(A/N: Hey guys, I'm so sorry for another late update, work has been hectic! But I'm so happy for the reviews the last few chapters have gotten, and I'm so glad people are liking this! So here is chapter 4, fresh off the press! This chapter jumps right into the main story line of the series [or one of the main storylines? Or maybe many?]. But yes, Robert is back! I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please review! I love reading all of your thoughts!)
Jon Arryn was dead. It was such a simple concept, and yet, Lyra couldn't find the words to express the pain she had felt, or really mustered the courage to leave her chambers. Despite her nine years with him, and the other six in correspondence, Jon Arryn had become a friend, confidant and grandfather figure for Lyra. How could he possibly be dead? But then, everyone surely died. Even Jon Arryn wasn't immortal.
Lyra rolled onto her side and hugged one of her pillows tight as she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt so sorry for both her father and Ned Stark, neither could lock themselves in their chambers as she did and cry. No, they both had duties to attend, and most shockingly, her father would be in Winterfell shortly. Lyra could hear all the hustling and bustling that went on outside, Lady Catelyn Stark had a voice that could be heard from miles around if she really tried. But nobody had even tried to bother Lyra. It was almost as though if they left her to grieve, she would miraculously be okay for the royal arrival. But even Lyra knew that was an impossible assumption.
With a sigh, Lyra slipped from her bed, and pushed her pillow back onto the thick, fur spread. If her father could make the effort to travel to Winterfell directly after the death of Jon Arryn, Lyra could at least make the effort to get dressed for her father. Lyra shrugged on a thick robe, and, thankful for the warm floors of castle, padded in silk slippers to her door. She edged it open just slightly and peaked inside. Lyra had a full view of Ser Edrew, who sat slumped on the floor. Not much harm would come to her in Winterfell, and yet Ser Edrew guarded her day and night – very few Winterfell guards were given the chance, and even when they were, Ser Edrew sat on the floor wearily beside them.
"Ser?" Lyra asked, startling Edrew slightly. He stumbled to his feet and tipped himself in a clumsy bow. Lyra smiled at her knight, he was certainly a handsome man, with eyes as bright as grass and a wonky smile that made him look far younger than his years. He had been Edrew Flowers before he had fought with Robert Baratheon against the Mad King. He had been at the Battle of the Trident and fought so valiantly for her father that he was knighted. Lyra had never asked what had caused Edrew to join her father's cause, and Edrew rarely spoke about it. "I was wondering if I could have someone come and get me dressed." Lyra questioned Ser Edrew, who only nodded. He then turned to Winterfell guard that Lyra hadn't quite noticed, and fixed a stern look on her face.
"Could you please fetch Princess Lyra's maids?" The guard pulled a face, one that said he didn't like Edrew giving him orders, before giving Lyra a swift bow and wondering down the corridor. The Winterfell man had given Lyra a queer look, and she wondered if she really looked that terrible. Of course, she had rarely emerged from her room long enough for anyone to see her in a few weeks. "How are you feeling, Milady?" Edrew asked, before shaking his head. "Of course, that's not a question you want to be asked." Lyra felt pity for the knight. He knew her well enough to speak frankly to her, but he rarely did, and he would always take back his words if he did.
"Ser Edrew, would you like to come in for something to drink? It might not be much but I haven't had any food sent up, and it is only some water." Lyra offered. The knight smiled, before looking around and nodding his head.
"I would be grateful, Your Highness." Lyra opened the door and allowed Ser Edrew to come in before closing it. Other than her ladies, the only person that had been in her room in weeks had been Robb, and that had been on his Name Day. Lyra flushed at the memory and shook her head. She would not think of such things! Lyra walked over to a small table and poured two goblets of water, handing one to Ser Edrew.
