Sansa

He was leaving today and Sansa couldn't go with him. Between their secret rendezvous and stolen kisses in the Godswood, Sansa hated her father because he wouldn't let her go south. Sansa had been a good girl all her life, dreaming of the southron court. Now, the prince was in love with her and she wanted to have his beautiful black haired, blue eyed children. Sansa had never wanted anything more. Even when she had implored her father, breaking down in a fit of tears, he had not budged. How could he be so cruel?

Now this was to be their last meeting before he went back to King's Landing and Sansa had made certain that she would look as beautiful as possible. What if he just returned south and forgot about her? No, he would not forget about her, according to Steffon, she was the most comely woman he had ever laid eyes on. He saw her for what she truly was and one day, Sansa would be the queen.

The Godswood was ambient around her, soft chattering of birds in the tree, the sunlight trying to find a way to lance through the thick canopies of the densely packed trees. They were so easy to get lost in and discover a hidden alcove that no one would find in the shadows. Each day she dreamed of going out there, spending the time with Steffon even if it was senseless and just muted ramblings. The last fleeting days of the high summer were upon them and Sansa had chosen the loveliest dress that she had.

Made of grey and gold samite, Sansa shimmered as she moved into the Godswood, her Tully blue eyes searching for her beloved. She picked her way delicately through the grass, Lady following close behind her as she went to find their usual spot in the far corner, not near the heart tree. She placed her hand against a nearby tree, her heart brimming with sadness as she thought about how Steffon would be riding away, abandoning her to remain in Winterfell.

Keep it together Sansa, you don't need your prince seeing you cry, she thought, trying to gather her emotions before Steffon appeared. A few minutes passed after their expected meeting time and her nerves began fraying, her neatly collected emotions beginning to spill out. Just when she thought that he was never going to come, a soft crunching of leaves and pine needles scattering across the undergrowth. When she turned round she saw her gallant prince stepping from out of the shadows. The thought didn't even cross her mind of the ordeal a few days ago with her brother. It had all just been a mistake, nothing had truly been clear since they were moving so quickly.

Ever radiant with his obsidian hair and lightning blue eyes he was dressed in emerald brocade, the doublet printed with golden crowned stags. This was his goodbye and he had chosen the best outfit he had packed with him, as she had not seen him in this ensemble yet.

Sorrow consumed her when she saw him in his send off outfit and she could feel the tears beginning to leak out as she held his striking gaze. There had been things Sansa had wanted in life, but never had she thought her feelings could get the better of her as they were now.

Steffon reached forward and took her hand, offering a kind smile that warmed the cockles of her heart. Pressing his lips to her gentle fingers, he glanced up at her. "Don't worry my beloved. I have plans to get you to King's Landing where you can become my queen," he promised, holding her hands in his.

"Plans? My father isn't going south and nor am I. Perhaps if he was accepting the honor of Hand of the King," she had been flabbergasted at the news that he had passed up such an honor. To have the power to influence the kingdom and live in the lovely capitol... Sansa was astounded how he could throw it all away and resign himself to remain at Winterfell. He was a sentimental fool. One that she could not forgive. He'd allowed her to weep herself to sleep, to feel as if death would be better than existing without Steffon who had been nothing but kind and loving toward her. It was meant to be and her father was too daft and blind to see it.

"Yes, an honor which my father traveled all the way north to try and bestow upon him," Steffon let out a deep sigh, the lines of trouble clear on his face. "I thought that my uncle would leap at the chance of getting offering such a prestigious role, but I was sorely mistaken. I am glad this journey was not completely pointless."

When he looked back at her, she felt her heart flutter rapidly like a baby bird trying to take flight for the first time. "Me too," she whispered, holding his hands close to her as they stood in the Godswood. "I despair each day that we shall be apart. That they keep us apart," she felt heat rise in her chest and reach up to burn her ears and face.

Steffon chuckled, brushing back some of her hair with his calloused hands. "Not for long, my beloved. I told you, I have made arrangements for you to come south."

