Book 1: Prints in the Snow

Chapter IV • Golden

Jon Aryn was dead. A message from a raven had said as much, alongside mention of the King making way to Winterfell. Never had Lyon seen the north in such a hustle to prepare for something so great. Sansa was the most excited, knowing the King and Queen had a supposedly handsome son near to her own age. Of course, she hadn't even met the boy before she was lovestruck. But Sansa was Sansa and she was Lyon's own sister. Lyon learned to love her eccentrics.

"A messenger has arrived saying the King is only a days ride from Winterfell. You must be terribly excited." Lyon said as she worked her fingers through Sansa's hair, pulling the tangles from the auburn locks.

"I can't wait to see the Prince. Oh, and the King of course. And the Queen. I am sure they are lovely." Sansa patted the softness of her dress contentedly.

"And I am sure they will think the same of you. You are a perfect lady, Sansa. So kind and elegant. I am thankful for you, you know."

"Oh, thank you... I am, aren't I? Do you think the prince will like me?"

"Of course. What isn't there to like?"

"You always say that."

Lyon laughed lightly and began pulling Sansa's hair up. "I feel as though I hardly speak to you anymore. I want you to know your worth, just as I want Arya to know her worth."

"How much is she worth compared to me?" She gave a sharp tug on her hair and Sansa grimaced. "Ow!"

"Serves you right! Arya is just as important as you are, even if she is a little different. You should try getting along with her. After all, I'm even stranger and yet you and I get along fine."

"That you know of." Lyon paused her workings and grinned at Sansa in the mirror. Her lip tilted in betrayal of her jest.

"A joke? Maybe you are the strange sister."

"Am not!"

"Quit moving, I don't want a strand out of place. Mother will have my hide if I do." Sansa stilled then, rolling her eyes as Lyon worked in silent laughter. "As I was saying, Arya may be different but I was like her at my age. Some are just drawn to different hobbies."

"Is Theon yours?"

Her hands froze in Sansa's hair, and when she looked into the mirror, Sansa's eyes were downcast. "If you are going to poke your nose around in my business, you best keep it to yourself, little sister. How did you know?"

"Sometimes I... I see him go down the hall to your room. I see how you look at each other."

Slowly, Lyon's hands calmly continued arranging her hair. "I do not love him. And do not be fooled when you are told women don't also desire a man's touch. There is nothing wrong with it but... just don't tell your brothers. They wouldn't understand."

"I'm not sure I understand." She murmured.

"Perhaps you will when you are older."

"What about when you marry?"

"It's not hard to fake maidenhood," Lyon replied numbly. Sansa's hair was almost complete. She worked a little faster.

"How do you know?"

She thought about telling her for a moment, about the night she went to the brothel with Theon, and then the nights she returned there without him. Part of her wanted to tell her, but this secret was her own. What she had learned from those women was for her ears only.

"Men are stupid. It won't be hard to fool the man I marry that I still have my virtue."

"Theon is stupid," Sansa muttered as Lyon secured the final strand of hair.

"That he is, my dear. Now, keep this conversation between you and me only, hmm? A sisterly secret."

"Yes, Lyon. Thank you." She said, standing as she lightly patted her hair and smoothed her dress again. She did look like a lovely lady, much like her dire wolf, Lady, who sat at the foot of her bed watching them quietly. Already the pups had grown so much, it was difficult to imagine they had found them only a month and a half ago.

"Any time, dear sister. I'll see you soon, hmm?" Lyon took her leave just as a knock came at Sansa's door. She didn't need to open the door to know it was their mother, patiently waiting to do Sansa's hair as she liked to do in the mornings. She was in for a surprise then, and as such showed in her eyes when it was Lyon that opened the door.

"Hello, mother." She greeted, plastering on a warm smile. Catelyn seemed taken aback at first. Her pale face warmed, and her dark hair was in its usual fashion. She went to open her mouth, but Lyon intercepted. "I will share a word with you outside."

"Oh, will you now?"

"Yes." She opened the door a little wider, letting her expression fall. Lyon had waited to catch her, but she hadn't had the chance to speak with her own mother in weeks. Each time she went to speak with her she would fall silent, feign fatigue or a busy schedule. Finally, Lyon had caught her.

"After you then." She stepped out of the way and Lyon left the room, closing Sansa's door behind them. Lyon made a point to move far from Sansa's chambers, finding her own suitable for interrogation. When Catelyn entered Lyon closed the door behind her. Winter sat at the fireplace, staring unnervingly into the flames as he did. He too had gotten larger.

"What is this about?"

Lyon spun to face her. "Why am I not married?"

"I did not think you wanted to marry." She seemed surprised, but Lyon shook my head.

"Arya does not want to marry. You've spoken with her and she refused even the prospect of it. Never once have you or father said I was to marry anyone- haven't even mentioned it. And I know you and father well enough to know honor binds you both. So what is so dishonorable about marrying me off that you refuse to even mention it?"

For a moment she did not speak, only blinked frantically with an open mouth. She sputtered when she spoke. "This- this is unfounded blame! I have spoken to you many times about-"

"I shall not mince words then. There is a reason I do not look like a Stark or even a Tully, And there is a reason that whenever I ask about the day I was born you and father fluster and try to find excuses. I ask a simple question, mother. If Jon is my father's bastard, whose bastard am I?"

She spoke no words, nor did she move. That pale face became colder as though all heat was leaving her. That only meant one thing then.

"Thank you for your honesty."

Lyon was out the door before Catelyn could follow her with her eyes. Only when she was down the hall did she realize her heart was pounding like drums, and her nails were so far into her palm that she was drawing blood. For now, it would have to be enough that she knew she wasn't their child. Soon she would figure out who her mother and father were. Soon.

~ ~ ~

Catelyn Stark flew from her eldest daughter's chambers, neck whipping back and forth to look down the halls. She did not run. No, that would betray her distress. Already she looked far too distressed for her own good, so she took a moment to stop and collect her breath. Cat dared not think of how Lyon knew, that would only worry her more.

Soon she found her breath and began her relaxed pace down the hall to her own chambers where her husband lingered over scrolls. Ned Stark hung over his desk as she entered, pulling open the door and sliding it shut behind her.

"Lyon knows. I do not know how she knows, but she knows."

Ned lifted his head. It took only a moment for it to dawn upon him. He and Catelyn stared unblinkingly back at one another.

"Lyon is... a smart girl. She would have figured it out sooner or later."

"She spoke of her birth, and her difference in appearance..."

"A golden Stark... She would have looked at the family trees, I'm sure."

"So what do we tell her, Ned?"

"The truth, Cat." He folded his arms across his lap suddenly. "We tell her the truth."