Woo, here we go! A bit of a long chapter to kick things off (hopefully!). Please let me know what you think, and any constructive criticism is always appreciated! x

After the bad news delivered at the breakfast table, no one was particularly hungry anymore, and they all soon dispersed to go about their daily activities. No one knew what to say. There really wasn't much to say. The King was on his way, no way of avoiding that. And when he arrived, no one could stop him from making his request to Ned Stark. Their father would no doubt try to gently refuse the request, claiming that his place was in the north, but they all knew that whenever Robert Baratheon set his eyes on something, he would have it. He was, after all, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Therefore, most likely, within a month or two, their father would be on his way to King's Landing on a permanent mission.

As for the future for the children, Eyra could only speculate. The final decision lay in the hands of Lord Stark and his wife, and Eyra doubted very much that they would give the children any say in the matter. Of course, someone would have to take over Ned Stark's duties as Lord of Winterfell. The choice, naturally, would fall to Robb, as he was the eldest. And Lady Catelyn would no doubt remain behind to guide him, along with Maester Luwin.

Perhaps their father would take the girls with him to King's Landing. For the furthering of their education and a chance to find a suitable husband. There was no better place for that than in the capitol. Their mother would not like the idea of letting her daughters out of her sight, Eyra was sure of it. Lady Stark may have had her share of faults, but she loved her children something fierce. However, despite Lady Stark's wishes, sending the girls to King's Landing was the most logical choice. Bran and Rickon would likely remain, to continue their education as the potential heirs to Winterfell, should something befall their brother, Robb.

Herself and Jon, however…

Eyra had no idea what would happen to them. It was no secret that Catelyn Stark despised them. She had ever since they were brought back to Winterfell after Robert's Rebellion. As a woman, Eyra could be persuaded to understand the sentiment. After all, what wife would take kindly to her husband's bastard children. A kind one, a traitorous voice whispered in Eyra's mind. Perhaps. Perhaps another woman might have learned to love them as her own children. But Lady Stark could not. Would not. If Catelyn Stark had her way, Eyra and Jon would probably have been shipped off to Braavos, never to return. Eyra supposed it wouldn't be too bad. As long as she had her brother by her side, she liked to think she could tackle anything. But she would sorely miss Winterfell, and her siblings, and her father.

Winterfell was her home. She had never known anything else. Hell, she had barely set foot outside of the courtyard! Of course, as a man, Jon could do whatever he wanted. He could become a sellsword if he so chose. He could fight in battles, earn a name for himself, and perhaps even secure some land of his own. Perhaps even a title. He could marry whomever he wanted and live exactly the life he wanted. Because he was a man.

As a woman, and not a woman of noble birth, Eyra did not have as many options. There really weren't many alternatives of employment for women. It was either the whorehouse, a serving wench, or a handmaid. Being a handmaid might not be so bad, but Eyra honestly could not imagine herself walking quietly behind some snobby lady for the rest of her life. Taking orders and serving. No, it would not suit her at all. Her only other option was to marry, and marry well. She hated that. Hated the idea of being dependent on a husband for the rest of her life. To do his bids and graces. No.

Perhaps she would be better off shipped off to Braavos. At least across the sea, they didn't have such limited, conservative views on females. Indeed, she had read many stories of female warriors, celebrated as equals to men. That would suit her better, she decided.

Besides the sudden rush to have everything prepared for the King's arrival, nothing out of the ordinary happened for the next few weeks. Of course, Eyra was worried. Very worried indeed, as she knew not what the future would hold for any of them. She had seen the same worry on her twin's furrowed brows, but he refused to talk about it. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell also kept their lips tightly sealed. Therefore, Eyra spent most of her time with her pup to distract herself. After some consideration, she had decided to call her wolf Cinder. It seemed like a fitting name, considering her pup did look slightly like a lump of coal with her black fur, while her amber eyes paid elephant to the flames of fire. So Cinder it was to be.

Jon had stuck to the name Ghost for his pup, which was rather perfect, Eyra thought. She hadn't really seen him much since they had the raven from King's Landing. He was behaving odd and she was fairly certain he was avoiding her. She had tried to confront him several times, but to no avail. He just insisted that nothing was amiss. That she was being silly.

Silly, she humphed to herself. As if she didn't know him better than anyone. They were two halves of a whole after all. She knew he had the same concerns as her, and she also knew he was up to something. But Jon Snow could be infuriatingly stubborn once he put his mind to something, and he had clearly decided not to let her in on his plans. And for once in her life, she had no idea what he was thinking, and the thought was somewhat frightening. She felt almost as if she was losing him already.

Also, that sinking feeling in her stomach still hadn't resided. Eyra was very worried indeed.

