A/N: Morwenna's story continues and we get a peek into her life as she is beginning to come of age. Growing up is not quite as exciting as she'd hoped and she's starting to wonder if she'll ever truly be able to accept her duty if it means losing herself in the process.


Memories of Winter

By Juliet McKenna


Chapter Two: Of Duty and Disappointment

SEAGARD

Morwenna discovered two things the winter she turned four and ten.

The first, that weddings never go according to plan. Lord Mallister and her father had planned for Gwyn and Patrek to marry in the spring following their visit to White Harbor. Naturally, of course, the women of Runestone began frantically preparing their young Lady Gwyneth for marriage and Morwenna was thrust into lessons with Septa Prym.

These lessons, of course, were nothing like needlework or dancing. No, in fact, her lessons were everything Morwenna had dreaded since Gwyn had announced she was to be wed. Morwenna rose before dawn each morning and rarely was permitted to sleep each night before she and Maester Helliweg had reviewed and prepared correspondence with her father.

Vale business was her business now, and no longer Gwyn's who would soon be a Lady of the Riverlands. Winter came and with it, Morwenna's name day. Three and ten seemed awfully more important than two and ten and yet the entirety of the year seemed to fly by without so much as a fond memory.

Mountain clans rebelled which, while exciting, proved to put all of Gwyn's wedding plans to pause and with it her excitement. The Royces and their bannermen traveled out to the Mountains of the Moon to help squash the uprising and Morwenna was left with her father's appointments and little help from her elder sister who pined instead for her wedding gown that sat gathering dust.

By the time the fighting was done and the path through the Vale safe to travel, Morwenna had all but forgotten her year of three and ten. Four and ten came without warning and that spring, Morwenna found herself well-versed in account books and schedules. Even if they dizzied her brain into mush.

The second thing she discovered was that becoming a lady was not as exciting as Gwyn had always made it out to be. Morwenna loathed each month when the moon would wane and her belly would ache. She cursed the moon and the weariness it brought. The maester's teas were hardly any help and every time she woke with red stains on her shifts she'd be mortified to tell the Septa.

Four and ten was not thrilling at all.

Spring in the Riverlands brought a warmth Morwenna had yearned for. The snows melted long enough for the Royce and their party to pass through the Bloody Gate. Ysilla and Helena were still too young to travel such a distance and a part of Morwenna might have liked to stay home as well if only to escape her father's instructions for a few weeks.

Unfortunately, the part of Morwenna that coveted the world outside the Vale was the greater half. Green fields spanned each side of the Kingsroad, petals blooming in vibrant colors of blues and pinks she had rarely seen. Her favorite were the wild red flowers that grew at the banks of the Green Fork.

Lord Mallister's fortress sat on the shores of Ironman's Bay, precariously balanced on three pointed rocks jutting out from the bluest sea Morwenna had ever seen. Gusts of wind fought against her neatly preened hair. Now that she was four and ten, Septa Prym had given Morwenna four braids instead of two, like most ladies of the Royce household. Thick long black plaits spilled down her back, tied with a blue ribbon tucked beneath her cloak.

Gwyn's betrothed greeted the Royce party in the courtyard. White eagles splayed across rich purple banners whipped wildly in the wind from every tower. Gwyn would have little trouble adapting, thought Morwenna, recalling the orders of purple cloth she'd been preparing to bring for months.

Patrek Mallister was not particularly tall for a man of eight and ten, but then again most men sank in comparison to the Royces. Morwenna certainly couldn't complain, having only grown a measly one head since their last meeting. She was beginning to think she'd finished growing and would forever be relegated to reaching for things on the tips of her toes.

Gwyn suggested she find a tall husband.

If Morwenna could help it, perhaps she'd never have a husband at all. For all that work that went into planning a wedding, and a move across kingdoms to live in some stranger's home, she didn't see the appeal. Even if Ser Patrek's home did have a particularly beautiful view from the sea.

Weddings in the Riverlands were a much larger affair than in the Vale. Lords came from as far south as Pinkmaiden and as far north as Winterfell. Her father talked of little else than his reunion with his friend, Lord Stark. No lord in all of Westeros was spoken with more reverence than the Warden of the North. Men in the Vale spoke of the Starks as if they descended from the Old Gods themselves. Morwenna, having never properly met the man aside from a distracted curtsy, did not have much of an opinion herself. But her father insisted she would be presented properly once he arrived at Seagard in the coming days.

Properly meant neat and tidy. Properly meant, don't embarrass our House, Morwenna.

And so for two days leading up to Gwyn and Patrek's wedding, Morwenna sat up straight. She tied her braids back, straightened wrinkles out of her bronze colored gowns. She did nothing but nod and smile, and laugh politely when conversation warranted it.

