There was a reason why only humans were blessed with the ability to laugh and cry. It was for emoting our emotions. And if we didn't, then what difference we would make with dragons, and wolves, and lions, and stags?
Ghost, my two-year-old wolf, tilted her head, the red eyes menacing at my accusation to call her a feral wild thing. It was the truth. Though we had wolf pups, and though we had been so close with them like brothers and sisters, we were different. As Ghost grew stronger and bigger, I'd been fighting with her to keep her grounded, rather to pounce on any stranger at whom I felt discomfort. Sansa's Lady was so gentle, and even Arya's Nymeria which had brown hair matted with packed soil was playful and happy, unlike my Ghost.
Ghost was different from its littermates, as like me, but not in a unique, nice way that people would want to pet. It would often snarl and snap, and sometimes even I'd need to back off rather than calming her. No matter what, Ghost couldn't cry.
Jaime would call crying men as 'cunts'. I never saw Lord Stark cry, not even when he would sit for hours in that Godswoods, and whisper apologies to the dead men he had taken to war. When we were young, me and Robb would sneak up to him from behind to rattle and frighten him, but we were much more frightened at his raspy voice that would mutter a variety of names who'd been dead and long-buried.
The cost of war!
I'd learned that it took a part of him. He had never smiled either, at least, not that I knew. Robb had once said, "Men don't cry like women". That was stupid. I guess men hid it well, while women didn't. I'd seen Robb cry several hundred times. Only recently, he'd begun walking as though his chest was made of armor and it would never hurt him, even if a rusted arrow would plunge into his heart.
I wasn't going to pretend that I'd no pain. I had anger, malice, vengeance, and more importantly rage. Sometimes, all I could do was cry when I'd let all those feelings stew inside my mind. But today, I'd gathered up my courage and wrote down all my feelings in a parchment.
Addressing and directing it to my King Father. He'd taken my mother from her family. He'd sired me. He'd gone for a war over all the noble houses. All for what? For me! Wasn't it? Wasn't that the reason, the whole of North, unanimously hated me? But then, he'd left me here as though he forgot I even existed. In all the sixteen years, I'd been waiting for his one missive, enquiring if I was doing well. I'd never forgot to send missives to my father or my half-siblings, hoping one day they'd remember me and reply. But I received nothing from the capital.
Sometimes it was so embarrassing to think I was the one begging them to look at me. Not this time. This will be the last missive, and I will forget that I had some family, if King Rhaegar forgets to provide a response.
When Ghost jerked her head to the door, already aware of a new member's presence, I stared down between her eyes, rather than allowing her to pounce on the person at the door. Old Nan and Hodor were knocked down several times, and I'd no more excuses to make them quiet. Ghost bowed angrily and took a spot behind me when the door opened. "Are you going to parade naked into the Great Hall?" Sansa giggled, looking at my towel wrapped body.
"I would do just that to find fun in your mother's horror."
Sansa frowned, glaring at me just like how I glared at the wolves. "The Septa tells that we should never be late and laziness isn't appreciated. Why don't you get dressed?"
"You borrowed my maid, Sansa. I should be the one to condemn you."
Sansa smiled, her teeth not visible at all. It was just the perfect amount that the Septa would ask to use while having a sensible conversation. But nothing about me was sensible. "I am sorry. I troubled her a lot, and she ran away." Sansa blushed and moved to pick the dress that was set for testing. "Oh, you ruined it!" She shrilled, seeing the liquid in which the edge of the cloth was immersed. Prying away the woolen cloth, I squeezed the handful of it in the corner.
"The liquid will turn red if the cloth would have any poison." I murmured, and Sansa made confusing faces as to why I would do such a thing. It had become a habit for me, to be always prepared. I still fed my food to the crows that'd visit my windows before I consumed for myself. I didn't want to be poisoned again. Rather than explaining all my insecurities, I began tying the corset, and Sansa naturally moved to help me. "So, tell me, what did you do to Mya?"