On the morning of their guests' expected arrival, Eyra stood in the stables brushing down her steed, as she so often did when she was troubled. It never failed to calm her down, but on this particular day it didn't quite have its desire effect.

"Eyra, come on!"

She was shaken out of her gloomy thoughts as she glanced down to find her younger sister, Arya, standing by her side pulling impatiently on her sleeve.

"Come on!" She nagged. "Jon and Robb have snuck off to train and I wanna watch!"

A fond smile spread across Eyra's face. She loved her little sister dearly. Arya was such a wild one. Always rugged and ready to fight. Eyra imagined that if she were allowed, Arya would train as hard as any of the boys, perhaps even harder, to become a proficient swordsman. Or rather… swordswoman.

After another violent tug on her sleeve, which threatened to break the fabric, Eyra finally relented. "Alright, alright," she said with a small huff. "Let's go."

Together they made their way to a clearing in the Wolfswood. It had become their sanctuary of sorts, as it was quite secluded and rarely visited by anyone else. Normally, the boys trained in the courtyard at Winterfell, but more often than not, they would sneak out to the clearing to put in extra practice, away from the careful eyes of their masters. Eyra had also, somehow, managed to convince her brothers to teach her to master the sword, and such activities definitely warranted sneaking off. If Catelyn Stark found out what they were up to, they would be in big trouble indeed. She was always looking to find something to punish the twins for. Their father may have been more lenient, but the fact of the matter was that a proper lady should not swing a sword. She could practically hear Lady Stark's strict voice speaking the words. But theoretically, Eyra smirked to herself, she was no lady. She was, and always would be, a bastard.

Herself and Arya seated themselves on the ground at the edge of the clearing, leaning their backs against a massive fallen tree and made themselves comfortable. Even though it had promised to be a lovely day just a few hours ago, grey clouds had swiftly come in with the western wind and now bathed the landscape in a gloomy darkness. Rather fitting, Eyra thought, as none of them really looked forward to the prospect of the King's arrival.

The trees surrounding the clearing stood close, tightly grasping at each others roots, fighting for dominance. The thickness of the forest around them created an eerie silence within the clearing, a silence that was only broken by the sharp clangs of swords clashing together, along with the grunts of effort by their masters.

Together, the two sisters observed as Robb, with his stocky build and substantial force, fought against his leaner and more agile half-brother, struggling slightly to keep up with the swiftness of Jon's attacks.

"He's overstepping," Arya commented quietly as she studied her auburn haired brother.

Eyra's lips curved into a fond smile at her younger sister's assertiveness, immediately understanding which one she was talking about. She had observed the same. For such a young one, her little sister really was quite perceptive. And she had a very good understanding of swordplay.

She nodded concededly. "He's overcompensating," she added as they continued their analysis of the brothers. "Jon is quicker… More lithe."

They both admired the fluidity and gracefulness with which the latter handled his sword. Jon had always been just a little more proficient than Robb at swordplay, even from a young age, despite them having had the same training. Even though Robb had the advantage of being big and strong, and therefore intimidated his opposers, Jon's agility was definitely the higher advantage in battle.

And sure enough, true to their reflection, just a few minutes later Robb was swiftly disarmed by his adversary, sending him sprawling to the ground and the sparring match effectively came to an end.

Robb shook his head in defeat, but grinned, not at all perturbed by his loss. He immediately accepted the other boy's extended hand and let Jon pull him back on his feet.

"One day I will best you, brother." He gave the other boy an affectionate bump in the shoulder. "Mark my words."

Jon grinned back. "I have no doubt that you will, brother."

"So, what do you think, ladies?" Robb turned and approached his sisters with arms spread wide, eager to hear the verdict.

Arya grimaced at the title. "I'm not a Lady!" She protested and scowled.

They all chuckled at her aggressiveness, and Robb patted her gently on the head, sending her already wild hair into further disarray. "Sure thing, Lady Arya."

She grumbled and pushed his hand away. "You were overstepping," she informed him bluntly, not having any of his teasing. He blinked down at his little sister, then raised his eyebrows and looked over at Eyra for affirmation.

"Eyra?"

She shrugged with an apologetic grimace. "You were overstepping," she confirmed.

Robb sighed in frustration, but his face quickly morphed into a cheeky grin again. "Nah," he said. "It was just your hair that distracted me." He gestured fervently to Eyra's head. "It blinded me in the sunlight!"

Eyra snorted at that. "Right," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "In the sunlight…" They all sniggered as they regarded the grey sky above them.