By the third day she grew weary of it, having not yet met this revered Lord Stark.

And so on the third day, the morning of Gwyn's wedding, Morwenna perched herself like a watchful gull atop a tall stony boulder overlooking the bay. Though she couldn't watch the sun rise over the western shore, there was a special beauty about the water glistening as dawn kissed the waves. Morwenna let her hair out of the confining braids, smiling as the wavy strands danced upon the salty wind.

She sighed, exhaling the dread of the cage that was every social interaction she'd been forced to endure over the last two days. Here at least she could be alone with her thoughts. She watched birds soar then dive into the ocean, grabbing their morning meals. A playful pod of whales emerged from the depths, curiously making their way across the glassy water.

Mid-morning brought warmth and Morwenna carefully peeled back her dressing gown, rolling up the sleeves of her night shift. Beads of sweat slid down her forehead and she gathered up the sides of her gown as she stood, slipping her boots off and letting her bare feet press into the stony rock of the boulder beneath her.

She could jump, she thought. The sea wasn't so far below, clear of rocks and deep enough that she would easily submerge herself. It would be the quickest way to cool off, she thought. Just as she'd gathered the courage to launch herself from the rocks, a voice pulled her attention back towards the sandy hill she'd climbed up.

"I should have known that was you, Morwenna Royce," a young man's voice called up. "You're the only girl I know with an affinity for tall places."

Her feet stuttered and she tripped, falling with significant force onto her backside as she attempted to keep her balance and she groaned. She crawled back to her feet, holding her back as she gazed down at the intruder to find a pair of river blue eye and a sea of reddish brown curls. He was taller than their last encounter and his voice much deeper, but there was no mistaking the crooked smile and arched brow of the boy from the window in White Harbor.

Robb. His name had been Robb.

"Rather rude to sneak up on people," she said, still wincing. "I thought you'd have learned that last time."

"Well the way I see it, I saved you," he called up.

Morwenna's brows creased as she pulled her dressing robe back over her shift. "Saved me? From what exactly?"

"I was just up at the castle and heard Lord Royce mention he was looking for his daughter to introduce to someone. Since his eldest daughter has been preparing in her bridal chambers, I could only assume he meant you. And now I've stumbled upon you here."

Morwenna scoffed, sitting back down on the stone. "Ah, his friend Lord Stark has finally arrived, then," she said. "Well, I have been politely waiting like a perfectly wrapped package for two days. I think he can wait a few more hours."

She leaned back, placing her hands under her head as she soaked in the sun. A few moments of silence later, a shadow blocked the beams' light and she peeked open one eye at Robb who stood over her with an amused smirk.

"You're blocking the sun."

"Your face is already pink enough, is it not?"

Morwenna's hands flew to her freckled cheeks. Her fingertips pressed against her cheeks and she was met with warm flesh.

Robb crouched down, a hearty chuckle escaping his throat. "Well I'm not sure it will be so noticeable behind all of those freckles."

Her lips contorted into a frown, her jaw tightening. She stood, towering over him for a mere moment until he too rose to his feet. At three and ten, Robb had been the same height as Morwenna. It had been a comfort at the time with so many men surrounding her who seemed tall as mountains. But now, Robb from the window stood over a head taller, enough that she had to tilt her gaze up at him to meet his river blue gaze.

"It's not kind to insult a lady," she grumbled.

His playful expression wavered, the spark in his eyes dwindling as her words sunk in. He shook his head. "I…I meant no insult at all."

Morwenna crossed her arms over her chest, preparing her retort but her sister's voice echoed in the back of her mind. Ladies do not argue. Ladies also did not stand out on boulders in their night clothes, but while Morwenna was willing to sacrifice her pride, she was not yet ready to sacrifice her one remaining sliver of freedom.

Morwenna softened her shoulders, letting her hands fall back at her sides. "You must be from a lordly house for us to meet like this twice."

"I am," he answered. "Though I fear if I tell you which one, you'd look at me a bit differently and I admit I appreciate your frankness."

"Frankness." Morwenna repeated with a chuckle. "My sister says directness is a poor quality in a lady. She says it indicates a lack of self-control." She gazed back out over the water. "I'm not entirely convinced she's wrong."

"My mother cares far too much for manners as well. It's exhausting when people don't say what they mean."

Morwenna's lips pulled back into a soft smirk. Finally someone who understood.

"You must hear the word duty as much as me, then," she replied. "I've never tired of a word faster than duty."

Another warm chuckle poured from his throat. He had a nice laugh, she decided. There was nothing fake about the sound that came deep from within his belly. His white teeth burst through his lips into a contagious grin Morwenna now shared.

"Is that why you're out here then?" he asked. "Running from duty?"

"Aren't you?"

