Winterfell

Lysara Stark

"Jory!" Lysara breathed, her voice quiet as her breath hitched.

Jory Cassel didn't say anything but instead responded by threading his fingers through her untamed hair, that had come undone from its knot and continued to place a hard kiss to her lips as he tugged at her hair. He released a small pant and pulled away from her with a small smile on his lips, pressing his forehead against her own.

His hands trailed down further before they clutched at her waist, pressing her back against the tree. Lysara eyed him and knew it was getting dangerous. She had wanted the dark haired man as nothing more than a discreet lover but she could see it, the emotion she very feared shining in his eyes, as their eyes held a long stare. Love.

It had started out innocent at first, at ten and four, it was mere brushes of the hand and gentle caresses but it turned to something different shortly after her ten and fifth name day. Her grey eyes flickered to his lips and tugged at them as he laughed breathlessly. Her hand had found the back of his neck and she gripped it, pressing his sweat ridden forehead further to her own.

Lysara often recalled how it started; it was when she had ventured to Wintertown, she had rocks thrown at her by the children there, who claimed she was some sort of fire demon and a witch.A monster, they had said. Lysara had fled to the woods, she had never felt such a feeling of loneliness than she did then. It overwhelmed and consumed her when he found her in the woods, blood dripping from the wound on her forehead. He took care of her. And that is when it began.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Lysara murmured against his lips.

"Anything," Jory stated, as he leant over and buried his face into her neck, placing a kiss where her jaw and neck joined. "Name it. And I will do it."

"Arya wishes to take up sword lessons," She began while thinking back to her promise, as she placed her hand on his shoulder and placed her lips to his ear. "It would please me if you would help teach her somehow."

Lysara and Jory's meetings were secret. They meet in the depths of the woods, where the trees covered the skies and the darkness covered their bodies. They both held a love for the Northern woods.

Lysara practises her religion, singing for the dawn to always come back to them and Jory, he liked to practice his swordplay alone in the woods away from prying eyes and ears. With their meetings, they began to talk and with talking, it led to something more intimate.

"If your Lord father knew we have been sneaking out here for years-He and my father would put my head on a pike," Jory admitted with a light chuckle, as he straightened himself up while she slipped the sleeves of her dress back on. A grin formed on his face while he picked up his sword from the frozen earth and placed it back in its holster. Lysara placed her hands on his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his chest and smiled coyly, lifting a brow.

"If you think my Lord father would take your lovely head just for us meeting alone, imagine what he would do to you if he knew that you took my maidenhead," Lysara said slyly, her lips twitching into a smirk before she released her hold on him. His face curled up in disdain for a moment at the thought of it and swallowed hard.

"You will protect my siblings and Lord father in King's Landing, won't you?" She asked once more, leaning her head back against the tree. His eyes remained on her breasts and he nodded slowly before his eyes darted to her own and he placed a gloved hand on her face, brushing her cheek softly with his thumb and a fond look became present in his eyes as he stared at her.

"Of course, I will milady." He confirmed before they made their way back to the yard.

The Great Hall of Winterfell smelt heavily of roasted meat, baked bread and wine. And Lysara had found herself looking on in disdain, as the grey stone walls that were normally draped with the direwolf became an array of clashing colours because of the King's arrival.

The fierce direwolf of Stark, the crowned Baratheon stag and the proud lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the harp gently, reciting no doubt some sort of love ballad but she could scarcely hear him over the roar of the drunken conversations.

Lysara was drinking like a tavern drunkard, as she had already consumed a goblet of wine before arriving in the hall before consuming two more on her arrival. Lysara was now moving onto her fourth goblet but that was when she began to feel daring enough to survey the rest of the hall from the shadows, as she stood against a stone pillar.

Queen Cersei Lannister was the grandest of them all, as beautiful as the songs preached but unfortunately for the Lannister woman who valued her looks above all, her beauty would soon fade as drink consumed her. Her red jewelled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair and her face was forced into a strained and false smile, causing Lysara to bristle slightly. Her neck is rather long, Lysara thinks to herself. Soon enough many would gladly wrap their hands around her throat and choke the life from her.

