Chapter Ten
Jojen Reed was six namedays old, with a solemn expression, dirty blonde hair and unnaturally bright moss green eyes. He's escorted to Winterfell by the crannogman Boran and while his fostering is a reward for an old and loyal friend, he still appeared nervous. Understandable for this would be his first trip outside of Greywater Watch.
Domeric Bolton was ten-and-one namedays old, with dark brown and First Men pale grey eyes. He had recently finished four years as a page for his Aunt, Lady Barbrey Dustin and would spend a few years more fostered in Winterfell. He was even more nervous than his younger counterpart, for his House held a historical enmity with the Starks. It was such that Lord Roose Bolton had gritted his teeth and swore himself hoarse when that 'honor' was extended.
They had both arrived at the same time, Lord Howland's hand in the coincidence, she suspected, and Catelyn did her best to welcome them. Even should Jojen be here to provide lessons in spooky blood gifts and Domeric be a hostage against his father, they were both children. She was also somewhat grateful for their presence as an excuse against accepting the Greyjoy hostage the King tried to foist on his 'loyal' friend. Why Robert Baratheon believed her Ned responsible for handling all of his problems, she did not know but the matter was eventually resolved when Lord Manderly stepped in. Theon Greyjoy would be raised by the sea under the keen eye of a trader-by-heart and Catelyn Stark wished him well, though also glad that he would not be near her own children.
The two children that Ned did agree to foster took well to Winterfell. Jojen became quick friends with Bran and they were soon inseparable to the point where Catelyn had two surefooted, sky-loving boys to fret over. Domeric had a more rocky inclusion into the Stark family. Her firstborn appeared to take offense to his books, his horses and his harp, all qualities that Lyarra took well to. How her eldest two, who tended to at least tolerate the activities that the other loved, could have such polar reactions to Domeric she did not know. The point of change confused Cat just as much; the Bolton boy bursted out with 'beautiful' when Sansa solicited opinions on her new dress. Her eldest beat him in the sparring yard later in the day for doing so but seemed to inexplicably thaw afterward.
Domeric's fostering also meant that Lord Roose Bolton became a regular correspondent with Ned. They mostly discussed his son but the shrewd lord had his own opinions on how the North should be governed, some of them even worth implementing. Catelyn doubted the two would ever be friends but they did grow a wary respect for the other.
With how well Jojen and Domeric were adjusting, the red-haired woman didn't bring up the subject of warging. Partially to keep pressure away from Jojen and more so, because the subject genuinely frightened her. This complacency was broken when they approached her while she was discussing supplementing Domeric's strategy lessons with regular cyvasse games. The Bolton Heir had turned first and she followed when she saw the startelement flicker across his features.
"Bran?!" Her second son and his best friend were coming in through the Hunter's Gate, their dirt and grass stained clothes indicating exploration had. This was not unusual but Cat did gasp at the beady-eyed Northern hawk-owl perched on Bran's arm. The Stark had awkwardly tied a leather strip around the skin to keep the talons from tearing into his flesh.
The dark-haired boy was exultant. "Look, Mother, I have-"
"Move away! Shoo! Shoo!" Catelyn was already moving then, one hand out to push away the predatory bird, the other rising to cover her baby's eyes from retaliation. "Guard!"
"Mother!" Bran shouted, her quick movement causing him to step backwards in surprise. His arm jerked up, the bird flared out its wings and with a sharp Preck took to the skies. Jojen wisely moved out of the way as she drew her son into her arms, fearfully tracking the hawk as it circled once around their heads and then settled on a nearby branch.
"Preck!" To her dying day, Catelyn Stark would swear that that hawk-owl eyed her in disdain.
"Mother, she wasn't going to hurt me!" Bran exclaimed, upset.
"The hawk-owl bonded with him, Lady Stark," Jojen added his support. "He can warg with her now."
"Watch!" Before she could order otherwise, her baby boy looked towards the hawk-owl and then his eyeballs rolled back. All she could see were the whites of his eyes. They practically disappeared into the slits of his eyelids and the sight was utterly eerie. Catelyn shuddered. "Circle around thrice."
The black and white, snow-spotted hawk-owl took wing again. It circled around their heads once, twice and then a third time before settling down. It released a smug preck.
