Chapter 3:
"I don't see the point in this!" she yelled for the hundredth time. Isabel was tired, cranky and furious at her father. She had been confined to her rooms on the Queen's namesday. Instead of being able to attend one of the grandest feasts in all of Kings Landing, her father forced her to studyon the history of her house.
"I already know our history. By memory!" she continued complaining, "Why must you make me recite this again? On the Queen's names-day of all days? If this is some punishment for shooting that arrow at Sir Barristan Selmy, I swear it was an accident!"
Her father, who was sitting across from her put down his book and looked at her sternly in her eyes, "This is important my child."
She folded her arms in frustration. "How can this be more important that the Queen's namesday? I heard that there was going to be firecrackers that the King specifically imported from Lys!"
He sighed, but could not be enlightened at his daughter's naivety. "You are still young Isabel, barely ten summers old. But you must be wary of the things that tempt you here. Things are not what they seem, you must always remember that."
She furrowed her brows in confusion. "I don't understand."
"As you grow older, people will begin to expect things from you. And you must be ready to lead our people and our lands, which is why you must study your history. You must examine it, criticize it and learn from it. You must know it as if it ran through your veins. There will come a time in your life where you must decide whether your own selfish desires are more important to the good of our people and our realm."
Isabel let her arms fall to her side and she slouched in her chair. She knew what was expected of her; she knew it the moment she was a small child.
"Is that why you're making me marry Robb? Because it's expected of me? What if I don't want to? What if I want to travel to the free cities?" she muttered.
Her father softened his expression and gently patted her on the shoulders. "You will grow to love him, in time. My own marriage with your mother was not of my choice, but I came to love her with all my heart."
She gave a slight huff out of pure stubbornness, "I doubt it. The last time we saw each other, we wanted to rip each other throats out."
He gave a light chuckle, "And just you wait…that may blossom out of love."
"I doubt it," she replied.
Jon Arryn let out a huge sigh, "There will come a time in the future when you will understand all of this. Great things will come for you, and you must be ready to face it."
A tuck at the bottom of her cloak shook Isabel out of her memories, and she looked down to see Myrcella Baratheon seeking her attention. They have left king's landing about three weeks prior, and the journey was one that was an entire nightmare. The king would often stop to hunt, or to enjoy a feast in the countryside that would delay them for hours. Cersei would often call for her to keep her company when Jamie wasn't around to entertain her, as well as her two youngest children was constantly seeking her attention out of pure boredom and restlessness. The only time Isabel could find solitude was the rare time she was able to ride out alone, away from the royal family. "What is it little princess?"
"Will there be any children to play at Winterfell?" she asked innocently.
Isabel gave a small smile, "I imagine there should be. From what I remember there's two young ladies, and two young lads about you and your brother's age. Don't you worry, my princess I'm sure you'll get along with them just fine."
Isabel was unaware that Cersei was observing her with a smile – that very smile that Isabel could never tell if it was truly sincere. "I imagine you making a fine mother one day Isabel," she mused. "Have you any thoughts of marriage? If no longer the Stark boy, then someone else?"
Isabel hesitated to answer. What answers are you searching for Cersei Lannister? Are you seeking an alliance between two great houses? Do you have your eyes set on the Vale?
"I don't imagine myself marrying anytime soon truthfully. My father's body is not yet cold, and the Vale is now without a Lord. I must look towards my own people first before my own happiness."
"The Vale has the young Lord Robert Arryn."
She tensed at that statement, but quickly made herself relax. "Half of my bannermen would think otherwise," she said truthfully. And it was the simple truth. There were those who always remained loyal to her and recognized herself as the rightful heir; those who fought with her father during Robert's Rebellion.
"And yet it is a long hard battle to reclaim what's rightfully yours."
"What are you suggesting Cersei?" she snapped. Isabel rarely was so informal with her, but she was getting impatient.
