"To Lady Lyarra and Lord Domeric!" The Northern lords raised their cups and cheered. Lyarra smiled at them and squeezed Domeric's hand under the table. It was a surprise that Lord Greatjon Umber insisted for a feast to celebrate his liege lord's daughter's betrothal; it was more shocking that her father agreed. Father loathes feasts, thought Lyarra. It is good of him to host one for me and Domeric. Father is always so kind to us.
Domeric smiled at her. "It's a relief we are finally betrothed," he said, refilling her cup with a little wine. "All the lords guessed we'd be engaged one day and I'm pleased Lord Stark made it official."
"So am I," replied Lyarra. "When the southron lords came, I was worried that Father would consider wedding me off to one of their heirs." She shuddered. "I'd rather be a septa than married to a southron lord."
"Be careful what you wish for," Domeric warned. "Not all those southron lords are bad. What do you think of Hoster Tully? He was polite, courteous and more respectful than some of his companions when he was here. A fair swordsman in the making if I may add."
"Do you want me wedded to someone else?"
"Of course not!" He laughed. Lyarra loved his quiet laugh. "The Tullys are bent on family – the Tully men wouldn't take mistresses."
"Will you?"
"To earn your wrath? No. Besides, with the most beautiful lady of the North as my wife, I will be content."
"I hope not too content to leave your lands alone." A chill shadowed over them as Lord Bolton stood in front of them with what appears to be a contorted smile on his face. He dipped his head at Lyarra. "Lady Lyarra," he said so softly Lyarra had to strain her ears to hear. "I am honoured to have you as a good-daughter in a year or two. You do not know how happy I am."
Lyarra hesitated for a second. "I'm honoured to marry Domeric too," she said finally, daring to look him in the eye. She wished she hadn't. His pale and strange eyes – whiter than stone and darker than milk – were emotionless, almost hollow like a ghost's eyes. For a moment, she foolishly feared that her future children with Domeric would bear the same pale, strange eyes as Lord Bolton's. When she was younger, she asked Maester Luwin why Bran had dark blue eyes when their father and mother both respectively had grey and violet eyes. Not everyone has the same eyes or hair colours as their parents, Maester Luwin had replied. Some may inherit the colours from a grandparent or great grandparent. Lyarra recalled that her Stark grandmother (and namesake) had blue eyes.
"It's a great match," remarked Lord Bolton. "Houses Bolton and Stark united. A dream I often wanted. Have you set foot in the Dreadfort Lady Lyarra?"
Lyarra shook her head. "I read descriptions of it."
"Mmm. Seeing it for yourself is oft better than reading descriptions of it. When I was a boy, I read and heard about the greatness and beauty of Winterfell. When I first saw Winterfell with mine own eyes, I was so amazed." It was impossible to picture an astonished Lord Bolton. "You will be amazed by the sight of Dreadfort too," continued Lord Bolton. "You may even grow to call it home. After all, you'll be visiting the Dreadfort with Domeric shortly."
"My lord?" Lyarra turned and gave Domeric a puzzled look. He seemed equally confused at the news. Lord Bolton's smile broadened. "Lord Stark agreed that it would be wise for the two of you to spend some time at the Dreadfort," he told them quietly. "You will leave with me in a few days."
"A few days?" Domeric stared at his father, flabbergasted. "Father! That is not enough time to bid farewell and we haven't even packed!"
"Do you not miss your home?"
"Of course I do but…but Winterfell is my home too."
Lord Bolton's smiled turned slightly indulgent. "That is what a child would say, Domeric. You are a young man of seventeen. Someday in the future you'll be the next Lord of the Dreadfort and a lord must know his lands and people. How will you be a successful Lord of the Dreadfort if you remain cosseted here? Lord Stark said you love his sons as if they're your brothers – is that a reason you find it so difficult to come with me to the Dreadfort?"
"Lord Bolton," said Lyarra carefully. "Perhaps a few days is a little hasty. Why not stay a week at Winterfell and watch Domeric's progress? He is excellent with the sword and what better competition than Jon and Robb?"
The Lord of the Dreadfort nodded thoughtfully. "I'll speak to Lord Stark, Lady Lyarra," he said even softer than before. "You will indeed be a welcome sight at the Dreadfort my lady." He nodded at his son and returned to his seat between Lyarra's father and Robb.
