III

Scenery

More often in the week that followed, Joanna found herself leaning against the fence, watching the boys and men spar on the training grounds. With or without Desmera by her side (though usually with) she would bundle herself in her warm cloak and gloves and brave the Northern chill to watch them train. Ostensibly, it was to support her brothers as they learned swordplay, though she was sure that many were aware that she came primarily to ogle the men who were of an age with her.

Robb Stark always seemed quite aware of her gaze, but his swordplay never suffered for it. He seemed to ignore her presence once the spar began, but once or twice she caught his eyes when he'd glance over in the midst of fighting. He may have fancied himself the sole focus of her gaze, but Joanna watched the fighting men indiscriminately. Though the training was primarily for her brothers and Lord Stark's sons, once they'd finished their drills, the other men would challenge each other to a spar in a test of strength and skill.

She did so enjoy watching them work up a sweat, especially the younger guardsmen who were aware of her gaze and unlaced their doublets to allow her a better view.

"Joanna," Desmera said, half-admonishing, but unable to hide the chuckle in her voice. "You stare at them like a starving dog stares at a piece of meat."

"They want me to," she shrugged, not bothering to turn away from the men hacking at each other on the training field. Of the many pastimes available to her in Winterfell, this had to be her favorite.

"It's not appropriate," Desmera insisted, tugging her away from the fence by the arm. Heaving a sigh, Joanna allowed herself to be pulled away.

"What are we supposed to do now?" she huffed. Desmera linked their arms together, pulling her quickly through the courtyard and back into the keep. "You can't expect me to read poetry for the rest of the afternoon, can you?"

"Of course not," she replied in a hushed voice, pausing their conversation for a moment as they passed someone in the halls. "You realize your chamber has a fine view of the training ground, don't you?"

Joanna stopped in her tracks, but Desmera tugged her along down the hallway, not breaking stride once.

"You are a wicked woman," Joanna cackled, hurrying to keep pace with her friend. "I wish I was half as clever as you."

Desmera truly was the perfect companion, Joanna believed; the moment they'd entered her chambers, she locked the door behind them so they would not be disturbed. There were two plush sitting chairs by the fireplace, and the girls dragged them across the room to the window, where they perched themselves with their elbows on the wooden windowsill.

"The young Lord Stark sure is handsome, isn't he?" Desmera sighed.

"Indeed," Joanna agreed, eyes cast over the training field. She watched the young men spar within the enclosure, following the hard lines of their bodies as they fine-tuned their technique with the sword. There was one in particular, though, on whom her eye lingered. He had only stepped into the training field once or twice, and otherwise kept quiet and to the side. "I like that bastard brother of his, too."

"Joanna!" Desmera gasped. She cast a quick look at the locked door before sending a scowl over at the princess by the window. "You shouldn't say things like that," she scolded.

"What?" Joanna huffed, rolling her eyes. "I didn't say I wanted to marry him. I just think he's handsome, that's all."

"Still," she sighed, shaking her head. "Too often you forget to keep your mouth shut and incite your mother's ire. She wouldn't yell at you half as often if you thought before you spoke."

Joanna knew she was right, and didn't have anything to say. Instead, she folded her arms on the windowsill and set her chin upon them. She turned her attention away from Jon Snow and back to his legitimate brother. One day, she knew, she'd be married to a noble lord, probably somewhere in the south so her mother could still breathe down her neck. That day wouldn't be soon, she hoped. For all that her father seemed to ignore her, he still protested whenever anyone so much as hinted that she might be married soon.

She remembered, when she was Myrcella's age, a rumor had sparked at court that she would one day be betrothed to Willas Tyrell. In the sewing circle that day, all her companions told her how handsome they'd heard he was, how gentle and kind. Certainly not a knight in shining armor, not since he'd had his leg crushed by a horse, but they'd sung praises about how intelligent and scholarly he'd become. When Joanna has asked her mother that evening if the rumor was true, she was rebuffed. Of course not, Cersei had said. She would give her daughter something better than Highgarden. Joanna wasn't sure how much better it could get. It wasn't like she was ever going to become queen.

Her thoughts had drawn her attentions away from the sparring men, but they were interrupted when a knock came at the door.

"It's Queen Cersei, my lady," called the guard. Joanna sighed, but didn't move from her spot.

"I'm dressing!" she called back. Desmera sighed softly, shoving Joanna's shoulder before standing from her seat. She crossed the room and unlatched the door, dropping into a curtsy once it swung open.

"My Queen," she said, eyes to the ground. Cersei stepped past her without acknowledging her.

"Joanna," she said, standing in the center of the room and waiting for her daughter to turn and acknowledge her. Joanna turned right away. "It's been brought to my attention that you haven't been attending needlepoint."

"You say attending as though I have to go," Joanna frowned, mouth pinched. Cersei blinked down at her.

"You do have to go." She held up a hand when Joanna opened her mouth to protest. "You have to be sociable with the Starks. I heard that you had taken well to Lady Sansa, what happened?"

