Nowhere to Hide
Kenna ran the brush through her sister's golden hair. When she was younger, Kenna wanted nothing more than to have blonde hair. She had hated being different, with her dark brown hair and stormy blue eyes. Joffrey used to tease her and say that she was one of their father's many bastards. That was one of the very few times their mother had scolded Joffrey.
"I missed having you in King's Landing," Myrcella admitted, staring down at her hands. Kenna watched her sister through her reflection in the mirror, her stomach sinking at the sad look in Myrcella's eyes. "I didn't remember you much, but I always thought that having a big sister to protect me would be nice."
The pit in her stomach only grew larger. She forced a smile onto her lips. "You had Joffrey."
Though she had hoped to raise her sister's spirits, Kenna's statement only served to make Myrcella's face fall further. "I suppose," she replied. Kenna received the impression that she wanted to say more, and something was stopping her. "It was... it just wasn't the same."
Guilt overwhelmed her. It hadn't been her idea to go north, so it wasn't as if she willingly abandoned them. She did as she was told, as girls often did. But while she was making friends and growing to call Winterfell her home, Myrcella and Tommen had been subjected to Joffrey. She hoped that her brother wasn't the same as she remembered.
"Myrcella, was Joffrey... cruel to you?" Kenna asked carefully. Biting her lower lip, Myrcella shook her head, though her expression screamed the opposite. "You know that you can tell me. I won't tell Joffrey or Mother. I only care about you."
"He is worse to Tommen." Myrcella wrung her hands and kept her eyes on the floor, trying to make sure that her elder sister couldn't see the tears welling in her eyes. But Kenna did, and her sadness and fury was only magnified. "He mocks him and calls him weak. Sometimes, he strikes and pushes him when Mother and Father aren't looking. Joffrey says that it will make him stronger, but I don't think it will. At night, Tommen comes into my room and cries. How could this make him stronger, Kenna? Why is Joffrey doing this?"
Her sister's soft sobs echoed through Kenna's room. Instinctively, Kenna wrapped her arms around Myrcella and held her close. She remembered her own suffering from Joffrey's abuse, and how her mother never protected her from him. He wasn't too bad when they were younger. In fact, Kenna had enjoyed playing with her younger brother. But then things changed – he changed, and the only thing that could make him happy was tormenting his sister. In her absence, it seemed he had turned to hurting Tommen for satisfaction.
"Please don't leave us again, Kenna." Myrcella pulled away from the embrace, a layer of tears glistening in her eyes and her cheeks wet from crying. Her eyes were pleading; desperate. She looked so small and terrified. Kenna's heart melted. "I need you... Tommen needs you. Come back with us to King's Landing."
She exhaled a sigh. "I can't, 'Cella."
"But you can!" Myrcella exclaimed, gripping Kenna's hand tightly. "Everyone misses you. Mother, Tommen, Father, Uncle Tyrion... All that you have to do is ask them!" Watching her sister uncertainly, Kenna briefly wondered if the queen had set her up to this. "Please, Kenna. At least try. We are your family! You should be with us."
As she tried to think of a response, there was a knock on her door. Kenna furrowed her eyebrows, though stood to answer it. Miya never knocked on her door, neither did Robb. When she opened the door, she saw her mother on the other side, dressed glamorously for the feast that night.
She smiled warmly at her eldest daughter, and laced her hands in hers. "You look beautiful tonight, sweetling. Though I do believe that you would look better with a southern hairstyle." She scrutinised Kenna's appearance closely, her eyes not leaving any part of Kenna unseen. The queen turned to her younger daughter then, still smiling with a warmth Kenna had not seen before. Had her mother truly changed so much? "Myrcella, darling, would you mind finding your brother? I would like to speak with Kenna alone."
Her emerald green eyes were still puffy and brimmed with red, but the queen did not notice. Myrcella nodded, hopped off the chair and rushed out of the room. Crying is for the weak, Kenna heard her mother say in her head, and a princess is not weak. No doubt Myrcella had that exact same lesson drilled into her head.
