Brothers | Winter is Coming

Sybel turned the page of her book slowly, the leather binding creaking and the pages emitting a faintly musty odor. Her rooms were littered with books and heavy tomes; some stacked in little piles and others still open at the last page she had been reading at. Sybel didn't always finish the books she borrowed from maester Luwin, more often flitting from topic to topic that took her interest; exotic customs of Qohor, the conquest of Dorne and burning of Sandstone.

Her current book was propped up by the pillows on her soft bed as she lay on her stomach, pouring over the scribbled black ink, fingers lightly trailing over aged parchment to help keep her place. She was so absorbed she'd barely noticed her handmaiden Alyse enter, moving around effortlessly as she placed pressed flowers between pages of books left open to mark Sybel's place, before closing them and stacking them neatly.

"I should think most of my day consists of sorting your books, m'lady," Alyse teased, smiling widely at the way Sybel startled at the sound of her voice, like she was yanked back to reality. "What has caught your fancy this time?"

Sybel closed the book carefully and pushed herself up to give Alyse her focus. "Durran Godsgrief. He fell in love with a mermaid. Defied the gods in his love for her."

Alyse raised an eyebrow skeptically at her. She was a tall, lithe woman, not much older than Sybel, whose body conveyed that she was not unused to manual labour. Her face was sweet though, smile knowing as she looked at Sybel. "That doesn't sound like your usual story, m'lady."

Sybel made a sound of agreeance. "It is very Sansa-like of me to read a dramatic tale of love. But...Durran's descendants were the Baratheons and I suppose I have a new interest given our visitors."

Alyse nodded like this made far more sense. It wasn't that Sybel didn't enjoy stories of love, it was more that she didn't enjoy the dramatic ones, where wars are fought and gods are enraged. It seemed far too absurd and romantic to Sybel, who preferred the idea of quiet attachments and sweet moments, with no need for anyone else to be involved. It also seemed more realistic to Sybel, that the gods wouldn't be furious at her choice in lover; surely, they had better things to do.

"Speaking of, how is everything running with our new visitors?" Sybel asked lightly. They'd had a month of notice prior to the King's arrival, but even in the last few hours she knew servants would be running around frantically with last minute preparations.

Alyse let out a half-laugh, half-exasperated huff.

"Oh, that well then?" Sybel raised her eyebrows in enquiry.

"It's absolute chaos in the kitchens. Hilda is half-crazed, I swear it, and she keeps raving to the other kitchenhands that if she gets thrown out on the street for their ineptitude then they would regret it." Her lips quirked up at the cook's antics, showing her perpetually cheery disposition. The light in her eyes highlighted the washed-out blue colour. "But in truth, m'lady, the kitchenhands need the encouragement otherwise they'd stand around and gossip all day. Honestly, it's shocking, m'lady, even the lads join in. I was there before I came here and they were talking about how beautiful the Queen is—though half of them haven't even seen her to know."

Sybel couldn't help but smile at how easily Alyse could fill the silence. "Sounds stressful."

"I'm thankful I'm not a kitchenhand right now," Alyse laughed, turning her attention to Sybel's wardrobe so that she could help prepare her for the welcome feast. She hummed thoughtfully as she pulled out a blood-red dress, the colour deeper and richer than the one she had on, and held it up for Sybel's approval. "I think it will look lovely with your eyes, m'lady."

Sybel smiled. She could have picked her own dress and made a perfectly appropriate choice, but she preferred to leave it for Alyse's consideration first, trusting her keen eye for fashion. In general though, Sybel trusted Alyse, and they held a fondness for each other in their companionship that may have been a natural byproduct of their similar ages and constant proximity.

Sybel moved to the corner of the room where a latticework dressing screen stood, Alyse following behind her to unlace the back of her dress and hang tonight's dress for her to change into. Sybel was pulling the warm velvet material over her head when there was a knock at her door. She heard Alyse answer it and the responding low tone of a man's voice before Alyse called out, "It's your lord brother, m'lady."

"Which one? The bothersome one, the broody one, the climber or the mischievous one?" Sybel grinned to herself, fixing the sleeves, before poking her head around the dressing screen, curls tumbling down and swinging, as she searched for the answer, standing in her room looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Ah, the bothersome one."

Alyse retuned, grinning, and hurried behind the screen to fasten the fiddly lacing of her dress at the same time Robb grunted incredulously, "the bothersome one? Why am I the bothersome one?"

Every now and then, Sybel managed to be the teaser, rather than the victim of their teasing. She rather enjoyed those moments.

"Because you ask whiny questions like 'why am I the bothersome one?' and because you tease me incessantly, and," Sybel laughed lightly so he knew she wasn't serious, "because you are bothering me."

