarra reckoned that she and father were only a few namedays short of Old Nan. And Old Nan was ancient. She shook her head 'no'.

"Then if I say that you're a lady, you must be a lady," Catelyn stated. "Snow may be your surname now but you will lose it when your husband gives you his."

Lyarra considered this even further. "I want to be a Stark. Can Robb be my husband?"

"No. It'll likely be a Cerwyn or a Karstark or a Glover that'll take you to their home," Catelyn chuckled.

Her niece didn't look impressed. "I don't want to leave Winterfell for another home."

"Then it's fortunate that your father will have to be held at swordpoint to give you away."

"What if I give up a husband for a sword instead?" Lyarra offered, looking up at her with pleading violet eyes. "Please? Boys are stupid. Can't you speak to Father to give me a sword instead?"

It took all of Catelyn's control not to burst into laughter here. Instead, she leaned forward and tapped her niece's nose. Lyarra became cross-eyed as she attempted to look directly at the finger.

"Even if your father could be convinced to teach you, you'll never become the swordsman Robb will be," Catelyn responded gently. "No, Lyarra, I want you to listen to me. My son is tall and strong for his age, he will only grow more so. You have a slim body and will never attain much girth."

'To her fortune, really. Damn Rhaegar Targaryen and his trim figure. Lyarra would never be denied sweets for her expanding waistline.'

Before her niece could fall into one of her mulish silences, Catelyn continued. "Unlike Robb, you have the potential to be a swift and agile swordsman. Your Aunt was a good horsewoman and archer, you may excel there too. You are a woman and they will underestimate you for that alone. Play to your strengths Lyarra, when you have not the natural advantages to fight a man on his own field."

Lyarra perked up and then recalled her situation. "Father said that I can't attend Robb's lessons."

"And so you can't. But Ser Rodrik can still teach you in secret. A falchier is lightweight and has decent reach. Daggers are discrete and can be hidden throughout your person. You can have your own lessons as long as you agree to keep the knowledge hidden."

Her eyes gleamed. "I will! Can I tell Robb?"

"If you would like to." Scarcely had Catelyn finished with her permission, than her niece was rushing out the door to find her son. Shaking her head in resignation, she returned to the stitching. She regretted it less than an hour later when Kara notified her that Lyarra had run back to the children's rooms after having a screaming match with Robb.

Having already dealt with one child's sullenness, she went to deal with another's anger.

"Do you know that your sister is in the nursery rooms crying into her pillow right now?"

Robb looked up from the book he wasn't even pretending to read with the blue of his eyes heightened by red. He didn't answer but from the way his shoulders began to restlessly shift around, she knew her words had made their impact. "I just wanted to keep her safe."

"I know you do," Catelyn soothed. "But don't you want her to be able to protect herself when the guards aren't present?"

Her son's chin jutted out stubbornly. "I wouldn't leave her alone."

"And I'm sure that she appreciates that. Lyarra knows that this is a skill that she will hopefully never have to use. A lady does not ride into battle after all."

Robb's head inclined to the side. "Then why does Lyarra want to fight so much?"

"She's attracted to the glamour of it. But I'm sure her enthusiasm would dampen when she learns how it would damage her marriage prospects if others knew that she could fight."

A strange light entered Robb's eyes. "Oh. Well, I guess it's okay to let her practice then."

"You should speak to her," Catelyn suggested as her son scrambled to his feet. "And Robb, you must not tell anyone- Robb!"

Unfortunately her son had already fled the library by then in his haste to apologize. Catelyn looked at her stomach, round and full with a child, and decided that her firstborn had enough sense for the warning to be unnecessary. She was sure he knew to keep his silence.

A month later, Lord Cerwyn and his son had come by to pay their respects to House Stark on a trip south. Young Cley Cerwyn made the mistake of commenting favorably on the crown of white wildflowers over Lyarra's dark curls.

"She's learning how to fight," Robb told him. "Ser Rodrik says she's a natural with her daggers and is taking well to the flechier too."

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