Forgive My Sins

by It's-A-Passion

"A lion lusting after a wolf…Pathetic. If my father knew, he would be ashamed to call me son." Sybel Stark is the effervescent, kind-hearted daughter who knows where her duty and loyalties lay. But those loyalties are tested with the arrival of Jaime Lannister. He's just a man in dire need of forgiveness, but perhaps she is the one to give it to him? JaimeOC.

6. Chapter 6

Forgive My Sins | Chapter Six | (The Kingsroad)

The Wheelhouse was bigger inside than Sybel would have guessed. On one side were small beds piled high with furs and velvets and plump pillows, gilded lattice work partitions separating them. Sybel supposed they were for the Princes and Princess, and when she saw one of the beds was covered in dolls, she felt she had guessed correctly, for Myrcella loved her dolls. On the other side, on a raised dais, was a grand bed, just as richly heaped with sheets and pelts and all manner of soft things. And in the middle, even with walking space to spare, was a low seated table surrounded by more of those plush pillows.

The Wheelhouse was full of colours—deep and full, to light and shimmery. But everywhere there was gold; the wooden trimmings, the fake foliage painted to look like it was growing up the walls, the candelabras and lanterns littered about. It was opulent and extravagant, and even though the structure was slow and sometimes all she could hear was the groaning of the wood swaying along, she had to admit it looked more comfortable than her options for travel; her mare or the wooden cart.

Despite all of the beauty in the Wheelhouse, the Queen still easily surpassed it all, standing before Sybel in a richly embroidered and patterned dress of wine coloured velvet. The sleeves hung loose and low, the material flowing around her tall and regal frame, and Sybel couldn't help but notice that the Queen's neck and tops of her breasts were visible. Sybel looked down at her own dress; the comparatively conservative neckline and colour, and what had moments before been her special occasion dress now seemed drab in comparison.

"I can see you appreciate my wheelhouse," the Queen smiled sweetly as Sybel lowered down in a curtsey. She let Sybel stay there for a moment before gesturing her over to the table to be seated. The Queen's three handmaidens sat themselves on cushions off to the side, waiting instructions. They barely made any noise, so much so that it would be easy to forget they were there. She guessed that it was probably why the Queen picked them as her handmaidens.

"It is beautiful, your grace," Sybel nodded, her mouth still open in awe.

"Wait until you see the Capital—it is a hundred times grander than what we have been able to fit into this small contraption." Sybel wouldn't be able to believe her until she saw it with her own eyes. The Queen seemed to guess at her line of thinking. "A touch nicer than what you're used to, I would guess."

Sybel couldn't be sure but she almost thought her voice was… mocking, maybe. She had seen the upturned nose and occasional disdain on her face as she regarded the North. That, combined with the quick flashes in her mind of more masculine features and shorter golden hair made her think that maybe she could be just as mocking as her brother. They were related; it fit that they all carried the same smug self-satisfaction at times.

"Just a touch," Sybel smiled kindly, pretending she hadn't noticed the tone. She was the Queen after all—she was entitled to her superiority, and it was Sybel's job to accept it with ease. "We do have luxuries in the North, your grace, they just tend to be of a practical sort is all."

The Queen didn't give much away in her expressions and instead seemed to smile serenely all the time that it would never allow anyone to guess at what she was actually thinking. Only the hard glinting emerald of her eyes gave away the possibility of something else, something harsher or crueler than her smile would suggest. Sybel was struck by how very different hers and Jaime's eyes were despite being exactly the same. His eyes felt like they burned her, while Cersei's seemed to chill her.

The Queen laughed, light and lilting. "I imagine the extravagance might almost offend you. You are a Stark, after all."

She continued to smile like the idea of offending Sybel was her last worry in the world. Or even like it was the point. Sybel wasn't sure but she felt herself become even more aware and self-conscious than she was on entering the Wheelhouse.

"Oh certainly not, your grace!" Sybel rushed to reassure, ensuring she was as pleasant as she could be, while wondering at the feeling of disingenuousness she got from the whole conversation with the Queen. Despite the Queen's endearing smile and the invitation this morning, Sybel was very quickly feeling like she was not actually welcome. There was an incongruence between her kind smile and her measuring eyes that left Sybel feeling confused as to why the Queen had wanted to have tea with her in the first place. "I'm sure you must be glad to be returning to Kingslanding."

"Yes," she nodded. "We have been gone too long as it is."

Sybel only nodded politely, trying not to think too much on the reason for their delay. One of the Queens handmaidens stepped forward and poured them both some tea from an intricate patterned teapot into two small matching teacups. Another stepped forward to place a plate of honey cakes on the table before them, and Sybel smiled in thanks at them. They did not smile in return, only glancing to their Queen before quickly moving away. Sybel waited for the Queen to drink before she touched her own, every decorum lesson her Septa ever taught her running through her mind.

"Are you also looking forward to the Capital?"

The Queen picked up a cake, so Sybel did too. "Certainly, your grace."

"Can I give you a bit of advice then?" She did not wait for Sybel to reply. "You ought to remember you're not in the North anymore, so you will need to dress to the Court. Your younger sisters might be able to get away with it a bit more but there will be a higher expectation on you to look the part."

Sybel turned red, her face hot. The Queen's handmaidens covered their grins with their hands. The Queen still wore her sickly sweet smile. She recognized the intention of her words; recognized the insult guised as helpfulness. Or really, she saw it in her unwavering gaze on Sybel. Sybel didn't know what to do with backhanded comments; she'd never been in a situation where someone was intentionally trying to make her feel…small. Sybel thought that she might not have even conversed with anyone who didn't seem to even like her at least a little—except for maybe Jaime. But she couldn't quite get a read on what he thought about her.

Quietly, she asked, "And what part is that, your grace?"

"A demure noblewoman waiting to be taken to her marriage bed." She laughed like this was obvious. "You have such a sweet innocence."

Sybel's face was still hot and it made the Queen smile wider. "But I'm not married."

