Eddard
Attacks on the western shores of his domain had Ned more preoccupied than the arrival of Robert and his nephews and niece. Thankfully Catelyn was overseeing the arrangements of the royal party as he racked his thoughts for an answer. Why would Balon Greyjoy be attacking him? He had Theon in his custody and for more than a decade, that had kept the Ironborne raiding at bay. There wasn't much time to dwell on Vayon's words in the morning, because during their breakfast, Jory Cassel entered to tell him that the king had been spotted from one of the watchtowers and was rapidly approaching Winterfell.
So it begins, he thought before heading to the courtyard. Jory would have no doubt been certain that the rest of the Starks had been located so that they could patiently await the royal family and their entourage to greet them by the East Gate. A fine fluffy slow spiralled down from the grey sky, most of which melted before it had the chance to blanket the ground. A minor summer snow to welcome King Robert. He saw that Catelyn had all his children towing the line from eldest to youngest. For a moment they appeared a perfect picture aside from Jon missing, probably watching nearby.
Catelyn was a sight to behold and Ned had always counted himself lucky despite the strife he had faced in life. She had a thick curtain of rich auburn hair that wafted down her back and her face was still barely touched by age as she neared her forties. Only the slight crinkle of crow's feet at the corners of her Tully blue eyes and laugh lines hinted that she was not in her prime. Robb flanking her looked more like a younger brother than her son. Ned considered himself rather homely looking when he stood next to his magnificent wife, the years of their union building their relationship link by link.
Sansa was the only female he'd seen who might rival Catelyn, an absolutely uncanny reflection of her mother when she had been young. His eyes turned to Bran and Arya, his other daughter who appeared as if she were going to bolt at any moment. The conversation he had with her last night had been promising, but then again, he thought that after each time he spoke to her. Arya had the wild Stark blood in her, just like Bran who also tested Catelyn. Finally, he stood beside them and waited in the chill summer air for the gate to open and his childhood friend to appear.
How many years had it been since he saw Robert? Lyanna had come to visit Winterfell more than he had, bringing the children up… That was before she became sickly and wasted away in King's Landing. Ned's fingers tightened around the hilt of Ice at the thought of Lyanna passing away so far from Winterfell. After all that she had been through, a war waged in her name, she had still been taken from them so young. Up in that tower he believed she was going to pass away while speaking to him, but the Gods had saved her so that she could bear children for Robert.
King Robert pranced in first on his horse. He was an enormous man with a wiry black beard, his hair thick on top and shorn shortly, a golden crown of antlers gracing his head. His heavy brows sagged over his striking blue eyes and his mustache twisted up to reveal pearly white teeth as he beamed at Ned, as if he had forgotten the bout between he and Ned over where Lyanna's bones would rest. An ornate carriage sidled up behind him, the only other Baratheon on a horse was his second son, Edric. Just seeing the boy made Eddard's heart stop, absolutely perplexed as he saw the ghost of his brother, Brandon, riding just beside Robert.
For his age and position, Robert was still in remarkably good health. His gut was only noticeable when he dismounted and his tunic strained slightly. "Ned!" he cried, swinging his leg over his stallion so that he could stand in front of the Starks. "Edric, get your siblings!" Robert demanded as he clapped a hand on Ned's shoulders.
His strength certainly remained, nearly causing Ned to take a step forward. "You look well… your grace," he told his old friend.
Robert scowled as his son went to retrieve the others. "Your grace?" he repeated slowly, a serious expression possessing him. Suddenly, he began chortling, holding his stomach. "Piss on that, Ned. I don't want to hear that awful title. I came here as your brother, not your king."
If only that were true and Ned wouldn't have to worry about the offer of Hand. Forcing a smile, he watched as the rest of his nephews exited the carriage and more of the royal party from King's Landing filed into the small courtyard by the gate. He nearly paled at how many had come with Robert, eyes catching the Arryn banner of sky blue with a soaring falcon. However, he did not have time to look much as he was approached by Princess Argella, who was supposedly just as hands on as her father.
"Uncle Ned!" she squealed before throwing her arms around his waist, her head of onyx ringlets against his chest. Last he had seen her she had been Rickon's age and now she had turned into a lovely southern maiden. Turning her grey eyes up to him he saw Lyanna in Argella. "I can't believe we're in Winterfell again! It's been so long."
"Yes it has," Ned couldn't hold back a chuckle, patting Argella's head. "You were just a little cub when I last saw you and now you're a woman grown."
Argella beamed at being called a woman and then glanced over at Catelyn, her next obsession. "Aunty!" Catelyn at least had warning before the princess attacked her with an embrace.
His nephews approached him next, headed by the eldest, Steffon. An arrogant look, reminding Ned of Robert, sat on the young man's face as he approached his uncle. Aside from Argella, Steffon was dressed the most ornate in an emerald doublet with a print of dancing gold crowned stags. A bright cloak of glittering gold spilled down his shoulders as if were molten and just poured over him, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he put his hand out for Ned to shake. "Uncle," Steffon greeted, his voice warm but his eyes not.
Ned clasped Steffon's forearm in a tight shake before Steffon moved on to greet the rest of the Starks. Following him was Edric, who also shook hands with Ned, but offered a much friendlier expression as he gazed curiously at his uncle. Beron he had yet to meet and the young boy didn't seem to know how to properly greet his uncle, just witnessing two different ways. Eventually, he sauntered forward and stuck his hand up toward the sky as he tried to reach for Ned's.
Laugh bubbling up from the back of his throat, Beron's eyes narrowed and he glared at Ned. He took a knee in front of the small prince so that they were eye to eye and took his hand. Ned adjusted it for him so that he was shaking properly and firmly grasped his tiny arm. "Uncle," Beron said formally, bright eyes bearing into Ned's.
