The Lions
She hadn't known Jon Arryn well, despite his presence at court being constant. Years ago, he had been one of the reasons she was sent to the North, so perhaps she should be thanking him. One of the clearest memories Kenna had of the man was her seventh birthday, when he bought her a fine stallion after her other horse died. He had a kind smile, if she remembered correctly, and a fatherly nature about him.
Miya tugged the laces on the princess' corset roughly, complaining that none of her corsets fitted anymore. In the past few weeks, her hips had grown wider, and her breasts larger. She was becoming a woman, and many said that she resembled her mother in both looks and body. Naturally, Kenna took this as a compliment, as her mother was the beautiful woman in Westeros.
Soon she would see her mother again, when the king and his royal party came to Winterfell to visit Lord Stark. She was giddy with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as Miya tried to get her dressed. This caused her handmaiden to scold her more than once, but Kenna was too happy and excited to pay her any mind.
"Do you think they'll be happy to see me?" she asked as Miya tied her gown. Along with the obvious excitement, Kenna was nervous. What if her mother thought her to be too unladylike, or if her father was displeased with how much she looked like her mother, despite having his colouring? She didn't expect a reply from Miya, so the princess ploughed on. "I mean, I know I'm their daughter, but it's been so long... What if they don't like who I've become?"
"I don't see how they couldn't," Miya said with a kind smile. She led her mistress over to her vanity and braided two loose strands of hair before tying them together in an intricate knot. "I've watched you grow, princess. From a scared young girl to a strong young woman. Your parents will be proud of you, I know it."
She pulled some hair over Kenna's shoulder and bent down so that the princess could see her smiling reflection in the mirror. The sight soothed her somewhat, as Miya's warm smiles often did. Her parents weren't to be in Winterfell for quite a few days according to Lord Stark, but Kenna could hardly wait.
"Do you think they'll like Robb?" Kenna wondered, frowning. She knew that her father would be delighted that she wanted to marry Robb, but her mother... The queen hated the Stark's. It would take a lot to convince her to let her daughter marry one of them. "Maybe that's why they've come? For the wedding?"
Suddenly, Miya's expression turned sympathetic. "I do not think that is why your father is riding north, princess. There is talk – among the servants – that his Grace desires to name Lord Stark his Hand."
Once, Kenna believed that her wedding would only be a few weeks after she bled. But it had been two months since she became a woman, and yet there had been no talk of marriage. Her conversations with Robb about the subject were enthusiastic, on both parts, and he said that he had discussed it with his father, though Lord Stark's answers were rather vague.
"But he can name Lord Stark his Hand and marry his daughter within his visit here, can he not?" Kenna said, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Her handmaiden opened her mouth to respond before closing it when she realised that nothing she would say could be honest and reassuring to the princess. "Robb and I both want to be married. It's what my father wanted, why he sent me here! He wouldn't send me away from my home to get to know my betrothed and then break that very same betrothal. It's stupid to say the least."
"It doesn't sound like your mother approved of the betrothal," Miya replied gently, careful not to anger or upset Kenna. For some reason, people often walked on egg shells around her. Was her temper really that frightening? "Perhaps the queen finally got her way."
Kenna didn't believe it – no, she didn't want to believe it. In every one of her letters, Kenna had sung the Stark's praises. Her mother might not have believed her, but she wouldn't have taken such drastic measures? She wouldn't break her daughter's betrothal without seeing if she was actually miserable.
She shook her head vigorously, but Kenna knew deep down that her handmaiden was right. "No. No. I might not be marrying Robb during this visit, but I will. Someday. My mother wouldn't... she couldn't..."
There was a loud knock on the door then. After sharing a confused look with the princess – who hadn't been expecting any visitors so early – Miya cautiously opened the door. A man stood in the threshold, panting heavily and drenched from the previous night's rain.
"Can I help you?" Miya asked, eyeing the stranger warily. She stood firmly between Kenna and the man, even when Kenna moved to stand beside her the handmaiden refused to move.
