II

Needlepoint

Shortly after they broke their fast in the dinner hall, Lady Sansa took Joanna by the arm and led her through the corridors of Winterfell. She was a delightful companion, Joanna found, who clearly minded her Septa very well; every question Joanna posed to her about Winterfell's history was answered with little hesitation. Part of Joanna wished she had that sort of discipline, to have sat still long enough to learn her own history, but the rest of her was content with learning only when she asked a question.

By noontide, Joanna felt as though she learned the whole history of House Stark and their home. Sansa's history lesson was sprinkled with questions about King's Landing, which Joanna was happy to answer. She could not give the history of King's Landing as Sansa gave the history of Winterfell, but luckily those were not the kinds of answers that Sansa was looking for. Joanna wanted to learn about Winterfell's past, about the people that used to walk its halls in times gone by; Sansa wanted to know what courtly life was like, what gossip was fresh and what the southern fashions were. Still, Joanna found that she enjoyed Sansa's company, and was happy to join her when she sat for needlepoint, though typically she detested such pastime.

Though Joanna wasn't skilled at embroidery, she could understand why so many ladies of her station found it an enjoyable hobby. There was something rather satisfying about doing such precise work, and seeing the fruits of your labor once you were done. Joanna, though, could never sit with one piece of embroidery long enough to see her finished work. With anyone else, Joanna would have been embarrassed to see her meagre needlepoint skills outshone by someone younger, but she was rather delighted to see the various samplers that Sansa had finished.

She soon found that it was true what she'd said to Sansa the evening before; she would positively thrive at court. She enjoyed the little pleasantries and trivialities of courtly life. She had the patience and the steady mind that put her at ease among a sewing circle. Joanna so often found that she had to force herself to enjoy it.

"What are you working on?" Sansa asked, halfway through their sitting. They had been joined by Desmera and Sansa's friend Jeyne Poole, both at work on their own samplers. Joanna looked down at the aimless pattern she'd created with needle and thread, tilting her head to try and remember what she'd set about making when she first sat down.

"I think it's a tree," she replied, determining that the aimless lines of bronze thread were the outline of a tree trunk. Septa Eglantine always chided that she got lost in thought too easily, and that her needlework suffered for it.

Sansa, gods bless her heart, was encouraging.

"Yes, I see," she smiled. "That's the trunk, isn't it?"

Joanna chuckled down at her own work, shaking her head. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Well, it's a very good start."

"Thank you, Sansa," she said. It struck her suddenly that King's Landing might trod on Sansa and crush her like a flower. A frown appeared on her face, then was gone almost as soon as it came as she forced herself to move onto a different train of thought.

Joanna grew bored with needlepoint soon after, but forced herself to remain for a while longer in fear of offending Sansa. She lazily threaded her needle through the fabric, allowing her thoughts to wander far away from sewing, caring not how her embroidered tree turned out. Sansa used her talent in needlework to make pretty dresses for herself, but Joanna had an army of tailors to do the needlework for her. Finally, when she could no longer force herself to suffer the sport, she stood.

"I'm going to stretch my legs, I get restless sitting so long," she said. "Mera, will you join me?"

"Of course," Desmera replied, happily standing and setting down her needlework. Desmera, too, was dismal at best with embroidery, though not for lack of trying. Where Joanna could find the precise work satisfying, if boring, Desmera found it altogether frustrating and needless. She was happy to join Joanna in leaving the room.

"Thank you for showing me your home, Sansa," said Joanna before they left. "I do hope you'll join me again tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes," Sansa replied, nodding and smiling prettily. Joanna returned her smile before leaving the room arm-in-arm with Desmera.

Once they were down the hall, and far away enough that they didn't have to worry that anyone would overhear, Joanna let out a long sigh.

"Are we terrible if we can't sew for shit?" she asked. Desmera chuckled behind her hand.

"What do we need it for, anyway?" she agreed. "It's only because they can't think of anything else for us to do."

"To be fair, though," Joanna shrugged, "We can't, either."

They laughed together, walking aimlessly through the corridors for another moment before they found themselves outside. If there was one thing Joanna loved and missed about King's Landing, it was the open-air rooms and the expansive gardens. She couldn't bear to be holed up in a room, and loved nothing more than the feeling of wind and fresh air on her face. If something could be done outside, then she did it outside.

There was little to do in the courtyard, but they were perfectly happy to walk in a circle around the edges of the yard. They were halfway through their walk, just passing the smithy, when they came upon the training grounds. The area would have gone unnoticed by either of them, but when Desmera looked over briefly, she caught sight of who was drilling.

"Oh, Joanna!" she said, pausing and grinning with delight as she pointed over at the training yard. "Look who it is!"

Joanna looked over, curious, to see Tommen dressed in padded armor, half-heartedly sparring with young Bran Stark. She laughed, positively gleeful to see the boys training. She approached, standing with Desmera by a fence at the edge of the yard. She couldn't help but think that the boys looked adorable in their padded armor, swinging around their little wooden swords. The both of them were puffing with the effort, red in the face. Their brothers, standing on the opposite side of the yard, were calling out encouragements – though Joanna assumed, by the vicious look on Joffrey's face, that his encouragements were a shade closer to threats.

