Having enjoyed a leisurely morning to herself, Rhaena had not expected to find little Arya hiding herself away in the godswood when she had come to explore, her wolf pup Nymeria whimpering sadly beside her. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to Rhaena that Arya was crying. "I see the weirwood is not the only one who weeps here." Announcing herself gently, Rhaena watched as Arya lifted her head with a gasp to stare gapingly at her before hastily rubbing at her fact to remove the evidence of the tears.
"I was not crying!" Nymeria gave a further whimper as if to contradict her. Smiling softly, Rhaena approached before kneeling down upon the soft, damp earth where moist leaves covered the soil, a pool of water resting beside them which Arya had come to in order to weep in private.
"No, I see that now. My mistake." Humouring her for a moment, Rhaena lifted her hand to greet Nymeria, allowing the wolf pup to nip at her fingers before scratching at her ears and neck until the wolfling was climbing into her lap and sprawling herself onto her back in a vain demand for attention and affection. "But if you had been crying for any reason, then what would that reason be, sweeting? You may tell me, should you like." Sniffling to herself, Arya wiped at her nose which was wet from running so Rhaena retrieved a simple handkerchief from within her sleeve and dipped it into the water so that she might clean Arya's face gently. She did not protest, for Arya was used to either her mother or Septa Mordane washing her face sometimes several times a day whenever she became dirty. At least Rhaena did not scrub at her roughly and take away skin. Instead she was gentle and dabbed delicately with a warm expression which Arya liked.
"I was not crying," she insisted once more, but spoke more softly now as Rhaena continued to wash her face clean. "But if I seem a little upset, then it is because Septa Mordane ratted on me to my mother. She complained about my stitches because they were crooked and because I ran away from the lesson in front of the precious princess. It's not fair! Sansa never gets scolded like me, and Myrcella's stitches weren't all that neat either but Septa Mordane made it seem like she had stitched some masterful piece of art onto a stupid piece of cloth." Vexed by her frustrations, Arya struck at the water so that her reflection distorted and rippled. "I always seem to do everything wrong. Not Sansa though. Sansa is beautiful and acts like a proper lady. I bet her stitches were crooked when she was my age." Deflated by her inadequacies, Arya clutched at her knees and rested her chin upon them, staring miserably at her reflection as it settled upon the calming water.
"Perhaps so, it takes time to learn such skills." Rhaena agreed, pondering over what could possibly be going around in Arya's head to put her in such an attitude. It upset her to see Arya in such a way, for she always seemed to laugh and play without a care in the world, but now it appeared as if the world rested too heavily upon her shoulders, and all because of some crooked stitches. "So you are to tell me that your stitches are crooked and uneven, do I understand correctly, sweeting?" Arya dully nodded her head. "Well then, perhaps I have a little secret that might help you. Come with me and I shall show you, then you shall never have crooked, uneven stitches again. Mayhap they will be even better than Sansa's stitches from now on, what say you to that?" Intrigued, Arya lifted her head in order to blink at Rhaena, though her curiosity was swiftly overtaken by uncertainty.
"What is the point? I don't want to become a proper lady anyway. I shall never need to stitch things or make pretty clothing, and if I do, I can just have someone else do it for me."
"Ah, but did you not know? It is important to know such a useful skill," Rhaena teased her, tapping at her nose as Nymeria continued to wriggle upon her lap with yips of demand until Rhaena stroked at her belly once more. "For what will happen if a knight takes injury, but has no one to help him close the wound? There he will need to be able to stich well and evenly to close his own wounds. And what should happen if his clothes tear? He will need to mend them if he cannot find new ones, or have someone else mend them for him. Perhaps he might need to sew together bolts of cloth to make a blanket or a tarp for his tent, or a sail for his boat to sail upon the savage seas?" Seeing the brightness of Arya's keen eyes returning, Rhaena beamed further. "So you see, stitches are very important Arya. So, should you like to learn my little secret?" Now convinced, Arya sprung to her feet with such eagerness that Nymeria jumped also, near enough springing upwards from Rhaena's lap and throwing the girl onto her back. Arya laughed before then apologising, giving Rhaena her hand to help her back to her feet as the older girl giggled and brushed herself off from soil and leaves. Taking Arya by the hand, Rheana walked with her back to the castle whilst telling her stories of knights and soldiers who had been saved by the delicate art of needlework. Some were true, some were utterly made up, but Arya listened to them all with complete and utter attention as they walked together, unaware that they were being observed from one of the high windows overlooking the woods. Eddard Stark smiled, the open window allowing the voice of Rhaena to carry upwards as she told her tales. Having heard a little of his youngest daughters latest antics, it gave him heart to see Arya smiling so brightly and indeed, paying such undivided attention to someone. More often than not, he could scarce get Arya to concentrate for more than a minute before her mind wandered.