Unfortunately, those moments were often short-lived.

"Are you still mad because we know you think very highly of Jory?" Robb laughed, easy going and practically immune to any and all of her attempts. She honestly didn't know why she tried, when he always found a way to turn it back on her. "Don't worry, sweet sister, your secret is safe with us."

When Alyse finished, trying to push back her smile, Sybel stepped out from behind the screen and fixed her brother with an agitated stare, placing her hands on her hips. He was reclined on her bed, hands braced behind his head, as he regarded her with a gloating expression. He also did not miss the red of her cheeks, and it made his grin grow.

She shook her head, deciding against a retort. Her brother knew her far too well and was much more inclined to use that knowledge against her for teasing purposes than one would like as a younger sister. "Can't you see Alyse is attempting to make me presentable for the feast tonight?"

Her brother's eyes softened then as he looked at her, just as sweet to her as he was taunting. "Red has always been your colour."

She blushed at his praise, eyeing her feet, her lips twitching into a shy smile; she never properly knew what to do with compliments. She knew the correct response was thank you; had been taught over and over the correct way to reply, but she still had difficulty uttering those two, simple words. Instead she said, "Don't be silly."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she quickly cut him off. "Did you come to see me for any particular reason, or just to bear witness to Alyse's talents at work?"

Alyse beamed with pride and tutted at her, moving around her in a circle and pulling on bits of the dress to make it sit right.

Robb's expression, however, turned grim as he sat up, and she moved to perch next to him on the bed when Alyse was done. "Our parents have been fighting about whether Jon should be at the feast. Mother doesn't want him there and says that a bastard's presence would only be an insult to the King." Sybel winced at the callous word in reference to her kind brother. "Father managed to talk her down, but Jon doesn't want to cause any trouble so he says he won't go. He's so stubborn and won't listen to me, and I thought maybe you should talk to him, convince him to go. He deserves to be there too, just as much as we. I don't see why he should brood in his room while we have fun—and you know what he's like, he will brood."

Sybel looked doubtful as she considered Jon's history of being just as stalwart as their father. "Of course I'll try, but he can be impossibly obstinate; if he won't listen to you, I hardly think he'll listen to me. What can I say that you have not?"

There was a cunning glint in Robb's eye, and Sybel thought he was possibly more strategic than she'd given him credit for. She would never tell him though—it would only go to his head. "Maybe nothing… but then, everyone has a hard time saying no to you, sweet sister."

Sybel frowned at her older brother, but before she could get any words out, he stood and walked towards her door.

"I will let you finish preparing in peace, dear sister." And then he winked, "You will need all the extra time you can get if you're going to look even remotely presentable."

Sybel grasped a pillow from her bed and threw it at him, but it bounced against the door as he pulled it closed instead and he left laughing at her terrible aim. Sybel groaned, but her mind quickly jumped to the task Robb had laid at her feet.

What could she do to convince Jon of anything? He was well known among the Stark children to be stubborn and brooding, and so very nobly self-sacrificing. Once he got a notion in his head, he'd stick to it and follow it through, even if it wasn't what he wanted.

Alyse interjected softly, moving forward from where she had been hovering in the background. "I'm sorry m'lady, but I really should start your hair now if you are to go in search of your brother."

.

.

.

Sybel found Jon hiding in the stables.

Or, well, he wasn't so much as hiding—Jon didn't hide from anything; he was no coward and he'd likely be mildly offended if she ever uttered such a thing to him—as he was sequestering himself away to be out of sight and out of mind.

"Here you are," Sybel said brightly, holding the ends of her dress up just enough so that it wouldn't brush over the straw and dirt strewn around. If Sybel got her dress dirty so soon after Alyse had gotten her ready for the feast, the handmaiden might just murder her.

The smell of horse and hay was thick in the air and she understood why Joseth always smelled so strongly of it whenever their paths crossed. Currently the stable housed more horses than usual, as the arrival of the King and his party also meant the arrival of all the horses carrying the King and his party. Stable boys ran about quickly, trying to tend to as many of the magnificent beasts as quickly as possible, feeding and watering and grooming, and a few sent her friendly smiles when they noticed her, asking if they could help her with anything.

"Sybel," Jon said, surprised. "What are you doing?"

He stood in one of the end stalls, running his palm down the strong neck of his horse. The tall beast nickered at the attention and Jon's calm presence among the busy workers before pressing his black head against Jon's hand for more.

"Well," Sybel began, side-stepping a pile of manure and coming to lean against the stall door to fix him in her sights. His Stark eyes, the exact same steely grey as hers, were watching her closely, and she was hit with an unsettling feeling of seeing herself. She wondered if it unsettled him too. "I came to find you."