"How? When?" Sansa didn't know how it would be possible to smuggle her south without her father catching wind of it. Could she run away from Winterfell? Certainly, she loved the prince and he loved her back. She only feared what wrath might follow her like the impending winter that loomed in the distance. She knew what her mother meant when she said that love was blind. Sansa would do anything to be reunited with him, even if that meant crossing her father. Eventually, he would understand once she became queen and she would forgive him.

"I cannot spare all the details, but as the pieces fall into place... Someone will take you by sea to King's Landing and it is someone known to you. Do not balk when the time comes, I promise that they will deliver you safely," Steffon insisted, reaching down to kiss her softly on the lips. "Then, when you arrive, I shall make you my queen."

Her head spun and she felt a bit faint. Everything had been arranged and she would be... But his father? King Robert was in good health and even if they married, she would still just be a princess. She tried not to overthink it and his words, seeing that he'd promised her multiple times that she would be a queen. It was all just a promise, not anything to put any serious thought in. Steffon wouldn't do anything to his father, he was fair and kind and just. But her memory flashed back to when he'd tried to break Robb's nose and a shiver passed over her skin, hair raising on top of gooseflesh.

"What is it?" Steffon touched her face and Sansa leaned into his caress banishing the negative thoughts that had started to form doubt in her.

"Nothing my love, I was just thinking about our future together. It won't be too long before I follow you, right?" she implored sweetly.

"Of course not, I made a promise to you, did I not?" in spite of his soft words, there was a glint of annoyance in his eyes, as if he detested having to repeating himself or justify his answers. He was a prince, everyone should just trust his word.

"Yes, how silly of me," Sansa muttered demurely.

"Don't look so sad, we'll be together again before you know it," Steffon tilted her chin back up to gaze deeply into her eyes, reducing her to little more than a simpering puddle. 'They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder."

With a lilting breath she nodded before he released her chin. "I wish we could stay here forever."

"Nothing is forever... We should go before anyone notices we are missing. I am to leave soon," Steffon suggested, the excitement in her heart fleeing. He chuckled lightly and bent forward for their final kiss. Sansa's emotions overwhelmed her as she pressed herself against his strong lean chest and wished that the world wasn't so cruel as to keep lovers apart. He held her up as they made their exchange and he finally released, leaving her breathless and wishing for more.

Soon, she reminded herself as she smoothed her skirts and tried to hold her head high despite the turmoil of emotions that were gnawing at her like a mouse at cheese. "We shouldn't be seen together," Sansa noted duly and Steffon nodded.

"Yes, you go ahead and I'll follow in a few minutes. I still have a few places I need to go before leaving," Steffon told her, puzzling Sansa. Where else would he need to go? Were there more people he had to say goodbye to? More arrangements that had to be made? She tried not to dwell on it too much, giving him a doleful smile before she hiked up her skirts slightly and climbed out of the alcolve they had met in. All she had to do was wait until Steffon's plans were in place and she'd be going south to become a queen.

Jeyne

Finally they were leaving. Jeyne could not have been more ecstatic to finally see the accursed royal family leave Winterfell and more importantly, her. Even if Steffon was the only one who was truly terrible from the family, the others rallied around him in spite of his actions and disposition. Willful ignorance. King Robert would never admit to the fact that his son took whatever he wanted, even if that was from a high borne lady. Being a prince did not make him untouchable and when her father had been alive, he made that clear to him. She was safe in Winterfell from his advances or touch and she was glad for it, even if Catelyn Stark was a bit hesitant to put her entire faith in her just yet. Among one of the more clever people in Winterfell, if she said so herself.

Jeyne chose brocade gown of blue and silver to wish the royal party well off. The thick printed fabric clung to her chest and waist and fell in a thick skirt to keep her warm, not requiring much more than a scarf in the brisk summer air as she went for a solo walk through Winterfell, smiling smugly to herself. She liked to do this every other day, enjoying the sites, wondering if she would notice something new. Even if the stones remained the same, the people who tended them were always on a new task. The army of servants were very loyal and inclined toward their jobs, bidding her politely as she passed and scurrying around to make certain they performed at mach speed. She had met Gage the cook a few times now, a portly man that had mistaken her for a servant when she was working in the Glass Gardens. He had apologized profusely on numerous occasions and Jeyne was able to give him some advise on fertilizing some of the southern variants of vegetation he was growing.

