The Ties That Bind
Lyarra Stark woke up alone.
She didn't mind. In fact, as she waddled towards the wardrobe, wincing at the aching pain between her legs, Lyarra was thankful that she was alone. She pulled a dress out of her new wardrobe and took off her slip. She only noticed then that there was a warm bucket of water and a cloth set on the table. As naked as the day she was born, Lyarra drenched the cloth in warm water before washing herself with it, giving the most attention to her blood-stained thighs.
Just as she was about to put on her dress, she heard knocking on the door. Startled, she searched for a nightgown or something to cover herself. She found a nightgown in the wardrobe and threw it over herself, shouting for the person to come in.
"Excuse me, my lady." It was only a girl, around Lyarra's age if not a bit older, who stood at the door. Lyarra looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. "Lord Tywin sent me... I am to be your handmaiden."
"My handmaiden?" Lyarra repeated. She never had a handmaiden before. If she ever needed assistance with dressing or doing her hair, she asked her sisters for help. But they wouldn't be with her for long more, so Lyarra sighed and nodded her agreement. "Very well."
"Alright!" the handmaiden chirped and rushed into her room. She picked up the dress Lyarra had put on the bed and undid the laces. When she unfolded Lyarra's clothes, she produced a slip that had been folded with the dress. Once she was finished readying the dress, she looked at Lyarra like she was expecting her to do something. Lyarra shrugged, making the young handmaiden chuckle. "You'll have to take off the nightgown if you expect me to put on your dress, silly!"
"Oh," was all Lyarra said in response. She was tempted to protest and say that she didn't need someone to dress her – she was not a child – but then she remembered how difficult it was to put on her wedding dress, even with the help of handmaidens and her lady mother, so the new Lady Lannister merely nodded and took off her nightgown.
Lyarra wasn't ashamed of her body, nor shy by any means, but for some reason it still felt strange to have someone dress her. At home Lyarra had dressed herself. Her mother was the only woman in Winterfell who had a handmaiden to dress her, and that was because of her status as Lady Stark. Lyarra had survived without a handmaiden for the last fifteen years, yet she knew she wouldn't manage in the South without one.
Rhea had only been gone for a few mere minutes, giving Lyarra some time to herself, when she heard a fierce knocking on the door. Lyarra sighed and placed the quill in her hand back into the ink pot. She had been writing – or tried to write, rather – to her brother Jon. He was all alone in Winterfell with only Greyjoy for company. Her mother had forbidden him from attending her wedding out of spite. Lyarra would never forgive her mother for that, for preventing one of the most important people in her life from being there for her when she needed him most. She missed Jon. She needed Jon.
As soon as Lyarra opened the door, her four younger siblings rushed inside without waiting for an invitation. Lyarra laughed and rolled her eyes fondly. Even though she now bore the name Lannister instead of Stark, Lyarra was glad to see that nothing else had changed just yet.
Bran and Rickon had contented themselves with bouncing on her bed while Sansa marvelled at the grandeur of her sister's bedroom. Arya ran her finger along the two crossed blades decorating Lyarra's wall with a gleam in her eyes. Her younger siblings were enamoured with Casterly Rock and the adventures it had to offer, having so rarely been outside of Winterfell's walls. Save Sansa, they didn't even try to temper their wild excitement. Bran spent his day climbing the towers; Rickon and Arya liked to explore the castle (one day they had come to Lyarra's room covered in filth from the sewers and asked her to clean them up before Mother saw), while Lyarra often found Sansa staring out of her window at the tiltyard as the handsome Lannister men practised.
Lyarra didn't blame them for being so excited and full of wonder. Casterly Rock was magnificent. Had she been younger and less burdened, she would have reacted much the same as her siblings. Even Robb seemed to be enjoying himself, sparring with Lannisters and the knights sworn to them. Her brother planned to compete in the tourney in a few days, which was being held in honour of her marriage to Jaime. Though a wife was supposed to hope for her husband's victory, Lyarra wanted Robb to win. It was his first tourney, and they didn't hold many tourneys in the North.
