2Lyarra
Sat on her twins bed while he readied himself to go riding out with father, Lyarra complained with a clear voice, "It's not exactly fair." She watches Robb as he adjusts his cloak, "I'm never allowed to accompany father and you boys. Plus, Bran is only nine."
"He'd tell you almost ten," Jon remarks, motioning for them to leave the room and she hops off the bed to follow along.
"It's not very ladylike, Lyarra, to want to go see a man lose his head." Theon informs her as he holds the door for her to head into the hall.
She glares back at him as they move through the halls of Winterfell. "It's not about wanting to see a man die." She tells him pointedly, "it's about the fact that I don't understand fathers reasoning for allowing Bran to go but not me."
"Lord Starks reasoning is that you are a woman," Theon informs her. "And women are not meant for this sort of stuff. The blood alone would likely make you faint off your horse."
"Firstly, Theon, I think I have already seen more blood in my life than you are likely to ever see." She informs him with a glare, "and second, if I recall Robb nearly threw up his lunch the first time he went with father to a beheading."
"I did not," Robb objects from ahead.
"Are you calling Jory a liar?" She teases with a smirk clear to her face.
"I'm going to kill him," Robb states as they head into the courtyard. The horses were already being brought out from the stables, and as the group come to a stop Robb turns to his sister. "It might not be fair, but it is the way it is sister."
"Well, brother, it is stupid." She returns.
"I'll inform father of your opinion, now go I believe you have lessons to attend to." He nods towards the Septa walking along one of the walkways with Sansa and Arya. "Fine," Lyarra says before turning with a whirl of her skirts and heading away from them all.
She doesn't go to the Septa though, deciding instead to go retrieve a book from Luwins tower and head into to the Godswood. She settles back against the towering weirwood and opens the book on her lap. For the next few hours, between annoying thoughts towards her father and brothers, she reads over medicinal herbs. Her latest study of passion since Rickon got sick from eating a nasty plant a few weeks back.
When the boys return, they return with wolves.
"Dire wolf pups?" Lyarra questions, sitting in the kitchen with the rest of her siblings and the pups in question strewn about them. "But I thought they only lived north of the wall?" She looks over to her father stood against the doorway.
"Aye, they do." He confirms, "we suppose that their mother made it south on some ice over by the Shadow Tower." Ned tells her, his eyes moving about to watch his younger children with their pups.
"They're so cute," Sansa coos as the little one she holds licks at her neck. "And you said we can keep them?"
Their father nods, "so long as you each care for them yourselves and train them." He looks at them all, his stern 'Lord Stark' face still upon him from the execution. "You will each be responsible for your own pup, if they cause trouble you will be the ones to deal with it. Understood?"
"Yes father," Sansa says nodding quickly before turning back to her pup.
Lyarra's own pup is sat quietly in her lap, curled tightly and sleeping soundly amongst her skirts. Lyarra pets her idly and looks about her siblings. "Well, they will all need names." She states, looking over at Robb. "Though I suppose there is no rush for it. With them all still so little."
"I'm naming mine Nymeria!" Arya shouts before anyone else can say a word.
Lyarra lets out a laugh, "a wonderful and strong name for her, Arya."
"Lady…" Sansa says wistfully a few days later while they all sat sewing with the Septa. "Thats her name," she glances down at her already obedient pup curled against her feet.
"Lovely name," Lyarra compliments, "fitting. She is likely the sweetest of them all."
"Nymeria's sweet." Arya protests.
"She's close to chewing on your foot, Arya." Sansa retorts harshly, "not to mention she's chewed through almost everything in your room by now."
"She has not…" Arya says gentler, leaning down to pick up her wolf and settle her on her lap. She smiles brightly as Nymeria licks at her fingers. "She's sweet."
"Grey Wind's his name." Robb tells Lyarra while they are out riding near a week after they'd found the pups. "He's already the fastest of them." He says it with pride and a smile.
"And the greyest," she adds with a laugh, "but I like it."
"No name for yours yet?" He asks looking over to where their wolves are tumbling over each other ahead of them.
"No," Lyarra replies, "it's not so easy." She sighs.
