A/N: Wrote this one while procrastinating! I've had a few private messages about Doran's name, as it is the name of the ruling Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell. I've named Arabelle's brother Doran because when I thought about writing her family I decided that I wanted Arabelle to have a brother much like my own, and it is as close as a Westerosi name can get to my brother's. Another chapter won't be up for a couple of weeks as I have five assignments due relatively close together, so enjoy this super long one in the meanwhile! Thanks everyone for the favourites and follows, that's what motivates me to keep writing! Please leave some feedback, let me know what you think.

four

The last couple of weeks had passed quickly. Arabelle had tutored Bran every morning after breaking their fast, and after that Maester Luwin would usually drag the boy off to his other duties. She wished she could spend all day with Stark younglings, but with the King arriving in just days Lady Stark wanted her children to exemplify their best behaviour. Catelyn was usually with Marieysa, the two an unmoving force particularly adept at planning feasts and extravagancies. Both women were Southerners married off to brooding Northern suitors and they both relished in each other's company, the two had become the greatest friends over the years. With all the women in the castle preoccupied and Arabelle being a guest, she often had little to do but follow the older boys around.

Before she had retired to bed that night, her lady mother had informed her that the royal party would arrive on the morrow. It had been enough to keep her from sleep, so deep in thought that she was constantly tossing and turning. Everything was going to change, she knew. Surely her Uncle Ned would not refuse the King, which would keep her from marrying the young prince at least. But the great Beneforts surely would not be called here for no reason? Hours had passed whilst she cycled through the possibilities in her head that surely the sun would rise in only a couple of hours. Enough she thought, sitting up and huffing in frustration.

She dropped her head in her hands, scrunching her hair in frustration. Everything was about to change. It was then that her door creaked, her eyes darting up to the dim light seeping through the door. A tall dark figure crept in after it and closed the door slowly behind them. Arabelle couldn't make out the face in the dark, but she had only one guess as to whom it was. She pulled some furs up to cover herself as her squinting eyes followed the figure. "I thought you'd be asleep." His voice was barely audible, a hint of disappointment in his tone. Arabelle stumbled; she wasn't sure what to say. "It is fairly wracking on the nerves that the King will be here tomorrow."

He approached the bed and sat next to her, their hands finding each other amongst the furs covering her bed. Arabelle smiled softly, leaning over to him and running a hand under his shirt, tracing the firm lines of his stomach. After a few seconds Jon took her wrist, lowering it. "No, Arabelle." Although just a whisper it was firm and made her cheeks redden. "S…sorry." She took her hand back, covering herself once more. "No.. Ari. Not like that."

He sighed heavily, trying to find her eyes in what little light the moon provided. "You'll one day marry some great lord, worthy of your name and you will give him your virtue. Not some bastard of the North." She could hear the sadness in his voice, a sadness she soon felt build up in her throat. "Jon…"

"I have no future, no title. Hells, if someone caught me here I'd have my head taken for your honour." He spat, but she knew it was not directed at her. He was directing it at himself. "Jon, please." She pulled him close to her and took his face in her hands, "You are so, so much more than a bastard." A stray tear fell down his cheek as he closed his eyes, bringing his hand to touch her own. "Don't let people define you as such just for circumstance of your birth. You are strong, kind and you have that damned Stark honour. You are so much more than a Northern bastard."

He leant in to her, stealing a kiss. His lips met hers with an intensity she had not felt before, a desperate passion trying to light itself. His lips parted hers and they fell back on to the bed, the furs pushing back to exposing Arabelle's form underneath. His eyes fell to her breasts, his hands soon following suit. No, he thought. He pulled back, sitting back up abruptly. "Ari…" he whispered, dropping his head between his legs. She sat up, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"I wish I could be more for you."

The King had arrived some hours after the sun had risen and immediately insisted that he go to the crypts beneath the castle to pay his respects to Ned's late, sister. Lady Lyanna. "We're been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." The fair-haired Queen had protested half-heartedly, her eyes held some measure of displeasure at her husband's decision. He had waved her off and left the royal party almost immediately. Robert was not as Arabelle had remembered as a child. The years had not been kind to him, she had thought, his black hair was greying at the sides and his beard looked quite unkempt, as well as a belly that could almost rival a barrel in size. He had departed with his brothers of heart to the crypts, leaving each family without their patriarch to settle in.

Arabelle had plaited her hair for the occasion, and her mother had even managed to get her in to a dress. She had been stopped many times just that morn by a number of people telling her how radiant she looked. When the Beneforts and Starks had fallen in to line to greet the King, she had locked eyes with Jon fleetingly, both looking away anxiously. She wanted to stand near him, to touch his hand but she was stood so far from he, and Jon being a bastard was forced to stand behind with Theon, Lord Eddard's ward.

