Chapter Text
It was time.
Rickard Stark knew in his bones that it was time.
The Warden of the North was not one for sentiments, but he was a Stark. A Wolf. And when a wolf loves, it loves hard.
He had loved his lady wife, a fortune that he could only ever wish upon for his own pups. It was not an easy road to love, no. But Lyarra made it easy. She was his, just as he was hers. From the moment they knelt before the weirwood, before the Old Gods, till the day she let out her last breath. But now, even though she had left him to defend his pack, he knew he was hers still, just as she was his.
His children, all of whom had wolf's blood in them (some more than others), loved the same way he did. The same way their mother did.
His eldest. Brandon had thrown himself into sword fights, wine and ale. Not to the point of destruction, no, but enough to make the pain dull. His second-born, Eddard, grew distant. Gone was the playful little boy, and in came the stern, yet warm, boy under the wardship of Jon Arryn. He reminded Rickard a lot of himself in ways: a true Stark, bound by honour and duty. His youngest, Benjen, had no real fond memories of his mother, his growth and changes being maturity's fault, rather than grief.
And lastly came his spitfire. His wild daughter, who had more wolf's blood in her than human. While the rest of her siblings bent their wills to grief, insisting on dealing with it in their own ways, Lyanna chose anger. She chose to be stubborn, wilful and strong. Rickard knew she tried to do this for the sake of her brothers and himself, trying to become a crutch that they could all use when it got slightly harder to breathe. He blamed himself for isolating himself during the early days of her grief, choosing to only play with Benjen or teach Brandon of his duty as heir and future Lord of Winterfell. He knew that he had neglected Lyanna and Ned. But he could bridge the gap between himself and Ned in a way that he couldn't with Lyanna.
A girl requires a mother's love more than she requires that of a father.
Somewhere along the lines of guilt, he had allowed her too much freedom. Getting caught in the woods with a trailing Benjen behind her or shooting arrows under the guidance of a guard she had deceived and being quietly watched as Brandon and Ned would allow her to play with swords, her two older brothers as incapable of uttering the word "No" to her as he was.
But now, it was time.
He knew when Old Nan burst through the doors into his study, muttering something about Lyanna, that it was time.
"What has happened now?" He heard Brandon's snickers slightly at the wariness of his tone.
"That-" Old Nan breathed in an attempt to calm herself, before starting again, "Lady Lyanna, I'm afraid, cannot be tamed in the North, my Lord."
He sighed in response, bringing his eyes down from the wrinkly face of the old woman to his son. Brandon's amusement seemed to have vanished, and in its place was a face of pure, unadulterated outrage. Rickard narrowed his eyes at his heir. Brandon's face was reduced to hard eyes and a twitch in his jaw. His eyes once again drifted back to Old Nan.
"I suspected so," was his reply, and that was enough for Brandon to open his mouth, his father's narrowed eyes be damned.
"You mean to say that my sister cannot be tamed by you, Old Nan." The old woman's eyes widened. "Winterfell is but a stronghold of the North. I am sure a governess or the likes of one can be found to tame Lyanna." Brandon was seething.
"Forgive me, my lord, but I was not the only one who has tried. I have, however, been the only one who has stayed." Brandon's jaw clenched. She then looked in between his eyes and his father's. "Lady Lyanna has not only turned away new help but has run them off as well. The women who have been brought in have run away either in fear of the lady's outbursts or in frustration of her doings."
"Then we will bring in new help who are up for the challenge! Women who have what it takes to teach Lyanna!" Brandon was grasping at straws. The old woman knew that; so did he, and so did his father. "We will find someone." Brandon said this with determination flaring in his eyes.
"I'm afraid that will not be possible, son." Rickard said, his fingers massaging his temples for any kind of relief.
Brandon's head whipped towards his father. "What is that supposed to mean?" His father sighed again. "Old Nan, if you'd please..." He gestured to the door. The old woman nodded once in response and walked out of the study, the door softly clicking shut.
"Lyanna isn't something to tame," Brandon started, staring at his father with intensity in his dark eyes. "She is wild, yes. But she will mature with age. She is still grieving."
Bless him, Rickard thought, his features softening as his son spoke. A wolf protecting his pack.
"She has had her time to grieve, boy." Rickard said, gently yet sternly. "You know as well as I do that Lyanna cannot thrive or mature into a proper lady unless measures are taken. And you know what these measures are." He stared pointedly at his son.
"You can't send her away, Father." His son settled into his seat across from him, hands holding his head. "She's a child. Only two-and-ten. Gods only know what would happen to her outside the walls of Winterfell." He looked up at him then, eyes of anguish.
"I will send her someplace safe." His father assured, "I will not send her towards any danger."
Brandon sighed then. "Where do you plan to send her?"
Rickard hesitated before speaking. "Your mother was once Queen Rhaella's lady-in-waiting. She herself had matured in court. I see no place better suited for Lyanna than the Red Keep."
Brandon's eyes widened. "Trading physical danger for torture of the mind?" He shook his head. "Lyanna will not thrive there. She will be left to defend herself in a court full of vipers, lions and dragons."
Rickard allowed himself a small smile. "You forget, Brandon. A wolf thrives in the face of danger. And Lyanna has more wolf's blood in her than any of us."
