When Lyarra Stark was born she was first known, not for her cries, but for her laughter. In the years following, she grew to have a heart as gentle as snow. She even found herself being kind towards the Greyjoy boy who never seemed to deserve her wa...
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【THE NEED FOR FORMALITY】
THE BITTER NORTHERN AIR PRICKLED LYARRA'S SKIN. She couldn't help wondering what the king and queen, and all of their retinue would think of the North's weather. It wasn't exactly unforgiving, but it also wasn't the most hospitable either. She supposed it was far better than them arriving during the winter―a season she couldn't recall.
Robb's jab to her shoulder broke her from her thoughts, she turned to look at him, and did a very rare thing, she scowled, before she realized her mother was asking her, "Lyarra, where's your sister?"
Lyarra then looked around, Sansa was right beside her, so where was Arya?
She mouthed the words, "I don't know." to her mother, as she continued to glance around, over the crowd of people behind her and the rest of her family. She caught Theon's eyes for a moment―a risk she'd dared not to take for some time. She brushed it off―a mere mistake as she searched the group for her sister, but still she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.
"No right." The words were but an echo in her skull now, and yet they still held their meaning to her. They'd still kept to their routine in the Godswood, but they didn't speak anymore. Nothing like what happened in the Godswood would ever happen again. She would vow to the Gods if that would assure it.
However, it was not the crowd that Arya had been wandering through, Lyarra found, as she heard her sister's feet quickly pattering up the way. She couldn't keep the smile from her lips as she saw her, with that too-big knight's helmet on her. As soon as their father had taken it from her, he'd sent Arya on her way, and Lyarra managed to ruffle her hair before Arya had shoved Bran to the side to make space for herself in the line-up of their family.
Then came the royal retinue, first a guard, then the King's firstborn son, Prince Joffrey―she assumed he was Prince Joffrey. To her he looked... how best could she describe him? Ferret-like? She'd only seen illustrations of those creatures, but they seemed the right comparison, if unfortunate.
Another guard came, this one with a helmet shaped like a beast, then came a carriage bearing the Lannister's sigil, and behind that was the King on top of a high horse, and even more guards―how many did a king need? Lyarra could never wish to be royal, if she required that much protection, she would certainly go mad.
As the King approached, she went into a low bow, beside Robb and Sansa―and about the rest of Winterfell's household. One thing they never tell anyone about bows, is how much of a pain they are to hold for long periods of time, within seconds Lyarra's knees were begging to be straightened out.
She heard the King unseat his horse, and soon enough her father rose, allowing her poor knees relief after what felt like an eternity, as she and the rest of Winterfell's household rose.