Robert waited impassively as his children went through the Starks and then swept his eyes down the line. "Where did the time go?" the king wondered. "Wow, Robb you've certainly shaped up. I recall Lyanna telling me that you were going to grow into a strapping young lad."
"Thank you… your grace," Robb paused, not knowing how to address Robert.
"Uncle! I'm your uncle too, blast it," Robert scowled before turning to Catelyn. "It's been too long Cat," and brought her into an embrace too.
"Yes it has," Catelyn said stiffly, smoothing her skirts when she was released, a sideways glance going toward Eddard.
"Still as lovely as ever," Robert commented and then stepped down the line, greeting his nieces and nephews. However, the king had something else on his mind. "Ned let's take a walk. I would like to honor my wife."
Ned was not in a position to question him, but he glanced back toward the Arryn banners, reminded dully of Jon's will. "Is Lady Jeyne here with you?"
"Oh," Robert paused and glanced past the King's Guard. "Jeyne!" he thundered as if screaming would somehow summon the young woman.
Astoundingly, it did. A palomino trotted forward donning an Arryn cloth and a lady was poised on top of it. Quickly, a knight trotted beside her and Eddard recognized him as Ser Andar Royce. Jeyne Arryn was a slender lady with long light blonde hair streaked with sunlight that wafted down to her waist. Her almond shaped eyes were the pale Arryn blue like the skies above the Eyrie. Her lips were soft, rosy and upturned. Her expression was serious and difficult to read and Ned saw why Jon had been so worried about her. Jeyne Arryn was a beautiful and graceful lady, poised and articulate, certainly the envy of other women and the manner of fixation for men.
He noticed the horn of a bow on the other side of her horse and a quiver was poised close to her reins. Ser Andar dismounted and offered her a hand down. Lady Jeyne approached King Robert, a pale blue dress hugging her form. In her demeanor, her movement, Eddard saw Jon standing before him, not young Lady Jeyne.
"Lord Eddard," she began, walking toward him. "It is an absolute privilege to be here in Winterfell again."
"It is my honor to host you here, Lady Jeyne. It has been a long time since we've seen you and you have turned into a beautiful young lady," Ned told her, taking her soft, slender fingers in his and brushing the back of her hand with his lips. "How are you faring?"
A sad smile touched Jeyne's features. "As well as I can," she told him before glancing at Catelyn. "Lady Catelyn."
Any doubts his lady wife once had been tossed to the wind. Lady Catelyn greeted Jeyne like a forgotten daughter, her niece by law, in a warm embrace. Jeyne seemed taken aback by the action, but settled into Catelyn's arms, her expression dissolving to relief. Catelyn smoothed back Jeyne's hair and smiled at her, wiping tears from her river blue eyes. "Oh, you've grown so much," Cat's voice trembled with emotion. "And so beautiful. I wish you could have come to Winterfell as often as you used to."
"My duty was to my people in the Vale," Jeyne told her gently.
"Of course. Come, it's been a long time since you've seen Robb and Sansa," Catelyn led her away and toward the other Starks, leaving Eddard with Robert who was itching to get down in the crypts. Now that the introducations had been made, Robert waited like a child for name day presents. Deciding not to keep the king waiting, Eddard followed him past First Keep and the lichyard, where Stark servants of high repore were buried.
The crypts of Winterfell was guarded by an enormous pair of ironwood doors, protesting as Eddard pushed them, taking the nearby torch that was managed day and night so that if a Stark desired to travel to pay their respects, they would be able to with a light. A winding path of stone steps led down into granite chasm that expanded far beneath Winterfell. How far, no one truly knew, for the paths became a labyrinth and it was said that some had gotten lost in the various levels below. Ned had explored some of it in his youth before going to the Vale as a ward. Statues of lords passed were buried deeper, some so far that the tunnels had collapsed.
Tradition was that only Lords of Winterfell would have their likeness hewn of granite to sit on top of their tombs, but Ned had broken that tradition when he had commissioned statues for both Brandon and Lyanna. Robert halted in front of her statue, only the sound of his heavy breathing audible in the eerily quiet and solemn crypts. He reached forward and touched the foot of the stone, his massive hands curling around the stone as if his touch would reanimate her.
"A whole bloody war Ned," Robert muttered softly. In the crypt, he didn't need to speak loud, his voice bounced off on the walls around them. "And the bloody Grand Maester couldn't save her. She'll never see our children wed or our grandchildren."
Ned remained silent, uncertain how to comfort Robert. He may have looked like the man he went to war with, but something about Jon's will made him uncertain of that. King's Landing was like a courtesan, beautiful and bewitching, but beneath there was no commitment and a plethora of problems that hid behind a gorgeous smile. King's Landing changed people. That or they died there. Lyanna should have remained north.
"I still think she should have been buried south," Robert grumbled, rousing the argument they'd had years ago by raven.
"She would have wanted to be returned to Winterfell. She was a northerner," Ned insisted.
Robert whirled to meet him, eyes blazing as brightly as the fire Ned held in his hand. For a moment, he believed that Robert was going to reach for his hammer. "It's been difficult since she passed away. She always handled the children and now Argella had been trying to fill her shoes. She's a sweet girl, but I never intended for her to have to be a mother to her brothers. Beron especially… He was just a babe when she passed away and Argella refused to have a wet nurse do anything more than feed him."
"I know," Ned said finally, uncomfortably shifting as he stood in the crypt with Robert. He couldn't imagine Sansa in Argella's shoes, but the princess had been bright and smiling when she arrived.
"And Steffon!" Robert continued, turning back to gaze imploringly up at Lyanna's statue. "You warned me about that boy and I've done nothing to reign him in. I see myself in him, only he didn't go to the Eyrie to be fostered. Jon gave me a good kick in the ass and helped smarten me up, but Steffon hasn't had that chance."
