This is a 5.7k present for being so patient with me. I am also slowly going to start cross-posting on AO3 as well
I am not abandoning fanfiction net either, just cross posting
*****This is an AU. ****
I don't know how else to highlight the above.
I'm mixing book and show at this point
If its recognizable, I don't own it. I do own Lya and Athena
We're going to be getting into more action within the next few chapters.
We've got new POVs one of which I doubt anyone would have expected
This is not edited. There's probably mistakes I have missed.
Chapter 7
Lya POV
She wasn't avoiding anyone.
Really, she wasn't.
Well, not successfully at least.
Look, she'd gone and pulled a Trelawney on Ned, which the man didn't need in the middle of planning a war. The North was far removed from the others, she'd noticed the weeks it took to get back to Winterfell while staying in the North. She'd also noticed every few days groups would split off from the main army on their way back to Winterfell.
There were plans already in motion. What, she hadn't a clue. It bothered her to not be as involved, but at least she wasn't a sitting duck here.
At least they weren't being tortured. Her dreams were torture enough.
Ned was constantly in and out of meetings, many of which Robb and occasionally Theon were dragged to. Yet he always came and found her, checked on her more since she scared him in the godswood, even though they all ate together in the evenings. It wasn't anything to do with the ongoing issues that she was being blocked from, despite having made the stones that would protect the boarders.
Pieces were missing, and someone had stolen the puzzle box, so whatever the bigger picture was she didn't know.
Catelyn, on the other hand, avoiding her was almost too easy some days.
Lya didn't know how much longer this would last. The obvious struggle only grew worse as the days passed but how was she supposed to stop the inevitable? She wasn't stupid. They were both too stubborn to relent. Trying hard to keep the peace was nearing impossible without sacrificing a part of herself. Maybe there was a time she hadn't been as head strong or as willful, but she wasn't the same little girl anymore. She didn't even remember that girl.
Ned realized it, she thought. He understood that she was different and didn't force her to change to match his memory. His eyes were sad, wistful sometimes but it was nothing like the disappointment from Catelyn. Ned carried less expectations. All of Catelyn's ended in disappointment.
Disappointment for not saying "Mother" or "Lady Mother", when addressing her.
Disappointment for hiding from the visiting lords as though they were there for a friendly visit and not war.
Disappointment when she saw her and Arya come in covered in dirt. Worse on the few days Sansa joined them to learn defense.
Disappointment when she couldn't sit still long enough to stay for needlepoint lessons, as clanking armor and shouting from the yard pulled her attention like falling stones and soul-rattling screams.
Disappointment when she chose to wear trousers instead of a dress some days. She liked dresses, but a part of her twitched when wearing one. Running would be harder. The skirt would tangle her up. She wasn't used to such long gowns, no matter how comfortable they were physically. Mentally she couldn't handle it all of the time.
Sometimes? Sure, she liked the elegance of long gowns, even if Catelyn's older gowns didn't exactly help with the cold outside the warm stonewalls. Nothing seemed to help fight the cold away.
Wearing them all of the time? Absolutely not. The cruciatus curse hadn't succeeded in driving her completely crazy, but those gowns might.
Did how she feel about the dresses matter to Catelyn when more often than not Lya had to politely turn away whatever poor servant was sent to help her dress. She learned their names and thanked them even when they were sent away. They had better things to do than help her into clothes that were complicated enough she couldn't quite figure out how to do by herself with magic.
She would figure it out, if only so they stopped helping her dress.
She'd figured out how to braid her own hair with the help of a bribed Arya. Another way to avoid Catelyn's disappointed gaze.
Mostly.
Her refusal to go into the Sept was the most recent argument, bad enough that Ned later came to her and explained it was her choice which gods she prayed to. Not Catelyn's.
The Sept was an empty building with candles and a seven-pointed star that took up most of the seven-sided room. The godswood felt alive. The whispering wind between the old trees. The echoes of deep magic soaked in the grounds. A humming energy that ignited something within her, drawing her in to safety and comfort.
She wasn't sure how little her could have handled being dragged into the silence that was the Sept, when the godswood was right there.
It was also a really good place to avoid other people. Like annoying boys that couldn't take a hint.
Jojen, one of the few not annoying ones, would join her sometimes, the main courtyard had only become louder since she finished the stones and neither of them enjoyed the chaos. It was too much for her senses, so creating extra Ward stones was a good escape. Not that they really needed any, but they were better to have prepared.
