Chapter 4: Despair and Change

POV Calanthe, 1258

They aren't back yet, Calanthe thought. She was barely paying enough attention to the petitioners, anyone who knew her longer that a day could tell. She was still furious at her nephew and husband for letting her Pavetta and that urcheon go out to sea early. So soon after they smuggled, smuggled! Her granddaughter back. She was still angry with them for that too, no matter how much she and everyone else liked Jon. Who thankfully also stopped her granddaughter from doing anything too wild, yet still fails sometimes. Bless his heart.

They better just be delayed and if even one hair is out of place on her Pavetta's head she'll throw a fit! At least Eist was smart enough to go looking the minute they were late, though for what she didn't want to think about.

Two days of Eist searching without break and her Xenovox is still silent, he and the skelligers haven't found them. She knew her girl was dead, or dying lost at sea. She wasn't fool enough to give herself false hope. Her husband had gone to a life celebration feast in Kaer Trolde, but she couldn't do the same. Kingdom to run. She couldn't even find it in her to rage, there was nothing and no one to fight. So, Calanthe wandered in her castle's halls feeling empty as she did so.

As she walked, she could see her daughter's ghost: whipping down the halls and tripping over the carpets when she had just learned to walk, scribbling monstrosities on the walls after discovering dye, playing hide and seek. She could hear her laughter wherever she as she walked... her tears too. Every room she passed she thought she glimpsed her Pavetta: a blur in the kitchen, trails of her hair passing the door of her chamber and in the library, she saw her as a child silently hugging a dark-haired boy. Wait, the queen thought. Ciri, gods.

Ciri, her parentless granddaughter, was silently weeping into Jon's shoulder. Jon, a boy she met only a little more than a month ago, was who she turned to for comfort. What a terrible grandmother I've been, she thought. Vowing to be better, to do all she can, she walked to the duo. Her trained gait silent as a mouse in the pantry, they didn't even notice her. Although that is to be expected, given the situation. Ciri was very obviously distraught and Jon was doing his very best to comfort her.

Calanthe quietly knelt down to their level and gave them both a tight, but gentle hug. A good start... she hoped.

"My queen, are you certain that this is a good idea?" Mousesack, at her left shoulder today, dryly asked.

"Of course, it is, Mousesack. She's my granddaughter after all." she assuaged

"She is also Ciri, your grace." he pointed out, which was fair.

"This will be good for her." she insisted.

"She is six years old your grace." also fair.

"It is good to break them early." she continued.

The druid raised a brow and she responded with one of her own. After a moment, he sighed. She's won, Ciri will be present for the petitioners today. "Bring her in." Calanthe commanded.

One guard opened the door and another came in with Ciri, who somehow already looked bored out of her mind. Good, the queen thought, she isn't thinking about... Pavetta. Damn.

A well-timed servant placed a small chair next to her throne for Ciri, distracting Calanthe from her soon to spiral thoughts. "Come child" she said softly, "this will be your first practical lesson about ruling." Ciri slowly walked over, as if to stave away what was to come, and sat quietly to the queen's left.

Once she made sure all the guards were still and in place. That Ciri stopped fidgeting and sat up straight. That all the servants were out of sight. She called in the first group; they were two minor lords who were arguing over their borders. Usual stuff, easy to solve. Calanthe had done this so many times, that she has broken it down into three easy steps; step one, listen to them both for an about equal amount of time as to not bother their respective lordly egos: step two, have a guard and servant pair bring go out and fetch the correct border map: step three, use said map to prove them both wrong. There. Easy.

Calanthe would however, once every few minutes during the process, look over at Ciri. See how she's doing. The girl was stooped slightly, looking remarkably like Eist would in this scenario. Scarily so, even. The girl has none of Pavetta's quiet grac- NO! Don't compare them, she thought.

After the two lords left, Ciri actually groaned. At that, Calanthe slowly looked to her right. To see Mousesack's smug, I told you so, smirk. The lioness nearly growled seeing it.

"Bring in Jon along with a chair for him." She commanded, to Mousesack's mild surprise. Quickly followed by his understanding. Calanthe hopped that the boy would be able to keep Ciri from making a fool of herself or at least distract Ciri from her boredom.

Jon, ever dutiful, arrived in less than a minute. Much to Ciri's joy and Calanthe's exasperation at her granddaughter's attitude towards her duty.

Once Jon was settled, Calanthe called in the next petitioners. An agriculture-based lord walked in and asked for lowered produce tax. A slightly more complicated issue than the last one. This sort of problem demanded many questions are her part: the whys, the hows and the whats. Turns out there was a flood and half the crops had been destroyed. As the queen thought on what to do, Jon asked her permission to speak. Curious, she looked at him and his countenance shocked her. The quiet and kind boy looked all the stern lord: his pale face was ice, his grey eyes steel and his mouth set in a grim line. It was an odd face for such a young boy to have, but even on one so young it was still a face that demanded one to listen. So, Calanthe did.

