Merilyn woke with sunlight streaming in her window. Arya lay fast asleep to her left; one arm thrown over face and her body sprawled among the furs. Merilyn slid out from bed and stretched lithely, pulling her shift off and stepping into her small clothes. She laced her dress on quickly and plaited her hair back, stepping from the room silently as possible. Arya hardly slept in and Merilyn refused to be yelled at for stomping around the room like a boar yet again. She walked downstairs into the Hall, finding breakfast lay out on the table. Robb and Bran were laughing over Cook's regular porridge and she dropped down beside them. She ruffled Bran's hair and stole an apple while he was protesting her manhandling of him.

"Mother was looking for you earlier, Mer," Robb took the stolen apple from her hand and bit into it. She protested but he talked over her outrage, "don't waste time. Up you go to her chambers. Trot along, now."

She growled, irritated and stormed away from the table, throwing a dark look at her now laughing elder brother. She nearly ran up the stairway and reached her mother's room swiftly. She knocked twice and entered, greeting both her mother and surprisingly her father. Her chest tightened as she saw his face. He looked as he had when informing her that her favorite horse had died.

"Sit, Merilyn," her mother, gestured towards the chairs at the table, with a smile that looked strange while her father wore such a frosty countenance. Merilyn felt her own smile falter as she sat down watching both her parents.

Catelyn glanced at Ned before smiling even more widely at her, "We have some wonderful news for you, dearest," another glance towards Ned, "King Robert has arranged a marriage for you and we've agreed to it."

Merilyn straightened up slightly and nodded cautiously, "that is good news, Mother." Her father still hadn't turned around, his back towards them. "And, ohm, King Baratheon suggested the match?" Her mind was trying to comprehend what was going on. It had been her assumption that she would marry a Northern, would stay in the North with Robb, the two Stark children whose blood ran like ice many times. Brann and Sansa, Arya and Rickon, they would venture South. But a marriage arrangement specifically deigned by their King would mean something different, a political match.

"Yes, my sweet. It's an honor for our house to be linked to the Lannister family. The King himself requested you, and we are quite thrilled by the opportunity."

She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. It came out in one gust, "I'm to marry Tyrion Lannister?"

Only then did her father turn and face her, "You're to be wedded to Jaime Lannister, the heir of Castlerly Rock." His face was expressionless, so much that anyone else would think he didn't care at all about these recent events, but there was tension in his jaw and the clench of his hand.

"I see." Merilyn nodded, although she did anything but see how this was possible, "I see. I'm honored that the King thought of me." Her voice felt small and insignificant, as the roaring in her ears grew louder with each passing second. Is this what feeling faint was like?

Her mother's mouth was moving, saying something about how much of an honor it really was. Her father's countenance stayed the same, while observing her intensely. Was he waiting for an outburst, tears maybe? That was ridiculous. She was a Stark and she had known this day was coming. She was honored, most definitely. The Lannisters were one of the most, if not the most, powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms and she was to be wed into their fold. "When is the betrothal to be set?" She looked up to her father.

Her parents exchanged glances and Catelyn took a deep breath, "Merilyn, darling, the wedding is to take place this coming morrow. The King has been generous enough to break tradition and allow the wedding to be held here, in Winterfell."

Her mother had spoken more after the word morrow, but Merilyn hadn't heard it. She was sure this was what faint felt like. Why was there no warning of this? This wasn't normal. Every other girl in Winterfell that had been married had had betrothals, she was certain. Her mother was still babbling, something about dresses this time. Merilyn couldn't tell if she was forcing the cheer or not, but either way she was trapped in a discussion of frivolities about this wedding.