Bran blinked and then his eyes turned to normal. "I can't look through her eyes yet but wouldn't it be amazing when I can? I'll be able to fly!"
"You mean you can do more?" Domeric made himself known now. He sounded awed. "What is that?"
"Warging, the First Men art of influencing and eventually skinchanging into animals," Jojen answered cheerfully. "Bran's the strongest one I've ever met. It only took him a few hours to bond with one!"
Her son turned pink. "It was only because you taught me so well," he said modestly.
"No, you really are gifted," Jojen argued. "All of the First Men's blood have an instinctual connection with nature but only one in a thousand are skinchangers like you and the other Starks."
"That's a shame. It sounds like a truly incredible gift," Domeric commented.
"Even if you're not a full skinchanger, you still have some of the magic inside you," Jojen stated. "You've always been gifted with horses, right? You can train that link until almost any horse can be ridden like it's a part of you."
Before the boys' enthusiasm could spiral out of control, Catelyn sharply coughed. The cranmagon looked sheepish. "If that's okay with you, Lady Stark."
"We'll discuss with Lord Stark after dinner." She gave the hawk-owl a wary look. "Bran, can you please have your… friend stay at the Godswood for the time being?"
A few hours later and after a quick demonstration to the rest of the family, Ned Stark had given his permission to train the warging gift. While no mention had been made of that other ability Howland Reed mentioned- greensight- the children did start spending some time every week at the ravenry. Bran's hawk-owl, named 'Meera' to Jojen and her other children's amusement, was soon joined by other birds, falcons, owls, hawks and a mating pair of eagles that made their home in the Godswood.
Once Maester Luwin had gotten over his shock at the existence of magic and been sworn to secrecy, he became rather excited over the potential usage of these larger birds as messengers. Their endurance, speed and carrying capacity far exceeded their dark-wing counterparts but being birds of considerable size and ferocity, they were difficult to train. With his ravenry chain and the assistance of a capable skinchanger though…
"Only for the Northern Houses," Catelyn sighed. "I don't want them seen south of the Neck. And Bran, please stop bringing Meera into the Great Hall. Bond or not, she is not a pet."
x
In addition to training their magical abilities, the Stark children and Domeric and Jojen had many other lessons to attend to. All of them received the same basic education in sums and letters but Lyarra, and in time, her own daughters, were taught the responsibilities expected of a noblewoman. The dark-haired Snow spent a good deal of time trailing after Catelyn as she managed the household budget, arbitrated between servants, organized events, met with the smallfolk and so on. In addition, the girl's lessons extended to the 'courtly subjects', namely poetry, dance, music, embroidery and a second language, in this case the Braavosi dialect of Valyrian. Lyarra took to the harp with ease, while Sansa had a gift for embroidery and reciting poetry. Arya, when she could be persuaded to do so, was the best dancer amongst her sisters and quickly picked up Valyrian as well.
"Why are you making my daughters more marriageable?"
Cat rolled her eyes. "There, there, Husband. I doubt any should you leave you soon."
The lessons with the sword continued but discretion became less paramount and eventually discarded by her twelfth year as it became an open secret in the North. Alys Karstark had gone and persuaded Lord Rickard to arrange the same, arguing that if the blade was acceptable for Lord Stark's daughters than it should be fine for her. When a few ladies wrote to solicit Lady Stark's opinions, Catelyn admitted frankly that she had no intention of sending her daughters off to war but would rather they be capable of defending themselves should the men be so. Lord Manderly, who already knew of her plans, was amongst the first to commission bows and arrows for his granddaughters.
"Wylla trains day and night with them," Lyarra related once, laughter in her voice. "Her sister says it's to wipe the smirk off Theon Greyjoy's face."
With Catelyn focusing so much on the daughters of House Stark, Ned took it upon himself to address the sons. Their lessons focused mostly on the duties of a Lord, even Bran as her husband remembered his father's folly in merely teaching his older brother those necessary skills. Riding, hawking and hunting were not uncommon with both genders but there was a far greater emphasis on military strategy and warfare for the men. There was also more focus placed on Northern history and customs, especially for Robb whose Tully coloring wouldn't be garnering any favors down the line. Catelyn did insist on at least one courtly art for each boy though; Robb selected a language, Domeric the harp, Bran chose epic poetry from the Age of Heroes and Jojen…
"That's prettier than mine!" Sansa was aghast. Looking at the fine stitches and delicate ivy border around the smirking lion-lizard, Catelyn briefly acknowledged it to be even better than her own.
