NOTE: Hi guys! Here we are, the edited version of chapter four! Or, well, more like the edited version of what NOW is chapter four xD...
This is a short one for me, so I hope you'll still like it anyway I'm kind of late in that whole editing thing BUT I had made progress for the second book! So it's a good thing!
I hope you will like it
Shade: Thank you for your comment and for participating at helping me with my little name problem ^^ I hope you will like the improvements of this chapter too!
Chapitre 4: Taking control
Fourth month of the year 297 a.c.
Winterfell
Kyria Stark
It took two full days before she finally felt the relief that had promised the reveal of her secret to another soul. Two days she spent worrying for every single person crossing her path. She didn't know exactly what she expected of them. To lock her up back in her room, to push milk of the poppy right on her throat until she forgot all but her own name... Or even worse, to be mocked and labeled crazy by those people she was supposed to call hers.
But nothing happened.
That lead her to two major conclusions. First, she could trust Jon. No one was treating her differently, or looking oddly at her, except for Jon himself. Which meant he was the only one in the known.
Second, somehow, in the last months, since she fell and lose everything, she started to care about those people. She had tried not to. She had far too many things to think of and being attached emotionally to this family scared her. She didn't want to live in her own shadow. In the memories of the girl, she was before with the relations she had before… It sounded all too dangerous for her already fragile mind, and emotions. But apparently, it was all for nothing. She did end up caring.
The idea of being looked at differently because of what plagued her was terrifying. It was partly why she had taken that long to talk to Jon. Why she had wanted to push him away by any means necessary.
She was starting to really feel at home in this place. With this family. But still, it was hard. Maybe because of the dreams. Or her self-inflicted loneliness she insister in clinging to in her need to protect herself. She was scared of so many things, she never thought she even could care about them. Sometimes it feels like those walls she stubbornly built around herself are burying her. Other days she can feel them crumble around her.
It was all too much.
She wanted to surrender herself to the feeling of being part of this. She carved it, the need to belong. But she couldn't. She didn't even know why but something was pulling her back.
That oddness inside her. That feeling of being strange. Not like the others. Something different. Not more. Less maybe. She couldn't say.
Sometimes, when she was in her lessons with her sisters, listening to Sansa humming softly between her teeth as she stitched carefully, or when she heard Arya's loud laugh booming in the yard, as she ran wildly with her brothers...Or when she watched Robb looking at her from the corner of his eye, always watchful and worried...Sometimes she wished. She wished she could love this family like she wanted to without fear. She wished she could be part of it.
Her father's solemn face the way he seemed to always watch over them, like a comforting shadow. Even her mother's desperate need to protect them all to the best of her abilities, no matter what or who would dare stand in her way…
She wished...
If only she hadn't those dreams to plague her life.
Talking with Jon. Confessing everything, letting go of the pain that ate her heart day after day... It was hope.
Maybe she could belong.
As she lay on her bed, the night of the third day, she dared hope for something more. Something better. Without the voices or the dreams. She had no idea where to begin or how to manage all of this, but she was sure going to try.
Anything would be better than to suffer this another sennight. Jon said he could help. He was going to help her, she just knew it. She had to believe his help would be enough to relieve her from this curse.
She took her time falling asleep that night. But she had learned to fear her dreams by now. So, of course, it didn't last long.
Thankfully, she only dreamed once. Five hours of sleep were still better than nothing, all things considered.
On the morrow, she awoke with a clear idea of what she was supposed to do with herself.
She had to talk to Jon.
Like every morning, it was required of her to break her fast in the Hall with the rest of her family, minus Jon of course. Mother would never allow a bastard on the main table. But Kyria did spare him a smile as she spotted him on one of the tables in a corner of the room. Lurking in the dark as always.
She was expected to sit between Robb and Sansa by order of birth. Of course. Lady Catelyn was very dedicated to everything related to decorum and rank. At least like that, she didn't have to suffer her mother's contempt for Jon.
The same thing couldn't be said about the other side of the table and Sansa and Arya. Her sisters seemed determined, morning after morning to show the entire hall how little they appreciated each other's company.