While inspecting Kenna's room with a look of distaste marring her beautiful features, the queen picked up one of Kenna's penchants with a direwolf engraved in the front. "What is this?" she asked, as calmly as she could.
"Robb had it made for me," Kenna told her mother with a fond smile. "On my last nameday. Isn't it lovely?" The queen did not reply as she placed the necklace back on the table, a frown still etched upon her face. After coughing in an attempt to break the heavy silence, and seeing that her mother did not make any effort to start conversation, Kenna decided that it was the right time – well, as right as it could be – to speak about her betrothal. "He's very kind, and he does care about me. I know that I will be happy with him. We don't even need that grand of a wedding! I just want to be his wife, Mother. Please speak to Father about it."
Her mother's intense gaze did not leave her. Not even when she sat down at the vanity and picked up the penchant again, tracing the engraved direwolf with her finger. "This betrothal was a mistake on the behalf of Jon Arryn and your father. The Stark loyalty has already been ensured by Lord Stark's friendship with your father; there was no need to send you north and certainly no need to marry you off to that boy." Her mother's eyes became softer as she reached for her daughter's hand and led Kenna towards her. "You were too young to be sent away from your mother, and you are too young to be wed now. You belonged with me. You belong with me."
"There are women younger than me who are wed-"
"But they were more mature, my dear." Kenna flinched at the barely concealed harshness in her mother's voice, even the affectionate pet name at the end did not make it less abrasive. "Your time in this cold, frigid wasteland has changed you, and not for the better. You wear your hair like a northerner, you speak like a northerner, you have become friends with northerners, you act like a northerner. Well, I am sorry to have to tell you this, sweetling, but you are not a northerner. You are a southerner, and some time in the south will help you remember that."
Kenna ripped her hand from her mother's grip, searching for words but finding none. She shook her head vigorously. "No," she said firmly. "No. You cannot bring me back. Father wants me to marry Robb – I want to marry Robb!"
"Betrothals can be broken," her mother reminded her, standing to meet Kenna's full height.
"But we've been betrothed since we were nine!" Kenna exclaimed. The thought of not marrying Robb had occasionally passed through her mind, though she had not entertained it for longer than a split second. "You can't do this. Father will never agree to it."
"He already has," she replied, a smile finding its way upon her lips. For some reason, the queen thought that she was helping Kenna by breaking the betrothal. Did her hatred for the Starks really blind her to reason? The queen observed her with narrowed, concentrated eyes before letting out a loud, irritated huff. "Does your affection for this Stark boy truly eclipse your desire to be with your family? With your siblings?"
"I lovehim." Her voice was steady and stubborn as she straightened her back to appear taller, despite already being the same height as her mother. She would not flinch, she decided as the queen's cold eyes bore through her.
"Love is irrelevant for people like us," her mother said monotonously, though their was a hidden flash of pain that slipped through her well guarded façade. "We marry who we are told to marry. Love does not matter."
"It matters to me."
For a few moments, Kenna thought that her mother was going to yell at her. Though after studying her daughter's expression, Cersei began to laugh manically, her loud roar of laughter carrying through the cold air. "You naive little girl." At that, Kenna could not help but flinch. Once again she felt like a child, desperate for her mother's approval. "Men will only build you up to break you down. It is family that truly loves you, and it is out of that love that I seek to bring you home. To help you grow." Both her tone and face became soften as she rubbed Kenna's arm lovingly, a warm smile embracing her red lips. "Myrcella and Tommen miss their big sister, and I am sure that Joff does too, though he will not admit it. You belong with your family. You belong with me."
I belong where I am told to belong, as has always been the case. Her enmity against her mother was slowly fading. She had always been weak where her mother was concerned. "I will do as my lord father bids me. If he wants me to go to King's Landing, I will go with you to King's Landing."
That made her mother's smile widen. She wrapped her arms around Kenna, holding her tightly to her chest, as though she was afraid to let her go again. "My dutiful daughter. I am not sure if such a trait is a gift or a curse."