The Reed boy shrugged. "It's easier than tying a new fishing line together, that's for sure."
Ned also took the time to sit aside with each of the boys every moon discussing whatever it was men talked about in father-and-son discussions.
Catelyn did something similar with the girls but their talks were mostly exchanging gossip over tea. Useful gossip, such as Lord Tywin's maneuverings in the Mad King's court and how that could be applied under Baratheon suites today but gossip nonetheless.
She also encouraged each of her children to correspond with at least four individuals in the North. Lyarra took to this order with gusto and Arya developed an immediate friendship with Lyanna Mormont but it was Sansa that most surprised her. It turned out that her eldest daughter and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch shared a deeply romantic nature and with Sansa learning from Arya, learning from Lyanna, learning from Elena of Jorah's overtures?
"He built a pavilion for their anniversary!" Sansa swooned. "It was so sweet, Mother! He built it out of ash- her favorite amongst the forests near her home- himself and it had a swing and a little arch to shield them from the rain. It was carved with bears ambling through trees and Elena said that it took them a full twenty minutes to find it, so deep in the woods it was! Jorah led her blindfolded but she wasn't afraid of the dark because he held her hands and spoke to her the entire time."
Ignoring Arya's gagging, Sansa gave a soft sigh. "One day I will marry a man who adores me as much as Lord Jorah does his Lady."
"So you shall, my dear, so you shall," Catelyn assured.
The dreamy-eyed look stayed for a little longer before her daughter perked up. "Oh, I must tell Jeor!"
"Take my letter too," Robb added, pausing in his meal. "There's a Maester Aemon at the Wall who's surprisingly well-informed about the succession laws passed before the reign of Aegon the Unlikely."
Arya's head plopped onto the table. "Do find something more interesting, Robb. I almost want to listen to Sansa's drivel instead."
A minute later, the youngest she-wolf yelped and Lady Stark mentally planned another etiquette lesson. A mother's work was never done.
x
Catelyn had suspected that the offer of land would draw men north but even she was surprised by how many came- and who they were. There were plenty of untested boys desiring adventure from the Riverlands and Crownlands but just as many of the migrants had professions and families of their own. It was a testament to the value of the parcels, to the idea of one's children or even grandchildren rising to form a minor House of their own, that men from across Westeros would march north to gain land of their own. Not that the gold Winterfell was pouring into its projects didn't have it's own allure as the shipwrights from the Westerlands attested to. The destruction of the Lannisport docks by the Ironborn had drawn plenty of golden-haired, green-eyed lion sons northward, several even cadet branch Lannisters and Cat handled their placement personally.
The Lady Stark didn't want to turn them away for fear of earning Lord Tywin's enmity early but nor she could ignore the dangers of a Lannister rising in the North. Instead she divided them into two groups; unmarried young men of higher risk would be sent to Deepwood Motte, Bear Island or the Stony Share. There they would work under the keen eye of Stark allies and hopefully form an attachment to their Northern neighbors while fighting Ironborn raids. There was nothing like a shared enemy to draw men together after all. The other group, which mainly consisted of older, family men with more to lose were sent to White Harbor, Ramsgate or Oldcastle. Not only would their experience be useful for building up the Northern shipping fleet but it wouldn't benefit Lord Tywin any longer.
It wasn't merely families from the Westerlands that flocked to Winterfell but from across Westeros. There was every shade of blonde, red, brown and even Old Valyrian silver hair, with skin that didn't blister under the sun or features that didn't lend themselves to beards. With themselves, they brought their ideas- the stunsail of Lannisport, terrace farming from the Vale and even water desalinization from Dorne. Of course, many also followed the Faith of the Seven, leading to some grumbling when Septs were built for prayers. It was somewhat mitigated by the startling amount of people willing to try this 'mad Northern, tree worship' under the argument that at least the trees couldn't accept bribes as the High Septon could.