"I was one of Jon Arryn's guards, my lady," the man said, looking over Miya's shoulder and towards Kenna. Her eyes widened slightly at the mention of the former Hand's name. The man stretched his arm and offered Kenna a letter with an unbroken red seal on the front. "He told me to give this to you in his final hours. He said that it was for your eyes only." His eyes flickered pointedly to Kenna's handmaiden, who was still watching the guard cautiously, her gaze never leaving him. "Only you."
Just as Miya was about to spit fire at the man, Kenna held her hand up and silenced her handmaiden. "Did he say what was in the letter?" she questioned, and the guard shook his head. "Did you read any of it?"
Visibly offended, the man glared at Kenna with such ferocity that it made her flinch. "Of course not, my lady," he said icily. "I would never disobey my liege lord's wishes. Especially while he is in the grave."
"I apologise, Ser," she replied, conjuring a polite, saccharine smile. "Few are as honourable as you. I just had to be sure."
Her words quelled his anger and sated his ego almost immediately. "It is no problem, princess," he assured her, trying his best to guard his facial expression. It was amazing how quick his face went from angry to delighted with just a few well-picked words."I must leave before the castle awakens, as to not draw suspicion. Remember, my lady – no eyes but yours." Again, he glanced towards Miya, causing the handmaiden to narrow her blazing eyes at him.
Kenna barely got the chance to nod and thank him as Miya had already shut the door in his face. "Prick," she huffed, storming away from the door. "What does he think I am? Some sort of spy?"
"He's only being careful," Kenna defended. She could understand his cautiousness, and she expected that he hadn't mentioned his name for that exact reason. The content of the letter in Kenna's hand obviously held some dangerous information. Information that could get someone killed. Biting her lower lip, Kenna glanced towards her expectant handmaiden, attempting to phrase what she was going to say as kindly as she could in her head. "Miya, you do know that I would trust you with anything?"
Her handmaiden smiled. "I do. Now, what's in that letter that he was worrying about?"
"I cannot tell you, Miya." She watched sadly as a deep frown marred her handmaiden's pretty features. The last thing that she wanted was to upset Miya – she had been one of her first friends in the North – but she had to keep her safe. "It would be too dangerous for you. Jon Arryn was never a dramatic man. If he thought it to be too dangerous for anyone to see this letter, then it must be true. It's not that I don't trust you – I trust you with my life, Miya – I just don't want to put you in any danger."
Though disappointed that she would not get to know what was in the letter, Miya nodded in understanding. "I suppose you're right. I'll leave you to it then."
She smiled thankfully at her handmaiden before Miya left, a pile of clothes in her arms. Inhaling deeply, Kenna sat on the wooden chair beside the burning fireplace. Her slender fingers were shaking as she broke the letter's seal, imprinted with the Arryn sigil. What was the worst thing that could be in the letter? It was strange, that the man – who she barely knew – wrote a letter, which was very possibly his last letter, containing apparently important information before his death to her; a fifteen year old princess leagues away from King's Landing.
Slowly, she unfolded the parchment. Jon Arryn's script was neat and elegant, though his letter was surprisingly short.
Princess Kenna,
In these past few months I have discovered something that could throw both myself and you into grave danger. I cannot say much, but I will offer you one piece of advise. Never trust the gold, for they will try to steal what is yours by right. Stay in your home, and do not stray far. Danger awaits you in the City of Rats.
Burn this.
Jon Arryn, Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie
Whatever she had expected, whatever revelation she expected to receive, did not come. Kenna was left confused and baffled as she reread the vague letter over and over again, hoping to find a new clue as she did. Gold – who was the gold? And what were they stealing from her? As far as she knew, nothing truly belonged to her, so nothing could be stolen.
The guard had said that Jon Arryn was inches from death when he wrote the letter. Perhaps it was the ramblings of a mad man, but he didn't sound like a mad man in the letter. He was probably being vague and using confusing terms in case someone was to intercept the letter. Signing his name at the bottom and hers at the top was suspicious enough.
