Lord Rickard Stark sat atop his massive white destrier with a stern expression painted across his aged and weathered face, hidden mostly beneath a white moutain of a beard that fell to his chest and mingled with ivory hair that flowed to his shoulders like ice; despite his age the lord of Winterfell was as sturdy and hardy as the towering, ageless trees of the Wolfswood. When it came to his eldest son and his only daughter, his patience seemed limitless, despite their misadventures and shenanigans. His light blue eyes watched the gate, and he seemed no bit surprised when his two spirited spawn came charging through on sweat-soaked mounts, both red-faced, breathless, and laughing. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as they moved to greet their father. "Trapsing about in the woods again,hm? What will I do with you child? Wild as the wolves of the wood. Go in and make yourself proper. We are off momentarily so do not dawdle." He warned Lyanna, though there was a gentleness hidden in his scolding that only Lyanna could find.
Kissing her father's cheek quickly, she gave Brandon a better luck next time smirk before leaping from the back of her horse and darting inside to change, dark curls floating behind her like a mane. Brandon chuckled as he watched her, but a raised eyebrow from his father killed the echo of his laughter quickly as he cleared his throat.
Lyanna's voice carried across the field some time later, fussing over the tightness of her elaborate new gown as she emerged from the keep, Nan trailing after her as she tried tucking Lyanna's long dark curls neatly into place, swatting at the girl as she tried to shoo the old woman away. The gown was a considerably lighter fabric than she was accustomed to, but her white-fur lining of her heavy blak cloak made up for the useless, shimmering blue material that floated around her figure like air, leaving the young Stark blushing and feeling exposed. At a nod from her father, she accepted the reins of a horse from her middle brother Ned, the quietest of the four Stark children, and certainly the most somber, and mounted the prettily-decorated white mare who was to take the place of her beloved gelding for the journey.
The procession began without a word, Lyanna falling into place behind her father at Brandon's side, sticking her tongue out at his teasing grin, before turning to check on Ned and little Benjen. Ned, who was generally content with the quiet of his own thoughts, was listening to the youngest Stark rattle on about something that had caught the "pup's" attention- as he was so often called by others in the keep. The boy had a knack for finding things to keep his interest, ever the curious one, which generally led to his older sister getting him into trouble, if she and Brandon weren't already up to some mischief.
The King's Road wound through the harsh snowy terrtain of the north all the way down to the fertile, plush Riverlands, splitting off to the east and west, and the western Riverroad would eventually lead them to their destination, as well as Lyanna's awaiting betrothed. A weary sigh escaped her lips at the thought. Robert Baratheon had been chosen by her father to eventually be her husband, despite her thoughts on the matter. Ned, being friends with Robert had naturally tried to calm and smooth over any problems she had voiced about the ordeal, but Lyanna was still less than thrilled about the matter.
Still there was little she could do to sway her father, and with another birthday quickly approaching, her fate was inevitable. Gray eyes glanced up at the clouds that gathered overhead and a slight smile played on the full lips of the only Stark daughter. "Winter is coming." She whispered softly.