The first few times, Kyria was compassionate with them. They were polar opposites to each other, and being little ladies, they were forced to spend time with each other. But damn couldn't they just stop! It was like they enjoyed being at each other throats all day long! And as she had to spend most of her time with them, As a girl, she had to spend most of her days with them both. And often enough she ended up in the middle of their little quarrels.
Damn, they were exhausting. And she had to deal with far too much already to suffer petty fighting between sisters on top of everything else.
And the worst in all of that was her parents, and especially her mother's behavior. Or lack of.
It always started the same way. Arya complains about their lesson. Sansa´s complaining about Arya's complaints. And them fighting.
Some days she could swear even the insults were the exact same every time this peculiar fight was happening.
And sometimes, to her utter joy, one of them would whine for Kyria to pick a side. And why would she?
When she took the time to think about it, there were many reasons for them to fight. Most of them were not even coming from either of them.
Between Sansa, groomed to be the perfect lady and blossoming into the role a little bit more every day, and Arya who, somehow annoyingly seemed to always find a way to do what she wanted, despite what she was supposed to do, the entire thing was just a long, tiring way of slowly eating Kyria's nerves.
With success.
She hadn't figured out why yet, but somehow, Arya had this strange idea that because she didn't like being a lady as their Mother and, dared she say, Westeros, defined it, she could do as she pleased and not make any efforts. Or escape her lessons. While on the other hand, Sansa and Kyria herself still had to suffer those lessons. It didn't really matter that Kyria didn't really care whether she had those lessons or not, and Sansa seemed to take them like a fish in the water.
Why would she, Arya Stark be allowed to do as she pleased while the rest of them were doomed to face their duty that their birth weighed upon them. What made her so different?
"And why would you be allowed to do as you please while we have to do our duty?" she snapped, cutting Sansa in the middle of her tirade that Kyria barely listened to.
Arya blushed, her face morphed in a glare. She kept looking between her and Sansa as if she wasn't sure who she was supposed to direct her anger on.
"It's stupid anyway!" she snapped. "It's rubbish and I don't care about it!"
"And what made you think you had your word to say in it?" she asked again.
"Shut up!"
"Arya! Language!" snapped Mother from the other side of the table.
Kyria rubbed her temple. Of course, it was the language the problem. Not at all the entire conversation or Arya's persistent idea that because she wasn't good at something any Lady needed to learn, she had every right to do what she wanted.
Kyria found the compassionate eyes of Robb falling on her and wished she could stick her tongue at him. Couldn't he have made the effort to say something? Why did she have to deal with that?
Now very annoyed, Kyria made her way to their daily lessons, Sansa and a grumpy Arya quick on her heels. She ignored Sansa's smugness who seemed to pulse out of her. Kyria rubbed her head again, hoping beyond hope to escape the threat of a headache she already was feeling coming.
Every time they fought and Kyria intervened, it ended up like that. One of them being unhappy because Kyria dared to disapprove of her opinion and take the other sister's side. Sometimes she felt like a toy they were fighting over. They never agreed and Kyria was always in the middle at one point or another.
Like she said. Exhausting.
Why couldn't they get along? Take two seconds to calm down and talk about their differences like functioning members of the society.
The sewing session was tense. Like often. Here was another thing Kyria couldn't stand with this whole mess. Only this time it didn't always involve both her sister.
It was inevitable, however, that something would go wrong at some point, and somehow, Septa Mordane would conclude the whole mess was Arya's fault. Because.
Honnestly Kyria was still trying to figure out why it had to be Arya every time. Was the fault Arya's or did Septa Mordane just took the habit of blaming the girl every time? It was hard to miss how Septa's opinion of Arya was strongly oriented. Which,wasn't very fair for the girl. She was not always that bad…
Yes, Kyrai was the first to notice the lack of discipline when it concerned Arya, where she and Sansa were watched and scolded by their parents, Maester and Septa, Arya could get away with a lot of things. Far more than both her sisters. Again, unfair.
But was it a reason for the holy woman to compensate that by being even more annoying than she naturally was with Arya? She only succeded in alienating the girl and pushing her further into her belief that she didn't like being a lady and didn't want to make any efforts.
Another beautiful mess Kyria didn't like to think about.
Maybe Septa had good intentions… but the execution was poorly done at best.