After rereading the letter for the twentieth time and realising that there was no use reading it again, Kenna tossed the letter into the hearth and watched as the fire took it as it's own, engulfing it in flames. She leaned back in her chair, lost in her thoughts.
The gold. Who is the gold, and what are they stealing from me?
She decided to push her worries to the back of her mind that day. Worry only served to make one age faster, and repeating the wording of Jon Arryn's letter would do her no good. She distracted herself by focusing on her sewing, and the stag she was supposed to be sewing onto the yellow fabric.
Years of practising needlework – and having to suffer Septa Mordane's disappointed tuts – had turned Kenna into quite the seamstress. She wasn't as good as Sansa, and perhaps she was on the same level as Jeyne Poole, but Kenna could actually create something now. Sewing stags had become her forte, as Septa Mordane often told the northern girls to sew the Stark sigil on their fabric, and told Kenna to sew the Baratheon sigil on hers.
The septa inspected her work once she was finished. The only person who had finished earlier than her was Sansa, whose work was perfect in all aspects. Sansa Stark simply had a talent for embroidery, and music, and she could effortlessly recite the words of every house in Westeros. Kenna made a note to someday challenge the younger girl to a competition related to reading books.
"Good," the septa commented with little emotion. It was rare to receive much of a compliment from Septa Mordane, as she seemed to prefer to criticise her students than to praise them. "Though next time I will have to tell you to sew something other than a stag. We will see how well your work is then."
Somehow, that sounded like a threat.
A loud, high-pitched cry came from beside Kenna, and from the lips of Alys. She was doubling over in pain and had dropped her half-finished direwolf onto the ground. While wondering if Alys was pretending – again – Kenna placed a hand upon her back and rubbed it soothingly.
Septa Mordane sighed. "What is wrong this time, Alys?"
"I have a pain, septa," Alys complained, hiding a large smile with difficult. "You see, it's that time of the month. May I be excused?"
As the girls erupted with giggles around Alys, the septa pursed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. "I am afraid that it is something you will just have to deal with, as many women have done before you and will continue to do for many centuries more."
Alys nodded her head solemnly. "Alright, septa."
Everything went back to normal, with the girls sewing their direwolves and Kenna and Sansa helping those who had yet to finish. Every now and then, Alys would open her mouth and a loud cry of pain would come out. Kenna knew then that Alys was simply being annoying. As she watched the septa's features twitch in annoyance, Kenna wondered how long it would take for her to snap.
"Gods be good, leave, if you must!" Apparently, not very long. From the corner of her eye, Kenna saw her friend trying to hide a victorious grin. "Just stop that awful sound! Were you raised with wolves, Alys?"
"Technically yes..."
"Leave!" the septa snapped, arms moving about furiously. "If you do not desire to take this seriously then, by all means, the door is there." Her eyes flickered towards the small door on the other side of the room.
"Can Kenna come with me?" The princess couldn't help the hopeful look that crossed her features. Judging by the septa's sour expression, the answer was no. Alys leaned back in her chair. "Alright then, I suppose I'll stay..."
"Oh, for goodness sake!" Septa Mordane exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. All but Sansa were giggling madly. Despite the smile that forced it's way open her face, Kenna felt sorry for the septa. Though she really did want to leave. "Take the princess, if she wants to leave."
Alys didn't give Kenna time to answer. Before she knew it, Kenna was being dragged out of the room with Alys' hand firmly gripping her arm. The halls were bustling with people, and many stopped to give the two girls odd looks. Suddenly, Alys stopped outside of a room and pressed a lone finger to her lips, indicating to be quiet.
As they tip-toed into the room that stored all the ale, Kenna glanced around, wide-eyed, with her mouth slightly agape. "Alys, do you intend for us to get drunk?" After shushing her furiously – to which Kenna rolled her eyes – Alys scoffed and pointed to the wall. This only added to Kenna's confusion. "Why in Seven Hells are you pointing to a wall?"