Sansa was fourteen now, and every time she blushed, I felt embarrassed about not being able to bring any shame in my body. It was so natural on her and she fit in this place, as though she was born with it, unlike me. Did I tell how beautiful she was? With auburn hair and blue eyes, a gentle voice, and a lovely smile, she was what every man would want in a woman.
"Oh, it is nothing!" Sansa insisted. "Mya said she had known Lord Waymar Royce, and I only allowed her to meet and greet. Although she promised that she would tell Ser Waymar to stop going to the Night's Watch and marry me, already." Sansa gulped as she tightened the knots of my dress, and she almost appeared pale. "She won't tell. Will she? My mother would kill me if she learns that I said such profane things."
Profane? Just for fawning over a boy? I snickered, shaking my head. Mya was her own person and nothing would stop her if she had put her mind on. Besides, Lady Stark would never hurt Sansa. She was perfect to be hated, even for me. I could only boil in jealousy, not hatred.
"I won't, my lady!" Mya entered my chambers, with a boisterous laughter that was reserved only for her. Ghost jumped on Mya, but unlike others, she tackled the beast to the floor, giving a tight slap to its head, and Ghost backed away from Mya. Sansa shrieked, her hands clasping her mouth shut. Mya only laughed, her easy smile contaminating the chamber. "Don't worry, Lady Sansa. Ghost often plays with me that way. She doesn't mean any harm."
I doubted that, but Mya was never the one to cower, and so, I guess Ghost got along with her.
"Have you given the letter to Lord Stark?" Mya questioned me.
"Yes! I even said it would be the last letter that I would send to my father, and if he refuses to respond, I will never even bother to send another one." I was determined.
"Well, let us make one promise at a time. We both know how unlikely for you to stick to your own words. You lie like you take a piss." She managed to stifle a laugh, and I joined in her folly. All the more, Sansa simply gawked looking at our weird faces. Perhaps we both bastards were not making sense for her. If not for the fact that I was a Princess, Sansa wouldn't have even bothered to speak with me. Although I should be ashamed, I'd taken pride when telling the war tales that my father had won, when were children. Sansa would cuddle up to me with dreamy eyes and tell, "I want nothing more than to become a Princess."
"How did you know the Royce Lord?" I asked Mya, still contemplating if I should be joining the dinner. The Vale lords wouldn't be any happier than the northern lords.
"I lived in the Eyrie for sometime before your father brought me here."
With black hair, and broad shoulder, Mya was formidable, and it was a common gossip that she was a bastard child of some noble lord. I'd not been aware of who it was. Not before four years, Ned Stark had brought her to Winterfell. And as I was lonely and desolate, often screaming at Jaime, I guess he thought I needed a better company.
"Better you both ladies scurry away, your uncle has brought something special for you." Mya waved her hand.
"Uncle?" I asked, already my fingers fretting. I didn't know uncle Benjen was coming to Winterfell. And if he was coming to take horses and supplies, it was more likely that he brought a company at whom I didn't want to look at. Usually, I skipped these small suppers and feasts, just to save my face, and I could even avoid it now.
But I was tired. So, so tired of running and hiding. I couldn't hide anymore. I left straight to the Hall, chin up and straight chest to face the tide.
Grim, glum, and dark silence presided over the table, except for Ser Jaime's nuisance way of slurping the stew.
"And pray tell me, what are you going to protect the Wall against?" Ser Jaime mocked.
"The Wildlings…" Ser Waymar answered, gloomily.
"Oh, I was worried that you will be fighting against the Others in their ice spiders and dead army." Jaime snorted, returning to sup in a rejoicing mood than the rest. The young lord's face had begun taking odd shapes of being ridiculed.
"And what great honor did the son of Tywin Lannister has brought?" Ser Waymar chuckled, his eyes directed over me. "The last I heard, running behind a woman's skirt isn't anything of greater deed than manning the Wall."
I decided I disliked that boy. His haughtiness was all over the place and Lord Stark cleared his throat, politely warning Ser Waymar to tuck his tail between his legs.
