Lyarra POV
She sat in the chair, sad and defeated, trying hard to keep the tears at bay. She had been so close to knowing, so close to the truth, before having it snatched away. Why do people do this? Why is it so hard to tell the truth? What is the harm in a simple name?
"Lyarra," she felt Robb press his hand to her back, rubbing it soothingly. "Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not." she didn't mean for it to come out so curt, but he drew his hand back anyway, flinching at her word's. "I'm sorry. I'm just…" words fail her as tears fall out. He kneels in front of her, gripping her hand.
"Tell me, I will listen." of course he would, Robb would always listen.
"It's about my mother," she doesn't miss the way he swallows, "Wylla knows who she is. But she won't tell me…" she can see him pale, can feel his palm sweat. Why is he so nervous? "Do you know something that I don't know?" she can feel her ire rising.
Silence is the only response she gets, the only response she needs. Instead of shaking his hand away out of anger, she gripped it tighter in desperation. "You know? You know who she is?"
He's hesitant at first, then sighing in defeat after, "Ashara Dayne. Her name is Ashara Dayne." the name makes her pause, before realization sinks in. Wylla is a loyal servant of Starfall, has been for many years, she more than likely served her when she still lived. 'You're just like your mother,' she had said. That's who she sees when she looks at me. Am I really that much like her? "And you're father is Brandon Stark." the silence that comes after is deafening.
"What?" she couldn't have heard him correctly, perhaps he jest, although now is an inappropriate time to do so.
"Father...isn't your father." is all he can say back, and she resist the urge to slap him. Instead, this time she does snatch her hand out of his.
"You knew this whole time, and you weren't going to tell me." It's more of a statement than a question, voice quivering slightly from hurt. Father isn't your father. Father isn't my father.
She rises from the seat, walking away from it, walking away from him. She goes to the window, embracing the cool air. It was suddenly hot, she could feel beads of sweat forming on her brow, her breath quickening. Lyarra has never been this angry, to the point where she was fuming hot.
"Lya, are you-"
"I'm fine dammit!" she turns to face him, angry and sad and happy all at once. All she ever wanted was her name and now she has it. "I-" she stops at the feel of it. Of a warm wet substance slithering down her legs. She freezes at the sight of it dampening her gown, and her mind goes blank.
"Lyarra!" he tries to get her attention, but she's vaguely aware of him calling her name, all she can focus on is what's happening to her body.
All she knows is pain, and the cramping she felt earlier comes back with a vengeance. She closes her eyes, trying but failing to hold in her screams, trying to breathe. The feel of his strong hands quickly guiding her to the bed comforts her, but only slightly. The covers only make her feel hotter, and this time she doesn't hold back her screams, eyes remaining closed. That is all she remembers before blacking out completely.
When she wakes it's to familiar voices, perhaps Mellei or Wylla, maybe both, though her vision is to blurry to be certain. The pain comes rushing back, making her want to faint again, but a soft familiar hand grips her own, "You must stay awake, Lyarra," a cold damp cloth runs over her head and cheeks, "For the baby, you must stay awake." she can feel someone gently spreading her legs, lifting up her cotton dress, but she's reluctant to let them do so. "Please, Lyarra. You must." the voice is commanding, stern yet gentle. Wylla, it must be Wylla, and she can make out her dark eyes and long black hair through the blur. She spreads her legs, the smell of blood never eluding her. She can feel it's stickiness caked on her thighs. "Now, I need you to push. Can you do that for me?"
Lyarra shakes her head in refusal, fear building up inside. More hot tears trail down her face, "I can't." is all she can think to say, her voice coming out raspy and dry.
"Try, just try. It's the only way.".
She does, and she's never felt pain like this. It felt as if someone was ripping her apart. 'Someone is ripping me apart.'. She wants to laugh, but instead she screams for Robb. She doesn't have anyone else to call. Not a mother or a father, just Robb. She needs him so badly, so she calls out again, and it helps her push harder, her back rising slightly off the bed before falling exhaustingly into the pillows.
"Good, that's good," she feels a cup pressed to her lips, and drinks greedily. Wylla pushes her curls back, replacing it with the cool cloth.
On and on she went, pushing and screaming and crying. The hours felt like a lifetime, felt as if she was fighting a thousand battles, and it was beginning to drain her. Sometimes she'd slip into unconscious, before the sheer pain of it all would force her awake. Wylla would praise her for her efforts, rewarding her with water and a cool cloth. It dragged on, a never ending sequence of pain, fear and hope.
Until finally she heard it. A tiny little wail that made her world shake. Fatigued weighed down on her, making her drowsy and sleepy, but she could care less for sleep. Not when her babe was finally here, for her to take and hold in her arms. For her to love. All the pain the birth caused seemingly forgotten. "A boy," Wylla says, staring at him in awe, "It is a boy.". His cries settle down when he's finally placed in his mother's arms, wrapped in blankets. She looks down at him, and curious blue eyes stare back at her. "It's normal for them to be that color at first, but they will change as time goes on." Wylla informs her, but she hopes they don't. Her fingers trace over his eyes,nose and lips and she can tell he takes after his father in them. He grips her wandering finger, in the way that babes do and she can feel tears of joy trailing down her face. Her hand wanders to his hair, making her freeze. How she missed it at first she does not know, for it was a shock of white, with strands of red standing out amongst it, but mostly stared at it in awe.
"Lyarra," Robb's voice snaps her out of her daze. He quickly moves to her side, staring down at their child.
"Do you want to hold him?" she cringes at how tired and raspy her voice is, but Robb doesn't seem to care in the slightest. Instead he accepts the bundle she places in his arms. Hoping he isn't disappointed by their sons coloring.
His eyes studies him, much how she did, laughing with tears in his eyes when the babe grips his father's finger with his small hand. "He's beautiful, Lyarra.".
Robb kisses his warm tiny cheek, never letting him go and Lyarra wouldn't ask it of him. Finally closing her eyes in peace at the sight of father and son.