Author's Note: First, I'd like to thank Aknamkanon, shika93, and Sisl for your kind reviews! I'm so happy you are all enjoying the fic! Also, to Aknamkanon, I actually have something similar to what you suggested planned for later in the fic ;)
Also, this is not the final draft for the chapter. I haven't posted in a while because what I want to cover in this particular chapter is a bit difficult to write; which you'll be able to see as you read. However, I really wanted to post a chapter for this story since I haven't in so long.
Enjoy ^.^
Chapter 6: A Wolf and an Imp
Solemnly, Lyra walked through the courtyard at Winterfell, she was coming back from speaking with the maids who took care of gathering food for the kitchens at Winterfell. Ever since Bran's fall, Lady Stark refused to leave the boy's room, praying to the Seven-day and night. She even slept on a pallet when she was exhausted from praying and wreathing the wickerwork for her son's survival in hopes that the New Gods would answer her prayers.
The other Stark children were quite beside themselves; Arya, asking Robb if Bran would live or die; Rickon, clinging to Lyra and Robb for comfort as the little boy only understood that he could lose his brother. Lord Stark was too busy with tending to his guests and trying to comfort his wife. The four older Starks and Theon were quite upset, but also taking up Lady Stark's duties as best as they could in order to help.
Lyra was coming back from telling the farm maids what to bring to the kitchens for midday meal, supper and breaking fast for the next morning. Lyra loathed it, but she used some colored cream to help conceal the lack of sleep she'd been getting. She couldn't help but to feel largely responsible for Bran's fall from the Broken Tower.
Bran never paid attention, even when his own mother told him not to climb the walls. What in the Seven Hells was I thinking to believe that he'd listen to me…
She felt like Bran wouldn't have fallen if she'd made sure to send him off to do something, instead of just leaving him as she did. He always lied to Lady Stark and everyone else about staying off the walls, and everyone knew that he did; but Lyra was busy and hung-over from indulging for too many nights in a row—I'm so selfish.
Busy berating herself in her mind, Lyra was shocked to see the Imp slap his nephew, the Crown Prince, twice in the face.
Unsure as to what to do, Lyra silently watched as Prince Joffrey skulked away, looking embarrassed and a little ashamed. It was so uncharacteristic of the prince that Lyra couldn't help but to ask the Imp what happened.
"Lord Tyrion?" Lyra approached the dwarf Lannister with apprehension in her voice.
"Ah," Tyrion looked at the curious Stark girl. "So sorry you had to witness that," he said, looking a bit ill.
"Do you mind me asking what it was I witnessed?" Lyra couldn't help the invading question tumble from her mouth before she could think.
Tyrion was hung-over as well, and he'd just spent the night sleeping with dogs. Though his nephew was repulsive, he didn't want to deal with the headache should his spiteful sister, Cersei, catch gossip that the Starks knew how he'd embarrassed the Crown Prince in front of the future Lady of Winterfell—for refusing to pay his respects about Bran's injury, no less. So he gave Lyra Stark a satisfying, but vague enough answer as so she wouldn't pry more.
"My nephew may be the Crown Prince, but he has a long way to go in learning manners, I'm afraid," Tyrion casually answered, pushing dirt and straw from his pants.
"Oh," Lyra apologized. "Beg pardon. I never saw that." She cared so little about the fact that the Royal Baratheons and Lannisters were still here that she was simply mindlessly relying on her courtesies when dealing with them.
Courtesy is a woman's best armor, Septa Mordane and Septa Glorina would tell her and the other highborn girls during their lessons. When you don't know what the appropriate response is, give the most curteous one. Lyra thought that Septa Glorina's lessons on etiquette and being a proper lady would stay with her forever. She both loved and hated her septas; her septas were maternal figures who shared in her personal triumphs and looked out for her when she was learning to navigate her world as a lady of a prominent house; but the septas annoyed her with the constant, and often sharp, reminders of etiquette and propriety in their presence.
Tyrion watched, perplexed as the feisty she-wolf emotionlessly excused herself before fleeing to the God's Wood.
Coming before the Heart Tree. With it's mouth open. Sap running down its mouth like drool, Lyra sat in quiet contemplation, just as she'd learned from watching Uncle Ned and other Northerners who kept with the Old Gods. It was said among some of the smallfolk that wherever the Heart Trees were, the Old Gods could hear the prayers of Man and the Children. That's why so many of the old ruling houses still kept a God's Wood in their castles despite their conversion to the Faith of the Seven. It was more of a superstition, but everything seemed so dependent on chance with Bran's recovery if Maester Lewyin was right. So Lyra was willing to do anything she thought might even have the chance of helping Bran.
