Chapter Three

Lady Catelyn Stark took pride in the running of her household. She had the servants well in-hand, her children properly raised by the scriptures of the Seven Pointed Star and the respect of her husband's bannermen. She was the penultimate hostess as her Septa had once raised her to be and, despite her own disdain of the licentious lot brought into her immaculate home by Prince Oberyn Martell, invited her guest to Winterfell with all of the respect due to his station. The man was appointed to the most lavish rooms in the Guest Keep, assigned servants to supplement the mere three he'd brought along for the trip and treated with all of the aplomb she could muster for him. There had been the necessity for Catelyn to step primarily into the role of hostess, as her husband, bless him, couldn't hide his mislike of the Prince. Catelyn herself could barely stand the so-called Red Viper but she would make due. He would be leaving soon and better yet, taking the child with him.

Catelyn could have done without the knowledge that Ned had bedded another Dornish beauty when he was promised to her. She certainly didn't care for the impressed mutterings of the guardsmen or the male servants over their lord's unexpected sexual prowess and modesty inherent in keeping silent. Nor did she relish the thought of her husband's bastard being raised in a royal court, even a Dornish one, by a family that evidently didn't follow the proper way of things. But then, it was a woman's lot in life to accept all of those matters that she most definitely did not care for, as Catelyn had learnt when she arrived to Winterfell and found a babe in her son's nursery.

Catelyn hadn't liked Lyarra Snow from the earliest day. Not the slightly long Northern face and dark brown hair, nor the deep violet of her eyes and Rhoynish curls. Neither did she particularly care for the way the bastard toddled after her elder brother, often being carefully led along by Robb's hand, as the girl had been weak and sickly as a child. She'd had her concerns about the child's Dornish blood showing through, bringing shame to House Stark with her beddings and possibly even seducing her own brother. The Gods knew that Dorne loved the dragons enough, who knew what depraved behavior they had adopted from House Targaryen? As a girl, Lyarra was unable to usurp her brother's rightful inheritance but Catelyn wouldn't have put it past her from leading Robb or another upright young man to stray. Quite like her mother did Ned.

'No surprise at all that a bastard wouldn't accept vows anointed in a Septon's oils under the eyes of the Mother and Father,' Cat thought derisively. 'A whore with royal blood is still a whore in the end.'

Not that it mattered. Lyarra Snow, or Lyarra Sand as many of the servants called her now, wouldn't be her problem for much longer. She would leave south with her cad of an uncle, be House Martell's shame and problem and likely give her maidenhead away to a stable boy or a washer's son. Her son would be distraught for a brief time but in the way of boys, he would forget about his bastard sister and find new playmates. The Greyjoy hostage, while still Ironborn, was also an Heir and would make a suitable playmate. And with Lyarra no longer around, perhaps Ned would finally accept her persuasion to take in fosterlings from the bannermen. He had put her off for years now about Robb having a readymade friend in his little sister.

'A few more days, Cat. Smile for a few more days and the bastard will be gone.'

It would be better for the child even. Catelyn could not love her. As a babe, she'd tried, if briefly, to find compassion in her heart for this motherless child. Those dark violet eyes set in Ned's solemn face would always unravel her though. Lyarra Sand was so evidently a Northern child, a Stark child. At the same time, there was evidently signs of another's touch on her brow, her lips, her eyes and her skin. Catelyn didn't know which aspect of her blood infuriated her more and eventually, she stopped trying.

Mayhaps the child would find a mother in Dorne. Prince Oberyn's paramour was a bastard herself.

As though her thoughts summoned the demon himself, Prince Oberyn turned the corner and paused in the corridor to nod to her. He was wearing his preferred Dornish garb within the hotspring-heated walls of the castle, a tightly fitted gambeson down to his knees in dusky gold, an open, short-sleeved overtunic in vibrant orange silk, gold-thread embroidery putting a spear-run sunburst on his chest and twining vipers down his arm, and brown leather trousers. A thrice-corded leather belt matched the shade of his calfskin boots and his black goatee was trimmed into a fine cut. The smile that he offered her was everything sharp and flashing, the glittering dark agates of his eyes languid as they took her form in. Catelyn stiffened against the dishonorable interest.