"Are you some sort of simpleton?" Alys' tone was sharp and irritated, but kept to a low key. She nodded her head pointedly towards a crack in the wall, that allowed a person to see right through to the room beside it.
"Why is your mother so dead set on getting us pretty for the king?" Jon Snow's voice was the first she heard, and suddenly her interest was piked. She moved towards the crack in the wall, bending down so that she could see into the opposite room. The three boys were in there – Jon, Robb and Theon – along with the barber, Tommy. A pleasant surprise was that they were all without shirts. Kenna shared a look with Alys, who only smirked in response.
Was it rude to peek? If one of them were to peek in on her while she was wearing little clothes, Kenna knew that she wouldn't be happy. But they didn't know that she was there, and what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
"It's for the queen, I bet," Theon Greyjoy spoke next, leaning against the wall nonchalantly as Tommy shaved Robb's beard. "I hear she's as sleek as a minx."
Kenna pouted. "I like him with a beard," she said, earning a painful nudge from the violent girl beside her. She made sure to keep quiet after that.
"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb told them as he stood, cleanly shaven. Kenna found that her eyes refused to move from his toned torso. Gods, she knew that he was muscular and firm beneath all those clothes that northerners were forced to wear, but the sight of him was enough to cause a new sensation of tingling between her legs. She almost didn't notice that he had called her brother 'a right royal prick,' which was completely accurate.
Theon merely looked bitter as he spat, "Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick. Not that you would, Robb. There's only one girl you want to stab with your prick."
Obviously ignoring Theon's comment, Robb slapped Jon's back when it was time for him to be shaven. "Go on, Tommy, shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair."
If she stared at them any longer – especially Robb – she would burst.
"Come on." When she turned to Alys, she noticed her friend's crestfallen expression, but thought little of it as she grabbed her arm and pulled her of the room.
Servants rushed about the halls of Winterfell, preparing for the arrival of the king and his party. According to Bran, who had climbed the walls of Winterfell, the royal party was less than an hour away. Kenna was bursting with excitement. She would see little Tommen and Myrcella at the age they were now. She would speak with her father and mother for the first time in what seemed like forever. During their time apart, her parents had become little more than idolised fragments in her mind. How different are they, truly? Have they changed over the years, as I have? Kenna was both nervous and excited to find out.
A grey wolf sprinted across the courtyard, his bark echoing through the cold, late summer air. In only a few days, the direwolves had grown frighteningly large, though Jon had told her that they were still only a fraction of the size they would grow to be.
Robb's wolf ran towards her. Before she could stop him, Grey Wind's muddy paws were on her dress, marring the blue material with brown muck. Kenna groaned in frustration. "Grey Wind! You silly beast," she scolded. In response, the wolf glanced up at her with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. All irritation she felt melted then as she ran her fingers in the fur at the top of his head. "Gods, you really make it hard to be mad at you."
Just like your master, Kenna was about to add before she saw a grinning Robb approach them, his hand gripping the handle of his new sword. "Come here, Grey," Robb commanded, and the direwolf obeyed with little thought. Grey Wind sat obediently at Robb's feet as the Stark heir hunkered to meet his wolf's height. "Did you ruin Kenna's dress?" The direwolf tilted his head to the side in confusion while Robb scratched the back of his ear affectionately. "You should know that she's very touchy about her dresses."
"Robb!" Kenna smacked the back of his head, though she smiled all the same. Still chuckling, Robb rose to his full height and gave her a smug grin. "Do you find this funny?" She gestured to her ruined dress, attempting to at least look serious. "I'll have to change now!"
"I think you look lovely," Robb replied with mock sincerity. "No need to change at all, really."
"Oh, is that so?" she asked him, receiving a nod in response as he looked her up and down, still adorning that smug grin of his. Kenna closed the gap between them, a smile slowly finding its way upon her face. "Perhaps you'll like to look the same, then?"