After a while in the God's Wood, alternating between praying and contemplating, she had to leave to attend to other matters. In between the many duties to the royal household and Winterfell, Lyra was supposed to be packing to embark on their journey to King's Landing.
We're to leave in only three days time, she wondered worriedly. She hoped to at least be assured of Bran's recovery before leaving. Telling him goodbye; telling him how next time he sees her, she'll be his sister; how she'd help him become a knight, as he always aspired to be…she desperately desired to watch Uncle Ned and Robb show Bran to be a proper soldier. She also wanted to see Bran become the knight Lyra knew that he always wanted to be.
Drying her tears—it is not befitting of a lady of a great house to show tears or weakness; Lyra heard Septa Glorina's voice as she dried her tears walking to her room to finish packing. Even though Lyra hadn't had a septa for years, Glorina's teachings about being a proper lady and wardeness still crept up in her mind, especially when Lyra was about to say or act in such a way that the septa would deem improper.
Opening her trunk, Lyra felt she should begin by packing her small clothes, both the lightweight Dornish silks and the heavy Northern woolen ones. Finishing with the small clothes, Lyra began with packing her dresses, Dornish close to the bottom and Northern at the top. Putting her books, jewelry, and garb in a smaller one, Lyra froze when she realized than she'd forgotten to leave out a dress for the final feast tonight and clothes for traveling tomorrow.
Sighing irritably, Lyra started going through the trunk of clothes she'd just finished packing.
We're leaving tomorrow. Why in the Seven Hells does Lord Stark feel like we need to feast the Usurper one more time?! Lyra had decided that she would not be having any more wine than one cup like Sansa; she didn't care to deal with a hangover the next day, of which she knew the King himself would be feeling. He'll probably be suffering the effects of overindulgence and keep us waiting to start riding like he did with the men on hunts!
Going through her dresses quickly from anger, Lyra couldn't find one that she believed would please herself or Cersei. Frustrated, Lyra felt tears spilling from her eyes uncontrollably. Grabbing a pillow to muffle her cries, she sat on the bed and closed her eyes. Stress and grief finally getting the better of her.
Lyra had learned to wield a sword and work a bow and practiced everyday at the cost of her dignity as a "proper lady". Growing up, she was teased relentlessly for her desire to be a warrior and scorned by people outside of Dorne. Sure, she'd eventually won the Northmen over despite all of this, but it had been quite difficult and required her to put her pride aside. All of it she had happily endured and let her pride suffer for just so she might feel like she had more control over her own life and save her family if needed. However, as Bran lay unconscious and possibly dying, it began to feel all for naught, especially since Lyra felt like it was her fault.
Feeling the bed suddenly dip down, Lyra looked up to see Shadow's happy, slobbering face. The large and still growing wolf must have sensed his lady's distress because he licked her hand comfortingly before resting his head in Lyra's lap.
Stroking the black direwolf's soft fur, Lyra was reminded of her own house words; Winter is Coming. Unlike the rest of the great houses of Westeros, House Stark's words were not a boast or a motto; rather, they were first a warning and also a creed. When winter is coming, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Uncle Ned always said so. Lyra always took her lord uncle's words to mean that individuals of House Stark must put their own needs and desires aside for the sake of the greater good of the family.
Feeling foolish for her selfishness, Lyra kissed Shadow's head before getting off the bed. To calm herself down, Lyra first finished packing before turning to her trunk with everything else in it. Taking a deep breath, Lyra examined every Northern dress she currently had. Since she'd become the unofficial "acting" Lady Stark, Lyra chose the most Stark-like dress she owned. Swallowing her pride, she then began to put on the only dress she owned that she hated. Putting the off white small clothes with the high collar first, she began to immediately feel uncomfortable as this felt too restricting to her. Then she put on the light grey under-dress before the slate grey outer-dress. This dress was looser like Aunt Cat's, thus it did not show her figure and was considered more appropriate in the North because it was more "conservative". Grabbing a thick silver belt, Lyra cinched in the dress's waist. Sending for Ashara, Lyra busied herself with finding appropriate matching earrings and other jewelry.
