A/N: As a reminder for my long-time readers: I changed the title of the story to 'Lyarra' from 'Bastard in the Cradle' (the first arc). This is the beginning of the Beastling arc. This will be roughly about 18 chapters. This story has been spinning in my head for over a year and is self-indulgent. Let me know your feelings with a review!

*one gold dragon is worth about 1,000 dollars, USD.

THE BEASTLING ARC

CHAPTER NINE

There were celebrations and ceremonies in Winterfell. They mourned the late Stark, her grandfather Rickard; her uncle Brandon; and her aunt Lyanna. They wore black for nine days. Then vivid colors came out to commemorate the end of the war: for winning it; for Eddard's marriage; and his son and heir Robb, a sweet buttercup of a redhead boy.

Camille watched all the people in their bright, warm clothes, the mummers with their flips and the general cheer. People flooded into the great hall where musicians played, and the tables had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. Above them, sat her father stoic and leaning to his right to her uncle Benjen, just a boy, darker-haired and blued eyed; and their uncle, a man great and tall and born a Stark, who was grey and old. To his left, was Catelyn, smiling, and looking to her ladies in the latest riverine fashions and giggling. Camille drooled at the sight of the food. The auroch joints, the beef and barley stew. The mutton chops, the turnips. Mussels, clams, salmon, lobster, lamprey. Pease and beets, beans and squash. Huge eye-watering cooked onions. It went on and all and made her feel as if she was starving.

Camille, a bastard, could not attend the festivities. She was imprisoned in her nursery: Eddard was so afraid that she would get hurt again that Camille hadn't attended one feast since the incident at the Neck, being fed bone broths, and still not moved up to real food again, which she reminded was too rich. So Camille watched high in the great keep as people rung bells, ate food out in light snow, as they sang and sang and sang. She could hear the music, the noise of life. It was all a great pain. Camille wanted to see their clothes, and eat the food herself, not through the begging dogs in the great hall, and the horses in the stable, or even the rats. It was hard to see anything other than the dirty hems of dresses and the bottom of shoes.

Camille didn't want to be mean—while Robb was kept far away, she loved playing with Jon, and he was sweet as could be. His dark hair and eyes, and all his baby squeals, she had to be pulled away from kissing the baby's little cheeks ("No, No, Lya," Jon would cry), and trying to pick him up ("You're not much bigger, my lady" all the women insisted). She would play with him in their solar for a few hours, but she couldn't play with him all day, and her cousins were, well, little too. They would play dolls and listen to stories, and they were with her during her lessons, but they needed naps. Camille didn't.

But soon, she was not the only one in pain. After the mourning, celebrations and feasting her father had dismissed all of Catelyn's household. Every man, woman, child, and even horses were ordered to make their way back to the Riverlands. For days Catelyn tried to bend her father- first with consideration, to have him negotiate with her father, to think of matches, and then finally she asked in resignation, to keep at least some of her ladies. Her father had turned her away coldly each time.

It had been bitter for her, and her people, especially as they watched Camille's people settle into their apartments in the castle. Camille had heard from maids that Catelyn had inquired with her father why her people would stay. In response, her father had only asked her who in her household spoke the Old Tongue? And that had been the end of that.

Camille had been grateful for the first time that Yadira made her start to learn the language with other women in the camp, and made all her ladies practice even more. Her mother must have scoured for every scholar in their lands for them to know a bit of the language. When the riverine folks had all left, Camille felt satisfaction that she wasn't the only one in feeling discomfort. Misery does love company, after all.

One unnamed nursemaid had come to her solar then as she was held by Ypolita to inspect the crowds below and hardly made a sound except for the door closing again. The people here were rude: they barely made eye contact and spoke so low, she thought she had been going deaf. Looking back outside, Camille had wondered why no one had told Catelyn what would happen and almost felt bad. In consolation, there were the Stark women who ran the castle and were with her near every day. She knew their faces from her slipping into all the pets.

In her spying during her forced naps, she had found several women who ran the place: his lady grandmothers, Lady Marna Locke, Dowager Lady Stark, who has equally grey and dark brown hair, and grey-blue eyes; and Lady Arya, his maternal grandmother, who looked a great deal like her father; his great grandmother, Lady Melantha, the previous Lady Dowager, who was 76 with milky eyes and grey hair; and Lady Berena, who was the only one who was born a Stark and stayed that way she was just as grey and old as Melantha, but she gave her a frightening feeling, so she stayed away when she wanted to watch.

They were the guardians of the Pup's Den, the nursery, and they had determined that no one outside their nursery staff saw them. Even themselves. And it was they who ruled the place, while her father and her uncle Benjen (who she had also not seen yet in person) did who knows what. Her father was usually shut away in his solar, her uncle with him, or at prayer. He only visited her before bed.

Camille felt she would pray if it meant getting out of the nursery. But all anyone could say was that they worried about her thriving here in the cold of the North. Whatever that meant.