It helped distract her from thinking about how her senses had changed. The world wasn't more vibrant despite all of the grays House Stark was fond of. She definitely couldn't hear the water running through the walls of her bedroom to warm the room without a fire. She surely couldn't taste blood in stew or anything with freshly cooked meat.
She certainly, positively could not hear them whispering about her when she was supposedly out of earshot. Even the suitors who she was one bad day away from potentially causing a political incident of a more violent variety.
It stung to have no one to really speak to about all the new experiences she was having to figure out. Lavender was dead, and all her other friends were beyond reach.
Jojen was as sane as she was, at least. He understood the importance of keeping silent, keeping secrets occasionally. Hanging around Jojen also had the added benefit of lords' sons not being able to find her. It was worse than the Yule Ball, at least those boys were mostly cowards. These were trying every opportunity to speak with her, except in the godswood.
They respected prayer. Even if that wasn't exactly what she was doing hiding with the trees.
She didn't understand why they were trying so desperately, when she didn't even know their names. People didn't ask her out at Hogwarts, everyone thought she was the niece of Minerva McGonagall, who could hand out detentions and take points away if anyone looked at her wrong.
Aunt Minerva didn't, but people thought she would and Lya liked that protection. She preferred to be left alone. Ned being the Lord of Winterfell didn't deter boys or men twice her age.
She couldn't hide in the godswood today. She'd fixed the bones that healed just slightly wrong in Bran, but to do that and heal his spinal cord, he needed to be unconscious. Well, not need, but it would be painful were he awake.
It was the one room she wasn't faced with disappointment, even when Catelyn was there, wringing her hands despite Lya's assurances.
Old Nan took Catelyn's spot at his bedside today. A frail old woman, who still had the nimbleness to knit as she sat, content to let Lya work and set wards on the room without question.
Bran, sweet and possibly naive, didn't hesitate to hang on her every word of what recovery would look like. The desperation to regain his legs was stronger than his sense, but Lya knew what it felt like to be missing something she could almost touch. Bran's fall wasn't as recent as she would've liked, but in time he'd be climbing the walls again, once he rebuilt some muscle.
Swiping a stray hair away from his face, peaceful in the healing sleep, Lya pocketed her wand into her trousers.
"Have they found some dresses for you yet?", Old Nan asked, finishing off a row on her knitting needles.
"Some of Lady Catelyn's old gowns." Lya said politely, preparing for some question as to why she wasn't wearing them.
But she didn't. Simply continued her knitting. "There are some dresses stored, that would fit you better, for the days you wish to wear them. Possibly some tunics and trousers as well. You Lya's all have the same build."
She wasn't sure who Old Nan meant. Obviously family, but she didn't know who. She could magically adjust clothes to an extent, but it wasn't great to do that repeatedly. It wore the fabric and seams down over time. To have clothes that didn't stand out as much as what little she had from Hogwarts well "That would be brilliant, if it's not too much a bother."
Old Nan waved her concerns off. She walked to the door faster than Lya thought her capable of. She already had alarms on the room and pointedly glanced at Summer, who barely left Bran's side to keep watch over his human as Athena fell into step with her and Old Nan.
She opened the furthest door for Old Nan once she'd unlocked it with a clunky key that she stored back around her neck. The room near the end of the hall housed chests all sealed to protect whatever was within. Old Nan hummed a tune to herself as she glanced at the outsides of each, before deciding on one with faded blue winter roses carved into it.
"Should we be in here?", Lya asked. Old Nan had a key, but this felt less like a storage room and more like a forgotten memorial.
"It's tradition for gowns to be passed down if in good enough condition, waste not want not." Old Nan said, shrewdly. "New gowns are all well and good, but many gowns stay pristine. Especially Lady Lyanna's. She didn't wear hers as much as your Grandfather wished."
"Lady Lyanna?"
"Your Aunt, gods rest her soul." Old Nan said, beginning to sift through the chest. "Wild and perhaps spoiled, by her father and brothers. Always thought she knew best. Old Nan sounded weary as she pulled out a beautifully embroidered gown. "Poor thing paid the price for it, too. The wolf's blood was strong in her, but the early death of your grandmother did her no favors. The world is not made for ladies, the way it is for men."
She'd noticed that. Aunt Minerva would have rolled her eyes at the ridiculous notions some of the people here had in regards to the place of a woman. That was the least of what she would do in truth, Lya thought glancing at her jittery hands. Not to say the Wizarding World was perfect in that regard. Most witches held a higher degree of freedom there at least.