When Ashara finally came, Lyra was siting at her looking glass, waiting apprehensively. Though she felt a little jealousy when she saw that her own handmaiden was going to wear her hair down to the feast with only a purple jeweled comb that matched her dress to keep her blonde locks back.
Ashara was shocked and asked if Lyra was ill when she asked the blonde dornishwoman to style her hair like that of the North. As Ashara obliged and tightly braided Lyra's hair down the top of her head, she attempted again to ask Lyra to confide in her as to what was wrong.
The final night before about half of the Stark Household left with the Royal Household, the Starks feasted the Royal Family one last time before their departure. The ceremony was led by Lord Stark, who did his best to look honored and not grim to be leaving his potentially dying child behind with his lady wife, who was "so indisposed that she could not attend the feast." At least, that was what the Starks were telling everyone to excuse Lady Stark's absence.
Since Lady Stark was absent and Lyra was the closest to a Lady Stark than the other Starks, she would be taking up Aunt Cat's duties. One duty that Lyra loathed though was the fact that she had to keep the queen entertained. Thankfully though, after the ceremonial farewell to the King and his court, Cersei left the feast. Lyra could tell that Lord Stark wanted to leave as well. Robb noticed this too.
"Father," Robb said to Ned,"the ceremony is done tonight, and I know you wish to be with Mother and Bran." Robb tried to convince his father that he didn't have to stay, and that Lyra and himself could host the feast in his absence.
Ned contemplated his eldest son's offer to take up his duties as Lord Stark in order for Ned to be with his grieving wife and ill child. Finding Robert, who was not at the high table with them, but rather, down the hall drinking and feasting with a rather large kitchen wench, Ned felt himself relent- Robb and Lyra have proven themselves capable of handling their duties as Lord and Lady Stark. Though Ned tried not to fall behind on his duties as Lord Stark, he knew that he had done so because he'd noticed since Bran's fall that Robb had taken nearly half of Lord Stark's responsibilities and duties with relative ease; and Ned had seen Lyra had practically taken up all of Lady Stark's responsibilities and duties as well without any issue. Looking back once more at Robert, Ned figured that his King's Guards would do their duties should a problem arise.
Making up his mind to be a father instead of Lord Stark tonight, Ned told Robb and Lyra to come and get him should a problem arise.
Watching his lord father leave, Robb offered his arm to Lyra. Though she had put on a brave face for the feast, he knew how torn up she was inside.
After Bran's fall, Lyra did what she always did when there was turmoil; she sparred with anyone and everyone until she dropped from exhaustion. After quite a few angry spars with Jon, Theon and himself, Robb finally asked his intended as to exactly what had made her so upset. She initially fell silent, which worried him because Lyra was never silent, before turning around to hide her face. The whole thing was unusual since Robb refused to spar with her up until then, and he only did so because Jon and needed a break from Lyra bruising them with practice swords, but Lyra refused to stop, threatening to find a Lannister soldier to spar with instead. Robb offered to spar with his betrothed mostly because his mother and father were upset enough without adding to the headache of Lyra refusing to behave like a lady in front of their guests.
It's all my fault Robb! I should have made Bran listen! Lyra finally faced him and cried into his shoulder; Robb winced as the weight of her head hurt his bruises from their spar. Robb assured her that there was nothing she could have done because Bran was too stubborn to listen, but to no avail...
Looking over at Lyra now, who was currently speaking to Ser Roderick and Mira Forrester (much of House Forrester was to accompany the Starks and the Crown to King's Landing), Robb saw his lady's face only come back to life briefly when the topic of a tourney for the new Lord Hand came up. Robb tried not to take it personally, but it seemed that the only thing that made Lyra turn her focus away from her fear and grief was, ironically, the thrill of battle.
After Lyra had done her duties standing in for Lady Stark, she needed a break; she couldn't be around people—Especially not these people. It added to the pain that Bran's injury was barely being recognized by their own guests. Sure, they'd paid the appropriate respects to Lord and Lady Stark, but they seemed insincere, as if they were trying to comfort Lord and Lady Stark but didn't care outside the custom that had to be shown. Robert was even heard drunkenly yelling how crippled children should be taken down like lame animals. Saying it was more humane to do so for cripples as it was for the animals.
After that, Lyra had enough and grabbed her goblet before going to the courtyard to practice archery. Drunkenly, she aimed and missed the centermost target again and again. It was alright with her, she didn't want to do target practice; she just wanted to take her mind off the debauchery that was her king and his family.