Gage was taken aback like many of the men that she was a walking encyclopedia for various topics to include herbology, farming, healing arts, and ailments. She thought they were all rather pertinent to each other, but supposed there were few ladies so familiar with such scholarly pursuits. Her father had never tried to put an end to her inquiries and she had spent the majority of her time in King's Landing reading. Even if they were not fairy tales or stories of The Age of Heroes, she loved to look at the pictures of flora and discover ways she could help other people. After the death of her mother and Robyn's illness, she had been foolish enough to believe that Lysa might let her help make him better. The sharp memory of Lysa slapping the draught she had made for her infant brother from her hand, sending it to the ground where it shattered, made her wince. Maester Colemon had gone over the recipe with her and didn't think it would do Robyn any harm. She had been eleven when Lysa proved again that she didn't trust Jeyne.

The words she had given Catelyn, though the harsh truth, had been honest. Jeyne had been eager to impress her step-mother when she was a girl. Lysa wasn't as pretty as Catelyn and there was no doubt now that Lysa would have been thought to be the elder one from how the years had worn her. Before Lysa got pregnant for the first time, she had been a nervous, but kind young lady. Hope had blossomed in Jeyne, wondering if she would learn everything from Lysa on how to be a lady and if she would become like a true mother. Such an idea was dashed after her stillborn, especially when Jeyne had inquired what had happened to her sibling. That could have been the worst thing she could do. Lysa had broken down into a fit of hysterics, the beginning of many to come, and pointed as finger at her demanding to know why she was such a cruel child come to shove it in her face that the boy had died. After that day, Lysa was changed, regressing further as she lost even more babes. Did Lysa believe that Jeyne wanted the Vale for herself? Was that why she kept Robyn away from her?

These were all questions that Jeyne dwelled upon often. Her father had been her light and guardian angel and now he was gone. Jeyne was not the little bookworm he had sent to the Vale when she was fourteen. She had matured rapidly, perhaps too rapidly.

"Did you wear that dress for me?"

Of course he wouldn't just leave quietly, she thought, whirling around to see the haughty prince striding toward her. Jeyne's blonde hair fluffed up around her like feathers on a bird and she clenched her fists, which were hidden beneath her long dagged sleeves.

"I wore it for myself," she retorted crisply, her eyes desperately seeking the nearest soul that might be able to be a witness. She was near the Broken Tower, an area that was rarely utilized aside from the Lich Yard where loyal servants were buried. The path she had chosen was near the trees that framed the graves and not the most direct path to the Glass Gardens. How long had he looked for her? She hadn't told anyone where she was going.

"Is that how you address your prince? I shall be leaving today, I expected you to be a bit more crestfallen in light of our separation," with each step toward her, Jeyne backed away slowly.

"Our separation?" her voice hitched in disbelief. Is he really that deluded? she wondered silently, her eyes burning as if she were an Other. Ser Andar had been the only reason he had not gotten close to her on their journey north and he was now sitting counsel with Eddard Stark as a Royce. She didn't think that in the shadowy corners of Winterfell she had anything to fear. How foolish she had been.

He backed her right into one of the enormous oak trees, overstepping her by more than a head. "Yes, when your accursed father sent you away and then Ser Andar Royce kept me away. You've always been shy toward my advances, especially seeing that my bruttish cousin has been at your heels like a puppy. It's not too late to decide that you'll come with us."

Jeyne was perplexed by how he thought she fancied him in any sort of a way. Her distance had not been because of her father, or Ser Andar, or even the Starks. She wore her hatred as a cold mask on her face nearly all the time and yet he had the audacity to speak ill of her father and trusted knight in front of her? "Shy? I have not been shy, merely a cold courtesy. I have no interest in going south, especially not when you insult my father to my face," Jeyne snapped angrily.

