Jeyne
Rain pattered down on the rooftops of King's Landing like the thrumming of little drummers. Hooves clicked against the cobblestone and in spite of the sallow weather, Flea Bottom was infested with peasants who were going about their daily lives, mucking around in piss and shit mixed with rain. Rather befitting weather, Jeyne thought, as she toward the Red Keep. In her childhood, she'd grown in those beautiful and elegant halls. No one ever warned you that as lovely as they were, eyes watched through walls and nothing was secret. Her father had been wise in sending her away once she had flowered, disliking the way the prince was eying her. Back in the Eyrie she learned to manage her family's bannermen and worked on relationships in the Vale.
Now it had come to this. Her father had been old, but not in poor health aside from his missing teeth. Flanked by sworn Royce knights, her eyes listed up the hill. Even if it was the horse climbing toward the Great Sept of Baelor, each step was agonizing. Especially with the knowledge that her step-mother would not be there to lay her father to rest. Tension had always been thick between them, but Lysa's actions had always been questionable. The Tully woman had intercepted Jeyne on the way from the Vale, screeching like a bat out of hell about Jon being murdered.
I've always hated her and not without good reason, Jeyne thought as her fingers tightened around the reins of her palomino. Lysa's loathing for Jeyne, the daughter of Jon Arryn's second wife, had known no bounds. Everyone knew that the relationship between Jon and Lysa had been loveless, seeing how large a gap in age laid between them. Lysa only produced one child, her sickly brother Robert, who she coddled and nursed as if he were still a babe. Her excuse for missing Jon's funeral was that she wanted to protect Robert and entreated Jeyne to come back to the Vale where it would be safe.
Viewing her words as the ravings of a madwoman, Jeyne rode hard with an ensemble of her most trusted knights from the Vale. Many of which wished to pay their own tributes to her father, also somber and solemn in the rain as pale cloaks plastered to their armor. Rising in the distance was Visenya's Hill and an area encapsulated by white marble. Commoners trotted alongside of them, some wishing to espy the grand funeral and have a chance to enjoy just a taste of what nobles experienced everyday.
Even the gardens wept around them, rain trickling down the flowers and leaves, causing the vegetation to sag depressedly under its weight. Spanning in front of the small entourage was the Sept, past the grand statue of Baelor, was an impressive massive dome with seven crystal towers. Unfortunately, they had not been the first to arrive, the snowy white cloaks of the King's Guard sectioning off the entrance to the Sept, keeping the common people back as the royal family glittered in their insipid radiance.
"My lady," Ser Andar began, eyes listing toward the princes and then back to the Arryn.
"We knew we would have to meet them. Just keep close to me. Have the Frey boy watch the horses so we can pay our respects," Jeyne directed sternly before dismounting her horse.
Ser Andar directed Alyn Frey in watching the horses before flanking close to Jeyne along with his brother Robar and Ser Jasper Redfort. None of the Vale-men enjoyed being outside the mountains and even less so around the royal family. Many of them had been in Jon Arryn's service, but were returned home and rotated between due to the extended period of time Jon spent in King's Landing as the Hand of the King. Ser Andar had always been with Jeyne, from when he was first knighted and she was just a child, up until now. She trusted his brother and Ser Jasper as well, but Ser Andar was like an uncle to her.
His disdain toward the royal family was blatant as they approached King Robert Baratheon. The king was a large man, still possessing the impressive physique from his youth when he took the thrones from the Targaryens to retrieve his stolen love, Lyanna Stark. After marrying Lyanna Stark, they had four children; three boys and one girl. Lyanna's death had come to as a shock when she fell ill. Jeyne recalled the letters from her father about how obstinate Robert had been about burying her. Eddard Stark was insisting that his sister's bones be sent to Winterfell so they could rest in the crypts and Robert was tugging the opposite way, demanding that she be buried where flowers could grow over her grave and the sun could smile upon her. In the end, Jon had convinced Robert to send Lyanna to Winterfell where she belonged.
A slight beer gut was a testament to the king's depression since losing his beloved wife. His eldest son, Steffon, stood beside him in a black doublet and trousers, his obsidian hair outshining the inkiness of his attire. A few years younger than Jeyne, the prince had an appetite like his father, the only difference aside from age was that Steffon hadn't been raised hearing the word 'no'. Thus when Jeyne had given him that answer, Steffon had been rapt with the infamous Baratheon fury. He wasn't the only reason for Jeyne not wishing to be in King's Landing, but certainly the primary.
