Her father had it nearly all planned out.
"The betrothal would be the excuse," said Catelyn, beginning a braid. "In a matter of days, it will be settled. Ideally all three of you girls would go with him to King's Landing if he accepted. Robb would remain here as Lord of Winterfell, and I would care for Bran and Rickon. But if you are betrothed, then you must remain in the North. As of this morning, your father has received ravens from the Lords Umber and Cerwyn."
Lyarra tried to remember what their sons looked like. She couldn't recall their faces, only their names. "Smalljon Umber has a son, doesn't he? A boy of four named Ned, for Father?"
"Yes. His wife died on the birthing bed. He is eager to be wed again and quickly. He is, however, five years your senior, and Last Hearth is much further North of here. As for Cley Cerwyn, well, he is more your age, only a year older than Robb. The castle is very near here. He is my preference but he may not be yours. I am told he can be arrogant, he likes to argue. The two of you together... with your tempers... Smalljon will perhaps be more to your liking and I know his son would adore you. He would be a good father to your child even if he knew it was not his. Cley may not be so fond if he learned the truth. He is still immature."
Lyarra gulped. "And who makes the decision, ultimately? Me or Father?"
"Your Father. He will take your preferences into consideration. They are the best options out of the Northern men."
"Better that way," she murmured. "I'd rather he didn't look further South and end up wedding me to one of the millionsons that Lord Frey has."
Catelyn smiled tightly. "If you'd only tell us who fathered your child, perhaps a marriage with him could be arranged, if he is of good stature. You may be happiest that way."
"Father would never allow it. It would not happen no matter what the truth is." She chewed on her lip. "I don't know either of those men. I do not care if Smalljon is older or if he has a son, I do not care if Cley has a temper like mine. What I hear does not mean a thing if I do not see how they act with me, how they treat me knowing the truth. I cannot keep it from them. Even with a quick wedding, they would know. They are old enough to. Why... why is Father not looking here? What about... what about someone I've known, someone like Theon?"
Catelyn dropped the unfinished braid. "If this is how you mean to tell me you allowed a Greyjoy to father your child–"
"No! No, no, not at all! But he is Robb and Jon's friend. I've known him nearly half my life. We get along well enough. I wouldn't have to leave Winterfell."
Her mother hesitated. "I will pose the idea to your father but I doubt he will see it fitting. It could present a host of problems we cannot risk."
"Please tell him, at least. I'd be far more comfortable marrying Theon than Cley or Smalljon..."
She sighed. "Very well. I'll see what can be done."
The banquet was not fun for her. She sat with Sansa and her friend Jeyne, eating a normal portion and watching as the King fondled a wench, much to the Queen's dismay. She didn't like all the noise; the laughter and music bothered her. She would have liked to sit with Robb and Jon, to at least be able to chat about something that could suitably distract her from her concerns.
She became interested in something else when she saw her Uncle Benjen walking in, making a beeline for her father. She tried to lean closer, hoping she might be able to hear what they were talking about without having to get up and make it obvious she was attempting to eavesdrop. She moved just enough to get a good view of their mouths, but before she could try to read their lips, Robb got in the way (perhaps intentionally). She huffed, her view completely blocked.
"My ladies," said Jeyne's mother, coming to whisper between Sansa and Lyarra, "you are to greet the Queen now."
They stood in unison, and Lyarra led the way to the table where their mother was keeping Cersei company.
"Hello, little dove," said Cersei to Sansa. "But you two are beauties. How old are you, Sansa?"
"Thirteen, Your Grace," said Sansa politely.
"You're tall. Still growing?"
She smiled. "I think so, Your Grace."
"And have you bled yet?"
Sansa no longer looked very happy, glancing between her mother and sister before uncomfortably admitting, "No, Your Grace."
"And your dress," said Cersei. "Did you make it?" She nodded. "Such talent. You must make something for me."
The younger girl curtsied before excusing herself from the conversation. "And you?" asked Cersei. "Your mother tells me you may be wed soon."
