A/N: Hello everyone! As with my previous stories, I wanted to make a note about a few things. One, you can expect the usual Game of Thrones themes of abuse, miscarriage, traumatic childbirth, underage marriage, violence, incest, etc. Two, it will be depressing in many aspects and have a great deal of angst. Three, I am basing this off of the show. I have not read any GoT fanfics, only HotD, so I'm mostly winging this. And four, as with my past fics, the main point is NOT necessarily the love story, it is about the growth of the character! Theon Greyjoy is the intended love interest but the majority of the focus is on the OC's journey.
If you're still interested, go right ahead. For reference, the OC's face claim is Marina Moschen. If you look up gifs from her role as Selena in Deus Salve o Rei you'll see the image I have of her.
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Winterfell, 298 AC
Their reproachful looks burned into her soul.
She was no stranger to warmth. She knew it from the embraces she shared with her parents and siblings. She knew it from the gentle fire that was lit in her chambers to keep her comfortable at night.
The North was cold, and though she was used to it, warmth was always preferred. Until now, she'd never felt that searing look of judgment. Suddenly, the cold appealed to her.
They were disappointed in her and it ached.
"You are certain?" asked her father sternly, pacing near the door of her parents' bedroom.
"Yes," she said, opting to look down at her feet. "I was meant to bleed, and I did not."
"One missed bleed is hardly a tell," said her mother. "The previous month–"
"–was faked," she interrupted. "I thought the same then. I pricked my fingers to stain the sheets. Two missed bleeds certainly means I am with child, does it not?"
Her father narrowed his eyes. "And how could you possibly be with child?"
She didn't dare look at him. "It doesn't need to be said, but I will admit it if it would please you."
"Yes, it would, if you believe yourself to be sufficiently grown for such a thing. Speak it plainly."
"I've been with someone, intimately."
"Who?" he demanded.
She refused to answer. "It does not matter."
"It matters when you are unwed and a Lady of Winterfell."
"You once said the past cannot be changed."
"It cannot, but it can serve to guide the way toward a good future. What sort of future do you envision for yourself if you keep to secrecy?"
She opted to try and change the subject, "Didn't you promise Bran you'd watch him practice today? He's been preparing to impress you and it would break his heart if you abandoned your promise to him."
"And what of your promise to us?" he inquired, remaining rooted to the spot. "A simple promise we asked of you to always be truthful, to always respect yourself, to be a good lady so you might not find trouble in life."
Still, she did not meet his gaze. "I never meant to break those promises, I meant only to nurture my own curiosities."
"Knowing full well the consequences of such a thing?"
Her mother addressed her husband. "Perhaps," she offered, "you might give us a moment alone?" She gave him a look as if to say, 'Go, I'm sure I can pry it out of her.'
He didn't like it. Didn't like any of it. Nor did she, nor did their daughter. But he had hope that she might be more honest with her mother. Perhaps she'd know what to say, how to comfort her, how to encourage her to let go of whatever fear tied her tongue to have her admit the truth and allow them to determine how best she could be helped.
When he was gone, her mother sat beside her on the bed. "This is something quite serious. You understand this, yes?"
The girl tilted away from her, shoulders still hunched forward, closed off. "If I could have prevented it, I would have."
"You could have, by maintaining your virtue. You are not wed, you have not even been betrothed."
"If you wish to say I've dirtied myself, you may. Nothing will undo it."
Her mother furrowed her brows, reaching out to tuck a strand of her daughter's hair away from her face. The girl leaned even further away. "You are angry," her mother observed.
"I did not ask for this," she said sharply.
"You knew what you risked. And yet you chose to explore with another, anyway. Who is this boy? Who did this to you? Were you hurt?"
"I was not hurt. And I will not tell you who the father is. It does not matter. No one will get that information out of me, Mother. If you'll excuse me, I must join my sisters in their needlework practice."
"You'll do no such thing," said her mother firmly. "Your father and I–" she paused at the sound of horses being readied at the front. She made for the door, and found someone already waiting to speak with her.
"My lady," said Rodrick Cassel, nodding to her, "Lord Stark will be riding to the hills; a guardsman captured a deserter from the Night's Watch."
"Are Jon and Robb going with him?" asked the girl, sitting up.
Cassel glanced between her and her mother. "Lord Stark wished for me to pass along the message that young Bran will be joining as well."
"He is only ten," said Catelyn Stark, blanching. "He is too young to see such things."