Nothing of what my uncle would tell would make Jaime to keep his mouth tight-lipped. "Correct yourself. I am not running behind a woman's skirt. It is a girl's skirt. And the said girl is extremely capable of making you a woman, by cutting your cock, if you insult the Royal family one more time."
Sansa gasped, hearing his crude words. I was so used to it that I didn't feel any different. Arya laughed aloud, head swinging back in her chair, while Lady Catelyn's eyes menacingly glowered on me.
I feared her then. She was capable of burning me down, and this wasn't a good day to ruffle her feathers. Not when her brother was wearing a black sable cloak, its furs glistening with snow, reminding everyone on the table what House Tully had lost because of me. Perhaps I should have followed my instincts and remained in my chamber, taking Mya's company.
"You dare to spar with me?" The young Royce lord bristled.
"I dare you to spar with the Princess. If I lift my sword, the Night's Watch will lose one watchman to fight with their grumkins. When you grow up some balls, let me know. I will even tell her to spare your life." Jaime mocked, still in amusement, his cockiness wearing off of me. I suppose he enjoyed troubling every lord who arrived in Winterfell.
"Enough!" Lord Stark bellowed, his sharp, harsh voice heating up the table. "I will not put up with uncouth words and honorless men on my table." His burning gaze gauged at Ser Jaime.
Many might have missed seeing it, but I often found a cold war happening between the two men under whose protection I grew up. And Jaime often turned sour when Ned Stark would pass by him.
"Honor?" Ser Jaime bit out the word like swallowing poison, and for the first time, I wanted him to keep provoking others. Something happened in the past month between us, ever since he'd confessed that he was only trying to help me in his own way. For worst or best, I'd grown fond of our memories. To sit in Lord Stark's hall and spit out venom at him might not be the best idea to keep head on our body. Jaime laughed like a madman. "How honorable are you, with teeth full of lies, Lord Stark?" His eyes darted towards me. "One day, when the truth would unveil, I will fight with your insufferable honor."
He walked away, pushing and throwing the chairs to the floor, and I nibbled the last piece of the honey cake, managing to remain invisible amongst my mother's family. No one raised any questions in Ser Jaime's absence. In fact, the event moved as though none of it had happened right in front of the Lord's presence.
Unlike them, I found it hard to concentrate on food. I brought only sadness on the table. Perhaps it was true that I was a cursed girl, bringing destruction to the world. How will Lady Stark be able to sit on the same table with me and feel content after losing her maiden House to the crown?
I looked up at Ser Edmure Tully, who was graciously interacting with Robb, his eyes sparkling while telling a tale of his adventure further down the North in one of his range. He would have been Lord Edmure if my King Father hadn't got the crown on his head. For rebelling against the crown, House Tully had to give up their lands and titles. House Darry, the staunch loyalist to the crown became the Lord Paramount of Riverrun.
Ser Edmure had been sent to serve the Night's Watch, not just four years back when he was a fifteen-year-old lad. So that there wouldn't be any dispute in the future between the houses.
Lady Catelyn had never forgiven me. I suppose I didn't deserve to be forgiven. All the rebel lords had to lose many of their lands and titles after the war had been over. It was how the world worked. The North was spared because the House Stark were older than eight thousand years, and it would mean continuous wars for generation to come, in order to upright peace on these lands.
A secret part of me wished King Rhaegar didn't want to harm his beloved lover's maiden home, as though that would make them look like destined lovers who would live beyond their years in history. But that was silly. People didn't live for love. People lived craving for power. And I was powerless as like fickle of fire in dead cold snow.
Pressing my heels, bowing with a curtsey, I excused myself from the table. It was improper for a lady to run away in the middle of the supper and if the Septa had to see me doing such tasteless behavior, she would trouble me to days end. Not that I was going to be bothered by her.