"Lady Catelyn thinks I should focus more on the feminine arts", Lya said, helping Old Nan start a stack of dresses. Old Nan separated out a few smaller tunics and trousers as well.
"She is a fine enough Lady, your mother, but there are differences in what makes a Lady of the North and a Southron Lady. Southron rules and niceties won't help you through the Winter."
"Then what will?"
She didn't answer. Shifting a dress that looked a little worse for wear into a different stack. "Kin, shelter, and food do me just fine", Old Nan said. "Many winters have come and gone, and we didn't survive them by staying in boxes built by another's gods."
Lya watched as she placed a gown into a third pile after finding a small hole at one of the seams. "So embroidery is useless?"
A wispy, scratchy laugh escaped her. "No skill is ever useless. It's how one uses a skill that decides it's usefulness. The coming Winter will need all the skills we have."
Lya paused. Was that not the same with spells? How many of them had used a tickling curse to distract or incapacitate one of the false teachers? How many useless and silly spells had they turned into something sinister in order to survive the last year of hell at Hogwarts?
"Any more wisdom for a girl out of her depth?", Lya asked. Might as well see if the Old woman had anything else that might help Lya feel a little less lost.
Old Nan checked the seams on a leather vest. "Dark wings bring dark words. In life and mind."
Lya winced as her head throbbed slightly. She didn't want to waste pain potions on a small headache brought on by her lack of sleep, but she sure was close.
She went back to her light humming. Old Nan handed her one of the simpler gowns to try on. She sent a locking spell at the door, before slipping on a linen underdress and then the wool gown.
Winterfell was warmer inside than out, but with so many windows kept open, Lya felt the need to keep a warming charm on herself as often as possible, beyond the occasions she refused to think of. The wool dress, or wool clothing in general, might be something she has to look more into. The cotton, linen, and even acrylic of the other world was not near this warm by itself, even with her tolerance to the cold.
No wonder she'd been fine in Scotland. It was summer here and she was certain she saw snow this morning.
True to Old Nan's word, they fit better than the one's Lady Catelyn had given her.
Lya wasn't opposed to keeping the dress on for the moment. If nothing else it was so much warmer and she didn't feel as out of touch today. It also would help hide her since everyone had become used to her strange attire.
Except Catelyn, but she couldn't do anything about that.
She pushed down the thoughts of what her dorm mates would have said, seeing her inside the well made gown. She shook away memories of Lavender's squeal when she'd found a dress for the Yule Ball that both of them approved of.
She didn't have time to think about them.
Old Nan glanced at her expectantly, as she picked up the clothes. "Out of all your nifty tricks, you can't send them to your chambers?"
She blushed. She'd been taking it slow with her magic since the incident, even though she knew she was fine. People also seemed to be wary of her abilities, so hiding them was almost easier.
She knew she stood out, but the way some of the soldiers looked if she used magic in their sight was, concerning to say the least.
With a wave of her wand, the clothes were gown and Old Nan took her arm, locking the door behind them. Before Lya realized Old Nan was back to her knitting at Bran's bedside, muttering about lying crows.
Athena nudged at her hand, a low whine following her cold nose.
She ran her hands through her fur. "I'm fine, Thee."
Even Lya didn't quiet buy her own words a she tried to stifle a yawn.
Judged by a direwolf, how had this become her life?
Domeric Bolton POV
He kept away from the returned eldest daughter despite his lord father's insistence. A Stark marrying a Bolton would be good for their house, as he had been repeatedly told, given their long and bloody history. It felt wrong to force himself in her company when she clearly wanted nothing to do with any of the lords and their sons beyond the Reed heir. The other lordlings could make fools of themselves in fighting for attention only to lose to whatever young Stark witnessed or was sent to free her from conversations.
He gained a silent satisfaction watching little Lord Rickon barrel into his sister's side, and growl with his direwolf at whatever poor soul had the misfortune of believing that Lady Lyarra would be so easily charmed.
His father pushed the topic every evening, but his business with her was beyond his father's ambitions.
Domeric thumbed the folded, worn parchment that had arrived during his fostering. A gruesome dark portrait that haunted him for years, until the day it saved his life and ended his half brother's.
He longed for answers to the sketch and the small note on the back that gave him warning to a worse fate. Answers he never thought possible to receive since she'd gone missing years before it came true. Answers he would not receive, since the artist suffered memory loss. Suffered more than that given her strange behaviors.
Either few noticed or few beyond her family cared. His father brushed off his concerns that the Lady Lyarra be allowed space to reacquaint herself with her family and the North after so long.
