THE LONG WINTER - Sandor Clegane.

ch. six - the kingsroad.

the birds have left their trees, the light
bores into me. i can feel you lying there
all on your — own.

warning: animal death described towards the end of the chapter!

With a harsh 'bang', Lyarra woke in a rush. As her eyes peeled open, she came to realize that she wasn't nestled in her bed. Instead, she was surrounded by dogs. At her side, laid Tyrion Lannister — who seemed to be using one of the shaggier beasts as a pillow. The two had been drinking through the night, no doubt. She didn't quite remember why the two ended up in the kennels, but she could vaguely recall Tyrion making some sort of joke about 'Hounds'. Lyarra rubbed her eyes, bleary as she forced herself up. She only then took notice of the man in front of her.

There, Sandor stood with a grimace bordering on a smirk. Lyarra could only imagine how she looked at that moment. Disheveled, grimy. Far from the appearance expected of a lady. He only waited another moment before extending his armored hand. She glanced over him before clutching onto it, allowing him to pull her up arduously. She quickly brushed herself off, moving to thank the man — before she noticed the Prince approaching in the distance.

"Go on, I'll handle the little lord." Sandor grunted, nodding towards the door for her to make her escape. Lyarra sent him a gracious nod, before moving in the opposite direction of Joffrey.

Since Eddard notified her of their coming departure, Lyarra hadn't had much of an opportunity to speak with the royal family. Joffrey, in particular, had evaded her — not that she was disappointed by that fact. Rather, she was grateful to avoid more Lannisters. Or, Baratheons, she supposed. The only Lannister she sought to speak with, beyond Tyrion, had been impossible to find, it seemed. At each opportunity, Jaime Lannister snuck away from her — as if he was frightened of being seen with her. She hadn't expected the two to be close, after all of these years, but seeing the man avoid her as he had struck Lyarra with a cold feeling. She'd had half the mind to mention it to Tyrion, before thinking better of it.

As she exited her quarters, this time properly prepared — with her hair braided and held high, and white furs pulled tightly around herself — Lyarra made the familiar journey to Bran's room. She'd spent most of her nights there, since the boy had been injured. Reyne had been assigned as his caretaker for the time being, meaning Sansa was given a new handmaiden. As the door cracked open, Lyarra peaked through. There, sat Catelyn — who'd been sewing something that she didn't dare question. Reyne was by her side, brushing Bran's hair from his face with the back of her hand.

"How is he?" She questioned softly, delicately trying to not disturb the peace within the room. Catelyn didn't acknowledge her, and only tilted her head as she considered the words.

"They say that if he makes it through the night, he'll live." Her voice was raspy, straining with the lack of use. Lyarra nodded, settling herself in the seat beside Reyne. She reached to clasp Catelyn's free hand, squeezing it with all of the energy she could muster. Her sister-by-law sent her a grateful smile, moving as if she meant to speak — before the two were interrupted by the harsh creek of a door being opened. Cersei Lannister made her way inside, and Catelyn was on her feet within seconds. Lyarra herself hadn't moved, nor had Reyne — a fact that had the Queen shoot them an almost imperceptible glare.

"Please," Cersei amended, nodding to Catelyn to take her seat. The woman in question only ruffled her clothing, hands grasping at anything she could find to make herself appear less disheveled.