"Yes, Your Grace," said Lyarra.
"My congratulations to you."
Lyarra offered a smile, curtsying as well before going to join her sister, who was whispering with Jeyne about Joffrey as he eyed them. "Look," said Sansa, urging Lyarra to turn to where Jaime Lannister was now speaking to their father. "Now you can get a good look at him."
"He is handsome," said Lyarra as Jeyne giggled. "Father doesn't seem to be enjoying the conver–"
A wad of food flew at them, landing right on Sansa's face. "Arya!" she shrieked as their sister giggled from the other table. Robb had laughed at it, until their mother nodded, seeing Sansa's distress while Jeyne helped her clean her face.
"Time for bed," said Robb, hoisting Arya off the table and out of the banquet hall.
"I'll go get her settled," said Lyarra, tired of the festivities. "Good night, Sansa." She helped remove one last smear from her face before taking her leave.
Once Arya was in her room, she went to fetch Nana, taking her to her chambers and lying beside her as she usually did, humming until the fast-growing pup had stretched her legs out and dozed off.
Smalljon. Cley. Theon. Lance.
She still remembered how Lance used to sneak in through the window, always freshly washed but his clothes smelling of dog, which she teased him for. He'd been only a few months older than her, often saying silly things as if he were a year younger. He knew how to make her laugh, he knew how to respond when she was angry. He calmed her, reminded her to breathe and not let her fury get the best of her.
And now he was gone. She'd be made to marry a man who would perhaps be dull or make jokes she wouldn't understand. They wouldn't know what she was feeling, wouldn't know how to help her. If she were made to live in Last Hearth or Castle Cerwyn, she'd be lonely.
But if she remained in Winterfell, things could be wonderful. She'd be with her siblings, she'd be with someone she liked (even if she and Theon didn't speak very much). She could tolerate being married to him; she might even come to enjoy it.
Though, she had a feeling he wouldn't like it at all. It wasn't a secret what Theon did when he ventured out of the castle. She had little experience; she couldn't please him the way he wanted to be. And nothing would erase the fact he was only living in Winterfell because of his father's rebellion. A rebellion where he lost his brothers and his title.
Marrying Theon may have been the better option to her, but it certainly wouldn't be for him.
She tried to think of it some more the following morning, when the men had gone hunting. Smalljon. Cley. Theon. Lance. Smalljon. Cley. Theon. Lance. Over and over until–
That scream.
She sprinted out of the castle the instant she heard it. It was Palla, who'd come at the sound of Summer's wails to find Bran unconscious on the ground.
"H-He must have fallen!" she sobbed to Lyarra as her father, Farlen, scooped Bran up.
"Call the Maester!" he yelled ahead at one of the other servants. "And call Lady Stark!"
Shaking like a leaf, Lyarra followed as they took Bran to his room, laying him on his bed. Maester Luwin came with her mother behind him, both already extremely pale.
"Lyarra, please, make sure your sisters are in their rooms," said Catelyn weakly. "Please. You must. Keep Rickon with you and send word to your father immediately."
Reluctantly, she left. Once she'd assigned servants to keep her sisters in their chambers, she ran into the courtyard, requesting for Jory Cassel to ride out to find the hunting party. He left at once, promising they'd return soon.
Rickon was inconsolable. Lyarra scooped him up, having the three direwolf pups follow her to her littlest brother's room, where she cleared space for them to play with each other. Summer lingered by the door, pawing at it and wishing to find Bran.
"If only you could speak," said Lyarra to Summer as she hugged Rickon, stroking his hair. "If only you could tell us why he fell. The day is pleasant, the castle is quiet... was he distracted? Did he miss a step?"
"Bran is good at climbing," sniffled Rickon. "He never falls."
A chill ran down her spine, knowing he was right.
She heard movement around them once Rickon had managed to find some sleep, cuddling up to her. Her father had returned and immediately gone to see Bran, who had yet to awaken.