"If he frightens you, I do not blame you," murmured Domeric. "I cannot believe Lord Stark did not tell us about this…"
"Maybe Father had other matters on his mind?" Lyarra suggested. "With my mother away in Dorne, it must be stressful for him. Mother usually took care of the household matters, leaving Father to deal with Northern politics or stuff like that. I hope Mother returns soon." She sighed wistfully. She missed her mother's company and reining in Arya was more difficult without her help, even with Arya apparently on her best behaviour for some strange reason.
Domeric nodded. "Maybe. I am intrigued to return to the Dreadfort, but I don't want to leave Winterfell either."
"You must. The Dreadfort is your home. It'll be our home soon."
"You still have not uh, flowered yet. Maybe it would be better if you remain at Winterfell and I leave for the Dreadfort. Most daughters stay at home until they are married off. We've just been betrothed and it wouldn't be appropriate if we both leave for the Dreadfort."
"I could be your father's ward."
"No. After my mother died, there aren't many women in the Dreadfort and I'll not leave you in the company of men."
"You will remember me wouldn't you?"
Domeric rolled his eyes. "Of course I won't forget you. I'll never forget you. In the Dreadfort I'll think about you every day. You know that. Here, eat some duck or meat. Be merry. This is our betrothal feast after all."
Lyarra nodded. As she chewed a piece of meat, she watched Arya play around with the food on her plate. After the sewing session, she had reluctantly changed into another more embroidered dress for the feast. She even allowed Daenerys to change her hairstyle. Curious, thought Lyarra. Did Father threaten to send her to the silent sisters if her behaviour does not approve? It was highly unlikely but one of many reasons to possibly explain Arya's odd behaviour.
"Have you noticed something odd about Arya?" she asked Domeric. He gave a quick glance at the silent Arya and frowned. "Arya is missing a good opportunity to have revenge on Jeyne Poole." Lyarra arched an eyebrow. "There is a bowl of peas in front of Arya," Domeric explained. "If she was in her right mind, she'd be flicking peas at Jeyne would she not? I distinctly remember her doing so in a few feasts." He paused. "I think she flicked a pea at you once too."
Lyarra laughed. "You remember that?"
"How could I not? You were in that new purple dress your mother gave you as a name day gift and Arya flicked peas at you. You seethed about it to me but kept calm during the feast. Afterwards, you went into Arya's room and stole the little wooden sword she was so fond of and threatened to burn it in your hearth unless she would spend an afternoon sewing with you and the other girls after you did her hair and dressed her up like you did to your dolls."
"That was at least two years ago! I haven't played with my dolls in years! I've given them to Gwenysse already." Her eyes sparkled. "You should've seen Septa Mordane's suspicious stare when she saw a well-dressed and cooperative Arya in the schoolroom! Mother was so pleased though." She frowned slightly. "Now I think of it, why do you think Arya went through all that when she could have just allowed me to burn her old wooden sword and ask for another one?"
"Have you ever formed an attachment with…something?"
Lyarra thought about it for a good minute. "Not particularly. When I was little, I think I had a favourite doll once."
"Not anymore?"
"No. I grew out of dolls quite quickly."
"Some of us like Arya and myself grow attached to certain weapons which will become our favourite weapon soon enough. Mine is the sword my father sent me as a name day gift. As Arya's a girl, a little wooden sword is one of a few weapons she can actually get her hands on. Who knows? It might have been her favourite wooden sword at the time. It might have the perfect balance for her or maybe it is the right size…a new one wouldn't replace it."
"Oh." Lyarra felt a sense of relief that she hadn't used Arya's wooden sword as kindling. I wouldn't have done so anyway, she thought as she tasted mushroom soup. I'm not cruel enough to burn or destroy anything. "Your father did not send you many name day gifts," she noted.
Domeric shrugged. "I did not expect him to. When I was in the library, I read a book about Bolton traditions. Apparently it was more common for a Bolton lord's sons to give him gifts rather than the lord bestowing gifts upon his sons on their name days. Before the Boltons swore fealty to the Starks, Bolton sons would oft give their fathers gifts of cloaks made of the skins flayed from their enemies." He shuddered slightly. "A gift I will never give my father."
"Do Bolton brides receive cloaks of flayed men too?" Her betrothed gave her a dark look. "Do you want one?" he said dryly.
Lyarra returned to her meal but found no appetite to eat anymore. "You lord father is looking at us," she murmured, catching a glimpse of Lord Bolton's cold and icy stare. "What do we do?"
"Do you want to dance?"
