Smalljon carried Bran to the weirwood the next morning.
He lowered him gently onto a rock, then stepped back to give Lyarra room for spreading out Bran's cloak, then seating herself beside him.
"Aye," said Smalljon, "I'll return in an hour. You two, take your time."
"Thank you, Jon," said Lyarra with a gentle smile. She waited for him to disappear behind the trees before smoothing her hand through Bran's hair. "Go on, then, let us pray. Would you like for me to start, or do you wish to?"
Bran closed his eyes, cupping his hands together. "Old Gods, we ask that you hear us. Please watch over Robb. And watch over all the other men from Winterfell. And Theon, too, I suppose."
Lyarra smiled. "Of course, Theon. He may be... difficult, at times, but he is our family, too."
"He hardly speaks to us," said Bran. "He's Robb's friend. You've known him almost as long as he isn't your friend."
"Do you want to hear a secret?" Bran nodded, prompting her to lean closer. "I don't think Theon knows how to talk to girls properly."
Bran grinned, then pretended to pray, "And may Theon learn to speak to girls."
The tree gave a rustle, a raven cawing overhead. Lyarra turned at the sound of footsteps. Osha spoke, "You hear them, boy? The Old Gods are answering you."
"What are you doing here?" asked Bran, a tad harsh.
"They're my Gods, too," said Osha, reaching up to caress a branch. "Beyond the Wall, they're the only Gods. Even slaves are allowed to pray."
"You're not a slave," said Bran. She gestured to the chains on her leg. "Well, your friend did put a knife to my throat."
"I'm not complaining, little lord," said Osha, kneeling beside them. "Just telling truths."
"I'll speak to Maester Luwin about having those removed," said Lyarra kindly. "You've done nothing to show you require them." She tsked at the state of Osha's hair. "Might I–?"
Osha slowly inched closer. Lyarra carefully started working her fingers through it, nails pointed as finely as a comb. Osha gave a hiss at first, then relaxed. Bran inquired, "What did you mean about hearing the Gods?"
"You asked them, they're answering you." Osha shushed them. "Open your ears." The tree rusted again.
"It's only the wind," said Bran.
Osha shrugged. "Who do you think sends the wind if not the Gods? They see you, boy. They hear you. Your brother will get no help from them where he's going. The Old Gods have no power in the South. The weirwoods there were all cut down a long time ago. How can they watch when they have no eyes?"
"Our mother's faith is the Seven," explained Lyarra. "I've prayed to both. I believe that all forms of the gods exist. Someone will watch over Robb down there. He's got all our bannermen, including House Umber. Smalljon's told me they are all built like giants. They'll protect him."
"Are there really giants beyond the Wall?" asked Bran.
"Giants and worse than giants," said Osha. "I tried telling your brother, he's marching the wrong way. All these swords, they should be going north, boy. North, not south. The cold winds are rising."
The first raven after Robb's departure arrived with news of Jaime Lannister's army smashing the river lords at the Golden Tooth, now laying siege to Riverrun. Lady Catelyn had been busy prior to making contact with Robb's army, seizing Lord Tyrion and taking him to the Eyrie for judgment after what'd happened to Bran.
Robb's eighteen-thousand-man army had made camp past the Neck, and had made contact with one of Lord Tywin's spies. The next move was to secure a crossing at the Twins, after which they'd face either Jaime Lannister's army or Lord Tywin's.
Osha became a great comfort after Winterfell quieted down. Smalljon moved Bran around during the day as Maester Luwin taught him the duties expected of the Lord of Winterfell. Lyarra accompanied them some days, but most others were spent relaxing while the younger boys entertained her. Osha had taken to sitting with her, telling her stories about life beyond-the-Wall and telling her which parts of the White Walker history remained the same in wildling word-of-mouth and which were different.
Lyarra had had the chains removed within the day after their meeting in the godswood. She'd helped Osha trim her hair and gotten rid of all the mats in it, braiding it cleanly down both sides. Osha had dubbed herself her protector, intending to be there the moment Lyarra gave birth. Even if her mother and sisters couldn't make it back in time, she would not find herself without a warm hand to hold– Osha and Palla swore to be at her side.
The second letter informed her that Robb's army had tricked Lord Tywin and decimated Jamie Lannister's army, succeeding in capturing the Kingslayer. Smalljon thought it great progress, even if the war wouldn't be over anytime soon. Such a victory was monumental, especially for someone as young as Robb. Lyarra wondered how different things had been if she'd been born a male, if she'd been out there fighting with her brother instead of here, worried and contributing nothing.
(She considered sending a letter to Jon, to pass along these updates. But she knew it would only worry Jon. Not to mention she wasn't sure if she could stop herself from asking about Lance, who as far as she knew, was still unaware of her pregnancy.