"My father shall be here soon," Lyra said offhandedly. Ser Edrew had been her only connection to her life in King's Landing, and she often mused around him. "I wonder if he has changed much, or if my mother has become kinder?" Lyra sighed and sipped her water. "And as for Joffery," she only shook her head. She didn't want to see her brother again, and it was clear Ser Edrew felt the same way. Joffery had been cruel to everyone he met, and that had included Ser Edrew. Lyra had heard that Sansa had been more than excited to see the Crowned Prince, even if Lyra had kept herself in her room, words spread like fire in a castle such as Winterfell.
"Whether they have changed or not, I am sure the King and Queen will be excited to see you, and will be proud of the young lady you have become." Ser Edrew assured, and Lyra smiled. Perhaps he was right, but Lyra knew that the visit from her parents didn't come without strings – she was just unsure what those strings were.
"Ser Edrew? If my father has come with news of a betrothal, would you come and join my household?" The question seemed to catch Ser Edrew off guard, but Lyra couldn't help but ask. She trusted Edrew Flowers with her life, no matter how bizarre it might have sounded. Ser Edrew took a swig of his water before placing the goblet down.
"My Lady, I have stayed in the North with you for six years, and I have been by your side since you were an infant. If you were to marry today, I would go with you. You need only ask me." Ser Edrew swore, and Lyra believed him. She placed a small hand on his armoured arm and smiled up at him.
"I thought I should ask, Ser Edrew. I could not bear to be parted with my oldest friend." The knight smiled then, and covered Lyra's hand with his own before dropping to one knee.
"And you won't, for I am your sworn sword, forever and always." The door knocked and Ser Edrew slowly drew to his feet. "I suppose it is time I take my leave, you must get ready." Lyra nodded, and walked slowly to her door. Opening her door so her knight could leave. Lyra wished she could have talked to Ser Edrew more; she wanted to talk to someone who had known her all the years that he had. Even if it were for her own comfort.
Robb had been squeezed between his mother and Sansa. The Stark children had been lined up in a neat little line – just as they had been when Lyra had joined them all those years ago. Robb could hear Theon complain as he had been shoved behind the Stark children, along with Jon. But no matter how hard Robb looked, he couldn't spy Lyra. He hadn't seen her in weeks, but he had assumed that she would at least show for the welcoming of her family to Winterfell. Just as Robb was about to lose hope that Lyra would come, he caught sight of her emerging from the castle, Ser Edrew by her side. She looked the part of a royal princess, Robb thought, she like she had done when she first arrived at Winterfell. She wore a dress of sky blue, which showed only slightly under her thick white cloak lined with fur. Lyra looked completely northern to Robb – even more so than she normally did. Lyra joined the line of Starks, and Ser Edrew, but where Robb had expected Lyra to stand beside his father she didn't. Robb saw Rickon's face light up as Lyra stood beside him, and almost instinctively, Rickon reached up to take Lyra's hand. And Lyra took it without hesitation.
Rickon had attached himself to Lyra, clinging to her whenever he could. Robb had to remind himself that three year olds had no understanding of royal titles – not that Lyra ever seemed to mind. She often carried Rickon whenever he asked, and told him stories whenever he wanted. Even his Direwolf, Shaggydog, seemed quite taken with Lyra.
A shout rang out amongst Winterfell as mighty procession of horses, knights and carriages marched through the gates of Winterfell. The royal banners of House Baratheon fluttered brightly in the cold North air. Robb, for a brief moment, was struck. Lyra had come from such a life? Robb searched Lyra's face, and he saw something cross it as the royal procession came to a halt, he wondered what it must have been. But Robb had not time to think as he saw a gigantic man slide from his horse and marched over to his Lord father. It didn't take Robb long to realise it had been the King, and like the rest of his family, Robb bowed low. Robb watched as his father and the King interacted, it was certainly a strange affair. But what was even more striking was when the King stopped in front of Robb and gave a wild grin.
