I'm just gonna have apologies be my opening headers from now until the end of time. I am SO sorry this chapter took nearly three weeks to post, I've been stuck in a creative rut. And I discovered Outlander so that did not help in the slightest. There will be consistent uploads after this chapter, I promise!

And to add fuel to the fire, you guys are about to read just how terrible I am at combat/dance scenes. I honestly don't know why but you know what it's hard so I'll leave it at that.

To shamelessly plug, I do have a tumblr (pennedbyophelia) in case anyone wants to harass me for not updating on time.

Enjoy!


"i am a wolf.

i will not be afraid."

— a.s.


ARYA

If she were told to sit here for one more minute, during the tortures these Southern women called styling, Arya would search for the nearest set of sheers and relieve herself of her hair. It was a comfort of pampering that Arya was not nor would ever become accustomed to.

And by the request of their Queen, a handmaiden was delivered to herself by the name of Wylla. It was odd having someone attend to your every whim.

She and Wylla, in the accompaniment of Laisa and her own maiden by a name she cared not to remember, were in the bathing room. The door left ajar at Arya's request so their conversation could continue.

"Have you seen the practice yard, Laisa? It's three times the size of the one in Winterfell, we could practice together!"

Arya pushed away Wylla's impatient hands, leaning far backward into her stool to see Laisa, relaxing in the bath whilst her maiden massaged overly scented oils and lye soap through her hair. By the look on her face, she seemed to be at bliss.

Arya sighed, "Laisa!"

"I heard you, pup," she replied, "And we can, if we're quiet. I'm sure if the men found us lurking in the practice yards, wielding practice swords and bows, they'll stroke."

The handmaids giggled at her quip, despite it not being all that humorous: it was just true.

Arya straightened her back, allowing Wylla to complete her torture ritual. She allowed her chin to drift to her chest, Wylla tugged her head up by the plait she intended to pin to the bun at the crown of her head. They shared a glare through the looking glass; a woman not much older than she having quite the standoff with a child.

Their exchange went on for some time until Laisa had removed herself from her bath, cloaked in a veil-thin robe and watched as Wylla's expression softened once her elder set food into her chambers.

Arya feigned ignorance, glancing ever so often through the looking glass in hopes to see another distorted vision. Wylla presented herself with smiles and a kindness that could prove itself sharper than any bit of steel.

Even she had her concerns when entering the Red Keep, though, Arya hadn't suspected for so many to arise within such short notice.

"Must you wear such a thing," Arya huffed, tugging on the thin sleeves of her top to show Laisa what proper articles of clothing looked like. Especially for practice yards. The handmaids choice of gown would not serve as well as a tunic and breeches would. "We are to present ourselves before knights, soldiers, archers, and you're wearing that?"

I hadn't believed it when Sansa explained how much Laisa was beginning to fancy her new Southern clothes.

"Arya, I make do just fine," Laisa remarked, raising her arms to allow her maid to properly lace her corset.

She huffed, again. "All right. I suppose it wouldn't be too rash to call for your valiant Ser Jaime. Would he mind coming to your rescue once that thing you're wearing expels all the air from your lungs and you faint."

Laisa's cheeks burned brightly. Now, their handmaids had something truly humorous to crow at.

"Perhaps we should bring Viera. I don't think she's adjusting to well to the kennels."

Arya chuckled, "As the king says, wolves are not pets." She hardly mimicked Robert's gruff babble, but Laisa thought it quite amusing and it bid her nothing to see her elder smile. By her wits and improper quips, of course.

Once Wylla finished, she set her talents aside to assist Laisa in her state of dress.

"Your wolves?" asked Laisa's maiden, "I hear on the Kingsroad a big, black beast came for the likeness of the Queen's maidens."

"And the prince. I hear he became a cripple, lost his hand in a fight with the same beast in the wood."

Arya cackled.

"Illa, the big, black beast is the same girl whom you've been walking in the gardens since my arrival."

At this admission, the handmaids seemed to have been drained of color, leaving paled, gaping sheets posing as girls. Illa, that's her name. "Nymeria made the prince no cripple. And if he was, I'm sure he would be even less useless than he would be, with two hands and a sword he cannot use."

Laisa sighed deeply, "Forgive my sister, she seems to have forgotten her lessons and I may have to send her back to septa Mordane for a revisit."