His other siblings were Prince Edric, a more mild mannered and Stark-like boy of no more than 15 years past. He possessed a longer face and grey eyes, standing patiently for the ceremony to begin. Beside him was his sister, Argella, with her long thick ringlets of midnight. In her hand was the youngest prince, Beron, who was distraught by the rain soaking through his finery.
Princess Argella noticed the approach of the Arryns first, turning Beron around so that he could see them approaching. At only six years old, Beron gasped in delight, seemingly forgetting about the rain as he gazed up imploringly at the knights that were beside Jeyne. He had been little more than a babe when she last saw him and thus he did not recognize her. Argella on the other hand brightened, her grey Stark eyes smiling as wide as her lips as she embraced Jeyne without an afterthought.
"It has been too long Lady Jeyne. I wish you would come to visit more often," the princess pouted after releasing Jeyne from her firm grasp. "I'm sorry about the circumstances which bring you here today."
"Me too," Jeyne glanced up at the Sept, the rainbow seven pointed star winking against the entrance.
"Jeyne!" King Robert boomed, his voice like a clap of thunder as he barreled toward her. Very much like his daughter, he didn't ask permission or wait until she was prepared, squishing her in an even tighter embrace than Argella. Trying not to make her disdain clear for the inappropriate sign of affection she gave a the king a weak smile when he set her back down on her feet. "How are you faring? It's been a long time since we've seen you."
"I am… as well as a daughter can be when she travels to her father's funeral," Jeyne answered honestly. "And he assigned me to take care of the Vale while he was Hand. My duty was at the Eyrie-"
"A boring job, certainly when compared to the courts of King's Landing," Robert waved dismissively.
"Lady Jeyne did a spectacular job growing into the position of Warden of the East in her father's stead. She even managed alliances with the hill tribes, your grace," Ser Robar informed the king proudly, bristling in defense of his late lord's eldest child.
"No doubt, Jeyne was always a clever and diplomatic girl. Getting a few wildlings to bend to her whim must have been child's play," Robert said, the topic greatly disinteresting to him.
"Took a few Arryn arrows to convince them," Ser Andar added.
"You've taken up the bow?" Robert arched a brow at her, for the first time intrigued that there was a little bit of bloodshed to go along with the boring management job they had been praising her for.
"Perhaps I can divulge the details later, your grace. We are here for another purpose," Jeyne reminded him sternly.
"Ah," Robert was avoiding the topic of Jon's death. "Yes… I suppose we best get this over with. Did you happen to pass Lady Lysa on the way from the Vale?"
"She does not intend on coming, but does want my father's bones returned to the Eyrie," Jeyne told him brusquely. Lysa's paranoia vexed her along with her blatant disrespect, abandoning her late husband's remains in King's Landing. By now, her father's body had been embalmed and dressed, but would still show decay as too many weeks had passed. If Lysa was not going to be at the funeral, Jeyne certainly would, even if it took a considerable amount of time to get there.
"Never liked her," Robert commented, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "The High Septon is waiting inside. Doesn't want to get his crown wet or some bullshit like that."
Jeyne grimaced as they joined the other members of the royal family. Fortunately, no one else stopped her from taking the steps up to the Sept. Her fingers trembled as she climbed, approaching the door where her father would be laying. Worry filled the pit of her stomach and even with the king's arm around her for comfort, she felt cold and distant. She had hoped her father would live long enough to eventually see her married. Always doting, Jon and Jeyne had been close. Perhaps another reason for Lysa's disdain toward her. He had never thought much of marriage proposals and was pushing Robert to choose another Hand so that he could retire and make his decision on who was worthy of Jeyne's hand. Years slipped by and Jeyne became older than most girls when they married, seeing 20 name days pass.
The grand doors were flung open and the statues of the Seven surrounding a chamber where an altar was positioned in the center. Jeyne paled when she saw the body of her father, her mind working in overtime as each step toward him was agonizing. She had promised herself that she would not cry, but as she approached the body of Jon Arryn her resolve crumbled like a sand castle again the climbing tide. The man on the altar did not look like her father. He appeared significantly older, skin the color of milk. The embalming had preserved him this long, but not without repercussions. The makeup the Silent Sisters had applied had seeped into his flesh and some was beginning to slough off as his skin began withering.