He understood the strength of such a match. A powerful magic user, favored by her Lord Paramount Father, who rode to war for his dear sister without hesitation when Domeric was only recently born.
Lord Stark did well to not play favorites, but none could blame him for allowing the eldest more freedom, when the she-wolf reminded every person old enough of either Lady Lyanna or the Late Lady Stark.
A true Northern Beauty, everyone whispered.
Beautiful was true, even in her odd attire. Domeric may not have approached her, but he was hardly blind.
Seeing her in a dress was interesting. He'd been heading towards the library, the Bolton's history was extensive, but House Stark had some that had only been gifted to a few houses, not including personal accounts from Stark Kings. He couldn't take them out of the library, but Lord Stark had been kind enough to allow him to stay and read in the quiet tower, when he was not brought into war councils.
For all that the elegantly simple gray gown startled him, it did not hide the slight fog over her tired blue eyes. Even at the slight distance he could see the dark circles under her eyes.
"My Lady, are you well?", Domeric asked. He watched the massive red direwolf at her side. He'd seen Lord Robb's own in the war councils that he was brought to, but the personality difference between the wolves was curious.
Finding out could potentially cost him a limb, thus he kept his distance.
"I'm fine", she said. Her accent was certainly Northern, but her phrases were odd.
Did fine have a different meaning elsewhere than what he understood?
"Do you wish for me to find one of your siblings?"
She smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. "No need, I was heading to the library.
Well, that was interesting. "I as well, my lady. Your lord father has been most gracious in allowing me to read some of the histories we do not possess at the Dreadfort."
Her brow furrowed. "Dreadfort."A shaky hand lifting to fiddle with the finely crafted wolf at her neck as she asked, "House Bolton?"
"Aye, Ser Domeric Bolton, my Lady", he said softly. She did not seem entirely off-put by his house's reputation. "Might I accompany you there?"
He'd find another path there if she said no. He refused to bring the wrong attention to himself more than his family already did.
The wolf stepped closer first, sniffing before licking his hand. Well, at least it was still attached.
"Might as well", she said with a shrug of her shoulders that he almost raised an eyebrow at.
He did not try to fill the silence that fell between them as they walked through mainly abandoned halls that he had not been through before.
So this was how she'd been avoiding most of them.
"What histories are you reading?"
He doubted she was truly interested. "There are scrolls on the Kings of Winter here that aren't anywhere else."
She nodded. A stiff silence fell between them that felt wrong.
"There's oneā¦
Domeric knew he was often regarded as quiet. However, he possessed an unfortunate habit of over-sharing in regards to horses or history.
Jasper Redfort, the eldest of the brothers he'd gained during his time squiring with Lord Redfort in the Vale,thought it a game, seeing how long they could get Domeric talking about a certain topic.
If Lady Lyarra was bothered, she did not say. A polite Lady or simply unsure. Domeric did not know.
Midway, she finally interrupted him. "If someone were learning the histories for the first time, what would you recommend?"
He knew of her memory loss. Everyone knew, whispered about it when she was far enough away. It was tasteless. She was the daughter of their lord and so obviously suffered things beyond their understanding.
Domeric understood why she hid away with her siblings and the Reeds.
"Well, the Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms is probably the most inclusive", he said hesitantly.
"So large and a bit of a dull read?"
Domeric ducked his head with a smile. "Even one such as I had trouble with that particular text. There are many books that detail specific events or reigns. Maester Yandel's work has up through the Ironborn rebellion."
She nodded.
He held the door open for her into the library tower. A section was still burned. Tombs older than all of the North's inhabitants had burned in a fire weeks before, leaving charred pages behind.
They separated. Her going straight to Septon Chayle as Domeric tucked himself away with a few of the more obscure histories that were written in tongues long forgotten.
For a Septon, Chayle was the most respectful one he'd met. He did not force any into conversation about the Seven if they were unwilling. He mainly kept to the small sept on the grounds of Winterfell and the Library.
He'd not seen the stick she'd carried before as she leaned over a few of the burned books that had been separated, but not cleaned away from the destroyed section of the tower.
Ashes and pages began to levitate and swirl near the burned section of the tower. Slowly books began to reform, in conditions better than what Domeric thought they had been. Pages that had begun to wear suddenly looked as though they had been written that very day. Floating as though carried by invisible hands that quickly and meticulously placed them back into their bindings.
It was wondrous to watch, as even Septon Chayle clapped at the sight. Completely oblivious to Lyarra swaying slightly behind him. The dark circles more prominent.
Robb POV
He wasn't ready.
