Sansa

Gilded knights, colorful banners, handsome smiles, and ornate attire. The taste of the southron court left Sansa in a tizzy as she stared out imploringly from the window in her bedroom that morning. Unlike yesterday, the sun twinkled, basking the courtyard in its warmth, refracting off of the armor the King's Guard wore. Part of her wished they would stay forever or they would take her with them south so that she could revel in their gloriousness for eternity. Septa Mordane had told her to leave the knights be, to not interrupt them while they were working, but Sansa had so many questions. From her perch in the window, she ran her brush through her hair, watching as the beginning of the day was unfolding.

Hunters always got up first to retrieve their hounds. She never saw them exit as they used the Hunter's Gate behind the kennels to go in and out of Winterfell. Servants were almost always hurrying around, even at the earliest hours of the day. Unable to sleep, Sansa had resorted to watching them contentedly with Lady curled up by her bare feet. Just before breakfast, she noticed that Robb was leaving the Great Keep and heading for the Guest House. Only one reason would have had her brother up so early and so neatly dressed and it wasn't to begin his sparing under the guidance of Ser Rodrik.

It had been blatantly obvious that Robb liked Lady Jeyne and why not? The Arryn was very beautiful and intelligent, perhaps more so than Sansa thought she needed to be. During their stitchwork yesterday, Sansa marveled at how dexterously she moved and the wry sense of humor she had that made both she and Jeyne Poole blush. When Septa Mordane was out of the room, Lady Jeyne would make jokes about how serious she was, causing a torrent of giggles. Septa Mordane had returned in mild confusion as to what could have happened while she was gone. Little did she know she had been the subject of the joke.

One day, I want to be like Lady Jeyne, Sansa thought, running her fingers through Lady's fur. Elegant, a sense of humor, scholarly, and dignified. She was the epitome of a lady. Well, she did have one downfall, but that came at having to manage the Vale on her own. Ladies shouldn't wield weapons and Sansa was still fast in believing that her skill in a bow was unneeded and the only thing that marred Jeyne's perfection. No one is perfect.

Eventually, Sansa got to her feet and dressed for the day. It was the weekend and she would have no lessons with Septa Mordane. She spent a great deal of time in the mirror, trying to decide which hairstyle suited her best, before heading down into the yard, where she bumped into her father. Overnight, she had sat awake in her bed trying to sort the words right in her head. She wanted to join Princess Argella and she need only put up a good proposition for her father to agree that she could go south. After all, they were family and she would be safe among family.

"Good morning father," Sansa greeted cheerfully, arranging her thoughts as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

"Good morning Sansa," Ned said, a smile passing his solemn features.

"Father there is something I wanted to request of you," Sansa started timidly, fingers tangling in her skirts as she tried to summon the courage.

Ned cocked a brow at her and paused to face his daughter. "And that is?"

"I was thinking that perhaps I should go south with cousin Argella. I'm a woman grown and I should be well versed in the way the courts south work in hopes of bringing some of that insight back home," Sansa explained, taken aback by how she had controlled her voice had been. She remained poised, holding her head high to gaze intently at her father. There was nothing more she wanted than the chance to go south other than to have a magical romance with a knight and fall in love.

"Do you recall the story of the last time a Stark went south?" Ned pressed gently.

"She became queen," Sansa retorted proudly, thinking of her late aunt.

"No, not that. First she was kidnapped and then her brother and father executed on the steps of the Iron Throne. The south has never bode well for Starks and it's unlikely you would be allowed to take Lady with you," his eyes slid to the adolescent dire wolf that padded contentedly beside Sansa.

"But that was when the Targaryens ruled father. It's different now, please can I go? I want to go so badly," Sansa's resolve was crumbling and she was resorting to whining and groveling.

"I will speak of it with your mother, but your place is here Sansa," Ned said definitively, ending the topic right there. It wasn't a 'No' and that was all she had to cling to in the ocean of doubt.