Did she still love him? Had she ever really loved him? Or had she only liked his attention, liked what she never had, and craved someone who didn't say no when she wanted to explore because he yearned for the same thing?
Being with Smalljon was bringing an entirely new perspective about love. He didn't do silly things like Lance, he didn't constantly tease her, he didn't encourage her to follow her worst impulses, he didn't cater to her will every single time. Yet still she had the sense he cared. He respected her while maintaining his own identity. He entertained her without behaving younger than he was. He would tell her if something she wished to do was unreasonable, teaching her and valuing her individuality without guiding her toward a situation that would jeopardize her health.
She wondered if what she felt for him was growing into love. If this was really what love was.)
And then came the third letter, the horrible scroll that delivered news no one had wanted.
She'd woken up that morning feeling a sense of dread. The babe had kicked all through the night, granting her only a few meager intervals of sleep. Rickon had come to the room complaining of nightmares, and even when the sun rose, he insisted he knew of terrible things coming for them.
"Slow down, Rickon," said Lyarra, the boy dragging her down into the crypt. "I've told you, it was only a nightmare. Father's now down in the crypt."
"I saw him!" insisted Rickon. "I saw him, 'Arra, he was here."
She shivered, the darkness only exacerbating her anxiety. "It's so dark down here." She tugged him hard to stop him, allowing herself to reach for a torch. Shaggydog and Nana trotted ahead, as if knowing exactly where Rickon aimed to go, deep into the tunnel where no one had yet been buried. "Rickon, I'd like to have breakfast. I'm awfully hungry."
"But we have to find Father," complained Rickon. "I have to see if he's there."
Sighing, she continued after him. He went deeper into the darkness until he reached a wall, placing his hand over it. "He was here, I swear it," he said in a small voice. "I saw him."
"Dreams can often seem very real," said Lyarra. "But it doesn't always mean it is what actually happened. Let's go back up, Rickon, please. The floor here is filthy."
He sat anyway, opening his arms for Shaggydog to join him. Nana whined at Lyarra's side, glancing up as if expecting for them to go. Lyarra wished to, but didn't want to abandon Rickon here.
She heard voices coming from the entrance of the crypt– Bran and Osha. "What are you two doing down here?" she asked, popping out with the torch ahead. Osha nearly dropped Bran off of her shoulders.
Osha shrieked as Nana and Shaggydog ran up to them. "Those beasts are supposed to be chained in the kennels!"
Rickon joined them. "Shaggydog doesn't like chains. And Nana is Lyarra's practice babe! She won't leave her alone anywhere. We came to find Father."
Bran looked frustrated. "How many times have Lyarra and I told you, he's in King's Landing with Sansa and Arya!"
"He dreamt that he saw him here," said Lyarra tiredly, motioning for Rickon to take her hand. "He wanted to see if it was true."
His expression faltered. "He dreamt that he saw Father? So did I."
"Come, boys," insisted Osha. "Your sister needs her rest and you two ought not spend time in crypts." When Rickon didn't come, Nana rushed to nudge him in their direction. "You all miss your Father. It's only natural that he should be in your thoughts and dreams."
"Robb's going to bring him back," said Lyarra, pulling Rickon with her. "Oh, Rickon, your clothes will need a good scrubbing." She set the torch back, holding her belly as she climbed the steps back into the courtyard.
Ahead, Maester Luwin awaited them with a scroll. "Lyarra," he said sadly.
Lyarra let go of Rickon, who immediately sprinted back into the crypts, Shaggydog at his heels. Nana began to pace at Lyarra's heels, glancing up at her as she watched Maester Luwin approach, a grim expression on her face.
"Is it Robb?" she asked immediately. "My mother?"
He shook his head. "Forgive me, my child. King Joffrey has executed your father."
Bran slumped back in Osha's arms. Lyarra's eyes welled up, but she fought to ask, "What of the girls? Are my sisters alright?"
"There is still no word of Arya. Sansa witnessed the execution– she's a prisoner of the Lannisters."
Smalljon was making their way to them from the other end of the yard. Lyarra closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and assumed it was Smalljon arrived to hold her steady. "Lyarra?" said Bran shakily.
"My boy." She opened her eyes and reached out to hold him. "My sweet boy." She held him as he began to cry, stroking his hair and trying to contain her own tears. She couldn't cry, not in front of them.
"I'll have Palla fetch Rickon," said Maester Luwin sadly. "You ought to sit down, Lyarra. For a long while."
"Come," said Smalljon, beckoning her toward the hall. "Let's all take a moment."
Palla brought Rickon, still dirty and insisting on seeing his father. Lyarra beckoned him closer, seating him beside her and cupping his little face to clean it off with her handkerchief.