That said, Kyria didn't like the woman much so maybe she was a little biaised...
Kyria was almost sure that had she been in Arya's place, she would have snapped ages ago.
Along with Septa, their sewing sessions were always accompanied by the barely veiled disdain the two little ladies Sansa had around her as friends showed over the youngest girl. They were chirping, giggling, twittering like annoying little bird all day long. Finding great joy into gossiping and criticizing everything they could find in their path. Sansa was at her worse when they were around and it was really maddening to watch sometimes.
They were never truly mean. At least not in front of Kyria. They seemed, however, very versed in the art of making one feel inadequate. Or unwanted.
With her new ability to care for her family, Kyria find every session harder to be on. She had to bite her tongue most of the time to stop herself from saying anything. Sometimes she wished she could just snap and ring their silly little heads like bells.
A part of her kept holding it back to her, afraid of what would happen when the veil finally cracked or disappeared into thin air.
Exhausting. The whole thing. She was already tired by her nights of endless torments… having to suffer those silly little things was more than she could bear.
She needed to talk with Jon.
"Lady Kyria, are you well?" asked Beth Cassel, her pretty lashes batting against the skin of her cheeks.
Pretty little robin with her large eyes and little mouth.
"You look tired my lady," added Jeyne Poole.
That was annoying too. The attention they insisted on gifting her. She could never tell if they were genuine, or if the reality of her situation in their mind was an opportunity to polish those southern courtesies over a supposedly fragile lady.
There was something in those girls that rubbed her the wrong way. It could be the way they treated Arya or the way they seemed to want Sansa to agree with everything they were saying… Or just them in general. She couldn't tell. But she found it really hard to appreciate them.
She just… couldn't help it. Her entire being disliked them.
But if she knew anything, it was her role in this whole farce. She was Kyria Stark of Winterfell. No matter how much she wished she could, she couldn't nail those pretty faces off like a beast just because she couldn't stand the girls and their annoying giggles.
So she smiled.
"I am well, thank you."
"You do look tired Kyria, are you sure? Is it your head?" asked Sansa.
Gods be good.
"As sure as I can be Sansa thank you."
Patience. The girl didn't think wrong, she was just worried about her. Patience.
Kyria smiled again for good mesure, and, as false as the mimic was, it was enough for Sansa to sigh happily and go back to her work, completely assured that everything was right in the best of worlds.
She kind of lost count of how many times she thought about it, but good gods this girl was naive.
Somebody was going to have to do something about it soon. Even like Kyria and her minimal knowledge of the outside world -other than in books of course- knew how dangerous naivety could be when confronted with the harsh reality of their world.
Watching Sansa happily sewing was strangely endearing and unnerving at the same time. Taking care of each stitch with a quick hand, showing, once again, how good she was with a needle.
Speaking of which...
"Wonderful lady Sansa! Those stitches are truly beautiful, you made great progress." praised the Septa with gleeful energy that reminded Kyria of Rickon, surprisingly.
She seemed just as excited. Which… odd. And disturbing.
Sansa, of course, beamed under the praises and Kyria let her eyes drop on Arya's face, hidden behind her sister's shadow. Literally and figuratively apparently.
The old woman's gaze fell on Arya's work. Almost mechanically. Kyria watched in some kind of morbid fascination as the wrincled face morphed out of her delighted smile into a pinched expression that made her look like she had a good sniff of sheep waste.
It was so quick and automatic, Kyria wasn't even sure if the woman had seen Arya's work. She was so used to criticizing Arya, her work, or attitude, the words seemed already formed in her mind as her eyes were still locked on the girl's face instead of her hands.
"Lady Arya what is this supposed to be exactly?"
Wow. Rude. And inappropriate. Especially when the bloody woman didn't even bother watching Arya's work with the same attention she gave a still very happy -or oblivious she couldn't tell- Sansa.
Kyria blinked, composing her face into something less astonished. And dumb looking. Arya gained a violent flush, from embarrassment or anger, who knew.
Kyria betted on Anger.
"What were your intentions? Besides ruining a perfectly good piece of fabric?" asked harshly the septa.
...Wonderful. That woman seemed to possess an impressive sense of tact. Truly a gift from the gods she liked so much.
