"I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend parental tyranny or reward filial disobedience"
- 'Northanger Abbey', Jane Austen
The fire crackled beside the old woman, continuing with her needlework she sighed softly, her fingers were tired, the skin tough and calloused. Her hair had long turned white, her children long grown and her life long lost.
But there had been a time when she had known different, felt more...
There was a time when the North had a king.
The rain was falling, the wind biting and the landscape barren. Stark greys and muted greens; there was no vibrancy here, only desolation; and the cold.
Pulling her cloak further round her frame Hermia looked back at the caravan. Her aunt sat in the carriage that should have housed the both of them, but she couldn't sit there. The air was too close, the atmosphere too stifling – instead – she chose the cold.
She knew she was overreacting; her Aunt was an old woman to be humoured. Five years ago the woman could have easily turned her away, left her to fend for herself. But with the death of Hermia's parents and her brother claiming the title, the young girl had been at a loss. Her mother's family was from the flatlands but both sisters had left their familial home in favour of their husbands. Her mother to the South and her Aunt to the North, so it was to the North Hermia took when she was left alone.
Of course her brother Nathaniel had said she could remain at the family seat, but even at the tender age of 12 Hermia didn't want to be sentenced to a life of walking haunted halls.
"Hermia!"
Turning on her horse Hermia sighed, "Yes Aunt?"
"Get back in here for goodness sake, your brother and uncle might have ridden on ahead, but I want you in a fit state when you are presented to the Starks."
"Presented, Aunt?" Hermia questioned archly. "Am I to be treated as chattel?"
The older woman rolled her eyes, "You know what I mean girl!"
"Actually I don't," Hermia replied tartly before narrowing her eyes with steely determination. Digging her heels into her steed, the horse lurched forward.
"Hermia!" her Aunt shrieked once more. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Send someone after if you must, but I'm riding on ahead."
Hermia couldn't help but let loose an exhilarated laugh. Truth be told, she didn't much like riding, but there was something about today. Maybe it was her Aunt continually mentioning the young eligible Robb Stark, or that Winterfell was the greatest keep in the North. But she didn't want to think about that, she didn't want to think of duty nor filial obedience, she wanted to feel the cold. The biting cold, the cold that crept through your clothes, nipped at your skin, worked its way to the very bone.
Soon enough her horse was lumbering through woodland, the loamy ground giving off a damp, comforting scent. Quite suddenly, the sound of several voices brought Hermia round; leaning over her horse she gently stroked its neck as she pulled on the reigns.
"Declare yourself!" A voice called harshly from her left.
Glancing over Hermia quickly appraised the situation. Three men, all armed and clearly not in the habit of waylaying damsels.
"What's it to you?" Hermia replied sharply, ordinarily she would have obliged with an answer. But something in the boy's (for he really was a boy) mannerisms irked her.
"You will answer me, you are on Stark land and unless you declare yourself you will be treated as a trespasser."
"She's just a girl Theon, what harm could she possibly do?" Another of the party finally spoke up, he had soft burr to his voice as he tugged on the sleeve of his companion.
"Just a girl? She's obviously stolen that horse, look at her, dressed like a common farm hand."
Hermia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but truth be told she had been hoping no one would see her dressed in leather leggings and boots.
"Have you tried riding a horse in a dress?" Hermia shot back, instantly regretting her fast tongue and the trouble it no doubt would get her into.
"I will have you flogged for your impudence girl!"
"Theon, Jon's right – she's just a girl. We don't have time for this anyway; we have to get back to the castle. We have guests for my Father's name day, remember?"
"You're not just going to leave her here are you Robb?" Theon shot back, his eyes widening, aghast.
"It's not like she disavowed the Night's Watch, I don't think my father would approve of killing an innocent girl." Robb replied hotly, as he turned to leave.
Hermia shook her head in quiet disbelief, before urging her horse onwards. Shooting past the three boys she emerged onto the road, her Aunt's carriage just disappearing through the wall that guarded Winterfell.
"Still think she's harmless?" Theon virtually crowed as the three Northerners went on the pursuit.
"Yes," Rob answered roughly. "You just bloody scared her off, threatening to have her flogged."
"She's a nobody," Theon returned confidently as the three companions rode through the gates into the muddy courtyard.
Quickly dismounting the group made their way to the small crowd of people. Several strangers had appeared in Winterfell and as head of the House; Eddard Stark had come out to great them.
The friendships formed in peace were what determined the course of war. Ned knew this all to well, his friendship with Robert Baratheon had him march across the country, all too willing to leave a newly found wife and possibly his life behind him.
"Robb!" Ned Stark called out affectionately as he gestured for his son to approach.
Both Theon and Jon hung back, each one unsure of where he stood. One a bastard and the other a stranger in the place he called home.
"My Lords Ellwood and Aylwin." Ned gestured to the two men standing next to him.
All three men nodded stiffly, the intricate steps that one had to follow in society made sure people kept and knew their place.
"What is it that you would have done to my sister?" Aylwin questioned, his eyebrow arching as he addressed Robb, all pleasantries forgotten.
"I..." Robb muttered, he was suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "I am unfamiliar with your sister, my Lord."
"Unfamiliar?" Aylwin replied knowingly. "She left me the impression that you were acquainted, all a misunderstanding I'm sure."
"She was the one..." Robb stuttered before shooting Theon a dirty look.
"She is normally quite well dressed and quite well behaved." Aylwin cracked a smile, before laughing, "She assures me it was entirely her fault."
"Yes," Robb agreed before quickly correcting himself. "No! We should have seen her for a woman of noble birth."
"A woman of noble birth who was riding alone," Lord Ellwood interrupted. "Is not a common sight, you'd be forgiven for thinking she had stolen herself a horse. My niece has chosen a fine time to dig her heels in."