"You did see Father in your dreams," she told him as Osha comforted Bran. "You and Bran, you dreamt of something that happened in King's Landing."
"It's true, isn't it?" said Rickon, eyes wide. "Father's in the crypts. He's dead."
She nodded slowly. "Yes, little one. He is. He's not coming home."
"I knew it," said Rickon, leaning his head onto her chest. "I knew he wouldn't come home."
It was a solemn day in Winterfell. For an entire hour, the castle was silent, not a single soul breathing a word. The boys had been put down for naps after crying for so long. Palla came to hold Lyarra as she cried in her bed, burying her face in her pillow and wailing to the Old Gods and the Seven why this had to happen. Pleading for them to protect her sisters in the way they hadn't protected her Father.
When they next heard from Robb, he'd been crowned King in the North, their kingdom in open rebellion and refusing to back the other candidates for King of the Seven Kingdoms. They would not back Stannis or Renly Baratheon– they'd secure independence for the North, never again having to bow to someone on a southern throne. Their aim was to get the girls back and defeat the Lannisters to avenge their liege lord.
It would be a long time before anyone came back to Winterfell.
"I despise being here," said Lyarra, no longer able to focus on her reading. Her mind could not be settled, not when there was so much at stake. She was confined to her bed of her own choice, too weak and frustrated to move elsewhere and too stressed for movement to be any good in this state. "This should have never happened. They ought to place that Joffrey brat on a bloody leash!"
"He will be killed, by one King or another," said Smalljon. "If the Northerners weren't enraged before, they will be now. The Crownlands can only last so long with all the other kingdoms opening in rebellion. Something will be done. Joffrey will suffer for what he's done."
"I wish I'd been born a son," she said, mostly to herself. "I wish I could do something to avenge my father and save my sisters. Jon cannot leave the Wall and Robb should not be alone down there. I don't know if Arya will ever come back, if Sansa will be safe in that wretched castle. Everything was ruined the moment the King came, he brought this curse with him. Each time the Starks have joined with the Baratheons, something awful has happened."
"Do not think too much on the things you cannot control, Lyarra, you'll only do yourself and the babe harm. The only thing you can do at this moment is care for yourself and for your brothers. They'll need your presence, wholly, to remember they still have part of a family that loves them. To show them that hope is not all lost. Bran will need your guidance as he assumes his duties in the face of grief."
She stared into the fireplace, heaving a sigh. "I cannot wait until this babe has emerged and I can move again. When that happens, I wish to learn how to wield a sword." She faced him. "Would you teach me?"
Smalljon blinked. "Are you certain, my lady?"
"Yes. I must be able to defend myself and my brothers, even if no one else is here. If only to have the feeling that I am not... inept. Knowledge can only bring you so far. You must have the means to apply it and at present I've... nothing."
He propped his head on his elbow. "A bit of movement might do you good, if you're careful not to exert yourself. We could try shooting, first. Have you any idea how to do that?"
"I've seen my brothers do it. Arya is very good."
"Then we'll teach you to be good, too. I was there when my father taught all my sisters to hunt, I've a great mind for training. I'll teach you to shoot within a month. It'll give you something else to think about, eh?"
"Very well. At least then, I'll be able to kill a man from a distance."
He chuckled. "Is that the aim, Lyarra? To kill a man?"
Her eyes were dark, even with the light of the flames. "My father was killed by a mere boy, all because he had power. I won't let people bigger than that hurt anyone else in my family, not if I can gain the strength to stop it. I'll kill more than boys if I have to."
"I'm not quite sure if that makes me fear you or admire you more."
She sat up, though with difficulty. "Good. Then I've already begun to make progress."
Shooting wasn't easy to manage with a belly in the way, but Lyarra made it work. It was challenging enough to get a good feel of how to hold a bow and how to reload arrows without constantly bending down or looking back to retrieve them. They drilled that for the first week, with the boys practicing alongside them.
She set a routine for herself. Each morning, she'd read all the ravens that'd arrived and discuss any other updates with Maester Luwin. After breakfast, she'd have a session shooting with Smalljon. Then, in the afternoons, she'd read books about death. How to kill people even if one didn't hold an advantage.
The books that stood out to her the most regarded poison. She felt a calling to learn more about it, but Osha insisted the majority of the plants in her books would not survive in a Northern climate. They were meant for places further south, which for Lyarra unfortunately meant having simply been born in Dorne. Still, she tried to memorize all the ways one could administer potion without the victim realizing it.
It wasn't long after her father's death that a red comet appeared in the sky. Some believed that it was a sign that Robb would win the war, some believed it represented blood or the Lannisters ruling all. Osha believed it meant dragons. Lyarra could believe that most of all– a red comet made her think of magic. Lately, Bran's dreams had changed to him being within a wolf's body, moving through Summer as if they were one being. That was too strange to be a simple coincidence. Old Nan had told them many stories about this strange phenomenon, but Maester Luwin insisted it wasn't something to ponder on.