"What a strapping lad, Ned!" The King's voice seemed to rig out all over Winterfell. "Almost as strong as you were when you were the lad's age!" Before Robb could thank the King, was he was sure he was to do, the King had made his way down the line. He spoke to each of the Stark children, claiming both Sansa and Arya as beautiful, and even telling Bran that he was certainly going to become a knight. Robb even witnessed the King ruffling Rickon's hair before he stopped in front of Lyra.
"Your Grace," Lyra greeted, dropping Rickon's hand and curtseying low. The King, for what felt surprisingly strange, had fallen quite silent. He motioned Lyra to straighten herself, and Lyra did. Robb had heard that Lyra had been carved from stone by Robert Baratheon – and he had thought it was a silly thing for people to think, until he saw Lyra and Robert look at each other with the same surprised look. Their hair was both black as night, and they had the same stormy blue eyes that looked like a raging sea. Robb could understand now why his father had been so surprised when he clapped eyes on Lyra.
"Seven Hells, this can't be my little Storm Queen?!" Robert sounded completely aghast, but still he opened his arms wide. "Come here girl, and give your father a hug!" Robb watched Lyra hesitate, before a large grin spread across her face and she leapt at her father. Most of the people, whether they were part of King Robert's procession, or Northerners, were surprised at the informality between Lyra and the King. But watching them made the fat King seem human. Robb watched the King stumble under the force of Lyra, but he held her tight and kissed the top of her head. King Robert finally lowered Lyra down to the girl and looked her over again. "You look beautiful," he said, almost surprised.
"Lyra!" The cries had come in unison, and Robb's eyes turned, along with the rest of the Stark children's, as two blonde children rushed to Lyra. The king barely had time to move out of the way as Lyra knelt, so she could catch both children in her arms. One was a pretty blonde girl, with eyes of blazing green. And the other was a small, round boy, not much younger than Bran, with the exact colouring. But Robb knew who they had been from the stories Lyra had told him and his siblings about her life before them. The Princess Myrcella was too big for Lyra to lift, but she had picked little Tommen up in her arms and smiled brightly as both children chattered away. But their words mingled with each other as they spoke excitedly about completely different things, that Robb was amazed Lyra could even keep up. If she was keeping up, that was. Robb looked up at he heard his father greet someone else, Queen Cersei was tall, beautiful and golden. She didn't stop to talk to any of the Stark children, but greeted Ned and Catelyn so coldly Robb couldn't believe how different she was to the King.
Robb watched as the Queen made her way towards Lyra and her younger children, and her face seemed to light up at the sight of Lyra.
"My darling," the Queen announced her presence. Lyra let Tommen down before smiling at her mother. Robb thought it was like looking at day and night, but he could see where Lyra had gotten her beauty from. Robb was sure he heard Lyra gasp 'mother', before the queen tugged Lyra tightly into a hug. The embrace seemed far more possessive in comparison to when Lyra had hugged King Robert, but nether-the-less, it was clear there was love there. "You have become quite beautiful," the Queen remarked as she pulled away from Lyra and inspected her with narrow, green eyes.
"Thank you, mother," Lyra said, with a gentle smile. "And you are just as beautiful as I remember, if not more so." The flattery sounded almost forced, but Robb would never dare point it out. The King, however, looked bored with all the pleasantries.
"Take me to the crypts, I wish to pay my respects." King Robert commanded towards Ned. Robb watched as his father hesitated and the Queen's eyes snapped towards her husband with a cruel intensity that made Robb flinch back. But the King didn't seem fazed.
"My love," the Queen pined, "we have been riding for weeks, and surely you should rest. Surely the dead can wait?" Robb saw something pass over the King's face, but he didn't look at Queen Cersei, or Lyra, who had stepped slightly away from her parents.
"Ned." The King hissed. It took another moment before Ned Stark gave in to the King and nodded his head. Robb saw something pass over Lyra's face again, had it been hurt? If it had been, it passed as quickly as it came and Lyra fixed another smile on her face as Prince Tommen tugged on her cloak.