"Even Rickons got a name for his."
Lyarra laughs, "Shaggydog. Entirely expected from him."
"He is only three." Robb points out. "I imagine he'll regret the naming in a few years."
"Like you did when you named your horse Speckles?" She teases.
"I don't regret naming her Speckles." He huffs.
"Of course not," She says with laughter. Pushing her own horse forward she calls to him, "race you back."
When news reaches that the kings party is to arrive by midday Lyarra helps her mother prepare. She rushes about the guest rooms, checking that they each are prepared for those staying within them while her mother gets the servants prepared for the the arrival and feast.
As midday nears, Lyarra also works to wrangle each of her siblings together.
"Why can't Shaggydog come?" Rickon asks as she kneels infront of him, straightening his cloak on his shoulders.
"Because Shaggydog wouldn't much enjoy standing for the king," She tells him before brushing the curled mess of hair back from his face. "But I promise, after we finish with the king, you me and Shaggydog can run wild in the Godswood."
"Promise?" He asks skeptically.
"Promise," she tells him while holding out a hand. "Now, come along Rickon. Mother and father are waiting for us."
She leaves him beside their mother before going to her spot beside Robb. "He was hiding under the tables in the library with Shaggydog." She informs him, "I'm afraid if you wanted to read about the history of Northern keeps and roads you'll find we no longer have that tome."
Robb smirks, "well at least you found him before he got to the actually interesting books."
"We keep those on the higher shelfs for specifically this reason." She jokes.
Lyarra glances around the courtyard. All of Winterfell is out to greet the Kings party. Glancing around she notices a specific sister missing from their line.
She doesn't get a chance to ask Robb about it before the sound of the visitors coming through their gates quiets the courtyard. She watches with anticipation over it all as they pour through into the yard. From what she'd heard, near three hundred were in the kings party. Aside from the kings own men and family they were joined by bannermen, knights, sworn swords, and free riders who joined along the road.
"Where is Arya? Lyarra, Sansa where is your sister?" She hears her mother inquire, and quickly she begins to look away from the new visitors and instead around for her sister. Soon enough she spots a small figure moving through the crowd, a helm upon her head that is removed as she passes in front of their father. While Arya passes her she whispers quickly, "Please behave." But she only gets a slight smile and shake of the head before her sister pushes Bran over a bit so she can stand in her spot between him and Sansa.
Once she's certain Arya won't run off again she turns back to look at the party gathering in Winterfells yard. A man in golden armor and a white cloak rides in first, followed close behind him is another in plainer armor and a helm shaped after a hound. Behind them both, is a figure Lyarra can only identify to be the crown prince. He's younger than her by nearly three years. A golden haired and tall boy with a smirk clearly upon his face that she finds a bit too superior as he looks over the courtyard. She likes the short look he shares with Sansa even less so, and from Robbs glare she's not the only one.
A red carriage follows behind them, flags along it decorated with the Lannister lion. Behind it follow another two guards in gold armor and white cloaks. Kingsguard, Lyarra recognizes from her lessons. Riding between them upon a warhorse larger than any she'd seen was a man, also larger than any she'd seen. He wore regal furs and armor, his face bearded and red from the cold.
Lyarra and the rest of Winterfell follow her fathers lead in kneeling before the man who could only be King Robert as he moves through the courtyard to a stop.
He isn't anything like she'd imagined. The stories she'd heard of the rebellion that had placed him upon the throne had painted him in a portrait as a wonderful and handsome knight. The picture of a perfect king. He was tall, she noted, but where he must have once been fit he was heavy in weight. His face rounder from the years as well, not the chiseled ideal that knights and kings in stories and songs would have. Perhaps she'd listened to too many of those songs and stories, fallen too far into them like Sansa and now reality was truly here. This was the king, not anyone else. And after he walked up to Lyarra's father and motioned them all to stand, he and her father shared a joke that could only be said between brothers or those as close as such. She smiled over at her father as they embraced, smiles upon both their faces after so many years apart.
