Bitter Farewells

The king had grown impatient and weary of waiting for Bran to wake up, so he decided that it was within his rights to order Lyarra's father and sisters to leave for King's Landing immediately, even though Bran's fate was still hanging in the air. The day they were to leave was the same day Robb and Rickon would depart for Winterfell. Though Jon was capable enough, he wasn't trained to be Lord of Winterfell, Robb was, and Rickon was given the choice to stay with Lyarra or go home. Of course, he chose Winterfell. Mother – and hopefully Bran, if- when he woke – would follow them in a few weeks.

All at once, Lyarra was being stripped of all the family she had. It took all the will power she had just to get out of bed that morning and as her handmaiden dressed her, Lyarra noticed that her reflection in the mirror looked like that of a corpse, not a young girl. She splashed some water on her face and hoped that would make her complexion more lively.

They would say their goodbyes in the courtyard. Jaime was saying his farewells to his sister, her children and his brother Lord Tyrion. Tyrion was travelling north with Robb and Rickon. He wanted to visit the Wall. She hadn't had much interaction with her good-brother, but of all the Lannisters, he seemed the most tolerable.

Lyarra sighed, wondering why things never seemed to work out in her favour, before she walked towards her twin brother. Robb was readying his horse, but stopped when he saw her and gave her a big smile.

"We'll visit, I promise," he swore, as though he could read her mind. Tears pooled in Lyarra's eyes. Only the first farewell and I'm already crying! "And you'll visit Winterfell again someday. I swear it, Lya. Even if I have to drag you there myself!"

"Oh, Robb!" Lyarra laughed, tears falling down her cheeks as she smacked Robb's arm playfully. She sobbed and launched herself into his arms, holding her brother tight as though these her their final moments together. "I'm going to miss you!"

She heard Robb choke back a sob and felt bad for making him upset, but she couldn't help it! They had never been apart, and now they were to be permanently separated!

"I'll miss you too, Lya, but we'll see each other again. Don't worry," Robb promised. He pulled away from her and gave her another smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he said darkly, "And if the Kingslayer mistreats you in any way... I'll gut him, Lya. I will. I'll come south and gut him."

Though she knew full well that Robb was unlikely to beat her husband in a fair fight, Lyarra smiled at him gratefully before putting on a smirk. "If my husband mistreats me in any way, I'll have him gutted myself before you can reach Moat Cailin."

Robb's booming laughter filled the courtyard. "Promise me you'll stay like this. My little spitfire of a sister."

"Father said to me once that you can take a northerner out of the north, but you cannot take the north out of a northerner. I'll never change, Robb. I can promise you that." She grinned at him.

"Good." Robb was grinning back at her. He spotted someone over her shoulder and gave them a short nod before turning back to her with sorry eyes. "I think Father wants to speak with you now."

Lyarra nodded. She felt the tears rushing back and tried to blink them away to no avail. She wrapped her arms around Robb one last time. "I'll see you soon." She spoke the words like they were a warning and they were, in truth.

Nodding, Robb replied solemnly. "You will. Goodbye, sister."

"Goodbye, brother." Tears welled in her eyes, Lyarra had to tear herself away from her brother. She tried to appear composed when she reached her father and succeeded, somewhat. Her eyes still stung which meant that they were no doubt rimmed with red.

"How are you?" her father asked worriedly, noticing the tears in her eyes.

"I don't want you to go," Lyarra said weakly, her resolve weakened as soon as she saw her father's kind, worried face.

"I know. I don't want to go either. It's too soon," he admitted and offered her a sad smile. "I'm only a few miles away, in truth. No doubt Robert will plan some sort of celebration soon that will require the attendance of all the southern lords."

Lyarra laughed at the way her father spoke, all fancy-like. "You do not belong here, Father, not at all!"

Her father chuckled. "I must agree with you on that. But neither do you, Lyarra. You were supposed to stay in the North and marry some northern lord. If it was my choice, then that would be your life. I've failed you. I should have fought harder."

She placed a hand on her father's arm and shook her head vehemently. She would not have him blame himself for things beyond his control. "No. You were obeying your king. You always taught us to be loyal and honourable. If you disobeyed Robert, you wouldn't be you."