"We shall fix that quickly, don't you worry." The Queen leaned forward like she was whispering in confidence, like Sybel did shortly before with Alyse. Except she trusted Alyse completely; she was getting the impression she shouldn't trust the Queen. She didn't understand the urgency the Queen had in marrying her off. "I will help you."

"That is very kind of you, your grace. But surely you have more important things pressing on your time than my marriage prospects." Sybel continued to feel confused and it must have shown in the furrows on her face because the Queen laughed like Sybel had so much to learn.

The Queen leant back, eyes looking her up and down, surveying her. "You will quickly understand when you're married that the only important thing you have to do is spread your legs and give your husband sons."

She could be just as crass as her brother. Sybel didn't know what to say, so she kept quiet and took a large mouthful of still hot tea. The Queen gestured at her handmaidens and one quickly brought over a goblet of wine and two cups. She poured one for the Queen and then went to pour one for Sybel.

"Oh no, thank you. My father only allows us one cup at feasts."

The Queen laughed incredulously. "Your father isn't here. He's off somewhere hunting with my husband, and you don't have to do everything he tells you. You're old enough to make your own decisions, don't you think Lady Sybel? Drink with me."

It was a command. So Sybel took a sip. She had seen the way the Queen drank; like she needed it to get through, to tolerate the goings-on around her, to stomach her husband the King. Sybel wondered what it was about herself that the Queen was finding so hard to stand.

They drank for a while longer, tea and cakes apparently forgotten, and Sybel's face warmed further in reaction to the wine. The Queen asked her about Sansa and what she thought she would be like as the wife of the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. Sybel found her tongue much looser now, though she praised Sansa as a perfect lady in the way she would've even without the drink. She was also asked about Bran and if she'd heard anymore from her mother about his condition. Sybel told her about how they had received a message that morning from her mother indicating that the maester thought he might wake soon as he seemed to have a bit more colour with every passing day. The Queen gave her an empathetic expression that was too tight.

The handmaiden filled their cups again and the Queen continued to encourage her to drink a bit more, even though Sybel didn't want any more. She was not in any position to refuse the Queen though, and as she drank a bit more she felt that it wasn't all that bad. The taste was more enjoyable the more it was drunk and she quickly realised why men could imbibe too much so easily. The Queen drank deeply but it didn't seem to have the same effect on her the way it did on Sybel; her eyes remained just as alert while Sybel felt her tongue trip over her words ever so slightly. She tried to politely answer the questions the Queen threw at her, trying to keep a handle on herself enough not to embarrass herself.

Then, finally, when it felt like Sybel really shouldn't have any more to drink lest she start indiscriminately sharing every thought in her head, the Queen seemed to almost too-flippantly comment, "I hear you've been talking with Jaime."

Sybel felt her heart stutter to a halt. This, Sybel's mind yelled at her, this is what she actually wants to talk about. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but Sybel felt the question wasn't as unimportant to the Queen as she made it sound.

Sybel blinked at her. "I…"

Her eyes were so green and so shrewd. Sybel's comparatively were far too readable.

Her brain felt a little sluggish as she tried piecing things together enough to understand the point of this question, to know how to answer best. It gave her pause long enough to carefully consider her own words, and the Queen stared at her as though this would be the most important answer she would give all morning.

"Only once or twice, your grace." She tried saying it like the few meetings they'd had were of so little consequence to her that she could barely even recall how often they had met. The lie felt uncomfortable in her mouth but as she said it, it felt safest. "We've only really spoken in passing."

It was only somewhat of a lie—she had only sought him out the once from her memory. But she didn't want the Queen knowing how much time she'd spent with him for just in passing.

Why would the Queen care who she spoke to? Unless… had Jaime told her of their interactions? Surely not. Surely they were of so little consequence to him that they would not be worth discussing, least of all with the Queen. But she was his sister. And it had felt like he'd threatened it in the way he'd grinned at her last time they met.

When the Queen continued to look at her expectantly, Sybel felt the need to give more information when her cause probably would've been best helped by remaining silent. "Maybe three times, your grace. I think. I'm not quite sure."

The Queen just looked at her. Sybel swallowed more words queued up to let the Queen know that Jaime was very easy to run into. If Jaime had told her of their interactions, then Sybel suddenly felt very silly for lying. But she was also trying to pretend she was unaffected and unimpacted by the golden Kingsguard, when really the knot in her stomach said otherwise.

It then also occurred to her that perhaps she should be more concerned about Jaime sharing what they spoke about, or more specifically, how they spoke because she knew it was not entirely appropriate. She'd even felt the need to keep it secret from her family which was warning enough, and Sybel knew it. But every time she saw him, she felt an internal conflict brewing; she both did and didn't want to see him again; she felt both pulled to him and pushed away, and that in itself left her intrigued enough to want more. Enough for her to stay quiet for a bit longer each time. For some reason, she had assumed he felt the same way, but thinking on it now, why would he? She had heard her brothers and Theon speak about women; the boastful stories that she was sure would mortify the woman in question.

She should've known better. Jaime Lannister is a man just the same as all of them. She breathed in deep and slow through her nose, trying to reassure herself. She hadn't been the one speaking with too much familiarity towards someone she shouldn't be familiar with at all... but then, when was the woman ever not blamed for the deeds of a man? The problem was that Sybel had allowed it.

She felt her chest clench too tight. Surely if the Queen suspected that Sybel had not been upholding her good manners then she wouldn't be welcoming her in for tea. Not that you were really welcome, a little voice inside her head reminded. But a young woman suspected of being too-familiar with a man not her husband would never be invited to anything other than scorn and ridicule. It was the warning every young girl had when they entered into womanhood—the warning of shame and disdain.

Finally, the Queen spoke. "That's not what my little birds tell me."

Little birds? As she sat under the Queen's focused stare, she felt everything slip into stark perspective, and she felt the panic grow in her whirling mind. If anyone overheard or saw her interactions with Jaime, she could see how things might be interpreted. How it would be her reputation as a proper noblewoman in question. She could see how she could be easily outcast by other highborn women when rumours were their currency of trade. She could see how highborn men might get the wrong idea of her when she allowed him too many familiarities.

