Feast | Winter is Coming

Sybel loved feasts; the lively atmosphere and the way people would talk and laugh and shout and dance. Men exchanged war stories and jokes, women gossiped together. The children permitted to attend ran between the adults in games. Sybel had already finished the one glass of wine her father permitted her at feasts, the liquid warming her cheeks and making her laughter come easier, as she made her way around the tables. A light sheen of sweat settled on her forehead, making a few strands of her hair stick to her as she moved into the throng of people.

At one point, she was diffusing glares between her sisters, the next she was chasing a little boy who had pulled her into a game. The long skirts of her dress twisted around her legs so many times she was surprised she hadn't fallen yet, but there was always someone there to steady her. A serving boy, no older than herself, was always eager to fill her cup with water when she ran out, and many times she found herself pulled into conversations with people she walked past.

Eventually, she found herself towards the back of the hall, when one of the doors swung open and a familiar sight greeted her. She paused mid-sentence, trailing off in surprise before offering a quick apology as she dashed away.

"Uncle Benjy!" Sybel cried happily, launching herself at her uncle. His arms, used to the weight of a sword and the brunt of combat, wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet easily and spinning her around until she was dizzy. She laughed, and when he placed her back on her feet gently, she swatted his arm lightly, "I'm much too old for that."

He grinned down at her, the hardened look to his eyes easing slightly in the face of his niece. "You'll never be too old for me to swing you around."

She smiled happily up at him as she scanned his face for injury or changes; new scars or more lines etched into his face that spoke more than he would. He seemed older than his years, his skin cracked and weather-beaten from the harsh cold. What made her frown, though, was the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "How are you?"

Her eyes seemed to encourage the truth from him, coaxing it out. "Tired. And exhausted."

"Have you not been sleeping enough?" She demanded, her tone almost reprimanding. "Or eating enough – I'm certain you've gotten thinner since I last saw you. And why did you not tell me you were visiting?"

Without fail, every couple of months he received a letter from her, about trivial things; keeping him updated on his brother and nieces and nephews, ending with her customary plea to stay safe and warm. He placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head ruefully, and teasing her, "You pester like a mother hen after her chicks."

She opened her mouth to comment that he hadn't answered her questions, but he cut her off. "I didn't know I would be visiting until right before I left. We will talk more, but now I should greet my brother."

"Fine," she conceded.

He smiled at her again before walking past her towards his brother, his black clothing standing out clearly in the hall. Then she turned to face the next person beside her, ready to continue with her festive mood, when she was met with Robb's irritated expression. Before she could even ask what was wrong, he said, "Why does the Kingslayer watch you?"

Her gut tightened at his words, but she pushed it aside. Her eyebrows had shot up in surprise, about to tell him how ridiculous he sounded with his you-can't-trust-Jaime-Lannister attitude, when her smile faded and she followed his glare. Sure enough, Jaime Lannister stood to the side of the crowd, his expression masked, staring straight at her. He didn't look away when she caught him—didn't even have the decency to look sheepish—and it only made her shift under his gaze.

She swallowed, a frown on her face as she stared back. She couldn't fathom any reason for his gaze to be on her, still. She glanced back at Robb, who was watching her expression carefully. Forcibly, she relaxed her face, laughing. "He is watching you, Robb, not me. Perhaps he finds your prominent jaw rather attractive. Or perhaps it was your pretty blue eyes that have caught his attention."

"Sybel."

Apparently, he wasn't in a playful mood anymore, and Sybel sighed. "I have no idea, Robb, but what does it matter? He is doing no wrong that I can see."

"I don't like it."

Evidently.

She looked back at Jaime again, to find him still watching them. He continued to stare. And stare. Never dropping his eyes. She frowned, feeling her festive mood slowly slip away. She didn't know why he was watching her, why he continued to watch her, even when she'd obviously caught him. It was clear he wasn't trying to be sneaky or surreptitious about it; he didn't care if anyone noticed, if she noticed. Instead, he watched her blatantly, his eyes like pressure on her skin, heating it to a prickly, tight degree.