A hairbrush was her weapon of choice, Arya pointed it right at Laisa and scolded. "Don't send me back to that old hag, I will not survive it!"

"Then behave." said Laisa, gently. She mouthed a silent for me.

With great reluctance, Arya dropped the hairbrush and raised her palms in surrender. She turned herself forward, facing Laisa and Illa, donning a pale blue gown that looked thinner than what should be worn in the north. Her shoulders were exposed, as was her chest, and due to this intense heat that damned King's Landing, Arya did not blame her for wanting her body to breathe. Even she was breaking a sweat, just sitting there in her vanity stool. The windows were wide open, the chamber door had been cracked open to allow a breeze to pass through but to no avail.

A hot breath of air wafted through her bedchamber. Arya palmed the sweat glossing on her forehead. Seven hells. We must be in the middle of at least one.

"Doesn't your sister look beautiful, my lady."

Arya snorted, "I'm no lady. My sister always looks beautiful."

Laisa giggled, a bit, "Oh sweetling.."

"Would you like me to style your hair, my lady." Wylla offered. Arya immediately shook her head violently, whilst Wylla's back was turned.

Laisa bit her lip, stifling a giggle. "No, thank you Wylla. I will do it myself."

Her halo of hair nearly fell forth when she curtsied and excused herself from Laisa's bedchamber, leaving Illa, Laisa, and herself, erupting into a fit of laughter.

"I fear Wylla is…quite intense when she incorporates Southern styles into the heads of women." Illa chuckled, seating Laisa at the vanity, shooing Arya off the stool, "I understand you Northern girls are…quite simplistic."

Arya shrugged. "That was never my interest."

"Of course it wasn't." Illa muttered.

Arya watched from the bedside, fixating on Illa's gentle hands. She carefully brushed from root to tip, and over again, sectioning off wet clumps of hair into a braided bun similar to Arya, without the tassels behind her ears.

"There we are." Illa complimented, eagerly clapping her hands together. "Now, you said to the practice yard, my lady?"

Arya leaped between the maid and Laisa, scowling. "Just Laisa and I."

"We want to make a day of it." Laisa suggested, kindly, "Just us sisters. Isn't that right, Arya."

"Yup. Just us."

Illa frowned a little, "All right. I'll see to it your…pet is escorted to the yard, my lady."

"Thank you."

Once Illa had left, Arya rushed to the door to slam and bolt it closed. "I don't like them."

"Arya, you're not fond of anyone you do not know." said Laisa, fanning herself, "Gods, why is it so damn hot here."

"We're in hell." Isn't it obvious.


Arya had a steady hand resting on Needle, brushing her fingers over the metalwork for every solider that passed her by. She may be small and still in training, but with a good eye and a large target, Arya could poke holes in men twice or thrice her size. Having been practicing consistently with Syrio, Arya was confident she could take one, perhaps two men down if they were slow.

With Viera the Monster at her side, Arya felt unstoppable.

Though, with every pass of her fingers through her thick black fur, she could only be reminded of Nymeria and how much she missed her dear wolf.

If only she was spared.

If only she went for his throat instead of his arm.

"Arya, slow down!" Laisa called, picking up her skirts and her pace to rest against the stone walls, heaving and panting.

Arya giggled. "Come, it's not too much farther!"

She impatiently waited for Laisa to regain her composure before dashing off again, pushing and shoving ladies and lords alike then stumbled through an arcade, running into a balcony that overlooked the Narrow Sea. Just below, Arya's eyes went wide. Soldiers of various cloaks, battled with dummies, within themselves in sparring sessions. Her fingers found the hilt to Needle, with every strike and humming of steel, Arya briefly closed her eyes and imagined herself in the middle of the duel.

Swift, defensive thrusts, blocking the largest of longswords with her skinny Needle. As quiet as a shadow, as light as feathers.

She fluttered her eyes open, standing on her tip toes to peer over the wall.

"Look at them, Laisa." she whispered, "Father would have a fit if we were to go down there."

"Then, we best not get caught."

Arya skipped down the stony steps to the practice yards, avoiding as many sparring practices as she could, hoping she caused no disruption. Her eyes searched and searched for the archery pit, barrels of arrows, longbows, and rows upon rows of wood targets. She crouched, creeping past by means of Viera in hopes none of the soldiers had taken notice of the monstrous wolf wandering the keep.