She heard her Septa in her head emphasizing the importance of how she behaved in the South, how she walked and talked and looked. And all of a sudden she saw the seriousness of it; felt it catch up to her and she realized just how much she was dancing with her future every time she'd spoken with him lately. Realised just how much her Septa wasn't really talking about her physical appearance alone. She didn't even want to think of the consequences if someone had seen them in the corridor, standing close enough to be in an embrace.

Her throat felt tight, mouth slow to explain further , like she was waiting for her brain to catch up. When it didn't, she could only ramble out, "Your brother is most chivalrous, your grace, he has only… expressed concern on my safety on the few times I have spoken to him."

That seemed like the wrong answer, because the Queen stood abruptly like she was signalling the end of their tea. Sybel stood too, feeling so lightheaded at the quick movement that she nearly missed the way the Queen's smile dropped for just a second, replaced just as quickly again. But Sybel felt even more unsteady at the calculating look that was there when the smile wasn't.

"He is sweet, my dear brother." The Queen pulled Sybel's hands into her own and gripped tight, giving her a knowing look as she guided them towards the door of the Wheelhouse. Clearly, the Queen was done with her now. "Don't be foolish enough to mistake it as a reason to lift your skirts."

Her eyes widened as she struggled to find enough air in her body to get words out. That hit a little too close to her own thoughts the other day in the corridor and hearing it spoken out loud filled her with a sense of dread. The Queen stared at her, holding tight before patting her hands in a simpering laugh, smiles all honeyed kindness again, "Oh the naiveté of youth. Have a lovely afternoon, my sweet."

She let Sybel's hands go. She heard the dismissal. But it took a minute for her to be able to move, let alone whisper out a hoarse. "And you, your grace. Thank you for the tea, you honour me with your time."

The Queen waved her off and she stumbled out of the Wheelhouse, pushing the door closed behind her and taking a moment to calm her racing heart. When she tried moving forward, she just about fell down the steps, not able to find purchase to stop herself, and her stomach lurched, the world tilting far too easily.

She would've planted face-first into the ground had it not been for the strong arms grabbing her and easily settling her back onto the ground. She looked up at unfamiliar, handsome dark eyes and a thick beard cut close to a clean, personable face. The side of his mouth was quirked in a half-smile but his voice was nothing but polite worry. "Are you alright, my lady?"

Sybel found it hard to catch her breath and she shook her head, the world around her shifting about and making her stomach threaten to empty its contents. "I'm sorry, I think I need to sit."

Sybel wasn't really able to focus on anything other than breathing deeply and keeping her eyes closed against the blurring world, but he guided her slowly away from the Wheelhouse, towards a large log left around a fire from the previous night. She sat, and slowly felt her heart slow just enough for the world to feel like it had righted itself again. She looked up, her eyes sweeping over the stag coat of arms on his robes, her eyebrows rising in surprise, "I thank you… Lord Renly?"

She tested it out, though she was certain. He was clearly highborn in his luxurious robes and with the Stag emblem she could guess it had to be one of the King's brothers. His youth gave it away, really, and if she squinted and pictured the King younger and fitter, she could almost see him in Renly.

His half grin became a full one. "I see I am at a disadvantage. I am ashamed to say I am unfamiliar with someone as lovely as yourself."

He was so very charming, and she stood slowly to introduce herself, the world only a little wobbly at the movement now that she had a bit more space between her and the Queen. But before she could answer, another tall and broad figure joined them and the all-too-familiar voice cut in as her eyes found his smirk, "I think you're making it a habit of requiring saving, Lady Stark."

His appearance caused a slight panic to rise with the Wheelhouse still in sight, like the Queen would step out and catch them…doing absolutely nothing wrong. But there was something about the way the Queen had questioned her that made her think that any interaction with Jaime would be considered wrong in her eyes. And the last thing she wanted to do was upset the Queen. "I'm lucky Lord Renly was there otherwise I'm sure I would be covered in dirt and sporting some scrapes and bruises."

He looked like he was expecting a retort—she didn't like his implication and he knew it, too close to their previous discussion on Jory—but the worry over her being too familiar, too friendly, too allowing, pushed her to safe and detached politeness. It was protection; the barrier between her own thoughts and others, and she'd never felt more like she needed it than coming away from tea with the Queen.

"Well, it was a pleasure to save Lord Stark's eldest and most beautiful daughter from dirt, scrapes and bruises." Renly's eyes were lit with recognition and his hand that was still holding her steady slid down her arm as he bent forward in a bow. He kissed the back of her hand in a sweeping gesture. "It is a delight to meet you, Lady Sybel."

She thought she really ought to be more wooed by his frivolous show—Sansa would—but Sybel was finding it hard to shift her eyes away from his burning gaze locked on hers. He looked vaguely irritated by all the agreeable niceties coming out of their mouths and she felt her frustration grow, fueled by her earlier panic and the wine to be directed solely at him. How dare he be annoyed by her hiding behind her only shield—especially when he was the reason she suddenly felt she needed it. He was undoubtedly the reason she had just been subjected to that uncomfortable meeting with the Queen.

But she was the one to have mislaid trust in him to not speak of their confusing, heated encounters; she was the one to have mistakenly played along and kept it to herself. Maybe her brothers were right. Maybe she did trust too easily and too quickly, for really Jaime Lannister had done nothing to earn it.

Everything felt suddenly hot. She'd drunk far too much to be able to navigate Jaime Lannister today, and while the world felt steadier than a moment ago, his gaze made the inside of her head feel dizzy and spinning. She forced her gaze away from him and she quickly took stock again of the bowing man.

She tried to quickly drop into a returning curtsey that was only just noticeably too delayed, "And you, Lord Renly, though I believe you to be misinformed. I am the eldest, but it is my younger sister Sansa who is the most beautiful."

Renly smiled at her but it was his eyes she felt all over her—and she wished he would just stop so she could think—enough that she politely retracted her arm from Renly's hand. "I have met the Lady Sansa not long ago."

