u/DrinkInevitable3457

We all know Aunt Vidala is seen as the strict, mean aunt, and she lives up to the reputation, but Aunt Estée is the one I'll be worried about because this woman is seemingly sweet and gentle and understanding, and the next thing you know, she's chopping off a guardian's hand. Not to mention she's privy to "the sins" of the girls because they do it in front of her and go, "Aunt Estée, please don't say anything to Aunt Vidala; we are sorry." She could use anything she learned against them if she's ever in danger or just because. She has their trust, and that's a dangerous thing. Vidala is playing the strict, no-nonsense one, and Estée is the kind one who lets you get away with anything, so you'd slip and get yourself punished or outed. I especially don't like how she tries to be a friend and relate to everyone, even Daisy with the "I was the original Pearl Girl." There's no way anyone can be a friend to everyone and do it out of the goodness of their heart and survive in such a society. So I think Estée is playing the role of the good cop, with Vidala being her counterpart.

Even this far inland, in the warm stone heart of Winterfell, Lady Lyarra Stark could hear the wind when it howled against the battlements, the waves breaking on rocks, and the Ironborn longships that now plagued the western shores. News of Greyjoy rising had come swift on a raven’s wing, and with it, war again. Always war.

She stood beneath the heart tree, its pale face weeping red sap, and watched her grandchildren.

They filled the godswood with life in a way her own children no longer could.

“Again,” Jeyne Rivers insisted, already nocking another arrow. Her dark hair had come loose from its braid, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. “You loosed too soon, Mel.”

“I did not,” Melantha Snow said, hands on her hips, her copper hair catching the thin northern sun looking like flame. “The wind shifted.”

“The wind did not shift,” Jeyne snapped. “You just lack patience.”

“Girls,” Lorra Rivers cut in, her tone measured, as if she were twice her years instead of ten. “Arguing will not make the target shoot itself. If Melantha does not want to wait any longer, Jeyne let her, you might both improve in what you lack.”

Melantha smirked. “There, you see? Lorra agrees with me.”

“I do not,” Lorra replied calmly. “I merely said you both have faults.”

Lady Lyarra allowed herself a smile.

They were Brandon’s daughters, all three of them. Melantha had his boldness, though it was sharpened into something slyer, more watchful. Jeyne had his fire, his refusal to bend, though it burned quieter in her. Lorra… Lorra had none of his wolf's blood, thank the gods.

And then there was the boy.

Jon Snow stood apart, as he often did. A solemn child, dark of hair and grey of eye, with a stillness that did not belong to one so young. He watched the girls quietly.

“Why do you not join them?” she asked, her voice soft.

Jon turned at once. “They did not ask me to, my lady.”

“They are your kin. You need no invitation.”

He hesitated. That hesitation told her more than words.

“They say I would spoil the game,” he admitted at last. “Melantha says I would tell on them. Jeyne says I do not know how to shoot.”

Lyarra snorted. “Jeyne says many things. Most of them can be ignored.”

Jon’s lips twitched, but just a little.

“Go,” she said, gentler now. “Show them what Stark blood can do.”

He obeyed, though cautiously, like a wolf pup unsure of its place in the pack. Lyarra watched as he approached, as Melantha rolled her eyes and Jeyne scoffed, and Lorra, sweet, sensible Lorra, made space without comment.

A bow was placed in his hand with an arrow already nocked.

He loosed.

It struck wide.

Jeyne laughed. “I told you so.”

But Jon said nothing. He simply took another arrow, adjusted his stance, and loosed again.

This time the arrow struck the outer ring.

“Again,” he said.

There was something in that, something stubborn and unyielding, that made Lyarra’s chest ache.

So like his father, whichever of her sons that might be.

Rumors were wind, but wind could be useful. Let them whisper of Ashara Dayne, of Brandon, of Ned. Let them wonder. A child wrapped in uncertainty was protected.

A shadow fell beside her.

“Mother.”

She did not need to turn to know it was her youngest son.

“You should be resting,” he went on. “The maester said—”

“The maester says many things,” Lyarra interrupted. “Ben, I buried too many family members to miss this," she said.

Rickard. Brandon. Lyanna.

Names that felt like sand in her mouth.

“And now Ned marches,” she said, more quietly. “Against the Ironborn.”

“He will return,” Benjen said, with the certainty of youth.

Lyarra looked at him then, really looked. At his long face, his grey-blue eyes, her eyes, and she wondered how much longer he would be hers to keep.

“I pray you are right.”

A shout rang out across the godswood.

Jon’s third arrow had struck true.

Melantha clapped, grinning. “Well shot, Jon.”

Jeyne huffed. “Better than before.”

Lorra smiled, small and approving. “You see? Improvement.”

Jon did not smile. But his shoulders straightened, just a little.

Lyarra watched them, all of them, her ragged, pieced-together pack. Snows and Rivers. They were what remained of her children. If only Catelyn would let Robb and Sansa join them, but her good daughter was determined to keep her grandchildren separate.

“Escort me,” she said at last, turning from the heart tree. “They will need food soon, and if left to their own devices, they will empty the kitchens entirely."

Benjen chuckled softly, offering his arm.

Melantha, Jeyne, and Lorra are Brandon's bastards from the CK2 mod. I decided to add them so Jon wouldn't be the special snowflake Lyarra coddles and shows favor to over Catelyn's children. This Lyarra wants every part of her family she can get safe and cared for in Winterfell, for she lost too many family members far too soon.