"What are you-" Before he could register what was happening, Kenna had grabbed the handle of his sword and pulled it from its sheath. She was running for the stables, fully intending to make him as dirty as she was. "Kenna!" he called after her, but the only reply he received was a girlish giggle. "Kenna! Give me back my sword!"
She spun around briefly, and shouted – "come and get it!" – before turning back around and sprinting towards the stables. Seeing so other option, and secretly enjoying the thrill of it all, Robb ran after her, though his speed was diminished because of his furs. Her giggles made it easy to find her; in the room where they kept the hay and water for the horses. He cornered her, and backed her into a wall.
"Give me back my sword," he said calmly, a smile tugging at his lips. Kenna had made no effort to hide hers, and so her face was split with a massive grin. "Kenna, give me back my sword."
"But you laughed at me." Suddenly, her smile had turned into a petulant frown, which her lips had the perfect shape for. Although she wasn't giggling anymore, her eyes were shining with laughter. "I think that you deserve some punishment for that, Robb Stark."
He stepped closer to her. Kenna felt goosebumps form on her arm from the heat of his warm breath on her cheek. "Oh? And what will my punishment be?" he challenged, his lips almost touching hers.
She dropped the sword on the ground beside her and slid her hands up his arms until they were set upon his shoulders. The space between them was completely closed by then, and Kenna's body was pressed against his. She chose not to answer his question, and to simply show him her answer as she pushed him onto a stack of hay. When he felt himself falling, Robb instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down with him, positioning himself on the top with his knees on either side of her.
"You sneaky-"
Before she could finish her sentence, Robb had captured her lips with his own. Her tongue moved as though it had a mind of its own, though Kenna knew that her mind would never protest against this. As Robb's lips moved to her neck, Kenna moaned happily and buckled her hips around his hips, desiring for him to be even closer to her. They were both covered in hay and mud, but somehow the state they were in only served to make the princess' womanhood throb with excitement.
If her mother saw her now... Kenna froze as she thought of her mother. The queen had expressly forbade her from doing anything with Robb. Yet here she was; rutting in hay with him. But she found that her body didn't care much for the rules her mother had set out for her, and her mind quickly corresponded with the urges of her body.
Robb pulled away from her, confusion etched upon his features. Pushing aside the guilt from disobeying her mother, Kenna smiled at him and placed her hands on either side of his face before bringing his lips to meet hers in a chaste kiss that quickly escalated into something more heated. She felt his hardened cock between her legs, causing her cheeks to warm and redden.
"Robb Stark, where are – oh gods!" The shrill voice of Lady Stark was what caused Robb to jump off her. Blushing harder than ever before, Kenna rose from the pile of hay that sought to engulf her and brushed herself off, careful not to meet Lady Stark's accusing stare. "What were you both doing?"
"Nothing," the two of them chorused in unison. While Robb had the stomach to look at his mother, Kenna fixed her gaze upon her hands. What a sight they must have been – like a pair of love-struck smallfolk kissing in the stables.
"It didn't look like nothing to me," Lady Stark commented before taking in the state of Kenna's dress. "Your father is nearly here, Kenna. How long do you think it will take you to change?"
"Not long at all," Kenna replied, though she knew that it would take longer than she was letting on. She fixed her hair with her fingers and picked out the hay in her hair. "I can be quick."
Lady Stark shot her a look and pointedly urged her out of the stables. "Then go! Gods, your parents will think we have raised you to be a barbarian!" After nodding towards Lady Starks, Kenna rushed out of the stables, leaving Robb alone with his mother. "How far have you both gone?"
Like most young men, Robb had no desire of speaking of such a thing with his mother. He pulled a face. "Mother..."
"Robb, how far have you gone with the princess?" Her tone left little room for arguments. Robb shifted awkwardly from where he stood, wanting nothing more than to be away from his mother. "Have you taken her maidenhead?"
"Gods, no!" he said, shocked that his mother thought that he would. Even then, wasn't she supposed to be his bride? "This was the first time we even..." His mother smiled slightly. "Anyway, it's not as though she'd be ruined. She's to be my wife, isn't she?"