Sybel nodded despite it feeling like he had left something else unsaid and that she was supposed to gather his meaning. Her eyes darted to Jaime though she didn't know why; he wasn't one to help her by making things make sense. From her experience, it was usually the complete opposite. Jaime snorted. "You'll have to be clearer than that with Lady Sybel, Renly. She has a number of admirers that she is studiously oblivious to despite them being plain to see by anyone with eyes."

The heat from his eyes and the fuzziness in her head, and the frustration he provoked won just enough for her to blurt out unthinkingly, "I don't care for your tone today, Ser Jaime."

Because she really didn't need this right now; didn't need him trying to provoke her into dropping her shield when she was doing her best to try to keep it up until she could get far enough away from his eyes to be able to think.

He looked like he wanted to laugh, taking in the furrow and flushed state of her face. His smirk only widened. Of course it did. His mouth didn't seem capable of doing anything other than smirk and spew forth insults. "You don't like my tone."

Her words caught up with her brain and she blushed as she realised there was too much there in her tone, that made it sound like they knew each other when they should just be strangers—strangers would be safest for her. But it was her tone that was the hardest to control, particularly with the wine and burgeoning anger mixing inside her head, and when it was her nature not to censor her thoughts so much. "You make me sound obtuse."

"Only in this." He sounded uncharacteristically serious in his reply, but Sybel thought maybe she just hadn't listened hard enough for the snarkiness.

She squinted her eyes at Jaime and felt again that his words continued to be a pointed reminder of his thoughts about Jory. He was like her wolf when given a bone—unwilling to let it go and ready to fight anyone who would try to take it.

She felt her heart thrumming in her chest and she took a breath to settle it, trying not to get caught up in it. He was so very good at causing her confusion and frustration, sometimes without her even realising it—or when she was actively on watch for it. He made it harder than anyone else to carefully consider her words and she was thought he must be fully aware of the dizzying effect he could have and was using it to his full advantage. This is exactly how it happened, how she was finding herself more familiar with him than she should.

Renly looked between them, following their back-and-forth with interest, and eyeing Sybel warmly. It seemed that Jaime hadn't finished having her attention solely on him, because he quickly said, "How much have you had to drink this morning, Lady Stark? Does your father know?"

From his eyes and Renly's laughing smile, she could quickly deduce that they had noticed the smell of wine on her, and maybe as well, at times, her just slightly too-loose words. It felt to Sybel like he was trying to embarrass her in front of Renly, trying to highlight her immaturity or youth, like he wanted Renly to think that she was so much of a child that she needed her father's permission to do anything. She was struck by how similar it was to what the Queen had been saying to her all morning, but at least it was a bit clearer why when the Queen did it.

She almost felt the need to prove him wrong, though he hadn't really said anything that was wrong, per se—it was again all in the tone. But she took a deep breath in to bring her up to her full height—which, unfortunately, was still much smaller than either of the two men she stood with—and crossed her arms below her chest in a way that emphasised her chest and the curve of her waist, and how she really wasn't so much of a child anymore—whether she would admit it was deliberate or not. "Her grace the Queen, your sister, invited me to her wheelhouse for tea."

Renly nodded in understanding and glanced to Jaime, "Your sister does love her wine."

Jaime looked confused. Genuinely confused and maybe a little bit suspicious. "Why did she invite you to tea?"

Sybel looked at him like she couldn't believe how comfortably he insulted her, again, in such a short span of time. She didn't know why she couldn't believe it though, considering this was not uncharacteristic of him.

"What can you mean, Ser Jaime!" Renly laughed jovially and clapped Jaime on the back. "The Lady Stark is clearly a delight!"

"That is very kind of you, Lord Renly. I do not think I am such awful company as he would suggest." Her words were pointed, but her smile was kind as she focused on Renly. It was easier to focus on him rather than Jaime. He laughed and winked like he was on her side. Sybel knew he was playful and jesting, but it felt nicer than mocking and teasing did, and she felt herself warm to Renly more from this than from his earlier bow and charming introduction. She pointedly continued to ignore Jaime and in focusing on Renly, it occurred to her how he had only joined their travels today, for it was the first time she had seen him. "I didn't realize you would be joining us on our journey, my lord."

"Only this last half, as an escort back to Kingslanding. I was on my way to announce myself to the Queen as it seems my brother is nowhere to be found." He sighed like he was used to being inconvenienced by his brother.

"They're on a hunt," Jaime supplied, tone irritated. This made Sybel smile, though perhaps she should've tried harder to hide it.

"Then the Queen it is," Renly nodded easily.

"I won't detain you any longer," Sybel smiled sweetly, trying to continue ignoring the way Jaime unrelentingly watched her. "But we are lucky for your company, I'm sure."

He bowed at her again, just as sweeping and low as before. She smiled and curtsied back, and as he turned towards the Wheelhouse, Sybel felt a strong need to get far enough away that she wouldn't be seen when the Queen emerged.

She hadn't gotten as far away as she would've liked before Jaime caught up to her and said, "Wait."

His voice wasn't loud but nor was it quiet enough for her to be able to pretend she didn't hear him. Her earlier panic resurfaced at the idea of conversing alone with Jaime Lannister—and within eye sight of the Wheelhouse. So Sybel continued walking at as fast a pace she could muster that would not seem too obvious to anyone she might pass. "I should like to return to my chambers now if you don't mind, Ser Jaime."

A cool breeze kicked up and it seemed to help her feel more and more sober the longer it traced over her face and neck. He caught her arm and she glanced over his shoulder, feeling comforted by the fact that she couldn't see the Wheelhouse entry behind his broad frame, and so maybe she too couldn't be seen by the Queen or whatever little birds she had. "I do mind, actually. Should you be just walking around in your current state?"

"You mean, without my father's permission?" She couldn't stop her retort flying out her mouth and she pulled her arm out of his grip, ignoring the lingering warmth that had seeped through her sleeve to her skin. She eyed him, and the defensive stance of his folded arms and tight jaw. "Your care for my state is most chivalrous."