Was he trying to make her uncomfortable?

Suddenly, the hall was far too stuffy, too heated and filled with too many bodies. It was too loud, an almost-painful pressure on her ears, and she felt her skin crawl with the need to get out. Mostly though, it was from his heavy stare that she needed to get away from, and her brother's questions she couldn't answer.

She needed a clear head, to think, and all she felt was a hazy sort of unfocus that made her head pound sorely, her thoughts coming to her like she was wading through a swamp of thick mud. She spun around, pushed the door open and stepped into the frigid night air. To her right and left were the covered hallways, and in front of her was a courtyard, smaller than the one where they had met the King's arrival.

She breathed deeply, the air so cold it burned her nasal passages on the way to her lungs. But it was a cool relief, and the prickly sensation on the back of her neck disappeared. The hairs on her arms raised under her dress, her skin seeming to pulse with heat as the cold rushed around her. She stood there a moment longer, eyes closed, letting the cold clear her head. It seeped down to her bones, but Sybel hardly noticed.

Her mind seemed to be buzzing, more alert than any other part of her as she gazed unseeingly upwards. Clouds must have been covering the sky tonight, she concluded distantly, because the moon was shielded from her vision. The few torches hanging on the walls seemed to cast the world in shadows, the only proper source of light until something shifted and the moon was revealed in all its silvery brilliance.

Away from the overwhelming atmosphere of the hall, she felt foolish. It had only been a bit of staring—harmless. Completely harmless. And yet she'd run out of the hall, and now standing out there in the cold, she couldn't really figure out why she had. Perhaps it had been the wine, or the festive mood she'd been in that made her hands shaky with the need to laugh and dance and smile, pushing her to one thing after the other as quickly as possible. Or perhaps—

"Lady Stark?"

Sybel let out a squeak, jumping in fright at the familiar voice interrupting her thoughts. She hadn't detected the short, stumped figure with mismatched eyes coming into view, stopping right in front of her, as she watched the sky. Her hand flew to rest above her rapidly beating heart.

"Lord Tyrion!" Blushing, she wondered how long she had been ignoring him for. Her wide eyes assessed his expression for any hint of irritation, but his lips curled in a tempered smile, not much more than an upward twitching of lips meant to convey reassurance to her that he was not angry.

Then his lips twitched sardonically in response to her noise of fright, "Am I really so intimidating a figure to behold?"

He wore a faintly amused smirk, not that dissimilar to his brother's she couldn't help but notice. But his eyes shone in a playful way, rather than a mocking one—enough to regain some of her own playfullness and answer easily. "I can't say for sure yet, Lord Tyrion, but if you're half as smart as they say you are then you're undoubtedly twice as intimidating as they give you credit for. But it is a pleasure to meet you properly."

His lips spread into a wide grin, vaguely surprised but mostly pleased, "Well aren't you charming? Forgive me for asking, but what are you doing out here when the party is inside?"

"Oh, well…" Sybel trailed off, not really sure what she was going to say. "...I just needed to breathe."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I can imagine that it's quite unbearable in there. Starks and Lannisters under the same roof."

"Oh, it's not that," she dismissed easily. Though, on second thought it wasn't an incorrect comment—it was there in her father's tense stance, and the upturned nose of the Queen. She glanced at him when he raised an eyebrow. "It's just a bit warm."

He rubbed his hands over his arms. "Seems like the better option that out here, my lady. Can I escort you back inside to help our respective families through this night?"

She laughed easily and felt far better talking to him than being stared at by his brother. She easily accepted his offered arm, though only able to rest her hand down due to the height difference. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion"

He paused to take a swig from the wineskin as if steeling himself, before they pushed the door open and slipped back inside. Her fingers and toes felt like they were melting, as she fell into easy conversation again with Tyrion Lannister, no longer worried about the eyes on her.

