"Winterfell is a delightful place," Princess Lyanna said as she looked around at the circle of ladies beside her in the sewing room. "You are all fortunate to stay here – I must leave for the south in two days' time."
Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel murmured sympathetic words. "You will soon be back," said Lyarra warmly, "though not as a guest but my good-sister."
The princess smiled. "Indeed, Lady Lyarra. I look forward to the day I can call you my sister. And Lady Arya of course," she added. Her eyes landed on a grumpy Arya who was once again declaring war on her embroidery. Lyarra felt a twinge of sympathy towards her wild sister. When Arya started embroidering the small piece of linen, it had already looked more or less a mess. Stabbing it relentlessly with her needle did not help.
"What?" Arya glanced up. "Oh. Yes. I will be…honoured to call you my sister – once you marry Robb of course." Across from her, Jeyne sniggered. Lyarra shot her a warning glare. It wasn't the first time Jeyne Poole sneered at Arya; it most certainly wouldn't be the last. Ignoring Jeyne, Princess Lyanna Baratheon smiled at Arya. "You do not like sewing, Lady Arya?"
Everyone's eyes swivelled to Arya. Uncertain, Arya glanced around before she said cautiously. "I hate it."
"Arya!" reprimanded Septa Mordane, instantly swooping upon her like a sharp eyed hawk. "Apologise to the princess at once!"
"Why?" demanded Arya. "The princess asked why I disliked sewing!"
The septa looked as if she wanted to slap her. "The princess was being polite Arya! Apologise at once!"
"That is quite alright septa," said Lyanna smoothly. "After living many years in a pit of lies, the truth is quite refreshing." She flashed Septa Mordane a charming smile. "If Lady Arya hates sewing, so be it. I will not despise her because she does not like sewing." She turned to Arya. "If you do not like sewing or embroidering, what do you like doing?"
Arya brightened. "Riding and fighting!"
Lyanna's cousin Melia Tully looked at her queasily. "Fighting?"
As Arya chattered on about her desire to continue her martial pursuits, Lyarra could not help but admire the princess. She was nothing like her father; the right words came to her effortlessly and she was easy to like. Anyone who can speak to Arya without launching an argument was impressive. Lyarra quietly sewed as she watched Lyanna nod and talk to Arya. It would be delightful to have Lyanna as a good-sister. Besides, another helping hand in taming and rearing Arya would be useful and Arya seemed fond of the princess already.
At age eleven, Lyarra thought she knew many matters of the world and done a good job controlling Arya. After conversing with the worldly Lyanna, she felt she knew nothing. When she mentioned it to the princess, the latter laughed. "You'd love to speak to Margaery Tyrell," she told her. "She is to be my aunt but is only two years older than me. She knows of matters we girls are not all privileged to know or hear. Lady Margaery is clever – far more clever than I. I'm certain she'll amaze you with her vast knowledge."
"What of you Lady Lyarra? Do you wish to go riding with me, Melia and Arya tomorrow afternoon?"
Lyarra smiled. "I will be delighted, princess."
The princess leant forward. "Is it true, about the direwolves? I heard they have returned to the North. I always thought they were only stories."
"They are real!" insisted Arya.
"May I see one?"
Lyarra glanced at Arya hesitantly. "They are only pups, princess," Lyarra said finally. "Not much different from wolf pups. Only a little…bigger I think. You will be more than welcome to see them when they are older."
"I see." Lyanna did not sound disappointed. "Have you named them?"
Lyarra shook her head. "I have not but my siblings may have."
"I named my pup Nymeria," Arya chipped in, grinning for the first time in a sewing session. "She is very well-behaved."
Lyarra almost snorted. Nothing about Nymeria suggested that.
"After Queen Nymeria of the Rhoyne?" questioned Lyanna. "She was quite an interesting woman was she not?"
Arya nodded eagerly. "She wielded a spear rather than a needle. See? Not all women have to learn to sew." She gave Septa Mordane a smug smile. "Maybe I can fight as well as Nymeria one day."
Jeyne giggled. "Queen Arya Horseface." Lyanna glanced at her and frowned. "I don't think that is very nice, do you? What do you think will happen to you and your family once Lord Stark hears of this?"
