Chapter Six
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Beauty is power;
A smile is its sword.
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Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Game of Thrones series written by George R.R. Martin. Eleonora, Nyx, and Moon are my own inserts, but I own no other characters.
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The air was always heavy in King's Landing, insufferably so. Sometimes the humidity was so thick that it felt burdensome just to step outside. The sun too rose early and fell too late for Eleonora's liking. Her skin had already darkened several shades after a few sunburned days outside exploring the castle grounds. There was always a steady stream of sweat pouring down her back and littering her cheeks and forehead. She felt sticky and uncomfortable most conscious hours of the day and falling asleep under such conditions proved to be a challenge.
The sun never slowly crept in, kissing her cheeks to wake her from her slumber. No, the sun always seemed to appear without warning, jolting Eleonora awake with an unwelcomed blow. She groaned loudly as she rolled over from her stomach to her back, staring up at her canopy hanging over her bed. Her chamber door burst open without warning; two of the smallest Starks in King's Landing came sprinting through the entryway. Arya leapt up onto her sister's bed, helping her little brother with a boost. Rickon landed on top of Eleonora, straddling her abdomen. She released a pained sigh at Rickon's weight upon her stomach. Arya perched herself beside her eldest sister, crouched down on her knees.
"Nora, Septa says you can take us to visit the sea before lessons today," Arya exclaimed. "Will you take us? Please?"
"Please, Nora," Rickon beamed.
"Hm, I will have to think on it," Eleonora teased, tapping her finger to her chin. "I would probably be much more likely to appease such a request if a pair of wild wolves would have the decency to knock before entering a lady's chamber at such an early hour."
"Oh, come on, Nora," Arya pleaded. "Please!"
"Where am I being permitted to escort you again?" she smirked.
"The sea, the sea," Rickon bounced, earning another groan from Eleonora.
"Well, I suppose I could be bothered for a morning swim," she smiled, affectionately pulling Rickon's face down to hers to blow sloppy kiss on his cheeks.
Arya jumped up and down with joy. Eleonora shifted Rickon from her stomach and joined her little sister and brother by jumping gleefully upon her large canopy bed. She held Rickon's hands and assisted with lifting him higher into the air with every leap. The three Starks chanted their impromptu song, "We're going to the sea today! We're going to the sea!"
Eddard Stark heard the commotion and walked into Eleonora's chamber. He couldn't help but smile at the scene before him. He knew the move south had been hard on them, and he was pleased to see his children sticking together and finding glimmering instances of delight.
"What's all this then?" asked Ned, grinning.
"Septa says we can visit the beach before lessons," said Arya, leaping from the bed into her father's arms before setting her down.
"Is that so?" said Ned, welcoming Rickon into his arms as he did Arya. "What of Sansa? Will she be joining you?"
"She said she 'has no time for silly children's games,'" said Arya easily, taking Rickon's hand and darting to the door as his small legs tried to keep up. "She's too busy stitching a 'new dress to accommodate the southern fashion.'"
Eleonora frowned and looked over to her father for a moment, exchanging an uneasy glance. "Before we leave, you're to eat breakfast slowly. Arya, brush out your hair before your knots are so tight I have to cut them out again."
Arya and Bran disappeared into the hall.
"Arya, do you hear me?" Eleonora called after them in a matronly tone.
"Yes, I hear you," Arya shouted begrudgingly from the hall.
Eleonora pulled her hair off of her back and tied it away from her face, turning back to her bed to adjust the sheets and pillows. She had been waiting on ravens from both Robb and Jon but neither had arrived. Her three brothers still in the north were her first thought each morning and her last thought each night. She wondered what they were doing as she ate her disgusting spicy southern meals, sipped tea with the insufferably dull women of the court, when she tossed and turned to find a moment of cool comfort, but mostly when she sneaked out early many mornings to ride Moon on the white sand beach.
"I have heard you have been well received thus far with the ladies at court," said Ned, watching as his daughter paused her shuffling of pillows.
"I imagine so," she sighed, continuing her tidying. "I tend not to speak, so I haven't the opportunity to ostracize myself just yet."
"Eleonora…"
"I am only joking, father," she frowned, ironing the wrinkles in her sheets with her open palms. "I just haven't had much success bonding with any of the southern ladies. They're all so– so trite. I have Arya and Rickon though, and Sansa if I catch her at the perfect moment. They're the only companionship I need."