He didn't respond, but he didn't get a chance to. There was suddenly a loud commotion, some yelling, heading towards the Wheelhouse. Jaime turned in the direction of the noises, taking a step in that direction, and Sybel took her chance to slip away as quickly and as quietly as she could.

.

.

.

Alyse found her later laying on her bed and trying to stop the whirring of her mind. She didn't really feel the lingering effects of the wine anymore and instead she felt only confusion and worry. Confusion, unsurprisingly, at Jaime, but worry at what he might've said to the Queen, or anyone really.

"M'lady!" Alyse called, running over to her. The apprehension I her voice made Sybel sit up. "I've been looking for you!"

She was quickly told that the commotion she'd escaped in earlier was actually the prince being returned after Nymeria attacked him. Alyse explained that she'd heard that Sansa and the prince had been out walking when Arya and Nymeria attacked him, for reasons unknown. Sybel got up quickly to go in search of her sisters because regardless of the reason, it couldn't mean anything good for Arya. It couldn't mean anything good for their house either for that matter, or even for Sansa's betrothal, if the youngest Stark attacked the prince. It didn't even look good for Nymeria.

They hurried down the stairs as Alyse explained that there was a council downstairs now with Lannister's calling for this to not go unanswered. The Prince had been attacked and it surely wouldn't be just accepted without consequence. She was concerned about what that consequence might be though.

It wasn't hard to find them all—at the bottom of the stairs, Sybel was met by loud voices and a gathering of people at the main entrance into the Inn's hall. Sybel pushed her way through and they shifted to let her through when they recognized her, Alyse close behind her. When she was far enough into the room filled with men, she saw that all the tables and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room except for two at the front where the Queen and King sat.

Lannister knights and the Kingsguard stood around the room, along with a few Stark men. Her father was there too by the King, seeming to be in deep serious conversation, barely noticing how around them were louder voices, overlapping and trying to be heard. If she concentrated, she could hear it was mostly Lannister men and Stark men insulting each other, voices bubbling together in a cacophony of noise. Angry noise. Accusing noise. There was a tension in the air that Sybel could practically feel on her skin, all animosity and hostility, that made her want to leave immediately. The men seemed to almost vibrate in readiness, in the same way lions stalked and wolves circled.

Then she saw her sister weeping at the side of the room, not far from the King and Queen and Sybel's heart clenched as she pushed her way forward with far more determination than before. She was alone and small, standing prettily and anguished in a room full of what felt like teasing violence.

Sybel was halted though, an arm held out to stop her running forward. She looked up to find Jory shaking his head at her. "No, my lady."

"But Sansa—"

"You shouldn't get involved in this, my lady." His discerning eyes were watching the brewing rage in the Queen and he didn't think it would be a good idea for Sybel to put herself in front of that as a target. The Queen was just waiting for a Stark to present themselves, he was sure.

Sybel followed his stare and saw what he saw. But she also saw her younger sister, alone and crying. Her voice was firm. "Let me through Jory."

He hesitated. "My lady…"

"Follow if you must. But I won't be stopped in going to my sister."

He saw more fierceness in her gaze than she was aware of. He nodded and let his arm drop, following close behind as she pushed her way through the Lannister men standing around Sansa. They were hard to shift and she saw why Jory hadn't already moved through them to her younger sister. That would've been like the spark that started it all.

She wrapped her arms around her sister's tall, slim and shaking frame, pulling her in close. It was possibly the first comforting touch she'd been given in this room, because she collapsed forward onto Sybel and let wracking sobs dampen her dress. Sybel whispered reassurances into Sansa's hair, combing it back and down and pressing kisses to her head. "It will be alright, my pup. I've got you."

She gestured to Jory for them to leave but where she'd been able to push her way through the Lannister men before, she quickly found she couldn't pull them out. Obviously they'd been given orders and it bothered Sybel that they involved holding her sister here. She could see the tension all up Jory's back as he weighed up his options.

Without really thinking it through, Sybel spoke up and anger flashed in her eyes. She wasn't going to let Sansa be kept here while she sobbed. By the Gods, she was a child.

"Your graces." Her voice wasn't loud but it didn't take long for there to be a hush over the room, the king and queen turning to look at her. Sansa glanced up at her with watery blue eyes. "With your permission, your graces, I'd like to return my sister to our rooms."

Outrage flashed in the Queens eyes and Sybel readied herself for it to spill out at her. It was different to before in the Wheelhouse where she'd worked very hard to not anger the Queen. Now, she felt herself preparing to take it, if it meant looking after her sister, and felt herself responding with her own anger. It was Lannister men stood around them—only the Queen was a Lannister. "How dare you interrupt!"

"I'm sorry your grace," Sybel said gently, but with a firm determination stoked by the anger pumping through her body. She was hyper aware of all the eyes on her but she tried to ignore it all, her face imploring, "She's the only child in a room full of yelling, armed men. There is no need for her to be here."

The Queen was furious, her voice harsh. "I will decide what there is a need for."

Sybel didn't like the Queen's temper focused so solely on her and she wondered if this was what the Queen was feeling today in the Wheelhouse but was able to hide. The thought terrified her.

But someone needed to point out the bubbling pot about to spill over. Insulting could turn to shoves and turn to duels too quickly for her liking and the room was hot and loud, like it was close to spattering over. And someone needed to get Sansa out long before then, especially if no one realised to be able to cool it back down.

And then the King burst into laughter. Loud, full-bellied guffaws. There were a couple half-hearted, confused chuckles around the room, trying to join in but being unsure what they were joining. The King wiped at tears in his eyes, and Sybel wondered if they were only tears of mirth because there was a sadness there too, unmistakable in the way his eyes didn't join his upturned mouth. "Ned, isn't Lyanna there in her fierceness?"

Her father moved over, shoving his way around the Lannister men, and placed his hands on Sybel's shoulders proudly. "She is right, your grace. She should take Sansa back to their rooms."

The king only waved them away in agreement, the Queen glaring at him. Sybel curtsied. "Thank you, your graces."

