Chapter Two
Kevan Lannister hadn't any significant interest in the letter until he saw the seal of a snarling direwolf pressed into the wax. Putting aside the most recent reports of fishing expeditions from Lannisport, he used his stylized parchment knife to break open the seal and bring it to his eyes. His older brother had left Casterly Rock only yesterday, muttering recriminations under his breath for ineffective lords and belated correspondence all the while, and he couldn't deny some small measure of curiosity for it all.
The yellow-white parchment revealed a neat letterhead in a sharp writing style lacking excess flourish.
For the Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock,
I bid you and yours glad tidings on this year and express my hopes for your healthy mind and body in the next. This letter is to address a recent soul bond forming between a member of my House, my daughter, Lyarra Snow, and a son of House Lannister. As my daughter has recently reached her fifteenth nameday…
Kevan read on with increasing disbelief as Lord Stark concisely explained the situation in customarily blunt Northern terms. He glossed over any mention of his daughter but emphatically stated, on two separate paragraphs, that he would gladly forego a bride price for leeway in the marriage terms or a bonding delay. It was also implied, however politely, that his daughter was the injured party in this situation, that he did not trust Lord Tywin in regards to her comfort and happiness, and that he, by which Kevan supposed he meant 'the North', would keenly monitor the situation. All of this was concluded by yet another reiteration of his daughter's youth, followed by Lord Stark's offer to open a dialogue between them… byway of ravens.
'Won't Lord Stark be surprised when Tywin starts knocking down the gates of Winterfell then.'
Kevan leaned back and chuckled a little, as he reflected over the message. It was surprising that his older brother had chosen to attend to the meetings himself rather than sending Kevan or one of the others in his place but he supposed it remained Tywin's prerogative. Though the implication remained that the soul mark involved an important Lannister son. It couldn't have been Lancel; Kevan had seen the boy this morning and his wrist was free. Janei and Joy were both girls and while he hadn't seen Tyrek, the boy wouldn't have been able to hide the news for this long. That left either Martyn or Wilhelm… which one of his sons was fated to marry a bastard then?
Neither was available at Casterly Rock for him to check their wrists though they were likely pleased to be in King's Landing and out of the summer heat. Everyone had been sweating under the harsh sun; Tyrion had gone so far to barricade himself in an icy bath with his books for company. It had looked odd then when his other nephew had strode down to breakfast in extended shirtsleeves.
'Shirtsleeves that hid his wrist…'
Kevan shook his head and reread the letter to center himself. No, no he must have been reaching for a conclusion there. It couldn't possibly be so that his Kingslayer nephew, Tyrion's favored child, would be fated to marry a baseborn Northern savage. Certainly it was out of custom for Jaime to visit Casterly Rock at this time of year and without previous notification but perhaps he simply missed his family. Or got into a spat with Cersei; the Gods knew that woman could drive any man to flee west. Perhaps he was ill and needed the additional warmth or preferred that style of clothing or-
-or didn't want to reveal a direwolf symbol on his wrist. That was also an explanation.
'That would also explain why the Lord of House Lannister is making an arduous journey North to reach an accord with Lord Stark.'
Kevan placed the letter into the pile meant for Tywin's later review, hesitating over the family-related one before passing on, and then stood up. He had been reviewing documents for long enough and deserved a break of his own. Perhaps he should pick up some flowers from the castle garden and visit his sweet Dorna then.
'No doubt she'll lament our own sons having no incentive to give us grandchildren when even the famed Kingslayer is to be married…'
x
Thwack!
The first one hit the hay bale dead center, causing strands of straw to float downwards, as it dug into the target. She slides out a second dagger, barely the length of her hand, and angles her wrist downward to get as close to the first as possible.
Thwack!
The wind moves it slightly off target but it makes another satisfying thump of impact. Lyarra amuses herself by imagining a blonde-haired, green-eyed man in its place.
Tywin Lannister's raven had arrived just this morning to inform them that he planned to visit and personally negotiate for his eldest son's betrothal (and likely to judge the goods, Lyarra had thought). She hadn't been all that happy when the message gave a name to her future husband: Ser Jaime Lannister, Kingslayer, twin brother of the Queen, and likely heir to the Warden of the West. Lady Stark had been even less enthused to learn that her husband's bastard had gone and married one of the most eligible men in Westeros. That was nothing to Sansa's reaction though; she had burst into tears at the breakfast table before sobbing about how bastards shouldn't be allowed to wed handsome knights. Then of course, there was the reaction of everyone else.