His mother was skilled in the art of hiding her true feelings, but one thing she had never mastered was how to hide the truth in her eyes. They betrayed sadness, and sympathy, which made Robb very confused. She placed a hand on Robb's shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. "You should dust yourself off, Robb. Before the king comes." And with her skirts sweeping through the stables' floor, his mother was gone.
Poor Miya received the fright of her life when Kenna grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up to the princess' rooms. She didn't think that any woman in Westeros could have readied themselves faster. Their technique was skilled and proficient, with Kenna unlacing her dress and corset and Miya restyling her hair. She didn't look as well as she had before, but she still looked well enough.
Her place was beside Robb in the front line, and Lord Stark was beside him. Her palms were sweating from nerves as she anxiously stared at the gates. At any moment, her family would come from those gates, along with two hundred men and women from King's Landing. Sensing that she was nervous, Robb reached out and entwined his fingers with hers. When she turned her head to look at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. Kenna tried to return one of her own.
"You'll be fine," he whispered into her ear. His breath triggered the memory of what had happened between them in the stables, and then a blush warmed her cheeks once again. "What's the worst that can happen?"
She made sure not to look at him, because his eyes sometimes gave off the feeling that he could read her thoughts. It was silly, sure, but expressions could be very easy to read from time to time, when one didn't know how to hide it.
"I suppose you're right," she admitted, squeezing his hand as a means of thanking him.
Kenna's breath caught in her throat when the gates rose. This is it. The colours of red, black and crimson poured in through the gates. Some rode atop horses, while some chose to stay in a wheelhouse. Kenna searched for her father through the large crowd, though when she spotted him she found that he was not at all as she remembered.
The memories of her father being a strong, muscled man were hazy and difficult to recall. Even when she had left, the king was by no means a slim man. But this man... her father... he was a stranger. Had it not been for the legendary Kingsguard that surrounded him, Kenna would have had even more difficulty with finding her father.
Or perhaps she would only have realised it was him when he walked over to the front line and greeted Lord Stark. Her father's first comment was about the Warden in the North's weight, which was responded to by Lord Stark indicating her father's enormous stomach. At first, Kenna expected the king to scold Lord Stark, but soon loud laughter erupted from him. His laugh was just as she remembered, and Kenna was glad that part of him had stayed the same.
Her mother gracefully stepped out of the wheelhouse. In truth, the queen was just as beautiful as Kenna remembered. Her hair was the same gold that glimmered when it caught the light, her eyes were the same striking colour of emeralds, and her skin was pale, like porcelain. She walked elegantly, as though she was walking on air, as she regarded her surroundings with distaste, crinkling her nose at the mere sight of the North.
Myrcella and Tommen followed their mother out of the wheelhouse. Despite knowing that her siblings had inherited all their looks from their mother's side, Kenna was startled at how alike they truly looked. Myrcella resembled a younger Cersei Lannister from head to toe, and Tommen looked like a younger version of Kenna's uncle – the Kingslayer.
Her attention was brought back to her father when he moved over to the start of the line, having spoken with Lady Stark and the Stark children – save for Robb. He looked her up and down before a large smile split his face in half. "Seven hells, girl. You've grown."
Kenna smiled back at him and curtsied. "Seven years does that, Your Grace."
"There's no need for that. You're my daughter." He motioned for her to rise from her curtsy, and Kenna obeyed. With narrowed eyes the king studied her. "The North has done you well, as I knew it would."
Her lips parted as she tried to think of a response, but by the time he had went on to speak with Robb she still hadn't thought of one. "So you must be Robb," the king said gruffly.
"Yes, Your Grace," replied Robb politely as he inclined his head.
The king grunted before he moved to speak with Lord Stark again. "Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects," he commanded, paying little mind to his wife who had sauntered over to them. The expression on Kenna's mother's face was not pleasant by any means. She looked like she had been dragged south – kicking and screaming – although Kenna knew her mother well enough to know that the queen would never act so disgracefully.