Her fury was swiftly overshadowed by Steffon's. "Why do you say such heartless things? Has Robb threatened you? Where is Ser Andar? I have seen little of him since our arrival," he leaned forward, crossing into her personal space. Gritting her teeth her fingers scrabbled against the bark of the tree as she tried to circle around it, but was cut off as he planted an arm in her way. "Tell me my pretty song bird-"

"I am not yours! I never have been!" Jeyne seethed. "Women are not yours to take as you please. Now please let me go, I have somewhere to be." Where she had to be she had no excuse currently, but her mind was turning rapidly as she tried to conjure a suitable response. She went to move to the other side, but Steffon grasped her forearm in an iron grip, catching her yet again. Only this time she did not have Greywind with her.

"Going to run back to the Young Wolf?" he sneered, dropping the pleasant demeanor he had been trying to implore her with. "He's not good enough for you. I'm a prince, I am better than any man that could possibly want you. You would choose Winterfell over King's Landing?"

She winced, her arm burning from where he clamped onto her forearm, his fingers digging through her sleeve. Despite the pain she leveled her sky blue eyes defiantly at him. "Every. Time," she snarled.

Steffon's eyes flashed and he slammed her hard against the tree, taking her by the throat as he held her like she was little more than a child. Jeyne gasped for air as he pulled her off her feet, head spinning from the impact against the tree. "Why do you treat me like this? I've loved you since you came to King's Landing and you've done nothing but spat on my affections. As High As Honor. Too high for me? A prince?"

Jeyne tried to speak, but only dry air crackled out of her mouth. Was this how is was going to end? She was going to join her father so shortly after his own death? She always knew that Steffon was going to make her life a miserable existence as long as she was in close proximity to him. But as her vision began fading she was dropped to the ground and she began gasping for air like a fish floundering on land.

"You'll change your mind," Steffon told her before she heard his footsteps recede.

Jeyne remained on the ground, her back, arm, and throat all scorching with pain as she tried to steady her hair and regain her composure. She really had thought he was going to kill her. Swiftly, she wiped the tears from her face and tried to relax, but she couldn't stop her hands and body from shaking uncontrollably. Finally, she climbed back to her feet and glanced around, hoping that she wouldn't cross paths with anyone while in this deplorable state. If she could skirt her way back to the Guest House and then up to the chambers she had been allowed...

"Lady Jeyne?" she froze mid step at Catelyn's voice, still quaking from the exchange. Catelyn had been coming from the Glass Gardens with a basket full of freshly harvested flowers. Perhaps she had intended on making gifts for the princess before she departed. "Are you-" she was coming up on Jeyne now and gasped when she saw her face. "What in heaven's name happened to you? Tell me if wasn't one of our men and if it was-"

"It wasn't," Jeyne interrupted miserably. She realized what Catelyn saw. A young woman with her hair falling out of its braid, her dress rumpled and grass stained, and her face flushed and damp from tears.

Catelyn grasped her by the shoulders and surveyed her. Her fingers slid past the scarf she was wearing, causing her to flinch from how cold they were. "You're bruising. Who did this? Jeyne-"

"Even if I tell you who, it doesn't matter," Jeyne replied woefully. "No witnesses, no-"

"It was the prince, wasn't it?" Catelyn inquired perceptively, her Tully blue eyes sharp and penetrating.

Jeyne felt herself crumbling, still shaking slightly from the exchange. As High As Honor. She always tried to be so strong, but she'd never tempted Steffon to choking her before. What had happened in those years she was in the Vale? Her headstrong resolve began cracking and her lip trembled, unable to do much more than nod at Catelyn as her eyes began filling with tears.

Catelyn grabbed her in a tight embrace and held her as the gate to her tears became unhinged. What would life be like if Catelyn had been her step mother instead of Lysa? Would she have dissolved into what Lysa was now? It didn't matter, Jeyne was glad that Catelyn had found her and not another man. When Jeyne finally managed to get ahold of herself, Catelyn gazed at her again and wiped her face with her own sleeve.

"Come," she adjusted the scarf so that it covered Jeyne's neck and led her through the yard, keeping her by her arm. Catelyn knew the little crannies and hidden paths behind the buildings and used the servants' entrance to the Guest House. Delivering Jeyne to her room, she sat her down in a chair and drew up a copper water basin with fresh spring water, dampening a rag in it. Jeyne fumbled her fingers through her hair, taking the askew braids out and letting it fall around her. "Stay in here, I'll tell them that you're ill for the departure of the royal family," Catelyn said, bending down in front of her to take the hot rag and wipe Jeyne's face like she was a child.