"Send him to Dragonstone with Stannis," Ned suggested.
"He's too old now, I should have done it sooner."
Ned wasn't willing to offer his own home up, not after Robert had just stated that the boy was difficult.
"Perhaps he should marry, a woman would put him in his place," Robert speculated. "Lyanna did so with me."
Ned didn't believe Robert had the right order. A boy shouldn't be given a woman until he deserved one. The only reason it had worked with Robert was because he had a foundation to refer to. Jon Arryn had always been there to take Robert by the shoulders and voice what he was doing wrong.
"He's very fond of Jeyne Arryn."
The pieces of the puzzle were slowly sliding into place and Eddard felt he might know why Jon had sent his daughter away from King's Landing in the first place. "Jon wanted her to stay in Winterfell under my care," he reminded Robert gruffly.
"We could betroth her to Steffon. She's like a second daughter to me and Argella absolutely adores her," Robert continued as if he hadn't heard Ned.
"Her place is where her father requested it," Eddard repeated coldly, drawing a dirty look from the king. "Would you go against Jon's wishes?"
"No, I was only thinking of what would be best for the girl. She's a summer flower and doesn't need to be wasting away in these cold granite halls."
"She's a falcon, just like her father, and the mountains of the Vale are made of stone too. I do not believe she'll have a difficult time adjusting," Eddard put his foot down on the matter and Robert resorted to childish glares from the corner of his eye as they headed back topside. "Suitable chambers have been arranged for you. A grand feast will be hosted tonight to celebrate your arrival," Ned informed him stiffly as they came to be outside the Guest House. "If you need anything, send any of my servants to find me."
"I have more to discuss with you later, Ned," Robert told him sulkily before heading into the Guest House.
Ned stalked off, his face becoming flat as he headed for the Godswood to seek answers he desperately needed. When he was young, everything had been black and white. Now, he was not so certain anymore. He intended on declining the position as Hand of the King seeing that his lands were under siege by Ironborne. Underneath the thick canopy of trees, Ned breathed in the warm air, heated by the hot spring pools that were littered around the encapsulated woad. Light rarely had the chance to permeate the thick branches, even when it was sunny out.
The heart tree was waiting for him, the ivory bark stained with the red sap that the eyes wept. Sitting at the foot of the roots, overlooking the black pool, Ned tried to gather his thoughts. He unsheathed Ice, staring at the rippling Valyrian steel as it reflected off the water beneath him. After retrieving a cloth, he began polishing the steel and contemplating his options. Robert had come north for nothing. Ned would stay and protect the Arryn girl from what her father had feared of the south, even if that fear had been his nephew, Steffon.
Robb
Robb had never seen such ornate finery or as much gold as he saw on the carriage that pulled in through East Gate along with the southrons who rode with the king. He thought it was a rather shallow and illused display of wealth. Among the riders he saw many banners, but his eyes fastened on the perfectly white cloaks of the King's Guard. Robb was no stranger to the stories of the gallant southron knights and their magnificent ensembles of armor. Only the best would lay their swords before their king and be grace with the ivory cloak of the King's Guard. He was most impressed by the eldest rider, Ser Barriston Selmy, who had the knights fringe out along the courtyard like pale shadows to the king. Sansa was also engaged by the knights and he saw the one she was staring at with adoring eyes.
Jaime Lannister was everything that a girl could dream of. He had hair spun of gold and a smile that melted ladies into puddles. In his white armor, he was a magnificent sight to behold, pausing to speak with Princess Argella before she started toward the Starks. Robb had become so enchanted by inspecting the armor, swords, and banners that he had barely paid attention to his cousins as they came and went. Of course he smiled, gave hugs or a handshake, but his eyes always went back to the King's Guard. He was only brought back to reality when his mother stepped out of line to embrace a young lady in a pale blue gown.
Robb hadn't registered that she was even there, an Arryn banner flying on the horse of the knight who accompanied her. When she broke away from his mother Robb found himself staring at a woman who rivaled his mother's radiance and it was not just because of her age. Long hair of pale gold tumbled down to her waist, her eyes clear and bright like the summer sky, her rosy lips pronounced against her soft, lovely face. This was not the girl he remembered, but a fully grown woman with gentle curves and thick lashes that framed her stunning irises.
He almost didn't have words when his mother brought her over. In her resplendency, sorrow consumed her features, a reminder that she was still grieving for the father she had lost. Robb took Jeyne Arryn's hand and kissed it, gazing up into her pale eyes. In the brief moment that he was caught in her eyes, he felt his mind wander as he imagined more than just brushing his lips to her fingers. Appalled by his dirty thought, Robb released her hand and stood up straight. How much of the girl remained in the Arryn since she had last visited?
"It's been a long time," Robb said, probably the umteenth time Jeyne had heard that. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Jeyne."
"Thank you, I'm happy to be back in Winterfell. I missed these granite walls. There's something reassuring about this place," Jeyne told him.
Between the moat and the two walls that Winterfell was encompassed by, there was no safer place in the north. But as she stared at him, Robb felt as if she weren't speaking of the actual walls of Winterfell. Before he had the chance to say anything else, his mother whisked her away so that she could say hello to the boys and speak with the girls. His original task of keeping Lady Jeyne company wasn't as bad as he worried it might be. In fact, he was so eager to speak with her alone that he wished time would speed up. Instead, he found himself standing around with his cousin Steffon.
"Cousin Robb, you've certainly filled out," Steffon observed and Robb wasn't entirely certain what he meant by that. The Baratheon's grey eyes raked over him, his arms crossed as he watched Lady Jeyne speaking with the Stark women. "Perhaps later we can spar in the tiltyard. I know tonight we're a bit preoccupied and I've got to wash the weeks of travel off as well-" he glanced at his hands disdainfully.