Arya mumbled something. The Septa answered loudly. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the happy glee in one of those girls' faces. The impatience. Like a game, she couldn't wait to play.
Kyria glared. Little fool.
"A wolf? Well, it is grey, I can agree with that. As for the rest of it… If you tried to be at least interested in what you do maybe you could hope to have half your sister's talent. This is dfar from any kind of wolf I have ever seen."
Arya's face flushed more and Kyria glared harder. The needle in her hand pierced her skin.
Energized by the lack of answer, the woman carried on.
"I told you the Seven's know how many times Lady Arya but you can not act like the common savage you enjoy pretending to be. It is not proper for a lady of your rank. You are a noble girl bred from the most ancient and noble families of the Seven Kingdoms! You will soon be courted by all the greatest families of the North and the Seven bless you the South too! No one will want to have a savage little minx as a wife! You will bring ruin to your good name!"
She couldn't tell if it was the speech or Arya's face, but something in Kyria snapped. Enough.
"Well, at least I won't have to marry an old prick like Sansa and birth children like a stupid broodmare!"
"Lady Arya!"
"Arya!"
"Shut up! I'm not like you! I don't want to be a boring stupid little girl with stupid knights and stupid songs! I'll never be like you!"
She ran off. Of course, she did.
"Come back here, young lady! This is not finished yet!"
"SHUT UP!"
"Lady Arya!" shrieked the Septa.
She was so red Kyria wondered if it was painful.
The door slammed. Kyria's own anger burned inside her lungs, as she watched the foolish woman fulmining in front of them like a smoking dragon. Feeling herself close to an explosion, she stood quickly to follow Arya.
"Where exactly do you think you are going, young Lady? I warn you I will not have two pupils leaving my lessons early without reason!"
Oh boy…
"Begging your pardon Septa but I think fixing the mess you just made with my sister's feelings is more important than sewing a bloody leave in a collar." she snapped, sparing only one moment looking at the foolish woman.
"Lady Kyria!"
The little birds gasp around them.
"Kyria you can't talk like that to Septa Mordane!" complained Sansa.
Because of course, now she decided to talk. Rolling her eyes at the shared stupidity of this girl, Kyria closed the door behind the whole pack of them, done with all of this masquerade. At least for the day.
It took her little time to find Arya. She was an easy girl to understand. When upset only two places would be suitable for her. Her rooms or the yard. By this time of the day, there was no use to look for her in her chambers. Besides, the yard had another advantage in daylight.
Jon.
As expected, Arya was rolled up in a corner, glaring at the floor while Jon trained on a dummy right next to her. On the other side of the yard, Theon Greyjoy was parading around with his bow barking about training with the guards. Every time his voice carried high enough for Jon to hear, his back would tense. Kyria didn't have the time to contemplate why. She took a moment to watch them both, contemplative like she often was.
Is it dead yet?
Stick them with the pointy end.
Then she spoke.
"Arya."
The glare was redirected at her and Kyria looked right into it. She had to admit it was impressive for someone so small to glare so hard. Like a furious puppy with her round face and cute eyes.
"What do you want?" the girl growled.
"Septa Mordane-"
"No! I don't care! I won't come back to this stupid old bat and her stupid lessons!"
"Arya-"
"You can't make me! I don't care what you think! You don't even know how is it to have her breath upon my neck all day long! To tell me all the time how bad I am at everything and how good perfect Sansa is! All for those stupid useless things no one cares about! I won't come back! You can't make me!"
"Arya-"
"NO!"
"Will you shut up a moment and listen to me you stubborn mule!" snapped Kyria.
She was done. With everything. She understood. She did. But she'd be damned if that girl wasn't harder to suffer than a snowstorm.
The sudden outburst at least shut her up For now. Jon, who seemed to just realize who was with him looked between the two of them, his heavy curls dancing around his head as he went from one sister to the other.
Kyria waited for her sister to quiet a bit, to calm down, and finally listen to what she had to say to her. When the silence became heavy enough for the both of them to feel its weight on their shoulders, she talked again.
"I do not agree with Septa Mordane. She shouldn't talk to you like that, it's unfair to you. Maybe you shouldn't have left, maybe you shouldn't have talked back. It doesn't really matter. You shouldn't have to defend yourself from them just because you're not as good as they are."
