Arya
Sansa was the biggest crybaby ever. The king wasn't going to spend forever in the north with their cousins, especially when their father turned down his request to become the next Hand. They'd be leaving soon. Arya hadn't been around when it happened, but she could tell that none of the Baratheons were used to hearing the words 'no' all too often. She'd overheard her mother trying to calm down Sansa, who was married to the idea that she would go south to court. Arya was relieved that she wouldn't have to leave the familiar halls of Winterfell and could continue to cause mischief. Sansa kept blubbering about how it wasn't fair and Arya writhed in pleasure from her sister's wallowing. At least if took the fixation off of Arya and she could continue to slink around the grounds without being bothered.
That morning Arya had already skipped Septa Mordane's lessons. She had been placed in additional embroidering classes, to which she felt she'd fall asleep. There was no pleasure in learning how to make flowers with thread and Arya hated dresses anyways. A useless talent in her opinion. Couldn't they just pay someone to do it so she wouldn't have to? Since she had skipped the lesson, she knew that Mordane would be prowling around Winterfell like a shark looking for the tiniest droplet of blood in the water. She'd found a perch in the archery range, chancing her luck with a bow. Her splendor would be short lived and eventually she'd be corralled by her mother or the septa.
Reaching down she plucked an arrow from the basket as if it were a flower, brushing the fletchings within her fingers as she knocked it on the bow. She hadn't sought a bow out with a specific draw weight and inhaled sharply as she snapped it back taught and lined up her shot. When the arrow was let loose it whistled from beside her ear and plunked into the target satisfyingly. Arya had retrieved a few more to continue her practice, each driving her confidence as she grouped together.
"Spectacular shooting," Arya's head moved as if on a swivel, glancing at the person who had spoken to her. When she found them, it was Lady Jeyne Arryn.
Arya cocked her head, still trying to decide how she felt about Jeyne. Over the course of the few days that the Arryn had been there, she was beginning to feel more and more relaxed around her. Since Sansa was fond of her, Arya had thought that she was going to hate Jeyne. Instead, the woman had a rather solid head on her shoulders and wasn't fooled by all the southron pleasantries that Sansa was. While she still poised herself as a lady, arya noticed the strength in her words and the intelligent rebuttals, knowing when to remain even and when to strike, almost like parrying and attacking. If southron ladies were anything like the falcon, Sansa would stand no chance.
Arya had no opinion other than neutral in regards to Jeyne. She did recall that Jeyne had mentioned she also knew how to use a bow. "Thanks," Arya muttered, trying not to show her delight that someone had noticed and not just told her to put it back down. "You said you knew how to shoot, right?"
"I might know a thing or two," she admitted politely, always speaking smoothly and crisply.
Arya stuck out her bow, even though Jeyne was several paces away. She had already noted that the falcon was wearing a riding gown and boots of the pale Vale blue, matching her mystical eyes. "You said we might get to practice together eventually. Why not now?"
Jeyne took the bow, pausing to inspect the fibers of the string and let out a delicate sigh. "Not my bow, but it'll do," she muttered before taking over the lane that Arya had been using. She seized an arrow and with astounding ease, pulled the string back and released the arrow with little reprieve. The first flew into the same target that Arya had been using, grouping with the rest of her. Bending over, she grabbed multiple arrows, stowing the shafts betwixt her fingers as she began firing rapidly. Arya watched with critical eyes, believing the next was going to veer off uncontrollably, but gasped when the arrows flew and struck home not in her target, but the targets sitting in the other lanes. Despite the tight angles that she had been working, the Arryn had no issue making her mark.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Arya gazed up at Lady Jeyne was a newly kindled respect.
"I started when I was about Rickon's age. It didn't amount to much until I returned to the Vale. It's very windy there, especially up in the mountains. You have to be able to predict where your arrow will fall in conjunction with the wind. Here, without moving and little wind, it's quite easy to hit a stationary target," Jeyne explained logically before giving Arya the bow back.
"Did you ever kill anyone?"
Before Arya could get an answer all hell broke loose in the yard they had been practicing. "Arya Stark!" Septa Mordane's shrill voice nearly popped her eardrums as she came stomping toward them. "How many times has your mother told you not to play with weapons? Not to mention you skipped your lessons this morning!" Her habit hid her hair, making her face seem even more like a blueberry as she purpled at the sight of Arya.
"Oh, she had a lesson this morning?" Jeyne turned around, addressing the septa.
"Lady Jeyne," Mordane must have glanced over Jeyne while rapt in fury. "Yes, Lady Arya was supposed to meet with me for early morning lessons."
