Robb POV
He watched her rest, belly swollen and full, laying on her side. His fingers traced over the elaborate designs she made on the small blanket for their child to come. It was made from cotton and lace, with little wolves dancing under the constellation of stars that formed the Ice Dragon. It had blue and grey and white to form these designs and patterns. It reminded him of home, and he wondered if that was the feeling she wished to convey. Home. He couldn't deny that the north was his home, it was in his blood, it was who he was, it was who she was. He can't deny that he misses it, cannot deny his feelings of longing for it, despite the life he's made here in Dorne. He knows she misses it to. But they can't go back, even if they wanted to.
It was beautiful and soft, he could tell thought and love was put into it, everything their child deserved. It was strange considering the woman Wylla also had a hand in it, Lyarra had admitted so. She helped with making the dragon, and fixed the minor mistakes she made.
He didn't know what to think of the woman. She was strange in a good way he supposed, with a gentle wit and thoughtful voice, but seldom did she speak. Only stare, her gaze always fixed on Lyarra, sometimes it would shift to him, studying him in a way that made him feel unease. He half expects she knows who they are, or at least knows that they're not who they are portraying to be. Her eyes are always filled with silent question, and he doesn't know if he answers correctly, doesn't even know how to answer.
She knows more than she lets on, thats for sure. He can tell from the knowing looks she sends their way, when she thinks he isn't paying attention, a sadness lingering in her eyes when he meets them.
He looks at the unfinished work laid out on the chair next to him. A cloak, a wedding cloak, with the typical Stark colors of white and gray. Although the grey Direwolf is missing, they both know what the color represents. Soon their child will come into this world, soon they will be wed, soon Lyarra will be his wife. The thought made him flutter inside. 'Wife, she will be my wife.'.
He rises from his seat, placing a kiss upon her forehead, brushing some strands of hair behind her ear.
Today was one of his days off, where he usually walked to the Water Gardens with Lyarra. The garden has yet to stir with people, it was more quiet than usual, and he found himself missing the bustle of sounds. "Hello," he turns around to see a figure dressed in orange garb, leaning against the sandstone wall, with an amused quirk of his lips. Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper. Lyarra had told him of the Prince as well, how he always walked and talked with her. The man made him wary, but she seemed to like him, for some strange reason. Robb couldn't see the appeal.
"Prince Oberyn," he nods his head at the Dornish man, before continuing on his way.
"Stark," he returns in kind. Robb halted in his steps, heart stopping for a moment. "Robb Stark." it's barely above a whisper, but he hears it all the same in the empty garden. He doesn't hear the man walk next to him though, his footsteps are to soft and graceful to hear. Like a snake, a viper. He lives up to his namesake. "It seems I've gotten your attention," he says with a sly smile, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "How about we go for a walk together? Lya seems to like them very much," Robb tries not to bristle at him using her nickname.
It's still silent, dawn finally on the horizon, as they walk through the gardens. Robb wants no more than to leave, but it seems this man has him trapped. This man who knows the truth, probably has for a while now. 'And he has yet to send word to my father,' that thought gave Robb some comfort and the Prince seemed to sense it. "Tell me about her," he finally says, it throughs Robb off. Tell him about her? "Lyarra, what is she like?" The feeling of unease claws at him again.
"Don't you talk to her?" He tried to keep the annoyance out of his tone, tried but failed and the Vipers grin only seemed to widen. As if he enjoys putting people in uncomfortable positions, asking them questions that they rather not answer. He didn't like this, whatever this was. 'Why do you care?' is what he really wants to say, 'Is it any of your business?,' is another.
He shrugs his shoulders, "Don't you sleep with her?" he shakes the Dornish man's arm off, who throws back his head in laughter at the look Robb gives him. He's about ready to escape this man's presence. "What? I do not judge, you can't help who you love. Neither can you help who you hop into bed with,"
"Goodbye." Robb doesn't care about being courteous anymore. He will not play any of this man's games.
"I was only curious. The girl rarely speaks, and when she does it is little of herself."
"Why do you want to know?" he finally voices his thoughts out loud. Something like sadness glimmers in his eyes, before quickly passing.
"She reminds me of someone I used to know is all. I only wanted to know if my suspicions were correct." his smile returns "You know, for a man who ran away with his own cousin, you're very much a prude. That makes you and her both." that makes Robb pause. Cousin? This man must be mistaken, perhaps he doesn't know everything. But that wouldn't make any sense, his uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna never lived to have children. Only uncle Benjen remained, and he swore an oath to celibacy. Everyone knows this, this man must have lost his wits.