Arya blinked slowly, disbelief and suspicion fighting behind those dark eyes. Jon, still silent, sat next to the little girl, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"Why do you even care? You never did before."
Kyria rolled her eyes. She may or may not start to hate that word. "Before".She was sick of it. It shouldn't be possible to hate a word but she did. It made her want to throw up, or throw something. Or both.
"I think we established by now that I am not like I was before." she snapped.
Arya grunted and looked away.
"Why do you care? I will not go back there! Never!"
Now that was a lie.
"Like Mother would let you run wild while the rest of us have to suffer the old bat." she snorted, almost making the girl smile. "Besides, why would I have to do my duty and listen to those endless lessons while you would be spared? You're as much of a lady as we are whether you like it or not."
"I don't care! You can't make me!"
"No I can't, but Mother will! Stop thinking about what you want for once and think about what you have to do."
"No!"
"Arya, listen-"
"I will never be like Sansa! You can't make me! You can't!"
"Stop with that! This is not about Sansa it's about you!"
The girl is about to open her mouth again but Kyria beat her to it.
"I am not saying you have to change who you are or try to be more like Sansa! I am not like Sansa and no one ever bothers me with it. Do you know why?"
Arya snorted, her little mouth twisted in distaste.
"Of course I do. You're the eldest. You lost your memories. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you. To be careful and not upset you."
...Now she truly wished she could hit something. Kyria had to take a moment to calm herself. To quiet her own heart and the anger rushing her veins. Of course, they did. Of course, they were. Poor little damaged Kyria who can't bear the tiniest annoyance. She's so fragile, so different, we shouldn't upset her and risk our poor dear little Kyria.
Dear little Kyria who will certainly never come back because she wasn't closer to regain her memories than she was one month ago.
Her nails scratched the inside of her palm. The twitch of pain made her focus and quiet her heart for a minute. She took a deep breath. Now was not the time. She had a goal here, she shouldn't let herself be distracted by her feelings. It was what Arya wanted. She couldn't do that.
It was important that Arya understood what she wanted to say to her. She needed to make her understand.
Part of her knew she should take the time to understand this urge that pushed her to make the girl understand. But she did not have time for that. And she didn't really feel like doing so. She just needed to do it.
"Being the eldest and having lost my memories will not protect me from critics all my life Arya. Nor will it work here for long if I expect it to allow me to do everything I want like you seem to want to do."
"But you do everything you want. You go riding, you spend hours in the library without anyone bothering you, you spend time with Jon and Robb and no one ever scolds you for anything."
"And they will continue not to even after the novelty of my memories has faded. Do you know why?" she didn't let the girl respond and carried on, inhabited by the lesson she wished to share. " Not because I am the eldest or because they pity me for my accident. Because before I do what I want, I always do what I must. I do my duty and what is expected of me without complaining so that when I want to do something else, they have nothing to say to stop me from doing just that."
"That's not fair! You have fewer things to do than me!" accuse Arya venomously.
Foolish girl.
"Do I?" she snapped back her temper at least equal to the girl's "Do you spend half your days under Mother thumb, being trained to be the perfect lady of a Castle, how to manage the food storage, the servants, the money, the people asking you things you have no idea how to make work? Do you?"
Arya's mouth thinned in a small white line on her face, but the anger didn't leave her eyes. Kyria knew she needed to talk through the girl's thick skull. She had to find something else to make her listen.
Counting from five in her head, Kyrai took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts.
"Listen, I am on your side on this one. Septa Mordane is wrong and you will certainly not be forced to become another Sansa."
Arya blinked.
"You do? You think so?"
She cracked a smile.
"Of course I do. No one can be Sansa, certainly not in sewing. She's way too gifted!"
The line on the younger girl's forehead is smoothed. Finally some progress. With a conspirative smile, Kyria sat close to her little sister.
"But… maybe you can become good enough to shut Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel's mouths."
Arya frowned her little nose, but the interest was flagrant in her eyes.
"I don't care about them," she grunted.
Kyria snorted. "Liar. You wouldn't be angry if you didn't care."