"Lord Stark wished me to tell you he will not be a boy forever, and that winter is coming. Excuse me, my lady." He nodded to both and walked away.
She was unpleasantly confined in the room with her mother while they waited for her father and brothers to return. Her mother tried (and failed) to worm out more information from her.
She occupied herself fixing one of her mother's dresses, which she'd long since promised to repair. She didn't have her sister's talent for making clothes, but she was quite good at fixing them and making it seem as though no damage had ever occurred.
If only those skills could be used elsewhere.
"My lady," said Maester Luwin, arriving with a small scroll of paper in the afternoon. "A raven, for Lord Stark."
Catelyn offered her hand to accept it. "Thank you, Luwin." Her brows furrowed as she read over it. "Lyarra," she nodded to her daughter, "return to your chambers. Luwin, would you–?"
"Yes, my lady," he said, offering for Lyarra to follow him.
"I know where my chambers are," she muttered as she passed by her mother.
She walked silently beside Maester Luwin, sighing ever so often until at last, they reached her door. "Are you alright, Lyarra?" he asked gently, noting how discontent she was.
"No," she admitted. "But I do not think I will ever be alright again. Unless, of course, you can help me find a way to bleed again and be rid of... unintended consequences."
He raised his eyebrows. "If you are inquiring about what I believe you are... such teas are meant to be consumed prior to when the bleeds stop. Forgive me, my dear, I am not sure what can be done to help you without causing you serious harm."
"Thank you, anyway," she said with a small smile.
She sat alone by her window, staring out and waiting until she saw the horses approaching; her father and brothers coming home after many hours. "Come," she said, propping her head on her fist as someone knocked.
"My lady," said the girl at the door, shyly peeking in.
Lyarra turned immediately, a smile on her face. "Palla. You may shut the door."
The girl reciprocated the smile, closing the door. "How are you?"
"I am as good as I can be."
"Considering you've been here all day, I take it your news did not go over well."
"As I expected. They're upset."
"You didn't say anything... did you?"
"Of course not. And I never will. Besides, he's avoided any punishment. My father knows that once a man joins the Night's Watch, he's to stay there and not be reprimanded unless he deserts."
Palla's lip quivered. "He would desert if he knew the truth, Lyarra."
"Which is why I don't wish you to send a raven. That's what you wished to ask, isn't it?"
She nodded. "Lyarra, please, perhaps he won't react the way you think he will. I know my brother, I know he cared for you and I know he would care for this child."
"I would rather do it alone than risk him being punished, Palla. Your father would lose his position. It was suspicious enough for him to suddenly raise the idea of joining the Night's Watch. Were it not for Jon supporting his story with his own wishes to bear the black..."
"I know," whispered Palla.
"Lance left because he was afraid of what would happen if we were discovered together. He'll be more afraid and worried if he learns that I'm with child and it could prompt him to do something foolish and endanger himself."
"But what will happen to you? Your father will wed you as soon as he's able to in order to hide the truth. You could end up in an unhappy marriage when you were destined to find love. I know you and Lance loved one another. You both deserve better than this!"
Lyarra managed a smile. "I made the choice I did because of love, but now I cannot undo what came of it. Similarly, his choice was made. He cannot leave the Night's Watch. It's better he never knows. Let him believe that I was married off and had a child with another man. If our circumstances change in the future... then we'll see what can be done. Until then, we deal with the consequences."
Palla frowned. "This is my fault. I should have been more firm with him, reminded him not to cross the line with you."
"If I could change things, I would do it in a heartbeat. We'd always be together. But I cannot. Forgive me, Palla. I should have known better, not you. You did nothing wrong. I was impulsive."
"You were in love. And so was my brother. You were both fools but better to be fools for something as beautiful as love than to be fools for all the other wretched things people do."
Another knock silenced her immediately. She opened the door, revealing Jon, who gave them a significant look. "Well?" he said. "I suppose they know?"
"Yes," said Lyarra as Palla closed the door behind him. "And they are not pleased."
"I do not know why you expected them to be," he said in a pained tone. "You all should have known better. You, remembering you are a lady. Lance, remembering how easily he can be punished for his status. And you, Palla," his gaze scolded her, "encouraging them was a poor choice. Helping them hide it was an even worse one."
Palla stared at her feet. "I ought to get going. Here." She handed Jon a small slip of paper. "If you ever do go to the Night's Watch, give it to my brother."