(Still, Lyarra found herself wondering if she could do that, too. Have those sorts of dreams where she wandered around as Nana. Or was it only possible for Bran because he needed to move in a new way? Were all those stories really so buried away, if Osha insisted all of those things still existed beyond the Wall?)
After the comet vanished from the sky, they received a letter from Stannis Baratheon, revealing a filthy secret that Lyarra knew was the cause of her father's death. All three of Cersei's children were bastards, fathered by her twin brother, the Kingslayer. It meant Joffrey had no real claim to the throne– but of course the twat would not hear that, if he'd believed the letter at all.
Though she questioned Stannis as a man– given she'd heard of him taking up the company of a Red Priestess guiding him toward the Iron Throne through sacrifices to the Lord of Light– she doubted that he'd make such a thing up. Robb figured that this secret of Queen Cersei's was the same secret that'd sent Jon Arryn and their father to their early graves. He also revealed this was the reason that Bran had been thrown from that window– he saw something he wasn't meant to have seen.
Rodrik Cassel returned with news on behalf of their King. Robb had sent peace terms down to King's Landing, though everyone expected that the Queen would deny them. It involved his sisters being released, their father's bones being returned to them, and the North being declared an independent kingdom. Their mother had been sent to the Stormlands to negotiate with Renly Baratheon for an alliance, while Theon had convinced Robb that he could go to the Iron Islands to recruit the help of his father.
Lyarra agreed with their mother that Balon Greyjoy should not be trusted. She'd heard enough about the Greyjoy Rebellion from Maester Luwin, and none of it indicated that Balon Greyjoy was a man that would remain loyal to them. She imagined Theon had the best intentions at mind, but to her, it didn't mean they were intentions that would amount to anything good. At the very least, an alliance with King Renly would secure them the manpower of the Stormlands and the Reach, who'd joined their prized jewel Lady Margaery in matrimony with Renly.
Rodrik came to tell them of a raid at Torrhen's Square one afternoon, an attack by a group of men led by The Mountain under Lannister orders. Rickon had been upset all day during the audience with their bannermen, having had another strange coincidental dream with Bran where the sea flooded Winterfell. Given that Smalljon had gone to fight, she figured it would be a good idea to give Ned and Rickon something to do and get their minds off their worries.
"You needn't fret about that sort of thing, Rickon," said Lyarra, leaning against the rocks with a hand on her swollen belly while the boys practiced making wreaths with fallen leaves, the godswood quiet and just for them. "The sea is too far from each corner... we would not be flooded."
"Bran saw it more clearly than I did," said Rickon, still upset. He tossed a lopsided wreath at her. "What's the point of all this?"
"I've told you, we're going to make nice little wreaths for each member of our two families. Look at little Ned, he's doing wonderful work."
Rickon huffed as Ned threaded a thin vine through a hole in his leaves, made by the tiniest prick of an arrow tip. "I hate it here."
"That is quite strong of a word," observed Lyarra. "What is there to hate, little one?"
He held a rock, pressing it hard into the ground, grinding until it formed a small hole. "Our home is empty and soon to drown. Father won't come back, Mother won't come back, Robb and Jon won't come back. I hate Winterfell."
"I don't think it's Winterfell you dislike. I think you dislike our situation. This, I understand. Hatred is a strong emotion, Rickon, and I think it takes a lot to hate something. We can feel frustrated and upset, hopeless and afraid. I feel this, too." She guided him to sit in front of her. "We cannot control what will happen. It is all up to the gods, and to the choices our family members are each allowed to make. We can only pray for their safety and have faith in their return, as awful as that is. I dislike it too, my sweet boy. But to hate it would mean to give up all hope that we'll see one another again."
He sniffled, leaning onto her belly and holding back a whimper. She stroked his hair with one hand, reaching the other out to Ned, who pouted and crawled in their direction. "I miss the Last Hearth," said Ned. "I miss my grandfather and my cousins."
"I know." Lyarra kissed the top of his head. "It is almost time to return there."
"Then you'll leave, too," complained Rickon. "No one stays." He squirmed out of her hold, an indignant look on his face. When she leaned over to hold his hand, she felt a pressure in her stomach, causing her to withdraw, the color draining from her face.
"Lyarra?" asked Ned, seeing her clutching her belly. "Do you feel sick?"
She drew a deep breath, feeling liquid trickling down her legs. "Ned, Rickon, I've a very important task for you. Here, take my hands." They each held on. "Help me up, gently..."
Lyarra steadied herself, reaching for the trunk of the weirwood. "Little Ned, run and fetch Maester Luwin. The babe is coming."