The fight only lasted a few moments longer, before Tommen lost his feet and was on the ground. Just as Bran reared up the wooden sword, the master-at-arms called for the boys to stop. There was a small smattering of applause from the crowd of men who gathered, slapping the young boys on their backs as they were relieved of the armor. Joanna and Desmera crossed the yard to them, and she knelt by Tommen once his armor was gone.

"You did so well!" she said, smiling.

"I did not." He kicked the dirt. "I lost."

"Oh, but I saw you fight, and you fought hard. Before long you'll be as good a fighter as Uncle Jaime."

"You shouldn't fill his head with such fantasies," said a sour voice from beside them. Joanna had no control over the nasty look that came over her face. "It'll only turn him soft. He fought like a girl out there."

"Go away," she frowned, turning to look up at the elder of her younger brothers. Joffrey only scoffed.

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Go away," she repeated firmly. "Or else I'll hit you."

"Oh, hit me?" he chuckled, arms crossed over his chest. "More of a tap, I think."

"I could slap you and make you squeal like a pig," she insisted, voice hard. "And all of the men here would see you for the whiny little child you are."

He went red in the face, and she was sure she was about to make him squeal without laying a hand on him. He struggled for a moment before finally becoming able to release his words from his throat.

"You can't speak to me like that!"

"I already did." She turned away from him now, smoothing down Tommen's rustled hair. She continued under her breath, "Go cry to Mother about it."

She doubted he heard her, but he stomped off, likely about to go do so.

"You did wonderful, little prince," she said again, and Tommen beamed up at her. She leaned closer to him, lowering your voice. "You practice very hard, so you can become big and strong and you can beat up Joffrey when he bullies you." He grinned, and she stood. "But go congratulate Lord Bran on his win, Father won't like if he hears you're a sore loser."

Tommen nodded dutifully and went to approach Bran, who was still being relieved of his armor.

"Does your Septa teach you sportsmanship, Princess?" someone asked, and Joanna turned to see Lord Robb, the eldest of the Stark children, giving her a bemused look.

"I love to watch the tourneys," she said, smiling. "Father always makes it known when he's displeased with a knight's conduct on the field."

"Do you fancy yourself a master-at-arms?" he asked, and for a moment she was unsure if he'd forgotten himself. But then, after a moment, she saw the teasing that danced upon his expression, and she grinned.

"Why, don't you think I could sport the whiskers?" She nodded her head towards Rodrik Cassel, who was, at present, brushing a hand down the white whiskers that grew from his face. Robb laughed, turning his attention back to her. It was only on her for a moment before something caught his attention over her shoulder, as his eyes shifted off to the side and his expression fell.

"Uh oh," he said under his breath, and started to take a step away before he caught himself. "By your leave, Princess."

"Of course," she replied, confused, and watched after him as he left. He hurried across the yard to a young girl lurking in the shadows of the walls, a wolf pup at her feet. Joanna recognized the girl as Lord and Lady Stark's younger daughter, who she remembered seeing cause mischief at dinner the night before. She watched, head cocked slightly, as Robb talked with her a moment before reluctantly sending her off back into the keep. He smiled after her as she went, dragging her feet and kicking up dust along the way. She couldn't help but remark how different the sisters were.

Perhaps that is how all sisters are, Joanna mused. For every sister who loves courtly life, there is another who hates it.

She figured, that must be the gods' divine prank on all the mothers of Westeros. Dimly, she was aware of Desmera sidling up beside her.

"How funny," she commented. "She's like a smaller, wilder version of you."

"I was never so unkempt," Joanna chuckled. "Mother never would have allowed it."

And besides, Joanna thought to herself, she didn't hate courtly life. The menial pastimes, the poetry and the embroidery, she hated. But the court, she loved. There was hardly a thing Joanna liked more than to sit and visit. She loved to hear the latest court gossip, though she never took much stock in what her companions told her. She longed for more freedom in the life she had, but she could never run from the court. She thrived on the attentions of others.

"Always escaping your Septa, though," Desmera said, returning Joanna from her thoughts.

"If they wanted me to mind my Septa, they shouldn't have chosen Eglantine. That woman could bore old Pycelle to death with that voice."

A part of Joanna felt blasphemous for speaking of Eglantine in such a way; for much of her childhood, it was Eglantine, rather than her mother, who minded her. Still, now that she had passed the age of majority and no longer had need of a Septa, she was glad to be free of Eglantine's constant presence.

Arm-in-arm once more, Joanna and Desmera finished their walk around the perimeter of the yard. Just before they reentered the keep, Joanna cast one more look over her shoulder, thoughts lingering on Lord Stark's son. To her delight, she found that he was watching her go. They hardly had time to exchange a small smile before she went indoors.