"I apologize then, I asked Arya if she would meet me this morning. I hadn't realized that would interfere with her lessons," Jeyne replied discreetly, dipping her head apologetically in Mordane's direction. Arya remained quiet, uncertain why Jeyne was vouching for her. What motive did she have? Would Arya have to pay her back?
"Arya? Is that why you came out here?" Septa Mordane fixated her attention on the girl again.
"Yes, I didn't know how to tell Lady Jeyne no, so I came here instead," Arya said dolefully, as if she were filled with an immense amount of guilt over the blunder.
"Why didn't you just tell me? I could have rescheduled your lesson so you could meet with Lady Jeyne," Mordane scowled, met with a small shrug from Arya. She didn't think it would have been that easy to pull the wool over the septa's eyes, but she was clearly blind when it came to handling a lady she wasn't quite familiar with.
"I can take Lady Arya and go over some lessons with her if you'd prefer. What was she needing to work on?" Jeyne offered.
"She needed additional lessons on her embroidering. She's absolutely hopeless in that respect, can't even hem a sleeve evenly. But I wouldn't expect you to do that..."
"I made the mistake of cross scheduling her, so I will make up for it," Jeyne insisted, Arya suddenly feeling incredibly appreciative that she wouldn't have to spend hours listening to Mordane not only criticize her work, but berate her for not being at her lesson.
"Well..." Septa Mordane had not been expecting any of this. "Very well. Arya I want to see your work when you are done."
Arya nodded eagerly and watched as Septa Mordane left the yard, a small victory for her. She had been dubious of the blonde Arryn before, but now she was beaming up at her, grey eyes shining. "Why did you help me? Not that I'm not appreciative..." Arya drawled, wondering what propelled the woman to make such a choice.
Jeyne chuckled. "Because I used to get in trouble for the same thing, only the Septa I had watching over me was way more foul tempered. She used to hit the back of my hands with knitting needles as punishment," she flexed her hands, as if the memory still pained her. "In addition, yelling at someone isn't going to fix their faults."
Arya didn't want to learn how to sew well, she thought it was a useless talent, but she supposed she should have been thankful that she didn't have to spend the time being chastised. Lady Jeyne seemed like she was by the books, even if she had just lied to save Arya from a worse fate. She'd rather gouge her eyes out than have to spend anymore time with the septa. At least if she had no eyes, then her shoddy needlework would make sense.
"So are we going to go practice?" she mumbled, still not looking forward to the prospect.
"I did promise Septa Mordane," Jeyne mused, a light twinkling in her sky blue eyes that made Arya hopeful. "And it's such a nice day, why don't we go get our thread and cloth and sit outside?"
Septa Mordane never let them practice outside, seeing there were far too many distractions. Arya would occupy herself with the sparring or the conversations between those who worked in the castle. Plus, in one of Winterfell's many courtyards, Septa Mordane couldn't scream at her with so many people milling around. Arya had never been more eager for a lesson in sewing in her life.
"I'll go get my things," Arya said before skirting away like the devilish pup she was, Nymeria hot on her heels as she dashed under tables, below feet, nearly causing one of the bakers to tumble with a basket filled with bread. She snickered as he cursed, not realizing who had just sent him reeling. How many servants wished for the chance to berate her? Arya probably couldn't count them all on her fingers and toes. She made it to the Great Keep in record time and sprinted into her room, hair flying away in a wild mess, before she paused, chest heaving, to grab the bolt of brocade she had been trying to embroider.
When Arya made it back to the courtyard where she had left Lady Jeyne, she noticed that the Arryn was sitting on a haybale near the armory. Typically, men would spar over there and it wasn't uncommon for women to sit nearby and watch. That afternoon, Robb was out with Theon and Bran. Jeyne had sprawled a pretty sky blue silken gown over her lap and had grey thread between her fingers. She lifted her head and smiled when she noticed Arya was trying not to drag the equipment she had brought with her. Hopping onto the hay bale beside her, she unfurled her work and glanced over at what Jeyne was making.
Arya's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. For all the whimsical remembering of how poor her work used to be, Jeyne had seriously improved over the years. In the grey thread was the front half of the Stark running direwolf with glinting beads to accentuate the eyes and claws. She wanted to hide her own work, which was still basic when compared to the elaborate embroidery that Jeyne was capable of crafting. But before Arya could protest, Jeyne had bent over and touched her lattice to get a better look at what she had done.