A smile graced her father's lips at her words. "You are exactly who your mother and I hoped you would be. I'm proud of you, Lyarra."

Beaming at his words, Lyarra embraced her father warmly and kissed his cheek. Just then as they broke apart, Rickon came running towards her and latched onto her leg. "I'm not leaving until Lya comes with us!"

"Enough of this, Rickon. Let go of your sister," Ned scolded.

Rickon began to sob into her skirts. Lyarra's heart broke for him. "Never!" he exclaimed.

"Come now, Rickon," she said to him, bending down to his level. He released her leg and stood in front of her, sniffling and wiping his nose. "We'll see each other soon."

"You promise?" he sobbed.

"I promise," that was a lie. As far as she knew, Lyarra wouldn't see Rickon again until he was a man grown. The thought saddened her. She had been more of a mother to Rickon than his own mother had, yet she would not get the privilege of seeing him grow into a man. Robb will. Robb gets everything. If only I had born a man!

"Come on, Rickon," their father said as he lifted his youngest child into his arms. He gave Lyarra one last sorrowful nod before he walked away from her. Lyarra choked on another sob. She could not bare any more farewells, yet she knew that she had to. Sansa and Arya came over to her next. Both were more composed than Robb and Father had been.

"You two mustn't fight too much. I won't be there to pull you two away from each other before things get too rough," Lyarra warned them, giving them a stern look like a mother would. She tried to be composed, but she felt herself tear up again and wrapped them both in a hug. "You'll write, won't you?" She spoke mostly to Arya, knowing that Sansa would be too wrapped up in court life to care about her.

"Of course we will!" Sansa chirped back. "And next time I visit you here, I may be queen!"

Lyarra rolled her eyes. Of course Sansa had to put in a mention of being queen somewhere in the conversation. At least they had gotten her boasting over with.

"Isn't that treason or something? You're anticipating the death of the king," Arya said bluntly, narrowing her eyes at Sansa. Lyarra bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. As unfair as it was, Lyarra often rooted for Arya when her and Sansa would argue.

Sansa went a bright shade of red and began stammering. "What, I- I would, would never-"

"Whatever," Arya interrupted, ignoring Sansa as she focused on Lyarra. "I'll write to you once every two weeks. Don't be insulted if I don't for a while, though. I'll be exploring King's Landing!"

"Of course you will be." Lyarra ruffled her little sister's hair fondly, earning a groan. "You must tell me all about it. Hopefully I'll see King's Landing for myself soon."

"You should be coming with us." Arya pouted.

"Lyarra can't. She has to stay with her husband!" Sansa stated, having only just recovered from Arya's accusation. Lyarra wished she hadn't. She didn't need another reminder of her current situation.

"That doesn't mean I have to stay glued to his hip," Lyarra snapped, causing Sansa to flinch and Arya to grin madly. She turned to her youngest sister. "After I settle into Casterly Rock, I'll visit you in King's Landing. That's a promise." She was making a lot of promises today. Lyarra hoped that she would able to keep some of them. But of all the promises she made today, visiting King's Landing was the most probable.

Without warning, Arya launched herself into Lyarra's arms and held her tight. Arya was sobbing which made Lyarra start crying as well. "I'm going to miss you so much," Arya sobbed into Lyarra's hair. "It's going to be so lonely without you."

Lyarra stroked Arya's hair and held her tighter, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss you too, Arya. But this is not forever. I'm only a few miles away." She gave her sister a reassuring smile. "Be good, the both of you. No fighting."

"I'm not promising anything," Arya said, wiping her nose.

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Of course you wouldn't." She gave Lyarra a curt nod and a polite smile, not at all the farewell one would bid their sister. "Goodbye, sister."

"Goodbye, Sansa." Lyarra didn't bother embracing her, knowing that Sansa would be embarrassed by the open display of affection. She merely gave her sister a nod before turning to Arya again. She ruffled her youngest sister's hair again and smiled down at her. "You best go to Father. I think the royal party's leaving now."

"Goodbye, Lya," Arya said sadly, tearing up again. Lyarra gave her one last kiss on the forehead before she bid them both farewell. Only the gods knew how long it would be until they would see each other again.