She kept him company as often as she could. It was less often than she would have liked. Her mother never left Bran's side, crying and praying and only taking breaks to eat and use the bathroom when Lyarra had managed to find a suitable enough activity to entertain Rickon. Palla had been kind enough to watch him whenever Catelyn needed to take care of herself.
At last, a month and a half of the King visiting became too much. Not only was it becoming near-impossible to hide the nausea that swept her every morning, but her dresses were scarcely hiding her condition anymore. Maester Luwin did what he could to ease her symptoms, but at this point, Robb and Sansa both knew the truth. The time for hiding was long over with.
Her father made his choice.
"It's true, then?" she said when he came to see her in her room. "You'll be King Robert's Hand?"
"Yes," he said. "We leave tomorrow. Your sisters are preparing their things. Your Uncle Benjen will ride North with Jon and Lord Tyrion Lannister; he wishes to see the Wall. Robb will remain here and oversee your wedding preparations."
He sat on her bed. "Your mother told me of your wishes to marry Theon. I apologize for not speaking to you about it sooner. I do not think it wise, Lyarra. And due to how much the pregnancy has progressed... I do not think Lord Cerwyn is a reasonable spouse."
"Smalljon Umber it is, then," she murmured solemnly.
"Yes. He has agreed to ride for Winterfell as soon as we leave for King's Landing. He will bring his son with him. You will marry in the Godswood and when your mother is ready... you will move to Last Hearth. Smalljon understands she is not willing to lose you with Bran still in his condition."
"At the very least, he understands, as he is a father himself..."
"Which is why I believe he may be the best choice. Chin up, my girl." He offered a small smile, tapping her cheek gently. "He is a good man. And, as Robb mentioned to me... you will love young Ned as if he were your own. Even if you do not come to love Smalljon, you will have two little ones that will fill your heart."
Lyarra nodded slowly. "Very well, then. Thank you... Father. I know I haven't made this easy on you."
He lowered his voice, "I will ask you this only once and I demand the truth."
"Father, I told you I won't say–"
"It was Lance, was it not?"
She blushed. "Who told you? Palla or Jon?"
"Neither. Your Uncle Benjen. Lance turned up at the Wall saying only that he did something he shouldn't have, took something that wasn't his. When he came here and learned of your condition... he pieced it together and told me, assuming I would confirm his suspicions. Instead it made me realize the truth about why Lance left in the first place. Lyarra, I want you to promise me something."
"What is it?"
"Promise me that you will take care of yourself. That you will be wise, that you will be careful, and most of all... that you will not set aside that temper. Know how to stand up for yourself while still respecting others, for your sake and the sake of your child. Can you do that for me, Lyarra?"
"Yes, Father."
He stood, kissing the top of her head and hugging her. "Be brave, my girl. Always."
"I will," she whispered into his chest.
"There's something else," he said quietly. "Something you must tell no one. Only Robb and Jon are aware. Your Aunt Lysa sent word to your mother. She and your cousin Robin have escaped to the Eyrie. She believes the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn."
She drew away immediately. "And you're still going to King's Landing? You are taking my sisters with you to that awful place?"
"I must. For the King."
Lyarra didn't know how to say goodbye. She didn't want to. Her father had been the easiest; she knew he was a capable man and that he'd be fine, but it still scared her. She worried for her sisters, though both were excited by the prospect of something new. She gave them each a tight hug, telling them they'd need to learn to braid their own hair from now on.
"Be careful up there," she said to Jon, holding his hands before he mounted his horse. "Please."
"I will be," he said. "And you, be careful here. If you are ever hurt, any of you, you take the boys and you come up to the Wall where Uncle Benjen and I can help."
"We will," she said, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. "Ride safely, brother. And make sure you visit. I may very well be naming this little one Jon."
He smirked. "You shouldn't. His stepfather is Jon, and Lord Umber is also named Jon. I am Jon. There are too many of us already. You can be far more creative, Lyarra."
"You wish for another Brandon? There have been too many of those."
"How about this. If it's a boy, you name him Brynden for your mother's uncle. If it's a girl, name her Minisa for your grandmother, or... Lyanna for your aunt."