Honestly, Kenna wasn't sure either.
Lady Stark had placed her in between Joffrey and Myrcella. While she was happy to speak with her little sister more, Joffrey proved himself to be exactly what she had both feared and expected. He ranted and raved about the coldness of the North and the impoliteness of the people. His place was among the snakes in King's Landing, not among the benevolent wolves in the North.
Myrcella had left her alone with Joffrey to dance with Bran, and gods was their conversation riveting.
"I feel such pity for you, sister." The sound of Joffrey's voice drained her. She usually enjoyed speaking with people, but silence was a blessing when she was speaking with Joffrey. "Having to live among these northerners; being betrothed to one. I suppose that you must be delighted that your betrothal has been called off."
She snapped her gaze over to meet Joffrey's challenging one. How much had Mother told him? "It has not been called off yet, Joffrey. I will only believe it when Father tells me."
His harsh laugh was sharp against her ears, and caused her wince. "It is all but set in stone, sweetling."
"Do not patronise me," Kenna warned, glaring at her younger brother. That glint appeared in his eyes. She had been so terrified of that glint when she was younger, and a part of her still was. The child inside her cowered, as it had when she was speaking with her mother. What was it about her family that made her feel so... small?
"I will patronise you if I desire to," he threatened, and roughly gripped her small wrist. At her quiet whimper of pain, his grip became tighter and a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin. "I will be king someday, sweetling, and you will be some man's mare, destined only to fuck him and bare his children. Perhaps he will teach you to respect your betters."
"You're hurting me," Kenna whispered, attempting to pull her wrist from his grasp. But Joffrey was stronger than her, despite being of average size for a boy his age. As she whimpered softly from the pain, Joffrey's eyes lit up with excitement. He is a monster. In her youth she had used that term to describe him often, but it had never rung as true as it did now. She gritted her teeth together to stop herself from whimpering, as it only seemed to bring him joy. "Joffrey, let go."
"My lady?" Kenna nearly sighed with relief when she heard Robb's voice. As soon as he heard it, Joffrey let go of her, placing his hands on his lap immediately, though his glaring eyes never left her. Robb glanced between them, before sending Kenna a worried look. Braving a small smile, Kenna shook her head, signalling for him not to do anything about it. Robb offered her his hand then, a grin gracing his handsome face. "Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance?"
She briefly looked towards her brother, smirking at his sulky pout and folded arms, before placing her hand in Robb's. "Nothing would make me happier, my lord."
The words felt strange on her tongue. It had been years since she last called Robb 'my lord,' and years since he had last called her 'my lady.' As he led her over to the middle of the room where the others were dancing, Kenna saw that he was smiling too.
Kenna made sure to exaggerate her laughter and smiles, so that her father and mother could see how much she cared for Robb. Perhaps he would allow her to stay and marry him then, when he saw that she was experiencing what he had wanted with Lyanna Stark. She was playing with his feelings as she would a fiddle, but Kenna was prepared to do anything.
Robb seemed to catch on to what she was doing quickly, as he too was laughing louder than he usually would. As he twirled her around, the world spun around her, though she could see her father with his hands upon a kitchen wench's arse. Her laughter caught in her throat. He wasn't looking. He didn't care. She was a fool for thinking that he would look, that he would care.
Realising the reason for her distress, Robb grabbed her bruised wrist and pulled her around to face him. Softly, as though his touch was a ghost, he caressed her cheek with his thumb before wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air. Kenna giggled as he spun her around, though her eyes never left his.
Was this love? Her mother spoke so cruelly of the concept, and looked down on Kenna for even mentioning it. While she was not completely naive to the world and the ways of men (Theon Greyjoy had made sure of that), she liked to believe that love did exist in the world, for what would life be like without it?
Maybe she was a foolish girl, in love with the idea of love, but as Robb Stark spun her around without a care in the world, Kenna felt very much like one of those ladies from the songs that Sansa often goaded her into singing.