Arya's attempt at making a simple green vine and a flower was going miserably. The vine was uneven as she hadn't used the same amount of thread to thicken it on both sides. Her flower was depressed and wasn't three dimensional like the work Sansa did. Her cheeks and ears burned and she regretted that she had ever fancied the idea of bringing her awful work outside.
"You could still salvage that," Jeyne told her, running her finger along the vine. "Try bringing the stitch across horizontally to cover what you've made. You can use what you already have down as the bones. One you do that you can add some thorns and begin working on the flower." She lifted her own work and pointed out the style of threading she had meant. Arya didn't think they looked too hard and began to fumble her needle and thread. Even if she didn't like sewing, she didn't want to look like a buffoon in front of Jeyne.
Arya had been hard at work for a solid amount of time, fixating her every fiber on not messing this up. She was only napped from her daze when she heard, "Cousin!" being shouted across the yard, her grey eyes lifting to inspect Steffon as he sauntered toward where the Stark boys and Theon were practicing. "You promised me a spar, remember?"
Steffon Baratheon made Arya vexed for some, unexplainable reason. It was in the way he walked, talked, and dressed. Balancing upon an air of superiority, even his own cousins were beneath him. Steffon had barely given Arya the time of day when she'd tried to ask him what he'd named his sword. For someone who was to be king one day, she thought he lacked charisma. King Robert, though growing fat and depressed since the death of Aunt Lyanna, was more sincere than his posturing eldest.
"That I did," Robb agreed, wiping the sweat on his brow with his sleeve, stepping away from Bran. Arya hadn't been watching to see what lessons they were going over, but it had been enough to break a sweat for Robb.
"Well, let's have it then," Steffon was looking for a crowd and he had one. Sansa and Jeyne Poole came sputtering up behind him, which led Arya to believe that they might have been accompanying him before this.
Theon gave Robb a weary glance before picking up a pair of proper practice sword. The wooden swords he had been using with Bran were unweighted and much more forgiving when one struck true. He placed one in Robb's hand and as the prince walked up, shoved it gruffly in his palm. Arya caught the look in his dark eyes before turning away from Steffon. By now the crown prince had made a point to snuff most of the other men his age and even off put those that were older than him. Arya had no idea what Sansa might have seen in him other than his appearance and even then, Arya didn't think he was that handsome.
Kick his ass Robb, Arya thought, leaning forward on the hay bale as Bran backed off. Greywind padded over and sat by Jeyne's feet, watching as the match was about to progress. Robb was probably the best swordsman in all of Winterfell, at least… Other than Jon, who had since moved to Castle Black to join the Night's Watch. Theon was more suited to the bow and Robb was stocky and broad, his strikes much stronger than Jon's had been.
Steffon and Robb circled one another, waiting for the first decision to be made. Patience was a virtue and Steffon did not possess it. After a solid minute of no one making a move he drove forward, his sword making a swishing noise as it arked through the air. Robb caught him, glancing the blow away and turning Steffon. The prince's footwork was shoddy, but he was quick. Robb nearly hit him with the side of his blade, but Steffon whirled, parrying. Taking the brunt of an attack from Robb sent Steffon skittering back, dirt kicking up in a small cloud.
Back on his feet and with a solid foundation, Steffon continued his assault, the blows falling quicker than a downpour of rain. Robb kept up, the work was predictable, even if fast. All he had to do was keep up and wait until Steffon's sword arm became too tired to maintain the sleuth. Forced a a few paces back, Robb's slight retreat made Steffon believe that he had an advantage. His expectations were premature and he expended a great deal of energy trying to hack his way through Robb's defenses. With one strong turn, Robb knocked Steffon's blade aside and had him pinned with practice sword wagging in his face.
That's it! Robb won, Arya thought smugly.
Lady Jeyne yelped and Arya saw why. Like a flash of lightning Steffon had lunged forward, Robb's sword just passed by him and with a rough shoulder, Steffon caught Robb full in the face. The prince overstepped his cousin by a handful of inches and with a crunch, Robb stumbled backward, reaching up with his free hand to grab his nose.
"Cheater!" Arya screamed, jumping to her feet as Lady Jeyne threw her dress on the hay bale and ran over to help Robb.
"Hold your head up, let me see- Oh no, it might be broken," Lady Jeyne had removed Robb's hand to reveal rivulets of blood spewing from his nostrils and down his chin like a red tide. Arya noticed that his nose was not in the right position and while she was fascinated by what she saw, she heard Jeyne Poole gasping in covering her mouth as tears collected in her eyes. Sansa was just at horrified, her eyes stretched wide as Lady Jeyne corralled Robb out of the courtyard and in the direction of Maester Lewin's tower.