"Then it will be done."
She waited by the gates, hugging herself as she watched all the horses depart. Soon, she was left completely alone, with only the knowledge that at that very moment in time, Smalljon and his son were riding for Winterfell. She'd be wed in a matter of days, no doubt.
Her room was quieter than ever. Nana's gentle snores were her only comfort. There would be no more listening to Sansa and Arya bicker. Bran's sweet voice hadn't graced the halls in quite some time. She wouldn't hear Jon's laughter whenever Robb told a joke. And she wouldn't be comforted by the sound of her father's boots as he moved around the castle.
Suddenly, Nana sat up, beginning to bark angrily at the window. Lyarra got to her feet, shrieking at the sight of fire on the far side of the castle. "Robb!" she cried.
"Stay in your room!" she heard him yell in the hallway as he ran by.
Nana's barking, the ringing of bells, and all the shouting wasn't giving her any context as to what was going on, and it frustrated her.
Then, she heard a cry within the house.
"Come, Nana!" she said, opening the door and running to Bran's room as she heard her mother shouting. As they sprinted, Summer appeared, rushing ahead through the open door.
Lyarra screamed when Summer and Nana leapt onto a man holding a knife over Bran. Her mother had been tossed to the floor, bleeding. The two women were completely still as the wolves ripped into the man until he went very still. Summer crawled onto the bed to keep Bran company, snout smeared red. Nana went to Catelyn, lapping at the wound on her hand.
"Mother!" cried Lyarra. "What happened?"
"He said it was a mercy," Catelyn whispered. "That I wasn't supposed to be here, that he was dead already..."
The girl knelt down, picking up the knife the man had used. "Look at this. I've never seen a knife this ornate in my life."
"Stay with him tonight," urged Catelyn, getting to her feet. "Keep the wolves. There is something I must do."
It wasn't until the following afternoon that her mother called her to the Godswood, along with Robb, Theon, Maester Luwin, and Rodrick Cassel.
"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," said Catelyn sternly. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown."
"The boy was always sure-footed before," agreed Maester Luwin.
"Someone tried to kill him twice," said her mother. "Why? Why murder an innocent child? Unless he saw something he wasn't meant to see."
"Saw what, my lady?" asked Theon.
"I don't know. But I would stake my life the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."
Rodrick held out the blade. "Lady Lyarra was right to notice something in the dagger last night. It is too fine a weapon for such a man. The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him."
"They come into our home and try to murder my brother?" said Robb darkly. "If it's war they want–"
Theon interrupted, "If it comes to that, you know I'll stand behind you."
"What, is there going to be a battle in the Godswood? Too easily words of war become acts of war. We don't know the truth yet. Lord Stark must be told of this."
Catelyn shook her head. "I don't trust a raven to carry these words."
Robb offered, "I'll ride to King's Landing."
"No. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, particularly now that we will have more guests. I will go myself."
"Mother!" said Lyarra. "You cannot go."
"I must," she insisted.
"I'll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen to escort you," said Rodrick.
She declined. "Too large a party attracts unwanted attention. I don't want the Lannisters to know I'm coming."
"Let me accompany you at least. The Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone."
"And Bran?" asked Lyarra. "Mother, you haven't left his side since..."
She sighed. "I have prayed to the Seven for more than a month. Bran's life is in their hands now."
Lyarra took her mother's place at Bran's side from the moment she departed. Rickon often joined her, a little less nervous about the whole situation and able to sit and chat with Bran as if he was awake. He told him how big Summer was getting, how Shaggydog had nearly knocked him down the stairs, how Nana liked to sleep with her head against Lyarra's belly lately, and he wasn't sure why, because he swore the heart was in one's chest.
And then, out of nowhere, Bran woke up.
"Bran!" Lyarra cried, leaning over to cup his face. "Bran, Bran, can you see me, can you hear me?"
"Yes," he said shakily. "Lyarra, what's going on?"