"You are really pretty," Robb heard Tommen say. "I missed you, Ly-Ly." Robb couldn't help but smile then, as he saw Lyra kiss Tommen's forehead. The Queen seemed to have stalked off towards a wheel-house, and began talking to a knight in a golden cloak. Robb didn't like the sight of him.
"I've missed you too," Lyra whispered, as she soothed down Tommen's hair. Lyra may not have looked like her siblings, but she certainly loved them without a doubt.
"And what about me, Sweet sister, did you miss me?" Robb had tried to ignore who, he had assumed to be, Prince Joffery. He walked with an arrogant swagger and his voice oozed with narcissism. Lyra had straightened herself; Joffery was only a few inches taller than her, and Robb was sure he had seen little Tommen cower behind his sister. The two royal siblings stared each other down, and it seemed neither was going to back down, until Lyra flashed Joffery a bright smile that seemed to throw the Prince off guard.
"Of course I missed you, Joff! How could I not miss my baby brother?" A flash of anger and embarrassment crossed Joffery's face, before he caught himself, and he smiled at Lyra just as brightly.
"Good, because I have missed you more than words could describe." The sarcasm was startlingly obvious in Prince Joffery's voice, but it didn't seem to faze Lyra, as she simply smiled at her brother.
"He really is a little prick," Lyra hissed to Ser Edrew as the two walked towards her chambers. Lyra had desperately wanted to speak with her father, but knew that it could wait until he had finished paying his respects. Lyra saw that Ser Edrew was struggling not to laugh, but she only shook her head. "You can laugh if you want; after all, we know that any unfortunate soul who has ever met Joffery thinks it. Unless they are my mother, of course." Lord Edrew simply shook his head at Lyra was they walked. Lyra thought of seeing her family again, her brief encounter with her siblings and parents had been met by an even briefer encounter with her Uncles Jaime and Tryion – both seemed happier to be shown to their chambers than to stay and talk with their niece. Even her Uncle Renly hadn't been much better, though he had swore to speak to her later.
Seeing her family had been much different in realty than Lyra had thought. Still, has Ser Edrew had reminded her, there was time yet And he hadn't been wrong, just as the two of them rounded a corner, Lyra caught sight of her Uncle Tyrion. He grinned up at Lyra, his mismatched eyes shining as he waddled over to them.
"Lord Tyrion?" Edrew questioned, he sounded surprised, but Lyra knew her Uncle had funny ways of announcing himself. Tyrion waved Ser Edrew off as he stopped in front of the two. Lyra had grown much taller than her Uncle, but he still held the same dangerous air of authority he had always had. Tyrion gave a swift bow, before grinning.
"Well, if I hadn't come with the royal procession, I would surely have thought you were another Northern girl. You have certainly adopted it as your home." Tyrion gestured to Lyra's outfit, and Lyra couldn't help but blush. A part of her wasn't sure why she had dressed as Northern as she could, but another part of her knew exactly why. She wanted to make a point to her mother and father, that she wasn't the same girl that they had sent away all those years ago, that she had wanted to make sure they knew that the North had become her home.
"Well, I knew it was you the moment I saw you, Uncle Tyrion. How have you been?" Lyra asked, she wanted to cringe back from her own words. She thought she sounded like her mother, but Tyrion's grin widened even more.
"You've become as cold as the North," he said with a shake of his blonde head. "And I have done as fine as any man, better once I heard your comment about your brother." Lyra opened her mouth to defend herself, but Tyrion hushed her. "You're right, he really is a prick." Tyrion said it with such a rueful grin, that Lyra could hardly believe it. But after a moment, she was laughing with her Uncle, and Lyra felt like she was nine again, hiding in the library and talking history with her Uncle Tyrion again. "Now, other than whores and wine, I heard Winterfell has a fine collection of books, would you mind showing me?" Tyrion asked, like he had read her mind. Lyra nodded, thankful for whatever distraction would clear Joffery from her thoughts.