Jon snorted too, amused by the entire conversation. She briefly blinked at him, having forgotten about his presence even though he was right next to Arya in front of her. He was that quiet.
"I don't! They are stupid. All of them! I don't care about what they think of me! They don't think anyway!"
"If you truly did not care you would not react to them."
She had nothing to answer that. Kyria refrained from talking again, despite everything she wished to share with Arya. She tasted the words in her mouth, felt them rolling on her tongue, hitting her teeth. It was almost painful to keep them all locked. But she had to. Too many words would only be pointless if Arya refused to listen.
So she pressed her lips together and waited.
"Even if it was true…" started the young girl, "I don't get it. Why is it even important? It's just sewing and poetry and music and dancing… I don't care about any of that! It's useless! I want to be a knight! Knights don't play the high harp or sew pretty flowers on their tunics!"
"Well, first you don't know that. Maybe the knights in the Reach are fond of sewing their own pretty flowers, who knows!"
Arya giggled, quickly stopping the sound from escaping her mouth as if the manifestation of her amusement was a betrayal to all this conversation and the position she wanted to hold. Maybe it was. But then, maybe it was the reason why Kyria said that.
Well that and the sake of sarcasm, always good to have close by in any kind of conversation.
"But Arya, I honestly don't think sewing is useless. No-" she held a hand in front of the girl who seemed ready to protest, "How do you think clothes are made? Without any boring lady to sew your clothes, you would be butt naked all day every day of your life and would certainly die of the cold at the very first snows of Winter."
She found nothing to say back. Of course not.
"And besides, if you know how to sow, nothing can stop you from sewing yourself a good pair of breeches."
Arya blinked slowly before a smile finally cracked the otherwise gloomy appearance of her face. Kyria smiled too. She may not have taught what she wanted to Arya, but at least maybe the girl would be willing to try from now on.
Small victories.
On top of Arya's little head, Jon smiled at her, amused by all of it.
"Alright, why don't we go somewhere else, you and me?" she proposed while the girl was in a good mood. "I could teach you a thing or two about sewing? Think of Septa's face if you come back there with brand new skills?"
Arya kind of lost her smile, never truly pleased with the idea of a needle in her hands. But she didn't complain.
While they were ready to go, Jon grabbed her arm, dragging her back to him for a moment
"We need to talk," he said gravely.
Kyria swallowed back the heaviness in her belly, a reminder of what the said conversation was supposed to be about.
"I know. Join me in the Library this afternoon. We will talk then."
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching for something on her face. When he found it, he dropped his hand. With a last nod, she followed Arya who impatiently trampled in front of the door that led to the family quarters.
Her heart was still beating sourly inside her chest, even when she and Arya sat in her room, a fresh piece of fabric on their hands, thread, and needle ready to comply. Arya huffed in distaste and Kyria bent over her, her hands open for the girl to see.
"The first thing you should think of is what you want to do. Picture it in your mind. It could be anything…"
Arya listened to every word, her eyes wide and concentrated like never before when talking about sewing.
It wasn't much, but it was something. For the first time since she woke up in pain, Kyria felt like she could do something here. Take control of what was happening around her. Maybe it was the reason why she struggled so much. Maybe if she took control while awake, she could control her dreams too.
Maybe…
It was worth the try anyway.
TBC.
What do you think? I tried to add some depth into the sister's relationships and Kyria's struggles and I thought putting all those very conflicting feelings regarding her family is important for the building of the character.
This whole trouble with the dreams and their understanding will carry on until chapter eight or nine where Kyria will kind of make peace with the situation? She'll start to truly get better by then.
The whole book will be kind of cut in mini arcs, the first one ending with chapter nine I think.
As for the thing I asked you last time, I still need your help.
For reminder: I plan on adding a very tertiary OC to this story and I need your help finding him a name. He is from the mountain clans of the North but I kind of struggle with his name.
Some of you proposed Duncan Wull which I quite like to be honest...
The other choice would be Henrick Flint... which is nice too.
I put those two choices in your hands! You decide! If you have any other ideas, be my guest and add them in your comments! Thank you for your help!
You can also vote for your favorite name!
Remember:
Duncan Wull
Henrick Flint
Thank you so much for reading me as always! Comment is food! Feed the author!
Bubyyye!