Jeyne Poole flushed. "My…my apologies, princess." She turned to Arya. "I hope I have not offended you," she said sulkily.
"Not at all." Arya smiled sweetly. Lyarra shook her head with a quiet sigh. Arya is plotting revenge as we speak…She suspected in a few days' time, Jeyne might be waking up with the smell of sheep dung lingering around her. A typical Arya idea, pondered Lyarra. As a good daughter, Lyarra should report her suspicions to her father or mother. However, she found Jeyne Poole to be irritating and rude; she deserved to be a victim of Arya's wild antics.
I am wicked for harbouring such thoughts. We should forgive and forget, not dwell on desires for vengeance – even for tiny, insignificant matters. The rest of the sewing session passed without incident, Lyarra enjoying the princess's presence more and more. By the time Septa Mordane announced it was time for the feast, Lyarra and Lyanna were deep in discussion about hunting – a favoured pastime enjoyed by both of them.
The song of clashing steel lured Lyarra from the bedchambers she shared temporarily with Arya and Dany. Both of them asleep, Lyarra quietly dressed herself in a woolly grey gown and donned a furred cloak before descending the stairs to the courtyard. It didn't take her too long to spot a sweaty Robb defeat the laughing Theon and face his next opponent: Domeric Bolton.
Fascinated, Lyarra sat down on a nearby bale of hay and watched Robb wipe blood from his brow as the solemn Domeric brandished his pale milky sword. He was three years older than Robb which already gave him an advantage. Robb did not mind though. He apparently enjoyed the challenge. From what Lyarra heard and witnessed, Robb usually defeated Theon with ease compared to his sparring practices with Domeric and Jon – except in archery. It was Theon Greyjoy who bested them in that.
"They fight well do they not?"
Lyarra almost jumped as Daenerys suddenly appeared at her side, her blonde hair tied up. "What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?" Lyarra hissed, her heart beating ten times faster than before. "I thought you were in bed! What are you doing here? Has something happened to Arya? How do you even know where I am Daenerys?"
Dany grinned and shrugged. "I was in the mood to watch a morning round of sparring. I suppose you are too."
"What are you two doing here?"
Lyarra looked back and saw Robb staring at her, his arms crossed. Theon and Jon strode up to her and Dany, Domeric standing a short distance away cleaning his sword. It was a good blade and a gift from his father. "You should be tucked in bed ladies," said Theon, bemused as he played with his dagger, "or have you left the realm of sleep already?"
"There is a problem?" Lyarra challenged. "You cannot train in the presence of two women? Cravens."
Theon flushed angrily. "Us cravens!"
"It is dangerous for you to be here," said Domeric, walking up to them. "What if we accidently hit you with our swords?" Theon guffawed. "Your lord father will kill us if we hurt you," Domeric continued, ignoring him. "Especially you Lyarra, but I cannot have you accidently injured, Daenerys. You are Lady Stark's niece. I won't be surprised if she lashes at us herself if you are hurt. It'll be in your best interests to return to your rooms."
Lyarra frowned at her betrothed. "Arya spars with you," she pointed out. "You are not concerned with her safety?"
"I do not spar with your sister," Domeric protested.
"Jon does. So does Robb."
"Lyarra!"
"Please go," Robb pleaded with Daenerys. "Ser Rodrik finally allowed us to train with real blades and they are sharp! See?" He showed her the tip of his steel blade. "Go back inside."
"This is cowardly behaviour from you," said Lyarra, disgusted. "What will you do when you spar with the princes? Decline in fear of injuring them? All you will do is show the southron lords that Northerners are cravens."
"It is too early to argue," said Jon, looking at them wearily. "Robb, Domeric, if the girls want to stay and watch, let them. It seems there is nothing we can do to send them back to their rooms." He paused. "After half a day of sewing in a stuffy room under the gaze of Septa Mordane, I can see why you would want to look at something different this morning before going to another session of sewing. Arya told me what happened," he added, noticing Lyarra's astonished expression. "She would not stop complaining about your septa. Again."
"Can I hold one?" said Dany suddenly.
"What?" said Jon, not believing what he heard.