Their father instructed Jory to go with them, and Sybel pulled Sansa along behind her, angling her body to shield her weeping sister. She passed by Jaime Lannister where he stood close to the back of the Kingsguard at the front, watching it all unfold before him like he was a spectator at a show.

She'd missed him when she entered but he watched her now as their eyes connected and he felt the sharp anger and disappointment in her responding gaze, aimed at him. Like she expected him to step in; like she expected more of him; like she expected better. His jaw ticked in irritation—he owed her nothing. But her eyes were like glinting steel, stinging in a way that made him look away. His teeth clenched—what was the younger Stark girl to him to do anything other than what was bid of him anyway? She expected too much.

When he looked away, she concentrated again on getting them through the crowd and when the four of them made it to the stairs, Jory led them back to their rooms, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. She kept her arm wrapped around Sansa and leant down to ask her, "Sansa, where is Arya?"

In all of that, she hadn't seen her youngest sister. Sansa's crying increased, not able to get any words out. Sybel looked up at Jory and a line of worry creased his forehead. "She is missing, my lady. After the attack on the Prince, your lady sister ran away with her direwolf. Half of your father's men are out searching for her, as are Lannister men."

The bottom of her stomach seemed to disappear. She needed to find her sister first, before any Lannister. The Queen's fury was fresh in her mind. "We need to find her."

"We will," Jory reassured, pushing open the door to their rooms and standing back to let them through. "As soon as your father has finished smoothing things over with the King, he will join the search himself."

Sansa went straight in to her bed, collapsing down. Alyse went after her, pausing only to boil water for tea. Sybel turned to look back at Jory and he saw the conflicting wants on her face.

"You can't do anything for Arya right now but you have a sister here already who needs you," he said calmly and softly. Sansa's tears seemed to be decreasing in volume now but she knew Jory was right. She gave him a look saying as much and turned to try consoling her sister, hoping they would find Arya soon.

.

.

.

Arya was missing for four days.

Every day when she woke, she would try joining the search. Mostly, her father wouldn't let her but when she tried arguing that Arya might at least listen to her, a safe voice among the men looking for her, she could see him faltering in his decision. He acquiesced, as long as Jory agreed to accompany her. Sansa stubbornly ignored Sybel's question of whether she wanted to join them because despite her worry for Arya, she also blamed her for ruining things with the Queen and Prince. She was sure her own invitation to join them in the Wheelhouse had been rescinded.

So on the second day of Arya being missing, when her father finally agreed for her to join the searching party, she spent her whole day with Jory searching along the riverbed and in the forest, barely taking time for a midday meal even when Jory insisted. They walked the line of trees but Jory never let them go in too far, instead only allowing her to stand and call out for as long as she felt she needed. By the third day, when they had searched all the hiding places in the small town that she thought Arya might think of, she was forced to believe that her younger sister had indeed gone deeper into the forest—deeper than Jory would let them go—and now she was only wasting the time of another Stark man that would be better spent pushing further into the trees than escorting her.

Her frustration leaked out and she sighed at Jory as they ate a hasty meal of bread and cheese in the Inn's hall. It was loud and crowded with others. "We need to go further into the forest, Jory."

He nodded, "Rest assured my lady, the men are. We are not, though."

Sybel pursed her lips at him. "So essentially you are coddling me while everyone else is out looking where they actually need to be looking."

"I'm not coddling you, my lady," he shook his head, half laughing. "If your sister were to come out for anyone, it would be for you. It is a good idea to have you out there searching too."

"Just not too far out," she bit out, more annoyed at herself for knowing now that she has been wasting Jory's time thinking she would be of use. "How can that possibly be helpful to finding my sister when she's too far away to even hear me at the tree line?"

"Your Lord father thought it best that you didn't go out too far and stayed close to where it's safest." The grey swirling of her eyes pinned him down with their strength, making him feel too-still in his seat, and he realised he'd clearly said the wrong thing right then. He didn't think she knew how much power her eyes had, how much she conveyed in a quick glance. But lately it seemed that every day she grew more and more into herself; every day it got harder and harder to see her as the sweetly innocent little girl she used to be—an image he tried very hard to hold onto every time he was around her lately because he wasn't blind.

"Why is it that the men in my life always think they know what's best for me? Always think I need protecting and rescuing, sometimes even from myself?" It wasn't fair of her, she knew—Jory wasn't the one making the decision, and it was her father's job to protect her. But it didn't make it any less frustrating to feel like she was just being indulged in her whims when she was actually trying to find her sister and keep her safe.

"My lady—" Jory shook his head. He didn't know what to say to that, because there was something about her that made them all feel the need to shield her and keep her safe. It was their job, he knew, but there was something a little more to it with Sybel—like she was a precious treasure being coveted at all times by something dangerous and they always had to be alert for it. At least, that was the way he felt, and he was sure he wasn't the only one, but he felt ridiculous and overreacting when she pointed it out like that. But then, when she looked like that—all sweet curves and beckoning innocence—and acted like that—familiar and friendly and trusting—he knew he was right to be cautious.

She sighed and stood up, smiling apologetically at him. "It's OK Jory. I think I should let you join the search again properly now. Thank you."

She'd left before he could say anymore, so he downed the rest of his food, set a guard to their chambers, and went to join the search like she said, contemplating over their reaction to her. He passed Jaime Lannister on his way out, just watching him, and he was reminded about their coming across him the other night and his liberty with the eldest Stark girl. He made a mental note to talk to Lord Stark because Jaime Lannister felt like that coveting danger in a way he couldn't shake. He had forgotten before with the stress of Arya running away—and perhaps helped along a tiny bit by his embarrassment at his own reaction at the time and how he would explain it if asked—but he knew something needed to be said. It was their job, after all.

.

.

.

Sybel found it especially hard on the fourth day as she had the whole day to worry about Arya and feel like she wasn't doing anything about it. It was hard to sit and wait when it came to her siblings, but she did it knowing this would be the quickest way to finding Arya as much as she felt the need to be doing something to fix it. Sybel spent her day reading with her sister or listening to her Septa's lessons, and when this wasn't enough, Alyse tried her hardest to distract her by taking her outside to read and talk. That had been helpful because it meant that others stopped to talk to her too, and the conversations were nice while they lasted.

