My eyes widened at the sight of the Red Keep. I marveled at the sight of the gigantic building. Having only seen glimpses of it as a child, I had never fully realized its magnitude. I felt very small from where I sat between Septa Mordane and the soldier steering our wagon.

That very morning, before we set off on the final leg of our journey, Ned had suggested to me that I sit in the first wagon in the procession with his daughters and the older woman. According to my lord, the queen had…reservations…about a young woman being seen by her people riding on a horse alongside the other soldiers. Shevaun was lent to another soldier to ride, much to my dismay.

We entered the gate and our wagon slowed down to a stop. I watched as Ned dismounted from his white steed and a steward dressed in dark colors approached him.

"Welcome, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested," the steward told him.

Ned looked over his shoulder at Septa Mordane. "Get the girls settled in," he said. "I'll be back in time for supper. And Jory, you go with them."

"Yes, my lord," Jory said.

"The handmaiden will be taken to the musicians' quarters. The King has requested a song from her," the steward glanced up at me. Then he looked at Ned's decidedly Northern attire. "If you'd like to change into something more appropriate…"

From what I could tell, all Ned did was pull off his gloves. The steward pursed his lips and led the lord inside. I smirked to myself, knowing Ned was likely too tired to deal with this kind of shite.

"Excuse me, miss?" said a voice from beside one of the wagon's wheels.

I looked down and saw a plump man with balding dusty red hair and a manicured beard staring up at me. I noticed that he already had my bags under his arms. What service, I thought to myself. Septa Mordane gave me a sidelong glance, as if I had any better idea as to who this man was than she did.

"Yes?" I leaned my head down over her lap.

"You're the new musician, are you not? Fallon?" he asked, stepping a bit closer.

"Aye, that's me," I smiled at him.

"My name is Ruban," he bowed his head. "I'm to take you to your new quarters."

"Very well, then," I nodded.

"Don't go," Arya whined, reaching out and grabbing my shoulder before I could move.

"I'll find you as soon as I can, little lady," I murmured back to her, squeezing her hand before I went to stand up.

The man who steered the wagon clambered off the vessel and lent me his grubby hand to help me follow him. I nodded my thanks and stepped around the wagon to meet Ruban. He bowed his head to me again and I gave him a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, but that's unnecessary," I told him in a sweet voice. "I'm quite lowborn."

"Don't care much about classes. I bow to any and every lady I meet. 'Srespectful," he replied.

"If only there were more men like yourself in this world," I curtsied.

"And if only there were more women like yourself who could recognize that," Ruban beamed. "Please, follow me."

"Certainly," I said. I eyed one of the bags he had with them. I could see the neck of my lute sticking out of one of them. "May I?" I asked, cocking my head towards the bag.

Ruban's eyes followed mine and he quickly handed me said bag. "Yes, yes, of course, dear. We musicians must keep our instruments safe."

"Thank you," I nodded at him again and walked with him as he led me into the castle. "You're one of the musicians as well?"

"Aye, that I am," Ruban told me. "I play the lyre. And I've heard great things about you and your lute."

"Have you?" I raised a brow as we entered a dimly lit hallway. The corridor seemed to be one of those hidden passageways that only servants of the castle would know about, so I figured I should pay attention.

"We received word from King Robert himself. Very impressed, he was. Are you that talented or did he bed you?" Ruban asked.

"Sorry?" I chirped, not expecting to be asked such a question. All that talk about being respectful…

"Apologies for being so brash, lass, but the king does have a reputation."

"Right, right. No, I don't think the king is interested in bedding me. He hasn't even spoken to me since he offered me the job," I gulped.

"Hmm…" Ruban considered my words for a moment. "Must be very talented then."

I couldn't quite tell how I felt about Ruban at this point. I didn't much appreciate him insinuating that I had fucked my way into my position. Gods, I barely even wanted it in the first place.

"Apologies again, dear. I've been so rude," Ruban said after a moment of silence. He sounded genuine enough, his voice high, as if he'd just realized something. "Me mother always used to tell me to think before I speak. Things just pop into me head and come out me mouth before I know it. Seven knows how much trouble that's gotten me into over the years."

I glanced at the side of Ruban's face. I could see a jagged scar running from his temple all the way down into his beard, parting the red hairs, and ending at his chin. I felt a wave of empathy crash over me.

"Apology accepted," I offered him a smile. "No one is perfect."

"You're very kind, Fallon," he looked at me.

"Thank you."

"And I'm very lucky," Ruban said as he approached a stairway in the dim corridor and started climbing it. "I've yet to put one of my feet in me mouth in front of the royal family. Gods know if I did the queen would have me hand chopped off and I wouldn't be able to play anymore. Gods also know I'm not much of a singer, and so I'd be shit out of luck, wouldn't I? And that's the best-case scenario, innit?"

I felt a lump in my throat. Queen Cersei was already displeased with me on many counts. I wondered if King Robert or, hells, even Ser Jaime, were the only reasons I had remained unscathed thus far.