.

.

.

The hour grew later, and the numbers inside the hall had diminished by a few—not many, as the hall was still loud and full—but enough so that the bitter night air had managed to leak inside and find a hold. Her feet ached, the sheen of sweat had cooled on her skin long ago, and her voice felt raw from shouting above the roar all night. She was ready to retire to her chambers, spent, when she spotted Rickon, in a corner, eyes drooping heavily.

She was surprised he wasn't in bed yet, for even Arya and Bran had been sent back to their chambers, and Sansa looked ready to sleep on the table at any minute. She walked over, scooping him up and immediately her arms protested at his weight as she placed him on her hip. His head automatically rested on her shoulder, his arms going around her neck easily, and she leant back slightly to compensate for his weight, swaying back and forth.

She turned her head to the side, her cheek pressing to his and her lips near his ear as she murmured softly, "Bed for you, my little pup."

He wriggled half-heartedly in protest, as he was known for doing. He never wanted to go to bed when others were still awake, even though when he was taken to bed, he would be asleep before his body hit the mattress. His voice was groggy and full of his impending unconsciousness. "But I'm not tired."

Sybel laughed softly so that she wouldn't wake him any further. If he woke properly now, he would never let her take him to his chambers, and would spend the rest of the night running around, before waking early tomorrow and spending the day walking around in a grumpy, grouchy stupor. "Is that so?"

He grunted an affirmative, but Sybel could hear his breathing deepen as he slipped between waking and sleep. He smelled faintly of sweat, mixed with the same thick air of wine and sweat and too many bodies pressed close together that filled the hall, his grubby hands gripping the material of her dress. He needed a bath, but there was no chance of that happening tonight.

Sybel glanced up at the table where her mother sat with the Queen, indicating she would take Rickon to bed, when her mother widened her eyes and nodded her head towards the woman beside her. She made her way towards them, shifting Rickon every now and then, trying not to jostle him too much. She could hear him snoring softly.

Stepping up onto the dais, Sybel bowed her head and dropped slightly in an awkward curtsey for the Queen. "Your grace."

The Queen smiled at her, eyebrow slightly raised. Despite her smile, her face seemed pinched, like she was suppressing anger. None of it entered her voice though, which was nothing but honeyed kindness. "You would be the eldest Stark girl."

"Sybel, your grace," she supplied, nodding, and smiling back warmly. Up close, she saw that the Queen was remarkably beautiful, with her gold hair, and her rich robes of gold and red, embroidered and tailored so perfectly. She looked beautiful in those colours—the Lannister House colours, her mind informed her—and Sybel couldn't help but feel her own red dress was dull in comparison. The Queen stared at her, and she was hit with the familiar unnerving feeling. Her eyes were just as green as her twin brothers', and seemed to find it just as easy to make her just as uncomfortable with the way she stared intently.

"Quite pretty," the Queen said, almost to herself. Though her tone wasn't really that of the complimenting kind—more observational, as if she was taking notes. "Will you also be joining us at the Capital?"

"I suspect so, your grace," Sybel nodded, remembering her father's announcement earlier in the night. Though she had been expecting something of the sort for a month now—nothing would remain unchanged after the King's visit, she had been sure.

The Queen thought about this, before leaning forward slightly and asking in a conspirator-like voice, as if they were close friends and sharing secrets. The motion was enough to beguile Sybel into leaning in as well. "And how did you like being escorted by my brother? He is very handsome, is he not?"

Sybel blanched, face stricken, eyes darting to her mother for direction, before looking back at the Queen. The Queen watched her closely, and Sybel's mind raced to figure out what answer would be most pleasing for her to hear. Sucking her lips into her mouth, deliberating, she answered, "He was polite and courteous towards me, your grace."

She deliberately avoided answering her last question, and the Queen noticed.