"Palla!" called Lyarra before she could leave. The girl ignored her and rushed out. "Jon, she wants to tell him."
"I'll tell him myself," said Jon, tucking the note in his pocket. "And make sure he doesn't desert for it. He deserves to know." He smiled weakly. "We have something for you. Come with me."
"My mother does not wish me to leave my room."
"We'll go down to the courtyard and straight back. You'll like it."
"She'll be cross with you..."
"Better with me than with you."
She followed him to the courtyard, where her siblings all had direwolf pups in their arms. "Oh!" she squealed, clapping her hands when Robb set his own down to offer her one.
"This one is yours," he said, tucking it carefully against her shoulder.
"What a darling," she giggled, smiling as the pup wiggled against her to lick her face. "Where did you find such a sweet thing?"
"A litter, on our way back," said Robb vaguely, eyeing Jon. "We've each got one."
"And what have you named them?" she asked, kneeling down beside Rickon and Bran. "What did you decide on, my boys?"
Rickon grinned up at her. "This one looks like a Shaggydog!"
"Oh, yes," said Lyarra, watching as he ruffled the pup's head. "And you, Bran?"
"Summer," he said very seriously. "Look, she's very pretty."
"I named mine Nymeria," said Arya proudly. "Sansa named hers Lady."
Sansa made a face, not blind to how much Arya seemed to dislike the name. "Lady is a perfectly respectable name."
"I like all the names," said Lyarra. "And you, Robb? Jon?"
Robb held up the pup, observing him. "Grey Wind, I think."
"Ghost," said Jon, plucking up the runt of the litter, an albino direwolf. "Now it's your turn."
Lyarra held her pup up. "Ah, a little girl. I say she looks like a... Nana." She kissed the top of her head, then clutched Nana to her chest, stroking her fur. "I love her already."
Nana seemed to know that Lyarra was in need of extra comfort. That night, she was sound asleep at her side, one little paw resting on Lyarra's hand. The girl watched her twitch, likely dreaming. What did direwolves dream about?
Surely something much nicer than this. She could only see fit to cry during the hour of the owl, when no one would see or hear her. It seemed, however, Nana could. She sat up at the sound of Lyarra's sniffles, moving to her neck and observing her with her dark, shiny eyes.
"I suppose taking care of you will give me extra practice," murmured Lyarra tiredly, caressing the back of Nana's ears. "You know, I learned some with Bran and Rickon. Especially Rickon. I was ten when he was born, and Mother was so busy with the others... I loved taking care of him. And it seems now I'll have a little one of my own to raise."
She turned to lay on her back, smoothing her hand down her still-relatively-flat stomach. How long before it was impossible to hide her 'delicate' condition? Nana seemed to understand her predicament, resting her tiny head over Lyarra's belly.
The following morning made her situation worse. Her mother came to announce that the King, Queen, Prince, and a multitude of knights and bannermen were riding for Winterfell upon the death of her uncle, Jon Arryn, by way of a fever. He'd been the Hand to King Robert, and it was expected he was coming to ask her father to be his replacement.
They'd arrive in a month. And there was no telling how long they would stay.
"I've made preparations for some new dresses," said her mother, watching as she played with Nana by the fireplace. "They will better conceal a swelling belly. Of course, if you were to tell us the truth of it..."
"No," said Lyarra, bringing Nana onto her lap. "I will not."
"Your Father's begun his search for a suitable husband."
"I hope the gods– old and new– help him."
"Lyarra, this is a very serious matter."
"I am being quite serious. If that is all, Mother..."
Catelyn sighed and took her leave, not wishing to argue with her any further.
She spent the month pretending all was well. She kept her littlest brothers company, as she always did, taking special care to entertain Rickon now that Bran was spending more time learning from Robb and Jon. Shaggydog and Nana had the most fun chasing each other (and poor Summer) around for the Stark children's entertainment.
The castle was quite alive as everyone prepared for the royal visit. Sansa made herself a new dress, Arya endured Lyarra fixing her hair in different ways as practice. The boys were being asked to help where they could, and it didn't seem like her parents had a single moment of peace or any spare time, which led Lyarra to believe the matchmaking process was not being expedited.
"Ow," said Arya, complaining as Lyarra tugged a strand of hair too hard. "Are you practicing how to kill me or how to make me look 'pretty,' 'Arra?"