He laid there in his practical armor. He's always hated anything that florid in decorations, believing the extra weight bogged him down. A sky blue cloak fluttered beneath him, splaying out like great wings. His eyes were covered by the painted stones, staring emptily up at the ceiling.
No one said a word as they stood around the altar. The scent of formaldehyde was strong and it choked up Jeyne's nostrils as she stared at him, blinking the tears back from her eyes. He had lived a long, successful life, no one could argue otherwise… But why did this all feel so wrong? Lysa and Robert should have been there.
Resentment pooled in her belly along with the grief. The royal family paid their respects, but Jeyne remained, her legs as solid as the stone mountains of the Vale. Time ceased to flow as she looked at the body that had been her father's. So many questions collected in her head that she wished she could ask him.
"My lady," Ser Ardan was entreating her, rousing her from the vigil she stood.
Her eyes set to him, bright and haughty at his interruption.
"You've been standing here for hours. Perhaps you should rest," he suggested lightly in reflection of the venomous glare she gave him.
"I-" she began crossly before glancing around. Only the Vale knights and Jeyne remained in the Sept.
Ser Ardan rested a hand gently on her back. "King Robert has offered us rooms for as long as we need them, though I know-"
"No, we will stay in a tavern," she replied stubbornly.
"And he also trusted me with this. Your father left a will," Ser Ardan pulled a dry roll of parchment from his cloak and offered it to Jeyne, the falcon sigil of House Arryn winking in the candle light of the church.
"Thank you, Ser Ardan," she muttered, wrath relenting as she accepted the roll. He bowed his head respectfully and stepped away to give her a moment alone. Breaking the wax seal, she unfurled the silver ribbon and read the declaration.
'This will is the will and word of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King. I hereby declare that my lands and titles shall succeeded by my only son and heir, Robert Arryn. In which, Lord Yohn Royce will act as Lord Regent of the Vale until he comes of age. My daughter, Jeyne Arryn, is to be fostered at Winterfell, under the care of Lord Eddard Stark, until a proper arrangement for her hand has been made at her bequest.'
Her fingers curled around the parchment, fraying it before she glanced down at her father. Winterfell? She had been there a handful of times over the course of the life to visit Lord Eddard and his family at her father's request, but she never would have thought he would send her there in this manner. Realization dawned on her. In his final moments, he was protecting her from one of the boys he'd raised at the Eyrie. King Robert would not request she stay in King's Landing if the Jon's will stated she was under Eddard Stark's care. Even if King's Landing had more amenities and was more hospitable, she much preferred the solidarity of Winterfell to this accursed place.
He also doesn't want me with Lysa, she thought, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes as she glanced down at him. The stones had been painted to reflect the blue eyes her father had, but they were the wrong shade. His eyes had been a vivid sky blue, not lapis lazuli. "Always thinking about me, even in your final moments," she whispered and now that she was alone with him, she let them flow unhindered. Rolling down her fair cheeks, she stared at him through bleary eyes. "I loved you father, so much. I just wish I could have been closer and with you in your final moments."
Would he be proud of her? What would she do now that she wouldn't be overseeing the Vale? The power she had been afforded made her smile through her tears. "At my own bequest? How am I supposed to find a man who rivals you?" she mumbled, pulling out a damp cloth from her cloak to wipe her face. "I'm going to take you home."
Catelyn
News of Jon Arryn's death had traveled swiftly to Winterfell, reflected by a few days of summer snow. None of the children understood why their father brooded more than usual, but Catelyn was aware that Jon had been a second father to him. Within the last handful of years passed, he had lost not only Lyanna, but now Jon. His death was compounded with the news that King Robert was prowling north to ask him a question that posed to tear their family apart. She and Ned had already discussed the idea of King's Landing and were fast against the idea. Winterfell needed Eddard with winter creeping up on the long summer. Jon's will had also reached them and with the Vale in good hands, Catelyn was contemplating what she would do with the Arryn girl once she arrived with the king's entourage.
Preparations for the king fell on Catelyn as the lady-wife. Eddard had other duties to tend to including addressing the worries, doubts, and qualms of his lords and common folk. Along with the help of maester Lewin, she had drafted up what livestock they would need to serve the large host backing King Robert. Winterfell wasn't a sight for sore eyes, but Catelyn had work diligently to see that all of the keep had been cleaned and maintained. It was her own children she had to scold for tracking mud and debris into the fresh stone halls.