As her feet touched the ground and the world around her stopped spinning, Kenna noticed her mother's livid glare set upon her and Robb. Their spectacle had certainly received the attention they wanted from her mother, while her father's attention remained solely on the kitchen wench he was sure to be bedding that night. Kenna wasn't sure if she was proud of her display or ashamed, because in that moment she felt a mixture of both.
Swallowing the large lump that had formed in her throat, she looked away from her mother and stormed out, ignoring Robb as he tried to grab her wrist and pull her back. When had it all become so complicated? A few years ago, their future had been carefully planned out for them – whether they liked it or not was irrelevant. Kenna had tried to make the best of her situation. She was in a foreign kingdom with no friends and destined to marry a boy who greatly disliked her, but she had managed to somehow make the best of it.
So when her mother told her that there was a chance that she would not be marrying Robb – that the last seven years were a waste – it felt like a sharp slap in the face.
Anger flushed through her and in a fit of rage she kicked the wall with all her might. The pain – while inevitable when one kicked a wall – caused her to grunt and hold her injured foot in her hands as she hopped about, whispering curses under her breath.
"Oh dear, looks like my sweet, innocent niece has developed quite the potty mouth." Kenna froze and slowly dropped her foot. She would recognise that voice anywhere. "I suppose I have the North to thank for this change?"
"Tyrion!" she exclaimed, falling onto her knees and engulfing him in a tight, binding hug that was sure to leave him heaving for air.
"You've grown tall, little princess." He ruffled her hair, and Kenna couldn't help but smile at his use of her old nickname. If it had been anyone else, she would have taken offence. But not with Tyrion, because she knew that he would never want to hurt her in any way. "You will be dwarfing me soon. See what I did there?"
Kenna laughed, and sent him a fake glare as she fixed her hair back into place. "It seems like the quality of your jests has deteriorated, uncle. Such a shame – you were once quite a funny man."
With a dramatic gasp, her uncle placed a hand to his heart, pretending to be deeply wounded by her comment. Kenna tried to stifle a giggle, but failed miserably. "I am offended, my dear. I thought that the quality of my jests have only increased with age and wisdom." He brushed a loose strand of dark brown hair from her face and lifted her chin to meet his mismatched eyes. "Do you remember what I told you all those years ago? About minds and whetstones?"
The word 'whetstones' triggered a memory long since forgotten, or numerous memories for that matter. Her eyes narrowed his concentration as she tried to recall one of her uncle's favourite sayings. He was challenging her; she could see it in his eyes. Perhaps he was testing her to see if she had changed, or if she had abandoned books and learning. Whatever his reasons were, Kenna was determined not to fail.
"That the mind is a weapon," she recited from memory. "That a mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone."
Impressed, Tyrion nodded his approval. Kenna felt like a child once more, desperate to prove herself to everyone. But it was different with her uncle, because he would not be disappointed with her like her mother or father would. "Good," he said, and the princess beamed. "Have you been reading the books I sent you?"
"Every last one of them," she replied proudly. Noticing her uncle's swaying frame and the goblet of ale that had escaped her notice, Kenna cursed herself for not realising sooner. "Good gods, uncle, are you already drunk?"
He hummed, not even bothering to deny it. "And here I thought I was especially skilled at hiding my drunkenness. You've crushed my dreams, sweet girl. First my dream of becoming the funniest man in Westeros, and now this? Its a wonder those northerners seem to be so fond of you."
"They are so 'fond of me' because I do not drink all of their ale," she retorted, smiling despite herself. Her smile faltered as her uncle struggled to walk, and a heavy sigh escaped her pouting lips. "I believe that I should bring you to your room before you make a scene and embarrass Mother."
A loud chuckle – frighteningly loud for such a small man – tore through the cold, night air. "Quite a gentleman you have turned into, little princess. Escorting drunken damsels to their room."
Kenna rolled her eyes and placed her hand on his shoulder before pushing him towards his rooms. Before she could enter the castle through the door on the other side, she heard yelling coming from the training yard. One of the two – the victim, by the sounds of it – was sullen and even-tempered in his responses, while the other person was roaring her head off. She worried when she recognised the girl's voice – it was Alys.