"Forgive me," said Lyarra, tickling her side to distract her. "I was thinking."
How different her life might have been if she'd been like Arya. She loved her littlest sister to bits, but a part of her envied her. As the oldest, Lyarra had been obedient in doing what her mother wished for her to, becoming a proper lady.
Arya had been different, and their father never quite shied away from letting her learn to use a bow and arrow, shooting far better than Bran, and even Robb and Jon at her age. Lyarra wondered if he would have let her learn, too, if she'd asked. Perhaps not. She'd need to be more strong-willed.
If she were like Arya, if she'd dared to indulge her curiosities early on, she might have learned a lesson sooner, or she might not have been so intrigued by the prospect of intimacy and risked herself and Lance for some excitement.
"Lyarra," said her mother, having come to find her presumably after all the necessary arrangements had been made. Arya had long since skipped off to spend time with Nymeria. "Are you dressed and ready?"
"Yes, Mother," she said calmly. "And prepared to pretend all is well until the King returns to his castle."
"Your father and I have yet to have time to discuss what we mean to do. For now... a brave smile, my girl. Please."
She smiled fakely. "The best I can muster, Mother."
Lyarra followed Catelyn out into the courtyard, where their household was waiting to greet the royal procession. Summer was waiting by one of the towers, head tilted up, ears already far too big for her still-small head.
"Gods, but they grow fast," said Catelyn. She turned to where Summer had her eyes fixed just as Bran was climbing off the tower onto the stable roof. "Brandon!"
"I saw the King!" he shrieked excitedly. "He's got hundreds of people!"
"How many times have I told you: no climbing!" Catelyn scolded.
"But he's coming right now!" said Bran, leaping off the roof. "Down our road!"
Catelyn leaned forward, "I want you to promise me: no more climbing."
Bran stared down at his feet. "I promise."
"Do you know what?"
"What?"
"You always look at your feet before you lie." Brandon smirked. "Run and find your father. Tell him the king is close."
She smiled as he ran off, the pup toddling behind him. "Children grow fast, too." She side-eyed her daughter, who had her arms crossed over her abdomen, nervously tugging at her fingers, wondering what might happen if she bent one over and placed a bit of pressure. A satisfying 'pop!' reached her ears, easing some of the tension in her body. Now, if she could do that with every finger, perhaps she'd feel better.
Lyarra lined up beside Robb silently, waiting for the King to make his way into the courtyard. He still suspected nothing, merely smiling and finding the day to be thrilling. Neither of them felt particularly happy, given the circumstances of the King's arrival, but they could not deny it was nice to have company.
"Where's Arya?" asked Catelyn, looking to the empty space beside Bran as the rest of them filed in, the direwolves made to stay in the kennels where Palla would watch them. "Sansa, where's your sister?"
Sansa shrugged, then looked over at Lyarra. "She was with you."
"And then she was not," said Lyarra with a shrug. "I braided her hair and she ran off. Ah, there." She nodded to a small figure rushing toward them, wearing a helm and only just beating the long line of horses that were leading the King in.
"Hey, hey, hey hey," said Eddard Stark, reaching over to remove the helm. "What are you doing with that on?"
Arya skipped away from him, shoving between Sansa and Bran as the coach rode up, "Move!"
Lyarra's eyes traced the movement of all the men on horses, one clearly catching her sister's eye: the young Prince Joffrey, who smiled at her. She could feel Robb tense beside her, and with a quick look, saw he was glaring, unhappy with the attention he was showing Sansa. Lyarra didn't much like it, either; she could only imagine how pompous a prince would be if they'd been raised in King's Landing their whole life. Something about his face bothered her.
Perhaps she was projecting her frustration to sources that didn't merit it.
King Robert made himself known, arriving on the back of a dark stallion. Her father immediately knelt, causing everyone to follow suit. The King heaved himself off his horse, approaching Ned, and signaling for them to stand.
"Your Grace," said her father cordially, bowing his head.
"You've gotten fat," said King Robert.
Ned raised a brow at him, his lips curling up slightly. The two burst out laughing, embracing. "Cat!" The King pulled away to greet her mother with a kiss on the cheek, patting Rickon's head.
"Your Grace," said Catelyn politely.
"Nine years," said Robert, addressing Ned again. "Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"
"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace," replied Ned. "Winterfell is yours."
The coach opened. Queen Cersei descended, followed by her younger children, something that seemed to interest the youngest sister very much. "Where's the Imp?" Lyarra heard Arya ask.