With late summer came the blooms of herbal flowers. Catelyn arranged bouquets of many variations that would decorate the chairs, the centerpieces of tables, and the garlands that had been hung. Each were made with a base of juniper branches, acting as a soft bed for wolfsbane, violet lupines, and holly leaves dotted with crimson berries.
Septa Mordane had the girls working hard on their new gowns for when their cousins arrived. None of the Stark children had met with their royal counterparts in recent history and many of them had been too young to recall when Lyanna went north with her children about a decade ago. Sansa was aflame with excitement, tittering brightly like a little song bird as she worked diligently on the embroidery on her grey-blue dress she had sewn entirely on her own. Catelyn's heart swelled at the sight of her beautiful, 14 year old daughter, who was adjusting nicely into her maidenhood.
With soft rolls of Tully auburn, Ned often spoke on how Sansa looked just like Catelyn in her youth. River blue eyes creased in excitement and she was entirely fixated on making certain she looked a proper lady when the royal family and their convoy arrived. Sansa recited the southern houses to Septa Mordane over and over again, so that she wouldn't forget any banner, no matter how little. In her romantic, naive heart, dreams of the southern knights danced around her. Catelyn knew her idea of a knight was skewed, but she didn't have the heart to tell Sansa. Ned would find her a suitable husband who would treat her properly.
Arya on the other hand sulked while trying to embroider her dress. Catelyn felt for her youngest daughter, but there simply wasn't any effort being put in. With the Stark wildness in her, Arya was her only child that had any of Ned's looks. All the rest of her children had the Tully auburn hair and river blue eyes. Willful and despising her lessons, Arya was more prone to sneaking off instead of attending her studies with Sansa and Jeyne Poole. The girl would only listen to her father and the bastard, Jon Snow, and thus Catelyn's words of scolding fell on deaf ears. With her flowering approaching rapidly, Arya needed to get her act together so that Ned could contemplate where she might fit.
Catelyn had always suggested a place just as wild as she, perhaps Bear Island with the Mormonts?
Until this point, Catelyn had been working diligently and ceaselessly. Maester Lewin had noted this and suggested she take something to ease the amount of stress she was under. He followed her to the chambers she had arranged for Lady Jeyne Arryn, hoping to make the girl comfortable. Catelyn had not seen her own father, Hoster Tully, in a great deal of time, but the thought of losing him sickened her. Jeyne was her junior by nearly twenty years, but Hoster and Jon had been of similar ages. What if her own father was to follow closely behind his old friend?
When Catelyn had seen Jeyne last, she had been a little younger than Sansa was currently. Smoothing the quilt on the bed, she draped the soft wolf fur at the foot, Lewin commenting at her elbow, "My lady, leave this work to a servant. You have been without rest for days now, perhaps you should return to your chambers and have a proper meal."
He only cared for her, he wasn't trying to seem annoying, but Catelyn wanted her touch on the Arryn girl's room and not leave it up to some servant. After stocking up a sewing spindle and basket of supplies, Catelyn had been certain to pull the books about the Vale and collect them in a small case. Fresh candles had been laid out and the lanterns filled by Catelyn's hand and she had also laced a fine sky blue scarf in the clothing lattice that she had knit originally for Lysa. She expected the girl would not have packed enough layers and so she supplied some from her own stores.
"After I finish this," Catelyn told him obstinately, obsessively fussing over the way books were turned, the angle at which the blue wax was set on her desk, and turning the falcon feather quills out in their canister so that it was a perfect as a painting. "Where are the boys?" she asked Lewin, turning the nearby rocking chair that was situated near the window which had a splendid view of the Godswood. The misty, mineral filled hot spring pools produced a low fog and obscured many of the trees that arranged themselves thickly over a verdant blanket of grass. Winterfell was astoundingly comfortable within the walls of the Great Keep due to the hot springs that it was built upon. Pipes of hot water flowed like blood and veins in the walls and was a matter between life and death in the winter. These chambers might have been located in the Guest House, across the courtyard from the Great Keep, but there were several hot pools flanking the Guest House and it also remained warmed, though shy of her own chambers.
"Out in the yard training with Ser Rodrik. Robb and Theon both mentioned that they wanted to be prepared for the arrival of the royal party," a small smile pulled up at the corners of the maester's lips.
"You mean the ladies in company of the royal party," Catelyn corrected before surveying her work. "Those flowers will need to be changed if they don't arrive within the week," she observed stiffly, gesturing to the vase of lavender and marigold.