"Ah, young love," her uncle slurred as Kenna watched them both warily. While she could not make out what Alys was saying, her friend sounded like she was upset. Kenna wanted to go over there and comfort her – she really did – but Uncle Tyrion was drunk and would probably embarrass both himself and her mother if he was left unattended. "He's going to tale the black, you know. Brave boy – he wants to protect us from all of those horrible monsters beyond the Wall."
"I didn't know that," Kenna said, sending Alys one more pitiful glance before leading her uncle to his rooms.
Once she had tucked her uncle into bed – not that she actually expected him to stay in bed, though she had tucked him in tight enough to cause difficulty – Kenna slowly made her way to her chambers. She debated on whether she ought to visit Alys to see if her friend was alright, but Alys usually preferred to wallow in her sadness for a while before speaking to anyone.
The echoing of her lone footsteps through the long hall was soon joined by another. Kenna prayed that it wasn't her mother, as she would surely berate Kenna for the small spectacle with Robb. She sighed with relief when a more masculine shape with squared shoulders came into view, though her relief was short lived once she saw who it was.
"I'm sorry I ran off," Kenna said when he was close enough. There was no anger on his face, only worry. She would have preferred anger to this, because it seemed like lately he was always worried about her for one reason or another. "It was rude. I just..." She exhaled a loud, heavy breath and stared down at her hands. "I'm sorry."
Hesitantly, he placed his hands beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. With one step, he closed the space between them and smiled reassuringly. "It's alright. Honestly, I was just worried about you."
"You shouldn't worry about me." She attempted to conjure a smile, though it resulted in a small smile that was almost a grimace. "Your face will become aged and wrinkly much too early."
"And would you still like me then?" Robb asked, raising a brow in a teasing manner.
She hummed and pretended to think about it, tilting her head to the side, before cupping his face in her hands and brushing her lips against his. "Of course I would." Smiling, she smoothed her thumb against the soft skin of his shaven cheeks. "I think I prefer you with a beard."
"And I prefer you without one," Robb replied, grinning. Kenna breathed a small laugh in response as she captured his lips with her own.
Their first kiss had been heated and full of passion, but their second kiss was soft and gentle. Robb slid one of his arms around her lower back, their bodies pressing against each other as he ran his tongue across her teeth, asking for entrance. She gripped his hair lightly as his tongue joined hers.
After a few moments of uninterrupted bliss, Kenna pulled back, gasping for breath, and backed up against a wall. She had fallen for him, and judging by how his eyes lit up when he saw her, Robb had fallen for her her too. If things had gone as they were supposed to, she would have been blessed with a husband who loved her, and a husband whom she loved.
"I spoke with my mother." Her voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. "We're not going to be married, Robb. My father hasn't said anything to me about it, but it sounds like he agreed with my mother."
"Why would he agree?" There was anger in his tone, and etched upon his face. Kenna frowned. Robb wasn't an angry person, but when he was angry... it scared her. "Your father was the one who organised this betrothal. He's the one who sent you north, to get to know me and your future home. And now he decides that he doesn't want us to be married, he wants to bring you back, with no regard or thought as to how this would affect us!"
"Robb, shh," she said quietly, reaching out to grab his hands in hers. "My father is the king. If anyone heard you speaking badly of him..."
His chest rose and fell with every heavy, angry breath he took until he finally calmed down. "You're right. You're absolutely right." When his breathing had settled, Robb's suddenly widened and lit up as he thought of something – a solution, perhaps, as a large grin had spread across his lips. "I have an idea. If we get a witness or two, and a septon, we can get married at the Sept. Then you can stay here, with me. They couldn't bring you to King's Landing if you were married to me." Kenna pressed her lips into a thin line, her thoughts conflicting with each other. Robb shook her after a few seconds of silence, his eyes pleading with her to say yes. "Say something, Kenna. Say that you'll marry me. Isn't that what you wanted – for us to get married and stay here and have half a dozen children? Isn't that what you want?"