Jeyne tolerated it, unable to recall the last time someone had tended to her like this. She had always been preferential in having few servants and no handmaidens. There had never been a strong woman figure in her life, Queen Lyanna had been distant the majority of the time and only around when they went north to Winterfell. She had her own children to worry about to have added the Arryn to the lot.

She hissed in pain when Catelyn brought the scarf away and tapped the cloth against her throat where she had been bruised. Observing the Tully, she saw the lines of worry creased into her beautiful face, but there was no pity. Jeyne didn't need pity, she just needed help.

"Is there anywhere else that you were hurt?" Catelyn glanced down at her, as if hinting at a more sinister attack.

"Perhaps my arm, but that is all," she rolled down the sleeve, her arm screaming in pain as she did and she knew why. Her skin was already a dark violent purple, the top layer scraped back from where fingernails had dug in, bleeding slightly where the flesh was exposed.

"Oh Jeyne," Catelyn sighed, not taking the water to this part of her arm.

Jeyne's clear eyes stared with morbid intrigue at her arm. "It'll need to be cleaned and wrapped, a salve applied. I can give you a list," she turned her head back up to Catelyn and saw her astonishment, her hand placed on her mouth with her eyes looking wet.

"Has he done this to you before?" Catelyn pressed for more information. "No wonder your father wanted you here. He was sending you away from my sister and the little monster, wasn't he?"

The mention of her father made her lip quiver again and all Jeyne could manage was a slow nod before she placed her eyes at her feet, turning to burn a hole into the floor from the heat of her glare. Above all else, Jeyne hated feeling weak, but this had shaken her up. It was so easy to believe you were untouchable and then another to have that idea shook to its very foundation.

Catelyn pulled up a chair beside her, bringing parchment and a quill with her so that Jeyne could give her a list. "What happened… when you were fourteen? That's when you were sent back to the Vale, wasn't it?"

Jeyne closed her eyes fighting back the memories she had worked hard to forget. She expelled a shaky breath and shook her head. "The Hill Tribes are not the only reason I picked my bow back up. They say… it's unbecoming of a lady to wield weapons and I wasn't allowed to go near one when we moved to King's Landing. I think it's a shame that a lady should have to fear her own shadow in a castle. He did something similar… he's a couple years younger than me and I never took his affections seriously. I thought of him like an annoying little brother, but he outgrew me after he passed ten name days. I'm not the tallest lady and my build is also quite petite, I was even smaller then than I am now.

"At fourteen I was already receiving keen interest from suitors. Steffon wasn't very happy about that, even though my father had no intention of marrying me just yet. He didn't trust most of the intentions of the southern men, but he never saw the one right next to me as a threat. I went riding with him and he got it into his head that he would propose to me. He was just twelve and I thought… I thought it was endearing and laughed. He tried to.. Uh…" she trailed off, unable to explain what had happened as she remembered him shoving her to the ground, the reins of her horse spilling from her hand as she fell. Her head came down hard over a root and she was stunned, world spinning for a few moments. By then, he was on top of her, pushing the skirts of her dress up. She'd screamed, screamed as loud as she could until the knights that had been accompanying them came round the bend and broke them up.

The knights had thought little of it, nothing more than a little scuttle. Steffon had said he was trying to help her, that she had fallen from her horse and he was checking for injuries. Jeyne knew what he was going to do and managed to tell her father. The little boy she once knew, the one that had adored her was turning into a ravenous man that would simply take what he wanted. Jon had not stood for it and challenged the king, only for Robert to take the side of his son that insisted that Jeyne had fallen. In response, Jon sent her away.

"But he's never hurt me like this…" she also had not had a true exchange with him since her childhood. Now he was much larger and stronger than her, which was obvious from how he had torn up her arm just holding it. How could such a kind boy turn into this monster? She missed the Steffon she once knew, but the little boy was gone and he had made a promise the day that he'd tried to rape her; 'You'll be mine one day, no one else can have you. I'll kill them.'

Catelyn hushed her and tucked some of her loose hair behind her ear. "And he won't do it again. You are in our care… My care now."