Remind me to pray to the Stranger that King Robert lives a long, healthy life, I thought to myself.

"So, you were the Stark girl's handmaiden?" Ruban asked, opening a door into a far more ornate corridor—one that wasn't hidden from the public.

"Aye," I said, looking at the fancy candelabra lining the hall.

"And you'll be splitting your duties?"

"Until her thirteenth nameday, yes."

"Gods, you must be good for the king to agree to that."

"I've, er, got stones."

Ruban turned his head and glanced down at my skirts, as if expecting to see something bulging out from there. He's a bit daft, isn't he? I thought as Ruban stopped at a door. I noticed there was another door directly across the hall, and a few more down the way.

"Here are the musicians' quar—"

Ruban's voice stopped at the sound of loud clanking coming down the hallway. We both turned our heads and saw the large man in heavy dark armor coming towards us. Ruban caught my eye and looked down at the floor. Though I normally wouldn't be afraid to look at someone, I could sense from Ruban's reaction that whoever this was, he was not one to make eye contact with. I followed the musician's lead at first, but I did catch a glimpse.

His dark hair was cropped close to the top of his head and he had a beard that barely hid his intense disposition. He was the tallest man I had ever seen in my life. And judging by his bulky armor, he was likely the strongest man in all of Westeros.

Whoever he was, he didn't break his stride once when he neared us. I watched his enormous feet stomp past. And after the sound of his steps dampened, I met Ruban's eyes and then glanced back to see the incredibly tall man turn a corner at the end of the hallway and walk out of sight.

"Best keep your distance from him as much as you can," Ruban muttered. "They call him the Mountain."

"I can see why," I bounced my eyebrows.

"While you're at it, try and avoid his little brother," Ruban said in my ear. "As fearsome and vicious as they are massive, those Cleganes."

My head snapped in Ruban's direction. "Cleganes? There's more than just San—er, the Hound?"

"You already know the Hound?" Ruban furrowed his brow at me.

"Erm, well, I wouldn't exactly say I know him," I shrugged.

"But you've encountered the dog?"

"Aye," I nodded quickly. "Several times."

"I don't envy you, girl," Ruban shivered. "As I was saying," he cleared his throat, "these are the musicians' quarters. This is your new chamber. Mine is across the way. You'll meet the rest later."

Ruban opened the door we were standing outside of and gestured for me to walk in front of him. I stepped in and studied my surroundings. There was a featherbed directly across from the door. A tall, unlit candle stood on the small bedside table. In the corner of the room was a scribe table which I assumed I could write songs on. A large chest rested against the foot of the bed and I put my bag atop it carefully.

I walked over to the window, where a sparse breeze was blowing the thin white curtain. Pushing the fabric to the side, I looked at my view of Blackwater Bay. I hadn't seen that body of water since I was very young and a strong sense of nostalgia hit me. First sweet. Then bitter.

"Papa likes it when yer 'air is short."

Shuddering, I stepped away from the window and began fiddling with the brown tresses hanging about my waist. I turned and saw that Ruban was standing not far from the door. I faked a smile in his direction and watched as he set my other bag on the chest.

"'Snot much, truth be told. But it's comfortable," he told me.

"It's lovely," I assured him. "Just lovely."

"…From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear! The bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear!" I finished with a curtsy.

"Excellent, excellent," King Robert clapped, giving me a roguish smile.

He was seated at his table in his chambers, two guards behind him. One of them was an older man with thinning white hair, the other looked a little too familiar.

"No one sings it quite like she does, eh, Trant?" Robert looked over his shoulder.

"Not that I've heard, Your Grace," the guard said, glaring at me from under his arched eyebrows.

He clearly remembered me—probably because he felt so humiliated by the beat-down Sandor gave him in the stables that day. The day I was afraid unspeakable things would be done to Arya.

"And you, Selmy?" Robert looked over his other shoulder and the white-haired guard.

"Very well done, Your Grace," Selmy replied, nodding his head to me.

"You're all very kind," I bowed my head again.

"The pleasure is all mine, Fallon," Robert leaned back against his chair. "You may go tend to the Stark girl for the time being. I've requested another song at supper tonight, but I've given you leave until the morrow so that you can settle in."

I was struck by this. I didn't expect him to be so lenient. Perhaps Ned called in a favor?

"That's very generous of you, Your Grace. I cannot thank you enough," I curtsied yet again, holding my lute to my chest.

"Off you go," Robert gestured to the door.

I had just turned when said door burst open and Joffrey strode in, pulling his sleeve down over his wrist. I wondered if he was trying to cover up his scars from Nymeria's attack. He sneered at me before shouldering his way past me and walking to Robert's table.

"Father, I—"

"Shut it, boy," Robert growled, glaring at his son. Then he looked up past me. "Ah, good thing you're here, dog."

I whipped around and saw Sandor in the doorway. The tall guard didn't look down at me and I was glad. It had almost been a fortnight since he had proved me wrong about the rain, but I was still kind of embarrassed about it. I was thankful that our paths didn't cross much on the road after that event, but every once in a while I would catch him smirking at me when we broke for lunch.