The King had greeted Ned and Alyn first, the three laughing together at how age had been a bitch to them all. Their wives were next; both lovingly embraced with a familiarity that Arabelle hadn't expected. And then their eldest sons, Doran and Robb. They shook hands, the King commenting on Robb's Tully hair and Doran's broad shoulders. Then, Arabelle and Sansa. The daughters. "My, you're a pretty one." He had nodded to Sansa, before turning to Arabelle. "Your little fox has grown in to a beauty, Al." He smirked, kissing her hand. "Your Grace." She curtseyed; her eyes darted to the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief as he moved on to the Stark pups.

When the King and brothers had finally left, Arabelle noticed that Jon had snuck away as soon as their fathers had. She wouldn't see him for a time, she knew. Lady Catelyn would want to hide her husbands' transgression.

"Ari?" Doran looked at her, eyebrows creased with concern. "Are you alright?" It was then that she realised she had furrowed eyebrows, and her head was darting around like a curious owl. She relaxed her face and forced a smile.

"Of course, of course. Fine."

He put his arm around her shoulders and nudged her softly, "Robb and Sansa have to give the royal children the grand tour, and mother wants us to go with them." He nodded his head towards Robb and Sansa as they greeted the crowned heir and his siblings, Sansa and the prince sharing lingering looks. Robb gestured towards the twin foxes, smiling at Arabelle as he met her eye. The young prince Joffrey smiled at her too, and it made Arabelle's skin crawl. Something about him felt off, something in his eyes. He was a little southern boy, she had figured in the brief moments since he had arrived. Coddled by his riches and title. Her stomach tightened at the thought she could be wed to him. Surely it will be Sansa.

"Doran and Arabelle Benefort will be joining us, your Grace." Robb spoke firmly.

"Ah, good. I had hoped to meet Lord Benefort's children once more." The crown prince eyed her up and down, his eyes lingering at her waist. Ugh.

"It is a pleasure, your Grace. My brother and I are honoured to join your personal welcoming party." She smiled, bowing her head slightly. She was damned if she couldn't put on a good act.

"Are you the twin foxes?" Came a young but curious voice from behind the prince, a young girl of maybe ten. "Quiet, Myrcella. No-one wants to hear those stupid stories." Joffrey snapped at his younger sister. His attitude repulsed her all the more. Arabelle laughed softly, in the most ladylike manner she could manage. "That's quite alright, your Grace." She bent down to meet the girl's eye, smiling at her all the while. "We are indeed, the twin foxes. Though I don't know how it makes my brother or I any more special than others."

"Mother and Uncle Jaime are twins."

"Myrcella, I don't think Lord Doran nor fair Lady Arabelle care if others are twins. So stop being such a bother and stay quiet." Joffrey spat once more.

Arabelle's smile saddened as she saw the girl's face drop. She looked to Robb, his face was neutral but she could see abhorrence in his eyes. "Well, I think we shall get on with it then. If you would follow me, your Grace." He started, nodding ahead to indicate where they were going.

Arabelle bent over before Myrcella turned, smiling at her. "I think your curiosity is wonderful, my princess." She offered her hand and the princess gladly took it. "Now, let's show you around."

After the grand tour of Winterfell, Sansa and Arabelle had been summoned to their mothers to prepare for the feast later that night. Gods only knew what the boys were up to, but no doubt they didn't have to get pretty for the King. Catelyn had been brushing Sansa's lovely auburn hair when she had told her daughter of her potential betrothal to the prince.

"So when would we be married, soon, or would we have to wait?" The girl was practically shaking with excitement, and of course it was one of the first things she had asked.

But it was all-dependent on whether Ned was to say yes to the King's offer, Catelyn had said to her daughter. "But he would be the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms! "Sansa had protested. Catelyn's face turned sour, she didn't want to lose her husband nor her daughters. But change was coming.

Marieysa had fixed her daughters braid and placed both hands on her shoulder, smiling down at her daughter.

"And that leaves the matter of your betrothed." When she spoke those words, Catelyn looked over and smiled sincerely at Arabelle. And then she knew.

"Really? Well, don't leave me waiting." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Marieysa playfully hit her daughter. "My dear, that tone won't have any men chasing after you anytime soon."

Catelyn smiled and stood up as she finished Sansa's hair. "You are to marry Robb, Ari. Something I'm sure you'll be most agreeable to."

