It never was a good thing when the King himself summoned her. The last time it had happened, she had faced the lash for impudence against Prince Joffery. She hesitantly stepped into the guest chambers that were given to the King during their stay.
"There you are, Reagan! Come in, come in!" The King was not alone.
Lord and Lady Stark sat at the table with him, looking both serious and slightly comforting. At least it meant she wasn't looking at a beating. She sat down glancing at her hands very often.
"Now, look, girl," the King's voice became hard, "I'm having a lot of trouble with you in King's Landing. You're a determined troublemaker and the Court has a hard enough time dealing with everything on top of this. Now, I've asked Lord and Lady Stark to reach an arrangement and they've willingly accepted." At this, Lady Stark nodded not unkindly.
Reagan looked uncertain as to what was about to happen. Cersei had been threatening her for a few years now with the idea of marriage to old men of lesser statuses. She steeled herself inwardly.
She wasn't above begging for mercy in that area.
"An arrangement?" She questioned, her voice hardly a whisper.
Here Lady Stark broke in, kindly, "We wish to house you here at Winterfell. My girls could use a companion from the South. And the Lord King has thought upon our wish and has granted it."
Reagan felt relief at Lady Stark's words. Even though a part of her was fairly certain the woman was lying, she would rather hear that she was being left at Winterfell than forced into a marriage.
The King was obviously waiting for her reaction and she managed to stammer out a thank you and how she was honored, while her mind was whirling. What could staying in Winterfell mean? It had been sixteen years since the King last saw Lord Stark. She might not see her family for that long. Not that she had much of one, but her Uncle and Myrcella…
"Well, that's settled then." The King dismissed her with a wave of her hand and she stepped outside, stunned.
Maybe the lash would've been better.
She heard the voices continue to talk inside the room as she put one foot in front of the other on her way down the steps. She shivered again and wrapped her arms around her.
As she reached the bottom of the stairway, she heard a voice yelling and walked into the room seeing Arya shaking her finger at Nymeria.
It was still disconcerting to see as huge of an animal as Nymeria in the Hall. But Arya was speaking so sternly to the animal, Reagan felt the urge to laugh. The girl in question looked up and smiled at Reagan.
"I'm trying to teach her to sit, while I eat at the table. She gets up and wanders though." Arya sighed, "I tried to sneak out with everyone else to go hunting, but Nymeria gave me away with her barking."
Reagan was shocked that Arya was talking to her in such a casual manner. The only people who did that now were Myrcella and her Uncle. She smiled at the girl.
"I doubt that they will find much of anything, my lady. The only decent hunter among the lot from Kings Landing is the King and he's been out of practice for a while now."
Arya laughed and then stopped suddenly as she heard footfalls down the corridor. She nodded a goodbye towards Reagan and then took off running, with Nymeria closely behind her.
Reagan looked around bemused and saw the Septa of Winterfell enter the hallway with Myrcella and Sansa following close by.
The redheaded daughter of Winterfell seemed the exact opposite of the girl Reagan had just watch run off, though Reagan had spoken naught a word to her. Sansa was watching every movement Myrcella made and praising her often. Myrcella responded like the Princess she was, with the grace and kindness that Reagan loved so much about her.
As they walked into the room, Myrcella saw her and smiled widely, "Reagan, come meet Lady Sansa!"
While Sansa appeared to make no connection, the Septa looked upon Reagan with a disapproving glare. Reagan curtsied low to Sansa and murmured her greetings. Before she had to stand anymore of the Septa's annoyance, she gave excuse and left the hall quickly, leaving Myrcella and Sansa to their lessons.
She wrapped her cloak more closely and shivered again as she exited the hold.
The grey fortress of Winterfell was far less intimidating than the Keep of Kings Landing and much more rustic. Reagan smiled slightly to herself wondering how Cersei was faring in such a place.
Once upon a time, Reagan used to wish that Cersei could be her own mother. The beautiful Queen loved her children dearly and Reagan used to wish for a mother like that every night before she would fall asleep.
But Reagan was a constant reminder that Jaime Lannister had loved another woman. Or had least been to bed with another. Reagan knew nothing of her mother, only that even the slightest mention of her would drive Cersei into a screaming frenzy and Reagan would end up being punished for a created slight. Slowly as she grew, she had learned to keep her questions silent and give up her wishes for her family to treat her as such.