"We've been riding for a month, my love," her mother said, and Kenna's eyebrows rose without approval. The fake display of affection on her mother's part – which was once so familiar and normal to Kenna – seemed like an odd mummer's show. Few were so concerned about appearances in the North, and the princess supposed that she had gotten used to their simple ways. "Surely the dead can wait."
Her father refused to even glance in her mother direction. Obviously, the king had no time for such falsities. "Ned," he repeated, and without another word Lord Stark brought him down to the crypts.
Apparently my father's dead betrothed is more important than his living daughter, she thought bitterly as she stared after her father, an empty pit forming in her stomach. Had she expected too much from him? To have a conversation with one's long absent daughter was what most fathers would do, if Kenna was not mistaken. Perhaps the king had important business to attend to with Lord Stark. She almost scoffed aloud at that thought. Her father had never concerned himself with matters of state; why would he begin now? Unless he was going to name Lord Stark his Hand, but that was another matter entirely.
Lady Stark had ordered her children to escort the guests to their rooms, leaving Kenna alone with her mother and younger siblings. Before he left, Robb gave Kenna's hand – which had stayed laced with his the entire time, much to her surprise – a final squeeze; something that did not go unnoticed by Kenna's mother.
"Sweetling," her mother greeting, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. She gripped her daughter's hands in her own, a genuine smile brightening her features. Up close, Kenna could see that her mother had aged quite a bit since she had left, though she still retained the beauty that inspired songs. "They told me that you had grown into quite a beauty. I did not realise how true that was. Walk with me, my dear. We have much to talk about."
Once her mother had let go of her hands, Tommen and Myrcella both jumped at her at once. Kenna laughed, tears of joy gathering in her eyes. She had yearned to see her family for years – to have what the Stark's had – and now that she finally had it words could not describe how happy she felt. As she wrapped her arms around her siblings and knelt down to meet their height, Kenna felt her mother's disapproving glare burning into the back of her head.
"I have missed you both," she said, pulling away from the embrace to look at her siblings. She had been absent from so much of their lives, and she wanted to make up for that while they were in Winterfell. "My, you've grown. You'll be as beautiful as Mother someday, Myrcella." She smiled at her youngest brother and ruffled his hair, earning her a boyish laugh. "And you'll be as strong as Father."
"I doubt that..." drawled a voice familiar to Kenna's ears, though it was deeper than she remembered. She glanced upwards to find her eldest brother, Joffrey, looking down on her with an arrogant smirk. Rising from her previously hunkered position, Kenna made sure to show him that she wasn't afraid of him. She was no longer the little girl that he could torment, although a lump formed in her throat when she saw him, and her stomach twisted with something akin to fear. "Did you miss me too, sister?"
Ignoring the lump in her throat and the uneasy feeling in her stomach, Kenna forced a smile upon her lips. "Of course, brother. I yearned for the day that I could see you again, and I am delighted now that day has come."
Her mother watched her with keen eyes, as if she didn't know her own daughter. "Your accent has changed. You speak like a northerner now." Slowly, solemn realisation crossed her mother's face, as though she was discovering some sort of horror. It did not last for long, and soon enough her mother had set her features into a frown. "That will not do. These northerners might have got their claws into you, but you are still a southerner at heart, and you will act like one if it's the last thing I do." The frown was then replaced with a pitiful look. Honestly, Kenna didn't know what to make of it all, nor did she know how to react. "Poor girl, forced to live with these savages. If everything goes as planned than you will not have to spend another day among these people."
"What?" Kenna asked in surprise as her mother led her away from the courtyard, their arms hooked together.
"Never you mind, sweetling," her mother said with a smile. "We have more important things to discuss."
Author's Note: Things will get more exciting from here on! I'd liked to thank all you guys who took the take to review, favourite and follow. I'm blown away by you lot each time! I hope you like where I'm taking this story, and if you have any suggestions, opinions or criticism that you'd like to share then do review!
Until next time!