"Such sweet politeness, I find it mysterious that you are yet unmarried," the Queen smiled. Sybel held her breath and blushed, seemingly amusing the King's wife. "Have you found a potential husband, then?"

"No, your grace."

"There have been offers, your grace," Sybel's mother interjected and Sybel's eyebrows raised in surprise—this was news to her. she felt her face get hot with embarrassment. Who had offered for her hand, and why had she not been told? She had always thought her father would consult with her if such an event should occur, but now… well now she didn't know what to think. Her mother was deliberately not looking at her and instead responded to the Queens questioning expression. "She is my lord husband's first daughter—I believe him not quite ready to let her go. He is quite soft on her as fathers often are with their daughters, as I'm sure you know, your grace."

The queen's face suggested that she did not, before she turned to evaluate Sybel. Her eyes ran over the material fitted across the curves of Sybel's breasts and hips, causing Sybel to shift before looking her in the eye again, "Such a prize should not be hidden away in her youth. We shall have to find you a suitable match then, won't we?"

"Yes, your grace," Sybel nodded. Rickon groaned slightly, turning his face so his other cheek rested on her shoulder, and Sybel ran her fingers through his wild hair gently. Curtseying again to the Queen, she said, "I hope your stay with us is enjoyable, your grace."

The Queen smiled again as Sybel retreated from the table, holding Rickon to her as she winded her way through the crowd towards the door. On her way, she stopped by Sansa, gently brushing a hand over Sansa's drooping head. "To bed for you soon as well I think, my lovely flower."

Sansa thought on it and nodded, seeming to decide Sybel was right. Sybel left her at the table to finish up her night and headed for the door to exit the hall. She stuck close to the wall, deciding it was the easiest way to leave, rather than trying to battle her way down the middle and getting pulled back into more conversations. She'd made it to the door, when an arm reached over her shoulder and pushed it open for her.

Stepping out, she turned to smile gratefully as the Captain of her father's household guard followed her out. "Thank you, Jory."

"Shall I escort you to the little lords' chambers, my lady?" Despite the smell of wine on him, he had clearly not been drinking enough that it had inebriated him. In fact, he looked alert, and she supposed his training had taught him that. "Wine has been flowing freely tonight, Lady Sybel, and many men have partaken."

"Of course, it would be greatly appreciated." She didn't think about their earlier interactions or her brother's teasings—far too motivated to get to bed than to over-worry about speaking to him. She'd never had a problem with it before, and it was time to stop becoming so preoccupied by silly things.

They walked in silence a few moments, before Sybel tried shifting Rickon again, her arms straining with his weight. He wasn't as little as he used to be, when it wasn't as much of an issue to cart him around with her. Jory quickly lifted the boy from her arms, and she sighed in relief, smiling gratefully at him again as she rubbed her sore arms. Rickon did not seem fazed by the change. "I've got him, my lady."

"Have you enjoyed yourself tonight, Ser Jory?" They passed empty corridors and hallways occupied by men in guardsmen uniforms, standing around and drinking. The men laughed loudly as they passed, in their own conversations, and she was suddenly glad Jory had offered. Not that she felt unsafe in her home, but his presence beside her was comforting.

"I have, my lady." He answered easily as they began their ascent up the stone stairs. It was dark, but the torches were burning low enough that they could make out the outline of a figure leaning against the small window right in front of them. Jory paused, his fingers twitching like his hand wanted to rest on the pommel of his sword but couldn't because of Rickon's weight. "Who's there?"

"Don't draw your sword," the figure sighed like they had interrupted him, turning towards them as Sybel recognised the voice. "It's only me."

"Ser Jaime?" Jory asked in surprise, before his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing up here?"

Jaime Lannister stepped closer, his posture relaxed. "I left to take a little stroll, and lost my way. I was just trying to gather my bearings."

Sybel nodded, though Jory seemed less convinced. There was a tense silence that the Queen's brother seemed to enjoy more so than Jory, before Sybel spoke up. "Ser Jory was escorting me to my chambers."