As the sun dropped low they returned to their rooms and ate a quiet dinner together. Their father got up and went back out to keep looking. He had barely taken any breaks and she could see the worry in his eyes grow as each day passed without finding her. And after staying up waiting for a while longer, mostly in silence and worry, Alyse eventually helped them change into their nightdresses for bed.

They laid in their beds and Sybel couldn't help but think about if Arya was scared all by herself in the forest at night. She looked out of the little window and saw part of the silvery moon, pale and small in the night sky, and she imagined the dark of the forest blocking out the weak streaks of light trying to push through. She imagined the shadows creating a sense of danger and unfamiliar noises making it feel like there were eyes on you everywhere. Thankfully Arya had Nymeria, at least, though while the idea terrified Sybel, she could almost see this being a kind of adventure for rough and tough Arya. At least, that was what Sybel hoped. All she could do was hope and pray that her sister was safe and well.

Sybel didn't often pray, but if they were not so far South, she would have sought out a heart tree for quiet contemplation and fervent whispered pleas. She had always felt a bit conflicted in her religious beliefs—the old gods of the North and her father, or the Faith of the Seven and her mother—but as they travelled further South she felt a twinge of loss. Years ago the weirwoods and heart trees were cut down in the South, and so it was said the old gods didn't have power there anymore. Despite her confusion, there had always been something comforting about having countless spirits of nature around her in the trees, the rocks and the streams, even if the godswoods sometimes felt eerie, cold and ancient.

She missed the reminders of the North—missed her family, missed the cold, missed the open hard land and dense forests, missed her direwolf. With Nymeria missing, Lady was left alone in the stables at night where the Inn Keeper had insisted she stay despite her agitating the horses, and despite how well-behaved Sansa promised she would be. Sybel wished she was in the room with them then; her thick fur and alert presence would have been the connection to home that Sybel was seeking.

Sansa shifted in her bed and Sybel knew she wasn't asleep yet either. She started to get up to go and lay with her, as they had taken to the last few nights, when there was loud banging on the door to their rooms. Sybel sat up and Alyse lit another candle in their room, giving enough light with the moonlight filtering through the window for her to see the tentative hope in their eyes. But then, if it was Arya, why would there be knocking?

The banging came again quickly with a loud call of, "Sansa Stark, you are being summoned by the Queen," that quickly squashed the hope and replaced it with trepidation. They scrambled up out of bed, pulling robes around them as they hurried out of the room to the main space.

"Why would the Queen be summoning me?" Sansa asked, eyes wide and shining blue.

Sybel was quick to reassure despite not having any idea herself. "It will be alright."

Their Septa stood in her own robe, grey hair pulled back in a braid as she pulling the door open with a frown and a harsh, "What is the meaning of this?"

The men on the other side of the door barely spared her a glance as they barged through in their Lannister colours and armour, uncaring as they roughly shoved the Septa out of the way. They quickly found Sansa and walked the few steps over to her to repeat, "Sansa Stark, you have been summoned by the Queen."

Jory was close behind them, frowning as he came to stand between the Stark girls and the Lannister guards. "Has Lord Stark been informed?" he asked at the same time Sybel wondered, holding Sansa's hand firmly, "Why would the Queen need her so late at night?"

One of the men eyed her up and down in her nightclothes, and she pulled her robe tighter around her and felt like she needed to take a step further away from him. "That's not for you to know."

Sybel's eyes flashed. "I think it is for me to know when it involves my sister."

Septa Mordane had pulled herself together enough to come and stand by Sybel and Sansa, pulling herself up to her full height in a decorous fashion that always made Sybel listen. "Lady Sansa respectfully declines the Queen's invitation."

She gestured to the open door like that would be that and they would leave. They didn't move at all.

"It's not an invitation." The man at the front said, staring at Jory meaningfully. "We were told to bring her."

"Then we will all go," Sybel said simply, not wanting anything to escalate further when all their hands hovered near the pommel of their swords. The front man's intention was clear; there was no choice, only a summons to be answered. Their arguing would only make them angry.

"No," Jory said, shaking his head and looking back at Sybel. "Lady Sansa and I will go. You will let your Lord father know what has happened if he returns here first."

"But..." Sybel started.

Jory looked surreptitiously between the one who had eyed her up and down, and her nightclothes, before looking at the Septa pointedly and she quickly moved to Sybel, gently detaching her from Sansa. "Sansa will be fine with Jory."

Her voice was reassuring, like she was sure nothing bad would happen, and it helped to settle some of the worry swirling in Sybel. Perhaps her head was full of her own meeting with the Queen that she felt the responding tension in her body at the idea of Sansa being led away to meet with her too.

Sansa lifted her chin and nodded, putting on a brave face though Sybel could see the slight quiver to her lips as she followed the Lannister men out with Jory, the door pulled closed behind them. It was very quiet for a moment as Sybel stared at the closed door, her mind trying to figure out what the Queen could possibly want. What could the Queen need with Sansa right now? Surely it could wait until morning—what sense was there in scaring her and pulling her from her bed dressed only in her nightdress and gown? The more she thought on it though, the more she felt the tension in her body return. She shouldn't let Sansa go by herself—at the very least, Sybel shouldn't leave her child sister to figure it out. It was Sybel's job always to look out for her.

"This is ridiculous," Sybel said quietly, pacing around the room. "I should just go with her. Someone else can give my father the message."

"You don't need to mix into this just yet," Her Septa said firmly. "It's best if we just wait for their return. Besides, you are not dressed."

That seemed an easy fix to Sybel, and therefore a poor excuse. "I would feel better knowing she wasn't by herself."

"She's not by herself." Her Septa gave her a pointed look that told Sybel she was done arguing about it now, and for possibly the first time Sybel felt the urge to disobey her. She had always been one to do what she was told; always been the one to help wrangle her siblings into obedience even. But then, she supposed, she had never really been in a situation where she was quite so worried about so many of her siblings all at once, so far from home and all that was familiar and safe.

