Winter Is Coming

To Winterfell

Lyra awoke still wrapped in Richard's arms.

He was asleep, his warm breath brushing against her ear, his body solid and comforting. She couldn't shake the feeling she'd had the night before, that here, in this strange land far from safety, here with him, she was home. It was a foolish thought. She had been feeling alone and vulnerable without her father, that was all.

As quietly as she could, she wriggled out of the soldier's embrace and got to her feet, shivering in the early morning chill. Their fire had died, leaving only blackened logs and ash behind. Lyra kicked leaves and dirt over its remains, in no doubt that Cersei Lannister would send out guards to find her. They were being hunted, and they needed to hide everything they could of their resting place.

Her stomach grumbled. The last time she'd eaten had been the morning of the day before, but she needed water more than food. Sighing, Lyra turned towards the two swords propped against the tree and hefted the Lannister one in her hands. Its weight and balance were good, but she missed the familiarity of her own. She didn't suppose there was any chance of her getting it back any time soon. She ripped fabric from the bottom of her dress and secured it firmly around her waist, before shoving the blade through it. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do for now.

Turning back to where Richard still lay upon the leaves, his handsome face smoothed into peacefullness by sleep, Lyra knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He started awake, blue eyes flying open, only to relax when he found it was her.

"We must go," was all she said, getting to her feet. "We cannot linger."

***

They made little progress that first day, travelling through the cold lands on foot, but on the evening of the second they came across a small farm that was home to three horses. Richard crept in and and stole two, along with a store of food that he hoped would last them the twelve day journey to Winterfell so long as they rationed it. Lyra had wanted to leave gold as a feeble compensation for what they had taken, but neither had any to leave.

On horseback they made better progress, passing through the Riverlands and into the Northern regions in no more than nine days. They slept little and rode hard, both their eagerness to return home and their fear of pursuit urging them on. Despite their worries, they met few people on the road, not even peasants or hedge-knights to offer them a night away from the perpetual cold.

That cold got worse the further North they travelled. Winter was truly coming, Lyra often thought wryly. Richard she found to be a steadfast and pleasant companion. He spoke little, but she had no objection to his silence. Her thoughts were often consumed with her father and sisters, and how they were faring in King's Landing. She had heard no news of the goings on in the world since she had left the city.

On the eleventh night they finally drew their horses to a halt long after darkness had fallen in the rare shelter of a broken down barn. Lyra dismounted, wincing as yet more muck splashed up her dress, and led her horse to a post near the entrance to the barn, securing his head to it by his reins.

"I'll do the horses tonight," she said over her shoulder. "You can prepare the food."

Prepare was an overstatement, she thought as she tied Richard's horse to the post, too. The meagre portions of dried meat and fruit that her companion had pinched from that farm needed little preparation. Once she was done with the horses she went over to sit beside Richard, their backs against the rotting wood of the barn wall. Outside, a grey drizzle fell, but the barn's roof was surprisingly intact, and offered shelter from it. Lyra chewed on a strip of meat, staring out into the darkness beyond. A bird screeched somewhere in the distance.