His thick brows arched. "I'm not sure I could escape my duty, no matter how many high spaces I climbed."

He stepped slowly towards the edge of the rocky perch, peering over hesitantly at the water below. His toothy grin faltered, jaw clenching as he wiped is palms onto the side of his tunic. He cleared his throat as he stepped back.

"Still afraid of heights?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "If I am, it's only because I have a healthy fear of dying young. Something you seem to lack."

Morwenna let out a decidedly unladylike laugh. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glued to the fortress upon the rocky cliffs. From there she had a beautiful view of the harbor and the horizon that seemed endless. She'd never seen a more beautiful sunset than her first night in Seagard. But still the confines of the stone walls had not granted her the freedom she so desperately sought.

"I know once I go back it will be the end of all of this," she admitted. "That's why I'm stalling. It might be the last time I can feel the wind in my hair like this."

She pulled her fingers through the coal black waves. Robb's eyes followed the tendrils as they danced against the salty breeze.

"Why should it have to be the last time?" he asked.

"My father has no plans of remarrying, at least not any time soon. Therefore, once Gwyneth marries Patrek Mallister, I become Lady of Runestone in her place. I have two younger sisters to care for with Gwyn gone. I think I secretly hoped this day would never come."

His expression changed, but it surprised her that it was one of understanding.

"I too have siblings to care for. Two sisters and three brothers. I'm the eldest so they must all look to me one day as well."

The eldest. Then he would be a lord one day. And here she was complaining about running a household. A lord had even more responsibilities, or so she'd been told.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you just do what they expect of you? Even when it feels like it's so much weight it might shatter you?"

His gaze tracked her features then flicked towards the fortress. Playfulness faded. Heat pulsed through Morwenna's cheeks as she realized the frankness of her question. Our reputation is what makes us good daughters to House Royce, Gwyn had told her once. Now here she stood, in little more than her nightdress, hair unraveled, and asking the son of some lord questions that far exceeded the boundaries of what she'd been told was polite conversation.

"Sorry," she whispered, bowing her head. "I'm still learning to hold my tongue."

She stepped towards the edge of the cliff, looking down at the water below. It called to her, daring her to jump. The sweat on her brow begged her to succumb to the call of the waves as well. As she stared down at her bare feet, toes wiggling, a second set stepped to her side.

Robb bent over, pulling his socks off and stuffing them quickly into the boots he'd tossed aside. He cleared his throat, eyes glued to the sapphire blue water below.

"No one has ever asked me that before," he admitted. "But I guess sometimes I gain courage by remembering that my duty is to my family who I love. And I would do anything to protect them. Even if it was difficult."

"Even if it meant giving up a piece of yourself?" she asked without looking at him.

"I am not yet sure who I am," he replied. "But I'd like to think there would be room for duty and myself, whoever he may be."

Morwenna looked up at him, catching his river blue gaze glued fearfully to the sea. "Can I tell you a secret?" Still he didn't look up but he nodded. "I too am scared of heights," she whispered. His head jerked to the side, their eyes meeting.

"What?" he asked. "But you…"

She smiled.

"I like the tallest places because I can see so much and while I am afraid to fall, I'm more fearful of never seeing the world as it is meant to be seen. Look around you," she instructed, spinning around. "You have the sea to the west, those pretty cliffs just up the coast to the north. Down there you can see all the ships as they make port. The birds clamoring for a feast from the fishermen bringing in their hauls." She grabbed his arm, spinning him again to the east, pointing out over the vast valley that led down to the river. "The entire world is out there waiting and calling to us. What a waste it would be not to take it all in, even if we can't explore it on foot."

The wrinkle between Robb's brows creased at the bridge of his nose.

"You are peculiar, Morwenna Royce."

"So I'm told," she replied, her smirk returning. She pointed down to the water. Shall we face our fears, Northman? See what secrets the sea has for us?"

"I'm not sure it would be wise," he replied, his voice shaking. "If we're too far up…"

"We're not. It's safe enough. I assure you."

Morwenna reached out for his trembling hand, squeezing it in her own.

"There is nothing quite like salt in your hair, especially on a warm day like today," she urged.

Robb was just about to protest when she jumped, pulling him over the side of the tall rock and plunging them into the sea waiting below. The rush of cold ocean water spilled over her skin, sucking the air from her lungs as the chill overtook her. Still clinging to the boy's hand, she kicked her bare feet until they emerged back out from the surface, salt stinging her eyes as she followed the glowing orb of the sun, beckoning them.

Morwenna gasped for air, Robb splashing his way to gulps of breath as well. Reddish-brown curls flattened against his face, wet and tangled together. Despite his wide eyes, a rush of something wild permeated from the blue pools of shock. A fit of giggles poured from her lungs as she waved her arms against the soft waves that bobbed her up and down with its current.