She couldn't imagine it. He'd grown up with the man before them, and then spent so long on opposite sides of the kingdom. Had her father found it difficult to recognize his old friend? Or was it just that the stories always paint a prettier picture than reality? Regardless she smiles as the king embraces her mother as familiarly as he'd hugged Ned, a large hand ruffling Rickons hair as he moved towards Robb and her.
"You must be Robb," He takes her brothers hand in his, "you must be a man grown look at you." She sees her brother straighten, a look covering his face that brought to mind their fathers 'Lord Stark' face. She couldn't help but smile, it fit him well. "Lyarra is it?" He moves to her, and she curtsies sturdily, "ah yes, you as well. Ned what are you doing hiding these two here? Do you intend to keep them unwed until you are old and grey?" He laughs before moving further along to Sansa, "another pretty red one. Though you resemble your mother more. A southern look to all of you." Before Bran he commands, "Show me your muscles… ah yes you'll be a soldier I can see that."
By the time he'd finished appraising them all the Queen has made her way forward with their own children. Lyarra glances towards her and finds that she was quite the opposite of her husband. Where he didn't look much like a king, she looked every bit a queen. Tall and regal with cascading hair of gold and her head held high while she looked upon them all in Winterfell with a stone face that could blend seamlessly with the statues in the crypts below. But her eyes, Lyarra notes, hold the same sense of superiority and distaste that was more plainly seen upon the Prince Joffreys face.
The other two children seem to be much sweeter, and less arrogant. Or perhaps they were simply better at hiding it than their eldest brother. The girl was pretty and fair, though her eyes flitted about the place as though she were studying it all intensely. The boy was plumper, red faced like his father, and produced the smallest of shy smiles when Lyarra greeted him. But like Joffrey, they were both golden haired and green eyed like their mother. As Lyarra looked at them she found it hard to find much similarity to their father.
"Ned, take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects." The kings voice commanded when formalities ended.
"We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait." Cersei's voice was tight, and Lyarra can guess why. It wasn't hard to know that the king had loved and mourned her aunt Lyanna. He'd gone to war for her as much for the injustices done by the mad king. And it seemed, even now so many years later, that the king still wishes for her now. Lyarra feels a pang of sympathy for the queen then, wondering how life would fair for her if she married someone in love with another. She knew she would hate it, she believed it must hurt.
But the king spared only one disdainful glance upon Cersei before he turns towards the crypts, "Ned." He summons as he moves away, Lyarra's father following behind him after a short moment.
The rest of the courtyard stood still a moment, quiet over them all as the queen turns and moves towards the carriage.
Lyarra assists her mother in showing the party to their rooms. She helps Tommen and Myrcella along after Sansa jumps upon the opportunity to show the prince to his room, though Lyarra almost sends her away before deciding against it.
Rickon follows along at her heels until Tommen and Myrcella are soundly within their rooms. Lyarra and all of Winterfell has learned that Rickon can go unseen if he wishes, quietly following others around the castle. But Lyarra has also taken special care to learn how to spot him when he does this. As such she isn't caught off-guard when he pulls at her skirt.
"You promised," he whines in a way that makes her smile and laugh lightly.
"I suppose I did," she replies. "Well come on then, lets go get our wolves." She lifts him up easily into her arms and heads off to spend some needed time running wildly with their wolves.
Lyarra holds a special softness in her heart for Rickon. He was the first of her younger siblings that was a baby when she was old enough to care for him at that age. With Sansa, or Arya, or Bran she was still a child when they were born. She'd cared for them, helped her mother with them. But truly she was only really interested or trusted to play with them. But when Rickon came near four years ago she was plenty old enough to assist with him. Rocking him gently to calm his crying, singing him sweet songs to help him sleep, and as he grew older she could keep him entertained and teach him the basics of life that are required when one is that young.
Once, after she'd spent a whole day and night with the boy after he'd gotten sick with a harsh cold, Theon had questioned why she spent more time with the youngest Stark than she'd ever with any of the others. Lyarra had simply shrugged it off, and gave him the simple answer of "it's practice I suppose. It won't be so long before I'm married and rocking my own child to sleep. Might as well get it right."