"Reports state that they should be here soon, my lady," Lewin informed her.
"And reports are often wrong. We were told they would arrive last week and here we are now," Catelyn reminded him before deciding that her work was completed until the arrival was set off for another week. "At this rate, I'll be surprised if they arrive before winter."
"Autumn is not yet in full swing, there are a few more years to this long summer," Lewin said, following Catelyn out of the room.
"And it is to be followed by an even longer winter," Catelyn droned, recalling the words of her lord husband. Winter is coming. Winter was always coming unless it was already winter, wasn't it? All the lords of the north were fretting over their upcoming harvests, worried that it would not be long enough for the winter they were about to face. Catelyn implored Ned to share the burden, so that she might help him decide what needed to be done, but he shrugged her off, aware that she was already spreading herself thin to prepare Winterfell. Which was certainly a large feat seeing the castle spanned several acres.
Instead of heading into the armory and taking the bridge between it and the Great Keep, she headed into the courtyard. Trampled down to dirt, Eddard had recently added packed rocks to restore some of the dip between the buildings and the yard after years of being worn and washed away. While the ground was more stable and firm, rock dust kicked up from horses and sparring men. Just outside the Guest House, juxtaposed was the armory, which all of her boys were located to also include the Greyjoy ward, Theon, and the bastard, Jon Snow. Four direwolves also sat nearby, quietly watching. The white one unnerved Catelyn.
Ignoring the bastard, Catelyn watched as Robb sparred with Theon. In the pit of her belly, something about the Greyjoy had always unsettled her. She was not so blind or ignorant to be unaware of his sexual prowess and taste for whores. Ned might have pushed the thought out of his mind, but Catelyn worried that Theon's questionable disposition. He and Robb were as thick as thieves, what if his delinquencies rubbed off on Robb?
Her eyes slid over to her eldest son, who despite his polar appearance to Ned, was very much like his father. A head full of dark auburn curls and a molted brown and red beard, Robb's river blue eyes glinted as brightly as the reflection of his steel in the light of the sun. Everytime she doubted him, he proved her wrong. Ned had already begun grooming him, taking him into his meetings with his bannermen and asking Robb what he would do or offer.
Theon and Robb circled each other, Bran sitting on a nearby hay bale beside Jon Snow as they watched the sparring. Ser Rodrik Cassel oversaw the battle between them. Ever eager to prove himself, Theon darted forward first, swinging the weighted wooden sword around. With a sharp clack, Robb defended himself and parried the onslaught of blows that Theon ravaged upon him. At any rate, Theon would get tired and sluggish, all Robb had to do was not be overwhelmed. Theon's true skill was with a bow, as he'd used it on several hunts and proven his aim was always true.
Robb led Theon back, as if the flurry of blows were causing him to retreat. The rhythmic clapping of wood took hold of the yard and Theon expelled more energy as he forced Robb back. At least, that was what he thought he was doing. Instead, Robb was leading him round in a circle, slowly but certainly, waiting until Theon took the briefest moments of reprieve. When Theon did, Robb feinted to his left and Theon snorted loudly, driving forward to deliver what he thought was the finishing blow. Robb instead swept his leg beneath Theon as he lunged forward greedily and sent the Greyjoy tumbling to the ground, not bothering to parry his blow which was a foot short from striking true.
Robb poised his practice sword down at Theon as he tried to sit up, fumbling for the sword that had slipped betwixt his sweaty fingers. Ser Rodrik, Jon, and Catelyn all applauded the show and Rickon squealed in delight at the move. Robb turned his sword away and pulled Theon back to his feet.
"Spectacular footwork, Lord Robb," Ser Rodrik said striding forward. "Do you see where your mistake was Theon? In your attacks you didn't notice that Robb was leading you round, causing you to be more unsteady on your feet. Posture and form is important, you cannot let your emotions get in the way of fighting or a simple sweep of the leg will be your demise."
Theon was nonplussed by the entire situation, knocked down a peg, but if it had to be anyone, he was glad it was Robb that had defeated him. "I know," he grumbled, casting his dark eyes away in a sulky manner.
Now that the mock battle had ended, Catelyn strode forward to approach her boys. Rickon hopped down from his perch and scurried over to her frantically, pressing his face into her skirts. A small breath escaped her lips as her youngest plowed into her followed by a gentle chuckle. Bending over, she picked him up, pushing back some of his auburn curls that were beginning to get out of hand. "You'll need a haircut tonight. You have to look your best when the king arrives," she told him, trying to manage the thicket. Her eyes swept over ther rest of the boys, quickly glazing past Jon. "Go and get cleaned up, your father wants everyone prepared for a dinner this evening. Robb, a moment?" she kissed Rickon on the cheek before sending him off with Bran.