"Prince Oberyn." She tried to maintain her vocal range but the words still came out frostily.

"Lady Stark, you look lovely this morning." He pressed down a gallant kiss to the hand reluctantly offered him, and then rose and awaited. Apparently he would not continue moving forward.

"Thank you." It was proper to return the compliment, so she considered a diplomatic response. "You look very refreshed, Your Grace. I hope that you've slept well."

"Indeed, after all my years of travel, I've acquired that invaluable skill of drawing rest from wherever I may lay my head."

'His travelling days… after Prince Doran banished him from Dorne for poisoning one of his bannermen.' Catelyn inwardly balked. "I am glad for you, Prince Oberyn. Is there anything you should need of me?"

"If you have the time, I would like to discuss Lady Lyarra's education thus far," Oberyn responded. "I would have her attend the same lessons as my daughters in Sunspear but they have many masters and it shall be difficult to place her before I know of her skill."

"Lyarra is, of course, training in all of the skills required of her station," Catelyn answered stiffly, her mind flitting sourly to those lessons that should have solely been Robb's. Ned, thankfully, wasn't foolish enough to put his daughter into swordsmanship lessons but he did allow her to attend the advanced letters, sums and dictation lessons that Robb had. "She reads and writes well. Her sums are adequate. She knows a few of the North's dances and can sew her own clothes. She understands basic management of a small holdfast. Her father takes her trapping occasionally."

"Wonderful," Oberyn spoke pleasantly. "And of courtly talents? Has she learnt any of those?"

"As I said, Lyarra is an acceptable dancer." Catelyn frowned, a fissure of unease running through her.

"Her schedule appears light to me." The Viper shrugged. "Perhaps it is just my boundless energy but my mother, the Princess Maria, arranged many tutors for me as I grew. I did the same for mine daughters when it came their time. They've excelled in their lessons but it could be that I am too harsh on them and have not yet realized it."

He paused, and then added. "It is admirable that your own children are gently eased into lessons."

Catelyn's eyes narrowed as the arrow hit home. "Lyarra is rather young as of now. There is time for her to learn other skills."

"Of course, of course." The man cocked his head to the side. She was reminded suddenly of how the bastard would do the same, a curious raven having found something shiny and interesting to peruse. Her lips thinned. "I would congratulate you on the Lady Sansa. You must consider yourself blessed."

"All of my children are blessings to me," the Tully threw back, and had the pleasure of narrowed dark eyes on her. "As a father, you must share the sentiment."

"I do," the Prince agreed. "All children are a blessing to their parent's home. To a lord and lady though, to have a gifted child is a blessing all of its own. Lady Sansa must be a prodigy to attend harp and bell lessons before her own sister, whom exceeds her by- three, wasn't it- three years. And sketching lessons as well. Quite lovely."

"Sansa is a very talented child," Catelyn replied frostily. She refused to rise to the bait. "Each of my children have learnt in accordance to their future needs."

Her darling Sansa was raised to marry a handsome lord and be a lovely wife. Catelyn simply knew that her daughter would blossom in the Southron courts and nurtured her talents for that direction. The high harp, bells, sketching… what need would the bastard have for them? Her husband wouldn't likely be the sort to appreciate any of the fine arts.

"As the Lady Lyarra is not your child, you needn't suffer over relinquishing guardianship of her future needs, then," the Prince spoke wryly. "I thank you, Lady Stark."

"As she will soon be in your custody, you need not offer any gratitude for the responsibility."