She had meant that. As the years passed with Rickon, she was more confident than before that when she is married and has her first child she won't worry so much over whether she is doing something right or wrong. But she also simply loved and enjoyed Rickon so dearly. She felt, though she'd never say it, that after five kids her mother was spread thinner than was truly fair to Rickon at his age.
And so she mothers Rickon when she can. Caring for him and playing with him when needed to keep him from trouble.
"Catch me!" he shouts barreling towards her with Shaggydog at his heels. Lyarra rushes towards him lightheartedly as he turns away and they start the chase. "Catch me!" he shouts once more.
Her own direwolf seems to be playing the same game with Shaggydog. Chasing down her sibling about and then tackling and pinning him down. She is harsher than Lyarra is when she scoops Rickon up into the air and laughs with overdramatic victory.
"Well that is quite the sight," a smooth and joking voice calls out, "and I thought they were lying about your wolves."
Lyarra spins about in search of the voice, Rickon still squirming within her grasp. She spots a tall figure studying the two fighting wolves a few feet from him. He's in golden armor, bearing a symbol that Lyarra recognizes quickly as that of the Kingsguard. His hair is golden as well, almost more so than the armor he wears, long to his chin and shiny as his armor.
"Ser Jaime," she bows her head a second, "I'm surprised you'd come to the Godswood, not many southerners do."
"It's far more enjoyable than watching the king drink and laugh while ogling any passing servant girl." He states, rather plainly, "besides, I was faintly interested in the tale of your wolves. Are you certain they aren't just common ones. They don't look much ferocious."
"Well, they are just pups, so they won't be any harm to you now. But I trust if you were to return to see them in a year they'd be up to your chest, perhaps taller even."
"That would be a sight," He looks at the two before him. Shaggydog is still pinned beneath Lyarra's red wolf but she looks towards Jaime now instead of her brother. "It looks as though that one is in charge."
"She's not afraid of nipping at her siblings no, but she certainly is more docile than some of the others." Rickons squirming more now, but stays quiet due to Jaime's' presence here. "Shaggydog there below her has nipped at more servants than we can count, hence his isolation in the godswood while you all are here."
"Shaggydog?" Jaime smirks, "I fear the day that someone faces the beast upon a field. 'ferocious Shaggydog' gods that would be the worst to die by I think." Jaime chuckles at it all.
"Well he was named by my brother. And he's only just turned four, so…" She finally puts Rickon down after he nearly jumps from her arms.
"So even the youngest got one?"
"Well there were seven of them, and seven children of Ned Stark." She informed him while walking towards the settled pups. "Old Nan says that the gods sent them to protect the Stark blood." She picks up her wolf and scratches her beneath the chin, "though she also says that if you listen hard enough while the wind rustles the weirwood leaves you'll hear them answering your prayers."
"That does line up with most Southern views of Northern superstitions."
"We are a cold and superstitious people, stubborn about it all too," She tries on a starkly serious face before a smile escapes her, "and occasionally far too serious for southerners liking, but then again you all seem so frivolous to us." She glances at his golden armor again, the metal standing out quite brightly against the more neutral landscape about them, "well, it was a pleasure meeting you Ser Jaimie, but my brother has run off and it is perhaps time for us to return so I can help my mother before the feast begins." She bows her head slightly once more and heads off to find Rickon hidden amongst some bushes with Shaggydog on his lap.
"Can he come with?" Rickon asks when she tells him their playing is over, "he doesn't have to be alone here, I don't want him to be alone."
Lyarra looks down at the wildest of the direwolves and sighs, "fine, but we are putting him in your room and he doesn't leave it. I'll leave mine with him during the feast."
"Yay!" Rickon shouts, hugging her leg before running off towards the rest of the keep with his black wolf at his side.
The feast was larger than any held in Winterfell that Lyarra could remember. The amount of food cooked up was enough to feed an army, and it essentially was she supposed. Food was even sent out to those encamped outside Winterfell for this first feast, though the camps outside the keep were still well supplied from hunts along their journey north. Lyarra also found that Ser Jaime was correct in how unenjoyable it was to watch the king.