A grueling two hours later, Merilyn had finally escaped to the Godswood. She felt safe here. The Old Gods presences existed here, she was certain. She inhaled the smell of earth and cold. Her thoughts were a whirl of confusion and disarray. The stories she had heard of Castlerly Rock described caves and caverns, cliffs and sea salted water, a foreign southern world. And what of the heir of Castlerly Rock himself? All she knew of Jaime Lannister was the Kingslayer title he'd been given. Merilyn was not Sansa. She had no cares for beautiful knights and heroes in stories, but neither was she Arya. Merilyn wanted to be her mother, a well-loved Lady by both people and husband. She wanted kindness. Would he be kind? Or would he be like Winterfell's blacksmith whose wife bore the marks of his anger often for nothing she had done. She wondered again why she had been chosen, obviously for political reasons, but which ones? The Stark household had never been known for being power hungry, while the Lannisters were well known for that trait. Why was the King concerned about the Lannister heir now? She gave a short laugh; did it really even matter why the King was concerned with Jaime Lannister? She was marrying him tomorrow.

Jaime walked into the Great Hall, not knowing exactly what to expect from tonight. It was already full of half-drunk men with women on their laps and the Stark family was dutifully seated. His eyes slid over the woman, he scoffed at the title, which he was to be wed to. She was chatting animatedly to the Elder Stark. Jaime couldn't remember his name. Her animation bothered him as he had expected tears and sulking. Another thought shocked him and he found himself praying to all Seven that she was not actually excited to be getting married to him. A sullen wife he could handle, for he had grown up from birth with the most difficult woman on the planet, but he could not handle an eager wife. For surely an eager wife would expect him to play the doting, devoted husband. He snorted aloud at trying to picture himself in that role.

Tyrion held out a flagon for him, reading his mind like he so often did.

"To be announced tonight?" His younger brother guessed.

"How'd you know?" Jaime half-raised his glass in salute to Tyrion's genius assumption.

"My dear brother, you're as white as a ghost and tension is practically reeking from your very form. There's nothing to be afraid of, she's a pretty virgin. The Seven know what I would give for a night in a virgin's bed."

"Quit trying to cheer me up. It's well known you wouldn't touch a virgin if she crawled into your bed in the middle of the night. You prefer experience over innocence, you've told me so very many times."

"Well, then there's only one thing left for you to do, brother. Drink up and drink well!" Tyrion, in turn, raised his glass for Jaime.

Jaime shook his head, "the last thing I need is to be drunk tonight. I'll save it for the next night. Everyone's drunk at weddings."

"You know, it's been said she's clever. She's obviously pretty. She's young and fertile. I honestly cannot fathom your disgust at the arrangement. It's better than any of the Frey girls." Tyrion shuddered dramatically.

"I specifically joined the Kingsguard to avoid this situation. The last thing I need at Castlerly Rock is a woman running around, clinging to my arm, and getting in my every way."

"Because all marriages resemble what you just described," Tyrion raised an eyebrow, "She's a Stark. They're not known for their… clinginess."

"You know a lot about Starks, Tyrion, but less about women. They're all the same."

"I cannot fathom where your dislike of the female sex came from. I find them to be amiable, and soft, very soft. That would be my favorite attribute of theirs. Why, look at her, even now she puts on a brave face because duty is calling her for a higher purpose. She will marry a man she has no knowledge of - beyond his infamous slaying of a king. She will lay with a man almost twice her own age and bear his children, as is expected of her. She will hardly ever see her own family, instead spend time running the strange man's castle and raising her own babes. Some may die and she will know a broken heart. Her Lord Husband will never look at her in fondness, and will instead forever love a shadow of a woman, one she could never hope to outshine. She will be lonely. She will be sad. She will never know the love her parents share or the happiness of a blessed marriage. And do you realize, Jaime, my wonderful older brother, do you realize that she, herself, knows all of this? The girl is no fool and knows exactly what this marriage entails. Yet, here she is, smiling still and pretending that all is right in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jaime took the flagon Tyrion had offered him earlier and drank heavily from it. The longing in Tyrion's voice unsettled him and laid a guilty feeling across his chest. Tyrion would've enjoyed this life Jaime was given. The endless whores and false bravado didn't conceal the fact that Tyrion wanted normalcy and would've given anything to have what his brother saw as punishment. Jaime blamed the gods once again for their sick sense of humor. He also refused to think further on Tyrion's epiphany. He would not pity the girl or admire her, as Tyrion seemed to. The girl was nothing more than a nuisance being forced upon him.

And then there was King Robert's signal.