Robb's warm laughter followed.

"I was right wasn't I?" she asked him, gently splashing him.

Robb wiped water from his smiling lips. "I've been told you often are."


Robb and Morwenna raced back to the castle, their shoes in hand and wet clothes and hair clinging to their bodies. They stepped through the fortress walls, water dripping onto the stone floors as their laughter rang through the halls of Seagard's castle. Bodies bustled through the halls, carrying flowers and food from room to room. Soon Gwyn would walk the halls in her coveted wedding frock and people would bow and smile at her beauty. Morwenna would stand close behind, carrying the too-long train of Gwyn's dress and say prayers to the gods with every step that she didn't trip over her own feet.

"Morwenna!" a deep voice boomed from the base of the large staircase she and Robb climbed two steps at a time.

Her heart jolted as she spun around to find the disappointed frown of her father. Morwenna shrank under his gaze, hair clinging to her face, mud caked beneath her now filthy bare feet.

"Papa, I…" she attempted but he held his hand up.

"I have been looking everywhere for you! You were meant to be helping Gwyn prepare for this evening's ceremony and now I find you…like this?"

From her father's side, Waymar and Robar concealed their wide smiles with their hands over their mouths. Andar mirrored their father's stern expression, though there was a softness in his eyes almost akin to pity.

In that moment, she hated pity more than disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Lord," Robb interjected, voice strong and confident. Moreso than he'd been on the side of the rocky hill. "It was my idea."

Why he'd lie for her, she couldn't understand. Regardless, it was a lie wasted. Her father's scowl softened slightly and he shook his head.

"I know my daughter well enough, Young Stark, to know such ideas are almost always of her own making."

Morwenna froze at her father's words. Suddenly, a fourth figure came to Morwenna's attention at her father's left, a tall man with dark features and kind grey eyes. He did not share her father's frustration. In fact, he looked more amused than Robar and Waymar combined as he stood with his imposing figure, arms crossed over his shoulders and one thick eyebrow raised.

"Stark?" she asked, hands immediately pulling at her tangled wet hair and pushing salty strands from her face. She pulled her robe tighter over her soaking wet shift and the man stifled a small laugh with a weak attempt at a cough.

"Yes, Wenna. This is my good friend, Lord Eddard Stark." Her father gestured to the man at his left, then to the boy on the steps just below her. "And this…is his son. Robb."

Robb. Robb Stark.

If she hadn't already been mortified, she'd have slapped herself for her own stupidity. Of course he was Robb Stark. Few boys of noble blood had such a name, even fewer in the North. She'd read the noble family histories dozens of times leading up to the wedding and still the name had never once seemed peculiar until that very moment when her father pointed out what ought to have been obvious from the moment she'd taken his name from the library at White Harbor.

Robb Stark. Son of one of the most prominent houses in Westeros. No, she thought, heir to one of the most prominent houses in Westeros. The future Warden of the North.

And she'd asked him invasive questions about duty. Called him a coward. Pulled him into the sea against his will.

All she could do was curtsy and avert her gaze. Anything else might have only embarrassed her father further. She'd done enough damage for one day.

"I apologize, Ned. Wenna is still wild. I am now wondering if I should have left her back at Runestone."

Morwenna flinched.

Perhaps disappointment was in fact worse than pity, she mused.

"Don't be so hard on the child, Yohn," Ned insisted. "It warms me to see such spirit. She reminds me a great deal of my daughter Arya in that way. I'm now certain that some daughters will always have a bit of wild in them."

Morwenna started to smile in response, but her father's glance forced her lips back into a straight line and she gazed once again at the floor and her filthy feet.

Her father lightly pushed Waymar forward. "Take her upstairs to Gwyn and see if they can fix…" he let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "Just see what they can do."

Waymar nodded, grabbing Morwenna's arm gently and tugging her up the stairs. Morwenna carried her dripping boots, cringing as they left a trail of mud with every step. Waymar leaned in as they neared the top of the staircase.

"Now you've really done it, Wenna. Hope it was worth it."

Morwenna peered over her shoulder, meeting the river blue gaze of Lord Stark's son. He smiled.

"It was."

Waymar let out a great laugh.

Deep down, behind the cloud of shame Morwenna hovering over her at the realization she'd embarrassed her father yet again, a small wave of pride flashed through her.

Four and ten brought much more responsibility than Morwenna had ever wanted. But somewhere, between the accounts and the meetings, the duty, and the cages of silk and stone, somewhere she could still see the pieces of her that remained.

And for now she'd cling to them for dear life.


A/N: Thanks for reading! Enjoying so far? Please leave a little love. Feedback gives me life (and life to this story).