She watched the horses and wheelhouses fade away into the distance, her lord husband by her side. It took all the strength she had to not start crying again. She would not have the servants thinking that she was weak and unstable. But as the little Lady Lannister tried to look impassive, she felt herself crumbling. She wasn't just losing her family today; she was saying goodbye to her childhood, her entire past. Winterfell was all she had known. For so long, her family was her life. Everything was going to change. She needed her mother, more than she ever had, but Lady Stark was currently at Bran's bedside, staring at his motionless body and uselessly willing him to wake up.

"I'm going to see Bran," she told Jaime crassly. He had so rarely been polite towards her, so she didn't see the point of trying with him anymore. She walked away before he could reply and was only barely in the keep before tears started falling down her face. Was this what it was to be an adult? To be a wife? It seemed so dreadfully lonely. If this was to be her life... Lyarra didn't think she could ever get used to it.

Instead of going to see her brother – Lyarra wasn't in a state to be around anyone – she ran to her bedroom and barred the doors. Her bedroom. Her home. It still sounded strange to call Casterly Rock her home when it was not. If this is to be my future, then I must accept it, Lyarra thought. There's no point in wallowing in something that cannot be changed. She would wallow today, she decided, but tomorrow... tomorrow she would become the Lady of Casterly Rock.

Catelyn didn't know what time it was.

With the shutters closed, she couldn't even tell what time of day it was. But the sunlight would pain her eyes, and it was easier to forget about the outside world, about all other worries, when the shutters were closed. All that mattered to her at the moment was Bran. Everything else was just a distraction.

"My sweet boy," she muttered to her son's motionless form, tearing up at the sight of him. "My dear, sweet boy. Come back to me." For the fourth time that day, Catelyn began to cry. She leaned over her son's body and wept. "Please, come back to me!"

There was a knock on the door. Startled, Catelyn straightened up and wiped her eyes, remembering when the queen had caught her in such a sorry state on days before. Or was it yesterday? Catelyn hadn't slept in so long... she could no longer tell which day it was.

"Come in," she replied to the knocking, her voice was hoarse from crying. All the speaking she had done in the past few hours was whispering encouragingly to Bran, begging him to return to her. Tywin Lannister walked into the room. Catelyn didn't even bother to stand up to greet him.

"Lady Stark," Tywin greeted, inclining his head in respect. Catelyn did the same. He walked over to the window and opened the shutters. "Some sunlight might do him good."

She nodded rigidly. "I thank you for letting us stay longer, my lord. The maester says that the journey back to Winterfell would only serve to further bend his spine. Whatever chance he has of walking..." Catelyn choked on a sob. Gulping, she struggled to continue. "I thank you for your hospitality."

"We are family now," Tywin replied, sitting down on the seat at the end of Bran's bed. "Through your daughter's marriage to my son. I have a duty to your family, as yours does to mine."

Although she had grown up in the south and had a reasonable understanding of how the mechanisms of southern politics worked, sometimes Catelyn was baffled by the overly ambitious lords that were bred in lands even more southerly than Riverrun. Tywin Lannister often confused her, with his hidden meanings and suggestions. Perhaps she had gotten too used to the simple ways of the North, or perhaps Lord Tywin was too good at this game they played in the south.

"Indeed," Catelyn said warily. "I know that House Stark will aid House Lannister in any way we can."

Lord Tywin gave an approving nod. "Then by all means, you may stay as long as you like."

"Thank you, my lord," she said again, weakly this time. Something so simple as a conversation had succeeded in tiring her.

For quite some time, they sat in silence, staring at Bran's unmoving body. Lord Tywin was as thoughtful as she was melancholic. Even as still as he was, Catelyn could almost see the gears working behind his narrowed, green eyes.

"He's a strong boy," Tywin commented. "Tall for his age, yes?"

Catelyn nodded. "Taller than Robb was at his age. He and Sansa were the only ones lucky enough to inherit the Tully height." She gave a small laugh. "Robb, Lyarra and Arya favour the Starks in that regard."

"Lyarra is very small," Tywin noted, his eyes narrowing again at her. Catelyn almost shrunk beneath his glare. "I have wondered if her small frame would have any effect on her ability to bare children."

Blinking in surprise, Catelyn was somewhat outraged that he would speak to her about such things while her son was on the brink of... no, she would not say it. Nevertheless, Lord Tywin should have more tact.