Arya had gotten into a fight with Sansa on her behalf, which would have been heartwarming if the crux of her argument hadn't been that Lyarra could marry a dozen knights if she wanted. Bran had spit his water out in shock and Rickon had thought it a game and followed. Robb had started to laugh before winding down to an awkward silence when no one else did so. Theon had gotten very pale and then very red before hurriedly excusing himself from the table. And everyone else watched.
Despite having lost her appetite, Lyarra was forced to sit there for half an hour longer to force down her meal. She determinedly poked air holes into her porridge, feeling the heavy weight of stares on her body and the whispers that spread like wildfire throughout the hall. When she was finally able to leave, she found that the message had spread throughout Winterfell. Servants and guards alike skittered around, looking at her with envy, admiration or greed in their eyes and preceding her path with talks of a bastard's luck and the Lannister goldmines. Already, one girl had approached her to ask whether or not she had chosen any maidservants for her wedding party. The dark-haired Snow had no idea what she had stammered out in response as she fled the castle.
Lyarra Snow was a bastard. She was Lord Stark's bastard and therefore, treated politely by the smallfolk of Winterfell but she was still also a bastard. She wasn't used to this kind of attention!
"At least you don't care if I marry the Kingslayer or a tenant farmer Hodor." Lyarra retrieved her blades and then went to pet one of the horses being brushed by the stablehand. "I don't suppose you want to go south with me to Casterly Rock?"
"Hodor." The large man shook his head and Lyarra nodded reluctantly. A smile crossed her face when he put a horsehair brush in her own hand and she stepped up to help him. This was certainly the exact kind of simple, relaxing menial task that the Kingslayer wouldn't want his wife doing. That thought made it far more satisfying to her.
Lyarra didn't know how long she had been brushing before the scuffing sounds of a visitor made her look up. With her thin face, dark hair, and wide mist grey eyes, Arya was the picture-perfect image of a Stark girl. Lyarra had always privately attributed that evident heritage as one of the reasons for Sansa's teasing of 'Arya Horseface'. Jealousy could be a painful cruelty.
"I knew you would be here! Bran was checking the library but I told him it was too obvious."
"You knew but you still left him there to search the castle alone?"
"He would stop looking eventually. Besides I wanted to talk to you." Her little sister dug the point of her boots into the ground. "I'm sorry about egging Sansa. You're not going to marry a dozen knights."
A smile spread across her face as brushed off her hands and then ruffled Arya's hair. The dark-haired girl cringed back and then submitted to the gesture with an overdone huff. "That's right. One of them will be a dashing lord and another an honourable thief."
Arya giggled. "A third can be a prideful Septon and the fourth a handsome wilding-"
"-a clever merchant and an exotic pleasure slave from Lys-"
"A fierce Dothraki warlord! A charming bard and- and- Theon!"
"Theon?" Lyarra started to laugh, "Why would I marry Theon?"
"Because he's madly in love with you, of course," Arya said matter-of-factly. "He's a squid, so he can be the daring pirate that kidnaps you from your castle or maybe that's the wilding's job…"
But Lyarra had stopped listening to the jape. The amusement in her died as she looked down at her little sister and pondered the words. Theon? In love with her? That was absurd. Theon didn't fall in love with women. He appreciated their bodies and then moved on. The Greyjoy ward had slept with more women than she had namedays.
"Arya, why do you say that Theon is in love with me?"
"Because he is," she shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? I mean, he teases you a lot but he's always offering to help you with your archery skills or whatever. And he's getting piss drunk with Robb right now."
"Don't curse Arya. It'll become a habit and then your mother will hear you," Lyarra shook her head. "I can't deal with this right now. Do you want to go riding?"
Her little sister's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
Hodor helped them equip two formidable steeds bred from Lady Dustin's own herd. Arya needed help to sit astride the massive Firewalker with the fine dust red coat but she soon had a command over the horse. Despite her diminutive size, Arya was probably the most talented equestrian in the family, which was why Lyarra allowed her to ride horses of a caliber usually forbidden to the Stark children.