Protect the pack!
Brandon Stark's words had been ringing in her ears ever since Bran's fall.
Why didn't I listen?! She screamed to herself, finally hitting the dead center of the target.
Going to the target to reload her quiver, Lyra heard a voice behind her.
"So the Sun Wolf is an archer after all," Tyrion Lannister began with a skin of wine in hid hand. "Makes me wonder if all the other rumors are true."
"Rumors?" Lyra answered innocently. "I know not what rumors you hear of." Though Dacey Mormont, another lady with martial skills, had garnered quite a reputation, and Lyra considered the quite large but beautiful woman to be the better swordswoman; Lyra's reputation had spread further south. Something, which she was acutely aware of but always tried to seem oblivious to—It is unbecoming of a lady to openly take pride in her reputation, Lyra heard Septa Glorina's voice.
Tyrion didn't say anything, he simply watched as Lyra walked back to shoot more arrows. It was frustrating, she knew that she was drunk, but she wanted to hit the very center so bad it was maddening!
"My sincerest condolences about your cousin," Tyrion suddenly spoke up. Lyra stopped for a moment at this, he was the only Lannister to actually sound sorry about Bran—You're definitely different from the rest.
Thanking him politely, she shot another arrow. Missing.
"Tell me," Tyrion walked to the future Lady Stark, trying to strike up conversation. "Are you well learned about Queen Visenya Targaryen?"
"Of course," Lyra answered, lowering her bow. "Every high borne lady must be well versed in history. Especially regarding the Targaryens."
"Yes," the Imp continued, pouring wine from his flagon into Lyra's empty cup. "But what most high-borne ladies don't now is that Visenya was one of the few women who was all, a mother, warrior, and queen. Slender and quick, Visenya made fools of her husband brother's King's Guard, while also retaining her queenly and motherly elegance as a woman."
Lyra drained her cup of wine before asking Tyrion why he wanted to talk about Visenya.
Pouring another cup for her, Tyrion asked the question, "Why take up the martial skills of the lords, my lady?" It was a genuine question, especially since he'd observed that Lyra was quite adamant about being equally as independent and capable as the lords.
Lyra thought and chose her words carefully before answering. "Winterfell was my father's and I am his only heir," she began.
"My lady, you must know that the law of succession favors the—" Tyrion began.
"I know what it favors," Lyra snapped. Appaled with herself at snapping at Tyrion when he was only having a polite conversation with her, Lyra composed herself and apologized.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you, my lady," Tyrion apologized soberly.
Lining the last arrow up, Lyra shot and missed. Lightly sighing in irritancy, she walked to the target to retrieve the arrows.
"No offense taken, Lord Tyrion;" Nobody had simply asked her before for quite a long time. "We all have our parts to play in this world. The part I play is the future lady of Winterfell, doing what she must to regain her seat. For me to accurately play that part, I need to act the part as my father's heir. Also," she added darkly. "I do not plan to meet the same end as my aunt and her children at your father's command."
Tyrion was taken aback at Lady Lyra's boldness concerning Lord Tywin, the father of the queen, and the man who kept the Seven Kingdoms together under the fear of his wrath.
"I was not there my lady," Tyrion offered, but he'd heard rumors. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what happened. The murder of the children and their mother was unnecessary."
Lyra could only stare at the queen's younger brother for a moment, perplexed. She most certainly never expected an apology about Elia and her children from a Lannister, let alone from one of Lord Tywin's son.
Feeling the need to return the gesture of good faith, Lyra asked Tyrion what he was doing out by the archery instead of at the feast.
"I've had enough feasting for now," Tyrion admitted, pouring the last half of the wine left in her glass. "I like to thing and drink you see. I'm in the mood for a stimulating conversation."
Intrigued, Lyra asked him what sort of conversation he wished to speak of. He paused before saying how he was intrigued by the fact that Lyra reminded him a bit of a young Visenya.
Lyra laughed; "You mean Queen Nymeria," she corrected him. "I'm Dornish. Not Targaryen."
"Queen Nymeria was also a woman warrior to be reckoned with; but you are more Visenya, I would argue." Tyrion looked at her very serious. "Wanting to presume as if Winterfell is yours by right as much as it is Robb's, but really, the only reason you have power is through your marriage with the Stark boy." He drained the last of his wine, "Well", he added, "as long as Robb Stark lives. I supposed the other Stark boys would be too young to rally behind."