"Can I hold a sword? Arya said it feels much better than holding a needle. Can I hold a sword too?"
"Of course," said Robb tentatively. "Here. I'll um…I'll show you how to ah, hold one properly." He led Daenerys away. Lyarra looked expectedly at Domeric. He shook his head. "No."
"Domeric!" Lyarra playfully punched his arm. "Please?" Theon snorted with laughter and strolled away, Jon trailing behind him. Domeric sighed. "No," he said again. "Robb may be more than happy to indulge Daenerys's wishes – which may involve accidental injury – but I'll not harm you. I am here at Winterfell to assure your lord father of my House's loyalty and our betrothal, and later marriage, is to strengthen the delicate ties between our houses."
"What about after our marriage? Will you teach me to wield a sword then?"
Domeric shook his head. "You will still be a Stark."
"No I wouldn't. I will be Lyarra Bolton, the future Lady of the Dreadfort." She smiled confidently at him. "If relations between our houses are already good and secure, would you let me hold a sword?"
"No."
"Not even as a betrothal gift?"
Domeric gave her an exasperated look. "No! How are you so certain we will be married? Lord Stark had not announced it yet and you are still young. It will be at least another year before we wed, and anything can happen in a year. What if the opportunity arises and Lord Stark finds a better husband for you? Marriage to a Tully will bring southron influence; marriage to a Tyrell will bring rich resources for the next winter; there are plenty of great lords for you to wed."
"You will be a great lord too one day." She sighed softly. Domeric was kind and one of her close friends yet he would be as stubborn as a mule at times. "Will you escort me to my room at least?" she asked. "We hardly talked all week when we were busy preparing for the royal party's arrival."
"Of course." Domeric immediately sheathed his sword in the leather scabbard at his hip and offered her his pale hand. Lyarra smiled and took it. "I still have not properly thanked you for the direwolf pup yet," she admitted as they entered the Great Keep. "I have been rather forgetful of late."
"Was a hug not enough of a thank you?"
"Well…"
"Actually," considered Domeric, "you gave me two hugs. Sufficient enough as a thank you for bringing you your direwolf pup. It was Robb who actually found all of them – except Jon's albino. Jon found him himself. Have you named your pup? I think Robb is deciding to name his either Grey Wind or Frost."
He was about to open the door when Lyarra's pup trotted to them, nuzzling at their legs. Lyarra giggled and picked her up. Her pup was the smallest of the litter and had a coat of grey fur and yellow eyes.
"My great grandfather used to raise dozens of dogs," remarked Domeric. "My father said that he considered dogs more loyal than his men."
"She is so sweet," said Lyarra, caressing her pup's fur. "So well-behaved too. I never had any trouble with her. I tell her to stay on my bed, she obeys. When it is time to feed her, she comes up to me and she does not fuss when I have to bathe her once a day. She is like-"
"A lady?"
Lyarra beamed. "Exactly! That is what I will call her! Lady." The direwolf pup yapped happily as if in agreement.
"Arya will laugh at the name choice," commented Domeric.
Lyarra shrugged. "Hers is Nymeria and mine is Lady. Do you think Daenerys is envious she does not have a direwolf pup and we all do?"
"I don't."
"You know what I mean."
Domeric thought for a moment. "Daenerys seems like a caring and loving girl. I doubt she harbours jealousy of any type in her heart. Even if she does, I'm certain she knows she is not a Stark. Jon is a bastard like her, but is Lord Stark's natural son. Daenerys is Lord Stark's bastard niece through Lady Stark. If she does wish for a pup, someone can always arrange for her to receive a dog on her next name day or something. Speaking of Daenerys Sand, do you think there is something, I don't know…amiss about her?"
"No?"
"I could not help but notice she only danced once last night…with Robb. I am under the assumption she loved dancing."
"She could've been ill? Mother told me that at a certain point in a girl's life, she will flower and become a woman and the flowering is painful." She shuddered. "I am glad I have not flowered yet."
Domeric shifted uncomfortably. "Um…right." He glanced at the door. "Is Arya still asleep? Breakfast is in an hour or two."
"Why are you and the others awake so early?"