"It should have none at all, as far as I know." Catelyn's response was crisp. It was her duty to provide Tywin with whatever information he asked for regarding Lyarra, however much she loathed doing so. "She is healthy and had her blood at a reasonable age. I don't see how it would be an issue."

He nodded briskly, becoming thoughtful again. "You must understand my concern. The future of House Lannister is dependant on your daughter's fertility."

"And Ser Jaime's," Catelyn reminded him sharply. "There is no way to know whether your son is capable of siring children either."

The Old Lion raised his eyebrows, surprised at Catelyn's boldness and seeming almost impressed by it. Catelyn would not have her daughter's fertility put into question without some sort of retaliation for the slight. "I suppose so," was Tywin's reply. "Though House Lannister has never produced a barren man or woman."

"Neither has House Tully," Catelyn stated proudly. "Nor House Stark, to my knowledge."

Tywin regarded her closely, as though measuring her worth. "You're more intelligent than I'd thought you be. They said you were a doting mother and a capable lady, but said nothing of your cleverness." He let out a humourless laugh. "Your daughter, too. I expected a witless child. I was pleasantly surprised. She's intelligent."

Catelyn smiled. A mother was always more proud of her sons, as they were hers forever, but Catelyn was fiercely proud of Lyarra as well. She was dutiful, obedient and clever, so different to her sisters. While Arya was disobedient and wilful and Sansa, though a perfect lady, often whinged until she got her way, Lyarra only ever did as she was told. She admired that in her daughter. It was a quality she appreciated, now that she had two daughters who were rather disobedient.

"Lyarra is the only one of my children who ever showed an interest in her studies." Catelyn remembered how enthusiastic Lyarra had been about her lessons, telling stories at dinner about what she'd learned that day. "Robb loved to learn about strategies and war and Bran loved to listen to the histories of the North and South alike, but Lyarra was the only one who listened enthusiastically, no matter what subject. She'll do well at managing your keep."

"I don't doubt it," Tywin allowed. "At first I was reluctant to hand over the running of Casterly Rock to a mere girl, but your husband promised me that she was capable. I will take him at his word. I trust that's not a mistake on my part."

"It is not, my lord. I assure you," Catelyn promised.

Without saying anything more, Lord Tywin stood and walked towards the door. Before he opened it, he turned around to Catelyn and continued speaking. "You should get some sleep, Lady Stark. You're no good to the boy if you're half-asleep."

She gave him a short nod in response, not happy with being told what to do by a man who was of no relation to her. She didn't leave Bran's side for the rest of the day, and it was her stubbornness that saved her son's life.

"My lord. Ser Jaime. My lord, wake up."

Drunk with sleep, Jaime struggled to open his eyes. When he did, he caught a blurred vision of a young woman standing over him, her hand raised to slap him. Before she could, he grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too roughly. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. For future reference, cold water works nicely."

"Yes, my lord," the girl chirped. Jaime recognised her now. She was his wife's handmaiden. Jaime turned his head to the right, finding that the space beside him was empty. Lyarra was not in her bed. He looked to the handmaiden for an explanation. "There was an attack, last night. On Bran Stark. Lady Stark got her hands cut open, but the boy is fine." The handmaiden explained to him. Before she could finish the sentence, Jaime had jumped out of bed, as naked as his nameday, and threw on his clothes without bothering to lace his doublet.

"Why wasn't I told sooner?" Jaime barked at the handmaiden who was watching him, blushing madly. Jaime smirked. He had seldom felt attraction for a woman who wasn't Cersei, that didn't mean he didn't enjoy being admired by the opposite sex.

"Lady Lyarra said not to. She said there was no need," the girl stammered.

Jaime huffed. "It seems I ought to have a word with my wife."

He stormed out of the chambers he shared with his wife and towards Bran's room, where he knew he would find either Lyarra or Lady Stark. Truly, he only wished to find someone who would tell him what was going on. If my wife thinks that she can keep information from me... Lyarra Stark was not the shy, insipid girl he had thought her to be. Jaime had a feeling she was a lot cleverer than she let on.

When he entered the boy's room without even knocking, Jaime was surprised to find not just Lyarra and Lady Stark, but his father, Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan as well. It seemed that everyone in the castle knew except him. The thought enraged Jaime. Father has gotten what he always wanted, me as his heir, yet he still treats me like a child!