She shook her head, clearing it of distracting thoughts, and turned her attention to her sister. Sansa was staring at her and fiddling with her fingers, looking unsure.
"What is it, Sansa?" Lyarra prompted, knowing that her sister was doubtful for a reason. No doubt she was going to ask an uncomfortable question. Lyarra braced herself.
"Nothing, sister," Sansa dismissed, giving her older sister a soft smile. She bit her lip and decided that her curiosity outweighed propriety. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I... how was... last night? Mother says it hurts the first time."
Her eyes went wide at Sansa's question, her face becoming a dark shade of red. "I... it does hurt, yes. But Ser Jaime was gentle with me." Lyarra let out a sigh. "I think you should be asking Mother these sort of questions, Sansa. It is not my place to answer them."
"But Mother won't! She says that I am too young," Sansa huffed. "You're only two years older than me, and you're married! I don't want to be unprepared."
"Mother didn't speak to me about such things until a few months ago," Lyarra told her younger sister. "All my knowledge came from Theon and his detailed descriptions of his... nightly excursions." Sansa shivered at the thought, a sight that made Lyarra smile. "Don't wish away your childhood, Sansa. Before long you'll be wanting it back."
"Do you want it back?" Sansa asked.
"It's not gone yet. I still feel like a child, really," Lyarra admitted. The thought of being Lady of Casterly Rock frightened her. The thought of being a wife – or a mother – frightened her.
"But you're a wife now!" Sansa exclaimed, laughing as though the very thought of Lyarra still being a child was ridiculous. Lyarra bristled. "You can't be a child! You might be having one soon!"
Lyarra gulped. She wanted children, yes, but not for a long time. Yet it was her duty to give her husband an heir as soon as possible. She nodded thoughtfully. "If the gods are kind," was all she said in response. The conversation had made her uneasy. Had so much truly changed? Just because she was married now, did that make her a grown-up? She had thought that adulthood would feel much different, like a metamorphoses of sorts. But Lyarra still felt the same as she always had.
"Lya! Lya! Will you bring me riding today? Mother said I can't go without an older person and her and Father are too busy," Arya pleaded, interrupting her conversation with Sansa.
Sansa bristled with irritation and clenched her fists by her side. "Arya, can't you see that Lya and I were having a conversation?" Sansa almost growled, attempting to remain civil.
"I would love to go riding with you," Lyarra agreed with a kind smile aimed at her littlest sister, ignoring Sansa's protests. She had no desire to continue that conversation – ever, perhaps.
"Oh, Lya, can I come too?" Bran begged, bouncing off her bed and landing on the floor with his two feet.
Knowing that Arya never minded Bran tagging along, Lyarra ruffled his hair and nodded her consent. "Of course you can. The more the merrier. Will you come too, Sansa?"
"I must refuse, sister. The prince has asked me to go for a walk with him around the courtyard. Another time, perhaps," Sansa refused politely, but Lyarra could see that Sansa was mad at her for allowing Arya to interrupt them. Besides, Sansa had never enjoyed riding. She would only sour the mood by complaining of her sore legs.
Rickon was pouting when Lyarra's eyes landed on him. He had stopped bouncing on her bed and was now standing on it. Lyarra picked him up and spun him around, causing her youngest brother to laugh. She pressed a kiss to his nose.
"You mustn't feel left out, Rickon." She lowered her voice to a whisper as she promised him, "Tomorrow we will play all afternoon. Just you and me. Would you like that?"
"Can Shaggydog play with us too?" Rickon asked hopefully. Lyarra had already succeeded in cheering up her little brother, judging by his wide, happy eyes and the big smile splitting his face in half.
"Of course he can! And Fang can play with us too, if you like?" Lyarra suggested, making Rickon nod enthusiastically. Lyarra chuckled and ruffled his hair again before pressing one last kiss to his nose and putting him down.
"You spoil him," Sansa scolded, echoing their mother.
