A month in Kingslanding. A month to catch up with the mother Lyon had never known, and each chance she had she made sure she was at her mother's side. There was so much more to know, so much to be told about her father.
"You were a whore? How in the hell did you manage to get a place like this?"
"Your father was quite wealthy, as you can imagine. When I told him I had you in my belly he made sure to set me up nicely." Alora chuckled quietly from her seat.
Now that hostilities lay at rest, Lyon was quite content to sit across from Alora Pyre and listen as she regaled tales of her childhood and pregnancy.
"Were you his favorite? Woman, that is."
"I do believe I was his favorite whore if that's what you're too afraid to say." Alora's eyes twinkled. The sun hit her golden blonde hair, making it look like a fierce flame. "All his other girls were killed. Only I remained."
"And why was that?"
Alora shrugged. "Hard to tell what goes on in a man's head."
"It depends on the man. Many are simple." Lyon glanced at Alora with a faint grin. "I knew a simple man. With simple needs."
"Do tell." Alora leaned forward in her seat, reflecting the grin.
"Theon Greyjoy. I can't count how many times I've been with him. Short instances. Never knew how to please a woman." Lyon sighed, leaned back. She watched shadows pass outside.
"Do you miss him?"
"He wasn't exactly kind, and we grew apart before I left Winterfell. I won't miss it if I never lay with him again." Lyon stood, suddenly thirsty and went for the pitcher of water. She poured her glass and sipped it tepidly.
"Is he the only one?"
Lyon sighed, then shook her head. "One of my father's men, Jory Cassel. Far better than Theon. More methodical. That was about a week ago." As Alora giggled, Lyon found the laughter falling from her own lips. "Gods, I can only imagine what would happen if ever my father knew."
"I'm sure Lord Stark would be more displeased with his man than you."
"That's why I'm afraid." Lyon chuckled. Suddenly, she rose. "I'd best be off. Father has been complaining about my tardiness lately."
"Travel safely, darling." Alora rose as well, coming to stand before her daughter. She cupped her cheek in her hand. "Your mother loves you."
The ghost of a smile lit Lyon's eyes. "I know." She turned away from her mother and was out the door.
Lyon walked for some time, detouring through the streets and enjoying the sun upon her bare arms. That was when she heard familiar voices.
"I thought that she'd be safest here. One of several such establishments I own."
"You're a funny man. A very funny man."
She heard them, clear as day. Alora had taught her to hear much within the city, knowing it was a dangerous place and all. She heard Petyr Baelish and her father, heard the sound of Petyr hitting the wall. Lyon turned the corner then, and there she hid, watching as her father pinned the man to the wall. She had seen Littlefinger before, often in the Small Council her father had his place in.
"Ned?" A voice came from above, and a head poked out of the window. Lyon's breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of her own mother from the window. Ned Stark quickly hurried inside the brothel, Littlefinger following quick behind him. Seeing that the area was clear, Lyon found herself hurrying inside after them. Not a man or woman saw her enter, or even pass up the stairs. Alora had often told her that nothing happens in Kings Landing without someone seeing, but Lyon found herself with a natural knack for it. She enjoyed the rush in her blood as she paused before the door her father and mother disappeared within.
"The mere suggestion that the queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be considered treason." Lyon heard Littlefinger say.
"We have proof. We have the blade." Catelyn countered.
"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."
All Lyon could feel was confusion as the conversation ensued, so lightly her knuckles rapped upon the door, and she strode within sight.
"If I may, I would very much like to say hello to my mother." Lyon stepped past the threshold, a summer sweet smile upon her face as she folded her hands before her. "Welcome to King's Landing."
Lady Catelyn Stark stared at her daughter. In the month that had passed since she'd seen her last her daughter's hair had likened to the sun, shining like Valyrian steel.
"Lyon..." she murmured, then came forward and held her daughter, and she held her mother in return. "What are you doing here?"
"Yes, how did you get into my brothel?" Littlefinger eyed Lyon head to toe, his smile bitter.
