"Where is he? Where is my brother?" Lyon's call rang through Winterfell. "Now! Where is Brandon Stark?"
A guard whom's face she did not recognize stopped before her as he walked. "The Maester has taken him to his rooms, my lady."
"Thank you, ser." With a flourish of her robes, she pivoted and ricocheted toward the keep, dress billowing behind her. Her feet carried her past faces she paid no mind to until she was at the door to Bran's room. All was silent in the halls, but within she could hear murmuring. Winter was at Lyon's knees, looking up at his master in wait. With a bracing inhale, Lyon opened the door and strode inside.
She saw Catelyn Stark first, pale of face and streaked with tears. "How is he faring?"
"He still sleeps. We do not know if he will awaken." Lady Stark spoke in broken words, voice cracking over syllables. She tried as she may to retain composure, but her eyes were wet and red and had been as such since they had found Bran.
"Robb told me what happened. Forgive, I was not there sooner. I had no idea-"
"It wasn't your fault, Lyon. It was no one's fault."
Lyon lowered her eyes. "Of course. May I-" she gestured to the bed in which Bran lay, and Catelyn nodded faintly. Lyon stepped to the edge of the bed and knelt, taking her brother's hand in hers. "I... I will make sure to keep Rickon company while you rest, little brother."
Lyon leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss upon Bran's hand before rising and smoothing her skirts. She went for the door, to leave quickly and find her youngest sibling, but she stopped with a hand upon the handle.
"All that matters now is that he recovers, mother. We best not trouble our minds with anything else."
Lady Catelyn's eyes rose to meet her daughter's, and a sudden silent agreement was struck. She nodded wordlessly and returned her attention to her son as Lyon stepped outside and silently closed the door behind her. With a deep breath, she made her way back down the halls of the keep. She went to walk to her rooms, but once she opened them she was taken aback to find her father sitting at the edge of the bed.
"How is he...?"
Lyon felt her muscles become lax. Her feet carried her to her bed and she sat beside Ned Stark. "He has not yet awoken, but I am sure he will."
"We can only pray."
Lyon rose, moving to the fresh pitcher of wine she spotted in the corner of her eye. "Hm, never was one for praying. But if it heals Bran then I shall devout every waking moment to prayer."
Ned Stark shook his head. "Pray as you pack your bags. You're leaving with me and your sisters on the morrow." Lyon's hand paused as she poured the wine. "Lyon I do not wish to quarrel-"
"I know, and we shan't. For Bran's sake; for the sake of this family we shall forget what we know for the time being."
"You would do that?"
"There isn't anything I wouldn't do for this family." She set the pitcher down and took goblet in hand, tipping it against her lips. The wine was sweet and stained her pink lips a berry red. "I don't need to know whose daughter I am right now. You were the man who raised me, that means you are my father. However, as I am not yours or my mother's child, I find Jon's treatment by her very unfair."
"It is not-"
"Up for debate? It should be. Unless he isn't your son either." Lyon had said it flippantly with a swig of wine and a grim smirk, but when she turned to look at her father she found herself with chills. "By the Gods, he's not, is he? We will say no more of this matter. You neither confirmed nor denied it. I will pack, and we will not speak until the morrow. Do visit Bran, hmm? Mother would want to see you."
Ned rose to his feet and hurried toward the door, altogether ready to leave his daughter's company. However, he stopped a foot short. "Is that a command, daughter?"
Lyon touched the goblet lightly, lips pursing and pulling into a smile shrouded with grim thought. "I give them more than would occur to you, father. I beg your pardon, but those who hear them usually listen."
Ned barked a short, stony laugh, and was out the door, leaving Lyon with her pitched of wine and another empty goblet.
- - -
"The wall? Are you nuts, Jon? You'll catch your death out there!"
"I thought you said you were supportive of my life choices."
Lyon rolled her eyes as she and Jon strode toward Winterfell's blacksmith. The column of smoke rose tall over Winterfell, as constant as the sky above.
"I am, but I never thought you'd choose the wall. You know what that means, right? No wife or children, constant cold and your betters will look down on you."
"And how do you know so much about the wall and all it entails?" Jon inquired, stepping up to the open arch of the blacksmith. The open forge spread heat and softened the earth with its warmth.
"I do have ears, and I follow up on my sources."
"Of course you do." He shook his head, chuckling and earning a disapproving look from Lyon.
"You don't believe me? I am a woman of method intelligence!"
"I believe you. You are far too careful, you know. As though someone is at your back, constantly listening."
Lyon quirked a brow, and then grinned as she tapped a temple. "The Gods are always listening, Jon."
Eyes to the sky, Jon shook his head and approached the smithy working steadily upon a blade. "Jon! Ah, you've come for that little blade, have ye?" The smith asked, then spotted Lyon. "And Lady Lyon! Ah, the blade you've requested as well is finished. Give me a moment? I'll have 'em out in only a moment."
He left, leaving Jon and Lyon staring at each other.
"You had a blade made?" Jon tilted his head with a disbelieving smile.
"I told him it was a gift for Robb. It's not."
"Fair enough."
"Won't you tell me of yours?"
"It's Arya's. I told him it was a gift as well."
Lyon purses her lips and nodded in approval. "Arya will like that. I'll spar with her along the Kingsroad, I think."
"She'll definitely like that," Jon said, grinning just as the blacksmith emerged from within with two packages in hand. The smaller he handed to Jon, while a long shape he held to Lyon. She took the blade by the hilt and pulled it from its sheath, revealing a long steel blade three feet in length with a pearly pommel and leather-wrapped hilt. She eyed the edges and the make appraisingly, finally coming to grin at the blacksmith.
"Robb will greatly appreciate this gift. Thank you."
The blacksmith nodded his appreciation and Jon took the other blade and its sheath. The blade was similar in length, yet much thinner. Needle-like, she thought.
"A sword for the wall?" A voice behind them interrupted.
Lyon took the sheath for her blade and hid the steel within, turning to find Jaime Lannister approaching her and Jon.
"I already have one." Her brother said and lowered the blade from inspection.
"Good man. Have you swung it yet?" Jaime cocked his head, and Lyon swore she caught his eye trailing from her head to her feet.
"Of course I have."
"At someone, I mean. It's a strange thing, the first time you cut a man." Jaime began, eyes narrowing upon Jon, and then finding Lyon as a smile grew upon his lip. "You realize we're nothing but a sack of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing. Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all against the perils beyond the Wall... Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot. We're grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us."
"We've guarded the kingdoms for eight thousand years," Jon said, the tension growing between them.
"Is it "we" already? Have you taken your vows then?"
"Soon enough."
"Give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, It's only for life." Jaime sent him a grin, to which Lyon felt herself tightening her grip upon her own blade. Of course, Jaime took note of this and turned to her. "I had no idea they were accepting women as well."
Lyon kept her gaze straight ahead at the Kingslayer, finding his eyes and staring a bit too long for his own comfort. She saw a limb twitch, and she smiled. "I would not expect you to remember me, after all, we have not been formally introduced. I am Lyon Stark, your gracious host." She paused and Jaime's face gradually fell in realization. Lyon smiled widely. "The Kingslayer may kneel, or thank me, or apologize. Hm, no? Then my brother and I shall find sharper company." At this she inspected the blade sheathed in her hand and strode off, Jon following fast behind.
"You are very good at that," Jon said.
Lyon eyed him in faux puzzlement. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, Jon."
"Of course you don't."