He was well and truly drunk by the second hour, his laughs heard echoing throughout the main hall. His eyes and hands consistently wandering to the serving girls as they moved about the tables. He had left the high table not long after the feast had started, wandering the tables himself. Drinking and singing with the men and women around the hall who were near as drunk as him.
Her mother and the Queen were the only two sat still at the high table. From what Lyarra could see they spoke infrequently and the Lannister woman was nursing her wine vigorously. Her eyes holding an ever-present glare towards her husband.
Lyarra was enjoying her own glass of wine. Her father had given permission for all the Stark children, save Rickon, to enjoy a single glass for the feast. But Lyarra was already halfway through her second, a glass she'd snuck away from a table without anyone giving a second glance. She'd snuck one to Robb as well, who sat beside Theon and was far too engrossed in it all to worry truly about getting himself one.
"So," Theon leaned over towards her, "you walked with the Prince, is he as big an ass as he seemed upon riding in."
Lyarra grinned, "well, he's certain to give you a run for your money in that area." She glances fleetingly towards where the Prince sits himself, "he behaved himself though, but it was clear how much better he thought himself over us all."
"Sansa's not stopped whispering to Jeyne about him all evening." Theon tells her.
"More like all day," Robb corrects, joining their conversation after surveying the hall and taking it all in.
The only time Lyarra recalls it being this full of energy and music and drink was when her father and his men returned from the Greyjoy rebellion, several lords of the north and their own had come to feast in celebration. Theon hadn't been at the feast then, instead he'd hid about in his room. They hadn't even been introduced properly yet, their father waiting until after the celebrations had ended to integrate the new ward into their household. But Lyarra had stolen a bottle of wine from a table, snuck it off with a large plate of food and took it to Theon's room. That had been the first time she'd gotten anywhere close to drunk, it hadn't been much, it was not even a full bottle of wine that she'd stolen. But she'd sat with him in his room, drinking and talking about anything to comfort the boy who was so far from home and listening to the sound of his jailers celebrations.
Theon is part of their family now though, and when her own glass falls empty is quick to replace it with a full one for her.
She departs from them after a bit, making her way through the tables towards her mother and the queen. She arrives to Sansa beaming as the queen compliments her on her dress.
"And you are Lyarra correct?" her green eyes fall upon her when she arrives, "you have also gotten your mothers coloring." She looks her over as Sansa leaves with a small curtsy. "Though beneath that you look more like your father. Like a Stark in Tully clothing. A beauty though, both you and your sister. A shame to hide you both up here. I imagine you'll both do well enough in the capital."
Lyarra smiles, but she doesn't quite believe the queens words are as kind as they seem. "Thank you, your grace." Is all she can think to reply her compliments. "I hope the north is treating you well. The weather has been warmer these few days than it has in months. Perhaps all the southerners here have brought some more weeks of summer to the North."
"Yes, you are clearly a Stark." Her voice is sharp with the words, "all talk of Winter."
"Well, your grace, growing up all I heard was that Winter was Coming. So I would have to imagine that someday it must." Before the queen can give some clever reply that Lyarra finds she doesn't really want to hear she curtsies slightly, excusing herself from the table and heading back into the hearty energy of the lower tables, swiping another glass of wine along the way.
Jaime
Jaime has decided that perhaps the Northerners were of similar spirit to Robert Baratheon. At least when it comes to feasts. They are as loud and boisterous and quick to drink as the great king of the seven kingdoms.
And they gave Jaime as much a headache as the king that he found himself wandering the grounds of Winterfell rather than dealing with the ruckus of the great hall.
Winterfell had quite the different feeling to it than Kingslanding. It was far from a bustling city that smelled of shit, instead it was a large keep that seemed to have several areas where perhaps winter had hit harder than others. With a village outside the walls that when compared to Kings Landing could hardly be counted as substantial.
On top of that it was cold, even despite the fact that it was still summer.
Jaime wanders the grounds without much thought to the appearance of the place. Instead he simply enjoys the quieter surroundings as he wanders towards the first keep. It was the most desolated of the castle. Likely the most unused portion, he supposed. He came to a stop by a tall tower, broken brick in a few spots with overgrowth covering a good part of it.