"Will you shut up?" hissed Sansa.
Lyarra shot them both a look, reminding them the King was right in front of them.
"Who have we here?" said King Robert. "You must be Robb." He shook his hand firmly. He smiled at Lyarra and Sana, "My, you both are pretty." He looked down at Arya. "Your name is?"
"Arya," she said fiercely.
"Ooh," he said, now speaking to Bran, "Show us your muscles." Bran held up his arm, and King Robert huffed approvingly. "You'll be a soldier."
Arya was now paying attention to one of the members of the Kingsguard. "That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother."
"Would you please shut up!" insisted Sansa.
"Girls," hissed Lyarra.
"My Queen," said Ned loudly as Cersei approached, masking his daughters' voices. Catelyn mimicked him once he'd kissed the woman's hand, "My Queen." She curtsied deeply.
"Take me to your crypt," demanded King Robert. "I want to pay my respects."
"We've been riding for a month, my love," urged the Queen. "Surely the dead can wait."
"Ned," insisted King Robert, pushing past the crowd and leading the way there anyway.
"Where's the Imp?" Arya whined.
"Come with me, Arya," decided Lyarra, offering her hand. "We'll let Father have his time with the King."
Arya followed her up to her room. "Why did you bring me here, Arra?" complained Arya. "I want to see the Imp."
"You cannot ask it in front of the King and the Queen," she warned. "You will have your chance, soon, if you wish it. I'm scolding you so that Mother and Father won't have to. There." She smiled. "Scolded. Don't be getting into any trouble. You must be on your best behavior. It's only for a little while, and then the King will leave."
"He better not leave before I see the Imp!"
"You'll see him. Now, run along, and do not mess with your braids. I will need to help Sansa get ready for the feast and won't have time to fix them."
"I won't!" said Arya, skipping away.
Sansa arrived promptly as usual, preferring her sister's touch to her mother when it came to fixing her hair. Lyarra delicately brushed through her hair before beginning to braid it, styling and pinning with an idea in mind, which she had practiced on Arya only once before.
"I heard King Robert spoke with Father about a betrothal," said Sansa excitedly. "To wed Prince Joffrey to one of us. I hope they pick me."
Lyarra couldn't shake the pit that suddenly appeared in her stomach, fearing her father might choose her if it could cover up what she'd done. She tried to believe it couldn't work. Joffrey would not be made to wed her right away; a royal wedding took months to prepare. By then, her belly would be too swollen to hide.
"You're more his age," reasoned Lyarra casually. "And I do not find him to be very appealing."
"You must have liked Ser Jaime."
"I hardly got a look at him, what with Arya needing to hush."
"You'd like him."
"Perhaps, but he is a member of the Kingsguard, I could never be with him, nor do I wish to."
"Girls," said Catelyn, coming to check on them.
"Lyarra is giving me a new hairstyle," said Sansa happily. "Do you think everyone will like it?"
"Who is 'everyone?'" asked Lyarra knowingly.
"Do you think Joffrey will like me?" she asked, more seriously. "What if he thinks I'm ugly?"
"Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived," said Catelyn.
Sansa smiled, holding up a mirror to examine herself. "He's so handsome. When would we be married? Soon, or do we have to wait?"
"Hush now," said Catelyn. "Your father hasn't even said yes."
"Why would he say no?" said Sansa. "He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms."
"He'd have to leave home. He'd have to leave me. And so would you."
"You left your home to come here. And I'd be queen someday." She turned to face her mother. "Please make Father say yes!"
"Sansa..."
"Please, please. It's the only thing I've ever wanted!"
Catelyn eyed Lyarra, who pretended she was completely deaf and not at all privy to the conversation. "There," she said, leaning behind Sansa. "You look beautiful. If Joffrey does not think so, then we will make sure the next ruler is only the gorgeous Queen and not the blind King."
"Lyarra," said Catelyn. "Come, we must fix your hair."
"I can fix my own."
"I was not asking."
Dejectedly, she followed her mother into her room. "Please do not tell me Father intends to wed me to Prince Joffrey."
"He could not," said Catelyn. "If your father accepts to this position, you will stay here in Winterfell."
Her eyebrows rose. "I'd be able to stay here?"
"Yes."
She relaxed visibly. "I am very glad to hear that."
Lyarra would come to wonder years later if it would have been better for her to go.