Eyra's hair had spurred talk and speculation from the day it began to grow. Some people speculated that she had been cursed by the Gods. That she was an abomination of some sort. Or that she had seen something, some ghost or wraith that had struck such a fright in her as a child that her hair had withered. The bravest even speculated about the true identity of her mother, saying that such hair could only come from someone of House Targaryen, infamous for their silver blonde hair. But the idea was absurd. Her and Jon had been conceived when their father had ridden to war against House Targaryen, and since it was already so unfathomable that their stoic and honourable father would have been unfaithful to his wife in the first place, the idea that he should have been unfaithful with a member of his sworn enemy was just inconceivable. No one who knew Eddard Stark would ever entertain the idea.

When she grew older and understood all the conjecture that her hair provoked, her siblings soon took it upon themselves to make jokes about it, to make her feel better. And it did make her feel better, for a while. But she often wondered why her hair was so unusual. Whilst the rest of her family sported either the dark brown locks of House Stark from their father, or the auburn of their mother, she had come into the world with hair white as snow. She stood out like a sore thumb in her family.

Of course, there was no wonder that she had not inherited the auburn hair that Robb, Sansa, Bran and Rickon were blessed with. They had acquired from their mother, Catelyn. Eyra and Jon never knew their mother, and their father refused to talk about her. But for some reason, her twin brother had inherited the dark brown hair typical of House Stark, while she had not.

Eyra shook her head to clear her thoughts. There was no use dwelling on it. Her father had made it clear that he had no intention of divulging anything about their mother as of yet. At least she carried the same dark grey eyes as her twin, which asserted that she was in fact half a Stark. People could gossip about her as much as they wanted until the end of time, there was nothing she could do about it, except keep her head high and her chin up. As she intended.

Her musings were cut short by the shrill cry of her younger sister. "Now it's my turn, Jon!" she commanded and tried to grab at his sword. "Teach me to fight!"

Jon chuckled as he too ruffled Arya's hair affectionately. "I don't think so, little one," he replied wistfully. "Your mother would have my head."

He gave Eyra a subtle look over the young girl's head, and she offered a small grimace in return. It was all in jest, of course, but they both knew that Catelyn Stark tolerated them in her home only because her husband demanded it. She had always treated them with a frigid politeness that was unmistakable. They had tried their very best to make her approve of them, but to no avail. She was as stubborn as the most gritty northerners.

"We better return home anyway," Eyra stepped in to rescue her twin from their sister's imploring eyes, knowing her brother's soft spot for the girl. "The King will be arriving any time now, and Lady Stark would have all our heads if we were late for that." She gave her younger sister a pointed look.

"True," Robb affirmed with a smirk. Their mother was not to be messed with.

"Ugh," Arya groaned and scowled. She detested dinners and feasts and guests. Her mother and Sansa would always nag at her to try to behave more ladylike. There really was nothing ladylike about Arya. Hell, she was more boyish and unrefined than Bran.

"Come on, squirt," Eyra linked arms with her younger sister. "The sooner we greet the guests, the sooner we can go about our business again!"

Robb snorted. "Not likely," he said as he went back to retrieve his sword from the ground. "We'll be expected to attend the feast and entertain the guests." He sheathed his sword securely in his waistband.

"We won't," Jon shot back with a bite to his tone as he gestured towards himself and his sister. Being bastards, they were not considered officially part of the family, and therefore it would be considered offensive if they were seated with the family at the feast. Eyra bit her lip anxiously as she regarded her twin. He had always been very bothered by his bastard status, feeling somewhat lesser than his other siblings, despite them not considering it so.

"No," Robb replied, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "I suppose you won't."

"Lucky!" Arya grumbled as she stubbed her toe into the grovel, sending dirt flying, and prompting a grin to break out on all of their faces. Arya's reluctance to be a lady was a constant source of amusement to all of them, except Sansa of course, who was horrified by her younger sister's vulgar and unrefined manners.

"Let's go" Eyra stood up and brushed off the skirt of her dress. "We better go check on the pups before they arrive."

While the Stark children went into the castle to don their best clothes and ready themselves for the grand guests, as their mother had commanded, Eyra and Jon went to the stables to check on the pups. The wolves, naturally, would not be allowed to make an appearance at the feast, so they needed to make sure they were secured there, lest they sneak off to startle any of the guests. Most people were very wary of the direwolf. And with good reason.

"Eyra."

Eyra looked up, startled, and immediately straightened up when she noticed Lady Stark standing in the doorway looking as intimidating as always. The Lady of Winterfell had donned one of her best dresses, a beautiful dark blue gown that brought out her cerulean eyes and contrasted handsomely with her fiery, auburn hair. She was ready to greet their guests.

Eyra grimaced as she briefly glanced down at her own plain gown. "Lady Stark," she greeted her stepmother with a small curtsy.

