"I feel terrible for him, he has no admirer in the court. Lord Renly has many ladies waiting to snap him up and he is only doing it because the Queen hates me." Lyanna told her great uncle who was adamant about not letting Lyanna Minor -Yohn Royce liked to call his wife Lyanna Major and his great-niece by marriage Lyanna Minor- give her favor to some hedge knight who just entered his service. "It will give his mother hopes on him finding a wife, nuncle."

Lyanna had been fostered with the Royces to anger Catelyn Stark whose children were never fostered out like it is proper. Domeric was sent to Lord Redfort, a kinsman of Lord Bolton, and Lyanna was sent to her great aunt who had daughters for her to befriend.

Lya had been sent to the Vale when the Iron Born rebelled and stayed there until she flowered. She had loved it there; she remembers how much she cried when she had to say her goodbyes.

"You will give a boy false hope, girl. Your mother and your aunt have placed you in my care and I will not let you fall into a trap of your own making. Lord Renly is a sword swallower and poses no threat to you, Ser Hugh may have blood in his hands." Bronze Yohn countered.

"He says he didn't do it. He said Lady Lysa refused to let him serve Lord Arryn, that she had her handmaidens serve supper that evening. He is afraid of telling what else he saw unless I gain him your protection and that of Lord Stark." Lya tells her uncle in a low voice, even if they were safe here in the Godswood. "My favor is a small price to pay to find whoever poisoned the late Hand."

Lyanna is not allowed to wear the blue dress.

"Are you mad? L, sweetling, change into the cream dress before the wicked witch of the west sees you." Senelle shoved her back behind the dressing screen and took out the dress that had just arrived.

Senelle did not like their mistress but try as she might she could not find a man to marry because Cersei scared them away. Senelle was a Lannett of Lannisport, an offshoot Lannister, well-dowered and still young and beautiful at twenty-five.

Poor Senelle was on the shelf joining Lolys Stokeworth on it.

Lyanna's blue dress was an exact replica of Lyanna Stark's Harrenhal dress, Senelle had seen it all at Winterfell. Sen had even warned her about not angering Cersei again now that she was on her 'good' side again.

"I heard from the scullery maid that the laurel is going to be of blue winter roses, I cannot pass up the opportunity of fucking with her." Lyanna whined but did as she was told anyways.

The cream dress was lovely, with bronze thread embroidery on the bodice and a deep violet kirtle underneath it. But it wasn't the blue Harrenhal dress.

"If it makes you feel better, dear L, she's wearing pinks and reds, which will clash with blue should Ser Jaime win the Tourney." Senelle Lannett winked.

She'd been to tourneys before, some that looked grander than this. But then Lyanna had been allowed to sit and enjoy it with her friends, this time she's stuck playing nursemaid to Sansa and the Steward's daughter.

Her Royce cousins look displeased when they saw Ser Hugh wearing her favor. Its was broad black ribbon with the words of her house embroidered in white and gold thread.

"He has spoken to me, niece, I will be taking Ser Hugh into my household for his safety." Bronze Yohn had said this morning when she broke her fast with them. "Keep an eye on the Queen, do not let her know about your ability."

Lyanna had not needed the warning; the Queen had no reason to suspect that Lyanna was incapable of forgetting. The Queen spent too much time drinking and fucking her brother to do much else.

The children had Septas to raise them, the royal household was run entirely by the housekeeper, the stewards and the Court to need her. Cersei hated ladylike pursuits to the point she was utterly useless at them and would rather die than read a book.

Perhaps if she had some initiative, she might feel compelled to be more than just a lazy cat scheming to get back at the fat drunken bastard married to her.

"I will run him through with my sword if he tries to steal away my cousin, Lance." Robar joked when the King loudly laughed at ugly Hugh had her favor and japed to his wife and squire that the ugly bastard could take the example of Rhaegar and steal her away to the mountains.

"They are all so handsome, if I could I'd marry them all," tittered a newly returned Jeyne Poole said.

"Have you been to many tourneys, Lyanna?" Sansa asked her.

"Many, although none as grand as this one. I was your age when I attended my first tourney at Runestone. It was quite fun, cousin Andar wore my favor because his betrothed was too shy to give him hers." She answered the girl.

"Don't look now, but a there is a man staring at you, Sansa. I mislike the way he looks at you." Jeyne whispered as said man approached them.

Petyr Baelish had not yet been introduced to Lyanna by her fellow handmaidens and been told to keep away from him. He was a thief, a whoremonger and known for forcing his whores into serfdom.

He is obsessed with Catelyn Stark, Robar had confided in her, he loathes Starks, beware of him.

He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. "You have the Tully look. You must be her daughter."

Lyanna saw her mistrust mirrored on the Septa.

"I'm Sansa Stark," she said, ill at ease. The man wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, fastened with a silver mockingbird, and he had the effortless manner of a high lord, but Sansa did not know him. "I have not had the honor, my lord."

"Lady Sansa, this is Lord Baelish of the King's Small Council." Lyanna said, omitting his given name as it was proper.

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly.

"You have her hair." His fingers brushed against the little girl's cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away.

He'd need to be watched, a man like that would hurt a girl in the worst ways possible.

"Lady Lyanna, look it's your beau!" Jeyne jumped up and down like any ten-year-old girl.

Lyanna turned and saw who Hugh was against.

Oh, no.

Hugh was going to die.

The youth fell not ten feet from where they sat. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and that was it. His armor had been shiny new; a bright streak of blood ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light.

His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

Lyanna wondered if Sara Stone would treasure the cloak, she had made her baby boy.

She's never interacted with the Master of Whispers, but the man seems to appear the second she leaves the hall on Cersei's errand.

"How terrible that poor Ser Hugh is dead, rather strange that his first joust was rigged against him." Varys spoke softly and was heralded by intoxicating perfumes that gave her a headache even at several paces away.

"Yes, poor boy died before he could tell Lord Stark anything." Lyanna agreed with the spymaster.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She had been warned against allying herself with the Spider, but desperate times needed desperate measures.

"A good thing he told me."