There wasn't a chance to contemplate whether he was ready to lead the North when the letter had come declaring Father a traitor, nor when he called the banners or began the march south.
Now, in the safety of Winterfell, with soldiers already dispersed to all corners of the North and more to follow in the coming days, Robb understood.
He wasn't ready to rule the North. He didn't want to be Lord of Winterfell, not for a very long time.
Oh sure, many of the Northern Lords said he'd done well in his father's stead, but his father commanded rooms in a such a way that none dared question him. Robb had seen his father look more Lord of Winterfell than Father many times, but there was something different this time. Something wilder lurking underneath, controlled so tightly that many lords would visibly straighten when .
He'd changed in the short time he'd been south. Or maybe there was a side of Father that Robb never saw before.
Having Lya back, as odd as calling her that was given how she'd demanded to be called her full name as a child, was as joyful as it was painful.
Joyful because she was alive. His little sister who he had begun to fear the worst for was alive and doing better than he'd imagined.
Painful because he was no more than a stranger to her. She joked and needled him, but he was no longer her brother who she knew would defend her. She didn't take any comfort in him from nightmares, either. Though she usually went to Jon for that.
He couldn't be upset then or now for that. Jon was everyone, except Sansa's, favorite brother. Even his.
As much as he was a stranger to her, she was a stranger to him. There was a shadow of his little sister, that showed up in the little things she did. He didn't know how to talk with his sister anymore. He'd lived so much of his life, having Lya and Jon at his side. They'd been inseparable their entire childhood, until he woke to his mother barging into his room as they frantically searched for Lya.
He didn't see father for weeks, once every inch of the keep and Wintertown had been searched. A party rode out the very next morning.
He could still hear his mother's sobs when Father came back empty handed. It was the first time, he'd seen his father cry.
Jon grew quieter, more solemn, barely hiding the dark look he would send Mother when he thought no one would notice.
Robb noticed. He simply blamed himself more.
Jon argued with Father, the only time he ever had, to allow Lya to come to either of them during the nights her dreams grew to be too much. Mother's opinion overruled Jon's concerns.
He wondered if Father ever regretted letting Mother have her way.
Lya's nightmares weren't as bad now he guessed. He could no longer hear her from his room as he did when they were children.
Speaking with other Lord's sons proved exhausting this day. He politely excused himself to attend to duties elsewhere that did not exist.
Theon made himself scarce. Robb figured he'd gone to Wintertown, though his visits had been less and less since their return.
He started towards Bran's room. He knew it would be a day or more before he awoke from the sleep Lya placed him into, but he couldn't go back to his room and Mother was occupied making conversation with lords or the staff.
In Bran's room, he'd be alone enough.
He'd almost made it into the Great Keep.
"Lord Robb!" Well at least it wasn't a lord's son.
Though Meera Reed may not be better.
"Lady Meera." He awaited a blow that never came from the rather unladylike woman in front of him. Roughly the same age as he, Meera was unlike everything he'd been told a Lady was by his mother. She wore breeches and a bronze jerkin over a long sleeved tunic with a knife at her belt.
She wasn't unfriendly. He'd caught her laughing with the Mormont girl and Arya followed the two older girls when she wasn't at Lya's heels.
She didn't look particularly friendly as she stormed towards him, green eyes blazing. "Have you checked on your sister recently?"
"Is something wrong with Arya?"
"No, Lya. She looks like a strong breeze will knock her over. Has she been sleeping?"
"She's sleeping fine to my knowledge", Robb said, defensive now. What did she know about his sister?
Meera sighed. "Look, I understand having a sibling with greensight is difficult. I've grown up watching Jojen suffer through it for years, but she and Jojen can be so similar it is almost frustrating, because neither of them sees an issue with the lack of sleep."
"She's not a greenseer", Robb said. He would have noticed if his sister was. They were just nightmares from an over-active imagination.
His mother had been wrong before though. She'd endangered father and the girls by kidnappin Tyrion Lannister, hadn't she? Father didn't trust her enough to inform her of Lya fainting.
Did Father see something Robb didn't?
"Consistent nightmares? Saying odd things? Drawing disturbingly realistic images?" His mind flashed to so many occassions when they were children where she drew something so strange or violent that he eventually told his mother his concerns.
Lya stopped sharing her sketches with him after. He thought he was helping her.
Something in his face must have given him away, for Meera continued. "They won't ask for help. I don't know if its stubbornness or that they think we can't help them, because we don't understand."