"It's called the broken tower," a light voice informs him from behind.
"Well, consider me surprised," Jaime jokes, "I could have sworn it was in pristine condition." He tilted his head at it before looking back to his newfound company.
Lyarra Stark stood only a few feet back, her red wolf pup at her feet sat as obediently as any hound from the kennels. She wasn't unpleasant to look at, he noted. Her red hair golden with the distant torchlight. "You and your wolf quite resemble each other my lady," he remarks with a nod to the wolf.
"The queen said I was a Stark in Tully clothing," She glances momentarily at her pup. "I suppose my wolf takes on that as well." "Does it have a name, or have you named it 'my wolf'" He smirks, "if so I must say your baby brother perhaps wasn't the worst of you lot at naming." "My brother Bran has also yet to name his," she informs him pointedly. "Though I do think I've found mine." Jaime raises a half-curious eyebrow.
"Tully," she finally says with a smile, kneeling to pet the wolfs head, "she's already a symbol of house Stark by nature of being a direwolf, but her coloring lends to my mother's house."
Jaime moves towards her, "I suppose it works."
"I wasn't quite asking your opinion," She retorts looking up at him. She stands to meet him. She's as tall as him, he notes. "You did chose the correct place to escape, the Godswood is fine too, but people wander around there more often than over here."
"You needed escape as well then?"
"I had more wine than I should have, well… than I was allowed, and thus made my escape before someone who could get me in trouble noticed," she confesses, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. "I figured a walk about with my wolf would sober me up enough to return before retiring completely for the evening."
"You seem sober enough to me, Lady Lyarra," he smirks, "though that is an easy feat compared to some within the hall."
"Thank you," she smiles. "Then I suppose I should leave you to your solitude as I imagine you wished some peace from it all as well." She bows her head to him before turning on her heel and walking back towards the Great Hall.
Her wolf, Tully he supposed she was called, looked at him a moment. The red pup tilted her head as she studied him before giving a soft huff of breath and turning to follow after Lyarra.
Glancing back up at the tower he ponders on whether Lyarra was honest in how left alone this place is before resigning to return to the great hall as well.
Sandor
Joffrey had made his way to bed and Sandor was glad to be free of the prince for the evening. He'd taken a bottle from one of the serving girls in the grand hall and made his exit as soon as the Prince had been taken to bed by his queen mother.
The north was too fucking cold. Even in thicker fabrics and furs he could feel the chill to his core. He uncorked the bottle and drank deep from it, the alcohol working well enough to warm him deep. He sniffled, glancing back around the area and wishing the King hadn't gotten it in his mind to drag the whole damned court this far up here.
"Can I have a sip?" a voice inquired near him and he turned to see the eldest Stark girl stood nearby, a hand held out for the bottle. Her wolf stood quietly at her side.
"Can't a Stark get their own wine?"
"Yes, well technically you are drinking our wine." She smiled at him and he noted the smallest slur to her voice indicating she'd already had a fair share of her own wine. "But fine… fine," she holds her hands away, "I just wanted a quick sip before heading off." She turns away and he rolls his eyes before letting out a short call.
"Here," he holds the bottle to her and she smiles even wider before grabbing it and taking a quick swig and handing it back.
"Thank you," she rocks on her heels and looks him over with her head cocked to the side. It isn't hard to tell what she looks at, he has one feature that always sticks out very predominantly.
Surprisingly though, that wasn't what she commented on, "your quite tall, Ser." She shakes her head at him. He blinks a second at her but before he can reply she adds, "are you taller than the king?"
"Yes," he responds gruffly, "and I'm not a Ser."
"Whatever," she waves a hand at that, "I'm northern please forgive that I don't have a godly understanding of who or what's a knight."
He can't help the small laugh that escaped at her, her speech slurred and her smile free. It was entertaining, and slightly unsettling how easily she stood close by him. "I wonder if… no the Greatjon is taller." She studies him further, taking a step closer to get a further assessment. "He has giants blood, all the Umbers do. Or so they claim." She shrugs and looks at him again, "I doubt you have any, too southern you are. You're just a tall human." She smiles again and he takes a step back from her.