Though, it was King Robert Baratheon who was the greatest disappointment. The once fierce and unfazed demon of the Trident was now nothing more than a great, fat man with a red and purple face under his massive beard. The stag King was sweating through his grand silks, his clothing bursting at the seams and she wouldn't be surprised if his clothing did burst.

"I wonder if he knows how awful he looks," A deep voice came from behind her, causing her to look over her shoulder at the small man. "I mean, he must realise he has gotten wide as he is tall. He must."

Tyrion Lannister, Lysara remarked to herself as the youngest son of Lord Tywin Lannister stood next to her, causing her eyebrow to raise as a small smirk slowly made its way onto her face. She leant back against the stone pillar that was draped in grey and black, tracing her finger along the rim of her goblet with a pointed finger before she took a sip of purple coloured and sweet wine.

"Sadness has long since consumed him," Lysara commented as she gazed down at the small man, who didn't even come up to her hips, though she supposed that was mostly due to the fact she was taller than most. Her eyes landed on Robert Baratheon, as he took a nearby wench who held a plate of food and grabbed her arse. "I happen to like his belly, makes him jolly looking despite the demons that surround him."

"I imagine he will like you as well." Lord Tyrion remarked, his mismatched eyes trained on her.

"And what does that mean?" Lysara inquired, her eyebrow lifting slightly as her eyes averted back to Tyrion and then to the King once more.

"You look quite like your aunt, Lady Lyanna. It is not any news to anyone. You have your father's eyes too, a different shade of grey thought, a dark kind. It's rather chilling. Though, I imagine the great King Robert could easily overlook your eyes and the fact that you are a worshipper of a God who likes to burn his enemies. Why couldn't you have picked a nicer God? I mean, all the Gods want something or other. Where is the God who just lets us indulge without consequence?" Tyrion asked with wonder. "No disrespect to you, of course, Lady Lysara. You will come to find us dwarfs have no tact. I think I have won my right to dress as bad as I want, to drink without care and to say anything that comes to mind. All I mean by that is...you're just as recognisable as I am."

Lyanna.

Lysara looked down at him with hidden curiosity. Lady Lyanna was her aunt and had died at the young age of ten and six. Her Lord father had loved his sister with all his heart and she could see it on his face and in his pained eyes that sometimes he doesn't see her, but sees Lyanna in her place.

Robert Baratheon had loved the she-wolf Lyanna even more than her father ever could, Lyanna was to be his bride but the dragon fell for the wolf and thus started the song of ice and fire, thus started the series of events that would ruin the beautiful yet deadly world they lived in. And Lysara knew that Cersei Lannister would never be able to fill the darkened hole in Robert's heart that Lyanna had left after her death.

"I know of you as well," Lysara mused. "Little lion."

"And pray tell, what do you know of me?" Tyrion asked, his eyebrows raised.

"You have loved and lost too." Lysara began, peering at the man, so closely, that she could almost see into his very soul and wondered how he felt, as he shifted slightly on his feet. Lysara reached down and gripped his chin softly, lifting his head up, so that their eyes could fully meet. "You will sink deeper into danger every day. I know of that. You will fall, Lord Tyrion and you will fall hard. We will one day meet again. Be mindful until the time comes when we meet again for what a life you will lead. You will be larger than any man with shadow you cast, you will be and feel taller than any King or Knight. All good things come to those with large shadows and all will fall into place when you discover your shadow. You need no sword, as your sword is your tongue and your shield is in your mind."

"Hmm. Really?" Tyrion murmured, his eyes squinting at her. "You appear to be feeling better. What was ailing you, may I ask?"

"Pardon?"

"Your mother informed us the cause of your absence was due to illness." Lord Tyrion informed her, causing a scoff to escape her lips.

"Ah...I suppose that I may be coming down with something as of late." She replied, her tone curt and smooth.

"Those symptoms may be caused by the wine that you are inhaling." Tyrion retorted, with a smirk.

"Perhaps..." Lysara trailed off, looking on at him in admiration. "I think more wine will help. If you will join me?"