Robert had thumbed down in a chair across from Ned, he had seen to Lyanna, and it did little to lift his mood. The chair creaked underneath Robert's weight, but he chose to ignore it as he drank the wine that had been placed down in front of him. He had more pressing matters to deal with, his daughter. Lyra had grown into quite the beauty, and had truly flourished in the North. Robert had tried to picture her each day and night, but whenever she crossed his mind, he was not prepared for how grown his little girl would look. There had been something so wild and defiant behind her eyes that had shook Robert out of any expectations that she was still the same little girl he had sent away. Robert had read every report about her, even the dull ones, but never had he pictured the girl that had greeted him with the Starks. She looked like she could have been one of them, but when she had said 'your grace', there was no denying she was Robert's little Lyra
"She's grown into quite the young woman, Robert." Ned said with a hint of pride. Robert couldn't blame Ned, though Robert wished to claim all the credit of Lyra's growth to himself, it had been Ned that had fostered her, clothed her, and cared for her. "She's politically savvy, and her love of history has grown. You should see her on her horse, she reminds me of you when she rides. If you gave her a War Hammer, no man would stand a chance against her." Ned joked, and Robert laughed as he remembered Lyra at the age of three, trying to pick up Robert's War Hammer, and grinning whenever she saw it.
"Sometimes I wonder if such skills are wasted on her, Ned." Robert admitted. "She would make an excellent Queen, all of her reports have hinted. But Jon and I spoke about it long ago – she is not heir and so she will wilt under her husband." Robert shook his head. "If she had been a boy she would have been magnificent." Robert growled, if he could name one regret, it would be that Lyra was not born a boy.
"If you find her the right husband, she wouldn't wilt," Ned advised, and he wished he hadn't when he saw the look that passed over Robert's face. "And no, Robert, I do not mean my son." Ned spoke calmly. The topic had been broached more than once through the years in letters, and Ned had swiftly avoided them all, until he was face to face with Robert.
"And why not? Do you think your son is too good for my daughter? Is that it, Ned? Because she is the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and many a man would be happy to marry her!" Robert roared, his voice echoing off the words, but he stopped and took a deep breath. "This is not what I came here to talk to you about, Lyra can wait. I've come to ask you something."
Lyra took a sharp breath as one of her maids tightened the strings of her corset. Lyra placed a hand on her stomach - she hated corsets utterly. Lady Stark had insisted that everyone dress their best for the feast that night, Lyra had offered to skip the meal entirely, she did not want to lay eyes on Joffery again, and her family had scarcely acknowledged her. Still, Lady Stark had placed Lyra at the head of the table with her family, sandwiched between her mother and Joffery. Lyra understood that Catelyn had meant nothing bad by sitting Lyra with her family, but she would have much rather sit with the Stark children.
"You are looking beautiful tonight," one of the maids hummed as she helped Lyra into a green dress that reminded Lyra of her mother's eyes. Still, Lyra felt little comfort as she eyed herself in the mirror. She didn't feel beautiful, she felt reminded of her part in the world. Her hair had been braided, but it wasn't in the Northern style, but it had been braided in the Southern style at request of her mother. The Northern maids seemed to struggle with Lyra's thick hair and the intricate braids, but had done, what Lyra thought, an excellent job. They decorated her in fine jewelry, and when they had finished, all the maids took a step back to admire their work. One of the maids brushed out Lyra's cotton skirts, she could not wear brilliant silk in Winterfell.