Laid down for her morning nap, Camille had followed after her Aunt Yadira, tailed closely by Odall. She had walked down several high vaulted ceiling halls, granite floors, all with large windows, with tapestries of battles and even some births; wolves featured prominently everywhere on the walls even ice fairies, too. Camille frantically sought eyes for the room- Zimizirri was not allowed in the room, nor was Odall. She had fluttered into some faraway birds and hurried back as quickly as possible. Yadira had long been in talks with the women of the castle, and whatever they called her for, it always had to do with Camille.

Yadira was in the Women's Solar now, with just Marna, still young looking for a woman in her fifties; Melantha, all grey haired with dark eyes circled by a ring of blue; and Catelyn. Catelyn sat on a higher chair with cloth of silver embroidered all over with wolves, and Marna and Melantha sat only a bit lower in their chairs covered with the cloth. Yadira had made her polite greetings: first to Catelyn, then Melantha and then Marna. It was in Old Tongue, and Camille could see Melantha's head turn to her as she spoke. She had forbidden any language but their language, and Common, unless needed in the castle. Everyone including Camille knew it meant: no Dornish was never to be spoken.

Yadira was given a stool and needles for the end of the tapestry then made to help on the opposite side they worked on: they had the sky, and she the dirt, to embroider. It was a large art piece, and they worked quietly until Marna ended the silence with a sigh.

"A typical nursery," the Lady Marna had said, "are small for infants, even when they are Camille's age and building their reason. We do not overstaff households in the North." Catelyn and Yadira only gave polite nods.

"They do not need many servants now," Melantha had warned, "But there will be no light households when Robb is breeched," Catelyn steeled her face as she embroidered in silence. "It is the Stark's will that all his babes share one nursery. It is wasteful to have many households, with their lives so fragile."

"Yes, my lady," Yadira had intoned. Catelyn raised above Yadira, but facing Marna, merely nodded, still silent, but flushed.

"Lord Stark has put great thought into the nursery. For personal servants, young Lord Robb, and Jon, both being only one shall have one nurse, a gentlewoman, four rockers, a chamberer, and their laundress. The Lady Lyarra, at three," —Catelyn had stiffened at those words— "Is entitled to two gentlewomen, a chamberer, a laundress, and to control her curious nature, three maids of honor as her companions."

"Will you send the list of those considered for the positions?" Catelyn answered. Her words in the Old Tongue were slow and as unsure as Camille's when reading.

"Things have been overwhelming for you, my sweet daughter," Melantha said, "So we have already received approval from Eddard on the staff."

There was a moment of silence at that, just needles moving and then Camille tweeted a laugh. She hopped to a quieter corner, lower in the room, as they continued began to look for her for a moment. The older stark women, these she-wolves, did not like Lady Stark. Almost as much as Catelyn didn't like her.

"For Lord Robb, Lady Robyn will be his nurse," Marna smiled. "Robyn is a Stark by blood, Artos' granddaughter, and Brandon's eleventh daughter. She is married to Dominic Waterman, my grandson's groom," Catelyn nodded at that, smiling. Marna continued. "Her babe Isla is soon upon her reasoning, and is happy to feed the young lord."

Yadira was stoic at the news. Camille wanted to laugh again. Of course, her brother's nurse was a cousin from Brandon. Her great-great-uncle Brandon was prolific, horrifically with the same woman. Camille did not know how her aunt, a Karstark, stood up straight. They put their children in whatever position they could and stuck to her father like glue after meeting at Moat Cailin. She never knew any of this until she had gotten into Winterfell because she slept so much during the trip.

"For his gentlewoman, Gellis Kerr. She was one of my young maids and has recently married. You will have no trouble with her. Her father is the master of keeps along Widow's Peak cliffs. She is married to a cousin of hers, another Kerr, one of Ned's grooms as well."

"You are generous in your recommendation, Lady Marna." Catelyn intoned, and with a nod, Marna continued.

"His four rockers would be Laude Duff, Ysende Fraser, Thebe Holme, and Finnola Cance. All good gentle families I know personally for good service." Catelyn nodded, still flushed, concentrating on her work.

"Robyn will earn twelve dragons a quarter. Lady Kerr is to be paid ten dragons a quarter, with his four rockers at eight, his chamberer at six, and the laundress at four." Marna then turned to Yadira. Melantha watched them all coolly.

"Ned has given strict instructions to the order of his …natural daughter's household. He wishes to keep most staff with her. Her two gentlewomen are to be the Lady Ernatta Campana and Lady Ceridwyn Flint. They will both be paid twelve dragons a quarter. Lady Ceridwyn is kin through the late Lady Stark. You'll have no problems with her. She served my daughter-by-law and granddaughter. She is well versed in the rules of this kingdom and house, and will guide the girl in her comportment." Yadira gave her thanks.

"The Mistress Ypolita Costa will remain the chamberer, and the woman Aba will remain the laundress. They will all keep their pay, the same as Robb's women; for her maids of honor, Aurelia Dayne, Theryse Campana, and Arecel Norrey, the Lady Ceridwyn's daughter, will be her companions. They will be given an allowance of five dragons a quarter.

"Now, for the boy," Marna sighed.