"You misunderstand me, my lady." The grin now was all flash and fang, displeased and willing to show so. "My gratitude was for your assistance in drawing judgement. Prince Doran sent me here to look into the life of our newly-discovered cousin. He had his reservations about bringing her to Sunspear, you see, as this was the only home she had ever known. Upon reflection, he ordered me to bring her home depending on what House Martell believes is best for one of its daughters. You were instrumental in forming my ruling."

"I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, Your Grace."

"Allow me to make it simple then. Lyarra Sand will travel to Sunspear before she dies by your hand at Winterfell."

"I beg your pardon!" A rivertide of fury rose at the accusation that she would kill her husband's bastard. "I have never harmed a child under my care."

"She was hardly under your care all these years," the Prince rebuked. "No, her upbringing would be vastly improved in her mother's House."

"I will not pretend to have loved the child, Prince Oberyn." Cat stood ramrod straight, drew upon all of her self-control as a daughter of House Tully- family, pride, duty- and took a sharp breath inwards. "And I will not suffer your rebukes for recognizing her as a stranger in my home. She was my husband's bastard and it was neither my duty nor my desire to raise her. However, I have done so, and provided her the education owed to a daughter of Ned's. Her life here has not been unhappy."

"Neither, I would think, has it been happy." The Prince's eyes flitted away briefly and then came to her, looking a cold-blooded creature in more than just name. "It is irrelevant. The Gods have revealed my cousin and she shall come to Sunspear where she should have been raised from the beginning. You needn't suffer the indignity of a bastard in your home any longer."

Catelyn's heart still pulsed in beat with her anger. "The Gods love my husband's bastard well."

"Do they not?" Oberyn said glibly. "I've spoken to Lyarra recently in the Godswood and she seemed quite happy there. Of course, Aliandra was a follower of the Seven. I shall have to introduce her to them as well. Can you believe that she has never stepped foot in a Sept? Even the one in Winterfell!"

Catelyn Tully stood there in utter horror. The Sept… the Sept was her sanctuary. It was the symbol of her Faith, of the love Ned had for her to build one here, of the indelible mark she had made to House Stark. It was something sincere and private and special, shared with only her own children. Lyarra Sand had no right to step foot into that Sept. It would defile her one last refuge in Winterfell.

In her fury over the sacrilege of her fate, Catelyn lashed out. "The bastard would be wise to pray to the Stranger then! He, above all in the pantheon, favors the child well enough to ignore my pleas."

Oberyn Martell's eyebrows shot up. Catelyn didn't notice it though because there was suddenly a sharp gasp from behind her. The Stark lady swiftly turned to look around, her heart dropping once Sansa's startled, teary, river-blue eyes stared back at her. 'Oh Gods, she has heard me…'

Catelyn Tully had nearly drowned once. She had been twelve namedays old, dared to jump into a swift river current by Lysa, and simply foolish enough then to do so. At first, she had treaded water well, her own talents in swimming aiding her but then the force of the river started to overwhelm her. Her body was tossed back like a ragdoll, her head dipped underwater. She swallowed one mouthful of filthy water and then another, choking as her eyes began to sting. Her clothes felt a stone albatross around her neck, panic surged in her body and black spots appeared in her eyes. For a heartbeat, it had been as though the water had formed an arm to drag her thin body down, down, down and into the maw of the river mud. Before her Uncle Brynden had rescued her, Cat had the brief thought that the water would be her grave that day.

With Sansa's eyes looking at her in silent accusation, Catelyn felt, once again, like there wasn't enough air around to keep her alive.

She took a step forward. "Sansa…"

Her daughter turned from her and ran.

x

"We'll barricade ourselves in the Broken Tower. Then we can throw stones at the Viper from the windows until he leaves."

"Uh-huh."

"Or if that doesn't work, maybe you can pretend to be fall deathly sick? Prince Oberyn wouldn't want to take you to Dorne if you're infectious."

"Mh-hmm."

"Or maybe we should write a letter to Uncle Benjen. We'll tell him that the Prince chose a life as a Black Brother. Then we'll trick the Prince into visiting the Wall and he'll have to stay there, if he doesn't want to be beheaded for desertion!"