Weren't you riding in the carriage? How sweaty and dirty can one be? Robb thought silently, but only smile at his cousin. "Yes, I'd like to see what the southron knights are teaching the crown prince."
"I'll have you know that Ser Jaime Lannister has been mentoring me," Steffon sniffed.
"Impressive. If you're anywhere as skilled as the Kingslayer, I shouldn't be a match for you," Robb retorted, intending for it to be a jest, but Steffon seemed to be serious.
"Right," Steffon drawled, launching the conversation into an awkward limbo.
"Would you like me to show you where the Guest House is? That way you can prepare for the feast this evening?" Robb suggested.
"Yes, that'll do," Steffon agreed and Robb parted from those he wished to be in tandem with and escorted his cousin into the larger courtyard where the Guest House faced the walls of the Great Keep. The prince was ahead of all of his siblings and drew up haughtily before struggling to thank Robb for bringing him to the building.
Robb headed back for the yard by the East Gate, only to find that the crowd has dispersed and the party attending the king was beginning to unpack and escort their horses across Winterfell to the stables. Cursing himself silently, he was left to presume that the women had gone for a walk of the grounds. That was supposed to be his job, but he'd gone and mucked it up by leaving with Steffon. Greywind nipped at his fingers playfully and Robb sighed, running his fingers back through his curls.
"What should I do then?" he asked his pup of a dire wolf.
Greywind's head turned to watch as Theon Greyjoy took long steps to meet him. "So?" Theon posed, waiting for Robb to spill the beans about what he thought of the king and company.
"Not here," Robb insisted, towing Theon away, around First Keep and into the shadows of the ruins of Broken Tower. "Were you not watching?"
"I was, but it was damn near impossible to see anything when the carriage pulled up," Theon informed him, rolling his eyes.
"The king was… just like father always described. Huge with eyes like lightning and he wore his warhammer as well," but it wasn't the king that interested him. "Lady Jeyne," he started wistfully, his mind slipping back to his brief recollection of her face. "I don't believe I've ever met a woman as fair as her."
"Blast it, I didn't get to see her," Theon cursed. "What was it about her? Big tits? All men say that about women Robb, but when it comes down to it, highborne or whore, women only have a few uses."
Robb frowned deeply at the Greyjoy's words. The harmony between his mother and father was something he hoped he would have one day. His fate was to become the Lord of Winterfell and he only prayed that he could be just as successful. While he certainly had cravings, Robb never undressed a woman with his eyes. At least, not before today. His cheeks burned at the idea and he cast his eyes away from Theon, whose lechery knew no bounds. "She's just… Just…" he didn't want to admit that her slender waist, her comely face, and ample hips had drawn him in.
"I'll get a good look at her tonight," Theon waved away Robb's stammering with nonchalance. "See for myself if the falcon is as beautiful as you claim."
Relief flooded Robb as he was no longer pestered by the questions of Lady Jeyne. "My eldest cousin was the only one I thought was rather strange."
"What about him?"
"An air of… insolence. I don't know, he just seemed disconnected from everyone around him."
"He's a prince Robb. Anything he's wanted just pops up in his hands like magic," Theon reminded him as they started back toward the East Gate.
"I don't know, but he does want to spar with me later."
"I expect that you'll obliterate him as you always do to me," Theon shrugged.
"He made a point to tell me Ser Jaime Lannister has been mentoring him."
"Just because he has the best swordsman in the realm training him doesn't make him just as good," Theon pointed out. "Now, on the other hand, if you need any advice in the realm of women, I'd be more than willing to share my experiences with you."
Robb chuckled in spite of himself. "I think I'll do fine on my own, thanks."
"The door is always open," Theon offered, leaving Robb at the Great Keep so that he could go up to his chambers and decide what he was going to do with himself for the rest of the day. Part of him wanted to go seek out the women, but he decided it best if he checked on his younger brothers.
Robb surveyed the parapets, wondering if Bran had managed to slip away and climb the walls. Their mother would always become faint at the idea of Bran climbing the enormous walls, fearful that Bran would fall to his death. Bran insisted each time that he knew every stone in Winterfell in the dark. Robb believed him, but still didn't like the sight of his mother in distress. However, as he scanned the ramparts he didn't see Bran. Instead of finding his brother, he bumped into Arya.
"I thought you were with mother," Robb recalled seeing her disappear with the others.
"I was," Arya informed him shortly. "But they're just walking around the grounds talking about lady-stuff." Arya's face screwed up and she made 'lady-stuff' seem like it was worse than stepping in shit.
"You might learn something if you stuck around."
"Learn?" Arya snorted. "What about you? You could be helping the king's men unpack."
"We do have an host of servants that work here," Robb didn't like being undermined, but Arya was correct. "Are you not interested by cousin Argella?"
"No, she's more Sansa's type. Clucking around like a mother hen, versed in the southron court, talking ceaselessly about her needlepoint. It's already enough that I have to bathe tonight and get into an even worse dress than this one," she picked at her gown disdainfully.
"You could try to get along with Argella. She is family, after all."
"Sansa is family too and we don't get along," Arya quipped. "So what are you going to do until dinner?"
Until dinner left quite a large chunk time, which he had not allocated to anything. "I don't know."
"Can we play knights and dragons?" Arya asked him hopefully.
"We don't have enough people," Robb told her.
"You can be the dragon and I can be the knight," Arya insisted, bouncing on her heels.
"Are you certain you can play in that dress?" If Catelyn heard that Robb had entertained Arya's idle fantasies, she would chastise his ear off. "I'll go get the practice swords, but you can't tell mother."
"I swear," Arya promised before Robb left her to fetch wooden swords at the armory.