"He will have the woman Godith as his laundress, paid two dragons a quarter, his chamberer at three dragons, his rockers at three dragons." Camille winced at that. They were going to be paid half of what Robb and her ladies got. Catelyn only pressed her lip in a line. "His nurse Wylla will receive twelve dragons a quarter. His gentlewoman to receive forty dragons a quarter."

"Forty? For the boy's handmaid?"

Catelyn seemed in shock. Marna was stone-faced. "Lord Stark believes that Lady Yadira is worth every piece of gold." Camille was shocked at that.

Yadira must have as well because she seemed momentarily frozen.

"I am to be the woman for Jon?"

"You question the Stark's word?" Melantha countered quickly. Yadira steeled herself at the question in Marna's tone. "I do not."

"He says you are good with children and trusts your judgment in the care of him." Yadira gave a nod. "As my lord wishes." Marna gave a wan smile, holding a searching stare at Yadira for a moment. "You may keep your staff as it is, Lady Yadira. Your three handmaids may keep their maids as well, and your apartment will have two adjacent rooms- one for your three maids, the other for your septa and her maid. Your groom of chamber and wardrobe, the three horse grooms, and laundress will also stay."

Camille felt embarrassed as Catelyn and Melantha stared at her in an accusing way. Yadira only sat in the silence of her needle now.

"For the rest of the staff, much of Lyarra's people will stay. Eddard has confidence in their ability to adapt to our court." Catelyn seemed breathless, her face open in alarm.

"By the will of the Stark," Marna's tone rose, "The head of the household shall be Serena Flint, his great aunt. She comes south now with Lady Ceridwyn and their kin. They should arrive later in the day, according to the clans in the Wolfswood. The Chamberlin shall be Brandon Stark— Benjen the Elder's son. Lady Essine will be the Vice-Chamberlain. Her husband, Ser Guillen, will be the treasurer, with Master Egan Kinley as vice treasurer."

Marna's words went on, and on and Yadira said stoic as ever, and Catelyn became a brighter shade of red as names were called, and her household became the majority of the nursery staff: The cofferer would be Ilduara; the clerk of the wardrobe, Muniadona; three grooms of the chamber, one would be hers, Nicol; Ladron one of the four ushers; Felix and Afonso, Essine and Ernatta's sons, two pages of the three; her five grooms, Asnar, Ineso, Daemon, Arthur, and Zaite, would join the household, along with five northmen; and her two footmen, Cristoval and Gascon would join with two northmen. Camille would, however, keep her kitchen staff of a cook, her husband and a scullion along with Paolo, her server. By the time Marna had mentioned that her twenty-five guards would join the general strength of the castle, Catelyn had gone pink to magenta to red and then purple; in the end though, she ended white as snow, in some form of a withering defeat. They would make nearly half of the household.

"This is only temporary," Marna ended breathlessly to the quiet that greeted her. "Once Robb has brothers and sisters in the nursery, the staff will need to grow, and he will soon be breeched, and have a household of his own."

Catelyn had only nodded absently at the reminder, seeming far away, while Yadira had kept her eyes on her needle. Camille had seen enough here and had gone back to her own body in Ernatta's arms.

Eddard had called for Camille and she had spent the last hour trying to wake her.

In her bedchamber, the prettiness of her selected linens and blankets and hangings overcome by the heaviness needed in the weather here, even in the summer. After her time in the bog, her ladies became more and more worried about her, and her deep sleep. As if she would die while in their arms. Camille shuddered to think where she would end up if she died again.

Between Ernatta and Ypolita, they dressed her in a thick linen shift, with a fine, warm wool undergrown of green, and a brocade overdress in red, edged in brown fox fur at the collar and sleeves. Over that, a grey mantle pinned with silver, with matching jewelry on her head and ears. They then gave Camille a calming tea and marched to her father's solar. He had wanted to speak to her, and she knew it must be a new doll. She had asked for one, a sennight ago.

When she enters the room, she hears the ruckus that had gone on had quieted. Inside Eddard's solar was a long and great table, made of fine sturdy polished wood, books lining the walls competing with tapestries of wolves. His desk sat to the back, filled with papers and instruments to hold them down, with quills and ink and parchment. It still shocked Camille to see that, instead of pens and laptops and coffee. With the look of the lords at the table, she needed it.

There at the great table sat the most powerful lords in her father's kingdom, as they began to shuffle out. Lord Umber, a giant as his emblem said, the Lord Karstark, his beard and hair long; Lord Hornwood, all smiles, Lord Manderly, quite a large man; Lord Ryswell, his arm tied to his body; a woman, Lady Dustin, she believed; and others that bored her to recount. They all wore great silks and jewels, but were worn in the face and bruised, or red-eyed. Camille strolled to her father as their eyes all took her in for a moment, as the last of them rose to leave, all giving stares until she gave her curtsey, a pretty thing now, according to Yadira.

"Daddy," she said in her childish voice, coming to Eddard's knees. "Where is my doll?"

Lord Manderly gave a bark of laughter at her then, Lord Stark's bonnie wee lass.