Merilyn tossed the piece of wood towards the river again, watching Luna chase after it tirelessly. A chill was settling along the ground, bringing the grey fog that haunted, or protected, the North. The King would be arriving on such a beautiful day, she thought wryly to herself, glancing habitually towards the horizon as if expecting the court of King's Landing to suddenly appear in her home of Winterfell. She smiled as her direwolf appeared in front of her silently and wished she could learn Luna's subtlety.
"Mer!" A voice called across the river, behind her, "Merilyyyyyn!" The voice jumped several octaves with each emphasis upon her name. She rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently at her older brother's calling.
"I'm here, Robb," she called and saw him appear suddenly from the trees.
He smiled at her, "Jon bet me I couldn't find you."
"If I didn't want to be found, you wouldn't have," she huffed airily, "You're not done teaching Bran archery, yet? No one learns that quickly."
"No one besides Arya," Robb fell into step beside her as they trampled their way through the forest, "She's purposely infuriating Bran to the point of giving up on archery forever. He asked for a break from today's lessons, anyway."
Merilyn laughed, "Arya should've been the boy and Bran the girl. He seems to enjoy watching the loom well enough."
"Aye," Robb said sadly and she turned to him.
"What's wrong, Robb?" His step faltered and he returned her look.
"You always know when something's up," he paused and kicked a stone, "Bran saw his first execution today, a deserter from the Wall, rambling about White Walkers and dead Wildings. He did well, no flinching or feeling ill. Father was proud. It was sad though, knowing that Bran is old enough to see such things."
"You saw your first execution at seven, brother. Bran is three namedays older than that," they resumed walking without conference, "Did you believe the deserter was a mad man? White Walkers have been gone for a thousand years according to Septa Mordane."
Robb scoffed, "Of course, he was mad, Mer. White Walkers are gone and are never returning, you know that."
"'Tis still strange to think about, White Walkers. Don't let Rickon hear anything about this, Robb. He had night terrors for weeks after Theon's last tale of the Wildlings. I want him to hear nothing of this White Walkers nonsense."
Robb laughed, "You sound more like Mother every day, little sister."
She rolled her eyes and ignored whatever else he said. Robb was only older than her by ten months. Many people in Winterfell believed them to be twins in their natures, though they looked nothing alike, what with Robb's dark hair and northern countenance and Merilyn's Tully eyes and light red hair. They both had the seriousness of their father and no-nonsense attitude of their mother. Quiet and prideful, the two eldest siblings of the Stark household were the responsible, simple ones who favored the other above anyone else in the North. This was plain fact. While Robb embraced his brothers wholly, including Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy – both brothers by bond instead of full blood, and Merilyn cherished her perfect lady Sansa and rebellious Arya, they always tended towards the other as playmates when young and confidantes and advisors as they aged.
"Why do you think King Robert is making the journey North?" She asked suddenly, stroking Luna's fur as they stopped by the Godswood.
Robb shrugged and turned away slowly, looking towards Winterfell's keep, "I don't think anyone knows for certain."
"But there have been rumors, have there not?"
"Mer," he sighed, "there are always rumors surrounding what the Court does. What exactly are you asking?"
She looked at her feet, at Luna, at the Godswood, and then finally at his feet, "there's been a rumor of a marriage being arranged. Between you and one of the court ladies. Surely, you've heard that."
"Aye, but that's not a surprise. Think about it. I'm going on seventeen, heir to Winterfell, of course, marriage is inevitable, dear sister."
She rolled her eyes, "But a woman from the South?"
"Mother was from the South. She adapted well to Winterfell. It's just a rumor; Mer. Father will let me pick my Lady Wife when the time comes. We'll find out the reason for their visit soon enough. Why don't we go back and watch the chaos unfold? There's no one more off-put by this visit than Mother." He smiled and gestured back to the castle. She grinned and called for Luna and they three set back off for the structure that they called home.
The arrival was gaudy and loud, in Merilyn's opinion. Southern women were vastly overdone and the men were arrogant looking and too well groomed. The King himself was fat and irritatingly loud, and looked over Winterfell with an air of familiarity that he should not have had. Her father greeted the King happily, while Catelyn Stark hid her contempt for the King under the surface well.
When the King and Eddard Stark had retreated to the tombs of Winterfell, to visit Aunt Lyanna Robb had whispered, Catelyn had flown into her gracious host mode, showing everyone into the Great Hall and directing people to rooms. Jon crept up behind Merilyn and startled her by whispering in her ear.