The looking glass reflected Robb in his dark, fine polished leather. Sewn upon the breast was the House Stark sigil; a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field. He'd trimmed his hair and managed his beard, trying to look as clean as possible. The wolf fur cloak he wore fluffed up around his neck. He adjusted his swordbelt, wondering what he might be forgetting before realizing that the time was drawing awfully close to the feast. He still had to go to the Guest House and escort Lady Jeyne. Muttering to himself, Robb hurried for the door, giving his chambers a once over as if he might have left something behind before galloping down the stairs, Greywind hot on his heels.
Flanking the acres of Godswood was a building often utilized by the lords of the north who came to visit his father. The servants made certain it was taken care of, but unlike Great Keep, it wasn't as warm. The front of the house, assorted with dozens of chambers, was the cool end. Whereas the back wall that faced the forest was situated directly over a large pool of spring water. This caused the first couple of floors in the rear of the Guest House to be well heated. His mother had chosen one of the rooms that had a scenic view into the trees on the second floor. He found that when he approached the door that there was someone already waiting outside of it.
"Lady Jeyne. Lady Jeyne, I've arrived to escort you to the feast," Steffon Baratheon was pounding on her door, bedecked in an even more florid ensemble than the afternoon. He had taken to wearing his crown and a gilded doublet with golden baubles. The cost of his attire would have been enough to feed a village for a year.
Robb frowned at the exorbitant display of wealth and cleared his throat, uncertain of why the prince was there. His mother had stated that he was to see the Arryn around the grounds. "Cousin," he said plainly, drawing Steffon out of his fervor of impolite banging on the oak door.
Steffon straightened, the aberrant expression fading as it swapped to peevish. Grey eyes raked over Robb's attire, which must have seemed dark and plain when next to the prince's. "Yes, dinner is soon, is it not?"
"Yes, I have come to escort Lady Jeyne to the Great Hall," Robb informed him stiffly.
A thicket of silence and tensity laid between them before Steffon began laughing. "Ah yes, this is your home, so it only makes sense that you would as the eldest..." he trailed off, mouth smiling but his eyes were heavy, almost as if he were glaring at Robb. "I only thought that Lady Jeyne might want to be escorted by the crown prince, but I did not intend to step on your toes, cousin."
"It's fine," Robb muttered disconcertedly, watching as the Baratheon swept away with what dignity remained. Waiting until he had turned the hall and went down the stairs, Robb approached the door and before he could even knock it cracked open and Lady Jeyne was glancing out with a dithery look.
"Is he gone?" she queried in a hushed tone, as if she were afraid everyone in the Guest House would hear her.
"He is gone," Robb affirmed, hearing a soft sigh woosh out between her lips. "Is something bothering you, my lady?"
Jeyne's features creased and she gave a harsh laugh. "Only the prince, buzzing around me like a gnat. If Ser Andar were around he wouldn't have dared..." she grumbled to herself, blinking away her vexation. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-" she started and Robb immediately waved her off.
"Don't worry about it.. He seemed a bit..."
"Overbearing, condescending, irritating, boarish?" Jeyne filled in blankly.
"Of the sort," Robb didn't want to speak ill of his cousin, seeing that one day he would be the king of Westeros. But the display he had just witnessed was certainly unwarranted.
"And people wonder why I don't wish to return to King's Landing," she snorted. "Just a moment," she turned away from the door and retrieved her cloak, finally opening it to display her and her chambers. Lady Jeyne was wrapped in a vivid sky blue gown that cinched her waist in pearly white ribbon. Her long hair had been braided away from her face on the side and the rest tumbled loose down her back and to her waist. She was well prepared for the weather, though that evening would not be too chilly, and had dressed appropriately.
When she turned, Robb noticed the way the gown hugged her slender chest, her pale throat and collar revealed, only a slight peep of the top of her breasts visible. A chain of white gold dangled and a pendant with a mother of pearl moon was inlaid with a blue opal falcon. Other than the necklace, she wore no other jewelry.
"Sorry," she apologized, rejoining him and locking her chambers, dropping the key into the inner pocket of her cloak. The reinforced bodice of the gown had fine embroidery that had been noticeable at a distance.
"No need to apologize my lady. It gets a bit cold here at night, so having a cloak will do you well," Robb informed her as she took his arm and he brought her toward the staircase.
"The Vale is also cold," she reminded him lightly. "The mountains have unpredictable weather and even in summers, up in the Eyrie a foot of snow an be deposited without warning. Being so high up has its disadvantages."
"They say the Eyrie is impregnable," Robb recalled, wondering what the castle in the sky was like.
"Right now it is, unless there was to be a mutiny by the houses of the Vale. It's impossible to siege it. Not unless you have dragons. There's simply not enough room on the winding road up to the Eyrie for an army, let alone the trail is too dangerous for horses to traverse. The best time to attack would be during the winter when everyone travels down to The Gate of the Moon. The Eyrie is so cold during that season it's impossible to live there."
"Sounds as if you have contemplated this before, my lady."
"Of course, when I sat as Warden of the East in my father's stead I spent a great deal of time in the Eyrie... though Winterfell is actually quite a deal larger than the Eyrie."
"Really?" his father had described the Eyrie on numerous occasions. Seven slim white towers bunched together on top of Giant's Lance in the Mountains of the Moon. Several thousand feet above sea level, it was truly a sight to behold, but also incredibly difficult to access. If anyone wished to seige it, they would have to pass through two other garrisons and three waycastles before they could get to the Eyrie. In his imagination, he'd believed that the Eyrie was just as large as a mountain, but when he considered it, the peak was significantly smaller than the rest of the mountain.
"Yes," she smiled at him, the brilliance of it dazzling Robb for a moment.
"Then the weather here shouldn't bother you too much. Most southrons don't adjust too well."
"Southrons?" she arched a brow at him in amusement. "I don't know if I would consider the Vale of Arryn southern."
"It's south of the Twins, my lady," Robb pointed out not unkindly.