Arya's eyes were not fixated on her brother, but her cousin who was basking in his own eminence as he watched with satisfaction as Robb dripped blood across the tiltyard. Why was he so triumphant? He had been defeated, had it been a real battle Robb would have just run him through. Steffon's attack had been intentional, there was no accidental charge in which a nose was broken. He wanted to hurt Robb and that was what infuriated Arya as she stood fuming, glaring at her cousin.
Robb
Pain radiated from his from his temple and his beard was sticky with his own blood. He hadn't expected it or saw it coming until the shoulder rushed up to meet his face. A sickening crunch echoed in his head and before he knew what was happening and when he blinked his eyes open, the blonde hair Jeyne was easing his head back and inspecting the damage. "We need to go see Maester Lewin," Jeyne was saying, making certain he was holding his head back. With a gentle hand she kept a hand at the small of his back and guided him in the direction of the turret. Head still pounding, keeping his head back did little more than disorient him further.
It didn't take a genius to tell that Steffon had purposely bashed him in the face. Robb had him pinned and in a true sword fight, Steffon would have been dead. Was this repayment for taking Lady Jeyne to the feast? For spending time with her? He'd spent the entirety of the past couple of days hunting with King Robert in spite of his mother's directions to be courteous to the Arryn. His father had not wanted to spend too much time away from Winterfell and put Robb in his stead. Robb had been itching to return and even invited Jeyne to go riding that afternoon before he'd gotten his nose broken.
Almost as if Steffon knew that, he thought, feeling his legs carry himself up the stairs.
"Maester Lewin? Maester-" Jeyne was knocking on the door with little answer.
"He's probably out around the grounds. The door should be unlocked," Robb told her.
Jeyne jiggled the door and pushed it open. "Sit down, I'll get something to stop the bleeding. Keep your head tilted back," she directed, placing him right down in the chair. "Here, use this to staunch your nose," she handed him a clump of gauze and then returned to sifting through the neatly labeled vials and jars. Robb managed to clean up some of his face and lower his head to see that Jeyne was mixing various substances and grinding them. When she turned around Robb saw that the sleeves of her pale dress were covered in blood and her chest was also spattered.
"Oh your dress…" Robb drawled.
Jeyne gave him sardonic look before reaching to remove his hand to inspect the damage. "I'm going to have to set this," she warned him.
"And you know what you're doing?" Robb didn't mean to seem doubtful, especially after she'd told him that she had studied to be a healer. His nose was still leaking and ached.
"How long would you be willing to wait for Maester Lewin to return?" Jeyne challenged, her clear eyes pinning him to his spot.
Robb only managed a choke laugh.
"Looks like it was just bashed hard, not a clean fracture," Jeyne seized his cheeks and took his nose between her fingers. Just the slightest touch made pain lance up his head and down his neck. With a small adjustment his nose was straight again along with a new flood of blood pouring out. "Your skin is a bit torn, just remain there and I'll patch you up. I've created a bit of medicine for you to drink, it'll take the edge off your pain without putting you to sleep like milk of the poppy."
Robb watched as she worked in her ruined dress, feeling guilty that she had ruined one of her gowns looking after him. Perhaps he should have expected the unexpected and he wouldn't have wound up with an injured nose. Jeyne returned, dabbing the torn skin on his nose with a salve, placing strips of cut gauze over the wound.
"Your nose is going to bleed for a bit, but fortunately it wasn't a solid break so it shouldn't need to be splinted," she trailed over to a basin of water and rang a cloth over it, seizing a small looking glass. Offering Robb the cloth to wipe his face with he could finally survey the damage through the mirror. It wasn't as bad he had originally assumed, despite the pain that resonated throughout his head there was just a lot of blood. While he was wiping away the blood from his face and chin, Jeyne prepared the medicine, reappearing to offer it to him. Not sweet like the milk of poppy, he choked on the bitterness and the way it sloughed slowly down his throat.
"So much for going riding today," Robb muttered, trying to crack a smile.
Lady Jeyne rolled her eyes at him and began cleaning up the jars she removed for access. "Men never have their priorities straight. You'll need to rest for the remainder of the day, Lord Robb," she had returned to her typically poised form, the glean beneath while she had been working vanishing.
"Robb," he reminded her, noticing a small smile on her face as she shook her head at him.