A week later, when Lyanna had been summoned to her father's study, she had assumed it was to reprimand her for the chasing away of another poor attempt of a governess. Her lips slanted at the thought of poor Rhea. All she had asked of her was to hold the practice sword while she laced her riding boots. But Rhea took her holding out the sword and had run. It was, admittedly, a lesser reason for turning away from her duty to govern Lyanna.
Pushing open the door to the study, she was met with the faces of her three brothers. Her face broke out into a smile at seeing Ned, who was sent away to the Vale to be fostered under Jon Arryn half a year after their mother passed. She had so many questions, many being about the steel sword currently sheathed at his hip.
But then she saw his face of anguish. And Brandon's jaw twitching, a telltale sign of his disagreement. And Benjen's quivering lip. Her lips turned downward, her expression sobering.
"Has something happened?" She looked past her brothers and to her father; his face was of steel. But his eyes held regret and... sadness?
"Lyanna..." Ned started, but shut his mouth almost immediately, as if remembering his place. Her frown deepened, and she furrowed her eyebrows.
"What is it?" She had asked before Benjen came tumbling towards her. He wrapped his arms around her middle, her slightly taller than him. She could feel him shaking. "They're sending you away, Lya!"
At this, she looked up at her father, whose face softened as he sighed. Brandon grimaced, and Ned squeezed his eyes shut.
"What does he mean, you are sending me away?" For once she was not angry. No, she was scared. Had she driven one too many governesses away? She never hurt them. She just wanted to be left alone. She just wanted to be with her brothers, like her brothers. Free to do as she wished without a constant presence chastising her for choosing a bow over embroidery.
His daughter's small, frail voice snapped Rickard back into reality. Her voice sounded eerily familiar to his wife's during her final days, bedridden and weak.
"This is not a punishment, my dear, I assure you," he reassured. Then why does it feel like it is? Her lips quivered, the look of her face embodying the sounds of Benjen's sobs. "Benjen, hush now. Old Nan will take you to your chambers and tell you stories of Ser Duncan the Tall now, alright? How does that sound?" He spoke gently to his youngest, who turned to look at him with watery eyes. Slowly, he nodded. Old Nan, who Lyanna was not aware was even in the room, peeled Benjen away from her. She mumbled sweet and gentle words to her brother and walked out of the study, leaving Rickard with his two older sons and only daughter.
"What did I do?" Lyanna berated herself for asking. Stupid, he is sending you away for burdening his life.
"Lyanna, again, this isn't a punishment." Rickard started again. "We are not sending you away. You are to be fostered at the Red Keep, under the Queen's guidance."
"Like how Ned is being fostered by Lord Arryn?" she questioned. "Something of the sort." Ned nodded encouragingly.
"Your mother once called the Red Keep home. Matured at court in a way she could not have in the North. You will be following the same path." Lyanna's heart both lightened and felt heavier at the mention of her mother. "So, I will be like Mother?" she asked, fascination and hope blooming in her chest at walking unfamiliar walls where her mother once walked.
"You will learn to be eventually." She nodded hesitantly. "How long will I be gone for?"
The men looked at each other. "I do not know. For now, I have just received permission and confirmation from King Aerys that you will be allowed to be fostered there for a while."
"Yes, but what is a while? A few months? A year? Will I be allowed to visit?" Lyanna asked, anxiety freezing her at the thought of being estranged from her brothers and father.
"No confirmations for how long you will be staying there. However, under the King's permission, we will be allowed to visit you."
Her eyes shot to Brandon and Ned.
"We will write to you, as well, Lyanna. Everyday, if you wish it." Brandon's heart ached at the thought of his child sister being so far away from him. In a place he cannot reach her physically, in a place he cannot protect her.
She slowly nodded, ducking her head as tears filling her eyes. Rickard frowned once again, gesturing to his sons to give them privacy. He knew she hated to cry in the presence of anyone. As soon as her brothers left the room, Rickard stood before her, kneeling to bring her into his tight embrace.
With one hand holding the back of her head and the other around her back, she tried to breathe in to calm herself. He smelled of snow and the weirwood. Of home.
"I am sorry, Father." She sobbed.
"For what, my darling?"
"For burdening you. That is why you intend to send me away." Lyanna's reply felt like a crack in his heart.
"Gods, no. Lyanna, look at me." He pulled her head away from his shoulder, looking into her eyes. She has her mother's eyes.
"Your mother's passing was a cruel shock to us all. She was a strong woman, much like you, my sweet girl. But her passing left me to teach you the ways of a lady, which I haven't the first clue about." She laughed wetly at this. No, her father certainly did not know the first thing about being a lady. And neither did she.
"Queen Rhaella will be able to teach you more than I, or any governess ever could. Including Old Nan." He poked her ribs when talking of the old woman, pulling a giggle out from his daughter. "Queen Rhaella was one of your mother's closest friends throughout the years. Your mother trusted her, and so I trust her to take care of you."
Hope swelled in Lyanna's chest. Maybe the Queen has stories of her time with Mother.
"I swear to you, by the Old Gods, you will come back to Winterfell."
Lyanna breathed in deeply. And then, she nodded.
But a phrase from the back of her mind filled her with a quiet, subtle sort of dread. One barely noticeable. A phrase she had heard once, overhearing a meeting in her father's study with the other Lords of the North.
Starks never fare well so far in the South.