Collecting herself, Sansa nodded, trying to mimic the mannerisms of Lady Jeyne she had observed the previous evening. "Thank you father," she said calmly before letting him go off to where he was needed.

Finding Jeyne Poole out near the wash basin in the yard, she drew in a deep breath. If Sansa went south, she would take Jeyne with her if she could. Among a sea of strangers, she hoped she would have her best friend there to keep her company until she made more. Both girls dozed dreamily about the food, the etiquette, the knights, and the scenic views. By the armory, men were already sparring, enjoying the lick of mild summer weather that rarely graced Winterfell.

Prince Steffon and Ser Jaime were practicing, a battle between the white knight and dark prince. Both were a sight to behold, Ser Jaime in his gilded snowy armor, cloak fluttering behind him like a pale wing as he parried Steffon. Steffon struck quickly, but Jaime batted him away lazily like a cat playing with a mouse. Part way through the fight, Ser Jaime took a step back, the sun catching his golden locks in a way that caused both girls to gasp in delight. Sansa could only imagine running her fingers through his hair, even if he was old enough to be her father.

"Watch your feet or I'll knock you right off them." Jaime warned him, gesturing to the way that his feet had grown closer. "What have I told you before?"

"Dig in your roots so your branches have the chance to blow in the wind without being broken," Steffon retorted.

Jaime circled round the prince, whistling softly as he inspected him. "Show me the stance."

Steffon placed his feet shoulder width apart and slid his left back. Pushing out his chest, the prince revealed his impressive physique as his leather jerkin strained against pectoral muscles. He was slightly shorter than her eldest brother, but he seemed taller the way he carried himself.

"Now, why couldn't you do that before?" Jaime inquired, dragging the tip of his practice sword in the dirt, following him like a tail. "Your enemy will not wait for you to have a good, firm stance."

Lion circling the stag, Jaime continued to guide Steffon in the proper direction. "He's so quick, isn't he?" Sansa breathed when they commenced again.

Jeyne had a cross stitch between her fingers, the picture of a direwolf missing the lower half of the body. Jeyne had told her before that she was making it in Lady's likeness. "Theon is quicker," Jeyne conceded honestly.

Scowling, Sansa propped her chin on her curled fingers. Between his black hair that glinted like dragonglass in the sunlight and his solemn eyes, his face was peppered slightly by a day's lack of shaving. She thought it suited him, but as she admired her cousin's handsomeness she remembered just that. He's my cousin, she thought bleakly, wishing that he hadn't been mothered by her aunt. A Stark was just queen.

Thoughts peppered her mind. What if he hadn't been part Stark? Would he have been interested in someone like her? Did Steffon have anyone he fancied now? Sansa didn't even notice that she was chewing her lip the conclusion to the early morning sparring came to a conclusion. Ser Jaime muttered something in Steffon's ear before taking his practice sword.

Rounding, Steffon took notice of the two ladies by the water basin and much to their chagrin, began approaching them. Jeyne squeaked and glanced back down at her stitch work as the prince strode toward them.

"Cousin Sansa good morning," Steffon greeted glancing over at Jeyne Poole. "And who is your lovely friend?"

Sansa was astounded that Jeyne was keeping her head down, trying to pretend as if he weren't there, but spoke up for her. "Jeyne Poole, your grace," she informed him.

"Ah, it seems the name Jeyne only graces beautiful ladies," Steffon quipped, drawing a coy glance from Jeyne. "And do not worry about the formalities, cousin, we are family after all."

Sansa cracked a smile and Jeyne's face turned pink at the compliment. "T-thank you, your grace," Jeyne stammered, still hiding behind her needlework.

"Would you ladies like to go for a walk?" he suggested.

"Of course," Sansa nearly leapt up from her seat, but Jeyne Poole was slightly more lethargic.