Lyarra rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't worry about that, Sansa. I won't get to spoil him for much longer after all. Now, will you be a dear and bring him to Mother?"
Displeased at being told what to by her sister – Sansa had an issue with being told what to do by anyone but their mother and father – Sansa shot her sister a glare before taking Rickon's hand and leading him out of Lyarra's room.
You cannot say anything. You're the spoilt one, Lyarra wanted to yell after her, but contained herself and turned to Arya and Bran, a mischievous smile on her lips.
"We ought to bring the wolves along too, don't you think? It's been far too long since they've had a good stretch."
Arya and Bran nodded, a grin on their lips.
In preparation for the tourney, Robb had taken to practising in the tiltyard with Casterly Rock's Master-At-Arms. He was matched with southern boys his own age. Though they matched him in skill, Robb was often left disappointed by his training sessions. He missed Jon and Theon. Their style of fighting, especially Jon's, was similar to his. These southerners were too fancy, their movements with a sword too embellished. When Robb fought, he fought with a purpose. No elaborate movements or fancy twirls, just steel and strength.
He was almost finished training for the day. His final opponent, a cousin of Jaime Lannister who was around Robb's age, had been difficult to beat. But alas, the boy now lay on the ground, exhausted and beaten. Robb offered him his hand, but the young Lannister merely glared and sniffed at him, scrambling awkwardly onto his feet before storming off.
"Don't mind Lancel," came a smooth voice from behind him. Robb spun around, confronted with his sister's husband. "He's always been a sore looser. You fight well, Stark. For a green boy."
Robb stiffened at being called a green boy, but nodded his thanks. He couldn't help but feel a great amount of pride at being complimented on his fighting skill byJaime Lannister. Even if he wasn't the most honourable of men – his father's scorn for the Kingslayer had indeed worn off on Robb – Jaime was still one of the best swordsmen in the realm.
"Every man is green once," was Robb's reply.
The Kingslayer raised his chin and observed Robb with interest, the corner of his lip twitching. "Of course, though some green boys become men quicker than others. By your age I was member of the Kingsguard. You're what, five-and-ten?"
"Six-and-ten in a month," Robb answered quickly, standing a little taller.
"Good to know. I must send you a nameday present. We are brothers now, after all," Jaime remarked. His voice was smooth yet mocking. It seemed as though everything he said was some sort of insult. The Kingslayer must have noticed his displeasure at being named his 'brother,' for he slyly asked. "What, does our new kinsmanship displease you?"
"I never said-"
"You don't think that a man such as me is worthy enough for your sister," Jaime summarised, smirking down at the smaller chap condescendingly. "I understand, of course. You forget that I too have a sister. It seems as though no one is good enough for them, truly. You probably wished that her husband would be some honourable northern lad. Perhaps a foot shorter than I."
Robb hesitated, trying to come up with a reply that didn't offend the Kingslayer. "You're right. You weren't the kind of person I wanted my sister to marry. But alas, what's done is done."
Ser Jaime laughed humourlessly. "You Starks echo each other. My dear wife said the same thing last night before I had her lie on her back for me."
"Don't speak about my sister like that–"
"Or you'll what?" Jaime laughed again, this time it was much more mocking. Robb did not regret his outburst. His anger at the Kingslayer's words only grew stronger as Jaime drawled on. "Forgive me for my... vulgar words. If I heard someone speak of my sister in that way, I would react the same. I apologise. But threaten me again, Stark, and it's well within my rights to beat you to a pulp."
"It's also well within my rights to defend my sister," Robb reminded the Kingslayer, still seething. But even though he was still blinded by rage, Robb knew better than to pick a fight with Ser Jaime.
"That it is," Jaime had to agree. "But it's no longer your duty, I fear. That duty falls to her husband now."
"And will you do your duty?" Robb asked the Kingslayer seriously.
Jaime grinned, and just by looking at the grin on his lips Robb knew that he wasn't going to receive a serious answer. "As long as Lyarra performs her duty in the bedchamber..."