"Do us all a favor and escort the girl to the Starks," King Robert continued. "Precious cargo, she is. I would hate it if something happened to her."

I furrowed my brow at that statement. What does he think is going to happen to me in the castle?

Sandor simply nodded and turned around to leave the doorway. I followed him and let the door close behind me. Sandor was leaning against the wall, staring at me.

"You don't have to escort me. I'll be fine," I mumbled.

"King's orders," Sandor grunted.

"Fine," I sighed. "Can we stop at my chamber first? I'd like to put my lute away so I don't lose it…again."

Sandor stared at me for a moment, not a hint of emotion on his face, and then he started walking in the direction of the musicians' quarters. I struggled to keep up with his long strides, nearly running by the time we reached a staircase.

"Why didn't you gloat?" I asked suddenly, not even realizing what I was doing until it was already done.

Sandor stopped and turned around. He was enough steps down that we were almost eye-level. "The fuck you talking about?" he asked.

"W-When it rained," I elaborated, feeling a bit nervous under his gaze. "You rode next to me because you knew it was going to rain and you knew I was being an idiot. You had every opportunity to mock me and gloat, but you didn't."

"Look on yer face was plenty," Sandor shrugged his broad shoulders. "Enough with the questions, girl."

I chewed on my bottom lip and watched as he turned around and continued down the stairs, following him after a few seconds. I felt a familiar fuzziness rising in my stomach and abruptly felt the urge to get his attention again.

"I didn't know you had a brother," I said, causing Sandor to stop in his tracks yet again. He didn't turn around this time, so I came down until I was one step above him, but still shorter than him. "I take it his given name isn't the Mountain as much as yours isn't the Hound?"

Sandor took a deep breath and turned his head to look at me, the fuzzy feeling dissipating immediately. There was a fire in his eyes that made me gulp. He looked as if he were struggling to suppress the urge to strike me for mentioning the brother. I glanced at the burned side of his face and pursed my lips, wondering if the Mountain had had anything to do with the deformity.

"I-I'm sorry," I muttered quickly. "You said enough and I should have stopped talking. I w-won't bring it up again. I'm sorry."

Sandor stared at me for another moment and I could see his expression soften just a wee bit before he continued down the way. I followed him silently until we reached my chamber and I nodded my thanks to him before he clomped down the corridor without a word.

"Arya, please," I said, looking at the young brunette angrily stabbing at the table with a knife.

"Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food," Septa Mordane said in a firm voice. She gave me another sidelong glance, as if to show me that I was being too soft on the girl.

"I'm practicing," Arya shot back at the septa.

"Practicing for what?" Sansa asked, not looking up from her plate.

"The prince."

My eyebrows shot up.

"Arya, stop," Septa Mordane gasped.

"He's a liar and a coward," Arya's voice was raising. "And he killed my friend."

"The Hound killed your friend," Sansa rebutted.

"The Hound does whatever the prince tells him to do," Arya was still stabbing at the table.

"You're an idiot."

"You're a liar. And if you told the truth, Mycah would be alive!" Arya punctuated her sentence by stabbing the knife into the table closer to Sansa, deep enough so the knife stood upright in the wood.

"Arya, that's enough," I stared at her from across the table. Her dark gray eyes were fierce and unwavering.

Septa Mordane rose from her chair and gestured for the girl to stand up and leave the room. Arya didn't protest. But before she could go too far, Ned came up behind my chair.

"What's happening here?" he asked, glancing down at me.

"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady," Septa Mordane cut in, staring down the young girl.

Arya's eyes shifted from Ned's, to mine, back to Ned's. She knew she had crossed the line.

"Go to your room," Ned told her. "We'll speak later."

Arya looked at me, as if expecting me to come with her. I gave her a wistful smile and jerked my head towards the door. Frowning, she turned around and left the room.

"That's for you, love," Ned said after an awkward pause.

I looked down at the table and noticed that he put down a small object wrapped in a dark cloth in front of Sansa. He sat down in the seat beside me and watched as his oldest daughter put her eating utensils down to open the gift. She untied the strings holding the cloth together, her eyebrows furrowing at the object inside. It was an ornate doll. I pursed my lips, knowing this wasn't going to go over well.

"The same dollmaker makes all of Princess Myrcella's toys," Ned added. Sansa still didn't look impressed. "Don't you like it?" he asked when she didn't say anything.

"I haven't played with dolls since I was eight," she said poisonously.

Ned looked crestfallen and I started to pity him.

"May I be excused?" Sansa asked.

"W-You've barely eaten a thing," Septa Mordane gesticulated towards Sansa's plate.

"It's all right," Ned sighed. "Go on."

Sansa stood up, placed her napkin on the table, and stormed off, leaving the doll behind.

Ned waited for her to leave earshot and then he looked at me. "War was easier than daughters."

With a smile, I leaned over and grabbed the doll, admiring her. "Believe me when I say this, my lord, you could be doing much worse."