Walking down to the dining hall felt like walking to the docks - and how couldn't it? She would be scrutinized completely for her looks, by both her mother and her father. Lyra held her breath at the idea of sitting by Joffery. When he had laid eyes on her, he had forced himself to be polite, their had been too many eyes on him. But in the feast, both Joffery and his actions would be hidden in plain sight. Lyra was the first of the royal family to arrive in the hall, and she heard the scrapping of the benches as the Northmen stood, even Lord and Lady Stark stood for her. Lyra couldn't understand why, she wasn't the king, but nobody sat until Lyra had made her way through the hall and nestled into her seat. Lyra had sat for a few moments before the rest of the hall joined her. A kitchen maid came over and poured some wine into Lyra's goblet, and Lyra happily drank it. Just as her goblet was being refilled again, the doors to the dining hall opened again, and Lyra stood, with the rest of the hall, as her father entered.
Robert Baratheon was not quite how Lyra remembered, he had gotten heavier, and his beard had gotten longer and far more unkept. He marched up to the table and sat himself down. Cersei Lannister entered next, Ser Jaime by her side, just as Lyra always remembered him to be. Joffery swaggered in as Myrcella walked in hand-in-hand with Tommen. Once all the royal family had settled in (Lyra hadn't seen her Uncle Tyrion enter), the hall sat with them and the wine began to pour as people lurched forward for food. Lyra could hear Catelyn try and make conversation with Cersei, but Lyra could see it was doing nothing. Cersei remained like a statue, where Robert spoke to Ned rather animated. Neither of her parents looked towards her.
Lyra felt the constant pang of self-pity. Was it to be expected? She wasn't sure, but she had thought her family would have been far more excited to see her than they were proving to be. Even if she wanted to make the effort, Lyra didn't know where to start, she felt like she was sitting among strangers. Lyra heard Joffery cough, or was it a laugh? In truth, it sounded like a mangled mixture and had startled Lyra. She turned to Joffery with raised brows, but when she saw the smirk on his face, she could tell he was perfectly alright.
"How does it feel?" He asked her, cutting into some of the meat on his plate. Lyra had barely touched the food on her own plate, but that didn't bother her. She cocked her head at Joffery.
"How does what feel?" Joffery met her eyes then, they were piercing emeralds that shown ever bright. Joffery shrugged his shoulders and gave a quick look at their parents behind them before he continued eating.
"How does it feel to no longer be Father's favourite? You've been gone for years, and he will barely look at you. At least Mother still loves me, perhaps you aren't so important anymore." Lyra tried not to flinch at Joffery's words. She had remembered Joffery's cruelty, how he could use his words as powerful weapons just like he used his fist. Lyra took a deep breath, she had to be careful with her mother sitting directly beside her.
"I don't know Joffery, how does it feel not to be Papa's favourite? He's paid you no mind either." Lyra countered, reaching for her fork and knife. Joffery shot out a hand and gripped hold of Lyra's wrist, tight. He squeezed Lyra's wrist hard and she thought she would loose her hand for a second. Her eyes shot towards Joffery in a panic, and Lyra could see the perplexed look on his face as he realised his own strength. "Joff?" Lyra asked, but it did little to no good.
"Watch where you step, sister, Father will not be king forever. And when I wear the crown, I will ensure you will pay for your words -"
"Sorry to interrupt," the voice cut through Joffery's threat like a blade, and Lyra was thankful when she turned to see Robb. He smiled down at the royal siblings, his red hair curling at his temples slightly. "I was wondering if I could dance with you, Mi'Lady?" Robb offered Lyra a hand, but fixed Joffery with a steely glare. Joffery released Lyra, but slowly. It was clear he didn't take to being interrupted by Robb. Lyra took Robb's hand gratefully, and allowed herself to be pulled away by the Stark boy. As they reached the floor, Robb encircled Lyra gently, but enough so he could inspect her wrist without being caught.
"He doesn't mean too," Lyra said suddenly, "my mother has always protected Joffery from our father's wrath, he's never been punished so doesn't always understand that hurting people isn't right." Robb swayed them back and forth and Lyra didn't understand why she was defending her brother. Robb didn't say anything as they moved slowly, they were almost out of time to the beat of the music, their dancing not quite following the flow, but Lyra had never felt safer.