"I… apologize, but my father wanted me to meet him for breakfast," the girl told them kindly, excusing herself completely from between the cousins.

Despite Jeyne leaving, Sansa was not displeased. In fact, this had been the first time she was alone with her cousin, the crown prince. Standing in his presence was elating, her chest feeling light as she gazed up at him. His dark hair and brow collected a bit of sweat and his chest moved up and down quickly from the work out.

"Could we go to the Godswood? I wish to honor my mother there," Steffon requested.

"Yes," Sansa chirped, leading Steffon through Winterfell, between buildings, and in through the gates open like an enormous dragon's maw. Even in one of the most inhospitable places in all of Westeros, this was their little slice of heaven that remained mostly green, even in the winter. Sansa could not recall the last winter, seeing that she had been a babe, but Robb told her that the grass was still verdant and the soldier pines stood firm, holding the snow up and away from the ground. All but the ivory and blood heart tree by the black pool.

Lady padded forward and ahead of them, more at home in a forest than the stones of Winterfell. The pup darted between the trees, letting her usual composure slip between her paws as she vanished in the darkness. Little light permeated the thick canopies of the pines, guarding the Godswood just as solemn as the north men. Sansa always felt uneasy in the Godswood, as if something would dart out from behind a tree and attack her. The face of the heart tree had always terrified her as well, the way the crimson sap leaked from the eyes and mouth like blood, creased in a silent scream.

Sansa shuddered at the thought as they prowled deeper into the forest. Watching her footing, she carefully stepped over some roots, falling behind Steffon as he got ahead of her. Finally, they stood in front of the heart tree, Steffon reaching forward to touch the face, smearing the bloody sap on his fingertips.

"These were the Gods mother prayed to?" he rubbed his fingers together, balling the sap. "I nearly forgot what the heart tree looked like."

"Aren't there any in King's Landing?" Sansa asked.

Steffon turned to look at her. "No, there's an area called the Godswood, but there is no heart tree. Father wanted to get one for my mother, but it proved too difficult. You know, when I was younger, the heart tree used to haunt my nightmares," he chuckled in spite of himself.

"They used to scare me too," Sansa admitted, though he didn't mention that the face still made her uneasy.

"Scare you?" Steffon cocked a brow at her. "The lovely Lady Sansa? No."

"I was a child once," Sansa quipped as he took a step toward her.

"Once," Steffon muttered and her heart fluttered as her cousin reached forward and tucked a fly away piece of hair from her face. "And you're a beautiful lady now. Do you know where the most beautiful deserve to be?"

"Uh," Sansa's voice caught in the back of her throat at his touch. "No."

"The prettiest flowers deserve to be in the south where they'll flourish," he brought his hand away and turned back to the heart tree. "You know… The Targaryens used to wed brother and sister to preserve their line. When a sibling wasn't available, they would branch out and choose cousins."

Sansa tried to piece together what he was telling her. The Targaryens had been known for marrying within their own family to preserve their Valyrian blood. Even the Baratheons had some Targaryen blood in them, as did many of the southron families. Rumor had it that they would bring engaging women from Lys when the line need to be broken up a bit, seeing many from Lys also possessed Valyrian blood. But Steffon wasn't talking about Targaryens was he?

"And which line are you trying to preserve?" Sansa finally asked him, her tongue dry.

Steffon whirled, his eyes swirling like a stormy sky. "The bond between Stark and Baratheon. The kingdom has not been so strong since dragons flew the sky. Imagine it Sansa, another Stark queen, now with ties to the Tullys."

Sansa could imagine it. She had imagined it, only without them being cousins. Watching the way he prowled forward, he moved, glimmering with regality as bright as the crown he had been wearing the evening before. Her heart was hammering so loud that she swore Steffon could hear it. "Do you think that our fathers would agree to it?" her voice trembled with excitement and anxiety.