Kenna bit her lower lip and looked away from him. A secret wedding was a tempting idea, one that almost had her running to the Sept, but there was something holding her back. As much as she cared for Robb, her duty was to her family. It would always be to her family.
"Of course it is what I want," Kenna replied, stepping away from the man who was once her betrothed. The wounded look on his face made her feel horrible, but she knew that marrying him in secret was not honourable. "But we can't, Robb. We just can't. It's our duty-"
"Duty?" Robb scoffed. "Our duty was to get to know each other and then to marry, to strength the North's tie to the crown. We did half of that – we embraced our duty without much more than a second thought. And then when we finally want to marry, your father decides that it doesn't suit him and calls off the betrothal."
"He hasn't yet," Kenna said quietly. She hadn't allowed herself to hope, because her mother sounded so sure. So certain that the betrothal binding her family's most hated house to their own was broken. Seeing the hope flicker in Robb's eyes made her heart achedrop. "But my mother was convinced that my father would call off the betrothal. She never wanted this to happen. For years she's been fighting my father on this. I don't know what she did, but it seems like she succeeded in the end."
"No, she hasn't. Not until your father says so and I see you on your horse will I truly believe that she's succeeded." His voice was so firm, so strong and full of hope. Kenna wished that he would see reason – it would be easier for him if he did. She pitied him, for the first time she was the one pitying him. His hands cupped her face and pulled her towards him. "I love you, Kenna. Do you hear me? I love you."
His words shocked her, but at the same time they made her smile. When she first fell in love with him, she did not know. Or even if it was a gradual thing, that had grown like a seed from the first day they were civil to each other.
"I love you too," she replied, and his whole expression brightened with a large smile. Kenna faltered as her mother's words echoed through her mind, and stepped away from him. "But love is irrelevant for people like us." She said the words like they were poison. And by the wounded, confused look Robb was giving her that washed Kenna in guilt, she was sure that the words were poison – in every sense of the word. She sucked in a deep breath, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I'm going with them, if that's what my father wants."
"Kenna, don't-"
"They're my family, Robb," she said. "And he is the king. I will do as I am told, as I have always done." She reached for his hands and gripped them in her own, braving what she thought to be a reassuring smile. "And you can come to the south someday. This doesn't have to be forever."
"And what if your married to some old southern lord by then?" Robb asked.
Kenna frowned. She didn't think that her father would marry her off to a man she did not desire. As a princess, she believed that she hadsome choice in who she married. But the probable end to her betrothal to Robb meant that she had even less choices than she thought. That startled her.
"Then we'll run away to the Free Cities. No, you know what? If I hear one whisper of a betrothal between myself and someone that isn't you, I will get on the fastest horse in King's Landing and race back to Winterfell." The corners of his mouth tweaked upwards at that, though she could see it written on his face that he didn't believe her. In all honesty, Kenna didn't believe herself. She let out a heavy sigh. "I know that you think that I am acting like a weak-willed child with no mind of her own, and maybe I am, but you have to understand, Robb. My duty is whatever my father – the king – wills it to be."
"I do understand," he assured her. "You love your family, and you are so dutiful, and I even admire that about you. But when you're with them, Kenna... I don't know. You're just different. You're quieter, and no matter what your mother or brother says you agree with them. And I can see why you do. Your brother is a little shit. I wanted to kill him tonight, I really did. He was hurting you." His fingers traced the purple bruise on her wrist so softly that it didn't even hurt. "You don't deserve that, Kenna. And they don't deserve you."
She ripped her hands from him, her eyes narrowed angrily at him in a venomous glare. "Those people that you speak of are my family."
"Family is supposed to lift you up," he told her calmly, sympathy – and pity – etched on his face. "Not tear you down."