She had the Queen's words in her ear—aren't you old enough...

The Queen might have been referring to her father's rules but now that she thought about it, surely she was old enough to make her own decisions; to weigh up her actions for herself rather than have them controlled by the adults around her. She was becoming an adult; she was entrusted with adult responsibilities; she was considered old enough to marry, have babies and run a household. Was it not also reasonable that she could follow her worry and just make sure her sister was alright?

Maybe she was just over-reacting. Nothing terrible would happen to Sansa.

It was just the Queen—she unsettled Sybel in a way that felt not quite safe. So what could possibly have happened for Sansa to have been requested by the Queen? Sybel wondered if it had anything to do with the attack on the prince, but then it made little sense for them to require more information from Sansa now, late at night.

Sybel sighed, stopped her pacing and collapsed down into a chair. Alyse set to make them tea, carefully pouring it out for them all and eventually Sybel sipped at it, the warm liquid soothing. She felt her mind settle somewhat further when her Septa seemed calm enough to doze in her chair while they waited. The worry must have still been on her face, because Alyse came over to pat her hand comfortingly. "I'm sure everything is alright."

"I hope so."

She started combing Sybel's hair back, some of the untamable curls having come free of the original braid. The gentle pulling on her hair was relaxing and reassuring, and Sybel felt her eyes close. They were quiet for a while longer, but then she heard heavy footsteps. Sybel jerked up and hurried to the door, hearing a sobbing as well. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she pulled the door open to find Jory arrived with Sansa and Arya on either side of him, both sisters crying hysterically. Sybel felt a dizzying mix of absolute relief and worry flood her at once. Thank the Gods, Arya was found.

"What—," Sybel started but they both launched forward into her strong enough that Sybel stumbled slightly. Their tears soaked into Sybel's dress and she tried stroking and soothing but she didn't know why she was trying to soothe them. All she could think was that she should've gone with Sansa. She should've listened to the feeling that said that it wasn't alright to let her go alone. "What's going on?"

"Lady," Sansa managed to choke out, not able to say anything else.

The sobbing had startled Septa Mordane enough to wake her and she called out in surprise, hurrying over, "Sansa! Arya! What is going on?"

They sobbed harder but Arya was able to explain, her voice a wail, "They're going to kill Lady."

Sybel's mouth dropped open, mind blank. Septa Mordane and her looked at each other before Sybel looked up at Jory, like she needed him to make sense of this. "Surely not?"

His face was forlorn and serious, and he didn't have to say anything else. Her mouth parted, and as it registered in her mind she felt her eyes sting with tears. Her voice was a whisper, "But why?"

"Ask her," Sansa screamed, pointing at Arya, and the two girls nearly grabbed onto each other enough to hurt each other, Sybel in the middle, but Septa Mordane was quick enough to pull Sansa to her in a comforting embrace, out of reach.

"It wasn't my fault," Arya cried, though she never looked like she felt as guilty as she did then, and had never held onto Sybel quite so tightly. "It wasn't my fault! They're all liars!"

"Hush now," Septa Mordane said firmly, smoothing back Sansa's hair. "You both need to calm down. Lets go hop into bed and settle. Come, Arya, you need to wash the filth off you."

The Septa herded them back towards their room and Alyse hurried off with a jug and a cloth for Arya to wash the dirt off her. Sybel watched them, still crying, before looking up at Jory. She blinked a few times, trying not to let her eyes fill up. Why would this be happening? "Tell me what happened, please."

"It was the Queen," Jory said quietly, his face just as sombre as her own. "Arya sent Nymeria off into the woods before she was found but the Queen wasn't satisfied with that. Lady is the stand-in, as revenge for harm inflicted on the prince."

Sybel felt a tear slip down her face. Lady was a part of their pack, she was a creature of the North, and she had never done anything wrong. Lady deserved better than to be killed because the Queen ordered it, and that same uneasy, unsafe feeling about the Queen returned. "Poor Lady. Poor Sansa."

Sybel had watched Sansa train Lady from when they first got their direwolves; watched Lady heed every instruction given, watched Sansa turn a wild animal into a gentle, tamed companion. This would devastate Sansa, in the same way it would Sybel if it was Inferno. Sybel could imagine the loss as clearly as her own, because it was all their loss. They had been gone from Winterfell for such a short time and already one direwolf was lost and another would be dead in the morning. Already one sister had been missing and one had been hurt. Sybel had never been so sure that leaving was a bad idea.

Sybel reached up to wipe away her tears spilling out, and she felt a firm arm around her, pulling her in close. She accepted it easily and without thought. Sybel was the most affectionate of the Stark children, the one to comfort through touch, to express through touch, that it felt relieving to have it returned then when she felt vulnerable. She laid her head against Jory, resting somewhere below his shoulders, her own shoulder pressed into his chest, feeling comforted by the steadiness he provided. "I'm sorry, my lady."

They stood like that for a minute, Sybel feeling the hurt in the tightness of her chest and wiping at her eyes. And Jory didn't move, almost like he couldn't, and they stood like that until Alyse re-emerged from the room to get more water, stumbling almost to a stop in her surprise when she saw them. She quickly looked away and tried to carry on like she hadn't been shocked, but Jory dropped his arms quickly enough that Sybel felt it keenly too.

She wiped her eyes again quickly and hurried towards the room with her sisters, trying not to think about Jory. She didn't want to think about how he had never really held or embraced her before, because as the Capitan of the Guard he had no reason or need to, nor would it have been considered OK regardless of the intention. Jory had always studiously avoided contact with her in recent years, as would be expected given she wasn't small and young and able to be picked up out of the way when getting into mischief. She didn't need this to think about now too and she certainly didn't need Jaime or his words popping into her head either.

She felt Alyse watching her the rest of the night as she helped Arya clean herself, and dried Sansa's tears, pulling her in close. She reassured Arya, and felt the sadness with Sansa, until she laid down in between them, murmuring and soothing until they finally fell asleep.

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A/N: Thanks if you're still reading! Any feedback welcomed!