"Halt!"

She gripped Viera's fur, Arya tugged her into the alcove beneath the steps where many of their weapons were laid to rest, behind a locked guard gate. Arya used Viera's coloring to her advantage, to hide within the shadows.

"State your business here."

So much for not getting caught. Arya thought.

Her little head peeked out from the alcove, just enough to see Laisa speaking to the guard who initiated the command. Their conversation was drowned out by the crash of the waves, Arya wasn't sure what it was they could have been talking about until Laisa began to laugh. Too sweetly, too high.

Arya caught the subtle smile meant for her, allowing for a moment or more to collect what they could and find a nice, quiet spot to practice their trade.

Arya kept low to the stones, using Viera as her shield of sort until she discovered the archer's pit. It was a distance, half a courtyard away, and her knees were aching from the trek. As soon as she was under the cover of the arcade, she picked up a longbow and a quiver, taking arrows by the handful.

She peered out from the alcove once more, Laisa approached her after waving off the huddle of soldiers that seemed to have abandoned their practices to ogle and swoon at her backside. Arya rolled her eyes. Seven hells.

"Gods, what did you do to them?"

Laisa overlooked her shoulder, examining the few men who acted as though they hadn't seen a woman before.

She turned back, shrugging. "I suppose they aren't privy to the fact that I'm a Stark. Or maybe they don't care."

"Doubt it." Arya snorted.

Another good look taken at those men, they were not gold cloaks, nor were they wearing the colors of House Baratheon. A sea of crimson and gold, seemed fitting.

Before she could identify whom they could have belonged to, Arya was rushed down the flight of stairs. Viera and Laisa in tow, both girls giggling as they ran about the port, trying not to draw attention to themselves but with the four-legged shadow that towered over little Arya, it was hard not to be of attention.

They traveled as far as the port would allow, far enough from servants and guards that would probably report their play to the queen. But Arya was not afraid. She would be quite pleased to be face-to-face with the woman who wanted to slay their wolves over her mewling son.

She may have not been prepared to do much about it, but, it wouldn't stop her from trying.

"Do you think, if Nymeria would have stayed, you would have been able to save her, too?"

Laisa seemed taken aback by her sudden question.

And, with a heavy heart, Arya took her elder's expression to mean. Laisa was never for many words, especially when they made her as sad as they did.

She took Laisa's silence as her answer, and with grace. Perhaps septa Mordane was rubbing off on her after all.


Arya heavily sighed as she watched her fourth arrow narrowly miss one of the few peaches Laisa neatly lined across a wood plank.

"You're thinking too hard."

"You're thinking too hard." Arya mocked under her breath, nocking another arrow. "You think too little."

She drew, holding the quill to her cheek and narrowed her eye to the middle most peach. The arrow grazed it, again, instead pierced shimmering blue waters and sunk.

A gentle breeze wafted through the port; Arya tucked away the annoying strays behind her ears. She pulled her fifth arrow, nocking it, then handed it over to Laisa.

"Damn thing is probably cursed." she muttered.

Laisa laughed, "Giving up so soon?"

"It's not my day, I suppose."

The bow was taken, moving from Laisa's line of fire to sit aside Viera.

Arya lost herself in thought of Nymeria once again. She wondered if she was alive, braving the wilderness to which she was forced back to. Or if Nymeria hated her for sending her away, throwing rocks at her until she finally ran off. Arya convinced herself it was the moors, whatever threatening things awaited her—man or beast—or the King's Justice, neither outcome was in Arya's favor.

She fluttered her eyes shut, praying to the Old Gods to watch over Nymeria.

And hope that, one day, they would meet again.

A loud splash pulled Arya from her thoughts, whipping her head in its direction to find one of the peaches missing and three less arrows in the quiver.

"Luck comes in threes."

Arya snorted, "Does it now."

She wound more black fur around her fingers, accidentally tugging a touch too hard. Arya leapt a couple paces in the air when Viera snarled right in her face. A warning she was gracious for. The direwolf stood tall, strolling to Laisa's side where she plopped down at her feet and basked.

Laisa nocked and drew, tilting the arrowhead a bit higher and loosed it into a second peach.

"It's the wind, pup."

Pointing up, to the sails of various ships and flagpoles, sails and banners alike were flapping in the winds. Arya screeched, "How was I supposed to know that! There isn't no wind in the north.."