"I didn't", he whispered. Remembering when she'd stopped coming to him at all during the nights. He thought the dreams had stopped completely.
Jon never would have said anything if she went to him instead.
Meera pretended not to have heard him. "You need to get her to sleep. You. Not your parents."
"Mother-"
"Hardly understands Lya's magic when it's right in front of her nose. Lady Stark grew up with southron ideas of magic being dead or dangerous." Meera sighed. "I have no doubt Lord Stark cares, but he's planning a war."
"She doesn't trust me. My sister doesn't even know me", he growled. His eyes watered as he admitted it aloud.
She touched his arm, bringing his eyes up to hers. "She does. Even if she doesn't recall. The memories might be missing, but the emotions are still there. You can see it when she interacts with all of you, she remembers feelings."
She stepped away. "Figure out a way to get her to sleep, before someone takes advantage of her."
"You don't think-"
"There are lords who want her married to their sons for her powers. I doubt most would do anything, but it only takes one seeing weakness to take advantage of it."
Meera walked away. Calm as can be as though she had not rattled Robb to his core. His heart felt like ice, paralyzed by the thoughts she forced into his mind.
At supper, he hated how it took Meera pointing it out for him to see the dark circles under Lya's eyes or the tight smile that she tried to hide when Rickon and Arya who'd taken the seats on either side of her argued for her attention. She hid a yawn behind her mug and when they all retired for the evening, he waited just outside of Rickon's room where he'd begged Lya to tell him a story.
She startled at seeing him and he thought back to how many days it'd been since he'd seen her beyond mealtimes.
"Thought you would have been in bed", she said beginning to walk towards her room.
"You're not sleeping."
She sighed with a roll of her eyes. "I'm fine, promise. It's not like it'll kill me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because I'm your brother? Because I'm worried?", he whispered sharply, not wanting to alarm the guards nearby or their parents.
She didn't say anything. The mask she'd put on finally slipping. "You can't do anything."
"You won't let me try."
She glanced up. "You can't."
"One night, let's try something and if it doesn't work, I'll drop it."
She met him down the hall, when they were both changed into their sleep clothes. Grey Wind and Athena following close behind. Further from their rooms, but still in the family wing. "What's this?"
He didn't say anything as he opened the door.
It was clean still, if a little empty. He'd asked the servants to clean it often enough, some part of him not wanting to admit Jon had truly taken the black. He hadn't, given the letter Lord Commander Mormont had sent Father.
He'd been sworn to secrecy, again. He thought it was to prevent Mother from fighting the subject, but the twitch of a smile made Robb consider it was meant to be a happy surprise for his younger siblings as the world slowly darkened around them.
Athena went right to the corner of blankets that she'd shared with Ghost occasionally. A sad whine escaping her at not finding their litter mate. Grey Wind acted similarly as he laid beside his sister, laying his head on Athena's back.
He'd asked for a fire to be started in the room, based on a theory from Meera's comments.
She remembers feelings.
They crawled into the bed. It felt smaller than when they did it as kids. Lya laid stiffly under the furs.
"I'll keep you up."
"You haven't been."
"I put silencing charms on my room, so I don't." She said with a wave of her hand. He could see small specks of light flit across the walls of the room, an echo of energy surrounding him.
"You can ask for help here."
"I don't want to be a bother." She said quietly leaning back on the pillow behind her head.
"You're my little sister. I'm fairly certain bothering me is an instinct for you."
She giggled, and he'd count it as a win.
His eyes grew heavy as she tilted her head into his shoulder.
"This is Jon's room."
He opened an eye, leaving the question hanging between them.
"It feels like his room," she mumbled.
Whimpering woke him in the middle of the night, but he simply tossed an arm over her, rousing her enough to stop whatever nightmare was overtaking her.
She shoved him off the bed to wake him in the morning, but her eyes were clear and the circles had lessened.
It wasn't a permanent solution, they both knew that, but Robb would do whatever he could while he can.
He was her big brother, after all.
I haven't decided on pairings as much as I thought I had, and I tend to let the characters lead the story.
Jojen and Lya are really good friends who absolutely understand each other more than anyone else. I just don't feel they are a strong romantic match.
Little too alike with things that might kill them.
If I was truly in charge, the Catelyn confrontation would have been this chapter.
Ned's being slammed by reality and he is not going to let it kill him this time.
Lya: I'm fine. Everything's fine.
Ned, Meera, Robb, Domeric: Are you sure about that?
Jojen: I don't see a problem *Downs thirteen redbulls, passing two more to Lya* I can hear colors, too