"The house of Arryn is one of the Great Houses in Westeros and direct descendants of the Andal line. You yourself were born of pure blood. Your mother was an Arryn, unlike Lysa. You do have the better claim, yet you do not have enough resources nor power to battle her. Lysa has her own family, and the Starks for her sister is Lady of Winterfell. What do you have? A handful of bannermen, maybe some sell swords? Your merchants from the Free Cities?"
The words stung her to her core, because she knew it was true. She was no warrior, and she had little to no influence outside her father's bannermen. The two women looked sternly at each other, and instantly knew what the other was thinking. "And a marriage between the Lannisters and myself…" she began carefully, "you would support my claim? Why would you do that? What do you get out of it?"
"An alliance," she simply stated.
You mean kiss your father's arse? Isabel suddenly felt light headed and didn't feel like being in the carriage anymore. She motioned for the carriage to stop and called for her sworn knight, Ser Tommas to retrieve her horse. Isabel turned around to the Queen who now looked like she had won a mental battle between the two women. "An interesting proposition, my Queen," she said coolly. "I mustn't be rash in this decision, for all our sakes."
"Oh don't take too long though. This agreement has an expiry date," she said triumphantly.
Lysa Arryn watched her son play with his wooden toy horse, worrying that he might hurt himself. From the moment she had given birth to him, she had never stopped worrying over him. He was the only good thing that came out of her marriage with Jon, and she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to protect her only son.
They had barely settled into the Eyrie and yet each night spent here, she felt safer and further away from the troubles and treachery that lurked in every corner at the Red Keep. She hated Jon for bringing her there, and she hated Jon for never loving Robert like he loved Isabel. She hated Jon for never loving her.
The name of his eldest daughter made her blood boil. Her mere existence mocked her own marriage and mocked her son. Isabel also never accepted Lysa as her mother, and never bothered to hide it from the general public. She made a mockery out of her, and Lysa prayed everyday for the gods to punish her for making her life at the Red Keep so miserable.
And that day would soon come. But for now, she was back at the Eyrie. She was safe now.
But why am I still worrying?
She felt towards her own husband, but she had no choice. It was the only way, she told herself. She fidgeted in her seat, wondering if the truth about her involvement would ever be discovered.
No, she convinced herself. Petyr assured me. He promised me.
She fidgeted in her chair and let herself relax as her eyes watched her perfect son playing wistfully with his wooden horse.
I am safe now. I am Regent of the Vale, and my son, Lord of the Vale. No one will challenge me. Not even her.
It felt like ages before they reached the gates of Winterfell. One month. One Bloody long month. But they were finally here. The cold winds immediately pricked her skin, forgetting what little tolerance she had for the Northern weather. She drew her cloak closer to her body and she craned her neck to see a small crowd of people patiently waiting for them to arrive. She immediately recognized the Stark family, standing proud like true Northerners.
She jumped off her horse, as King Robert immediately darted towards his old friend. Isabel found herself distracted as she looked around, trying to remember the last time she was here. Must be when I was about fourteen, I suppose. Seems like ages ago.
"Isabel!" roared the King, motioning for her to greet the Stark family.
She strode over and met Ned Stark's eyes which bore such sadness, it almost brought tears to her eyes. He grieves for his foster father.
"Isabel," he said softly. "You've grown so much since the last laid my eyes upon you."
He drew her into a hug and whispered in her ears, "I'm so sorry about your father. This can't be easy for you."
She gave me a small smile, "You grieve for him as much as I do. He was like a father to you."
She moved to her left and kissed her step-mother's kin on both cheeks, before she too was expressing her condolences. "How is my sister doing?"
"She left King's Landing before I could see her," she said hiding her resentment. "I suppose she grieves in her own way."
They were interrupted when the King, growing impatient yelled for Ned to accompany to the crypt, while Cersei walked away to lead her children to their quarters.
Her eyes fell upon the Stark children, and in particular Robb, who was staring intently at her, unsure of what to do or say. He had grown up, she admitted to herself. He was at least half a head taller than her, and was even now growing a beard just like his father. He was no longer the boy she remembered, but someone entirely different.