"Did you just tell me there is no wind in the north." Laisa repeated, her eyes wide with confusion. Mock concern, too.

"I—" Her puffed cheeks became heated; the rest of her face flushed with color, "You know what I meant!"

"Do I, little sister?" Laisa jested, stifling her amused giggles, "You quite boldly admitted that there was no wind in the north."

Arya's flush deepened, pushing herself to her feet and charged with all her might, "Shut up!"

Laisa sidestepped. Arya nearly fell face first into the shallow waters if she hadn't halted as quickly as she did. Her elder laughed at her attempts, only to fuel her further with the intention to punish her the only way sisters knew how.

Having chased Laisa around the port, dodging oncoming patrons and few guards who cared not for their presence. She endured her childish taunts and swift feet, angering Arya further when she couldn't get within arm's reach. Laisa then back peddled to their dock, teasing the little wolf. What seemed to have been a seamless plan, devised in seconds, became the reason why Arya dashed as fast as her legs would allow. All of her weight went into a single shove, causing Laisa to stumble over Viera and hit the water with the loudest splash.

And an even louder scream.

One minute, Arya was reveling in her victories and the next, she was pulled beneath the water. Her mistake was keeping too close to the brink of the dock.

"Laisa!" Arya shouted, sounding almost as whiney as Sansa, "I'm gonna drown you!"

"If you can catch me!"

Laisa couldn't escape being chased by the little wrath named Arya Stark. The water wore heavy below the ankle, causing them to dredge through, splashing one another as their only means of protection. Arya successfully pulled Laisa's leg out from under her, a neat little trick of the body Syrio had taught her, now proving fruitful. She, again, celebrated her victories too soon and before Arya knew, her head was below water, looking through the still waters in the port and the emptiness of the sea that lied just beyond.

Where the shallow waters ended, both girls fell into the open sea but hadn't ceased their play. At the very least enjoying the one relief that came from the wretched three-year-summer. They allowed themselves to drift in the warmth of the Narrow Sea, hand in hand so neither would be swept away by the waves.


EDDARD

"They seem to be adjusting well, m'lord."

Adjusting was not the first word to come to Eddard's mind when thinking of his daughters. He watched from the cliffs overhead, desperately in need of separation from the meetings of the small council. What they believed counted as simple conversation of assassinating a girl not much older than his own, and he was expected to agree with the command without question. To think a king as grand as Robert was, cowered in fear of a little girl, half a world away.

"Aye." Eddard muttered, "They seem to be doing just that."

"I overheard choice words from Lannister men that a young woman accompanied by a wolf had graced them during their practices some time ago." Jory's strain on what choice words that were better left unsaid did not go unnoticed. He motioned forth, beside himself to continue what more he had to report. "If I do say so myself it's difficult to keep track of your daughters, m'lord. Lady Laisa and Arya seem to scour the Keep without seeking protection and Lady Sansa—"

"Sansa is in well enough hands with her septa. Arya and Laisa, on the other hand.."

Jory chuckled, "As I said, m'lord, it's difficult to keep track of your daughters."

Eddard felt compelled to agree. "She needs you now more than ever; I hate to acknowledge how naïve my little girl is, Jory, but the South is no place for us. No place for her."

"She, m'lord?"

His captain was never a good liar, that is something he knew for fact. Eddard clapped his hand onto Jory's shoulder, gripping to tension. Eddard chose action over word, gazing over the perch and down to the docks with the intention of having Jory's eye follow. It was no conspiracy, he had no need to say her name now that Jory hung his head like a scolded child, awaiting punishment.

"I see the way you look at her."

Jory fell to his knee. As though bending was the act to plead for forgiveness. "M'lord, I—"

"Rise, you fool." He chortled, helping Jory to his feet. "Had you not been my captain, perhaps I would have thought the match to be a deserving one. There is no man I trust more with her life than you, a loyal and honorable one at that."

"There is nothing to lose sleep over. I am her guard and I serve her as I, you."

Eddard nodded, "I hadn't suspected anything less."