"I know it is a struggle to adjust to southern culture when you've known nothing but the North," said Ned, "but I think you will be pleased to know I have selected you a handmaiden, and she arrived this morning from the North. She is settling into her quarters and will join us momentarily."
"Father, I do not need a handmaiden," she sighed. "I never required one at Winterfell, and I certainly do not warrant one now. I have always gotten by on my own."
"I expected your opposition to the notion, so I have chosen someone you would hate to send away," he replied. "Every proper lady of age in the south requires a handmaiden. She will manage your appointments, your styling, your errands, and help with the little ones."
"What appointments do I have?" she asked. "I have no errands, no vanity, and I think I do a fine job with Bran and Rickon and Septa with Sansa."
"You do a magnificent job caring for your siblings, but you shouldn't be their mother," said Ned. "You should have the opportunity to socialize and experience all that lies outside castle walls. This is not a southern development; I had already broached the subject with your mother months ago to her concurrence."
Eleonora looked upon her father for a long while. She couldn't remember the last time a full day had passed without cossetting her siblings. She loved them and thoroughly enjoyed the time spent between them, but she did miss going for a ride or a hunt without the looming responsibility of caring for the little ones to hurry her return. It might be a relief to share her caretaking with another trustworthy northerner.
"I will entertain the idea," she relented. "Who is the woman?"
"Lady Eleonora?" a quiet voice spoke from the open doorway.
The young woman was near Eleonora's age. She was much taller; shoulders always slouched ever so slightly. Her skin was as pale as snow; large gloomy blue eyes always a look of wonder, and thick brown hair that ended just below her shoulders. She a pretty thing, not extraordinary, but she could certainly turn a few heads in the North. She wore the uniformed long rose-colored gown, made of light and airy fabric that all southern handmaidens wore. She appeared uncomfortable exposing so much skin which was certainly unusual in her frigid homeland. She smiled when she Lady Eleonora, a friendly and familiar face in a land of sun and sea.
"Mira Forrester?" said Eleonora, a smile growing to reach her eyes.
Lord Eddard was relieved as his daughter quickly moved forward to embrace her new handmaiden. Eleonora released her northern counterpart, holding Mira's hands affectionately in hers.
"This is a surprise, indeed," she said. "I believe I can still smell a whiff of fresh cut ironwood from your person, a welcome perfume of the North I'd say."
"When I wrote to our northern allies, seeking interest in the position, I found no better candidate than the eldest daughter of Lord Gregor and Lady Elissa," he said.
The Forresters were vassals of the Glovers of Deepwood Motte, as well as staunch Stark bannermen, and have their seat at the wooden castle of Ironrath. Their words were "Iron From Ice", which echoes their belief that - like the ironwood itself - the adverse conditions and unforgiving landscape of the North only makes them stronger.
"It is truly an honor, my lord," she said, curtsying to Lord Eddard.
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"How are your brothers and little sister?" asked Eleonora, smiling softly as she watched Rickon and Arya chase each other along the wet sand beach.
"They are well, milady," replied Mira. "Roddrick may be betrothed to Elaena Glenmore by next Spring if the gods allow it. Talia and Ethan are as inseparable as ever, their bond as twins forever linked. Ryon is still wild but his maturity grows each passing day."
"And what of Asher?" she asked, turning her head. "Have you heard from him since his exile?"
Mira swallowed hard. The topic of Asher was an uncomfortable one. Her brother had been exiled across the Narrow Sea. He had been a rebellious youth, but it wasn't until he fell in love with Gwyn, from the Forrester's enemy House Whitehill, that earned him a stern banishment. He had fallen for Gwyn and when bloodshed followed, Lord Gregor Forrester had to choose between going to war or exiling his son. He chose the latter.
"We heard whispers that he was last seen in Volantis," she said quietly. "I know little more than that."
"Gwyn Whitehill must have one hell of a cunt to bewitch Asher Forrester and nearly start a war," said Eleonora, laughing to herself until she realized she may have offended Mira. "I apologize, Mira. That was a crass and improper thing for me to say. I adore your family, you know that, and I would never mean to insult you or your House."
"It's alright, milady," said Mira, smiling. "You are far from the first person to make such a decree."
"I have always liked Asher, perhaps a bit too much," she chuckled. "I thought him a sort of kindred spirit, both of us struggling to abide by the etiquette and expectations we were born into. Our only difference is that I have always been slightly better at tolerating it, or at least pretending to."