And now the little comfort she took in her uncle and cousin was being stripped from her as well. She couldn't really be upset about it, for getting away from King's Landing had become a dream of hers since her torment had doubled, but still it felt… lonely.
The woods outside of the Keep were silent, wrapped in a light blanket of snow that she knew was not uncommon this far North. Only her footfalls on the ground echoed in her surroundings, and as she had no real idea where she was going, she followed a worn path down past a stream. She stepped into a clearing where stood a towering oak, its leaves sparse and its branches reaching higher than any else in the forest. Reagan breathed out slowly, realizing she had stepped into the Godswood.
She knew many of the Northerners still worshiped the Olde Gods, instead of the Seven and this was where they went to pray. For some reason, it felt full of power to her. Though she'd never had much belief in the Seven, she'd accepted them as the Rulers of the Land. But here, for the first time, the Olde Gods seemed to hold actual sway on the world. The Septons need not interpret their messages as they did for the Seven, for one only had to stand in this place to know the power the Olde Gods seemed to have.
The air felt thicker on her throat and lungs. Eyes seemed to watch her steps as she tread closer to the knotted tree that had heard the desperate prayers of the faithful for thousands of years. Reagan felt an inexplicable pull to the Godswood, one that she had never felt before. She reached out with a tentative hand and placed it upon the trunk of the tree, relishing the feel of the rough bark beneath her fingertips. A wind picked up softly and blew through the wood, whispering through the few leaves a story Reagan could not understand. But even unrecognizable in language, the beauty of it was unquestionable.
"I didn't think any from the South knew of the Olde Gods, my lady."
She whirled about, bringing her hand back to her body and saw the eldest Stark standing several strides away from her at the edge of the clearing.
She inclined her head respectfully and looked at the ground docilely, "I beg pardon, my Lord. I was only curious. I had never seen a Godswood."
She felt uncomfortable standing before him, alone. She realised last night she had been rude and unladylike to the very heir of Winterfell and it was a little more difficult now that she was to be staying here. Her gaze flitted from the ground back up to him and then to Nymeria, who stood at his side, but only, it wasn't.
"Nymeria is smaller than that," she pointed towards the direwolf standing next to him, almost accusingly as if he was playing some sort of trick on her.
He laughed aloud then and she saw his entire face light up, the way her uncle's did when he was truly happy. Lord Stark certainly wasn't unhandsome. His dark auburn hair actually complimented the pale countenance of the Northerners and he stood taller than most men she knew, excepting the Hound.
"No, my lady. This is not Nymeria. This is Grey Wind, my direwolf. He is from the same litter as Nymeria, but he is quite larger."
As if Grey Wind knew they were discussing him, he walked up to Reagan who stood completely still waiting to see what he was doing. The direwolf circled her once and then sniffed the edge of her dress. He made no other noise and when he was finished nuzzled her hand once and then loped purposefully back to Robb.
Reagan watched the creature in awe, "He's quite beautiful."
"Aye, bloody useful, too. He's an excellent hunter and always knows when something goes wrong in the castle. They're all of use, really."
"All?" Reagan gasped incredulously, "How many are there?"
"Six. Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Shaggydog, Summer, and Ghost." Robb walked closer into the clearing and closer to her, but she was too amazed to really notice.
"Direwolves haven't been seen this far past the Wall in almost a thousand years, and yet you have six here?"
He laughed again at her bemused expression, "Aye, that we do. We found the litter as small pups, after their mother was killed by a stag."
"There are five Stark children, yes? So you each have one?" She knew her curiosity was less than appropriate but no one was around but Robb and her and she wanted to know.
"Six. Ghost is Jon's direwolf." Robb's smiled didn't fade, but it became more guarded, as if he was waiting for her to disagree with him, to insist that there only were five Stark children. Reagan nodded instead, feeling secretly approval that Robb accepted Jon as his brother, though others may object.
"And you each care for them all?"
He nodded and then looked out of the clearing towards Winterfell, "My lady, we should be returning. I came out here to gain but a moment's peace and now the feast is due to start soon."
Reagan's stomach clenched and she straightened her shoulders, remembering.
Public feast were some of her worst experiences. She wasn't allowed to sit at the head table, but instead sat wherever the host – or Cersei - would place her. Many times she sat among drunk Lords and wandering hands. She nodded to him and murmured her excuses, exiting the Godswood swiftly without waiting for his response or his own departure.