"The sooner you've slept off your injury, the sooner you can sit a horse again," Jeyne told him lightly, the door creaking open. Maester Lewin had just returned to his turret, glancing between the two of them and then settling his gaze on Robb.
"I heard from Sansa that your nose might be broken and hurried back to my study. I hadn't thought that you'd already be in good hands," Lewin remarked, approaching him to survey the work on Robb's nose. "Has he taken any medicine aside from the salve you've applied?"
"A coagulant with anti-inflammatory to keep the pain and swelling down. Just a mild fracture, not a full break," Jeyne replied evenly, gesturing to some of the herbs she had utilized.
"Hm yes, set back properly as well. I heard from Maester Colemon that you studied under Maester Helliweg," Lewin seemed impressed by her work.
"I spent a great deal of time at Runestone while in the Vale, as House Royce is among our most staunch and loyal vassals. Maester Helliweg was more than willing to teach me among my other duties that I tended to," Jeryne reported politely before giving Robb one more glance.
"I'll see that Lord Robb is brought back to his chambers and rests," Lewin told her, glancing at her blood speckled gown. "A shame about your dress though, my lady."
Jeyne snorted wryly with a bit of a twisted smile. "A gown is replaceable. Do listen to Maester Lewin, Lord Robb," she bid before taking her leave to go and clean up.
Why would she think I wouldn't listen to him? Robb wondered curiously as she vanished, leaving him alone in the maester's turret with Lewin. "I don't believe I got the entire truth of how this happened," Lewin remarked as he continued to clean the clutter up on one of his various tables, pushing jars back onto shelves with the labels facing out. "Sansa told me that you had been sparring with the crown prince and in the process had been shouldered while parrying."
Robb didn't know if he should ask Lewin to inspect Sansa's eyesight or if he should just be cross with her because she was obviously covering for Steffon. Sansa was the good girl, her word amounting to more than that of his younger brothers and Theon combined. "And what do you believe happened?" Robb prompted, trying to gauge how he might react.
"I can't say for certain seeing as I was not there, but Arya was vehement, Jeyne Poole was crying, and Theon appeared as if he were going to throw a fist at Steffon. Now for Sansa to say such a thing might be due to her affections for her cousin, but I'm a bit taken aback still," Lewin rationalized, still waiting on Robb for an answer.
"I had him finished, sword at his heart and the match had ended. He blew by the sword and shouldered me. I'm not certain how it looked from a spectator's point of view, but there wasn't any call for it," Robb finally conceded and let Lewin know.
The maester let out a low hum in the back of his throat and shook his head in disdain. "A very jaded boy. I only knew of one who could best you and that was your brother, Jon."
The dim reminder of his bastard brother, now at the Wall, slipped through his mind. He wished Jon had been around now or if Steffon had faced Jon, would the same outcome had occurred. There was something about Jeyne Arryn that made Steffon's already brittle attitude worsen toward him. Jealousy, certainly, though Robb had no idea why. Jeyne was just as any proper lady should be and didn't dote on him, aside from her assistance with his nose. It's because she's going to be left here and he has to return south, Robb thought, removing the gauze to see how steadily the blood was coming out.
The flow wasn't too bad, but he replaced the tissue to keep up from making a mess of his face again. Lewin flashed another vial in his hand and gave it to Robb. "Take this with a full cup of water. I want you to get some rest, it's just dream wine," the maester informed him. "You are fine to walk on your own, my lord?"
Robb pushed himself to his feet and nodded. "I should be fine," he glanced down to see Greywind was curled up beside his feet. Robb was impressed that the direwolf hadn't lunged at Steffon, perhaps believing the attack had been apart of their shenanigans. Climbing to his paws he gave Robb was dubious look before antsily starting for the door. Descending the turret, slightly lightheaded, Robb had only made it halfway across the courtyard when he heard a set of feet patter up beside him. When he glanced down, he noticed that Arya was following him, her eyes stretched wide as she inspected the damage that had been done to her brother.
"Is it broken?" Arya asked with a morbid interest.
"Slightly fractured, not too bad," Robb insisted.
"He cheated. He was beat and he threw a tantrum and hurt you. That's not a good king to be if I've ever seen one," Arya muttered grudgingly.
While he appreciated her honesty, words like that could burn her in the future. Robb gave her a lopsided smile. "It's fine, my nose will heal."
"And he'll still be smug because he got away with it," Arya snipped prudely. "At least, that's what he thinks."
"Arya what did you do?"
"I did what was right," she retorted stubbornly.