Breathing life into the rumors was the least of his concerns. It was council he required from the only man who knew his Laisa as well as himself. It required much thought on borrowed time. Eddard hadn't discussed potential arrangements for his eldest daughter, he had spent the last nineteen years keeping Laisa to himself, to her family, and the walls of Winterfell. Today, during a meeting of the small council, one that Robert blessed with his presence inquired of an arrangement between Joffrey and his Laisa. As Robert attempted to seduce him with the idea, Eddard felt relief that Sansa was no longer in the running for marriage. All at once, he lost and gained a daughter in Robert's offer. He were to ask if accepting neither option was viable, and Robert so kindly reminded him of how he hid his daughters in the snow and how they would not be girls for much longer. Yammering on of vitality and fertility, adjoining the Wolf and the Stag as what he should have done with Lyanna.

Robert's mouth opened, but Cersei's bitterness flowed out.

"I mean no offence, m'lord, but of what importance is speaking on this…matter."

Eddard adjusted his composure by habit, clearing his throat. "I stress that this conversation stays between us, Jory. I do not trust the council of the king to offer judgement."

"Of course."

"Our king has offered marriage between Laisa and Prince Joffrey, he believes the match is suitable for Laisa is already a woman and heirs would need to be provided. Until I…decide, this proposal does not exist."

Jory seemed to be laughing under his breath. He didn't correct the man; it was humorous to pair the spoiled boy prince to a woman that was far beyond his reach. Though, Robert needed an answer and Eddard wanted a man or two to support his decision.

"M'lord, if I may," He began, turning forth to overlook the perch, "Do you believe this is a ruse, to establish some sort of claim over Laisa. The women I run into, scurrying from the king's bedchambers all have a certain look to them—dark of hair, blue-eyed."

Seven Hells, Robert. Eddard refused to believe he was as doleful as he claimed, over a woman he hardly knew and now subjecting girls of similar semblance to his fantasies and perversions. Upon hearing this, perhaps he should thank the Mother for watching over Laisa.

"If it is not, I do not see Laisa…agreeing to such terms. Perchance she will survive because it is her duty, but she will not be content."

Eddard muttered, "Are we ever."

"I'd like to believe so."

As did he. Eddard wanted better for them. They may not marry into the royal family; they may not rule over a castle as esteemed as the Red Keep, but Eddard will not be swayed by the likes of the king he serves. As Hand, he will enact upon his own judgement, for the better of the Realm, deciding whether or not his daughters marry into house Baratheon became his priority.

"If I were to agree," Eddard began, remaining stone-faced through his questioning, "Would you stay here, to protect her from any and all harm."

Loyalties to House Stark meant more than himself and Catelyn. If sparing Jory meant Laisa was protected, by a loyal man of the North in a castle that crawled with lions above all else.

"Yes, m'lord. I will vow to her, as I have to you. To remain by her side until my end."

Eddard found comfort in knowing she would be safe, by the same man that pledged his life and sword to him. Who better than to saddle with such a task.

"You're a good lad, Jory. And I owe you many thanks for your service, your loyalty—"

"Arya! Careful!"

Jory gripped Eddard by his jerkin, yanking him as far backward as the narrow walkway would allow. A stray arrow shot into the air, lousily piercing the stones some paces from their feet. Had they been any closer…

Eddard peered. Arya had fell to her knees, tilting her head up as high as she could then screamed, "I'm sorry!"

"I swear to the Mother!" Laisa shouted, "Give me that! You could have speared father with your shite aim!"

"My shit aim!?"

And just like that, they chased each other again, bickering and shouting like untamed children. Vulgarities, threats, around and around they went ducking around servants, slipping past guards and tackling one another every which way back into the water.

If only their mother could see them now.


LAISA

Feasts were quite the spectacle in King's Landing.

Southerners seemed to celebrate anything and everything where the sun shone brighter, the food and Dornish wine was in high abundance; such a luxury that could be afforded.

Laisa sipped from her goblet, placing a hand over Sansa's as she lifted it to her lips. "One cup, and no more."

She moved her lips as though she willed an insult to come hurdling, but instead she was made silent by the presence of the prince. Sansa smiled then, as though the boy and she were the only people whom had presence in the dining patio.

"My lady," He greeted with a shallow bow, "May I ask for a dance."

It was not Sansa the prince's hand was offered to.

Laisa looked about the audience, their conversation had died down to whispers. She felt the king and queen cast their piercing gaze upon her. King Robert tilted his crown forward, his goblet as well, as though he were encouraging her to pursue; as for the queen, she seemed slighted by their interactions. Sansa, on the other hand, looked as though she had been pierced through the heart by her own sister. She had little time to explain and no knowledge as to why he would not ask his betrothed, first.