Her own horse was a steady one with a grey and cream coat named Frostbite. Lyarra patted its mane fondly. She had found one member of the House that she was taking south with her.
Lyarra led the way to the gates, gesturing with her hand to let them through. The guards stared at her in the same manner as the servants had inside but they obediently pulled the gate open and soon, the Stark girls were galloping through the forest paths. It was one of those rare perfect spring days in Winterfell, a cloudless blue sky over sun-dappled trees and rich shrubbery in every shade of green. The undergrowth shifted between wood-chipped trails and lime paths of moss. The trails were wide enough for three men to comfortably move through while the narrow twists and turns of the rest meant that Lyarra and Arya took turns leading.
The Snow child ducked beneath the branches of one heavy tree as a breathless laugh escaped her lips. She used her knees to urge Frostbite on faster, the familiar burn of her thighs and Arya's swinging braid tantalizingly out of reach drawing out the wolf's blood in her. There was an even more familiar shout of dismay as Lyarra pushed ahead followed by a triumphant one when Arya slipped by. They continued riding for near a half hour before slowing their steeds down to a fast trot as the pine boughs appeared. Further on would be one of Winterfell's cold springs as a checkpoint for rest.
When Lyarra swung down from Frostbite, she saw that the brisk wind had pulled half of Arya's hair out of her tight braid. Her sister pointed to her and laughed. "Your hair looks a fright!"
"A glasshouse is no place for thrown stones, dear sister." Lyarra helped pulled her down before untying the strip of fabric tying her own hair back. The dark ringlets fell messily around her face contrasting the light pink hue from riding on her cheeks. She repeated the action for her sister, fingers carding through straight brown strands near-identical in color to her own curls.
"I wish I had your hair Lyarra," Arya said wistfully.
"You shouldn't. They're absolutely horrid in the mornings. Besides your hair frames your face so well."
"It makes it look thin and long." The younger girl made a face which did indeed exaggerate her pointed chin and straight nose. "Like a horse."
"You haven't grown into your features yet," Lyarra scowled. "Has Jeyne Poole said anything to you?"
Her sister shrugged, which meant that yes, her last warning hadn't gotten through the Steward's daughter. This was something that Lyarra held in contention with both Lady Stark and Sansa. The former never went far enough to stand up for Arya against the scorn of other so-called ladies for her habits and appearance, and Sansa actively put her sister down. Maybe Lady Catelyn assumed that it would compel her to give up her independence but she disagreed with that statement. Arya was no faint-hearted Southron lady; she had the wolf's blood and it was to her credit, that she was as clever and brave and outspoken as she was. Even the fiercest of little girls could be hurt by such unkind words at this age though and Lyarra did her best to protect her sister from them.
'Who would do that when I'm not around anymore? Robb tries his best but he doesn't understand why Arya needs the protection in the first place.'
Lyarra crouched down until her intense violet eyes could meet mist grey orbs. The face it was set on, thin and pinched, could have mirrored her own five years ago. "Arya, do you think I'm ugly?"
The Stark blinked confusedly at the non-sequitur. "No! Of course not, you're beautiful!"
"Are you sure? Take a close look and think on it deeply. This will be the face you wear in a few years after all." Lyarra gently traced the nose of the younger girl. "This is my nose, right here. The curve of this smile, the sharp indent above the upper lip. The same skin tone and the shape of the eyes. Here's the wide forehead; it'll look far better when your hair grows out. The ears won't look as big either."
She rocked back on her heels and smiled brightly. "Those girls may tease you out of jealousy but that doesn't mean you can't fight back. We'll ground down some pecha berries and stain their teeth blue."
Her sister stared at her silently for a moment and then threw her body forward. "Oomph."
"I'm going to miss you, Lyarra," Arya's voice was muffled in her neck. She squirmed at the moist feeling there. "Stupid lion stealing you away. Bet he's not even a good knight."
Her heart nearly melted inside as she returned the hug. "They call him the Kingslayer, you know. Maybe I can convince him to take you on as a squire."