"Be frank," Robb interrupted him before he could go any further with his crude comment.
"You are your father's son, aren't you?" Jaime remarked, and Robb unwillingly beamed and stood a little taller. It was Jon who more often got complimented on his similarity to their father. Robb knew it was silly to be jealous of his bastard brother, but he often yearned for comparison to his father. He strived to be honourable, like Ned Stark, and he wanted it to be acknowledged. Jaime let out a sigh and continued, wearing a much more earnest expression, "You may not believe it of me, Stark, but I try to be honourable. I will do my best by your sister."
Doubtful, Robb pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes at the older man. Eventually, he nodded his head and said, "That's all I ask."
"Very well," Jaime replied as he unsheathed the sword from his belt. Robb's eyes flickered between the sword and Jaime, somewhat worried. Jaime saw his face and laughed. "Come now, Stark. Find a sword and show us what Starks are made of."
Needless to say, Robb got his arse handed to him while fighting Jaime Lannister.
While the rest of the castle was getting ready for the feast that night, Lyarra took the opportunity to sneak away to the kennels. She hadn't seen Fang since the night before her wedding, and she hated herself for leaving her direwolf alone for so long. She wasn't even sure if she'd been fed!
The dogs barked as they heard the door opening, though eventually the barking stopped. Lyarra hoped nobody had heard them. But even if they had, what was the shame of visiting her pet direwolf? For some reason, she had grown ashamed of Fang. Perhaps she was afraid that the southerners would see her with her pet wolf and think her a savage. Lyarra vowed to ignore such thought from now on. Having a direwolf was proof that she was a true Stark. What was the shame in that?
Fang's head lifted at the sound of Lyarra's soft footsteps approaching. Lyarra smiled. Her wolf knew its master. She kneeled in front of Fang and rubbed the back of her ears, causing the direwolf to smile and stick out its tongue.
"I'm sorry I haven't come sooner," Lyarra cooed as her wolf contentedly leaned into her hand. "But I brought meat!" At the mention of food, Lyarra was convinced that Fang perked up even more. She began sniffing. Lyarra laughed. "You smell it, don't you? Well, I won't starve you any longer."
She took out the meat from the small basket and laid it in front of Fang. It was leftover meat from the wedding feast. It would go to waste otherwise, so Lyarra wasn't risking the wrath of Lord Tywin. She got the impression that the Lannisters weren't very fond of having wolves in their home. It made her fear for Fang. What would happen when she and her wolf no longer had the protection of Ned Stark?
Lyarra remembered the day, only a few weeks ago now, when her brothers and Theon came home with a pack of baby direwolves after the execution of a deserter. The largest, grey direwolf had ran over to her as soon she saw Lyarra and launched herself into her arms. Lyarra never chose her direwolf. Fang chose her. She named the wolf 'Fang' because of her rather vicious nature. Even watching the wolf now, Lyarra noted that Fang was savage whenever she was presented with food. No matter how much effort Lyarra put into taming her wolf, Fang would always be wild. It was a strange contrast between master and direwolf. Lyarra had always considered herself to be obedient and gentle in nature, while Fang was the very opposite. All her other siblings had wolves that resembled their personalities. Fang seemed to be Lyarra's polar opposite.
Fang finished her meal quickly and looked up at Lyarra with a satisfied face. Lyarra laughed at her and rubbed her fur. Her wolf's attention was stolen from Lyarra as Fang growled at someone behind her mistress.
Startled by the sudden intruder and fearing the worst, Lyarra turned around immediately. Her shoulders fell with relief when she saw that it was only Jaime. She was amused to find him scared, as horrible as that sounded. It had seemed as though the Young Lion wasn't afraid of anything. Yet here he stood now, frightened by little Fang.
He hid his fear well, with a smug smile and even smugger words. "You Stark women couldn't be like every other woman in Westeros and dote over domesticated dogs. Of course Ned Stark's daughters would have to have beasts for pets."