Most of the migration occurred in the first two years of the offer made and Catelyn spent much of that time writing letters. There were the typical complaints- rise in banditry along the roads and spies being slipped in amongst workers two common ones- but the biggest concern was simply that these were not Northermen. They were outsiders and there were few things that an insular realm such as the North despised more than Southrons coming in and changing their culture.
Cat soothed these fears as well she could. She carefully ensured that no particular area of the North gained more than a few dozen men each. She encouraged each of the women she corresponded with to set time aside to introduce the migrants to Northern customs. She pointed out that at most the migrants numbered less than a thousand people, hardly a significant amount in the North. She sent ahead wood witches and Stark guardsman to ease the transition and reiterated that any laws broken by any party would face Northern justice. It did lessen fears somewhat but the most persuasive argument of the North remaining Northern wasn't by her own hand at all. It was the younger generation mingling with one another and producing children. That the fruit of those unions inherited dark hair and brown or grey eyes more often than not calmed the older generation considerably.
If there was something to be said about an influx of young men and women though and the resulting baby boom, it was that House Stark was collecting far more taxes than the previous years. Catelyn was rather grateful for that as her projects, particularly connecting the rivers and building a second bridge necessitated far more coin. Her parchment expenses were none too light either though the most significant expense related to them, the rebuilding of the Broken Tower as an expanded ravenry for Winterfell, had been covered by her dowry.
Ned had kept his promise and returned from the war to find his desk buried under paperwork.
"There's a lot to be done," Catelyn admitted sheepishly. "Would you mind handling the crop issue?"
The Tully-raised woman knew shipping and trade but her understanding of agriculture was limited. Her husband took to meeting with several of their Reach-born citizens, employing newfound practices in crop rotation and mulch creation, along with importing as much glass as they could afford to increase food production. The spinach and cauliflower had worked better than expected; had any of her father's bannermen doubted Lord Hoster's indulgence of his daughter, their tongues fell silent when chests of silver made their way to Riverrun. Lord Manderly's discovery of rice in the Summer Islands was another boon; the most cynical of estimates stated that the North would become self-sufficient in food production within fifteen years. While the crops were mostly kept in the North, they did have an increase in trade of raw goods by ship and specialized ones by the Kingsroad. One popular product exported were the uniquely Northern fashion styles developed by Lady Hornwood and an entrepreneurial Dornish tailor fascinated by fur coats.
This wasn't the only hand the other Houses had in the development of the North. Lady Tallhart, intrigued by a southron merchant's account of how much coin was spent on local tourneys, persuaded her husband to throw a festival on the Autumn Equinox. The Godswood of Torrhen's Square was opened to the smallfolk, the ice pond and snow-banked hills lent to the children's enjoyment, the hunting party's biggest catch dedicated to the Old Gods and many small competitions made for the boys' attention. Catelyn had spent the entire night on her feet, dancing mostly with her husband but also with an endearingly focused Robb and several bannermen. Even Lord Bolton had requested a set, though he dedicated most of it to inquiring about his son's lessons.
The festival proving itself an attraction had Ned propose one in Winterfell every year, one that would coincide with an annual meeting of the lords to set goals for the year and discuss common issues. Houses in Winter Town would be in great demand during those particular sennights.
Lady Karstark, who had a love of plays, suggested building small theatres by their castles to educate the arriving southrons on their culture. Catelyn had mentioned that idea once at supper before Domeric Bolton's eyes lit up and he offered to oversee the project. Sansa's love of music and dancing soon drew her in and between the two of them, the Theatre of Winter Town finished its first show of Symeon Star Eyes and the Hellhounds of Nightford. The Boltons, Karstarks and many other Houses soon followed. He also helped his aunt, Lady Dustin, build a racetrack in Barrowtown for her Spring Planting Festival. The event was such a success that it was repeated again, without the draw of the festival and became a semi-annual occurrence there.