He watched the girls enter whereby they were then gone from sight, content to know that Arya had been found from where she had disappeared after being scolded by his wife and the septa. So long as Rhaena was with her, then Lord Eddard saw no reason to be concerned. He trusted the girl with his daughter, and in fact believed that she was perhaps the most capable person of keeping her out or trouble other than himself and Catelyn. It amused him how intrigued all his children were with the Targaryen girl, and it brought him joy to see her so readily welcomed into their fold. She was happier here, that much was clear, and he hoped that he could persuade Robert to allow the girl to stay behind when the time came to travel back to King's Landing. He was yet to broach the subject, but Lord Eddard expected an initial outburst of rage and rejection. He would calm his friend, however, and reason with him. Perhaps he would make it a condition of his acceptance of taking the position of Hand of the King, then Robert would have little choice other than to accept. Chuckling to himself as he thought of Arya once more, Lord Eddard then turned away and left the girls to continue with their storytelling and whatever else they intended. Perhaps he would have laughed more had he looked in upon Arya's bedchamber and found her hard at work with her needle and thread under Rhaena's gentle instruction.
She had shared her secret with Arya by marking even spaces upon her forefinger to indicate where the needle should pierce the material, helping her to create the even stitches and in order to make them straight, had scored the material lightly with a drawing pencil with a straight edge so that the line was perfectly aligned and would help Arya to practice. "You see, it shall easily wash out but the stitches will remain. We shall make a border of stitches, three rows I think, with different colours, then we shall show it to Speta Mordane and watch her face go slack with shock. You shall not forget her expression for as long as you shall live once she sees these straight and perfect stitches, mark my words." Encouraged by such a promise, Arya took a great deal of care with her stitches, but in truth it took very little effort to be accurate with the markers upon her finger and the line upon the fabric to follow. Rhaena did not know how to stitch pretty things like other ladies, but she had managed to learn from a book of medicine how to make stitches to seal injuries and applied the practice to the art of embroidery, which had turned up a very effective result. Arya seemed happier to be able to at least do this much, and studied dutifully at her task until she had completed the entire handkerchief with the straightest and most even stitches she had ever made.
Elated with her success, Arya had flung her arms around Rheana with heartfelt thanks before dashing away in order to return to the Septa's lesson in order to flaunt her achievement under the old woman's nose, as well as that of her sister. Pleased to see Arya happy once more, Rhaena watched her scamper away with Nymeria barking enthusiastically at her heels, the two little wolves vanishing from sight. Now alone once more, Rhaena decided that it was high time she found her way to Winterfell's library, for surely that would be where she would find Tyrion, perhaps her only friend other than Ser Barristan that she could rightly claim. Sure enough the library was where she found him, pouring over old volumes and scrolls with a fascination that only Tyrion Lannister could truly appreciate. Seeing him staring so intently at the works before him, Rhaena smiled softly. "Hello little friend." Whispering to him softly, Tyrion immediately lifted his head in recognition of the voice to watch Rhaena creep forwards from around one of the many bookcases of the library tower, scurrying quickly to his side before climbing up onto the bench beside him. "What are you reading?"
"Oh, just something to pass the time. You would find it quite boring, there are no fantastical stories to be found here, I'm afraid." Warming instinctively upon seeing the little should-be princess, Tyrion made room for her upon the bench where he sat, though even with two of them side by side there was plenty to be had. Rhaena was only just a slight inch or two taller than himself, stunted in growth as he was by birth. It was perhaps one of the many reasons he felt such genuine affection for the girl. They were two of a kind and understood one another as none other might for their woes and troubles. With a smile, Tyrion moved the oil lamp so that the light would shine more evenly upon them both so that Rhaena could also read as she shifted through some of the frail parchments with delicate touches, reading the Old Valyrian with interest.
"You are researching the changing of the seasons?"
"Why yes I am, my dear. With winter soon to be upon us, I thought it best that I learn a little more of the past to see what might be done to better prepare for the coming cold. It is said that the longer the summer, the longer the winter which follows, and we have had a very long summer indeed." Deciding that she too would like to learn a little more of the past seasons, Rhaena settled herself to hunch over a book and read alongside Tyrion, who always best enjoyed his time studying with a companion such as Rheana. Her mind was sharp and keenly intelligent, wasted by ruin and would have been left undeveloped had he not once caught her scampering about the library in King's Landing looking for picture books whilst avoiding being caught by his dear sister's guards. It was there they had first met, and there Tyrion had began to teach her to read and write. They stole many secret lessons from that day onward, meeting together and both avoiding the queen and anyone else who sought to bother them. In their secrecy their friendship had been fostered and nurtured until even now, they would speak together familiarly and continued to do so as both knew that it vexed Cersei greatly, who still was not entirely certain when and how they had become friends. Anything they upset Cersei brought both of them a great deal of joy, and so they often concocted little plans and pranks in order to irritate the queen in some manner. It only deepened their affection for one another.