"Don't you have somewhere to be, Lady Stark?" He says a bit harshly to her, though she doesn't seem to note or care about that.
"I'm not Lady Stark," she throws back at him. "My mother is, and when my brother marries and becomes Lord of Winterfell his wife will be." She crosses her arms, "not me."
"You sound disappointed."
"I'm not," she shakes her head, "I know how that works." She glances down to the wolf at her side. "But I'll have a Stark part of me always." She kneels down to pet the thing. The wolf turning to its owner, sniffing at her face before licking earning a ring of laughter from the girl.
"Careful not to get your face bit off by that thing," Sandor grunts, leaning back against the wall, creating a bit more distance for himself.
"She won't bite me," she states. A teasing flash crosses her eyes and she says, "she'll only bite who I tell her too."
"I'll stay out of your way then," he remarks plainly, taking another swig of the bottle.
"You'll give me another sip then," she looks at him with a smile wide across her face. He sighs and holds the wine back out to her. "Thank you." She says again, taking the bottle and another swig before standing fully back up with a small sway and handing it back to him.
"Lya, there you are." A voice rings towards them before she says something more, and she turns to look at the voice. Sandor following it as well to one of the Starks guards that he'd seen at their arrival in the courtyard. A tall man with dark hair and a very concerned look upon his face as he walked towards the eldest Stark girl and Sandor.
"Jory!" her voice peaked up considerably and she turned on her heel and grabbed the man on the arm with a smile wide and bright to her face. "I was hoping to see you tonight."
"Your brother sent me along to find you, he had to help poor Theon along to bed." Jory's eyes flicked over to Sandor and it wasn't hard to recognize the concern that passed the northern mans face when he looked his way. "Said you'd wandered away."
"I didn't wander away," she shakes her head, "I went for a walk. And then stopped and had a drink with Sandor— not a Ser — Clegane." She glances back over her shoulder to him and smiles.
Jory looks again at Sandor, curiosity passing his features. "She just showed up," Clegane remarks with a shrug, "asked for some wine." He motions to the bottle in his hand before taking another swig.
"You've had more than enough I'm sure, Lya," Jory says his eyes falling back to the girl. Sandor notes that when the northern man looks to him his eyes are skeptical and dark, but turn utterly soft towards the Stark girl, it makes Sandor snort a laugh.
The man's fallen for his lords daughter. Fucking idiot.
"That, is entirely Theon's fault." She says pointedly, "I came back from a walk earlier, a nice chat with Jaime Lannister, and with the intention to drink nothing more. And then Theon dropped some wine in front of me." Jory looks tense for a moment, but a bit of amusement pulls at his mouth as he sighs.
"I'm sure," Jory nodded, "well let's get you back to your room." He puts an arm around her and starts to turn her before saying to Sandor. "I hope she didn't bother you too much Ser…"
"He's not a Ser, Jory." She states pointedly, "and he seems very determined in not being addressed as such." She smiles again and laughs a little.
"It's her home," Sandor shrugs, "she can wander as she pleases. If she bothers me I could have left."
"No," She shook her head and says at him, "I didn't bother you." She lets Jory lead her away. "Goodnight, not Ser." She laughs at herself and the laughter drifts away into the night as Sandor settles back against the wall once more and drinks away the evening with the sound stuck echoing in his mind.
Lyarra
Jory leads her windingly through the halls of the keep. Tully trailing behind slowly and her laughing every few stumbled steps. She leans heavily upon him, both out of need and want. Jory smiles more freely once they leave Sandor, laughing at and with her as they move through the keep.
"Did you drink nothing?" She asks as they head up some stairs slowly.
"I drank," he states, "just clearly not as much as you."
"Psh." She rolls her eyes before it turns into more laughter. "Again, all Theon's fault."
"Of course," Jory muses, leading her along. "He forced the bottle upon you."