"Thank you, that means a lot to me," Jeyne muttered, still feeling ashamed of how she must have appeared. "Please… Please don't tell Robb."

"You'll have to hide your neck. Do you have some high collared gowns?" she tilted Jeyne's neck up to inspect the welts.

"Yes, I've got some from of my warmer dresses that are high collared," Jeyne informed her.

"Your arm will be easy enough to cover. I will not tell Robb, but I suggest you tell him yourself," Catelyn said, placing her hand on top of Jeyne's.

Jeyne was fond of Robb, but they were still to early in their friendship for her to burden him with such knowledge. Catelyn was a woman, she could understand in a different manner than Robb. He could already sense the tension between her and Steffon, he didn't need to know just yet. She didn't need yet another person fussing over her. Even then, it felt wrong not to tell him. Maybe Catelyn was right.

'If my cousin bothers you again, let me or Theon know,' he had told her.

"I will… contemplate it," she conceded, hoping that she could get some time to herself while Catelyn went to retrieve the supplies for her arm.

Eddard

The attacks harrying the southwestern shores of the north were growing bolder. He had been trying to keep this information out of wraps while Robert was still in Winterfell, but there were other issues he had to face. Sansa had been insistent on going south with her cousins, to the point that it made him suspicious. She had been spending a good deal of time with Steffon and he wondered what the young man might have been telling her. Robb had already expressed his disdain for Steffon in tandem with the fact that the prince then tried to break his nose. Eddard wasn't so foolish to believe that it had simply been sparring between the two boys, especially after he'd heard Arya and Theon's accounts on what had happened.

Once they were gone, Winterfell would slip back into its typical routine aside from the swords he was going to have to raise swords to support his vassals. Ships would have to be prepared and an envoy would need to be sent to Pyke. He had to keep it quiet, if Theon caught wind that he was going to possible start war with the Ironborn before he might have no choice but to confine him to his room or even a cell. Now that Balon had attested that harming northerners was more important than his son, Eddard would just have to keep him. The less Theon knew, the more complacent he would be.

Ned paused, straightening his leather jerkin and cloak before he intended to head down to the courtyard near the eastern gate. The door slammed behind him and Catelyn whirled in like a dervish, her auburn hair flaring behind her like fire as she set her river blue eyes on him. He knew this look, the look of his wife when the children had crossed her… Or at least, he thought that until realizing it was much more than that.

He caught his wife by her elbow. "What is it Cat?"

"What is it?" Catelyn snarled, her fury boiling over. "That wretched nephew of yours. I knew, I knew when he broke Robb's nose that wasn't the end of it."

"What are you going on about? Cat what has Steffon done?" a sense of dread filled him up.

"I found Jeyne roughed up by the Broken Tower. I didn't think anything could rattle that one, but she broke down into tears because he attacked her. He had some sick obsession with the Arryn girl. That's why Jon sent her away and why he requested she be put in your care. To get her away from that little…" Catelyn broke off into an angry hiss.

And Robert kept imploring to send Jeyne with him. Is he aware of his son's tendencies? "What did he do to her?" he asked quietly.

"She won't divulge too many details, but it looks like he choked her. The welts on her neck and then her arm…" Catelyn collapsed in the chair by the hearth which had died down to smoldering embers. Burying her fingers in her hair, Cat let out a low sigh. She'd tried to put up a tough front for the girl, especially since she was a prospective bride for Robb, but he could see this had hit her hard. Women were not always treated fairly and to think that the prince would dare to put hands on anyone in Winterfell tested Ned's patience, especially after he had let the ordeal with Robb slip by.

"How is Robb handling this?"

Catelyn pursed her lips and shook her head. "Jeyne requested that I don't tell him. He should know, he's very fond of her already, but I shall not go against her wishes. Not with everything she's been through today."

Ned nodded slowly, he also preferred that Robb knew, but he also knew that his son's patience would be tested and it would not be wise to do so while the royal party was still there. Even if Robb was perceptive, he was still an impulsive young man and would likely demand justice that Jeyne did not want. "I assume she's not going to send them off?"