Catelyn
Maintaining Winterfell to host the king was a daunting task, not to mention the food they wasted each night that he was there. Mind listing through the requisitions,, Catelyn thought she was going go have a heart attack if the king stayed for much longer. Not to mention that Argella preferred desserts and sweets that required honey and fruit that was out of season. How did one tell their royal niece no? With each day they lingered in Winterfell, precious coin was slipping between her fingers. The king wasn't going to reimburse them and he also wasn't going to tell them to be courteous and not make requests for amenities that were not common in the north. At least Lyanna had reigned her children in unlike Robert who let them do as they pleased.
Catelyn already had a difficult time watching her own children, but in conjunction with the royal ones she felt as if her head were going to explode. Between Beron and Rickon getting into bouts, Argella's prim requests for finer delicacies, and now Steffon trying to break Robb's nose. She just thanked the Gods that her own children were among the more mild mannered, in spite of Sansa's meltdown when Ned had told her he had no intention of sending her south or any of their family. Even in light of the letter that Lysa had sent, Catelyn's doubt had filled her once she had spoked with Jeyne Arryn. The girl was as polite as she could be, but the grief of losing her father still lined her. She had his look aside from his nose, the light blonde Arryn hair and clear, sky blue eyes. All resolve Catelyn had against her evaporated and was scattered to the wind when Catelyn saw her for the first time again.
She's an intelligent girl and a good match for Robb, Catelyn had told herself multiple times, but she needed to know more of what had happened in House Arryn. Cat had never seen her nephew Robyn and there were many mysteries surrounding him. She hadn't take many breaks since learning that the royal entourage would be at Winterfell, but with their visit nearing its tail end, Catelyn sent an invitation for Jeyne Arryn to join her for some tea in her chambers.
Sinking into a plush chair, the velvet worn away from the years it had been in Winterfell. Catelyn oft believed that the chair had seen more years than she had, but still was astoundingly comfortable despite its weathered and lackluster appearance. Most summer days in the north were not exceptionally warm, but that late afternoon the sun had peeked through the clouds and cast its tendrils of warmth on her. Like a feline basking, she enjoyed the rare treat she had been awarded while waiting for Jeyne's arrival.
Catelyn had left the door ajar and a solid rap resounding through her chambers before it creaked open and the Arryn entered. Looking at the girl, she wondered if her grandchildren would have Tully blue eyes or the sky blue of the Arryns. Would they have pale blonde hair, auburn, or brown? Too soon to be thinking of that, Catelyn couldn't hide the smile as she thought about the prospective match for her eldest son. Ned's previous inquiries had been from all over the north, Alys Karstark among the most promising.
"Good afternoon, my lady," Jeyne greeted politely, her light hair was pinned up in a loose bun.
Catelyn motioned for her to take a seat, dispensing of the silly courtesies that they typically had to deal with. Seeing they were in the privacy of Catelyn's chambers she saw no point in creating such a facade. She grew weary of darting around words, trying to make certain one did not offend another. A gentle breeze caught them on the balcony and Catelyn sat up, grasping the hot teapot by the handle.
"Would you like some tea?" Catelyn prompted, pouring herself another so that she could toast her fingers around the porcelain. The weather might have been nice, but her fingers still got chilled from the air and it was absolutely dreadful having freezing fingers.
"Please," Jeyne nodded, accepting a cup of the black spiced tea. After adding some cream and sugar cubes to her cup she settled back in the chair. "I am glad to get the chance to speak with you privately. The days have been so busy that I haven't gotten to properly thank you for your hospitality."
"You are to make a home of Winterfell for an undisclosed amount of time and I know what it's like coming here," she was about to say 'for the first time' but this was not Jeyne's first visit in Winterfell. Jeyne had come multiple times before with Jon Arryn and the Lyanna Stark in her earlier years. "Especially when there are few friends around you."
"The Starks have always been my friends," Jeyne reminded her, an intelligent glint behind her clear eyes as she sipped delicately from her cup. "Even if the years have removed us, I forget not that my father trusted you and Lord Eddard beyond count."
Catelyn felt a smile touch her face as she observed Jeyne's habits, the curve of how she held her cup, the eye contact that was not intrusive, but also rapt and giving her undivided attention, how she held herself straight in the chair without a bow in her back. Each were little tokens of a lady trained and bred, tokens that Catelyn had been scrutinizing of any other girls who might be a match for Robb. Ned might have been pleased with her disposition and title as an Arryn, but Catelyn needed the peace of mind that she was not a miscreant, especially after all of the stories that she had led her own Valemen against the wildling Hill Tribes.