"Aye, that is true, but as I've said, the Mountains of the Moon separate us from the true south. Almost as if we're in our own little world, the last sliver of principle and honor before you pass The Bay of Crabs," she paused before continuing. "Lord Eddard thought of my father as a second father. Do you think he would be so fond of the Arryns if we were not forged of the same steel as northerners?"
"I did not question your honor, my lady," Robb chuckled.
"I know, but you called us southrons, which has a certain... connotation."
"Then what would you have me call you and your people?"
"We are Valemen, not southrons."
Before Robb could continue, he realized that their conversation had bridged the distance between the Guest House and the Great Hall. He was disappointed that it had to end there, knowing that Sansa and his mother would probably wish to be included in the discussion with Lady Jeyne. He halted before they entered through the Lord Door around the rear of the hall.
"Feel free to ask me any questions you have, Lady Jeyne. I'd be more than willing to give you a proper tour of Winterfell tomorrow morning, seeing that you're staying here-"
"Indefinitely?" mischief tugged at the corners of her lips as she turned a brow at him. "Thank you Lord Robb, I appreciate the offer. I didn't get the chance to see them, but I heard there are glass gardens here at Winterfell."
"The glass gardens?" he repeated. The greenhouses were utilized by the cooks to grow plants that typically wouldn't be found this far north. Even in the winter they remained warm enough to grow food. Maester Lewin also used them to grow herbs he needed to create potions and draughts. "Tomorrow morning I could bring you there, if you'd like."
"I'd like that very much," Jeyne agreed before Robb took the door and held it open for her. "Alright, here we go," she mumbled to herself, shaking her arms out before adjusting her hair slightly.
Arm in arm with probably the most comely lady in Winterfell, Robb held his head high as they entered the Great Hall. Rows of tables had been arranged in the enormous foyer, centerpieces of pine and holly situated down the center along with trenchers and flagons of ale. His father and mother were already at the head table waiting, Robb and Jeyne were among the second pair to arrive. Which Robb thought was strange, seeing that Prince Steffon had been perfectly ready to bring Jeyne to the dinner.
"Where are the others?" Robb asked as he helped Lady Jeyne into her seat, which was situated on the right of where he would be seated.
"Here soon hopefully," though his mother smiled, he could tell that she was grinding her teeth in irritation. "Lady Jeyne you look wonderful. Did you do that stitch work yourself?"
"Thank you Lady Catelyn, yes I did. Nothing too ornate, just enough to compliment the gown," she said graciously.
"You'll have to see Sansa's dress when she arrives," Catelyn gushed, Robb finally settling between them.
Shortly after being mentioned, Sansa arrived with her best friend, Jeyne Poole, the daughter of the Stark steward. The dark haired teen stared up mistily at the head table, catching Sansa by the arm to whisper a secret into her ear. Sansa chuckled before parting ways and joining her family at the table. Her eyes turned cheerfully to Lady Jeyne, who she had the honor of sitting on the other side of.
"Did you sew this all yourself, Lady Sansa?" Jeyne asked her, marveling at the grey-blue gown his sister wore.
Sansa had done her hair up, trying to imitate the southern fashion that Argella had worn her hair in earlier. The rendition pulled all her hair away from her face and twirled it fastidiously. Robb thought it didn't look as nice as when Sansa wore is simple or had it down, but hadn't the heart to tell her as she glowed with excitement. "I did Lady Jeyne, but it really doesn't compare to your gown. It's so lovely and blue… Just like the sky. I absolutely love it."
"I have a few more in this color, perhaps I could tailor one to fit you," Jeyne suggested.
Sansa's pale cheeks flushed at the idea. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do such a thing."
"I'll be spending a lot of time here in Winterfell and I won't wear blue all the time. It wouldn't be any trouble at all. We can talk over sewing, talk about your interests and perhaps your studies," Jeyne inclined.
Robb knew that Sansa dreamed of the south and to have a southron lady entreating her was just a step down from a flowery knight pledging to protect her. Even if Sansa couldn't go to King's Landing, at least she'd have someone who had been there beside her. An older sister that she'd never had, Sansa gazed up intently at Jeyne with adoration. Such was the mind of his sister so easily ensnared by a woman who was beautiful and spoke kindly. Robb had seen just moments before that Jeyne could be down to earth and wry, unafraid to speak against those she disliked. Could he fault his sister for being drawn in? He also felt as if he were being pulled toward the sweet Lady Jeyne, her attitude and appearance refreshing and foreign among the northerners.
Arya tailed by Bran and Rickon came soon after, barely reaching the dias which the head table was seated upon before the royal family entered. Everyone that had collected, knights and soldiers of the north, the King's Guard, the paltry nobles of the south, and all those in between stood to recognize the king as he escorted his daughter and was followed by his sons. Robb noticed that Steffon held his nose up, a distaste forming in the Stark's mouth as he watched how his cousin carried himself.
King Robert approached his father, Ned, and after slapping him heartily on the back, took a seat. A cacophony of chatter broke out as the rest of the hall collapsed into their chairs. Serving girls began cycling through, bringing new flagons of wine and ale. Thankful for the buffer between him and his cousin, Robb found that Sansa was hogging Lady Jeyne's attention. The head table was served a much finer vint than anyone beneath and Robb wished that Theon or Jon could have tasted the Arbor Gold that King Robert had brought. The pale wine was sweet and delicate, an aromatic blend of white grapes and honeysuckles, gracing his nostrils.
His father had even allowed the children, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, to all have their own half filled cup. Robb, being a man grown for some time now, was allowed as much as he pleased. That did not mean he would get in his cups, not wishing to embarrass himself in front of the lovely lady beside him.
"They say the finest wine is made in the Arbor," Sansa told Jeyne raptly, holding the chalice up to admire the way the candle light caught the clear wine.