Robb handed the practice sword back to Ser Rodrik and followed Catelyn through the courtyard and toward the library tower just south west of where they had been sparring, Greywind quick at his heels. He ran his fingers back through his sweaty curls and glanced inquisitively at his mother.
When Catelyn was pleased by the distance from the rest of the men, she spoke, "Your father has high expectations for you when King Robert arrives. I do not know if he has informed you, but Lady Jeyne Arryn will be staying in Winterfell for an extended period of time. She is of a similar age to you and your father has expressed that he would like you to make her comfortable; show her around the grounds, escort her to dinners, take her riding if she'd like to see the Wolfswood..."
Ned's intent had been that perhaps Robb would grow fond of the girl and she could stay in Winterfell permanently. Jon Arryn had given his daughter permission to make the choice of who she would marry, a luxury that high borne women were never afforded. A union between House Arryn and Stark only felt just to Ned, but the young falcon they had met many years ago had many years to change. Catelyn had sent a letter to Lysa, hoping to glean more about Jeyne, but had yet to receive an answer. Ned said that Jon had prized Jeyne above all else, even placing her in the seat of Warden of the East while he was in King's Landing. This meant that Jeyne was experienced in diplomacy and politics and might be able to help Robb grow in those aspects. Catelyn didn't want to make any arrangements or promise Robb anything for fear that the two might not get along, but Ned was hopeful.
"That sounds a lot like courting, mother," Robb pointed out kindly.
An exhausted smile cracked on her face as she glanced up at Robb. "Nothing is set in stone and learning how to treat young ladies will do you well. It is not often we have one staying here for such a long time and your father wants to make a favorable impression on Lady Jeyne. Seeing that two are the same age, he's passing that responsibility onto you."
"Spend time around Lady Arryn doesn't seem like a chore," Robb mused, flashing a smile at her.
"Seven years have passed since Lady Jeyne was last here, you two were still children. Age affects us all differently and Lady Jeyne spent her time in King's Landing and taking the reins of the Vale come her 14th name day. She certainly is not the same girl you may remember from Lyanna's visits," Catelyn persisted. To her, no woman would ever be good enough for any of her sons and she couldn't prevent herself from clucking like a mother hen. Her mind was automatically wired so that Lady Jeyne would have to prove herself worthy, but the girl's accomplishments certainly gave her a step above any other prospective brides for Robb.
"I know mother, I will be certain that Lady Jeyne is extended every courtesy of the Starks," Robb promised dutifully.
"Good," Catelyn sniffed before frowning. "Now go bathe, you smell like the kennels."
"Yes mother," Robb pecked her on the cheek before leaving Catelyn by the library tower. Speaking of the kennels, she could hear the hounds yipping in their cages excitedly. Now having Lewin off her case, Catelyn turned and headed for the Sept and an afternoon prayer.
The Old Gods were more prevalent in the north, given the huge forest that Winterfell had been built around. Still, a suitable Sept had been built for travelers and to accomodate people like Catelyn who had praised The Seven growing up. Septon Chayle was lighting a new flock of candles, replacing those that had guttered over into wax covered nubs. A servant was nearby to put the old candles in a recyclable bin where the remaining wax would be melted and shaped back into new candles.
"My lady," Septon Chayle greeted as he returned to meticulously lighting each of the hundreds of candles by hand.
The Sept was small in Winterfell and mostly forgotten aside from the time that Catelyn spent in it. Sansa would sometimes go with her and Septa Mordane, but she did not possess the same amount of faith as Catelyn. Instead of magnificent statues to depict each of the Seven, there were only small altars with effigies hewn in their likeness. Kneeling benches were position in front of each, with enough room for two or three people to squeeze onto. Catelyn took a long wooden stick and lit the end before brighting it to one of the dark Mother's candles.
Catelyn knelt in front of her, interlacing her fingers as she slipped deep into prayer regarding her family and her children. She wanted the best for all of them and she wanted Ned to stay in Winterfell. She prayed to the Mother that Lady Jeyne would be kind and intelligent, that Arya would behave when King Robert arrived, and that Sansa would get along with Arya until the king's departure. Her qualms may have seemed petty to those who worried about putting bread on the table every day, but they were her own. She hoped that the simplicity of her worries would be limited to just behavioral issues among her children.