Torrhen Karstark when visiting the Last Hearth made a careless jape to Smalljon Umber that soon devolved into a fighting match. When the Lord of the House demanded an explanation for such, the two insisted that they were wrestling for amusement and somehow, the lie expanded to an event there as well. Another lie that brokered an event occurred when the young Gawen Glover begged to lead a hunt for his nameday, stating that he was old enough to do so. His grandfather refused him, ostensibly on the grounds that Robett Glover was the Heir and had the right, which led to a tradition of Heirs leading their first hunts when reaching manhood. It also worked as an introduction of the Heirs to their fellow bannermen and one-day liege lord. Slowly but surely, a greater sense of camaraderie and trust developed for a stronger, more united North.
While Sansa busied herself with the theatre, her other children had their own projects to pursue. Bran of course was interested in furthering his warging abilities and spent most of his free time in the ravenry, training their falcons, owls and hawks. Catelyn was rather nervous about allowing him near such predatory birds, spooky magic powers aside, and issued a guardsman to stand by at all time. When her son pointed out that Jojen was with him almost always, she replied that Jojen was more a danger to himself with a wooden practice sword than to any enemies.
Robb, who had been curious to her complaints of some of the village overseers abusing the lack of knowledge of Northern law in the migrants, had taken it upon himself to fix the problem. Her dutiful little wolf had spent weeks pouring through law books and asking questions of his father, until he had a rough twelve page draft of the most important laws and exceptions allowed in the North, along with their punishments. He was now working on making as many copies of them as he could and sending a few to each village, so that everyone knew where they stood with the Starks. The Heir to House Stark had also taken the habit of going to Winter Town and chatting with the residents there, trying to determine which protections they needed and the policies that should be passed for them.
Lyarra had taken a different route to helping the North. The dark-haired girl loved to read and would often find a storybook or two to read aloud to her siblings after supper. Some of the servants in the castle started to drop by and listen to her after work. When one maid shyly requested a repeat of a favorite tale, Lyarra took it one step further and offered reading lessons the next day. The opportunity for instruction in reading, writing and sums drew more than one servant. Lyarra, with the help of Maester Luwin, soon converted one of the castle rooms and took to teaching thrice every sennight. One of her students left Winterfell two moon's later and the last Catelyn heard of him, was that he had returned to his village to pass on those lessons there.
Arya, whose interests primarily centered around her sword lessons, had more eclectic contributions of her own. While she did spend a lot of time on the training field, she soon added other skills to her repertoire. A letter from her friend Lyanna Mormont about hunting in Bear Island had her pester one of the local woodsman into teaching her to track her own game. From there it expanded to skinning her catches and using the fur and skin to create items of her own. The daughter who most hated embroidering was surprisingly okay with sewing her own 'useful' clothes, often corresponding with Lady Hornwood when she needed another's judgement. Cat didn't know how that led to donating her clothes, with her youngest daughter becoming increasingly more involved with the local orphanage. Mayhaps she shouldn't be so surprised; Arya had alway a knack for relating to people, noble or not.
As Lady Dustin had written her,
'We are doing our part to make the North strong, Lady Stark. But I think it's becoming increasingly clear that this generation will be the ones to make or break the North. If my nephew is any indication of the men and women that they will be, then I think our future will be in good hands…'
'I agree with you, Lady Dustin,' Cat thought. 'My question is whether these efforts will be enough.'
x
It seemed fitting that the moment Lord Hoster Tully became too busy to pester his son about marital duties, Edmure Tully found himself a bride.
This blessed event was preceded by a letter to his sister detailing Edmure's latest harebrained scheme. Cat had outright laughed at his proposal in visiting the Stormlands to 'gather intelligence on enemy forces'. Once the ludicrous image of her baby brother, dressed in head-to-toe black, skulking around castle walls to spy on noblemen passed though, Lady Stark found herself contemplative.
In childhood, Edmure did have a tendency to know things that he arguably should not have. He had a talent for scaling precipitous walls and perching in high places, gathering information that Petyr would later employ for their shared benefit. Their Lord Father had lamented it as a Whent failing, as shown by Lady Minisa's sharp ear for gossip and Cousin Oswell's self-taught four dialects of Valyrian for the same. Even if Edmure were not capable of such exploits now, and her own faint heart prayed that he had abandoned the dangerous activity, he was still charming. Her brother had a true gift for making friends regardless of status or circumstance and another gift in persuading men to speak truthfully to him. There was no reason to believe that those talents wouldn't apply to the Stormlords.
