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 lostwolf 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.”
leave it to the ten year old girl to cause existential crises for you and your muses :’)
Right???? What are you doin’a meeee??
But for real though, it’s been an issue since I started the blog, but I’ve just never really made it far enough to have a definitive answer. I think maybe I haven’t spoken enough about some aspects of Lya’s character because I simply didn’t have a reason to, and subsequently it may not be as clear as it could have been what her motives and priorities are. She’s not an ambitious woman– Lyanna doesn’t want to be queen, never has, and it scares her to think of her son in a position that would put him at risk (you either win or you die), and one of the BIGGEST aspects of her character design (at least in my own interpretation) is that Jon comes first in all things, even if it hurts her. She is mother first, then Stark, then herself.
She had heard that Lord Mormont had named a daughter for her. It was something mentioned to her in passing many years ago. At the time, she had given a nod and tried not to think about it– think about how her death had effected those who did not know it wasn’t true. Doran had changed the subject, likely because he’d seen the look on her face. It was another layer of heavy guilt that weighed upon her, like this babe all the way on Bear Island was now branded with her own mistakes. She’d put the feeling away somewhere, someplace in the back of her mind where it couldn’t bother her, but now she could no longer ignore it– not when the girl stood before her, quite grown up.
“You must be the other Lyanna, then.” An awkward pause, while she considered how strange it must be for a child to meet their own namesake. “I am… quite honored that my name is carried by so true and noble a Northwoman.” This much was true, at least. The brighter side of the situation was that the smaller Lyanna seemed to have a level head on her shoulders. She was undaunted, fearless, just like Lyanna had been at her own age. The girl even carried a sword, which brought a smile to the older woman’s face, despite herself. There could have been much worse girls to carry the name, she was sure. Perhaps it had even granted her a measure of freedom.