Head bowed, Catelyn was only roused from her deep thoughts when Septa Mordane entered the Sept and approached her. "My lady," she greeted courteously as Catelyn's got to her feet, knees aching due to how long she had been praying. Half of the candle she had lit for The Mother had already melted away. The strong aroma of incense tickled the back of her throat, nearly causing her to sneeze.
"Septa Mordane... How did my daughters fair in their lessons today?" Catelyn inquired, noticing out the stained glass window that it was becoming dark.
"Sansa has done some exquisite needlework and is eager to wear her dress the evening of the feast. She and Jeyne Poole wish to impress the Baratheons. If you were to ask Sansa, she'd tell you that she doesn't have enough time to prepare for their arrival," Septa Mordane inclined, smiling softly at the thought of her model student. The expression was short lived as she had to continue onto the other daughter. "Arya on the other hand does still not possess even a wisp of her sister's talent and having issues with simple embroidery. Her head it elsewhere and it shows in the poor, incomplete work she has to show. Not to mention she still gives quite a bit of tongue back when reprimanded. Just today, when I was out of the room, I returned to Arya pulling Sansa's hair."
Catelyn hissed a sigh and nodded. "I apologize for her behavior. I'll speak with Ned about it."
"The girl will need the intervention of The Maiden to become a proper lady within just a few years time," Mordane told her, shaking her head.
"I know," Catelyn said before making her way toward the exit. "Have the girls prepared for dinner?"
"Yes, I sent them to bathe before returning here."
"Very good, have a nice evening Septa," Catelyn bid before she stepped out of the warm, crystal imbued Sept. The twinkling lights reminded her of Riverrun, a slice of her childhood stoked away in the cold Winterfell. She drew her cloak in at the summer's evening chill and hurried to the Great Hall, where dinner was to be held in preparation for the feast. A dry run without their men, the king's men, and Theon Greyjoy or Jon Snow. Just Catelyn, her husband, and their children.
Ned was the only one inside the Great Hall, the children yet to arrive for their meal. He had a few pieces of parchment scattered in front of him, Vayon Poole standing behind him, muttering a few things in advisement over the events of the day. Ned's eyes trailed upward to rest on Catelyn as she passed between the tables that had been set up within the grand hall in anticipation of Robert's arrival.
"Is it time already?" Ned breathed, collecting the parchment and heaving a sigh. "Vayon could you take these back to my study?"
"Of course, my lord. We shall talk more on the morrow in regards to what Lord Flint was requesting?" Vayon hastily removed the work from Eddard.
"Yes, over breakfast," Ned agreed, only standing once Vayon had departed from the hall. He strode over to meet Catelyn and kissed her, the stress of the day plastered on his long face. "How was your day?"
"Certainly more arbitrary than yours. What does Lord Flint want?" Catelyn followed him to the head table and sat beside him, placing a hand on his leg.
"The Ironborne are growing restless again and sending parties to his shores. He requested I send Stark men south to Flint's Finger to help address the pillaging of his towns," Ned explained, taking a hand and rubbing between his brows. Noticing his distress, Catelyn stood and placed her fingers against his shoulders and began massaging his stiff shoulders. Ned would never admit to taking on too much work, but Catelyn had learned to read him like a book.
Relaxing into her grasp, Catelyn continued. "Has Balon Greyjoy forgotten that we still have his son?"
"Theon has been here more than a decade, I grow to fear that Balon does not care for him anymore," Ned told her.
Catelyn pursed her lips. "He's lived here all his adult life. You know how the Ironborne are... It's likely that Balon believes his son is a Wolf now rather than a Kraken. Would that be too far from the truth? You've raised Theon among your sons."
"Then what leverage do we possess? I could threaten Theon's head, but-"
"No you could not," Catelyn interrupted. For as honorable as Ned Stark was, he would not punish Theon for the actions of his father, no matter what threats he sent Balon. "And to what end? If Balon tests your threats, could you deliver Ned?"
Ned remained silent at this, his silence reverberating through the halls until the great oak and iron doors creaked open and the Stark children began filing in. Catelyn relinquished her inquisition on the subject and gazed at her children as they approached. She bent down before they were close enough to mutter in Ned's ear, "You'll need to speak with Arya after. She had another fit today."