"Dig her heels in my Lord?" Robb questioned before he could stop himself.
Lord Ellwood fixed him a look, his brow raised quizzically.
"Forgive me my Lord, I should not have asked."
Robb resisted the urge to kick at the ground, as his father and Lord Ellwood continued through the bailey.
"My sister has always put duty first," Nathaniel suddenly spoke up as he fell into step with Robb. "But I think she's suddenly realised that she doesn't always have to like it."
"What else is there but duty and honour?" Robb rejoined.
"Sometimes what you want, what you should do and what is required of you, take three very different paths. Women are forever finding this out and most bear it. Mia, she's questioning it for now." Nathaniel smiled wanly before clapping his hands together in an attempt to regain his spirits. "Come Stark, show me your house!"
Hermia fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, her hair was swept back from her face in one elegant braid. Walking nervously beside her Aunt they stopped before the high table, dropping into the lowest curtsey she could muster Hermia hoped the Greyjoy boy was looking. Farm hand her arse.
"I want to apologise for earlier," a voice whispered in her ear as a hand took her by the elbow.
"I believe you thought me a harmless girl my Lord," Hermia countered, quickly flicking her head to the right. A pair of blue eyes full of heart felt sincerity hit her like a blow to the gut.
"I didn't wish to offend you my Lady," Robb tried again; hoping his words would not be met by laughter.
"You did not," Hermia reassured, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
"But I did, you are clearly not a peasant girl." Robb replied stoutly, he was trying to apologise, play the gallant knight and she wasn't letting him.
"Because you see me wear a fine dress and drop a curtsey? Is there not more to being of high birth?" Hermia questioned fiercely before her shoulders sagged, as she veritably deflated before Robb's eyes. "But then as my position is merely an accident of birth there is nothing to separate me from anyone else except my clothes."
"Honour?" Robb replied. "We are taught to live by a code, to follow our oaths and do what is right."
"Honour is not exclusive to those of high station, my Lord." Hermia posited softly, her green eyes meeting his blue. "The Mad King was of high birth was he not, yet he was without honour? And Jon Snow, many would say he is of the lowest station, yet he has honour in him, no?"
"But if we were to believe different," Robb started slowly. "If we were to accept that every man, woman and child are the same, how do we go on living the way we do? Keeping those of low birth under foot?"
"We wouldn't," Hermia shot back. "But we do, and so serfs swear loyalty to their landowners. Knights in turn, pledge their allegiance to their lords. And the lords have their banner men and so swear fealty to the King."
"You seem to have put a lot of thought into this," Robb said off hand.
"No more than anyone else my Lord," Hermia gave a small smile; her mask was back in place. For a few precarious hours that day she had let it slip.
"Are we not to talk of it anymore?" Robb prodded, unsure of why the girl's mood had suddenly shifted.
"Would you not rather talk about the weather? Or Winterfell or your dire wolves?"
"The weather?" the young lord spluttered, a large smile cracking across his features.
Hermia bit her lip; it was a warm smile, a kind smile. It wouldn't do her any good if she fell love with Robb Stark, which would make her life her far too easy.
"Well if you want to keep talking about the state of Westeros' society, you'll have to at some point question why I, of all people, have been invited to your Father's name day."
"Our fathers fought together with King Robert," Robb replied easily.
"Then my brother surely would have been enough to represent our House?" Hermia challenged, her eyebrow raised.
"Didn't want to leave you out?" Robb hedged, his eyes searching Hermia's face.
"Nathaniel never had that problem as a child," Hermia replied. Taking a sip of wine she breathed deeply before the words fell from her lips in a rush of self-loathing. "I do sit on a large dowry."
"You think?" His voice cracked, he hadn't thought much about marriage, only that it was a veiled future full of real responsibility and children.
"One of many advantageous matches House Stark could make," Hermia stated coldly as she rose from her seat. "Excuse me my Lord, I need some air."
Hermia suddenly found herself fighting off tears, the harsh reality that she would never marry for love or even because her future husband liked any of her qualities hurt. Instead her marriage bed would be decided in a closed room by old men, the amount of land and money she could bring would determine how comfortable it would be.
"My lady," Robb's apologetic voice rang out to her.
Turning to face him Hermia bowed slightly, she wasn't about to break down in front of him – that would never do.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Robb whispered.
"You need not worry my Lord, I have never been under any illusions regarding my fate. I will do my duty, I am sure I will love my children enough."
"You don't think you'd love me?" Robb asked before he could stop himself.
Hermia let off small giggle, her unshed tears only just distorting the throaty sound. "I am sure I would love you very well my Lord, but knowing my luck I shall marry an old, fat man who will not talk to me."
"You might get lucky, you might get me." Robb teased, humour returning to his voice, the ghost of his beautiful smile flitting across his features.
"For some reason my Lord, I think you'll be one to follow your heart." Hermia reached out and placed her hand across his chest. "For all your talk of duty, I think you find honour in being true to yourself, not what others would have of you."
With her hand still placed across his gradually rising and falling chest, Hermia felt a pull somewhere in the vicinity of her navel. Perhaps she would allow herself one more hurrah before adopting her meek smile.
Robb's blue eyes bore into hers, the would be Lord Winterfell stood proud in front of her. Tall and handsome he had the makings of a good man. Propelling herself forward she placed a kiss square on his lips, his mouth yielded under hers and for a second she let herself dream. But all to quickly she found herself pulling backwards.
"My Lord." Hermia dipped once more into a curtsey before sweeping back into the hall, a secret smile playing across her face.
The old woman set aside her sewing. The recklessness of her youth was firmly confined to memory. Robb Stark preserved forever in her thoughts.
A/N: First foray into the fandom, for now this a one shot, but feel free to let me know what you think.