At her nod, Jon spoke. "Your grace, back home we take food supply very seriously. In a situation like this, my lord father would have let them keep their tax until next harvest, where they would pay in full. If another disaster doesn't happen. I suggest the same, if your grace would take full tax the smallfolk will die in winter. So, next harvest will be smaller than the one before the flood and more will die that winter. Winter is coming, your grace. One must do their all to prepare for it."

Mousesack was right, he is mature beyond his years and that phrase "Winter is coming" was so heavy, even when said in a young boy's voice. His suggestion was a good one and she said so to the boy. "A good suggestion Jon, but unlike your homeland, winter isn't so devastating here." She still had trouble believing what the boy had told her of the place he came from. Winters and summers that lasted years, even decades, but sensed no falsehood when he told her. She just hopped she never ended up in that hell "We needn't be so extreme." she told him kindly, using the face of a kind grandmother.

When she turned back to the lord, she reassumed her queenly mask and said "Your grain tax will be halved" the lord's face brightened, but before he could thank and praise her. She continued, "On one condition, when you return to your lands a patrol of mine will accompany you, then investigate your fields. Should all be as you said, your grain tax shall be halved." She paused for affect, "But should they find that you lied to me," Calanthe added extra emphasis on lied. "I. Will not. Be pleased. Understood?" she threatened, being purposely vague. Let his imagination do the work for her.

The man quickly nodded before being escorted out, a look that Calanthe gave to a guard sent the necessary message.

Once he was gone, the queen turned to Jon. The boy's lord face had fallen, did he even realise he used it? He looked a little nervous, as though she would berate him for speaking. "That was well said Jon, bringing up your father and his status was a good way to strengthen your argument. The suggestion was also sound." she said, again taking the grandmother's face. The boy's eyes gleamed at the praise and he gave one of his cute, small smiles. He was so very weak to genuine praise or motherly affection. There's a story there, she mused, but now isn't the time to hear it.

Calanthe looked to Ciri, she was looking to Jon in astonishment. The queen didn't have to read minds to know what she was thinking "How can you put up, even participate, in something so terribly boring!". Hopefully Jon's attitude would rub off on her granddaughter, though she doubted it. Ciri was like the wind, a free spirit who did as she wanted.

Over the next five petitions, Jon spoke up in two and both times only with her permission. The suggestions were still geared for his homeland, but he was slowly adjusting.

The moment she finished announcing that the last petition had ended and that they were done for the day, Ciri ran away. Jon was moving to follow when Calanthe asked him to wait a moment. He turned to face her, nervous again. "Jon, you don't need to be so nervous or respectful when it's just us and the household." the boy slowly nodded to her softly said words, his face easing into his naturally somber look. "You will be joining Ciri in her lessons tomorrow and every second day after. You will also be joining us for the petitions. The other days will go as before, understand?"

"Of course..." he started

"Grandmother" she finished; her mind finally made up after recent events.

POV Ned Stark, 289

Ned had been kneeling in front of the heart tree for hours now, wondering if he did the right thing. Thinking over his actions over and over again.

Once he had made his decision, Ned waited until the birth. Another daughter, she already reminded him of Lyanna with those loud lungs of hers. He had named her for his maternal grandmother, Arya Flint.

His latest child with Tully that had the full, classic Stark look. Fresh out the womb and he could see it, the long face, pale skin, grey eyes and dark hair. Was it a sign? Had he done the right thing? Then again, Ned never put any stock in signs.

Once his wife recovered, he had sent her to "visit" Riverrun. Until further notice. The children were sad and confused, but of course they were, their mother was going away. Ned made his excuses and his son and daughter seemed to accept them.

The goodbye was harder than he thought it would be, Robb tried his best to imitate Ned's icy countenance, Sansa was full of tears, but Arya, who was laying bundled in his arms, was oddly silent.

Once Catelyn Tully, her septa and septon were gone Ned had the sept torn down (to the joy of most of his lords) and the materials stored for later use. Repairs to either the broken tower or the old keep. Ned hadn't decided yet.

He also called for Lord Jorah Mormont's aunt, the lady Maege, to come to Winterfell. To aid him in the raising of his daughters, he hoped that a northern lady would be good influence for them and maybe Robb as well. Ned chose her to assist him because Maege had raised four daughters, he even met each of them. Good Northmen, through and through. None would have mistreated his boy.

Lady Maege sent a raven back agreeing, on one condition: that no matter what happens, the child she's carrying stays in Winterfell to foster. Needless to say, Ned agreed. Another child running underfoot never hurt anyone.

Ned sighed before standing up, he had to go welcome the Mormont party. And again, he wondered if he did the right thing and prays for it all to end well.