And honestly, she was. There was no way she could avoid marriage, as much as she would have liked. Realistically, this was the best option she thought. She was glad that she would be married to at the very least a dear friend, and happy to stay in the North, as close to her family as she could be. But it made her feel sick to her stomach when she thought of Jon. When he would find out… she mentally sighed. Married to his own brother. Gods watch over her when she would speak to him again.

Sansa turned around from her chair, a grin on her face. "We'll be sisters!" Catelyn approached Arabelle, and the girl stood up as Cat took both of her hands in her own. "I am so glad that it will be you, my dear. You are like a third daughter to me, and finally our families will be formally joined."

The woman was like a second mother to her too, and she felt as though she should be more excited that she wouldn't have to leave. "I am honoured, Aunt Cat. I will do my best to be worthy of your son."

The first hour of the feast had been a formal affair, the noble and royal families sharing a table whilst the remainder of the hall had been silent. Arabelle was sat next to Sansa and Arya, listening to Sansa wail on about her betrothed and her future as the Queen. Arya would often mock her and Arabelle had to stifle her laughter, telling the little wolf to show more respect while seated amongst the royal family.

And then after that hour, the families had spread to take their seats among their people, Sansa finding herself with Jeyne Poole, both excitedly talking of her future and Arya sitting amongst the guards, bothering them with all sorts of questions about warfare, Arabelle had figured.

Arabelle had wanted to sit with her father, but he had quickly disappeared and her mother was sat with Catelyn and the Queen. She found herself leaning against an archway, wine in hand and fingers on her lips.

She saw the King drinking, eating and fondling a kitchen maid. He was not the great King Robert of all the tales she had heard as a child. He repulsed her, juices of the meat he was eating spilling from his mouth along his beard to be licked off by the kitchenmaid.

"It's quite a grand feast."

Robb came to stand next to her, though her eyes never left the King. "What a crude man that he would disgrace his wife as such." Arabelle muttered, taking another sip of wine. "She's sitting right up there, and he's doing all of this in front of her."

"He's the King." Robb smirked, "He does what he wants."

Arabelle rolled her eyes; "If he's a King there must not be a very high standard for them."

He laughed, taking a sip of his own wine. The two stood quietly, watching and listening to the feast from their small archway. Arabelle wasn't sure what to say to him, and the wine was starting to cloud her thoughts.

"I... I assume you've heard of our betrothal." Robb broke the silence, yet as he spoke he was unable to meet her eyes.

Arabelle laughed out loud, choking slightly on her wine. "I have indeed. I'm honoured to be your bride, your future Lady Stark." She mocked a curtsey, still laughing as she leant back against the cold stone.

Robb laughed too, his laugh slowly dying off whilst his eyes never left her. "Still, I could not possibly have a more beautiful bride. I'm glad its you, Ari."

She met his eyes, bringing the wine back to her lips. He glanced away awkwardly, his eyes focusing on something else. She was light-headed and knew she probably should slow down with the wine. But she didn't.

"My Uncle Benjen is here." He smiled, his eyes following his uncle.

"How's the wall been treating him?"

"Well. I'm glad he's here."

Robb gestured towards the crowd and took her hand, leading her amongst the swaying drunk crowd to a table just below the Queen's prying eyes, sitting down next to Theon. The Ironman smirked at her as she sat down."So, Benefort, I hear you're to be a Stark soon."

She rolled her eyes.

"Shut it, Greyjoy." Robb glared at him, the look in his eyes fierce.

"Something you'll never achieve." She muttered, bringing the wine to her lips once more.

"Well, Stark. You're lucky. You'll get to spread the legs of the Blue Fox, a winter rose. Hundreds will envy you."

Robb's glare intensified. "Don't talk about her like that."

Arabelle laughed, placing her hand on Robb's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "And I take it you, Greyjoy, are one of the hundreds in envy?" She squeezed Robb's shoulder. Theon was such a stirrer; Arabelle thought she might as well dub him 'the spoon.'

Just as Theon was about to bark back, Arya flung a spoon full of soup at her elder sister, sending their end of the hall in to a laughing fit. Robb forgot the tension of a few seconds ago and laughed loudly, his smile lighting up his face.

"Arya!" Sansa screamed in horror, turning to her friend Jeyne and bursting in to tears.

In the midst of laughing, Robb had glanced at his mother only to get shot a look that said 'sort it out.' Robb stood up and picked up his sister, setting her down and pushing her towards the doors to the hall. "Time for bed."

Arabelle was drunk, she knew. Her head was slowly spinning, and she knew she too should be retiring to her quarters. She pushed herself off the table, getting up to follow Robb and Arya out before stumbling slightly as she caught her leg along the bench on which she had sat.

"Easy, Benefort. He didn't mean you."