Tyrion Lannister couldn't say that Winterfell was a place that he had been particularly excited to visit. He fancied himself a man of learning, however, and thus viewed his time in Winterfell as a learning opportunity. The first thing he'd decided to learn was what Northern whores were like. After he was retrieved from the whorehouse so politely by his brother, he hadn't found an opportunity to go back. Instead, he had a servant lead him to Winterfell's library, deciding to take a look around at what the Starks had to offer.

The Starks were never considered the sharpest of wits, but Tyrion was sure that he would be able to find one or two hidden gems in the depths of their library. Septon Chayle, the ancient keeper of Winterfell's library, droned on about what sort of books could be found there. Tyrion allowed his voice to be forgotten in the background while he went off in search of books himself. He'd managed to find several that piqued his interest, and once he formed a decent sized stack, he took them to a table that stood in the center of the room.

He'd just opened the cover of a heavy, leather-bound book when he decided he couldn't stand the Septon's monotonous voice any longer. He drew in a deep breath, refraining from rolling his eyes.

"Thank you, that'll be all," he said in one breath. The Septon seemed quite startled at the sudden dismissal, but shuffled off nonetheless. Content, Tyrion settled in with the book, losing himself in the content and paying no mind to the sound of the heavy library doors opening or the footsteps that crossed the room.

"I thought I'd find you here," came a familiar voice, and Tyrion looked up to see Joanna settling in a chair across the table.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing needlepoint, or poetry?"

Joanna's only response was to shrug. "I missed you at the feast last night," she said instead. "Where were you?"

"If I told you, your mother would kill me," he replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. She giggled, lowering her voice as well.

"I'm glad I found you here instead of there."

"How are you finding Winterfell?" he asked, flipping a page in his book.

"Not quite as many revels as King's Landing," she replied, shrugging. "But it's homely."

"Homely," Tyrion repeated, snorting a little. "I'm glad it's treating you well."

"And how do you like Winterfell?" she asked in return.

"The food was delicious," he responded, then he continued in an even lower voice, "And the whores even more so."

Joanna covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

"Were you looking for something?" he continued.

"Entertainment," Joanna said with a shrug. Then, leaning forward onto her elbows, she continued in a lower voice, "I'm hiding from my mother."

"Well, if she asks, I'll say I haven't seen you," Tyrion responded, turning another page in his books. Joanna dimly wondered if he was actually reading or not. "Though as much as I would typically support your endeavors in hiding from my sister, I do suggest that you return." Finally, he looked up from his book. "It's not safe to be wandering about on your own, even here among the Starks. Your father may trust them indiscriminately, but I do not – nor does your mother, for that matter, and perhaps for good reason."

"And what reason would that be?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Tyrion crossed his hands over the pages of his book.

"They are not us," he said softly but firmly. "I think perhaps it is wiser for us to make our own judgement about the Starks rather than to follow your father's judgement."

"Mother is paranoid," Joanna scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And as much as you deny it, it's one of the many traits you share."

"Still," he said, "It's probably best if you return to your mother's chambers. Or, at the very least, to yours."

Thinking, she quirked her mouth. "Are you saying this just to be left alone?"

"Of course not, I speak only out of concern for my dearest niece," he responded, lips raising in a subtle smile. "Now leave me be."

Chuckling, she briefly placed a hand over his before standing.

"Alright," she sighed dramatically. She walked to the doors before briefly turning back. "But if I die of boredom in my chambers, the blame will be on you."

"Indeed," Tyrion chuckled quietly, and turned his focus back to his book.

A/N: Hello everyone, sorry about the wait! Again, this is a side project that is for my free time, and while I'll try to keep updates somewhat regular, I'm not keeping myself on any sort of schedule. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait.

We got a little more interaction with some of the Starks this chapter, and an introduction to one Stark who will play a significant role later in the story. (Um, Robb. That character is Robb. No spoilers, promise, it's in the tags.) There will be interaction with more characters the more we progress, but I'm pacing myself for now.

I'll be the first to say that I'm not nearly as clever as Tyrion Lannister is, so I hope I kept him in character. If there's any out of character moments with any of the characters, please let me know so I can work out the kinks!

Huge thanks to HPuni101, darkwolf76, Arianna le Fay, TheNextGreatAdventure, and EpitomyofShyness for the reviews! Quick note, by the way: the last paragraph of chapter 1 has had some edits made based on a suggestion by EpitomyofShyness. Thanks for the comment! Hopefully now it'll be a bit more pleasant to read. A few more quick notes on darkwolf76's review: we'll soon see more about how Jaime and Cersei feel about Joanna! As for whether Robert will be arranging an engagement, I can't give everything away - though if I do say so myself, this story is going to take quite a different turn from most other "legitimate Baratheon daughter" stories (But I won't pretend to have read them all. I haven't.)

Again, I'd love to hear any thoughts on this chapter, the characters, the story in general! Good or bad, I'd love to hear what you think (though if you like the story, nice comments certainly help the creative juices flow.) This story is unbeta'd, so if there are any typos, errors, or general comments about what can be improved, I'd love to hear about them so I can make the appropriate changes!

Thanks again for reading, everyone.

Until next time,

Rex