Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Disney/Dreamworks/Game of Thrones characters, locations, and/or terms. I am just a humble weaver unraveling cloths of stories to thread together and create a new pattern. If you would like to read the info and details of this fic, you may go to the Preface section. Thank you!

VANELLOPE

In the cold, quiet morning, the maester's words drifted in a garbled speech through Vanellope's one ear and out the other. A shiver ran down her back, and she pulled her cloak closer to her. It did not matter if she was here; no one could have remembered that little princess from that small rebellion. As ward to Lord Harold Dal, however, she was required to attend. She pouted.

"Will this take long?" she heard the gruff accented voice of the husband of Lord Dal's daughter. She glanced sideways, seeing the massive form of Ser Shrek bent close to Lady Fiona's. "Me arse is itchin' in this fool's suit." Vanellope bit her lip to stop herself from giggling out loud.

"About half an hour more," Fiona replied, her tone even, her face impassive, but a hint of a smile showing at the corner of her lips.

"Remind me again who that is and why we're here." Shrek said, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.

Vanellope edged closer to the couple. Frankly, she herself didn't know either. She may have been cared for at House Dal, but no servant, let alone maester, educated her about Animare. A girl of nine is supposed to learn sewing and embroidery and singing, as Lord Harold put it. All her knowledge about the world around her she got from eavesdropping.

Lady Fiona nodded to the man beside the speaking maester. He had graying auburn hair and teary blue eyes. "That's Lord Florian, Lord of the Southern Isles. He is the Master of Laws on the king's small council. Or was, as I've heard some say. The loss of his wife seems to have prompted him to leave the position."

"And that's his wife."

"Yes."

Vanellope moved even closer to the two so she could see in between the guards standing in front of them. There, in a raised glass coffin, lay the body of a beautiful woman, hands folded over evergreen flowers as red as her lips, ebony hair arranged in waves around her, pale skin seemingly glowing in the morning light.

"Snow White," Vanellope whispered the name in unison with Fiona.

"The last surviving descendant of House White. Songs tell of her ethereal beauty, how lords from all over the land had fawned over her and begged to be her betrothed, but her stepmother refused them all, believing herself to be the fairest, and plotted to kill her stepdaughter. Lord Florian was the one who saved Lady Snow. Those are their children."

They're not children anymore, Vanellope thought to herself upon seeing the three grown lords and lady beside their father.

"Girl's the youngest?"

Fiona shook her head. "Diantha is the eldest. Eddur comes after. He is the heir to the Southern Isles, and the Lord of the Woodlands. The youngest is Anthos, the black-haired one."

Shrek picked at his teeth. "Aye. Any other people of interest in this lot?"

The lady craned her neck. "I see Lord Hofferson there with his daughter, the blond girl in braids. He is the commander of the City Watch of Thronos. He must have been sent to represent the king. Chanda and Harisha of House Mu, the muscular lady with long, fiery hair, and the golden head next to her. Lady Aurora and Ser Phillip, you met them the other day."

"I don't remember 'em." Shrek yawned widely, and Fiona smacked him on the arm. This time Vanellope couldn't help but snort.

"The little lady thinks we're funny." The large man took one step, towering over her like one of those large oak trees in the Farlands woods.

Vanellope stared up at him, unflinching. She only met Ser Shrek three moons ago, but she had a grudging respect for him, perhaps because he was a foreign common folk who seemed the only one who didn't want or expect anything of her. "You don't scare me."

"Don't laugh." Fiona warned her husband, taking him by the arm. Shrek smirked and straightened himself, clapping Vanellope on the back. She stumbled forward and almost lost her balance.

"Manners, Vanellope," Lord Harold hissed from her other side. "You are not some halfwit from across the sea."

Tensing, Vanellope stole a quick glance at Ser Shrek. He was smiling, so sure of himself, but Fiona's lips were pursed, her eyes on the coffin.

"Harold," came the calm voice of Lady Lillian, his wife. "A funeral is no place for such behavior. Have at least an ounce of respect for the dead."

"I'd rather have respect for the living, thank you," said Lord Harold, and Vanellope could almost hear the groans from his wife and his daughter. A short, portly man of his age shouldn't bother picking a fight with someone like Ser Shrek.

"If the livin' have anything worth respecting." Shrek retorted.

Fiona dug her fingers into his arm. "Enough."

"Or perhaps respect for the living who are grieving the dead."

Vanellope spun around in surprise, although she should have known that voice by now. She had forgotten that Lady Maylis Fay stood behind them, her plump face twisted into her bizarre grin that never seemed to say if she was happy or not. Beside her, her son Brendan, House Dal's captain of the guard, eased back on his heels, hand on the hilt of his sword. He tossed his head, his wavy golden locks falling just so, framing his chiseled jaw.

"The ogre knows no bounds." Brendan said, just loud enough that the persons in the immediate vicinity turned to look. "He would rather rampage through the ceremony than observe our way of mourning."

"Perhaps I should rampage me fist through yer face," Shrek cracked his knuckles.

"Is something the matter, my lords and ladies?" Silence descended on them as Lord Eddur Desmond approached them.

"My apologies," Harold bowed his head. "We have a foreigner in our presence. He knows not our customs, so we are trying to explain them to him."

Shrek shook his head. "I perfectly understand what is goin' on, me lordliness, but these rightful bastards be underestimating me."

Lord Eddur looked him up and down before speaking. "Such language. We do not throw the word bastard around like common trash. Maybe it is best if you would refrain from using it so in the future. We would very much like you to stay, but I see that you are distressing the ladies at the back." He turned to Harold. "Apologies, Lord Dal, but we would like to escort him," Lord Eddur nodded to Shrek, "to the edge of the forest."

"I would beg for your pardon, my lord," Harold bowed, and Vanellope saw the slightest hint of a smirk. "But I could not possibly object to such a request."

Sighing, Lord Eddur addressed the guards standing close by. "Commander, kindly escort the Ser."

"I shall join him," Fiona spoke, and Harold looked at her incredulously. "Father, mother."

Lady Lillian nodded her consent, the light going out from her eyes. Vanellope's gaze followed the husband and wife in between the guards as they walked to the back of the gathering. Lord Eddur excused himself and returned to his place beside his father.

"That was rash, even for you, Harold," Lillian whispered. "He is our son now."

"Vanellope is more of my child to me than that ogre ever is or will be." Harold put his arm around Vanellope, but she shrugged him off.

"You only met him three moons ago," she said. "By right he is more of a child of yours than I will ever be."

A soft giggle came from the back. Lady Maylis leaned forward, in between Vanellope and Harold, speaking just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "The little lady is reading up on law. No wonder Fiona found such a… man. The girls of your house are given too much freedom."

Lord Harold flushed, his face livid. "She shall be reprimanded."

Vanellope gritted her teeth. Lady Maylis may only be the mother of the lord of House Fay, a sworn house to House Dal, but what hold did the woman have over Lord Harold Dal?

A/N: The reason why Vanellope's name is not von Schweetz: I actually forgot she had a canon surname, but looking at it, it didn't seem to fit in with the other names, which is weird considering this is a hodge podge of movies with different naming systems. Same goes with North's surname of St. North.