"I find it's a bit sweet for my liking, but certainly very expensive and coveted," Jeyne admitted, catching the eye of a servant girl as she passed by. "Perhaps a red vint?"
"Er, yes my lady, but it's-" the server stammered.
"Do not worry if it is not as rich as this, my dear," Jeyne informed her kindly.
"You like red wine more?" Sansa asked taken aback.
"Good for your heart, one glass in the evening with dinner. Father used to drink one at every supper and look how long he lived," a sad smile touched her lips, replaced when the server came back with a basic flagon. Robb was about to dispute the mulled wine, which was being served to the entire room. Spiced with cloves and star anise, he didn't think she was going to like it. "Wonderful! Really warms you up, doesn't it?"
"I suppose, it's got more spices than I'd like," Sansa remarked.
"I'll have one too," Robb told the servant, having empties his own goblet. When the wine touched his tongue, the dry warmth of the wine settled in his throat, the spices reminding him of home. Somehow, he preferred this wine to the Arbor Gold which tasted of flowers.
"Then there is more Arbor Gold for you to enjoy since I'll be drinking this," Jeyne jested, cheeks flushed from the wine. Leaving him again, the conversation between his sister and Jeyne took off without him.
However, to stir him from his brooding his mother turn to him. "So?" Catelyn poised, placing a hand on Robb's arm, enjoying the atmosphere of Winterfell. This was the first time in a long time that it had been this busy. The hall was overflowing with men and her hard work to arrange it all had finally come to fruition. He knew that she yearned to have more parties, to make the large keep that was Winterfell a hub for activity. His father didn't see the point in spending coin just to have people drink his wine and chat. Building relationships, as Catelyn had called it, and Robb was witnessing it right beside him with his sister and Jeyne.
"So what?" Robb could feel his own cheeks were hot as he'd nearly down the mulled wine.
Catelyn, attempting to be slick, flicked her eyes quickly from him to Lady Jeyne, as if her soft words would be overheard by the Arryn over the raucous din of the hall. "What do you think of her?" Catelyn dropped her voice and leaned toward him to whisper in his ear, the sweet scent of Arbor Gold on her breath.
"It's a bit too early to test, isn't it mother?" Robb protested.
Catelyn pulled back and looked him over dubiously. "No, first impressions are always important. Just ask your father."
But he wasn't going to ask his father. Instead, he rose a brow at his lady mother and the lack of composure she had for once. "Why are you so curous about it?"
She didn't award him with an answer. "Perhaps it is too early," she sighed wistfully, tapping a finger to her fair nose before grinning at him. "Or not. How many cups have you had, Robb?"
"Just a couple," Robb grumbled.
"Maybe you should get some food in your belly before another," Catelyn suggested mischievously.
And you wonder where Arya gets it from. Is it so absurd to consider it might be you, mother? Robb thought, scowling slightly as she scolded him like he were still just a boy. "I'm fine," he insisted stiffly.
"You wouldn't want to do anything to embarrass yourself, would you?" Catelyn said.
Robb suppressed a groan and turned his attention to the food that adorned the table. There was much to choose from in front of them and he decided on the venison. However, among the trenchers was fresh lamb, a whole pig with an apple in its mouth, roasted duck in herb butter, and partridge. Not to mention countless sides like mashed potatoes and scallions, carrots in a honey demiglaze, fresh soft bread rolls, brussel sprouts tossed in goat cheese, and pecan candied yams. Doling the food onto his plate he resolved the situation his mother had been pestering him about and turned his attention back to the girls.
"You've been to three tourneys?" Sansa gasped, the topic having shifted from the subject of wine.
"It's been a while since I've been to one, but yes, King Robert is quite fond of tourneys," Jeyne smiled.
"Wow, I've never been to one, but I hope that I'll get to see one soon," Sansa told her dreamily.
"Just a bunch of men fighting," Jeyne shrugged, bringing a smirk to Robb's face.
"But knights all in their magnificent armor, wearing the tokens of the ladies they favor," Sansa pressed for more details.
"There's also prize money," Jeyne informed her. "And they're all very similar. Even if it's the green knight from the western part of the kingdom or the golden Lannister knight, it's always joust here, sword fight there, declare a winner… The common folk definitely enjoy it, getting to have a taste of the finer life, but it's just an exuberant waste of coin in my opinion. Do you know how many golden dragons it takes to afford one?"
Sansa didn't seem very interested in discussing how her idle fantasies cost a lot of coin and weren't very enchanting. However, Robb was amused that a lady was disputing tourneys openly, especially with a king so near who enjoyed them dearly. "How many?" Robb inquired, propping his elbow on the table so he could gaze between her and Sansa.
"Well is begins with how many events there are, the more events, the more expensive. Most often it's just jousting and maybe melees. But I've been to a grand tourney that also had archery and mock battles. Supposing we're going off the idea that we'll have all four events, that means you have to prepare enough room in King's Landing for each to be held. Now there is an area large enough, but now you have to cordone areas off so that can be transitioned between days. That costs money to have the men there to do that. Jousting needs lanes and that required wood, flags, an oftenly plowed dirt field to make certain it is level so each pair of jousters has a fair shot, again, coin. You also need to consider that the stands have to be repaired, move, decorated with fresh flowers, and maintained. Servants also go around selling food and drink to the commoners, but the nobles find that their refreshments are courtesy of the king. And so if Lord Tyrell decides he'd like to drink a whole cask of Arbor Gold on his own, that also has to be paid for.