Mira nodded, looking down at her folded hands in her lap. Rickon and Arya had moved on to battling each other with sticks, Arya superior to Rickon by a large margin. Rickon was simply defending himself from Arya's wild pokes and strikes. Arya was quite a bit taller than Rickon and over 4 years his senior after all.
"Arya, be careful," Eleonora scolded. "Rickon is still small and has had little exposure to a sword."
Arya reminded Eleonora much of herself at that age. Neither cared much for dresses or dolls. Eleonora grew up with Theon, Jon, and Robb which made her masculine habits much more acceptable than they were for Arya after Sansa was born. Part of her wished Arya would fall out of love with swordplay and fall in love with pretty things like Sansa. It was safer, and she wanted to protect Arya for as long as she could. The thought of her youngest sister putting herself in danger during battle or facing the emotional turmoil experienced after her first kill.
Eleonora had killed her first by accident, a memory she held close to her consciousness. It was just over a decade ago, when her father had allowed her to carry a short sword on her person as she wished to this day. She'd been a child, barely eight years old. A man who was some sort of distant cousin to a small northern clan had visited the court. She hadn't liked him – his heavy perfume, the way he leered at the boys who served him, the way his leer would follow them around the room, the way he touched them when he thought no one was watching.
When he'd started to pay Jon some attention, she had grown wary. "Such a handsome little one," he'd said. "Stark eyes can be so very unattractive. But you, lucky boy, seem to wear them well."
Jon scowled at the man and turned away. But then his hand had slid toward his leg. Eleonora stepped forward to protect her little brother, her hand had flown out and smashed him in the face. So hard and so fast that she'd pushed the bones of his nose into his brain. Ladies in the court had screamed; one had fainted. When they'd lifted him from the pool of blood on the floor and he'd turned out to be dead, the court had grown silent, backed away. Frightened eyes – not just those of the ladies now, but those of the soldiers, the sworded underlords – all directed at her. No one spoke of the incident aloud again, and Theon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon never knew of it. Her father chose to put a bow in her hand and a dagger on her hip instead of locking her away to sew.
Eleonora practiced every day with her bow, something she discovered to have a natural ability for. She learned at her own speed and her own sharp force with a sword. She learned the angle, position, and intensity of a killing blow versus a maiming blow. She learned how to disarm a man and how to break his leg, and how to twist his arm so severely that he would stop struggling and beg for release. She learned to fight with a long sword, her favored short sword that she carried on her hip, and with knives and with daggers.
In time her control improved, and she began to practice with her archery more so than anything else. Her practices were a spectacle: grown Stark bannermen unable to compete with her aim and ease with a bow and none could compare. Sometimes noble visitors to Winterfell would come by to watch her practices. But if she caught their gaze, their eyes would drop and they would hurry on. Her skill with a sword was decent but nothing compared to her brothers, but she was reminded that for a woman, she was quite an impressive fighter.
"Arya, I will not warn you again," she said as Arya knocked Rickon to the soggy earth again.
"If I could be so bold, milady," said Mira. "I have heard Lady Sansa is to marry Prince Joffrey. I imagine your sister is pleased."
"Very," Eleonora grumbled. "If she were to be matched, I would prefer her with Benfred Tallhart or one of the Manderly boys. I already know them to have kindness in their hearts and loyalty to my House. Your brother Ethan would be a lovely husband to Sansa as well."
"The Forrester name is a proud one, but we certainly do not have the nobility of House Manderly and House Tallhart," said Mira.
"Don't be silly, it is not the notoriety of a House that matters. It's the dignity and honor it holds," said Eleonora, watching as Arya shoved Rickon to the ground with all the force she could muster. "Excuse me for a moment."
Eleonora took to her feet and picked up a stick a bit larger than her sister's as she approached Arya. She immediately poked her sister in the shoulder, hard enough to take her by surprise but not enough to hurt her. Eleonora then smacked Arya's hand, causing her to release her stick, then slid her food under Arya to knock her on her backside just as she had Rickon. Eleonora held her makeshift sword a foot from her little sister's grimaced face.
"That's not fair, Nora," Arya groaned. "You're bigger and have more practice."
"Exactly, Arya. How you feel right this moment is how you've been making Rickon feel for an hour," she said, dropping her stick and extending her hand to help Arya to her feet. "If you're going to out fight your opponent, do not try to embarrass them because there will always be someone much bigger, stronger, and more skilled to strike you down. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Arya muttered.