"Jaime," his uncle was the first to greet him. Lyarra was watching him with wide, grey eyes. He sent her a glare that made his little wife shrink. Jaime was too angry to feel guilty.

"Uncle," Jaime responded blankly. "It seems that nobody bothered to inform me my young good-brother was attacked. Will someone tell me what the fuck happened?"

"Watch your tongue." His father was next to speak, silencing Jaime's arguments with a quick glare. Jaime shrunk, just as his wife had only seconds ago. "Your wife and her mother are distressed. You will show some respect." Jaime almost laughed. His father... concerned about the feelings of two insignificant women? What had Tywin to gain from being kind? "An assassin broke in during the night, wielding this dagger." Tywin handed him the dagger. Jaime could recognise the quality of the steel with only a quick glance.

"Valyrian steel," he recognised, shock evident in his tone. "Who would have..."

"That's what we've been discussing," his Aunt Genna responded. She too regarded him with disapproval. "Who would want a young boy dead? Do you have anything to add, Jaime?"

Cersei... could she have? No. Jaime didn't dare consider it. Cersei may be ruthless, but she was a mother too. Surely she couldn't kill a child! Jaime stammered his answer. "No, I..."

"That's why we didn't wake you," his aunt summarised sharply. "Everyone in this room was woken for a reason. Your wife and Lady Stark for obvious reasons, your father because the deed was done in his keep, and Kevan... well, Kevan just seems to always be lurking about somewhere." She smiled kindly at him. "No offense towards you was attended."

"That doesn't explain why you're here, Genna," Kevan pointed out, eyeing his sister with disapproval.

Genna merely grinned. "Why, brother, you wound me! How would anything get done in this dreadful place if it wasn't for me?"

"Enough of your childishness," Tywin chided his siblings and Jaime. "Your contributions are unnecessary. What of the assassin, have you spoken with the guards?" He turned to Kevan.

"Yes. None of them saw anyone enter the keep. Either the assassin himself knew Casterly Rock well, or he was given instructions by someone who did," Kevan said. "Either way, it is reasonable to suspect someone who was either in the castle recently or who has lived in Casterly Rock for a long period of time."

Jaime's heartbeat quickened, realising that both suggestions implicated himself and Cersei. Even if they did, Father would never punish Cersei and I when the boy's fall can so easily be brushed under the rug. Jaime knew his father would never risk tainting the legacy of House Lannister. He had to hope that Tywin Lannister's obsession with his family's legacy was more important to the ageing lord than the fact that his own grandchildren were the products of incest between his son and daughter, which was not an unreasonable thing to hope.

Kevan and Genna filled him in on what happened once they had left Lady Stark and Lyarra to fuss over the Stark boy. An assassin had broken into the boy's rooms and attempted to kill him with a Valyrian steel dagger. Between Lady Stark and the boy's wolf, the attacker didn't succeed. That explained Lady Stark's bandaged hands. She had stopped the assassin from slicing her son by clutching the dagger herself, cutting her hands open in the process. Jaime was beginning to admire his wife's mother, seeing her as more of a she-wolf than a trout in her later years.

Later that night, he sat by the fire with a cup of ale in his hand. The life of a lord had driven him to drink. As a knight, he was too busy worrying about training and becoming a better swordsman to dare drink more than two cups of ale. As a lord and heir to the richest man in Westeros, Jaime was bored shitless. He was no good at ruling or any of the duties that came with being a lord. Jaime had half a mind to believe that Tywin had given up on making him a good ruler. Perhaps he planned for Kevan or Genna or one of his other uncles to rule in Jaime's stead when the time came. Needless to say, Jaime spent his days doing nothing but train in the tiltyard – his skill with a sword was much less useful now and training felt meaningless – and attend feasts and fuck his wife. The boredom was driving him insane.

He was on his fifth cup when his wife entered their chambers, closing the door quietly so she wouldn't wake him up. He grinned at her, basking in the shocked look on her face when she saw him.

"I thought you'd be asleep," she said bluntly. She had long given up on being formal with him, that was at least something he could be grateful for. Pleasantries were mind-numbing.

"Yet here I am. Very awake. Join me." He lifted his cup of ale before he downed half of it in one gulp.