"Why not?" If it helps avoid looking at your father, she wanted to add. The two rose and went to the dance floor. Her dark grey skirts embroidered with swirls of white swished around her as Domeric led her into a dance. Noticing them on the dance floor, the musicians struck up a more cheerful tune. Like a slow tide, more couples joined them. Robb led Lady Wylla Manderly in for a dance, her hair dyed a garnish green and tied in a long braid; the skinny blue-grey eyed Alys Karstark escorted to the dance floor by her laughing betrothed Daryn Hornwood, the heir to the Hornwood; lanky Dacey Mormont danced gracefully with Brandon Norrey the Younger of Clan Norrey, garbed in a simple yet elegant woollen green gown; Theon danced with Wylla's elder sister Wynafryd; one of the Greatjon Umber's daughters danced with a Ryswell of the Rills; and what made Lyarra smile was when she caught a glimpse of Jon dancing with Arya.
"By the gods," said Domeric softly, his eyes widening with shock, "my father is actually dancing…with Lady Dustin." Lyarra almost missed a step in her haste to crane her neck to catch sight of the frosty Lord of the Dreadfort dancing with the widowed Lady Dustin.
With a sigh, Domeric spun her around to give her a better view. Lyarra stifled a laugh. Witnessing the spectacle of Lord Bolton dancing was a treat indeed, and with his former good-sister no less!
"My aunt Barbrey sends me letters every week," Domeric informed her. "She lamented that if Lord Stark didn't snatch me away from the Dreadfort at a young age, I would've paged for her. From the few times I see her, she said I remind her of my mother, her sister." He quietened. "My lord father didn't tell me about my mother's death or even her illness until a week later. I wished I was there at her funeral…but the raven arrived too late."
"We will put flowers at her grave once we both go to the Dreadfort," Lyarra assured her. "Once we marry and if I ever give birth to a daughter, we'll name her Bethany, after your mother. I wish I had met her."
"You would've liked her. She probably would've liked you too." The musicians played their final chord and Domeric bowed slightly. Before he could say another word, Robb appeared at his side. "Domeric," he said cheerfully. "May I dance with my sister on this joyous occasion?"
"Of course." Domeric smiled at Lyarra. "I'll leave you in the safe hands of your brother then." Arya ran up to them and tugged Domeric's tunic. "Dance with me," she said promptly. "You'll be my good-brother after all."
Lyarra frowned. "Arya-" She was interrupted as the musicians began the next song. Robb hummed softly as he danced with her. "This was your favourite song once," he remarked as he spun her. "Are you happy with Domeric as your future husband? You'll be married to him forever."
"I'm more than satisfied."
Robb laughed. "Then again, what do you know of marriage? You are still a girl of eleven! I cannot imagine you the formidable Lady of the Dreadfort!"
Lyarra said indignantly. "Well I can't picture you as the Lord of Winterfell any time soon! After all, you are just a boy of fourteen."
"I'm almost a man, Lyarra."
"And I'm almost a woman."
"Oh really? Are you ready to bear Domeric little Bolton babies once you wed?" Even though Robb was only teasing, Lyarra felt her cheeks grow hot. Robb gave her a knowing smirk.
"What about you?" said Lyarra testily. "Will you go around fathering bastards to prove you are a man?"
"Of course not!" exclaimed Robb. "There are enough Snows here in the North. Besides, I'm not Theon."
Genuinely curious, Lyarra asked, "Has Theon fathered any bastards yet?"
"You'd think he would've after boasting all morning about um, his…it doesn't matter what he was boasting about, but I'd expected maids to go up to our father, telling him about their newfound pregnancies. Apparently prostitutes and other women of their profession know a way to-" He broke off. "I shouldn't have said that. Father will have my head."
"I did ask."
"If I had sense, I wouldn't have answered your question. There's answers that highborn ladies such as yourself shouldn't need to hear or know." He lowered his voice. "Do you want to help Dany?"
"Of course I do," said Lyarra, giving him a suspicious look. "I consider Dany my sister so of course I am willing to help." A thought crossed her mind. "Did Theon impregnate her?" she demanded.
"What?" Robb seemed taken back. "No! I hope not! If he did, he'll regret it! No! Dany kept hearing creaking outside her rooms."
"Is that it? Surely Dany knows Winterfell is an old castle."
"Jon thought of a plan to help Dany out. He believes that there is someone – or something – after her. He told Arya about it and she's quite enthusiastic at the ah, prospect of catching a 'ghost'. I think Arya is more delighted that she finally gets a chance of stabbing someone with a wooden sword." He laughed. "Unless Jon or I beat her in the process of it!"
"Do Theon, Domeric and Daenerys herself know if this plan?"