"Indeed," Jaime Lannister said, looking between Sybel and Jory. There was another pause, before he continued speaking, his lips quirking into a not-quite smile. It wasn't particularly warm or welcoming, but rather, his smile was… sharp, and Sybel didn't understand what he wanted to achieve by wearing it. "It would be my honour to escort the Lady Sybel from here if you wish to return to the feast, Ser Jory. I'm sure I saw you eyeing a kitchenmaid before, and I wouldn't want to take you away from her for long lest some other man occupy her attention."

Jory shifted uncomfortably, and Sybel felt guilty at having taken his time away from someone who'd caught his eye. He shook his head though, "I promised Lady Sybel that I would see her and her lordling brother safely to their chambers, ser, and so I will."

Sybel placed her hand on Jory's arm in reassurance, feeling glad for Jaime's offer in releasing Jory's time, feeling more like a burden than ever before. Besides, who could she safer with than the great swordsman that was the Queen's brother? "It's quite alright, Ser Jory, if you wish to return to the feast. I'm sorry to have kept you, so you can leave me here and consider your duty fulfilled."

She leaned over and pulled Rickon back into her arms, thankful his chambers weren't far anyway.

As if to take away from his kind offer and remind them that he was haughtily dismissive, Jaime intoned, his voice mocking. "Run along."

Sybel frowned and pursed her lips as Jory uncertainly shuffled backwards slowly, before he turned away to walk down the stairs. Sybel turned on her heel and continued up the stairs, ignoring her companion. Beside her, Jaime Lannister grinned.

"Have I upset you, my lady?" He sounded like the prospect only entertained him. Sybel pursed her lips again and decided against speaking. When she continued to walk in silence, he sighed, "well go on, tell me what I did to anger you."

That surprised Sybel. "What makes you think I'm angry?"

"Your silence."

She bit her lip; she was not angry. She merely thought him arrogant and confusing. She started to remind herself that he was the Queen's brother when the words slipped out. "You didn't have to be rude. I'm not sure he deserved it."

Then her thoughts caught up to her mouth, and she tacked on, "But I'm sure I do not understand the whole story."

He rolled his eyes. "It was just a few harmless words exchanged between fellow guardsmen." She didn't know whether to believe him considering his predilection for provocation. "Do you always jump to the defense of your household guards? Or is this one special?"

She frowned. "Ser Jory is like family, you understand. He has served us since—"

"Since you were but a child, I'm sure," he said drily. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, and she glanced at him to find him looking directly at her, for the first time since they had crossed paths at the stairs. His eyes widened in a smug way that made her feel like that now his mocking was directed at her again. "He really should know better than to be lusting after the daughter of his lord employer, then, shouldn't he?"

Sybel stumbled to a stop in absolute surprise, a blush rushing across her face and down her neck, and his eyes seemed to track the spread along her skin, encouraging it almost. Of all the things he could say, she certainly did not expect that. It left her mind blank, except for his words racing around.

She eyed him then, realising that he was goading her like he did her brothers. Sybel abruptly felt played, like she was tied to strings and he was dangling her around. She certainly didn't like it, and her tone was far more guarded than usual when she asked, "Do I amuse you, ser?"

"Quite," he said bluntly, as if he said exactly what he thought, and did not censor himself.

"So you are provoking me, then?"

He smiled that same, sharp smile that made no sense. "It seems I've upset you again."

Sybel stared at him, her brows puckered in a confused frown. Suddenly she felt the exhaustion in her bones, and her brother's weight heavy in her arms. And she did not especially feel like being played any more tonight. "I can walk the rest of the way alone from here, Ser Jaime. Thank you for kindly escorting me this far."

His smirk didn't leave his face as Sybel turned around and walked the rest of the way to her brother's chambers. By the time she made it to her chambers, Inferno was warming her bed and she was far too tired to think any more.