"May I ask what has driven you to drink?" she questioned, lifting the pitcher from the table not to pour herself a drink, but to stiff it. She cringed at the smell. "That's strong."

"That's the point," Jaime assured her, drinking another quarter of his cup. Lyarra gave him a pointed look that made Jaime roll his eyes and give in. "Fine, fine. Gods, woman. You're a right nag. The reason I have turned to drink is simple." He paused for a second, for dramatic purposes. "Boredom."

"Boredom?" Lyarra repeated, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Boredom," he repeated, nodding. "You see, little wife, only months ago I was a knight of the Kingsguard. There were only seven of us in all of Westeros. How many heirs are there in Westeros? Well?"

The little wolf took a minute to think about it his question before she shrugged, exhaling a heavy sigh. "I don't know. How many?"

"I don't know either, that's how many! I tried to count, but there are too many, you see. I am one of, what, hundred heirs in Westeros? As a knight of the Kingsguard, I was different, above all the rest. Now I am a mere lord, just like everyone else. One of many heirs. Condemned to a lifetime of boredom." Jaime chuckled darkly. "Yet they keep telling me I made a mistake in joining the Kingsguard. Bullshit."

"Don't let your father hear you saying that," Lyarra replied, taking off her dress until all that remained was her smallclothes. Jaime could hear the laughter in her voice. "He'd be scandalised."

Jaime scoffed. "I don't care about what my father thinks. I don't care about what anyone thinks."

Lyarra stopped her scurrying about the room and stopped to stare at him, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to be sizing him up. Jaime found it unnerving. Finally, she shrugged and looked away. "Very well," was her long-awaited response.

Perhaps it was the wine or the rage he had felt earlier that day rising to the surface once more, but Jaime suddenly felt blinded by anger. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying his very best not to lash out on his wife. He needed to shout or yell or hit something, but settled for growling at Lyarra as she went about tidying up the room.

"Why didn't you wake me this morning?" Jaime asked suddenly. The question startled Lyarra and made her turn around to face him again.

"When I woke up, I was told that my brother had been attacked by an assassin during the night and my mother had her hands cut open." She gave him a scathing look. "You feeling 'left out' wasn't exactly my priority."

"It ought to have been. You don't get to be privy to more information than I am," Jaime barked, rising to his feet and approaching Lyarra. He towered over her.

"It wasn't about that!" Lyarra exclaimed in exasperation. "You weren't on my mind at all. Don't turn this into something it's not."

"Your handmaiden told me that you gave her express instructions not to wake me," he seethed. "That doesn't sound like I completely slipped your mind. Speak plainly, Lyarra. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Yes, I told her not to wake you up because it was not yet dawn and I didn't think you'd appreciate being woken up at such an hour," she explained, taking a step away from him. "Why are you acting like this, like I've done something terrible?"

"Because you did, Lyarra! You're my wife, for goodness sake, you don't get to know things that I don't!" he shouted, causing Lyarra to jump and look at with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like a doe before being slaughtered. Jaime came to his senses and regretted shouting at her, but pride stopped him from apologising.

Fear soon morphed to quiet acceptance, and Lyarra bowed her head as her shoulders fell, indicating her submission. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I-" She sighed, deciding not to say what she had in mind, instead settling on repeating herself. "I'm sorry. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

As he watched her climb into bed without so much as another word shared between the two of them, Jaime felt a mixture of shock and guilt. Shock because he had thought Lyarra was too much of a spitfire to concede any argument and guilt because he had yelled at her and had made her look so small. Jaime took a while to gather himself and his thoughts before he joined her in the bed. He had his own bed in the room beside hers, but Jaime found himself sleeping in Lyarra's bed out of sheer habit.

His wife didn't say a word to him as he climbed into bed and silently blew out the candle beside her bed, leaving them both in darkness.

Author's Note: Things are about to get interesting! Next chapter Catelyn tells Lyarra of her suspicions of the Lannisters and their involvement in Bran's fall.

HPuni101 brought to my attention something that many of you might be confused by. Robb and Lyarra are in fact twins, but I'm going to imagine that Robb's birthday was just a week or two before the start of the first season. The main reason for this is that I want to have a birthday feast in Casterly Rock, haha.

Tell me what you think!