Just as I exited the Great Hall, when I turned around, Lord Stark's grey eyes were directed on me. I'd never seen him sick with guilt like this. Something in my chest pinched, and I struggled to be on my feet while running in the direction of the courtyard, where Jaime was sitting all alone on top of a rock, as though he was waiting for me to come and question him.
When Jaime's gleaming emerald eyes blinked up at me, I almost wished I hadn't seen Lord Stark's guilt-ridden, haunted face.
"Listen!" Jaime held his hand up, trying to calm me. "You know me. You know how I like to pull other's legs. The Royce boy was uptight in his ass, and I just loosened him a bit. It is nothing more."
I nodded, ready to take his word, but the bugging instinct didn't let this go. "Why were you sent to guard me?"
Ser Jaime Lannister blinked several times, that faint touch of pride and ego diminishing into pure ferocity. He didn't answer, nor did he try to respond. "To protect you." He said in his feeble tone.
"Why, you? Why did my father have to send you to protect me?" The question itself was ridiculous. Ser Jaime was in the Kingsguard and it was up to my King Father to decide what he should be doing, which was one of the reasons why Ser Jaime had no qualms to fight against Lord Stark in the Stark's own Hall. Jaime had to answer King Rhaegar, not Lord Stark.
"It was part of the punishment." Ser Jaime answered. "As your sweet uncle mentioned, I am not an honorable man, Lyarra. I killed the King that I swore to protect, and your father's staunch guards found me before the others. In an ultimatum, he asked me to leave with you, to the North, and keep you safe here."
Was he speaking about the Mad King? I had never seen Jaime sad. I had never seen him crying. I had never known he was capable of crying. Or that he was so distraught of killing a mad man. He'd appeared arrogant, selfish, and stupid, but never vulnerable. Dragging my fingers and keeping it pressed between his palms, he cried then, looking vulnerable than ever.
"I failed to keep my oath and so I was sent here as a punishment." I didn't know what to say or why he was confronting me. I guess he was alone and afraid here, feeling guilty of a crime. "The Mad King threatened to burn down the cities before your father came. It was too late and everyone would have died—"
I could even hear his hiccup. I held his head against my belly, and he kept drenching it with his salty tears. He had been a reckless teacher, but I was still proud of being one of his students. He taught me with passion, although it burned me at times. He'd taunted me to death, although I never wondered why he didn't find himself fit with others. "You did the right thing, Jaime"
He shook his head, almost disbelieving my words, but I didn't let go of him. There weren't many people in the world that I trusted. Very rare. Rarest of rare.
"Does Lord Stark know why you have been sent here?" I questioned. If no one had known Jaime wouldn't need to be filled with dread and sorrow.
Jaime chuckled, his old glory returning. "Of course, he knows. At least would have suspected. Only a fool would buy that Iron throne barbed your mad grandfather while I was the only man remained to protect him in the throne room."
I could only nod, feeling even more nauseated. A mad grandfather burning my other grandfather was the last image I wanted to see in my vision. What Jaime left out telling was, my father had sent him to North, like sending a prisoner. It was well known that the House Lannister never participated in the war, waiting out to see the winners. Perhaps, Ser Jaime was sent here to North, so Lord Tywin would always be threatened of his son's life and never raise arms against the crown. Which made Jaime's life more pathetic than mine. To loose everything in a single action of righteousness. Dread feelings somersaulting in my stomach, I clenched his hands. "Will you tell me the truth?"
"That is a costly question, Princess."
"I will pay the price," I said and he winced. "What is Lord Stark hiding from me?"
"He thinks he is saving you. He thinks he is protecting you."
"From whom?"
He didn't have to answer, I already read his guilty eyes. I left my wandering thoughts to mull over my anger at Ned Stark for later, while I held Ser Jaime's freezing hands to focus on him.
"Will you tell me about King's Landing?" I asked, wondering what my dear uncle did in the name of protection.
"You are better here than being in that rotting city, Princess!" He commented but he didn't fail to tell everything he remembered of my father, or Queen Elia Martell, or Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. I decided to make my journey to the rotting city. No matter what!