"Why?" He frowned.

"I was going to pick some flowers for Sansa and Arya to wear in their hair to the feast—or well, most likely for Sansa to wear in her hair," she added when he gave her an odd look at the mention of both Arya's name and the word flowers being used in the same sentence, especially one that did not involve her crushing them underfoot. "I saw Sansa eyeing the one in my hair earlier today and I thought I'd get some for them too."

The gesture did not surprise Jon, because if any of the Stark children were to do something unthinkingly kind-hearted for any of the others, it would likely be Sybel. Jon nodded, "I'm sure they will appreciate it."

He was not sure whether Arya would appreciate it, to be perfectly honest, but he doubted Sybel was unaware of how Arya would react to the suggestion she put flowers in her hair.

"I'd have asked Alyse to go with me, but she's busy with preparations for the feast, and Septa Mordane is no doubt busy wrangling Arya into a clean dress, so I was wondering if you'd escort me. If you're busy though, I will ask someone else. Maybe Robb or Theon…" she trailed off.

"No, I'm not busy," he shook his head and pat his horse in farewell. His horse didn't seem too pleased at him leaving, and Jon shrugged as though there was nothing he could do. His expression was joking, "I'm never too busy to help my sister pick flowers."

Sybel felt the need to add, almost as an apology for taking him away from the animal, "it is only to the godswood and I've been there many times by myself, but mother wouldn't be especially happy if I went alone when we have so many visitors at Winterfell."

He nodded as though this was a smart action, and as he stepped out of the stall she automatically and unconsciously linked her arm through his, resting her cheek against his arm for a moment in a show of affection. He watched how easy it was for her to show care, and felt a sudden shot of panic, only fleeting and momentary, but enough to grip his gut and encourage him to say, "If you ever need an escort anywhere, then all you have to do is say; I'm never so busy as to say no."

As soon as the feeling disappeared, he felt foolish at the urgent way he'd spoken, but his reasoning was solid. She was gentle and kind and sweet; it would be far too easy for her to be taken advantage of, and with so many strangers at Winterfell, so many people he didn't know, whose attentions and intentions he didn't trust, she was also too accessible. The numerous unfamiliar faces they passed on their way to the godswood was just further proof of this, and he thought that in the end, it was better to be overly-cautious than to be retrospectively regretting not being overly-cautious.

"You are so sweet to me," she smiled happily, reaching up to cup his cheek with her free hand. She sent him a playful look. "When you're not teaming up with Robb and teasing me, that is. I think he's just a terrible influence on you, you know, because you rarely tease me when we're alone."

His lips quirked up in his version of a smile at her mock-offended tone; the expression was small, but the corners of his mouth shifted upwards enough to make a noticeable difference to his usual serious expression. He smiled the way their father smiled; seldom full-bodied or hearty, and never taking up too much of his face. Which was not to say the smile was not genuine; only contained in the face of someone with bigger things to worry about that were not so easily pushed aside. Things that lingered on his face, in his eyes.

He led her across the courtyard, and she continued to ponder on this. "Or perhaps you don't tease me when we are alone to lull me into a false sense of security and make me trust you. Make me think you're on my side to catch me unawares and attack when I'm least expecting it."

He exhaled though his nose in a short chuckle. "You make me sound underhanded."

She widened her eyes at him. "You're not denying it."

"Well…" he trailed off playfully, shrugging and grinning at her, and after a second she dissolved into laughter, not able to keep up the charade and he shook his head at her pitiful attempt, that smile pulling at his lips again. "You are terrible at pretending."

She did not even bother denying it.

They made it to the godswood then, and it was silent, almost eerie. She knew her father liked the godswood, liked the solace he found there, so Jon probably did too considering how alike they were, but it had always seemed… cold to her. There was an old, earthy musk that settled in the air, and the trees, fat and mossy, had roots that were embedded deep in the soil, connected to the very beginning. The godswood was different to the forests around Winterfell—that forest was lively, it was younger. The godswood was ancient and thick, it was sacred land, it was worshipped land, and there was a density to it that made it seem dark and strong and wild. The trees had been there for many ages and would be there for many more.

Sybel didn't let go of Jon's arm as they entered. She couldn't figure out what it was exactly that seemed to stop her from feeling completely at ease among the old gods her ancestors prayed to. Perhaps it was because she walked among the trees idly, rather than falling to her knees in reverence, or becoming pensive and somber. She did not go there to pay homage to her gods, but hummed among the trees and felt the old life tingle her skin, and perhaps they might shun her for that. She did not know.