"Bran wouldn't be too young to rally behind," Lyra defended the Stark boy. That is if he lives…
Staring into her cup, Lyra felt a nudge on her shoulder as Tyrion handed her a handkerchief. She hadn't even noticed that tears had silently streamed down her cheeks. Thanking him and handing the handkerchief back, Lyra suddenly turned her attention to the Broken Tower; the place Bran had fallen.
Lyra had gone over it many times in her head; How could he have fallen from the tower he'd climbed so many times before? He's always been so sure footed. It didn't matter, she'd failed her father and Bran.
Watching Lyra look at the tower from which Bran had fallen and speak about how unusual it was for the boy to lose his footing, Tyrion began to worry. He had surmised that his older siblings had something to do with the boy's fall, and he was starting to worry that Lyra was figuring the same.
"Come to think of it, the trajectory of his fall was quite odd," Lyra's words caught Tyrion's attention. "When I came back later to get my pack, I realized that Bran had landed away from the stones that had crumbled from the tower." Tyrion's blood went a little cold at this.
"Odd indeed, but a falling lad a different from falling rocks. Like a feather and a rock falling together, they're bound to land in different places." Tyrion attempted to steer Lyra away from the possibility that the boy could have been pushed. The Starks and Martells already did not like nor trust the Lannisters, especially not Tywin or any of his children.
Holding a candelabra, Lyra found herself walking through the dark hallways of a rather large and open castle.
Suddenly, she heard the caw of a raven. Looking around in the darkness, she saw the raven fly past her in the moonlight.
Follow me, it said.
Lyra followed the raven through the dark hallways with only moonlight and the candelabra to light her way. The raven would stop periodically and wait for her to catch up to it, each time doing so, it would repeat itself. "Follow me."
It felt like she was following this raven for a long time, and Lyra was beginning to wonder if she was simply walking in circles. Then, the raven suddenly flew in front of a large door. Flapping its wings to keep it in flight at the door, it said, "Open", before landing on a pot atop a pedestal next to the door.
Walking up to the door, Lyra looked at the raven with uncertainty.
"Open," it repeated; staring back at her.
Setting the candelabra down, Lyra grabbed the handle of the heavy door and cautiously pushed it open. She saw nothing but darkness. Lyra nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the raven fly past her and into the darkness before her.
Picking up the candelabra, Lyra held it out in front of her. There were stairs leading down to the bowels of whatever castle she was in.
"Follow me," the raven's voice echoed eerily.
Cautiously, Lyra descended the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she held the candelabra out in front of her. It appeared that she was in a room full of dragon skulls. Then it dawned on her; she was in the Red Keep. Specifically, she was in the part of the castle where most of the dragon skulls that couldn't fit into the Throne Room were stored.
"Find the sword," the raven said.
Hearing wings flapping past her, Lyra turned around and saw that it had landed on one of the dragon skulls. Walking closer to the raven, the light from her candelabra illuminated it. Lyra gasped in horror; the raven had three eyes.
"Find the sword!"
Lyra shrieked and fell backwards in fear. Then, everything went black. She felt terror grip her as the candles must have gone out due to her fall.
"Find the sword!" She heard the raven caw in the darkness.
Waking from her nightmare, and confused as to how she got back to her room since she had little memory of the previous night, Lyra's hand felt wet. Looking beside her, she figured that Shadow was the culprit; he was likely trying to soothe her as she was thrashing about from her nightmare.
The nightmare felt so real though. The nightmare was different from any nightmare or dream Lyra had ever had, save for her recent dreams of her father; which began to worry her. However, upon seeing light from the morning sun peaking through her window, Lyra forgot about the dream.
Heart pounding from fear for Bran while she's gone and excitement for the journey ahead, Lyra got out of bed and began to dress herself. She planned to wear her garb beneath her dress and conceal her sword with her heaviest cloak. Sansa and Arya may be forced by Ned to travel by carriage, but Lyra planned to do no such thing. Even if she had to ride uncomfortably side-saddle all day.
Author's Note: I apologize if this chapter was somewhat boring. I promise that things are about to get quite exciting since the first arc (which is meant to set up the rest of this multi-arc story) is almost over.
Next: A Dangerous Journey- Lyra shares a tearful goodbye to Robb and Bran, the Stark and Royal party travel through the Riverlands, and Lyra makes a difficult choice.