Her mouth opened to spit angry words at him, though the words never came. What would he know? He barely knew her family, but yet he was so quick to pass judgement on them. He didn't know of the time when her mother stroked her hair because her cat had died, or the time when her father pulled her onto his lap and told her tales of his rebellion. Or the time when he placed her on the Iron Throne. He didn't even know how close her and Joffrey were as children, before his personality took a turn for the worse. Robb didn't know, so he couldn't understand.
Kenna huffed, at a loss for words, before whipping around and storming away from him. Once she reached her chambers, she slammed the door shut angrily and pushed her face into a pillow, letting out a muffled, high-pitched scream.
The next morning, she sought to speak with Alys about what happened with Jon the previous night. How could she have been so blind to her friend's feelings? Had she truly been so absolved in her own world and her own problems to notice that Alys had a problem of her own?
Alys never spoke of her problems – oh no, she was much too prideful for that – so it was her job to notice when things were amiss. The last few months were hectic for Kenna, though she was ashamed now when she thought of how mediocre her problems were – how childish and unimportant. As she hesitated outside of Alys' chambers, she pressed her ear to the door, pleasantly surprised when she did not hear sobbing.
"Alys?" she called, knocking softly on the wooden door. "Are you in there?"
"One moment!" her friend chirped. Kenna could hear the rustling of Alys' dresses through the door, as well as the slight shake in her voice. Before she could gather her thoughts, Alys had pulled the door open, a bright smile on her face. "You can come in now."
Her eyebrows knitted together as she observed Alys closely with narrowed eyes. The smile was innocent and told nothing, so Kenna simply sighed and stepped inside the room. The fire burned in the right corner of the room as the smell of burnt sheets burdened Kenna's nostrils. As far as Kenna knew, burning things usually meant that the person had something to hide. She turned around to face Alys once again – this time paying closer attention to her face. The glow she emitted was unmissable, and her smile contagious. Though she should have been happy for Alys, Kenna only felt worry.
"I heard about Jon," Kenna said, clasping her hands in front of her. Not even the mention of Jon's departure caused Alys to stop smiling. What in Seven Hells is going on with her? "I didn't know that he was leaving, nor did I know how you felt for him. I'm sorry that-" Then, out of absolutely nowhere, Alys started giggling. The gesture was odd enough on his own, because Alys never giggled and teased those who did. Kenna was baffled beyond words. "Why are you laughing? I thought you would be upset?"
"I would be." Alys fidgeted with her dress, her eyes cast downwards, though the smile never left her face. "But he's not leaving."
"Excuse me? But I thought..."
"He was." She accentuated the 'was' with both happiness and... pride. As though she was the reason he hadn't left. The realisation that Alys cared for Jon was shocking enough, the mere notion that he reciprocated those feelings made Kenna feel like a blind fool. "But I talked to him and he decided that he wants to stay with me."
Briefly, Kenna wondered if talking was all they did, although she dismissed that thought. Jon was much too honourable and Alys was intelligent enough to know that losing her maidenhead would ruin her and her future. "Alys..." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend her friend. "What life do you expect to have with him? You cannot stay in Winterfell forever."
Alys lowered her eyes to the floor. In all honesty, she had not thought too far ahead. She was still engulfed in the blissful warmth of his arms around her. "We could go to the Free Cities. I quite like the idea of leaving Westeros for a while."
"And how would you support yourselves?" If Alys was planning on running away, which Kenna hoped that she wasn't, then she ought to know what she going to do.
"I could sell my dresses and jewels."
Kenna shook her head. "You would survive for two years at the most on that gold."
"Jon could work as a sellsword," Alys offered. She didn't like the idea of him fighting all the time, but if it was their only way of earning a living...
"He would be gone for months at a time." The sympathy and pity that dripped from her words made Alys glare at the princess with angry, grey eyes. "The life of a sellsword is demanding, and still you wouldn't earn too much money."
"That doesn't matter," Alys snapped, raking a hand through her long black hair. "I love him and he loves me, that's all that matters. Not that you would understand. You wouldn't even fight for the man you claim to love."