"You see how the Queen looks upon our home as if she smells something foul in the air? It has been said she despises Winterfell for being the home of a dead woman the King still loves."
The woman Jon was observing did look on at the scene distastefully, as if she held everything about her in contempt and Merilyn felt an immediate dislike for her. Queen Cersei was both tall and beautiful, everything the stories they were told of King's Landing said. The blonde Lannister hair shone in a pile atop her head and her dress fit her perfectly, lining etched with gold speaking of the Lannister fortune, both legacies announced in one glance at the Queen.
"How could you possibly know the Queen's dislikes, Jon?" She looked up at her half-brother, who looked more Stark than any of her, other siblings, with fondness. Even though her own mother despised him, she could never bring herself to feel likewise and loved him the same as Rickon or Sansa.
He smiled, "I do hear a lot more sitting with the men of Winterfell than you do sitting with your Septa and Lady Mother, Little Mer."
"I am older than you. You cannot keep calling me 'little' when I am older than you, Jon."
"That has never been proven, little girl," he grinned widely, "Anyway, look, there's the Imp!" He pointed across the room at the man Merilyn assumed to be Tyrion Lannister, the half man of King's Landing.
"Hush, Jon, don't name him that. I hear he loathes that title." She looked at the small man who was standing by several of the horses. He was observing his surroundings, Merilyn concluded, without being obvious about it. Not that anyone was paying him much attention anyway. He, at least, didn't look about Winterfell as if was a dung heap to be avoided like his sister Queen had done.
A man with golden hair and a haughty face strode up to Tyrion and leaned down to converse with him. She looked at Jon and opened her mouth to ask his identity but he cut her off.
"Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother, heir to Casterly Rock and Captain of the Kingsguard. He's the one they call Kingslayer."
She raised an eyebrow, remembering the story of the Knight who had killed the Mad King, "I thought Kingsguard wore gold cloaks? His is white."
Jon shrugged, "Maybe it is dirty. He doesn't seem the type to abide mud upon his clothes."
Merilyn giggled into her hand, "None of the southern men do, Jon. Maybe there is no dirt where they come from?"
Jon laughed quietly with her, "I'm sure they find it gravely insulting anytime a speck appears upon their persons without permission."
She shushed him as both Lannister men looked over hearing their giggling. The taller one, Jaime, she remembered, looked at her oddly and Tyrion glanced from her back to his brother. Jon suddenly took her arm and led her into the castle. She felt curious about the Lannister brothers suddenly, but felt it fade as Arya collided with her as Bran chased closely behind her. She scolded the two and stopped their fighting, resuming her everyday life comfortably.
Eddard Stark looked at Robert Baratheon in complete shock. His brain ticked, trying desperately to comprehend what his good friend had just suggested, was it even a suggestion? It wasn't possible.
"Surely you aren't serious? She's hardly old enough for marriage."
Robert waved a hand, "Nonsense, she's sixteen. She's been old enough for two years, Ned. It's a good match."
"A good match? He's in the Kingsguard, Your Grace, they're sworn to take no wife, if I'm correct?"
"I've released him. He's heir to Casterly Rock and Tywin won't last long. I need a way to control the Lannisters, to have a better hold, Ned. You understand, don't you?"
Ned shook his head, "You're married to a Lannister! That's the perfect way to control someone, marrying directly into their family."
"Tywin wants to marry him to the Tyrells. That's the richest family besides the Lannisters, and the Throne is already struggling not to become in debt to either of them. A marriage between the two would cut all power I still have. I need him to be married to a family I trust not to manipulate the Crown further. Starks have been and always will be my allies."
"It will kill her mother to send her away, to send her south. Merilyn isn't accustomed to your Southern world. She's a Stark, the North runs through her veins. It isn't smart."
"It's brilliant. And you know it, Ned. A marriage between House Stark and House Lannister is brilliant. And then, a few years from now, your other daughter will come of age and House Baratheon and Stark will unite."
Ned blinked slowly, "You're not giving me a choice, are you?"
Robert Baratheon clapped him on the back once, "Let's go up to feast. We can announce it in the morning, and then make for Casterly Rock to see this through."
"It will be here, in Winterfell. That much I will demand, your Grace."
Robert shrugged, "As long as this happens, Ned, I have no qualms."
"I will talk to Catelyn," Ned looked at the tombs surrounding them, "I will talk to Catelyn and then give you our answer."