In any case, Tyrion was glad to enter into discussions and debates with Rhaena, liberating upon how they would best prepare for the coming winter with their own ideas which would then be put to discussion and either passed or failed depending upon the validity of their success. It occurred to Rhaena then as it often had, that were the ruling of the kingdom left to herself and Tyrion, the Seven Kingdoms would greatly benefit from their administrative skills. She of course had learned from Tyrion and researched many topics herself, studying whatever books she could get her hands upon, including that of history, law, medicine, arithmetic and philosophy. Some books had been forbidden either by the Crown or by the Faith, which had only prompted Rhaena's desire to read them all the more, and so she had stolen a great many of the forbidden books in the night when able to slip away from sight and use the secret passageways of the Red Keep which she had spent most of her life searching for and exploring. Once or twice she had become frightfully lost and sometimes had cried in fear that she would never be found except long after her death from starvation where only her bones would remain, but then someone would appear and gently console her before lifting her up to carry her back to familiar paths. Each time, it had been her other friend at court. Lord Varys. Perhaps not entirely a friend, as Rhaena was never certain Lord Varys's intentions when it came to her or indeed, anyone. Still, she was grateful for him rescuing her, and found that sometimes when exploring the secret ways of the keep, would find markers upon the walls to direct her back to safety or warning her that certain pathways would lead to death that she was certain were not there before. Some had even been sealed, and thus far, Rhaena had never been able to find a way to escape from the keep entirely. All the same, those secret rooms and passages had saved her countless times whenever she was running from someone, or even when she was sneaking into the kitchen to steal food, or indeed, the library to steal forbidden books.
In books she found her truest escape, which is why although she loved learning, the books and tomes she loved best were those filled with stories. She had read them so often that she could not recite them from heart which was how she was able to tell them so convincingly to the little Stark children. Some stories she had learned from Ser Barristan himself of his own exploits or those of knights he had known, and these she had listened to with equal measure of awe and dedication. Smiling to herself, Rhaena continued to read whilst glancing to Tyrion every so often. He too came to the library and buried himself in books in order to escape. It was part of the reason why they got along so well. "Do you know when we are to return to King's Landing?" Rhaena finally asked, pushing away the book she had until now been buried in, rubbing at her eyes to clear them of their sleepiness. The hour was late, though she could not rightly tell what the hour was.
"Soon I expect. The king shall want to hunt no doubt before returning, I shall be shocked if he does not. You know how much the king loves to hunt." Rhaena did know. She knew all too well. Once the king had allowed her to come hunting with the court. The unexpected decision had filled Rhaena with joy and excitement, eager to be part of something that until then had always been denied to her. It was only after their arrival did she learn the king's true intentions, twisted as they were. The king loved to hunt. Only this time, he wished to hunt her. Rhaena had been stripped naked and doused in a bucket of pig's blood before being chased away by squires beating her with sticks, the king's booming laughter filling the forest as she had sobbed and ran for her life. The king had hunted her for hours until finally she had been captured, her own blood merging with that of the pig's which covered her. Sport, Robert had called it, and a poor one at that as he had noted. After capturing Rhaena, she had been thrown aside and forgotten in favour of pursuing a deer, still naked and soiled. Only Ser Arys Oakheart had remained in order to see her back to the encampment, but had kindly taken her to a stream in order to wash before then wrapping her in his own white cloak in order to carry her back. The queen had not even deigned to see her, merely dismissed her back to the Red Keep to be locked in her room, still clad in nothing more than a white cloak.
Shuddering at the memory, Rhaena thrust it deep down and buried it once more. Such a thing would never happen again, especially not in Lord Eddard's own lands, he would never allow it. He was too kind and honourable to allow even the king to make sport of her. By the grace of the gods, she had seen nothing of the king save the first night at the banquet. Since then, she had not seen him or the queen at all. For this she was grateful and because of it, could more easily enjoy her time with the Stark children. Silence followed for many hours after that until finally Rhaena could keep her eyes open no longer and had to retire to bed. She wished Tyrion goodnight and kissed his cheek which always caused him to flush deeply, making Rhaena smile before she darted away quickly as was her habit, for the quicker she moved, the less likely she was to be found and caught. She returned back to her chamber which was warm and comfortable since the fire had already been lit for her, and a tray of supper left upon her table. Eating a little, she then prepared herself for bed with a quick wash form the water of her basin and changing her clothes which had been gifted to her by Lady Catelyn, who had made good upon her word to provide her with proper clothes for the colder weather. This had included nightclothes, and so Rhaena dressed herself in a light and loose fitted nightdress which closed at her throat with an ivory ribbon which she tied together in a bow before rubbing the silk between her fingers. Between the accommodation, the food and the clothing, Rhaena had never before enjoyed such luxuries and chose to bask in them with smiles and quiet satisfaction. The Starks were good people, it had always been said, but now Rhaena knew them to be more than simply good. They were the best people, and although the royal family frowned upon their home and humble lands, Rhaena thought them to be far more worthy of respect and love than Robert, Cersei and all their ilk. In truth, she hoped Lord Eddard would refuse the appointment the king offered him, because such a man did not deserve to be dragged into the cesspit of King's Landing where debauchery, corruption and dishonour held sway. Settling herself down, Rhaena smiled to herself once more. Yet again, perhaps if Lord Stark did come, then perhaps King's Landing might finally find itself in the hands of a capable man who could make some changes that would see the capital finally become a city worthy of its seat. If anyone could manage such a feat, then Rhaena felt certain that Lord Eddard Stark was the only man capable.