But she thought it was the weirwood tree, the heart tree, though, that caused her the most unease. Or specifically, it was the face carved into the primordial wood. It seemed to watch her closely, and Sybel did not like to be watched.

"This way," she said, avoiding the heart tree and instead ambling along the path slowly in the opposite direction until she came across a small pond, not daring to wander along much further. The Godswood was massive and uncontrolled—she could not be sure she would not find herself off the path and lost amongst those eerie trees. "I like those ones."

She pointed to the dark blue flowers that tended to grow around the pond, with the thin stem that curved and bent so that the petals were upside down and shaped like a bell, as though the medium sized flower was too heavy for the delicate stem to hold up, and she wandered over to pick them. "Blue always looks lovely on Sansa."

Jon nodded in agreement, crouching down beside her to help. His larger hands looked awkward trying to carefully pick at the flowers without ripping them up, but she appreciated it nonetheless. When they had enough, they stood and looked around for something for Arya. Anything too big and she'd outright say no.

She'd likely say no, anyway, Sybel decided. No, she knew Arya would say no to the flowers; the very idea was so very un-Arya that Sybel thought she may die of shock if her youngest sister were to agree. In fact, Arya would likely yell at her for even suggesting it. So while there was really no point in bothering, Sybel did it anyway, simply so that Arya knew she'd thought of both her sisters when looking for pretty things to put in their hair. The last thing she wanted was for Arya to see flowers in hers and Sansa's hair and for her to think that Sybel hadn't even thought of her.

"Those ones?" Jon asked, pointing to a thicket of tiny white flowers with five petals that seemed to be the ones least likely to cause Arya offense.

Sybel moved towards them, only to step on the ends on her dress and trip herself; it was her newest dress and her seamstress had left it just slightly too long; longer than usual and longer than she was used to, probably in the vain hope that she would spring up to be tall and elegant like Sansa already was. She fell forward, her hands shooting out to brace herself, and she landed on her knees with a painful, jolting thud that would bruise. She groaned, partly at the jarring, unexpected pain, partly in shock that she'd managed to fall over herself.

"Sybel! Sybel, are you okay?" Jon asked quickly, bending down to reach for her and help her to her feet. Her knees throbbed, her legs suddenly feeling weaker and shakier than before.

"Tripped by my own dress. I almost feel kind of betrayed." Sybel groaned and looked down at her dress, brushing at the dirt only to find it packed down into the material and not budging. She sighed at her luck before glancing up at Jon, "If I am not at the feast, it is likely because Alyse has finally had enough of my clumsiness that ends up making more work for her and has decided to just off me and save herself the hassle."

Jon snorted at her, making sure she was steady before kneeling down to pull at the white flowers. They really were so simple and so beautiful; perfect for Arya even if she would refuse to wear them.

"Are you excited for the feast?" Jon asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, very much so." Sybel smiled, before turning her head away and biting her lip. She wasn't sure how she was going to get Jon to attend the feast. She didn't want him to miss out on the festivities; hated how sometimes he was excluded from things because they didn't have the same mother. Sybel would never have noticed her privilege if she didn't have a half-brother, and being so conscious of it now meant she always tried to make sure Jon knew that she wanted him there, wanted him included, loved him like she did her other brothers.

The silence extended between them and Sybel saw her chance of convincing Jon to attend the feast slipping away, so she blurted out, "you will dance with me, right?"

He looked at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. Jon favoured Arya; everyone knew it, saw it, how he doted on her, how everything she did made him vaguely proud. But Jon had a soft spot for Sybel and he felt his resolve wilt slightly. Just slightly. Even so, he didn't look at her as he replied, knowing what he'd see in her big grey eyes. "I don't know, I think I might not—"

Sybel cut him off, knowing what he was going to say.

"But you have to," she pleaded. "You know Robb will not dance with me; you know he will not, he's so stubborn about it – he'll just laugh and drink with his friends, and Theon will dance with me, but you know how he stands on my toes – I'm sure he does it on purpose."

"I'm not such a great dancing partner either." He left it unspoken that she wouldn't be short of partners.

"Yes you are!" He raised an eyebrow at her disbelievingly. "Okay, but at least you've never dropped me."

Silence followed her words. And then he sighed, "Alright then."

Sybel frowned, feeling a little guilty, suddenly backtracking. "I don't want to force you, Jon. I only meant that I like when you are at celebrations too."

"I know," his mouth slipped into a lopsided grin, "it will be a good time. I only sighed at how persuasive you are."

Sybel grinned. "Apparently it is my hidden talent, if you ask Robb."

Jon only hummed in thought.