Steffon stepped forward and took her hands in his, rough and calloused against her soft, gentle ones. He had her snared in his brooding, eyes and she was trapped light a doe before a hunter. Unable to fly on her feet, Sansa stood there trapped in the prince's handsome gaze. "Come to King's Landing and I shall see it done," he promised her. "The Targaryens could do it for centuries, why not us?"

Another Stark queen to solidify the bond between north and south; wolf and stag. "I… am still trying to convince my father to let me go."

"Then let this be our promise, in the sight of the Old Gods. Come Sansa," Steffon held her hand and led her in front of the heart tree. "Even if you cannot come to King's Landing just now, I will work on melting your father's heart. Once you come down, I'll find reasons to keep you there, to delay you leaving. The south deserves another fair queen and that shall be you. This I swear in front of the Old Gods." Blinking his eyes back open after his prayer, he smiled at her.

Everything was happening so quickly that Sansa didn't know how to react. She would be a fair, kind queen, that much she could promise. Her adoration for Steffon only grew as he gazed into her river blue eyes. When he leaned forward, she didn't know what to expect. Perhaps a whisper in her ear? No. Steffon touched his lips to hers, the stubble on his face scratching her soft cheeks. In the site of the heart tree, Sansa experienced her first kiss. Just as soon as it had started, did Steffon pull away from her.

"We can't stay here too long, my future queen," Steffon told her.

"N-no, someone might notice we're missing," she breathed, touching her lips when Steffon had turned away for a moment. What had just happened?

"Now, keep this a secret between us and the Gods for now, Sansa. We must wait until the time is right. Promise me you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise," Sansa muttered dreamily.

Jeyne

Jeyne had barely woken up when there was a stern knock on her door. Without a slew of shouting to follow, she was comfortable in assuming that it was not the accursed Prince Steffon at her door. She grabbed the Mereense silk robe she had and slid it over her chemise, tying it tightly and turning her braid over her shoulder as she blearily headed for the door, wiping her eyes. When she opened the door, she caught herself mid yawn as Robb Stark, who wasn't just visiting her in pajamas.

"Oh," Jeyne gasped, realizing how foolish she must look answering the door.

"Late morning? Or did you forget that you asked for an escort?"

"Ah, the latter," Jeyne admitted, embarrassed. "If you want to just give me a moment…"

"I don't mind waiting, my lady," Robb told her kindly, but he cracked a smile at her blunder.

Jeyne shut the door gently and swept into a dervish as she went for the simple roughspun green gown and smock. She wasn't going to ruin one of her pretty dresses when she went to the greenhouse, nor her cloak. The window betrayed the sunlight outside and she only took the blue scarf that had hung on the dressing lattice. She didn't bother to do much more than the sleeping braid she had, feeling foolish already that she had opened the door to Robb Stark with just her chemise and robe on. Perhaps she had drank too much wine and the trade was her wit in the morning.

Sliding outside she gave him an apologetic smile. "I apologize, Lord Robb. I don't know how this escaped my mind."

"I'm hurt that you could forget me so easily," Robb mused, with a thoughtful pause he gave her a sidelong glance down the stairs. "And you don't have to keep calling me lord. My father is still Lord of Winterfell."

"You shall be Lord of Winterfell one day," Jeyne pointed out.

"I pray not anytime soon," he sighed at the thought as they stepped out into the blinding sunlight. Jeyne was instantly reminded of the blinding days up in the Eyrie and how the sun seemed so much closer. Shielding her eyes, she drew in the glory of Winterfell's granite walls. She was amazed how much larger it was than the Eyrie, spanning acres of land. Around every twist and turn there seemed to be another building, with another purpose. She was still trying to learn which was which, but at least the walls were not as labyrinth-like as the Red Keep.

"What a beautiful day," she commented as her eyes finally adjusted, no longer rendering her sun blind.

"I agree, my lady."

Her lips twisted up and she threw him a humorous look. "So you're allowed to call me 'lady', but I'm only to call you Robb?"