What were she to do? Deny him before his mother and father and make a complete mockery out of his offer? Laisa may have not been educated thoroughly of the game the nobles play amongst themselves, but she would not waste her very first move by outright making a fool of herself, of the prince.

She brought her attention back to the prince, his bony little hand jutted out for her to accept. "I…I would be honored, my prince."

Laisa pushed her seat back, rounding the table to be hand in hand with Joffrey. It took much restrain not to giggle at the stature of the boy. She was a head taller, heeled boots only assisted in what many must have thought as a mockery.

Before them, it was the king who was chortling to himself, hoarsely whispering to Ser Barristan a quip or two, followed by bellowing laughter. Prince Joffrey remained vigilant despite such cruelty. He led their dance, slow, pacing himself to the tune of the violas and flutes.

It almost saddened her that a man of his grace's stature would belittle his son so openly.

"How is your arm, my prince."

Joffrey's eyes widened, "Oh...oh this? It's quite alright now, my lady."

Her smile was her mask, her shield, one that protected her from such situations as this were it was expected of a lady to be happy, to be gracious, in the presence of the prince, no less. "That's good to hear, my prince."

"I thank you for your concern. I am truly grateful."

Laisa was spun out, slowly, their fingers clasped within one another as they moved about the floor. It hadn't struck her that other dancers had cleared in order to provide room, or perhaps it was to bestow their undivided attention to the couple at hand. The movements of the steps felt awkward. She had a longer stride, one that she had to shorten due to Joffrey's stature and inability to go much longer. She ignored the ache in her knees and danced on, though her mind was elsewhere.

"My lady, I hear from my father that there is a potential proposal between us."

She could feel Sansa's eyes burrowing into her backside. Laisa hoped she couldn't hear him, over the chittering of the guests. "Forgive me, my prince, I was not aware of such proposition."

The prince spoke on and on of this proposal; the nobles were sure enough to keep their whispers amongst themselves fear their tongues be relieved from their mouths by Ser Ilyn; Sansa was all but throwing daggers in her direction and Arya was behaving, though not enough that she nearly sent Sansa back to the keep with her handmaid at her hip.

Laisa continued to observe, catching but a clip of the prince and his one-sided conversation.

"It...it would be a pleasure to be your wife, my prince, but Lady Sansa could be a better one than I. She would make a wonderful princess, and an even better queen."

Joffrey only smiled. "I do not doubt that, my lady."

"I only hoped I would have been...notified of this consideration." Laisa kindly said, "I would have had a proper response."

"How do you mean, proper response?"

Her body became stiff once she felt his little hand at the small of her back. Joffrey led the step, it was not as inviting or graceful, rather he was presenting an aura of dominance; intending force movement from her, pushing and pulling her weight through the balance and not minding how inadvertently rough he was being. Laisa thought if she were to look away, to pry from his hold, he would throw a rather convincing fit. One that rivaled his performance on the Kingsroad. Alas, she allowed him to lead the dance as he pleased. Her smile, one genuine, now faded into a show of force.

"I...meant that I would have a better response to such proposal other than blabbering as I am now."

He chuckled, "No, it is quite all right, my lady. I hadn't known of this proposition, either. Not until the start of the feast and my father asked of me to become acquainted with you, if your father accepts that is."

"If it please you, my prince," Laisa thought to tread lightly on the subject. She did not want to disappoint, nor did she want to accept a marriage between herself and the Baratheon prince. "What of Lady Sansa if my father does accept?"

Joffrey shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose she will be married off to another."

I do not hope it comes to that. Laisa gazed upon Sansa once more with an apology; Sansa was having none of it. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears and Arya seemed to have been talking some sense, if it had done her any good at all.

"Does the happiness of your siblings prevail your own, my lady?"

Laisa nod, "Yes, my prince, without question."

Another twirl, one that required Laisa to duck beneath Joffrey's arm and return to his front, to the same restrictive hold. She could hear the guffaw of the king, the giggling of the guests from all corners. Were they so bold as to mock their prince, right before him and his mother. Laisa did commend the queen for protecting her son so fiercely, as any mother would. She ordered an animal dead for a nibble; what would she do to a room of people ridiculing her son.