"Don't call them that," Lyarra chastised, rising to her feet and dusting the dirt from her skirts.
"My apologies," Jaime replied smoothly, still wearing that irritating smirk of his. "I wouldn't want to offend your wolf."
"I'm only afraid she might bite your hand off," Lyarra snapped, disliking his tone and how he was making her out to be crazy.
"Bite my... dear wife, you don't honestly think they can understand me?" Jaime scoffed and gave her a mocking look that only served to make Lyarra feel very small. "And here my father thought you were intelligent. They're animals, Lyarra. They don't understand what I'm saying." He spoke slowly to her, as though she was an imbecile.
"I know that," Lyarra snapped again. "But they have good instincts. Even animals can take your tone as threatening and attack. Don't call me stupid, my lord."
Jaime observed her with an amused expression. Lyarra felt anger rise in her belly. Why had the Gods decided to curse her with such an insufferable husband? He spoke in a low, serious tone as he pledged, "I wouldn't dare."
She could only glare at him in response. It was rare that Lyarra felt lost for words. Her tongue often got her into trouble, and yet here she was now, unable to defend herself in a battle of wits against her sharp-tongued husband.
Sighing, Lyarra looked back at her direwolf, deciding that glaring at her husband would only make her more angry. Fang looked curiously between her and Jaime, as though she was asking them a question. Perhaps she was bewildered by their heated conversation. Lyarra knew that if she willed her to, Fang would attack Jaime without a second thought. Of course, that would not bode well with either of their families and Lyarra wasn't a cold-hearted murderer, but the thought did serve to exhilarate her a little.
"What will happen to her when my family leaves? Will she go with them?" Lyarra asked, staring at her direwolf. She felt Jaime's eyes move to her. For a few moments, he was silent as he stared at his young wife.
"No," Jaime spoke finally. Lyarra snapped her eyes to look at him, happiness dancing in her grey eyes at the promise of her direwolf staying in Casterly Rock. "The wolf can stay. But she won't be allowed to roam around the keep unaccompanied. She can stay in your room, if you wish. So long as she does not come into my room during the night or attack me when I go into yours."
Lyarra nodded eagerly. "I will control her," she promised, smiling at her husband gratefully. "Thank you."
Jaime shifted uncomfortably upon receiving his wife's gratitude and gave an awkward nod. "You may move her to your room tonight. Just make sure she doesn't bite my hand off when I visit you tonight."
When I come to take my rights. Lyarra understood him well enough. She gulped down the lump in her throat and gave him a small smirk. "So long as you avoid using that mocking tone of yours, she won't go near you."
As soon as the insults were brought back into the conversation, Jaime visibly relaxed and smirked down at her. "I'll do my best," he promised jokingly. "Though it will be difficult, I do so enjoy teasing my little wife."
Rolling her eyes, Lyarra agreed, "I know you do."
Her husband's smirk grew. "I think I'll leave you to your... whatever you do with your wolf. I have to get ready for the feast."
She spared him a quick nod which he barely acknowledged, too eager to exit the kennels. Lyarra didn't blame him. There was a foul stench coming from the dogs' stool, though Lyarra figured that it was more than the stench that forced Jaime to leave her so quickly. Was she such terrible company that he could not stand to be in her presence for longer than five minutes? Lyarra did not want to be stuck in a marriage filled with hatred – though she wasn't such a fool to believe that Jaime would love her, she doubted he could love anyone but himself – but how could she improve the relationship between them if he refused to give her the time of day?
'Till death do we part, Lyarra thought dryly. It would be a hard and difficult life indeed if she could not tolerate her husband.
Author's Note: T was honestly blown away by all the reviews and follows and favourites of the last chapter! 100 follows?! You guys are amazing! Another chapter will be posted by next week, I have most of it written already!
The relationship between Jaime and Lyarra is a slow one, but there will be tender moments between them even in the early stages of their romance. I just don't want to rush it, as Jaime is very loyal to Cersei and won't easily leave her for another woman. Let me know what you think!