"Arya and Jon are informing them. See?" He nodded at Arya and Domeric who were dancing slightly apart from the rest of them. "Jon's talking to Theon about it over there." Another nod at one of the more vacant trestle tables where Jon Snow was talking quietly to the Greyjoy heir. "He told Dany about it first of course. She is well in favour of it."
"Who – or what – do you think is frightening Daenerys?"
Robb shrugged. "Could be anything. Might even be Theon."
"If it's Theon, would it be wise telling him Jon's plans? Why in the gods would Theon spy and scare Daenerys? Even in his thick head he should know he would be in huge trouble for playing tricks on our cousin."
"I can't imagine any of the servants spying on Dany either."
"Indeed…what exactly is Jon's plan?"
"Staking out Daenerys's room and catching someone or something I suppose. Jon and Dany both thought it would be better to inform you than leave you out as it would be unfair. Don't worry, we're not doing anything tonight. If Dany tells us she hears creaking again, we'll launch Jon's plan tomorrow night. I guess we have the advantage of knowing Winterfell well and there's always that corner close to Dany's room too." He slowed down as the song drifted near the end. "I doubt you are interested in strategy."
Lyarra crossed her arms as the song finished. "Who do you think I am?" she said angrily. "Jeyne Poole? Beth Cassel? Melia Tully? I watched you, Domeric, Jon and Theon play games of strategy since I was old enough to understand the true educational purposes behind come-into-my-castle."
"What use is hearing strategy when you wouldn't be participating?"
"Why not? Arya will be."
"Arya knows how to prick a man with a wooden sword."
Lyarra huffed. Why was it that all the men in Winterfell assumed she was like a southron rose with a fear of sharp weapons? By the old gods and new, she had Dornish blood running through her veins as well as Stark blood. She was no shy, simpering maiden all the southron lords believed her to be! She almost laughed when the queen said to her, "You lord father and lady mother must be proud to have such a beautiful and accomplished daughter like you. So well-behaved and such a lady. You will do well at King's Landing." Lyarra wondered how the lords and ladies of the south would react to the daughter of Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Ashara Dayne of Starfall as a lady of the court.
"I will keep Dany company then," she said decidedly. "I may not be quick with the sword like Arya, but I will not hide and abandon Daenerys. By all means, you keep a look out for this person and I will stay with Dany in her chambers. I hope you didn't plan on leaving her in her rooms alone now did you?"
"Well…we might not have thought it through," Robb admitted sheepishly. "Jon hadn't mentioned anything about it I think…"
Lyarra rolled her eyes. "Of course. You and Jon plot strategy yet when it comes to Dany's comfort you had not thought of it."
"We…" blustered Robb. "We…"
"Go and dance with Daenerys already," said Lyarra, ignoring his stuttering. "I haven't seen you dance with her yet. Go and comfort her. There's no good in me comforting her when it's you and Jon planning to help her." She caught a glimpse of Cley Cerwyn, Lord Cerwyn's heir, heading towards her. Cley had often visited Winterfell for an occasional training session with the boys as his family seat was only a half day's ride from Winterfell. He was courteous to Lyarra and had even played once or twice with Bran.
"It seems I will be dancing all night," Lyarra laughed. "Go, Robb. If you're still thinking of persuading me to stay away from Jon's plans, forget it. You know I'll not back away so easily."
"Robb." Cley approached them and nodded at Robb who grinned back at him instantly. "Good to see you again."
"Indeed! I believe you owe me a rematch from last time's sparring session! If Ser Rodrik had not stopped us, I would have won!"
Cley chuckled boisterously. "Oh don't be so sure, Robb! I'm looking forward to defeating you tomorrow afternoon!" He smiled at Lyarra. "My lady Lyarra, I offer you my congratulations of your betrothal on behalf of my house. Will you honour me with a dance, my lady?"
"Of course." Lyarra flashed him a gracious smile. As Cley led her into the next dance, Lyarra hissed at Robb. "Go and dance with Daenerys or make Jon go and dance with her! Now!" She turned and beamed at Cley Cerwyn again as if she had not snapped at her brother a mere moment ago. As she spun and danced with the heir of Cerwyn, her eyes met Domeric's. Her smile broadened and he grinned at her. The gods have favoured me, Lyarra thought happily. I have lived alongside my betrothed since my birth; never have I met a man kinder than Domeric. Life is good. What can possibly go wrong?
Robb is protective of his sisters (more so with Lyarra than Arya) but unlike canon Sansa, I can imagine Lyarra (portrayed by Katie McGrath's Morgana in BBC Merlin) with a knife or some sort of weapon. I am currently writing my first Arya chapter :)