"Oh, my sweet boy," she said, kissing his head. "Rickon, fetch Maester Luwin and Robb, quickly."
He ran off obediently, with Nana and Shaggydog at his heels.
"He is healthy," said Maester Luwin after examining him while Summer stood guard. "But his legs will not work again."
"How do you feel, Bran?" asked Robb. "You still don't remember anything? I've seen you climb a thousand times. In the wind, in the rain... a thousand times. You never fall."
"I did, though," said Bran quietly. "Is it true? I'll never walk again?"
Maester Luwin nodded solemnly. Bran stared up at the ceiling. "I'd rather be dead."
"Bran," scolded Lyarra. "Don't say such things."
"I'd rather be dead!" he repeated.
It nearly made her cry.
She spent the rest of the night with him, departing in the morning when Robb came to tell her that Smalljon Umber had arrived.
She dressed quickly before heading into the courtyard, where little Ned Umber was caressing Nana, who all too easily laid on her back and showed him her belly.
"Nana," said Lyarra as the direwolf leapt up at her presence, nearly knocking Ned down. "Be careful, girl."
Smalljon approached her, bowing his head. "Lady Stark."
She managed a smile. "Please, call me Lyarra. It is good to finally meet you, Lord Jon."
"Papa," said Ned, grabbing his father's leg. "The wolf won't let me ride her."
Lyarra knelt down in front of him. "You're Ned, I hear?" she said. "Named after my Papa."
He nodded shyly. "Your wolf is pretty."
"Thank you, I'm sure Nana appreciates that. You know, you're getting to be a big boy, that's why she won't let you ride her. She's large, but not large enough to carry a strong one like you."
He grinned. "Is it true there is a friend here for me?"
"Yes. I have a little brother named Rickon. He's six, but I'm sure you two will get along. He has a wolf of his own named Shaggydog. He's very playful, I think you'll like him."
"Can I meet him?" he asked excitedly.
"I will take the boy," offered Palla from the kennels. "Come, little Ned."
Lyarra cast her a grateful but sad smile, beckoning Smalljon to follow her, Robb, and Maester Luwin to the Godswood.
"Thank you," said Lyarra quietly as they walked. "I know this cannot be easy for you."
"On the contrary, my lady," said Smalljon. "I thank you for agreeing. I know you are in need of it, but many ladies older than yourself would not care to marry a man who already had a son by another woman."
"And not many men would marry a lady carrying another man's child in her womb."
"I make you a promise, Lady Stark. As long as you can love my son as your own, I will love your child as my own. I will give them my name and my protection."
She nodded. "Of course. That is a promise I can keep. Please, I insist, call me Lyarra. After all... we are about to be wed."
It wasn't the ceremony she expected she would have had, many years ago. In it, her mother had done her hair, Sansa had made her dress, her father delivered her to the tree, and the rest of her siblings crowded behind her to watch.
Smalljon stood beside Maester Luwin as Robb offered Lyarra his arm.
"Who comes before the old gods this day?" asked the Maester.
"Lyarra of House Stark," said Robb. "She comes to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, true born and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Jon of House Umber," said Smalljon. "Heir to Last Hearth. Who gives her?"
"Robb of House Stark, her brother, and Lord of Winterfell."
Maester Luwin had them stand across from one another. "Lady Lyarra, do you take this man?"
She nodded. "I take this man." She cleared her throat. "Maester, may I please say what a Septon might... out of respect for my mother?"
He smiled, Smalljon following when he realized what it meant to her. "I stand in the sight of gods and men to unite with my husband," she told him gently, "as one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am yours and you are mine. From this day, until the end of my days." She added in a whisper, "thank you."
Smalljon removed his cloak, bearing the sigil of House Umber, and draped it over her shoulders. "I cloak you, my bride, and bring you under my protection. I am yours and you are mine. From this day, until the end of my days." He kissed the back of her hand. "If we may, I'd like very much for us to take a walk around the castle."
Lyarra found that the next smile she flashed was genuine. "Of course."