Robb continued to dance slowly, and Lyra wanted to pick up the pace, people would be looking at them shortly if they didn't. But nothing seemed to bother Robb as they moved, that was until something grabbed a right hold of Lyra's skirts. She turned to see little Rickon looking up at her with tired eyes, his arms outstretched. Robb gazed at his brother too, he looked just as surprised as Lyra felt at seeing the small boy in the sea of dancing adults.
"I want to dance too," Rickon whined, Lyra saw Lady Stark stand, she had clearly spotted Rickon too. Lyra gave a gentle smile before scooping up the small child in her arms, and looked at Robb.
"Shall we?" Robb asked, as he ruffled Rickon's hair, a crooked smile on his face. The appearance of his brother had clearly distracted him slightly.
Robert eyed Lyra as she got up to dance with Robb Stark, though he was surrounded by kitchen maids (all of whom he grabbed at with his large hands, and groped at whatever part of their body he could), he still watched Lyra with eagle eyes. Lyra had the youngest Stark boy in her arms, and as they danced, Robert thought they looked more married than any other couple in the room. The young boys giggles seemed to fill the room, and whenever Lyra turned, Robert was greeted with the brightest of smiles. He couldn't quite believe his eyes at first when he had first saw her, but of course, all girls did grow eventually.
"What do you think of my lovely daughter?" Robert asked the kitchen maid that was sitting on his knee. She wasn't he prettiest of girls, Robert thought, but she would do. The maid's eyes focused on Lyra, and she smiled slightly.
"The Lady Lyra?" The maid sounded slightly surprised. "Yes, she is most certainly a lovely girl, very kind." Robert hummed as he watched Lyra spin away from Robb, the youngest Stark boy giggling loudly in her arms. Robert was surprised to see Lyra kiss the small boy on the side of the temple, but when she looked up and saw Robert looking at her, Lyra curtsyed low before her face lighting up as Robb joined back into the dance. They were a handsome couple, Robert thought, and if he had been mistaken, he would of thought the young lad in Lyra's arms had belonged to Lyra herself. Robert glanced up and saw Cersei looking down from her high seat, but for a change, her glare was not directed at Robert, but at Lyra.
"Your daughter is certainly fond of the Starks," Jaime whispered, just low enough for Cersei to hear. Cersei didn't want to admit that her brother was right, but seeing Lyra dance with the eldest Stark boy had been difficult to watch. It was clear her eldest daughter had acquired Robert's affections for the Northerners, and it was even clearer that Lyra wasn't ready to disregard any of those affections willingly. Cersei watched as Lyra spun with the small boy in her arms - she certainly looked the part of a Northern bride.
"Well," Cersei clicked, "she will have to say her goodbye's soon." Cersei whispered back, her eyes not leaving her eldest daughter. Seeing Lyra again had been like seeing the stars for the first time, Cersei had to admit that her daughter was growing into a great beauty. But seeing Lyra had also been as sharp as a cut from a blade. Everything that she had grown to be, and everything she could be, had nothing to do with Cersei. Her daughter had been taken from her, and raised by another family. Lyra was as little a Lannister now than she had been before. But worse, she was more like Robert in looks than Cersei could have predicted, and even as she uttered the words to Jaime, Cersei knew the threat her daughter would present, even if Lyra didn't know it herself.
"What?" Jaime spluttered, coughing on his wine. "You can't be serious?" Lyra had placed down the child she had been holding, dismissed herself and wondered off through the crowds. The eldest Stark boy looked surprised, but picked up his younger brother without a sign of protest. Cersei watched as Lyra disappeared through the crowds until she could no longer see her. Northern Lord's readily greeted her as she walked passed, and Cersei saw her daughter had become far too at home in the North.
"She doesn't belong here, besides, she's far more dangerous out of our reach than in it." Cersei reasoned, looking away from the door her daughter had exited from and turning back to her brother. "And we wouldn't want her out of our control."