Love is irrelevant for people like us. Like the words of a song, her mother's words of wisdom often echoed in her mind. She found Alys' situation to be all too similar to her own, and so Kenna was more passionate about her opinion. Dutycame before love, always.
"You are a highborn lady, Alys. And he..." Alys dared her to say the words. She dared her to condemn the boy Kenna had befriended and played with as a child. The princess inhaled a deep breath, and said the words that caused her stomach to fall to the floor in guilt. "He is a bastard. If you married him then you would be shunned from your family, condemned to a life of poverty and exile in the Free Cities. You would never see any of us again, nor would Jon. You would be alone, in a foreign land with little money or friends. Is that the life you want for him? For yourself?"
Tears welled in Alys' eyes, but she hid them well and shook her head. "No," she whispered in a small voice.
Kenna gently placed a hand on Alys' shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Tell him to go to the Wall, Alys. He'll be happier for it. He could rise from the shame of being a bastard. He could finally accept himself for who he is. Would you begrudge him that?" Alys shook her head wordlessly. "Then let him go."
In her head, Alys resentfully admitted that she was right.
Robert Baratheon was not a man of words – especially not at this ungodly hour of the morning. His words were filled with anger and rage or fuelled by drink. So while his daughter sat before him, Robert was wishing that he had a goblet of ale in his belly to make it all go easier.
As the years past by, Cersei's acts of revenge slowly escalated before becoming utterly barbaric. Her last act of revenge was what had caused him to call off the betrothal. She was a pretty thing, the serving wench that he had taken to his bed the night of Joffrey's nameday, but now he couldn't think of that pretty serving wench without conjuring the image of her lifeless body floating on the surface of the sea. The worst thing about it was that she had looked like his lost love Lyanna Stark. No doubt her appearance contributed to her demise.
He had punished his wife, but not nearly as much as he wanted to. As king, he should have been able to chop her golden head off her shoulders, but the crown was in debt to Tywin Lannister – Cersei's father – and only a fool would cross him.
"Is it true then?" Kenna asked, aware that the king was unlikely to start the conversation himself. Robert knew that she had grown fond of the boy. Ned had told him, and in her letters – yes, he actually read them – his daughter wrote of the boy fondly. That made him regret the decision even more. They could have been like me and Lyanna, he thought bitterly. But just like me, she will have to deal with Cersei as a replacement for a lost love. His silence was enough of an answer for Kenna. She scoffed and shook her head, disbelieving. "I knew that Mother didn't want me to marry Robb. She thought – she thinks – that she's protecting me. But you... you wanted this to happen. You wanted me to marry Robb, that's why you sent me away from my home – from my family! And you didn't even put up that much of a fight!"
"Lower your voice, girl," he told her sternly. "I may be your father, but I am still the king."
She fell back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest and pouting. It was the first time that he could see the familial resemblance between his eldest daughter and Joffrey, and he wished that somehow he could unsee it. He didn't want to see any of his bratty, petulant son in his beloved eldest daughter.
"So I will return with you – to the capital?" Robert didn't respond, only giving her brief nod and a grunt. Kenna huffed once again. She tried to see the best in this, she really did. The only positive side of returning to King's Landing that she could see was staying with her siblings. "I suppose these last few years in the North were a waste then. Since I will most likely never see it again."
"Not a waste," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Your mother can try, but she'll never shake the North out of you, girl. Its not something that can just fade away with time."
Kenna smiled, and Robert smiled with her. Receiving a true, warm smile from her father was a rare jewel, so Kenna savoured the moment even though she was mad at him.
Author's Note: 248 follows and 139 alerts? You guys are seriously amazing! This chapter set a lot of events into place, even the scenes that you might think are irrelevant. Writing this chapter was like writing a Spanish soap opera! But I hope that it wasn't too fluffy that it became annoying. Most of the characters are quite young, so their misfortunes in life are exaggerated into tragedies in their minds. I hope that none of the characters are OOC. Its one of my worries when writing fanfiction, so do tell me if anyone is OOC.
Until next time! :)