Lady Catelyn Stark came to two conclusions then; the first, that Edmure had the capability to be an effective informant and the second, that he was to blame for Bran's horrid climbing habit. She wrote him a scathing letter on that regard and concluded it with a plea to be careful. Edmure being Edmure proceeded to cheerfully move forward with his plans.
A friend's sister would be marrying into House Penrose of the Parchments and Edmure soon joined the procession southwards. He befriended the Heir of House Buckler at the wedding, was invited to stay at Bronzegate for a fortnight, concluded that visit with another to House Wylde after a reckless horse ride with their youngest son and ended it all by attending Lord Swann's nameday tourney. It may have taken two moons of revelries, japes, feasts and hunts but Edmure could then valiantly report his findings. He brought back whispers of rifts between the Baratheon brothers, Lord Renly's pretty little thorny rose, frictious trade along the Dornish Marches, and autumn storms wrecking parts of the Weeping Tower and the Crown refusing to pay for fixtures.
He also brought back a blushing brunette with violet eyes and a shy smile from the sands of Dorne. Allyria Dayne had been spending the better part of the year with her friend, Visalia Wylde and had managed to earn her brother's admiration with her staunch defense of her nephew. Edric Dayne had the misfortune of looking like a Targaryen in the Stormlands and the fortune of a fiercely protective young aunt. The swift kick caught Edmure's eye and apparently the eyes did the rest.
Once Cat had gotten over her mild pain whenever someone mentioned the name 'Dayne' to her, she grudgingly admitted to the effectiveness of that violet hue. Lyarra's had unbridled her oft-enough.
Although she had many responsibilities in the North, her plans were moving along well enough that Catelyn decided to attend her baby brother's wedding. Once again, all of the family sans Ned took the wheelhouse to Riverrun, though this trip would be a little over a sennight. The journey took three days of non-stop travel, the party would remain for two and then return post-haste to Winterfell. Lysa had sent her apologies but everyone else had been present for the celebration.
"She's insulted that I took a Dornish woman for a wife," Edmure had told her, his tone caustic. "The Queen hasn't any love for Elia Martell and the prejudice spread across the court. Had the audacity to advise me to end the betrothal lest I 'offend the crown'. As if I care what that lion bitch has to say."
Catelyn had murmured her sympathies and moved away soon after. It made her uncomfortable to see the fracture between her siblings but she had nothing to offer on Lysa's behalf. Lady Allyria struck her as a strong woman, one with rather more steel than her sweet brother. She was certainly more talented with a sword or spear in her hands than Edmure but still demure when the occasion called for it. She hadn't batted an eye at Lyarra's bastard status and showed the type of confidence that attracted both of her polar daughters. Her level-headedness would be an asset to House Tully in the future and while Cat didn't know about duty or honor, Allyria certainly believed in family. And the girl's affection for Edmure was obvious.
As for Edric Dayne, he was clever, soft-spoken and utterly adorable. How could anyone hate a child like that?
Well mayhaps Lysa didn't like them but the other members of House Tully were pleased to accept Allyria Dayne into the family. Uncle Brynden had even offered to take Edric under his wing for a squireship. Her father had spared no expense for an elaborate ceremony before Edmure could get cold feet and Catelyn had used the opportunity to canvass as many of the Riverlands bannermen as she could. The wedding was lovely though Lyarra was faintly traumatized by her exposure to the bedding ceremony. It was on the feast of the third day that a problem occurred.
As her niece related to her later, the children had been quietly chatting and enjoying the feast when the boys came. Three older Frey boys, squires all and likely sent over by their angry parents for the construction of a second bridge, started insulting the group. Edric Dayne had gotten a few for his Dornish blood and Valyrian looks, as well as Robb for being a Northern savage and Arya a horse-faced little girl but the main focus had been Lyarra. The others were trueborn while she was a perceived bastard and they were more than aware of her weak link status then.
Lyarra had been told of her true heritage on her tenth nameday and after a sennight of tears and distance from Catelyn's recounting of the hearth incident, had decided to forgive her. Lady Stark had been grateful and bemused by the mercy of her niece; she hadn't quite known how much the dragon-wolf's regard meant to her until it was suddenly taken away. It had yet impressed upon her how special a child Lyarra Snow was and humbled her to know that a child of so few years exceeded her in generosity of the spirit. Catelyn Stark had once again reaffirmed her promise to protect Lyarra.