"Yes well, we're family in a manner of speaking, seeing that my sister is your step mother," Catelyn brought the subject around to what her mind had been fixated on. Lysa had sent a letter to her, written in a language they had created when they were children. She wondered if Jeyne suspected that her father was poisoned, because Lysa was convinced. "How is Lysa faring, if you don't mind me asking?"
The warm expression that Jeyne had was replaced by a cold, stoic one, her eyes icy and her lips pursed. "How do you remember her?" she gave a question instead of an answer.
How did Catelyn remember her sister? It had been so many years since she had seen Lysa. "She was a girl last I saw her, terrified of moving so far away from her family. At the same time I was wedding Ned, so I comforted her, father would not marry her to a man who was not fair and just. Her letters became less frequent over the years until I was barely talking to her at all," Catelyn blinked back the pain, the thought that she had let her relationship with her sister slip between her fingers like river water.
"I…" Jeyne paused to consider her words carefully. "If you want my honesty, I shall give it. If you wish to remember Lysa as she was, the innocent and sweet sister, I shall also understand."
Catelyn's brows furrowed followed by a slight rise of anger. "What do you mean?" her voice was sharper than she intended, but Jeyne did not balk or shrink away.
With a soft clink, Jeyne had set her cup down on the plate and glanced up at Catelyn. "So you choose my honesty?"
Catelyn did not speak, her fingers tightening around the warm porcelain.
"Lysa never loved my father, that much was as obvious as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. I cannot fault her for that, seeing he was twice her age and it was a marriage for politics and alliance rather than love. Such is the chance we noble women take, we are pawns to be moved and traded for a large amount of swords. An idea that my father came to loathe seeing how his third marriage turned out. However, as the years passed her patience waned… What little of it she already possessed. Her hatred became more plain and as the saying goes, if you make a face enough times it'll wear marks in your face.
"At a point I thought Lysa was very beautiful and I was eager to call her my mother, I was very young when she married my father. But Lysa never loved me either and I was always a dim reminder that she had to create a legitimate heir or be shamed by the daughter of a late wife. She miscarried multiple times, each one wearing harder on her, making her look older than her years. And with each stillborn her resentment for me grew, especially since my father kept me so close. King's Landing didn't do much to help her temperament. I believe it only aggravated her further. With her beauty wilting before her eyes and the pain of many lost children, Lysa began losing herself to her emotions. I can understand why and I have never faulted her for that… At least, not until Robyn was borne.
"I never got to hold my little brother. Lysa must have believed that if I laid a finger on him he would shatter, seeing that he was borne sickly. I didn't think he would last past his first year, but when he did I tried to get close to him. Unfortunately, Lysa was incredibly protective of him. From me, father, and everyone in King's Landing. She coddled him and kept him locked in a stone chamber, doting toys on him, refusing to let him see the light of day in fear that it would kill him. Eventually, I returned to the Eyrie and began to hold the Vale in my father's stead. I suppose nothing changed, even the fact that she continued to nurse him past his toddler years. When news of father's death reached me, I flew there as quickly as I could and nearly there I passed Lysa, who had no intention of staying for the funeral processions. She was spewing this nonsense about my father being poisoned and how his murderer was in King's Landing. She demanded that I go with her and Robyn to the Eyrie to hide. But I would not miss my father's funeral. Not even if King's Landing was under siege."
The words were not what Catelyn wished to hear, but she let them wash over her. Nearly two decades from seeing her sister, it only made sense that she would have changed. "She told you that she believed your father was killed by poison?"
"Lysa was prone to hysterics, which was why she rarely went to court or was seen around King's Landing. I believe her assumption was a deflection. Even if she never loved my father she lost his protection when died."
"Lost his protection? Her son is the heir to the Vale," Catelyn pointed out, her mind rushing at the words that Jeyne had just shared with her.
"A Vale that is loyal to me," Jeyne countered and Catelyn's heart sunk. Her poise, her posture, the way that she spoke… Ned had said she was quite similar to her father, but Catelyn saw a woman that was much more dangerous. "Lysa shall be safe with Robyn, my people would never dare to hurt a hair on the boy's head. However, if she believes she has any power above me then she is sorely mistaken. I may be in Winterfell, but the shadows of my wings extend quite far."