"You are still a guest in my home," he reminded her lightly.

"Oh, well that's no fun at all," she pouted, but did not pursue the topic further.

Robb Stark interested her. It had been a great deal of time since she had visited the north and Winterfell, but she could recall from her youth that she'd always been impressed by their ethics and operations. What she recalled of the eldest Stark was nothing more than a few dinners they might have shared with their families and watching some sparring. Both of them had been much too young to do any serious talking or flirtation. Shy of their adulthood, they had been awkward and juxtaposed by their upcoming adolescence. Jeyne didn't believe she had even been a maiden who had flowered when she had last seen these comforting, strong walls. While Winterfell was not on top of a mountain, the pair of tall walls and moat did have a reassuring quality.

Now, both of them were in their adulthood and she could tell Robb was fond of her. Had she been in the south, she would have questioned his motives. Even at this point, she still did, but her suspicion was chased by how courteous he was. There was a lack of annoying persistence as Robb eased into conversations and was disconcerted when he believed he'd made a verbal blunder. Rather then turning her off, Jeyne was amused that he didn't have all the answers at his fingertips. Ladies of all ages dreamed of finding a knight to woo them and it was always in the south, by tourneys. Lest they went north to seek out the men who acted on honor. To many, the north was cold and inhospitable, the people too solemn and withdrawn.

Perhaps it's just people who can't deal without luxuries at their fingertips. I don't find the northerners to be dry, she thought, but maybe that was because she had the convenience of possessing a good relationship with the Starks. Robb will decide how much he likes me as the time passes. Most men find me to be too much to handle. They don't like the feeling of inferiority.

Jeyne was a strong woman with prowess that terrified the southron knights and lords. Her attitude was unbefitting of a lady with her status… or so they said. Jeyne's father had always pushed her to strive for the best and never accept less. As High as Honor. The words resonated in her heart and her 'honor' reflected a great deal of her pride for her accomplishments. A woman can't do this. A woman can't do that. A woman can't be a maester and study at the Citadel. Jeyne had heard it all before and by now she had learned to tune it out. A lady could be all she wished to accomplish, as long as she had the ambition to do so.

Spanning in front of them, winking in the sunlight was the long green houses that were called the Glass Gardens. Jeyne hadn't seen anything quite like it as it reached as high as some of the trees in the Godswood, made entirely of glass and steel. When Robb offered the door for her, a pleasant burst of humid warmth met her. Within, the Glass Gardens were considerably warmer than outside, but not due to the hot springs.

"The Glass Gardens trap heat through the glass and light," Robb explained as Jeyne marveled at it. "Even in the winter they're able to grow lettuce and other hardy root vegetables, despite the subfreezing temperatures. Since it's so warm now, we're able to host plants that grow in warmer climates. I'm not certain what they all are… but the cook seems to know."

Jeyne walked between the lanes, her fingertips brushing the tops of a small bush; blueberries. When she rounded a corner, she found another area had been devoted to gourds, their spiny vines nearly overflowing the oblong planter their were hosted in. She spotted various tomatoes in their cages and beans. However, the subject of her interest revolved around the back of the Glass Gardens, which was cordoned off for herbs and plants utilized by maester Lewin.

"You seem as if you know where you're going," Robb remarked.

"I know what I'm looking at," she said lightly, bending down to poke at a sprout of green tendrils that sagged against the soil. "Do you know what these are?"

Greywind came up beside her, his head high enough to reach over the planter and give a loud snuff.

"Enlighten me. I'm not a farming expert."

"Carrots," she grabbed the sprout by the base and tugged hard, revealing an orange root. Dusting off the dirt she offered it to Greywind.

"He won't eat that-"

But much to his dismay, Greywind took the carrot and began chomping on it loudly, the crunching resonating throughout the Glass Gardens. "Hounds like carrots too," she chuckled, taking the leafy part away from the direwolf and letting him have the entire root. She ran her fingers over the top of his head. The direwolves of the Starks did not unnerve her, all but one of them seemed well trained and she had no doubt that Greywind was among those better handled. Still being a pup, his fur was in the middle of transitioning from plush to downy.