Lyra found Jon exactly where Robb said she would, he was sitting in the stables, looking both tired and drunk. Lyra walked towards him carefully, she was sure someone would spot her if she wasn't careful. The cold wind whipped at her face and she wished she had worn a cloak as it swooped up under her skirts and tickled at her legs. As she neared Jon, Lyra was certain he was sleeping, but when she stepped inside the stables, it was clear he was wide awake. His eyes focused on Lyra, and a lazy smile formed on his face as he stumbled to get to his feet. Jon dropped in a dramatic bow, and straightened himself unsettlingly quickly, it was like he had almost thrown himself off balance. Lyra stepped forward to catch him, but Jon only held out a hand.
"It's fine, I've got it." He grumbled, sitting back down on the bale of hay. Lyra blinked, before slowly lowering herself down beside Jon. "What's wrong?" He asked, "not enjoying the feast?" Jon's voice wasn't as slurred as Lyra thought, and Lyra was sure that he was only acting the fool so that she wouldn't talk to him. Lyra thought about their conversation weeks ago, and how she had never had the courage to as Jon anymore about it. But, when Lyra had seen Benjen Stark, she instantly thought of Jon. He couldn't join the Night's Watch, was it selfish of her, to want him to remain as close to her as possible? Was it awful? Lyra gave Jon a smile.
"I was, but it would have been better if you were there." Lyra said, giving Jon a small nudge, "I mean, how many more feasts will we have together before you leave for the Wall?" Jon's head shot up then, and his eyes focused on Lyra with more intensity than she would have ever expected. "Don't act surprised, did you think that I would have forgotten? I couldn't forget such a thing, Jon."
"Would you forget me though, when I go?" Jon asked. The two sat in silence as Lyra thought. She had remembered Jon comforting her when she had had nightmares, of the times they had raced up hills and back towards Winterfell. She thought of how she had loved him, but didn't quite know how she had loved him. Finally, Lyra shook her head. Jon had become as much of her world as any other part of the North. It would take a lot for her to forget him, and even then, Lyra couldn't imagine she would forget him completely. Jon smiled, and Lyra was sure he looked relieved. "Tyrion said you would say something like that." Lyra jumped then, and looked at Jon bewildered.
"You spoke with my Uncle Tyrion?" Lyra hadn't realised when Jon had taken her hand, but when he had, he held it loosely, giving her the chance to pull away. Lyra didn't, she held his hand back and stared at the stable wall. It wasn't like being with Robb at all, where Lyra felt at peace with the world, being with Jon was like sitting on a pile of butterflies.
"He said you wouldn't forget me if I left for the Wall. I told him I rather you did, and that Robb would take good care of you." Jon spoke softly, his eyes fluttering shut. "We father no sons at the Wall, we have no lovers. Our only family are those who wear the black with us." Jon whispered softly, his eyes still shut.
"Jon-"
"Lyra, please, can we just sit like this for a while?" Jon asked, and Lyra nodded her head. She had lost her voice, all words had failed her as she looked down at her and Jon's interlocked hands. It felt like the Gods were testing Lyra, and there was no way for her to pass. So, she simply sat with Jon as she thought. She thought of each of the Starks in turn, but then she thought of her father.
The Mighty Robert Baratheon had come back for his daughter, and he wasn't like she remembered at all. When Lyra had pictured her father, he had been noble like Ned Stark, handsome like the Prince's in the fairytales, ad kind. But now that Lyra was older, she had realised how warped her perception was of her father, and when she looked down at Jon and thought of Robb, Lyra realised how much like her father she had become. And she hated it.
(A/N: Another huge thank you for all the kind reviews, follows and favourites. I'm so sorry this update has taken so long, but life has been hectic with family problems and with work. Please enjoy this chapter, and I hope to update sooner next time!)