Although nervous, the dark-haired girl had elected to share the news with Robb as well and her other siblings, when they each reached their tenth nameday. Her first born's reaction had filled her with pride. Robb hadn't blinked once before stating simply that she would always be a Stark to him and that he was there to talk to, should she need it. Lyarra had almost bowled him over in her haste to hug him though her son didn't seem to mind overmuch.
Nonetheless, the security of her true origins and the love that she was raised by had Lyarra ignore the boys. The Freys escalated it step by step: from her bastard status, to her mother being a whore (and wouldn't Cat have liked to have Ned there when they said that), to her own future prospects. The Snow's lessons proved true as she didn't twitch at a single insult. Robb had been growing steadily redder but Lyarra had one leg hooked firmly around his leg to trip him over should he rise. Her hand was holding rather firmly onto Arya too while her eyes were pointedly staring at Bran.
So naturally Sansa had been the first to cause a ruckus.
"Don't call my sister that!" The red-haired girl shrieked, spinning around on the bench and putting one foot firmly into the leftmost boy's private parts.
He promptly buckled down. Another boy shouted. "You bitch!"
One reached forward to grab Sansa but received a thrown dish by Bran for his troubles. Lyarra moved to grab her sister from attacking the remaining squire and Robb took the opportunity to slip out and tackle the center one.
"Don't hit my brother," one Frey shouted.
"Don't hit my brother!" Arya jumped in, stomping on one hand and breaking fingers before she was snatched up by the Frey.
"Don't hit my sister!" Lyarra's fist flew out and knocked him back. Arya fell down while the boy pinwheeled backwards into Edric Dayne's convenient foot.
"Duck Arya!" Bran's soup hit its mark. As the boy wailed in pain, Sansa threw into another kick to the poor one whose privates were still rather damaged. Inspired, Arya's next kick mirrored her sister's actions on the second boy.
"Apologize. To. My. Sisters. Now!" Each of Robb's words were punctuated by a fist. Keeping an eye on the younger Starks, Lyarra pulled him off and replaced it with a kick to the downed squire's ribs.
"And that's for calling my mother a whore!"
By the end, all three Freys were downed and the Stark children (and one inconspicuous Dayne helping himself to a second helping of trout) were victorious. Most of the Hall's attentions had been drawn to them with Robb, Arya and Bran grinning in pride and Lyarra in embarassed pleasure. The sole outlier was her Sansa who appeared downright offended as she studied the scuff marks of her dress. Lord Frey's face was a particular work of art; he looked like someone bitten into an overripe lemon as he disgustedly eyed his moaning and tearing grandsons.
Lord Hoster summoned them to the main table. "Do you have a reason for accosting our guests?"
"Family, duty, honor," Sansa had announced defiantly.
"Mostly duty," Arya clarified. "The duty of keeping that stupidity from reaching another generation."
"Now they know that attacking a wolf means getting torn apart by its pack." Robb smiled beatifically.
"I see." Her father's beard twitched and she could see that it was all he could do not to smile. "I'll leave your punishment in your mother's hands then."
Catelyn hadn't the heart to issue more than an early bedtime without dessert. She then decided to be blind when Edric Dayne marched down the hallway later, balancing a massive platter of cakes in his hands. She did put her foot down when Robb and Lyarra attempted to smuggle the boy into the wheelhouse the next morning though. The line had to be drawn somewhere.
Ned had missed her quite a bit while she was gone and the proof of their reunion had weirwood red hair, river blue eyes and went by the name of Rickon Stark. Five moons later, he was joined by his maternal cousin, Arthur Tully. Sansa had listened to her brother's nightly crying for a mere fortnight before asking whether he could be traded for their new cousin instead. Ned promised to consider it.
The following years were good to the Starks. The North flourished, their family grew stronger and Catelyn Stark started to hope for a peaceful life for them all. Then a letter arrived: Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and Lord of the Eyrie, was dead.
x
Not as much dialogue as I would like but there was a lot to move through. Future updates will be slower since school is starting for me next week.