"Did you spend a few years on a farm?" he inquired.

"No, I studied under maesters for some years. I was always interested by medicine and in turn, I learned a good deal about other vegetation and what it looked like. A lady cannot go to the Citadel, but that does not mean she can't learn what her maester knows," she pushed back a few strands of hair from her face and stood up. "Plus having knowledge of flora is not completely useless. It helped when I spoke to commoners about harvest and their lands."

"You wanted to be a scholar then?"

"I wanted to be a healer. My mother died of a winter sickness when I was quite young. I only wondered if we had a more experienced maester, would she have survived," she grew quiet for a moment and then a smile crept over her face. "Why Lord Robb? Is it so strange that a woman wishes to be so learned."

"I haven't met any who've had such an ambition, nor need it. But I must admit the knowledge is impressive and useful," he gave his direwolf a look. "To think I could have been feeding Greywind carrots this whole time."

Jeyne actually broke out into a fit of laughter, astounded by her inability to impede it as she covered her mouth. "Now you'll have to worry about him coming here on his own and digging up all the carrots."

"Gage wouldn't like that. He's already terrified of the wolves as it is," Robb mused to himself as Jeyne made her way for the medicinal section of the gardens.

"I don't see why, Greywind is so mild mannered," the pup was actually following her, tail raised high and wagging as she ducked under a rope.

"To you he is. I think you've earned his trust with that carrot."

"I suppose you'll have to guard that secret then. Wouldn't want your enemies to find out it only takes a carrot to quell your wolf," the herbs were overgrowing and she noticed that some of the branches were withering. If she were to harvest and prune them now, they could be hung and salvaged. Maester Lewin must have been caught up with his other duties to have time to tend the gardens. Jeyne picked up the basket and scissors at the entrance, hooking her arm through the wicker.

"My enemies? Fortunately, I don't think I've earned too many just yet."

Jeyne didn't wish to mention that he'd probably earned an enemy of his cousin, Steffon, as long as he doted on her. It didn't matter, seeing that Steffon would be returning south and Jeyne would be safe and far away from him in Winterfell. She knelt down in front of one of the planets that was becoming overgrown with poppies, lavender, and bloodroot. The lavender was overtaking the poppies, absorbing the light it was getting by overshadowing the brilliant flowers.

She began snipping at the lavender, tripping down the collection of flowers that had nearly turned into a shrub. She removed the dryest limbs first, tracking inward to leave the heart intact. Placing the soft hued and aromatic lavender stems into the basket, she was nearly unaware that Robb was still hovering nearby. Greywind was sticking his nose into the dirt, trying to figure out just what she was doing.

"Do you know what each of these do?" Robb had gotten down beside her to investigate as well, just as curious as his wolf.

"Do you?" she shot back.

"Poppy seeds are used for the milk of poppy," he said, touching the wilting crimson petals of one flower that was sagging over, laden with tiny black seeds. "An agent that helps with pain and also eases the drinker into sleep."

"It can be used in dream wine," Jeyne nodded. "What about this?" she held a lavender stem up at him, wagging it like a wand.

"For… perfume?"

"Lavender can also be used in combination for quelling pain and swelling. Nerve pain between fingers or joint issues can be solved with lavender as well as sore muscles. I've even read that a salve can be created of lavender for burns, which effectively reduced the scarring process. For a flower that smells good, it certainly as quite a few uses," she turned the stem to her nose and inhaled the sedative aroma.

The distant sound of footsteps over dirty stones crunched behind them, causing Greywind's ears to prick up. When the trio turned to see who was approaching, Jory Cassel dipped his head respectively. Jeyne had a creeping feeling as to why he was there, but gave Jory a polite smile.