A look of sudden realization crossed Oberyn's face at Robb's confusion, "Oh, you haven't heard?" he continues before Robb can respond, "Well, according to your Lord Father, your sister, well… your sister isn't really your sister." Robb doesn't know what to say to that, can't begin to comprehend. Surely this man is lying, father wouldn't... "She's your cousin, apparently, the daughter of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark. Those were his words, though I don't know how much weight to hold to them," he says the last part more to himself than Robb, but he could care less.
He doesn't know whether to be relieved or angry. 'It was a lie, father lied, he's never lied. Until he did.' It suddenly hits him that his relationship with Lyarra is even a lie. They aren't siblings or forbidden lovers. What they feel for each other isn't wrong, it never was and his father wouldn't have said anything, would have never told them the truth had they stayed. "This is for certain?" he tries to keep his voice strong, despite its weakening.
"Yes, I believe it is. His word traveled like wildfire," his smile weakens at Robb's silence, "You should be happy. You wish to marry her don't you? Well, now you can and the gods won't fault you for it. I know how you Starks are about the whole honor thing, you're not planning on leaving her with a bastard." but Robb ignores it all.
"Don't tell her," he meets the Prince's questioning eyes, "She can't know, not now. It would crush her, especially now, with the baby so close... She wouldn't be able to handle it, it would kill her. Please," he doesn't want to see Lyarra broken, not when she's so happy, so at peace with herself. "I will tell her myself, after everything else.".
"I'm sure that's what you're father said as well.".
He walks away from the Prince, but not without a last word, "It's a good thing I'm not my father," he leaves the gardens.
Guilt is all he feels while watching her. It was always nagging at him when she smiled and held his hand. He doesn't deserve this, not when he knows the truth but refuses to tell it. He tells himself that it's for her own good, that he's protecting her, but it feels wrong to keep something like this hidden. All her life Lyarra's wanted to know who her mother was, and he learns of the woman before she does.
But it would hurt her, the truth would break her heart. To know that father's lied, to know that father wasn't really her father. He couldn't do that to her, wouldn't do that her. At least not now, not when she's so happy.
"Something troubling you?" she rest a hand on his, worry in her eyes. He shakes his head forcing a smile, but when she smiles back he doesn't have to.
"No. Are you alright?" he feels around her stomach, rubbing it gently.
"I'm fine, just some cramps," she stares at him for a moment, before closing her eyes with a sigh, "If there's something bothering you, you can tell me. You can tell me anything,".
A knock on the door halts his response. He looks at Lyarra in question, "You're expecting someone?"
She smiles gently, "It must be Wylla, she's bent on helping me with the cloak." the change in mood and conversation eases him slightly. Anything to get her mind off of the problems that plague his mind.
He goes to open the door, revealing those dark eyes and calm face, "Edric," she nods her head in greeting.
"Wylla," he moves for her to enter, closing the door after. "Well,I'll leave you two to it." with that, he leaves up stares into the bedroom.
Lyarra POV
Hours passed and they were nearly finished with the cloak, all she needed was a few more pieces of fabric and it would be completed. The design turned out beautifully with Wylla's help and she thanks the gods for the woman, for she couldn't do it on her own. Lyarra wasn't bad with needle, but she's never been particularly good at the task either.
She rested back in the cushioned seat, relishing in the breeze from the opened window. She could feel the woman's gaze on her, though she was getting used to that. Used to people finding some remnant of those they once knew and loved, although it was strange considering she just met the woman, who could she possibly look like to her? It was most likely personality wise, 'Perhaps she knew someone who was just like me,' she thought.
"You're just like your mother," her head snaps to the woman next to her, eyes wide. She seems to realize what she said as well, taken aback by her own words. It was so unlike her calm and composed self, who always thought before she spoke. Lyarra didn't know whether to be shocked or angry. She abruptly stands up, face paler than usual, "I'm sorry, that was...so unlike me," she giggles a little, but Lyarra doesn't find the humor in the situation. She gathers her things, ready to leave but Lyarra goes after her, faster than she expected herself to be at this point.
She takes hold of her hand, "Wait!" she halts in her steps, staring at her apologetically, "You knew my mother?"
She shakes her head, "Now is not the time, Lya." She tries to loosen her grip, but Lyarra holds tighter, holds onto the only person who can help her place a name to the woman she's wanted to know her whole life.
"Please, can you at least give me her name?" she hates sounding this helpless.
Wylla stares at her in silence before speaking again, "She loved you,from the moment she held you in her arms." She smiles sadly, releasing her hand from Lyarra's weakened grip. "I'll tell you, when the time is right, I promise.".