"Get ya hands off her, boy!" The king shouted, laughing as loud and hearty as he did when he was consumed by drink. "Making a fool of yourself 'n' the girl, come! Bugger off, son!"

Joffrey, by some grace of the Mother, remained composed. He steeply bowed, raising her knuckles to his wormy lips and kissed. "Thank you for this dance, my lady."

"The pleasure is mine, my prince."

It seemed once the prince had departed, slowly the previous guests returned to the floor to dance, to drink, and merrily sing to their hearts content. The queen angrily removed herself from the Robert's side, retiring into the alcove to find her son.

Laisa wanted to do more, but she was not daft enough to come between the lioness and her cub.

Whence she returned to her table, Sansa had barely breathed in her direction before storming off without another word. "Sansa—" Laisa called, near chasing after her until she was gently pulled back by the hand at her wrist.

"Let her go, m'lady, she'll be alright."

She allowed Jory to guide her back, now only able to watch as Sansa's shadow disappeared in a corridor of the keep and then, gone. "She must hate me."

"She's a young girl, in love, m'lady. She's bound to get jealous here 'n' there." Jory chuckled, "Like someone else I know."

Laisa punched his side, but a tap, that had Jory keeling over in laughter. "Aye. You."

She turned back, watching an empty corridor now, hoping that Sansa would come to her senses and speak to her. It was unlikely. Sansa had barely begun to share more than three words to her not long after the incident with the wolves and now, Laisa was beginning to think they would no longer speak until death parted them. Or perhaps, until death parted one of them. That thought gave Laisa a right chill and she faced away, towards the burning torches and the loudness that was brought forth by the festivities. Laisa thought to be thankful at least one of her sisters were enjoying themselves.

She picked up her goblet, swallowing what sweet wine was left. Laisa hastily snatched the pitcher, pouring her fill. Wine sated the nerves, or so many of her men had told. Though, they never admitted to how much at the time.

"Easy, easy, m'lady. We don't want you to stumble drunk to your chambers."

Laisa raised the goblet to her lips and drank, greedily. She hadn't taken but a breath between gulps, a little trick Theon had taught her, till the red wine had dripped down her chin. Instead of reaching for the pitcher, Laisa set her goblet down and was handed a napkin by her septa with a twinge of disappointment. Assuming it was her behavior and her interests swirled at the bottom of her cup.

"The prince, he spoke of a betrothal between him and myself. Had my father received word of a changed mind or was he trying to rouse me."

Jory looked hesitant to speak. He glanced away from her, and sure enough she followed. Whence his eyes fell on her father, Laisa gripped him by the arm and pulled him into an isolated balcony, lit only by moonlight and a single torch from the corridor. The warm glow gave them enough light and the thick stone walls gave them privacy.

"Your father didn't want anyone but us to know—"

"A tad too late for that don't you think." Laisa retorted, "Speak."

He sighed in defeat. Jory leaned against the balcony wall, muttering, "Aye. The king proposed you marry his eldest son, something of needing heirs and soon, and what better that you're already...a woman. S'pose he didn't want to wait for Sansa to come of age."

Laisa, though sated of her questioning, felt there was more he needed to add. Jory then became deathly still, facing the sea and overlooking the heights, rigid in all sense of the word.

"Jory, what is it."

"I.." His hesitation was always something that bothered her. It only existed when she were around, or she were prying into things she knew she shouldn't. "I don't think he wants to marry you off to his son for the benefit of heirs, m'lady."

It was a high offense to accuse a king, of anything really, and what Jory was speaking of might as well have fallen under the same laws.

"The way he looks at you, dancing with the prince he was focused on you. Your father saw it, I saw it. The man may be a drunken lecher but he was—"

Laisa was unsure why she wasn't surprised by this. Was Lyanna's ghost tormenting him from beyond her crypt or was the man desperate for reconciliation, to relive what memory served him well and brought him happiness. Or perhaps it would not only drive the queen mad, but he would be able to live vicariously through his own son, her ghost would now be permanently tied to the Red Keep.

She did not think of the king to be so cruel, then again, he rebelled against a dynasty and killed every last dragon for her. All for naught.

"Forgive me, m'lady, I shouldn't have troubled you with such suspicions."

"No...thank you for telling me."

Laisa overlooked the Narrow Sea, praying to the Mother for guidance, mercy. One could only hope there be a day where King Robert laid his burdens and self loathe to rest. one could only hope, indeed. Laisa thought, twisting the silver rings on her thumb.