"I think that only counts if you make a vow before the Heart Tree or commit a crime."

"Right," Robb frowned, thinking through her words. "What if we frame Prince Oberyn for something really bad? Something that'll get him sent to the Wall?"

Lyarra turned her head away from the window, where she could her newly discovered uncle practicing with his spear in the courtyard. He moved with fluid ease, the mark of a warrior adept with his chosen weapon. She looked disapprovingly at her brother. "That's not honorable, Robb. We can't do that."

"Well, it's not like you're offering any suggestions!" He snapped back, his apple-round cheeks flushing crimson. There was still plenty of baby fat on the Stark Heir's face, making her brother look silly with his reddish-brown hair and equally livid cheeks. "It's like you want to leave with him!"

"No, I don't!" Lyarra protested but it fell a little flat and she was treated to a betrayed gape instead.

"You want to leave Winterfell?" Robb's lower lip trembled as he glared at her. "Why?! You're of the North, Lyaa and you belong here!"

"I know that," the dark-haired girl answered defensively, "I just don't think we should do something bad to my Unc- Prince Oberyn, just because his brother ordered him to come here."

"He's coming here to take you away," Robb stormed. "He's not a good man! Mother says he's called the Viper because he poisoned somebody! And she says the Dornish are-"

"I don't care what she said!" Lyarra snapped, momentarily surprised at her own vehemence, before continuing on. "Lady Stark isn't always right. Prince Oberyn explained it to me. He says that I'm being fostered in Sunspear because it's better for me. Even Father thinks so, that's why he's letting me go."

"Father's letting you go because there's a stupid treaty made with the stupid Dornish after their stupid realm joined the kingdom," Robb tossed back. "I don't even know why we're following it. They made that treaty with the dragons and the dragons are gone now."

"Well, the new King is following the treaty too, and he decided I have to go to Dorne."

"I don't like the new King either then. Dorne is an awful place, Lyaa. It's all hot and full of sand. The people are mean and they all poison each other."

Lyarra folded her arms. "You can't say mean things about the Dornish. I'm Dornish."

"No, you're not! You're of the North!"

"I'm of Dorne too! I was born there and so was my mother!"

"I don't care about your mother! I wish you'd never learnt of her!"

"Well, I wish I'd never learnt of you!"

At once, Lyarra noted the sudden silence between them. She didn't know how wide and glossy her own eyes were, as she looked into the regret-filled light blue orbs of her brother. He appeared stricken for a moment and her own heart squeezed in sudden guilt and recrimination. The two suddenly spoke over the other.

"Robb, I'm so so-"

"-rry, Lyarra, I didn't mean it!"

The two fell silent for another heartbeat, registering the other's apology before Lyarra decided to the hell's with it, and threw herself at the other end of the bed. Robb made a strangled scream as he fell backwards against the headboard, hitting his skull against the smooth wood, as she buried her head in his chest. Her skinny arms encircled him tightly and the dark-haired girl decided, as she unintentionally stained her brother's clean shirt with snot, that he was being a stupid boy.

'I'm going to miss you so much,' Lyarra thought. Outloud, she demanded roughly. "Letters, every sennight. If you don't, I'll ride back north and use my amazing sword fighting skills to beat you up."

"You don't have any sword fighting skills." Was Robb's unhelpful contribution as her hugged her back.

'I'm not going to miss him at all,' Lyarra promptly corrected.

x

Thank you to everyone who made romantic suggestions! I've taken them to heart by deciding, eh, why not go with all of them. Or almost all of them, as the following will be represented in some form or another in the story: Willas Tyrell, Quentyn Martell, Aegon VI Targaryen, Domeric Bolton, Monford Velaryon, Aurane Velaryon, Edric Dayne and Addam Marbrand. Not all will be equally represented and there may be others added later on. The final pairing is undecided.