Lady Mormont.

          “I’m sure I don’t KNOW you.”

With a quirked brow she turned her head slightly, glancing at the MAESTER by her side, hoping for some indication of who this woman was. The look on his face was one she’d not seen before. At least, not on him. Shock and FEAR, all combined into one. 

And so she learned that this WOMAN was Lyanna Stark. Her NAMESAKE. A dead woman. Or… so all had been led to believe. 

              “And you don’t know the FIRST THING about me,
              Lady Stark. Or… is there something ELSE I ought to
               call you, now?” 

Lyanna was not one to fall for flattery, not EASILY, at least. Far too many had tried to sway her that way, and she had learned rather quickly that it hardly led to a good result for her people.

          The long lost wolf had not made it all the way to the North from Dorne without expecting (or growing used to) constant resentment, rejection, and often outright hostility. If she were being honest, she had not anticipated such a welcome from such a young Northerner– perhaps this had been disrespectful. Any house loyal to hers deserved to be so angry with her. This girl might not be old enough to remember the men who fought and died in the rebellion, but she was old enough to know that they had, to understand what that meant. 

          Her smile faded by degrees, but she was not a woman resolved to defeat. A soft hum of agreement. “You don’t know me. But you will.” There was a fair amount of hostility there, and it occurred to Lyanna that perhaps it wasn’t all for her. Maybe the little bear was angry in general. “Lady Stark will suffice.”