"That's...that is not all, m'lady." Jory murmured suddenly. "Your father...he's become privy."

She hadn't meant to giggle. Laisa couldn't know the fear he must have felt flood his being when queried about her infatuations and the positions it could put him in. "Forgive me, Jory, but my father has always known."

Jory blinked.

"I was...four and ten. It was late in the evening, I was practicing with Robb and Jon, you and Ser Rodrik were overlooking our progress. I hit the bullseye, took about six tries but I did it and I remember screaming, 'I did it...I did it'." Laisa had fallen victim to another smile, a light blush washing over her pale cheeks, "And I leapt into your arms and you swung me around, telling me how proud of me you were."

"Father was up on the balcony, watching over us as he normally did and I looked up at him...thinking he would have been just as disapproving as he was the first night he found us together, in the dead of night but he wasn't. My father smiled at me, and I smiled back, and I just remember asking myself why he looked so sad."

Laisa tilted her head back, to meet his eyes and merely brush her fingertips over his cheek. She grinned. "He's always known, I'm afraid."

"M'lady—"

The wine had taken its toll, her persistent thoughts began to expel, cup by cup, and her restraint followed suit. Laisa pushed up on her tip toes to press a light kiss to his cheek and retreat. Had she stayed, Laisa would have been dishonored by the morning only with the wine and her childish infatuations to blame.

"Goodnight, Jory."

Laisa took her leave, following the corridors back to the Tower of the Hand. The night breeze was warm, warmer than she was used to; the smell of the sea and the sting of salt in her eyes; the skies clear of billows of clouds, hailing snow and rain.

Born of the winters herself, it didn't feel like home.

Once she cleared the maze of the keep, one she felt as though she wandered for hours, the bridge to the tower was thirty some paces away and a figure lurking in the shadows barred her from approaching.

Laisa didn't think twice about it, she sought the comfort of her bedchambers and pushed forth with no caution.

"Tell me, girl, what is it about you that seems to enthrall men by the masses."

I should have allowed Jory to escort me.

"Ser Jaime," Laisa greeted with a slight curtsy, "Forgive me, I don't know what you mean."

Jaime emerged from the darkness of the alcove, feigning his amusement. "First the king, your father's captain, I'm sure good old Ned wasn't too pleased to hear of that one."

She bit her tongue.

"I've heard quite the word of a young girl with a wolf, thrice as large as any hound, wandering about the practice grounds." Jaime mused, "And what I've heard from these men...well, I don't suppose you're familiar with such savageries."

"Am I to be offended or frightened, Ser." Laisa unintentionally nipped.

"Neither, my lady. I only bring it to your attention because your father's captain surely must've said something to you, back there. If memory serves me right, he is a good man and I would be a travesty for him to lose his life defending your honor."

Laisa took his words to threat but remained still. "Yes, I suppose that would be a callous thing for him to do."

"I spoke to them, my lady. I do not condone my men to speak such things of a highborn woman as yourself. To outright question your honor is a despicable thing."

"Did the king catch word of these...comments." she murmured, letting her chin fall. Laisa was not exposed to the savageries of men, part of her wanted to pry to know what they had said of her; her ignorance thought it would be crude to subject herself to such perversions.

"No."

Laisa lifted her head, her brows knit weakly in confusion. Had his reason for awaiting her arrival have anything to do with their disrespect? She took a hesitant step forward, the warmth of the torches cast on his face as she drew closer. He seemed...insulted by her insinuation.

"Isn't kindness what you yammer on about." Jaime sneered, "A Lannister always pays his debts and I owed you for what you had done for me in Winterfell. Now, I owe you nothing."

He brushed past her, the clamoring of his armor echoing through the hollowed halls of the keep.

Gratitude. That is what he wanted.

"Ser Jaime!" she called out, "Thank you."


AND *drumroll* there it is! Don't know how to feel about this ending, I had something totally different in mind but here it is!

To answer KingofTruands: Thank you so much! I really appreciate this, I've had such a struggle compromising between both book and show but I'm probably going to go more off of the books (while I not-too-casually reread them). And to answer, Laisa is 19, so she's 2 years older than Robb :)

I hope you guys enjoyed and I'm so sorry for the long wait!

See you next time!