"The knights don't pay anything to enter the tourney, so there is no equivocal compensation. Sure, there is money to be made off of the commoners who buy food, but are we really charging them more than pennies? You can't charge more than the populace can afford, lest you wish to keep them happy. Thus the profit margin will never reach what has been expelled to erect this momentous event. And Grand Tourneys usually have a very large prize. So, let us expect that the prize is 1,000 golden dragons. The tourney itself, between the cost of decoration, setup, breakdown, and maintenance will cost at least 2,000 golden dragons and that's pinching pennies. That's 3,000 golden dragons with a possible return of… 100 golden dragons on what the commoners purchase in booze? After all, to make a golden dragon, you would need 11,790 pennies. If they charged a groat, that's still 2,940 until we have a golden dragon. Of course, with the amount of people that attend, we'll get enough groats over the span of those days as people drink themselves and bet on knights. But with a Grand Tourney costing upwards of 3,000 golden dragons, it's a price that shouldn't be spent lightly. Especially seeing that is causes many other trickle down problems such as traffic in the city and increase of petty thievery and mayhem. Which will require the city guard to be paid more as they're forcing overtime to compensate for the increase of crime."
Sansa blinked at Jeyne slowly and her deductions. "Then how can it be afforded? Surely the king is that wealthy?"
Jeyne smiled, "There's always the Iron Bank."
The Crown is in debt, Robb realized as he stared openly at Jeyne. His mother was an intelligent woman and managed books, but Jeyne was making calculations on a scale that Winterfell never had to deal with. Between her currency conversion and insight toward unexpected costs and diversions, he was impressed. "Did you help plan the tourneys or is that all just speculation?" he inquired curiously.
"Speculation, but I know how much things like that cost. I thought about having a tourney in the Vale to show the beauty of my home to other knights around Westeros. Of course, even with a simpler tourney the cost was too steep for my likings. No, thousands of golden dragons would better be allocated to somewhere more practical and the Vale certainly doesn't need to be spending it foolishly. At least, not when it was under my guidance," Jeyne responded evenly.
"Did you also balance the books while at the Eyrie?"
"It was among of my many duties," Jeyne replied. "You have to be good with numbers."
Robb had glanced the records of Winterfell beside his father before and he knew that there were several variables that worked in tandem to make the castle what it was. Fair taxes and bountiful harvests made for their income, which was subsequently doled out to pay workers or afford luxuries that were not common to the north. Ned tried to keep such spending to a minimum as he taxed his own people very lightly, just enough that Winterfell could run smoothly and they would not need for anything.
"I presume you are then?" Robb smirked.
"No, just the only Arryn in the Vale for a period of time and it fell to me," she retorted sarcastically.
"If you're no good at numbers and can draw them up in your head like that, I'd hate to fathom what you'd consider me," Robb chuckled, taking a sip of his wine.
"I assume you have other talents to make up for your lack of skill in math," Jeyne said lightly, causing Robb to snort into his cup midsip.
Wiping his mouth of with a nearby cloth, he parried, "If math is not your best skill, my lady, what is?"
"Ser Ardan might say my skills in diplomacy, but I like to fancy I'd got a good bow arm."
"Bow arm?" Arya had materialized behind them, trying to reach her grubby fingers forward to snag the flagon that had been placed on the table.
"There are many dangers in the Vale, including the hill tribes," Jeyne told her offhandedly. "It is not unheard of that a lady wields a bow. Never a sword, but a bow…"
"I know how to use a bow," Arya told her stiffly, a disdain consuming the girl for the lady that Sansa was fond of.
"Perhaps we could practice together some time?" Jeyne entreated, grabbing the flagon and pouring Arya a small portion as not enough to upset Catelyn or Ned.
Arya gave her a doubtful look. "Maybe," she sniffed before returning to sit between her brothers.
Sansa gave her counterpart a nasty glare as she returned to her seat. "Don't think much of her, she doesn't have any manners Lady Jeyne," she entreated swiftly.
Jeyne's laughter rang out between them like wind chimes. "It's fine, Lady Sansa. I was a lot like Lady Arya when I was young, sometimes it is difficult to find your place."
Dinner was coming to a close faster than Robb had anticipated. For a large feast, the food moved in front of them as if vanishing to another realm. Arya and Sansa made quick work of the honey cakes and Jeyne strangely turned away most of the desserts. When it came to a conclusion, Robb found that much like the beginning of the evening, he was now escorting Lady Jeyne back to her chambers in the Guest House. With the fall of night came a slight chill that swept through the towers and down into the courtyard.
Jeyne pulled her cloak closer and they stepped swiftly to get into the shelter of the building. Seeing her back up to her room on the second floor. Robb paused outside the door, feeling it would be inappropriate to enter her chambers without an invitation and at this hour. Even with her hair slightly askew, she was still just as lovely, a true femme fatale. She turned to smile at him, pearly white teeth flashing as she drew up exhaustively against the frame of the door.
"Did you enjoy tonight?" he asked her warmly.
"I did, I'm looking forward to my time here at Winterfell," she admitted.
"Me too," perhaps the wine had muddled his wits, but he spoke before considering what he had said. When faced by a pretty and intelligent woman, Robb was supposedly oafish.
Catching his blunder she only grinned at him, is cheeks burning to his chagrin. "Goodnight Lord Robb."
Before she could slip away he caught her. "If my cousin bothers you again, let me or Theon know," Robb entreated, his fingers wrapped lightly on her shoulder.
The sweet expression she had before faded, replaced with anxiety. "I can… handle myself, my lord."
"If he does it again, tell me," Robb insisted gently.
After a moment of silence she gave him a weak smile. "Thank you. He won't be here too much longer."
"Goodnight Lady Jeyne," Robb bid before watching as she slipped into the her chambers and bolted the door. With a small sigh he brushed his fingers back through his hair. Had he been spending so much time around Theon that the Greyjoy's lecherous tendencies had rubbed off on him? Robb had been captivated by Jeyne. No woman had done that to him before and the feeling was both elating and disconcerting.
Gods preserve me, Robb thoughts before departing.