"I walked in, as I watched you and my parents do, my lord. I'm afraid while I was wandering the market when my curiosity got the best of me." She pulled away from her mother and smiled sweetly at Baelish. She didn't think she would ever trust the man.
"You aren't safe here-" her father tried to say, but Lyon interrupted him.
"I feel safer among concubines than I do alone, father." As she said this, she thought of Alora, then smiled at Catelyn. "You think Lord Tyrion tried to kill Bran? I find that hard to believe."
"And why is that? What do you know of the imp?"
"I know enough about him that he drinks and whores, but he does not attempt murder upon little boys. Not only is it my gut instinct, but it is also based upon logic." Lyon sighed, scouted the room, and suddenly found a wine pitcher. She quickly found herself drinking a goblet. "Following up on this matter is rather foolish."
"How dare you speak to your mother like this! Your brother is-"
"Wasting away in a bedchamber. Yes, I know. But I know who my mother and father are, and I feel as though my knowledge is also required here." She drank her wine gratefully, then looked to her mother. Lyon arched a brow, then Catelyn's eyes dawned with the realization.
"I am a stubborn girl, mother. I'm sorry if I've insulted you. But Tyrion is not to blame. I'm sure of it." The wine was sweet upon her lips.
"It is alright, child," Catelyn said, now gesturing to Littlefinger. "Petyr has promised to help us find the truth. He's like a brother to me. He would never betray my trust."
Littlefinger seemed to shrug sheepishly. "I'll try to keep you alive, Ned. A fool's task, admittedly, but I've never been able to refuse your wife anything."
"I won't forget this. You're a true friend." Catelyn said.
"Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to maintain."
"Yes, well, now that's all settled..." Lyon paused, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She looked at the wine and squinted, then finished the cup. "I'll be-"
"Heading back to the Red Keep and keeping your mouth shut. I will come to speak to you when I return." Ned Stark suddenly said.
Lyon sighed and set down the goblet. She plastered a smile upon her face, understanding she would be given a talking to come afternoon. She turned to Littlefinger. "My thanks for the wine, my lord. It was good to see you again, mother. I'll see you back at the keep." She patted her father's shoulder, then she was off to the Red Keep, dreading when Ned was to return.
- - -
"What do you think you were doing?"
"Visiting my mother."
"Your mother took a great risk-"
"My other mother."
Eddard Stark fell silent. His eyes went to his daughter who sat upon his desk, wine goblet and pitcher in hand.
"Is she enforcing this habit?" He gestured to the goblet. Lyon shook her head.
"No, I'm afraid it is solely my doing. All this stress, the plot for my brother's murder- you could say it's been getting to me."
"You're different in King's Landing. I have half a mind to send you back to Winterfell."
Lyon snorted. "That may just be safer for the both of us, but you have yet to marry me to some highborn lord."
"Keep talking and it'll be sooner than you think." Ned stepped forward, taking the goblet from his daughter's hands. He inspected it, then drained the glass himself. Finished, he looked to his daughter. "Why did you stand up for Tyrion? Last I saw he didn't even know you were a Stark of Winterfell."
"No one ever expected me to be a Stark. Fair-haired and bright-eyed. They assume me to be kitchen staff before a Lady of House Stark." Lyon snatched the goblet back and poured more wine. "I overheard Tyrion slapping his nephew silly, telling him to pay his respects to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, to offer them condolences. It was funny, and he seemed most honest. He did not push Bran from that tower, and he certainly did not try to have him killed."
"So you say, but we cannot yet know for certain." He said.
"So be it." She drained her wine. "I'd best leave. I ought to see Arya and Sansa-"
"Actually, tomorrow Arya has a dancing lesson. I'd like you to go with her."
"Dancing? Arya?" Lyon arched her brow.
"You'll see. Meet her tomorrow, perhaps you may learn something."
"I know how to dance, father."
"Perhaps, but not like they do in Bravoos."