"Come with me, please" the lady commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

Eyra's brows snapped together in confusion, and she shared a brief look with her twin, who raised his own eyebrows questioningly. She shrugged and made a face, having no idea what crime she had committed this time. She set after the lady obediently, leaving her brother to tend to the wolves.

Following Catelyn into the castle and up the stairs, they made their way to Lady Stark's own bedchambers. She rarely used it, it was more of a storage room, as her and Ned Stark shared his bedchambers. Eyra glanced around the room curiously, having never been inside before. To her great astonishment, there was nothing remarkably different from her own chambers, apart from it being larger in size and housing a bigger bed. She had always imagined that Lady Stark would have something to distinguish herself as a noble born, in some form, though she couldn't imagine what that would be.

"I have brought out a dress for you to wear tonight," Catelyn said as she stopped in front of her bed and gestured towards a lovely gown that was laid out on top of the bedding. "For you to look your best for the guests."

Eyra's eyes widened and she blinked. "For me?" She regarded the older lady in bewilderment. Catelyn Stark had never voluntarily given her anything in life, and she could think of no solid reason why she should start now. To her great surprise, Eyra could have sworn she saw the lady's eyes soften a bit from the usual icy stare she reserved for the twins. Surely, the world was coming to an end?

"The dress is too slim now for myself, it was from my younger days," the lady explained. "And the colours would not compliment Sansa."

Eyra blinked, trying to find some ulterior motive in the other woman's words, but she could not find any. "Uhm… Thank you, my lady…" Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what else to say.

Lady Stark nodded sharply and picked the dress up from her bed. "You best run along and get dressed. It won't be long before they arrive."

Eyra nodded dazedly as she accepted the dress from the older woman.

"And I'll have Rosemary come to your chambers to arrange your hair," Catelyn added with finality, and Eyra recognised a dismissal when she hear one.

As she walked out of the room, Eyra turned her head briefly to glance back at Lady Stark in wonder. She had no idea what had just happened, and wondered whether she should be worried or not. As much as she would wish it, it was highly unlikely that Lady Stark was merely doing her a kindness. It certainly had never occurred before. No, there had to be some underlying motive, and if there was, Eyra was not entirely sure that she would like it.

In her room, she grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the washstand, and promptly set about washing her face and hands. She always seemed to get herself grimy somehow. After brushing out her hair, she slipped the new dress over her head. Stepping over to the mirror situated in the corner (she rarely ever used it), she studied her reflection with her head cocked to the side. The dress was lovely, there was no doubt about it. It was a beautiful maroon colour, with gold threaded hems along the bottom of the skirt and the bosom. To match the hems came a loose vest in an amber colour, that clasped at her waist to frame her curved figure nicely. It was such a well fit, Eyra thought to herself, that it might as well have been made for her.

Strange, she thought to herself. The colour would not have complimented Sansa's fiery locks, that much was true. But come to think of it, if the dress did not compliment Sansa's features, then it certainly would not have complimented Lady Stark's either. Not now, nor in her youth. How strange that she should have such a dress, that looked as if it had been made for Eyra. It did bring out the warm ember tones in her otherwise grey eyes. It made her whole complexion warmer somehow, despite her pale skin and white hair.

So, perhaps the dress had been made specifically with Eyra in mind. But why? She had to admit, she looked well. She rarely ever paid heed to what she looked like. In fact, she was very often admonished for not putting more effort into her appearance. After all, as Lady Stark would say, you'll want to find a husband some day.

Her eyes widened sharply as Lady Stark's words echoed in her head. Of course, she groaned to herself. How could she have been so blind. They were expecting visitors, and not just any visitors. The King's court. Eyra had wondered for the longest time what Lady Stark would arrange for her if, or rather when, their father left for King's Landing. And now the answer was glaring her right in the face.

Marriage.

She wondered briefly whether Lady Stark had already made arrangements with someone. Perhaps she had already promised Eyra away. No, Eyra decided. Her father would never agree to that, and Lady Stark knew it. She was probably hoping that Eyra would catch the eye of some Lord that very night, or a handsome knight, and be wooed off to faraway lands before summer properly set in.

Suddenly, Eyra felt the need to rip the offending fabric off her body and toss it into the roaring fireplace. Closing her eyes tightly, she took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. She carefully unclenched her fists, slowly let the breath out, and opened her eyes once more. Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, she gritted her teeth in vehement determination.

No, she decided as she stared at her reflection. She would wear the dress. Proudly. It was a nice piece of garment, probably the nicest thing she had ever owned. And she had been gifted it. Perhaps it would garner attention at the feast, perhaps not. Nevertheless, Eyra had no intention of being wooed away by anyone.