"Ser Rodrik said it is best for a soldier to rise at dawn and set us an exercise to awake early every day at dawn for a week. Theon hates it, but I find it useful." His gaze swirled to her. "Why were you awake so early?"
"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to sleep more but my mind wouldn't let me."
Domeric smiled faintly. "We all have plenty of time to sleep when we are dead I suppose. You should go back to bed. I will ensure Daenerys arrives at breakfast on time. I promise."
Lyarra found herself trailing behind Robb and Lyanna with Dany for company. The two of them were assigned to chaperone Robb and Lyanna for a walk in the gardens at Winterfell. The queen was not pleased with a bastard chaperoning her daughter but there was little she could do.
"You spent quite some time with the boys this morning," said Lyarra lightly as they followed Robb and Lyanna to the glass garden. "Did Robb teach you how to hold a sword properly?"
Daenerys nodded. "He was very helpful."
"Robb tries to help as much as he can. I did not see you at breakfast. Should we have Maester Luwin examine you?"
"I'm fine Lyarra. A little tired I guess, nothing more. It is a moon blood matter. You will have it too one day." I hope not too soon. "I cannot help but wonder why I am here," Dany murmured, more to herself than to Lyarra. "Why was I brought to Winterfell? Where does my future lie? Was my father too embarrassed about me that he had to ship me to Winterfell to live with Aunt Ashara? Do the gods want me here for a reason?"
"What's with the sudden questions Dany?"
Dany glanced around cautiously. "Can you keep a secret?"
Lyarra nodded. She considered Daenerys a sister; betraying her trust was out of the question. "I swear," she promised.
"You will not tell your father or mother? Or anyone?"
"I promise I won't tell anyone unless you wish me too."
Daenerys nodded, satisfied. "Last night at the feast, something odd happened after I danced with Robb. A little boy came up to me and gave me a pendant. He knew my name, Lyarra. How would he know my name?" she murmured, terror in her violet eyes. "I thought my eyes were deceiving me but apparently not. It was a jewelled pendant…wrought in the shape of a dragon."
"Perhaps you have an admirer who thought a dragon pendant would suit you well," Lyarra suggested.
She did not seem certain. "Robb said the same thing. Who would admire me? I am a bastard with no prospects."
"You are beautiful."
"Worthy enough for an expensive pendant? Who would have the gold and the means of purchasing it?"
Lyarra considered it. "The Lannisters? They are one of the wealthiest families in Westeros. I believe Lord Tyrion is here." She smirked. Dany flushed pink. "He was talking to Jon all night," she answered stiffly. "Besides, he is highborn and of a Great House. He would not want to waste his time with a bastard."
"He is a dwarf."
"So? He is still a Lannister."
"The Tyrells are wealthy too."
"There are no Tyrells here though. What type of dragon was it?"
"A three-headed one." She paled. "By the Seven…how slow am I? The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen…who would send me that? Someone wicked must want us incriminated or out of favour with the king. Why me?" Lyarra said nothing and listened as Dany muttered to herself, her eyes shining with wonder, puzzlement and fear.
"Wait," said Lyarra suddenly. "Did you say you told Robb about this?"
Daenerys nodded. "I trust him," she assured her. "I would have confided in Jon first, but it seemed he had a lot on his mind. I would've told you anyway, but you might have wanted a moment with Domeric this morning."
"What did Robb say?"
"Nothing much." Daenerys stared ahead as if in a dream state. "He said that I have naught to worry about. He promised he would defend me if something bad ever happens. I believed him." She smiled at Lyarra. "You are lucky you have such a protective brother. A pity you will lose him to Princess Lyanna one day. Then again, he will lose you to Domeric Bolton soon enough."
Lyarra nodded. "What's on Jon's mind?" she said curiously. Jon had not looked any more miserable; he looked the same as he always did. Dany shook her head and said wisely. "When he is ready, he will tell you."
Just clearing things up, Lyarra kind of tuned out when Daenerys started muttering to herself so Dany as a Targaryen did not click for Lyarra. Unfortunately I'm sick again -_- This year is turning out to be not such a great year for me in the illness section haha. As for shipping Daenerys with someone...hehe I guess you have to wait and see ;) Any suggested POVs for the future chapters?