Arya pulled her face away, hurriedly rubbed her eyes, and then snorted. "Those Southrons are too uppity to let their womenfolk fight. But you're also going to become the Queen's good-sister. Do you think Sansa will stop crying when she figures out that you can introduce her to the prince?"
"I don't even want to think about that." Baseborn daughter of the Warden of the North to a Lord Paramount heir's wife? She was suddenly feeling all the more regretful for paying minimal attention to the Septa's lectures on ladylike behavior. "The only thing I know about him is that he stabbed Aerys Targaryen in the back and that he has a twin sister."
"And a dwarf for a younger brother. Even I know more about him than you," Arya grinned. "You know nothing, Lyarra Snow."
"Then I should probably go back and start tackling this problem head-on. You know what this means."
"Don't say it…"
"To the library, sister!"
x
It was near the Wolf's Hour when Ned Stark fetched a burning torch and made his way down the crypts of Winterfell. He needn't go in the solitude of night to visit his ancestors' graves but this was a habit of his when sleep eluded him. And with the current, seemingly insurmountable issue that had cropped up now, Ned was finding it difficult to get any rest. His other hand held a fully bloomed winter rose that he placed on the statue he saw rarely. Of all his immediate relations, it was Lyanna alone that he had the least need to visit.
If he did not pay his respects to his parents and older brother at least once a moon's turn, he found the details of their face slipping away from memory. Lyanna's though was reinforced every day by her daughter and so he could never forget the debt owed to her.
"I don't know what to do, Lyanna," Ned told her softly, raising the torch. The sculptor's work had been excellent but it still lacked the vibrancy of life that her every movement had expressed. "Your daughter is to marry Jaime Lannister. Kingslayer they call him and I am to hand over his Targaryen bride when Tywin reaches the North. He was Aerys' oldest friend and constant companion. I fear for my niece when he escorts her to the Lannister's fortress."
He knew it was just his imagination but Ned could almost feel the palpable concern in the air. Even the dead could acknowledge the wrongness of a lion laying with a dragon-wolf.
"She's growing up to show more and more of Rhaegar's blood. The eyes had always been there but child's fat is melting like snow to reveal her Valyrian roots." The Lord Stark smiled, "You would have loved to see her today. She rides the way you do and laughs as freely and moves as swiftly. Somehow or another she convinced me to let her learn to fight beside Robb and now she's teaching Arya."
He paused and allowed the quiet contentment in the air to settle him.
"You should have seen the terrors the two could devise together. Sansa and her friend, Jeyne Poole, refused to speak during the entirety of dinner tonight to risk showing their teeth!"
The humor faded as Ned reflected on the mood of the other at the hall.
"The Maester tells me that she's reading of House Lannister and the Westerlands in the library. It is a fine thing to be so dedicated to preparing oneself but the most important piece of knowledge is still lost to her. How can I tell her though, Lyanna? How can I send her away from Winterfell after denying her own identity for all these years, deceiving her as my base born daughter? How can I tell her that the man she is tied to by the gods was an oathbreaker to her own father and grandfather?"
The air felt near charged with the impossibility of the choices before him. Damned if he was and damned if he wasn't to break a daughter's faith for the risk of her own husband's kin.
Ned's last words were almost silent. "And yet, how can I not?"
x
If there's any concern over Arya acting 'girlier' than her canon counterpart, well, that's because she is. Remember that while Sansa and Arya are near opposites in terms of acting like a lady or learning to fight, the sibling that she looks up to most, Lyarra, balances the two. Canon Arya had only two options available to her: either submit herself to her mother's Southron teachings or rebel entirely. Lyarra is proof that there can be a middle ground and that wielding a sword doesn't make you any less feminine or vice versa. Ned's also more willing to let Arya pursue unladylike habits, including basic swordplay, since she's more well-behaved and Lyarra's already done so. Not to mention that Lyarra is even closer to Arya than she is to Robb. They're both girls, they both have the Stark look, and they're both rebelling against the tenets of feudal society together. Besides Robb went through a stage shortly after meeting Theon when he decided that playing with girls was icky.
And now whenever someone tells her that her tomboyish ways will mean that no man will ever want her, Arya can point to her older sister and be like, 'You know, she's married to the KINGSLAYER, right? Well she taught me everything I know!'