"Robb," she said fondly.
"My Lady," he replied formally, before taking her hand and lightly pecking it.
"No need to be so formal Robb," she said humorously.
She saw him tightened his throat before letting himself relax and gave her a small smile in return. She turned her attention to the other children, who all eager to greet her.
"Oh you must tell me about what it's like in the South. The fashion, the knights, the ladies!" squealed Sansa.
"You must go riding with me," cried Bran.
"Me too!" added Arya.
"I want you to see Lady! Our father got us direwolves!"
"And Shaggydog! Oh Isabel, you must meet Shaggydog!" piped Rickon.
Overwhelmed, Isabel could do nothing but laugh, agreeing to every one of their requests. The questions were non-stop, from wanting tales about the Free Cities, to court gossip and tourneys.
"Alright now, off with you all. Give Isabel some room to breathe," cried Jon. He motioned for them to shoo and told them to bother her during that evening's feast.
"Thank you," she said breathlessly. "I'm not used to such excitement."
Jon too, had grown up. He looked nothing like Robb, though they shared the same father. Jon looked like a true Northerner, with his dark eyes, broad shoulders and dark hair. He too, had grown up into a man. Like old friends, she linked arms with Jon and walked in the courtyard, recalling their childhood memories. Isbael noticed that Robb had mysteriously disappeared amongst his siblings' excitement. Catching on, Jon reassured her, "It's been a long time since he last saw you. I guess he doesn't know how to take your return. Afterall…you sort of broke his young boy's heart."
She winced at his statement. "About that…"
"Please…do me and favour and don't you start telling me your secrets. I've had enough of that from my brother. But what I can tell you is that he never took his eyes off you the moment you rode in through those gates."
Her stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn't expect to feel this way. Truthfully, she wasn't expecting to feel anything at all. It's what she was taught. She had known her whole life she was to marry Robb before her mother died. There were no surprises, no courting…nothing. But now, she felt…well, she didn't know what she well, for the feeling felt completely foreign to her. Her mind suddenly went rushing back to the memories of the day she wrote the letter announcing the end of her betrothal.
'You did what?" yelled her father.
"I ended it. I sent the raven today," she said defiantly.
"That is not your call!" he yelled angrily. "You will write another letter, explaining that you were rash and didn't know what you were thinking this instance. I'll not have you ruining your mother's wishes by some stupid ill-thought decision you've made."
"Don't you dare bring my mother into this!" she snapped back. "My mother knew for ages that I never wanted to marry that Stark boy. This marriage was your dream! Not hers! Or mine! You don't even care what I want!"
A pain reached her cheek followed by a stinging throb before she realized that she had been struck across the cheek. The tears started forming around her eyes and she glared at her father with such hatred.
"Isabel...what is this about," he said, his voice softened yet remained angry.
"Don't," she snapped, on the brink of crying. "I hate it here. I hate your wife. I hate that my mother is dead. I hate that you won't let me return to the Eyrie. I hate that that woman believes she has the right to meddle in my business. I hate that you side with her!"
Her ramblings brought her down to her knees and she found herself sitting on the floor and sobbing uncontrollably. Jon scooped her up and brought her to her room, stroking her head trying to comfort his daughter.
'Why did you end the engagement?" he asked one last time.
She remained silent for a moment, trying to compose herself, trying to stop the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks. "I cannot marry him. I cannot marry anyone."
Jon was confused for a moment, but decided to press on. "Do you love him?"
She again, remained silent. Jon could tell she was fighting an internal battle and in that instance he knew she had feelings for the Stark boy, yet something had caused her to end her chance at happiness.
"Lysa is pregnant with your son. He threatens everything that I believed to be mine. If I marry, I will relinquish my rights to him. I will lose everything. You said yourself that one day I would have to sacrifice my own happiness for duty. And so I did. It had to be done!"
Jon hugged his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. "My foolish daughter. Nothing will ever be taken from you, I promise you that. No one will ever take what's rightfully yours."