Handsome, sweaty, fighting men is what happened. Joanna clasped her hands together, remembering what Desmera said about thinking before she opened her fat mouth.

"I will join Myrcella and Lady Sansa in sewing tomorrow," she replied, deciding to take the direct route to preventing her mother from growing angry.

"Good. I hope Eglantine has something good to say tomorrow."

"She will, Mother."

Without another word, and hardly another glance, Cersei swept out of the room again. Joanna slumped back in the chair. She did feel bad about hardly spending any time with Sansa, as the girl was sweet and was truly a good companion. Still, she thought, casting a look out the window at the training grounds, she would miss watching the young men spar.

But, Joanna had said that she would join the other girls tomorrow. Until then, she would make herself comfortable by the window sill and ogle the men, trying to memorize how they looked so she could think about them when she was bored.

Joanna tried to enjoy needlepoint. She began with a little design, something that she thought was progressing fairly well with her meagre skill. For the first little while, she listened as the other girls talked, still sore that she wasn't allowed to go out and walk around and enjoy Winterfell's 'scenery'. Not wanting her frustration to bleed through her words at the girls, who didn't deserve to have it directed at them, she opted for once to keep her mouth shut.

Until, of course, the gossip began. There was nothing Joanna loved more than gossip, but she didn't quite know how to react when it was about her.

"Joanna," said Sansa, her voice pitch conspiratorially low as she scooted forward in her seat. She had waited for Eglantine and Mordane to step to the side to begin speaking. "I heard my brother Robb talking about you with his friend Theon Greyjoy."

"Oh?" said Joanna, keeping her tone carefully neutral. "And what did he say?"

"They think you're pretty," Sansa replied eagerly, chittering like it was the most exciting thing she'd heard in an age. "Theon said other things," she scrunched her nose briefly, "but Robb said he thought you were good-natured."

Good-natured, Joanna thought. She had been called many things by young men, but good-natured was certainly a new one. Still, she wouldn't complain – she had been called far worse things by slighted young men who'd been denied her attentions. She wasn't stuck on that comment though; They thought she was pretty. She had been called pretty by countless people, and whether they thought it was true or not had never mattered to her. But now someone that Joanna liked thought she was pretty, and she felt warmth rise in her cheeks.

"He really said that?" she asked.

Sansa nodded. "Theon was nasty, but Robb said that you were very kind when you spoke with him. When did you speak with him?"

"No," Joanna said, shaking her head. "He…" She paused, clearing her throat and trying to appear blasé. "He said I was pretty?"

"He said you were beautiful," Sansa corrected with a grin. "Theon said...said something vulgar about you, but that was when Robb said that you were beautiful and kind."

Then Myrcella giggled and the warmth immediately left Joanna's cheeks. She looked down at her embroidery and pretended to find it much more interesting.

"Are you going to marry Robb Stark?" she asked, bouncing slightly in her seat.

"Of course not –"

"Then we really would be sisters!" Sansa added excitedly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Joanna said. She cast a glance over to Desmera for help. The other girl blinked, trying to think of what to say to get the girls to stop badgering Joanna, before setting down her sampler.

"Princess Myrcella, you know your father would never allow it," she said.

"But Father loves Ned Stark," Myrcella insisted.

"But he loves your sister more, doesn't he?" She picked up her needlepoint again, raising her eyebrows to show she'd made her point. "Fathers never like to lose their little princesses to marriage."

"I suppose you're right," she conceded, relaxing back in her seat again.

"Oh, but it would be so wonderful, wouldn't it?" Sansa sighed, returning her attention to her embroidery once more.

"But if you went to King's Landing and I stayed in Winterfell, we would never see each other," Joanna pointed out.

"I guess that's true," Sansa said. Arya, who had watched the exchange quietly and with a look of annoyance, finally spoke up.

"Boys are stupid, anyway."

A/N: Sorry for the wait, and for the short chapter today. I was hoping to get this one done before I went on vacation. Once I got back, I wasn't sure what else to write for this chapter, and I figured that we'll just settle for a bit of a shorter chapter, given that this one's mostly just filler anyway. We'll start getting to some actual meaningful plot happenings next chapter, I promise.

In this chapter, Joanna and Desmera are teenage girls. Don't pretend that if y'all were the princess of Westeros you wouldn't be doing the same thing. (I know I would.)

Huge thanks to HPuni101, birdy, xenocanaan, darkwolf76 (x2!), Lt-Spork89, Loverofcolours, ZabuzasGirl, and Adhara Snow for the reviews! I appreciate all of your feedback and support so much. In response to a small question posed by Darkwolf76: Desmera is a fairly minor character for now, but that will change in many ways in the future. ;) Sorry I couldn't get you guys a longer chapter with a bit more meat on its bones, but I promise the next one will be a doozy...

Once again, thank you all for reading! Also, shout out to everyone who has faved this story and added this to your follows. I really appreciate it!

The next chapter will be here in due time, I promise.

Until next time,

Rex