"No, she's resigned to her room. I had Lewin make her some dream wine…" Catelyn informed him.

Ned exhaled deeply with the news, yet another piece of stress to add. He was glad that he had declined Robert, he had a feeling there had been more layers to Jon's will than it originally revealed. He had promised to protect the girl, but he had never assumed that it because of his own nephew. At least the issue of her protection would vanish once Robert was gone. Still, none of this was sitting quite well with him. Sansa was belligerent and Robert furious that he had not taken the coveted position. He had too much going on ignore it and go south. His people needed him in Winterfell and he intended on remaining there. Too many Starks had died in King's Landing within the past couple of decades.

"Well… Even if Lady Jeyne will not be attending the send off, our appearance will be required," Ned reminded her, helping her back to her feet.

Catelyn obviously did not want to entertain them, but nodded slowly and smoothed her skirts. "I'll try not to make my disdain obvious," she pushed her thick hair back and glanced up at him.

"With a scowl like that you'll fool everyone," Ned informed her, pressing his lips to her forehead. Taking her by her arm, he escorted her out of their chambers and toward the courtyard. After leaving the warmth of the Great Keep, he felt the briskness of the afternoon bring him to a sharp clarity. The words his wife shared with him weighed heavy on his shoulders as they made their way to meet their children.

The spectacular wheelhouses had been pulled back out, the horses lined in a row, and the Kingsguard preparing themselves for the royal family's arrival, the horses of Robert and Edric waiting patiently without their riders. Robb had corralled the rest of his siblings in a line, but gave his parents a curious look as they approached, posing the unspoken question. He still had a bit of wrapping on his nose, but the Arryn had done a good job at making certain he was in order.

Catelyn parted from Ned to flock to her son, muttering softly. "She's feeling ill, perhaps you should visit her come the morning."

Ned focused his attention on his eldest daughter whose face was remarkably pale and her hands were clutched tightly in front of her. "Sansa…" he entreated, hoping that she would understand. Had Steffon done anything to her? If he could shake Jeyne's resolve, he doubted that Sansa would have stood much of a chance.

"Father," she chirped, barely putting her eyes on him.

"You'll understand one day," he murmured, placing a kiss on top of her rich hair. Was it terrible of him to be happy that this hadn't happened to Sansa? He didn't think she'd be able to rebound from such a breaking of trust.

Before much more could happen, the royal family came waltzing into view. The Starks took their positions to receive them and Ned expected the cold shoulder. Robert would have few choices for his Hand now that Ned had declined and he wore his dismay plain on his face.

"Ned," Robert grumbled, towering over him imposingly. Dark circles were wrung around the king's eyes, as if he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep his entire stay.

"You grace," he responded evenly, waiting to see what Robert would do.

Robert simply turned and began his goodbyes to the children and wife, which were gruff, but considerably more warm than the exchange he'd given Ned. He was paying more attention to the king that he had barely noticed his eldest nephew was standing in front of him, waiting for the Stark to say something. Ned's grey eyes flickered to rest on the young man for a few moments, his stomach turning in disgust as he smirked down at him. There was no shred of remorse on his face, no inkling that he'd preyed upon the Arryn girl. This was a boy who should not become king, but Eddard could only hope that his life would end before he was given the chance.

"Uncle," Steffon's lips curled up devilishly, bright eyes soulless and cold.

"Travel safely," Ned bid through grit teeth.

"Brighten up uncle," he mused arrogantly before he moved as if he were going to continue down the line. He paused and pointed a finger for a moment. "Ah, I almost forgot," he muttered before taking a step forward, past the invisible threshold to grab Ned in an embrace. But this was not a hug between family members, it was just concocted to look so. "Take good care of Lady Jeyne for me. I'll be wanting her back after she's done grieving for her father."

Ned remained as still as a statue, appalled by the gall of the prince. Steffon stepped away, considerably more smug as he continued down the line with Ned glowering at him. He would never send any woman south again, his intuition had been spot on. He wondered if Lyanna was watching, seeing what her son had turned into. Had she tried to rein him in? Or had been too much to handle? For certain, he knew that she was rolling in her grave if she had witnessed what had happened on the grounds of Winterfell by her son's hand.