"My lord... My lady," he addressed her courteously before fixating his attention on Robb, who was pushing himself up to his feet. "I apologize for interrupting, but your attention has been requested by your father. King Robert wishes to go hunting in the wolfswood."

Robb pursed his lips, his brows hanging over his clear eyes before he nodded slowly. "Very well," he agreed before turning to Jeyne, an apologetic look consuming him. "Lady Jeyne-"

"It's quite alright," she smirked, waving him away delicately. "I can find my way back, I don't believe myself so helpless that I can't ask for directions if I do manage to get lost. Additionally, I think this will occupy me for a great time."

Robb breathed a laugh at her attitude. "Perhaps later we can go riding if time permits it."

"If not, there is always time tomorrow," Jeyne shrugged.

"That there is," Robb concured. "Greywind will stay with you," he set his eyes on his wolf pup as if to insist that he were to remain in place. The grey canine didn't seem to mind as Jeyne had given him another carrot to munch on. Letting his tail thump against the dirt tossed floor in agreement, Greywind had no other opinion to voice against the idea.

Once Robb had gone with Jory, Greywind lifted his head and huffed, blowing a cloud of dust up from the soil that had fallen out of the planter. Jeyne, in her chipper mood, began humming "The Bear and The Maiden Fair" while she was working. She knew why Robb Stark was in her company so often since her arrival, seeing that he was the eldest and also not betrothed. She suspected that it was the hope of Ned that she would choose his son to create a union with, to bind the Arryns with the Starks and also bring Lysa closer to her Tully sister.

Just the thought of the peevish woman made her shudder uncomfortably as she began clearing out more debris and dead plants from inside the overgrown box. Why had Lysa been so quick to leave? Jeyne had her own theories, but one twisted her stomach as if a knife was in her belly. Could it be possible that Lysa had a hand in her father's death and had deflected skepticism by claiming he had been murdered? It was no secret that Lysa had no love for her father. Having been twice the age of her when they married, and with a legitimate child clinging to his cloak, Lysa had hated everything from his missing teeth and breath to aquiline nose. She did not see the worthy man, only the aging one that was of an age of her father. Certainly, Jeyne pitied her for the marriage arrangement, but Lysa was uncouth and possessed none of the qualities of a true lady. She was outwardly contemptuous, disdainful, and tactless. Her aging did not help to settle her mood, rather she grew more prickly and insisted that the only way to make Robyn better was to continue to nurse him and keep him hidden inside stone halls.

Mind dancing back to the original topic of Robb Stark, she found herself mistified with an answer. Her father had sent her to Ned for protection, but he knew that there were also boys of a similar age. At his memory, a mischievous smile crawled over Jeyne's face at her father's webs he had weaved. He might have given her a choice, but he'd also sent her to Winterfell where there was an obvious choice. Still lilting her throat in the ribald song of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" she gazed up through the glass and into the greyish blue sky, wondering if Jon was smiling down at her now.

Nothing is that simple father, we shall see where time takes us. You did give me a choice, she mused in a silent prayer, only to be snapped back to reality when Greywind got to his paws and began growling.

"You always did have a lovely voice. I miss the years I used to get to hear you playing the harp," the familiar voice sent disconcerting shivers down her spine as if iciles had been dragged against her flesh. "Even if that song is rather stupid. I always thought of you to be more of a songbird rather than a falcon."

Slowly, Jeyne craned her head to glance at Steffon, who had managed to locate her. It wouldn't have been hard for him to inquire, servants had probably noticed that she and Robb had gone to the glass gardens. None would be aware of the relationship between them... or the lack thereof. Steffon preferred to fancy that she was playing hard to get, he wasn't often turned down. Jeyne was adamant that she'd rarely grace him with her presence.