"Well he placed it right there and he had that look," she explains, her head light and the feeling of Jory's arm around her a pleasant one that she leans further into. "You know the one, the one he gets when he's challenging a person." She shakes her head, "I had no choice but to rise up to the challenge."
"Well," Jory remarks, "Robb had to drag the Greyjoy from the table and from what I recall support him much more than I have you."
"So you're saying I won?" she smiles proudly and looks over to him instead of ahead. Her eyes trail over his face, studying the little features of it. He had a little dimple beneath the scar on his face. It was on the right side of his face, not the left, and with him smiling like he was she had a perfect view of it.
"Yes," he laughs, "you won." His laughter falls away behind them as they continue on in silence for a short bit, and as they do his smile turns to him worrying at his bottom lip.
"What?" She inquires, following his lead around a corner.
"What compelled you to talk with the Hound?" his eyes flick towards her, and she caught the concern even in her drunken state.
"Jealous?" she teases, but with his face staying stern she shrugs, "I was slowly making my way back to my room. Partially looking for you." She looks away and shrugs again, "I saw him, and his wine, and I was curious."
"You are always too curious."
"That's not a bad thing," she protests, "I was curious what he was like."
"And?"
"Not as bad as one might think based on appearances. He shared his wine with me." She stops when they reach her room, reaching a gentle hand down to Tully and laughing a little as she licks at her fingers. "Stay," she tells the little wolf in barely a whisper.
"Come on," Jory remarks, pushing open the door and leading her through. She holds tightly to him, and lets the door shut behind them. After a second he starts to turn away to leave but she pulls him along further into the room with her.
"Stay…" she begs gently, her voice light and airy from her drink, but her hands tight on his arms leading him towards her.
"Lya," he starts, leading her backwards so she sits on the bed and stepping back once she has. "Not the best idea." He warns.
She pouts a little. "Just sleeping?" she offers with a turn of her head and a smile. "Promise."
She had been close with Jory since she was young, all the Stark children counted Jory as a friend. But she had cared for him, in a way more than was to be allowed, for over two years now. It had started as such a little thing, a small crush when she started to get those as a girl becoming a woman.
Then it became a little more than a small crush after a drunken day in Wintertown led her to kiss him quickly as he brought her back from a drunken tavern experience with Theon. He'd avoided her for quite some time after that. Until she confronted him when he'd planned to take the boys out to fish and hunt out in the wolfswood. She asked to join them and there had been no reason he could deny her, as she'd joined them a few times before then. He tried to avoid her on the journey, but the boys spotted a deer and chased after it while she insisted upon Jory showing her the spot he'd told them all about for fishing.
Once there she may have cornered him a bit on the subject. She hadn't intended on anything but getting him to stop avoiding her. But instead the confrontation had resulted in a bit of frustrated words expressed between them both, a confession of equal attraction between them, and a quick, but passionate, thing that could have gotten them both in serious trouble if her brothers had happened to hear them. She hadn't regretted it, nor was it the first time for either of them. A thing she'd assured him of, to his surprise and slight worry.
They didn't do it again for a long time, and when they did they were much more careful about it.
But they also had decided along the way that secretly enjoying each others company was okay. Kissing was certainly okay, occasionally sleeping in her bed when she asked it of him was also okay. So long as no one happened upon them, and they both remembered that someday she'd have to leave to be some lady elsewhere.
That was a thing that hanged heavy even now, but the pair of them, especially Lyarra, ignored it best they could. Especially with the impending feeling it was growing closer and closer.
"The castle is full, if we do something we run a greater risk." He reminded her, but his face wasn't quite as serious as she believes he wishes it were.
"Just sleep." She says again, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer so her stood against her legs and she had to look up at him.
"Why do I doubt that?" he breathes lowly looking down at her with dark eyes full of want.
She just smiles and pulls him down to meet her, lips touching in drunken sweetness and a sigh of contentment from her and surrender from him.
Thank you for reading! I've been wanting to start Lyarra's story for a while and so I'm very excited to be sharing it now. Something to note: I'll be combining book and show canon so I'm not strictly following one or the other.
I always appreciate thoughts and ideas or theories about my stories so feel free to leave a comment below!