"I like your thinking," Tyrion remarked and chuckling slightly.

"And I you," Lysara said.

Lysara gifted Lord Tyrion a slanted smile, reaching down and clinked her goblet against his own. Although his last name made her wince, thinking on what was to come, she rather liked this man and his incredible wit and humour. Lysara downed her wine within two mouthfuls, a smile still playing on her face as she called over the boy that was holding a jug of wine.

Eddard Stark

Ned had remained quiet, saying little to nothing throughout the feast and looked over the hall with hooded eyes, before his eyes and face softened when he saw his younger children, almost asleep at the table.

It took his mind away from his old friend, Robert, who had been drinking heavily all night. He found himself often staring at his friend, who was like a brother to him and wondered what had become of the powerful man he once knew and called 'friend' and 'brother'.

Robert's great face was reddening even further as he grew more drunk as the night went on and with every toast, he made a crude jest and laughed loudly while he did so. He had attacked each dish that was served to him like a wild animal. Though beside him, Ned grew even more uncomfortable as the Queen Cersei Lannister looked on at the King with eyes cold as the Northern lands he resided in, her lips pursed in disdain before she turned her head away with a loud and noticeable scoff, to look on at her own children.

"Ned, Lysara has decided to join the feast." His wife said, placing her hand over his. "She looks well."

Eddard's face fell once more as he followed his wife's gaze before his eyes landed on his eldest daughter. His daughter looked out of place, adorned in her red clothing and hiding behind a pillar in the shadows, intensely staring at everything and everyone, as she downed what appeared to be her third or fourth goblet of wine.

Lysara's dark hair fell over her shoulders, glistening in the dull candlelight above her. Suddenly something had caught her eye, causing him to follow her line of vision. Bran and Arya were beginning to shoot pea pods at Sansa, which led to a dramatic outburst from her.

His eldest and first born son Robb was laughing hard, his face reddening from lack of air as tears streamed from his face. He gripped both his stomach and his youngest son, Rickon, who sat howling and squirming in Robb's lap from laughter. Though Ned's smile did not last for long and fell when he felt a pair of eyes on him, he looked to Lysara and saw that she was looking over at them and was conversing with Lord Tyrion Lannister.

His daughter always appeared when trouble was stirring, it had always been that way since her birth. He looked back to Robert carefully and saw as he swallowed a mouthful of wine, all his laughter leave him when his eyes found Lysara. It looked as if his friend's heart had stopped, his face turning pale as the snow.

He does not see my daughter, he sees a ghost. I won't allow any more ghosts in these halls. His daughter adorned in her usual crimson garb had noticed the King staring at her and raised her goblet towards him in respect, her eyes holding mystery before she averted her eyes back to Tyrion and seemed to respond to whatever he told her.

"Who...who is that?" Robert asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Lysara. My eldest daughter. I'm afraid she wasn't able to attend the meeting your arrival due to illness." Lord Eddard worded carefully, suddenly finding fascination with the candlelight, to avoid any sort of eye contact with his old friend.

"Ned...she's beautiful..." Robert muttered, his voice unusually quiet and wistful causing him to stiffen and dig his blunt nails into the wooden table. "She looks so much like Lyanna...by the Gods! I thought I had forgotten her face..."

"Lysara is not Lyanna, Robert." Ned said firmly, trying to hide any fierceness in his voice. "Lysara is a Tully as she is a Stark. She is my third born child and first born daughter. Lysara was named after her aunt, Lady Lysa."

Eddard's downcast eyes flickered up and he inspected Robert, who was staring at Lysara with such a burning desire and intensity but what made Ned truly fear for his daughter, was the fact that Queen Cersei's green eyes were glaring down at the ghost of Lyanna, that he was sure now haunted the woman in the flesh of his daughter.

The Queen peered at his daughter over her goblet, eyeing her like a predator does its prey and it confirmed everything for him then. He once thought about taking her to King's Landing and if she so wished, he would allow her to take up the religion of R'hllor, properly but that stare given to his daughter was all it took to change his mind.

I cannot take my eldest to King's Landing, Eddard noted fearfully. To do so would end her life.