Picking up her basket, she glanced down at Greywind who could sense her unease, fur bristling at the Baratheon. She brushed her hand along his shoulders to put him at ease, hoping that the direwolf would not attack him. Obedient and observant, the canine pressed against her leg as she stood up, placing himself purposely between her and Steffon, acting as a hound sized barrier.

"Perhaps you'll sing a song for me?" Steffon appeared to be in a rather stellar mood despite the lack of answer from Jeyne. From the curve of his lips and the brightness in his eyes, she'd say he'd won some sort of small, trivial victory. Whatever it was, she didn't plan to find out.

"I'm afraid that I've got to deliver these to Maester Lewin. The garden needed some trimming and I went ahead and did that for him," she kept one palm against Greywind's back.

"The maester sent you to do peasant work? That's unbecoming of a lady of your caliber, Jeyne. I'll find the old man and make certain-"

"It was in goodwill, he did not ask me to," Jeyne interrupted before he could decide he'd cause an uproar over an assigned task that wasn't assigned.

"Then he won't mind if I occupy your time for a short while," Steffon replied chipperly.

"I heard a party is going hunting. Perhaps there is time yet to join them," she deflected, her legs moving beneath her so that she could step around one of the planters and toward the main path where the exit could be found.

"Won't be much of a hunt," Steffon snorted indignantly, trailing after her. "I mean, have you seen the Starks clopping around? The whole forest will hear them coming from miles away."

The door was just in view along with an excuse twisting to her lips as she approached it, heart fluttering at the idea of being free of the prince. However, as her fingers reached out imploringly for the handle, another arm, much longer than hers, held the frame shut. Jeyne could feel his breath on the back of her neck and knew that if she turned, she'd be pinned. Her fingers glanced Greywind's fur before the wolf slipped out of her reach. She had intended to hold him by the scruff to prevent the creature from attacking Steffon.

Jeyne swallowed heavily and turned, steadying her hand as she felt her fingers begin to quake. Memories flashed in front of her eyes and when she turned to be faced this close by Steffon she pressed her back to the door like a cornered animal, trapped in a cage from which she could not fly out of. Hate was a strong word, but Jeyne loathed him and every fiber of his being. She would not show her fear, lowering a defiant glare of icy blue at the prince as he leaned over her.

"You don't belong up here. One word and my father will bring you back south. All you have to do is ask," Steffon told her, reaching forward to touch one of the stray curls that had come loose from her braid.

Jeyne resisted the overwhelming urge to slap him away, knowing that would only provoke his anger. "I will not go against my father's wishes," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Wishes are wind, especially when those who made them are dead," Steffon shrugged.

Jeyne was gobsmacked by this answer, almost as if the very memory of her father was nothing. She wanted to demand if he thought the same of his late mother, he was part Stark too, though the Baratheon gleamed through on all fronts. She was so offended that she couldn't formulate words, her breath quickening in her chest as the overwhelming urge to slap him nearly consumed her. Not that she needed to because Greywind was there. The wolf had seen enough, gauging the situation for a time before lunging forward, grabbing Steffon by the boot.

Steffon, astounded that the direwolf had attacked him, was thrown off balance and wheeled backward. Greywind had not bit him hard enough to sink his teeth through the leather boots, but he had a firm grip and pulled the prince right off of his feet. With a loud thump, Steffon landed on his rear, smearing wet dirt all over his fine doublet and trousers. His face began flushing an angry red like the cherry tomatoes that were growing nearby.

Undaunted, Greywind leveled a challenging glare at Steffon. Try it again and he would make certain to find purchase in the prince's flesh.

"Greywind, come," Jeyne ordered quickly, opening the door and slipping out before Steffon could get back onto his feet. The wolf padded after her quickly, pressing to her leg again and snuffing up to see her reaction. Even if she couldn't verbally praise him, but she gave him affectionate pet on the head and strode as quickly as her legs would take her away from the glass gardens. Clever wolf, if he had spilled blood, Steffon would have demanded his pelt for a cloak.