"And with that, I think it's finally time for your lessons," said Eleonora, helping Arya up and brushing the sand from her behind. "Mira, would you be so kind as to escort Arya and Rickon to Septa Mordane? I'll follow soon after."
"Just a little while longer," Arya whined.
"You've had your fun for the day," she replied. "Go on before Septa Mordane has your head and then mine."
Mira took Arya's hand and then Rickon's to lead them back to the castle. Eleonora slipped out of her gown and into her white cloth slip as soon as they were out of sight. She gently strolled into the cool ocean water, playing with the waves as she splashed with her barefeet. She walked a bit deeper until the water reached her knees. The sun felt warm on her cheeks that was pleasant as long as her lower half felt cool in the sea. She untied her braid and let her long black hair fly free in the wind.
"Have you ever seen the sea before?" called a voice from the shore behind her. It was Jaime Lannister, dressed in his expensive leather garments to signal he was not on patrol for King Robert. She smirked and turned to walk back to shore, enjoying the feeling of wet sand between her toes.
"Yes, but only frozen," she said, lifting her long slip to ring out the water.
"But can you swim?" he asked in jest.
"You honestly believe I grew up with Theon Greyjoy, and I never learned to swim?" she said. "Have you come just to tease me, Lannister, or do you bother me with purpose?"
"I only bother with purpose," he said. "I come on behalf of the king with a message."
"Do you now?" she said apathetically, pulling her gown over her slip. "What is that?"
"He would like to escort you to the Hand's tourney," said Jaime.
"And who else had such an invitation extended to them?"
"Just you, milady, and I can only assume the queen," said Jaime in a sardonic tone. "Most would consider such a request to be an honor."
"Well, I suppose I am not most," said Eleonora. "Do not mock me with formalities. You're no fool, and you know exactly his motives. I am not going to play your game."
"You would deny the king's invitation then?"
"Of course not," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "I cannot refuse him."
"Why must you always make things so difficult?" he frowned.
"It's part of my charm," she said, stepping up off the shore and onto the grassy path towards the gardens. Jaime offered her his arm, but she refused his gesture. "Does my father know of the king's intentions?"
"I would certainly doubt that, don't you?"
"You may inform the king that my father and I would be honored to share his company during the tourney," she said, climbing closer to the gardens near Aegon's Hill.
She admittedly loved the beauty of King's Landing's gardens. The North could not claim to bear such ornate flowers, and flowers were one of the few pretty things Eleonora admitted to enjoy. The stone paths burned her bare feet, but she paid the pain little mind as she tickled the leaves with her fingers as she passed by.
"The king did not extend the invitation to your father," said Jaime, trailing after her and admiring the way her hair blew ever so slightly after each gust of sweet sea breeze. Eleonora plucked a large, particularly pretty orange flower and smelled the pleasant aroma. She turned back to Jaime and placed the stem in his front breast pocket, playfully patting it in place a bit too hard.
"Make sure to relay my message to King Robert," she said, ignoring his slight objection. "You can pass along the Tea Rose as well or keep it for yourself - it matters little to me. Perhaps you could give it to the king as gift from yourself. I am certain he would appreciate such a token of your affection."
Jaime smirked at her quip and removed the flower from his pocket to smash into his fist. He tilted his head and sent her a mocking expression. She couldn't help but cough a laugh in reply. He opened her hand and placed the crushed Tea Rose onto her palm, closing her slender fingers into a fist. Eleonora smiled, batted her eyelashes and forcefully blew the remnants of the flower petals into Jaime's surprised face. He snorted a laugh and spit out the orange petals back at Eleonora. She chuckled, wiping his spit from her cheeks. One stray petal stuck to the tip of Jaime's nose. Without thinking, Eleonora reached up and gently plucked the petal from his skin and froze in place as their eyes met.
"I imagine King Robert is anxious to receive Lady Stark's message," interrupted a slow, deep voice from behind them. "I wouldn't keep him waiting."
It was then that the pair realized just how close they were standing to one another. Jaime cleared his throat and took an uncomfortable step back. Eleonora quickly tossed the stray petal aside.
"Littlefinger, I wish I was surprised to find anyone but you lurking in the bushes," said Jaime, the right side of his mouth tilted into a crooked grin. "Lady Eleonora Stark, allow me to introduce Petyr Baelish."