Years spent in the Vale, working alongside of her father's people. Of course they would defect to her, they know her. They do not know Lysa and they will see the weakness in Robyn, Catelyn realized, staying her anger. Familu, Duty, Honor. By what chance was it that House Arryn had words opposite of her? As High as Honor? She had not ruffled the feathers of the falcon and instead, Catelyn felt as if she was the one who hadn't known the truth. Should she trust the words of Jeyne? She had seen the girl more times than her sister in the past fifteen years. Jeyne or Lysa? The scales were tipped toward her forlorn sister, but there was a chance they would tilt the other way.
"And would you have any reason to need the strength of the Vale?" Catelyn finally found her voice.
"If by chance my father was murdered for some reason, then yes, I would," Jeyne said, pouring herself more tea. "You have nothing to fear for the safety of your sister, my lady. However, I wouldn't put much weight behind her words until there is more evidence. Even I would like to fancy that my father submitted to poison, as it would give me someone to blame. But it's not always that easy to cope with grief is it? Pawn it off another just so you don't have to feel as bad? My father was not a young man."
Her anger fled as she saw the cynical countenance on the falcon. It was true. Wasn't it easier to blame someone for a death than to admit their time had come? Catelyn let out a breath she did not realize she was holding. Certainly this exchange was not as she had expected it to go. Perhaps she had thought there would be more demure conversation, only to see the falcon's talons.
"Yes, if it is true then I expect Ned would also support you," Catelyn informed her.
"And you?" driving right for the kill, Jeyne cocked a smile at her.
"That depends. Ned would support you because of your father," Catelyn sat up and placed her cup down. "You have a home here among us and will for as long as you need it. I've come to wonder if perhaps it will be a permanent home. If that were the case, I would be more than willing to help my niece by law."
"Family first, right? That's how it is with the Tullys. I can't say that I've had much of that luxury… Aside from the trust my father had in me," Jeyne let out a long sigh and relaxed back into her seat, casting her eyes out off the balcony and into the yard. "I will not make any promises."
"Robb is already fond of you," Catelyn said.
"I am a young lady of a similar age, certainly quite different than those he has met before. I will not act on a chance of fascination just to have him realize he dislikes me for how I truly am," Jeyne retorted crisply.
"You're lucky. I don't know of any high borne ladies who have the chance to decide their fate."
"But I don't really get to decide it do I? I also have duty of my own and my father trusted me to have the honor to do the right thing. In the end, I'm still a pawn," again, another bitter smile as she finished the rest of her tea. "You wish to protect your family; as a wife, as a mother. Give me time, see if Robb is still fond of me in the following months. Nothing truly lasts."
Not with an outlook like that, Catelyn noted duly. "I don't believe you're half as bad as you believe yourself to be Jeyne. Robb needs a strong woman such as yourself beside him. He's not like Ned, not entirely."
"I'm here indefinitely, so there shall be time to make a decision. I never like to be hasty, especially in such larger matters," Jeyne informed her.
"Perhaps that's why I've taken a liking to you as well. Men are always so keen at jumping to decisions, going by what their heart tells them and not their head. But you're more analytical. I overheard your conversation about tourneys and then Maester Lewin also informed me that you properly set Robb's nose back in place and made him a draught to help his pain."
"I do like numbers and studying, always have. King's Landing wasn't my favorite place in the world and so I did what I could to escape from it and the suitors. A lot of suitors found my intrigue in such scholarly endeavors to be boring. I wasn't the… brilliant rose or exciting lion. People found me to be cold."
"It's cold up here in the north and you've done well to fit in already. I once found Ned to be cold, but I've come to learn that it's all a guise, a way to protect yourself from the strife you've faced. Strong like ice, like the Wall, like a mountain… Perhaps Ned learned it from Jon and in turn, you possess those same qualities. At least, that portion of them…" she trailed off, finding that the topic of conversation had gotten rather heavy as she pried at Jeyne, trying to see past her smooth exterior. "I heard that Arya was caught with a bow this morning… With you. She missed one of Septa Mordane's additional lessons. How did she fare when you sat down with her?"
"It's difficult to say. Shortly after we began, the crown prince went and tried to break Robb's nose. I immediately went to assist him and didn't have time to catch up with Arya after," Jeyne said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
She says it's too early, but she's already at Robb's side when he's injured? Catelyn smiled into her teacup. Perhaps Robb had more charm than she was giving him credit for. The Lady Jeyne was accustomed to the florid southron suitors, but not the stalwart northerners. Catelyn couldn't help but be impressed by Robb's hospitality thus far to have moved the young falcon such. "Hm yes, I know it's unbecoming to say, but I cannot wait until the royal party returns to King's Landing where it belongs."
"That I can agree to," Jeyne muttered grudgingly.