Petyr Baelish was a slight man, short in stature yet still quite taller than Eleonora though he did not tower over her as Jaime did. He had a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. He dressed in fine cloth and stood with impeccable posture. He had a constant expression of mockery that made Eleonora uncomfortable as if he had seen her without her clothes on or as if he knew a secret that he would love to tell. He took Eleonora's hand in his and kissed it. She suddenly felt a wave of comfort knowing Jaime was with her at that moment. The idea of being along with this man unnerved her. She took an easy step back after he released her hand, her back nearly bumping into Jaime's chest.
"Pleasure," she said softly.
Sensing her discomfort, Jaime offered her his arm, "I was just going to escort Lady Stark to her chambers."
"You mustn't leave the king waiting, Ser Jaime," said Littlefinger. "I would be more than happy to have the honor."
Eleonora glanced up at Jaime, but he begrudgingly nodded as Littlefinger extended his arm for her to accept. She did, biting her tongue and growing irrationally angry at Jaime for discarding her. She caught herself before she grew too upset, unable to truly fathom what had caused her to become so furious so fast. Eleonora held onto Littlefinger's forearm and lifted her skirts with her free arm. She did not voice a farewell or look back at Jaime as he took his separate route back to the Red Keep.
"You certainly have the Stark look about you," said Petyr as soon as Jaime was out of earshot. "You could pass as Lyanna's ghost if you didn't have your mother's eyes. I imagine you've been told such a compliment more times than you can count."
"You know my mother?" she retorted, ignoring most of his words.
"Of course," he said. "Has she not mentioned me?"
"Never," she replied, and she noticed the word caused him to cringe as if in pain for just a moment. "Why did Jaime call you 'Littlefinger?'"
"Because I am from the Fingers, just off the northeast shores of the Vale," he replied. "Your uncle Edmure devised the name, and I have never been lucky enough to escape it."
"I imagine it also has something to do with your stature," she said quite rudely.
"I would imagine you're right," he said, and she very much humored him whether she intended to or not. "I had once fancied your mother quite a lot as a boy, perhaps much longer than I should. My feelings made me foolish enough to challenge your late uncle Brandon to a fight for her hand. You are wise enough to know matters did not end in my favor. You're evidence of that."
"I have seen love make fools out of even the most sensible men," she replied. "From what I've heard of my Uncle Brandon, you're lucky to still be standing."
"It's the wolfblood, Lady Stark," said Petyr. "Your aunt Lyanna had a touch of it too, your uncle Brandon had more. It brought them both to an early grave."
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When Jaime returned to the Red Keep with Eleonora's message, he found the king in a position he had seen so many times before that it hardly fazed him. King Robert sat upon his desk chair in his chambers, a half clothed whore upon his lap and a full glass of wine in his hand as he laughed at the girl's teasing. He barely noticed Jaime had appeared in the doorway. Jaime swallowed his disgust at the fat king and cleared his throat to attract his attention.
"What is it, Lannister?" he scoffed. "Can't you see I am rather preoccupied at the moment?"
"Of course, Your Grace," said Jaime through his teeth, "but you asked I call on you the moment I received Lady Stark's reply to your invitation."
"Why didn't you say so?" he said, slapping the whore's behind to nudge her from his chambers. She giggled and blushed as she laid eyes on Jaime. He looked upon her with sheer disgust.
"Lady Stark accepted your invitation on behalf of herself and her father," said Jaime curtly.
"The invitation was not extended to Ned," said Robert as if Jaime had lost his head.
"Yes, I relayed that sentiment as well, Your Grace," he replied. "She seems to care little for formalities. I attempted to persuade her to see reason, but she did not wish to listen."
"Starks," the King grunted. "They're stubborn creatures, it's their nature."
"Yes, so it would appear," said Jaime, growing bored.
"If she wishes her father to join us then so be it," Robert chucked, pouring himself another cup of mead. "I'll send her a small token to soften the intention of my request."
"She seems to fancy the gardens, Your Grace," said Jaime with a slight smirk. "I would suggest tea roses."
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A/N: Thank you for all your wonderful reviews. I appreciate each and every one of my readers. Thank you for sticking with me! I promise my next few chapters will be much longer!
New Chapter Reviewer Shout Out: Thanks to ChasingHorizons - your PM was lovely, and I appreciate your sweet words and just for reading. I've been meaning to write you back, and I promise I will soon:)
PS: I used a bit of the book in this chapter just because I know a majority of readers haven't read the books and incorporating certain scenes is important to the story. Please don't complain. Excuse any typos for now:)
Coming Soon: The Hand's Tourney does not quite go as expected...
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