Kingslanding | Lord Snow

Arya and Sansa both rode in the wagon for the first several days after they set out again for Kingslanding, Sansa sitting prettily up the front with the Septa, and Arya riding in the back with their belongings, kicking the wooden trunks. Sybel had joined them, thinking that it could be disastrous for the two of them to be so close together for so long shortly after the events of the previous night. But for the most part they avoided contact and avoided speaking to each other as much as possible.

That was, until Sansa became irritated with the constant thunking of Arya's foot on the trunks, or Arya became angry with Sansa's stares at the Wheelhouse, like she was hoping for a glimpse of the prince. Aside from their flares in frustration, they travelled along in silence, Sybel not knowing what to do beyond show her affections in soothing gestures. But even she couldn't stop the way Sansa's eyes were rimmed red from her sadness, or the way Arya's face scrunched up in a scowl.

The prince had not emerged from the Wheelhouse since the incident, reportedly needing to recover from his wounds. When Arya had heard this, she had rolled her misty grey eyes and told Sybel that Nymeria hadn't even bitten him that hard and that the prince was just being a big baby. Sybel had warned her not to say that too loudly around anyone else, especially Sansa, and Arya had rolled her eyes again and said she didn't care what Sansa heard her say because she wasn't a liar. Nevertheless, she did what Sybel asked.

Curiously as well, the King had restarted the rest of their journey in the Wheelhouse, and hadn't been seen since. Which confused Sybel, considering his obvious avoidance and irritation with the contraption before, having loudly complained to anyone who would listen about how much he wanted to just ride off without it. The only way she knew that the royal party was still even with their travelling group was by how often serving boys ran in and out with jugs of wine. She'd asked her father about it, and he had pursed his lips in a disappointed manner, gazing over at the wheelhouse and saying that the King was likely avoiding her father's judgement over how he'd handled the situation with Lady.

When it became clear that Arya and Sansa's squabbles were spaced apart due to their resolute intentions to pretend the other didn't exist, Sybel alternated between sitting in the wagon, riding her mare, or occasionally, walking. Walking had been a nice change, and she quickly found that she would fall back from their party, her smaller legs not quite as easily keeping up with their wagon and horses. In falling a bit behind, she fell into step with others, and she enjoyed the varied conversations she had with the maids, or the guards, or the stable boys brought along to tend to their horses.

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They made it to Kingslanding with no further incident, thank the gods. The first thing she'd seen in the distance was the massive sandstone wall surrounding all of Kingslanding, the battlements and defensive towers evenly spaced apart. The Wheelhouse, surrounded by the Kingsguard and led by the King's bannermen, rolled into Kinglanding first ahead of them. Enough space had spread between their travelling party that there wasn't a hold-up for entering through the Gods Gate, and instead when Sybel finally made it through astride her mare, the Wheelhouse was already half-way up the long cobblestoned road to the Red Keep.

Of course, their Septa made it into a learning experience. "Who can tell me the name of the Gate we just passed through?"

"The Gods Gate," Sansa answered easily, Arya grumbling an I knew that too. Sansa shot her an annoyed look.

"Correct," their Septa said, smiling at Sansa. "And how many Gates are there for Kingslanding?"

Arya rushed to answer first. "Seven."

Sybel stopped paying attention, instead completely taken in by all the yellow-red, and the feeling of warmth on her skin, the sun at its apex in the sky and beaming down on her with a strength she hadn't experienced before. Their bannermen road ahead of them, direwolf sigil fluttering, followed closely by her father and Jory. Sybel was a way behind them, closer to the wagon carrying her sisters, their Septa and belongings. The Kings arrival had already brought crowds out into the street, lining the road, and people were pointing at their sigil, at her father, at her. Sybel suddenly felt overwhelmed by the sheer size of Kingslanding, and the number of people all pushing to get a good look at the Stark envoy. How can there be that many people all in one place?

The higher up the road they went, the nicer the houses and shops became, starting out as mostly made by mud clay and wood, before they passed more and more homes made with bricks and that same yellow sandstone that seemed to be the material of choice. In the distance to her right she could just make out seven spires rising above it all that she knew to be the Great Sept of Baelor.

They entered the main courtyard of the Red Keep off the main road up to the castle, only to be met by what appeared to be a messenger. Her father got down off his horse to meet him, the messenger bending in a polite bow. She couldn't quite hear what was said, but her father looked back at their Septa and Jory. "Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper. Jory, go with them."

"Yes m'lord," Jory responded easily, nodding seriously.

Sybel assumed this meant that her father's services as Hand of the King were being required already. Her father walked off, and Sybel slid down off her own horse when stablehands and servants approached them, ready to take their horses and belongings. Another messenger arrived to escort them to the Tower of the Hand, and Sybel swept her hand down Faith's warm neck, telling her she would visit soon with apples. She got a nicker in response.

They were led down corridors, Sybel trying to memorise her path so she wouldn't get lost later. There was a large grand staircase that they climbed, before taking a left, walking down another corridor to a large winding staircase that Sybel guessed was leading them to the Tower of the Hand. The whole of the Red Keep was made of a pale red stone that gave everything a warm feeling, though thankfully there were windows and open spaces everywhere that would likely serve them well in the heat. She could see why it was called the Red Keep.

They came to a heavy wooden door reinforced with metal and the messenger pushed it open and allowed them to step in, announcing the space as the Tower of the Hand. It was a short hallway, with two of the same heavy wooden doors again. Curiously, she pushed the right door open to find what she could only guess was the Small Hall for the Hand of the King. It was richly furnished with a plush carpet in a deep red hue, one long table towards the back of the large space, large windows giving a view down. She exited the Hall, following her sisters through the left door to find a surprisingly open space.

There was a small table beside the door with a large vase of flowers of every colour, and as she entered into the open space she saw a large circular carved table in the middle. Around the room were various ornaments, bowls of fruit and more flowers adorning intricately carved furniture. Tapestries hung from the walls, and at the other end of the room was an open balcony. Sybel slowly walked towards it, resting her hands on the stone railing, wind in her face, as she looked out over all of Kingslanding. Houses and shapes dotted the landscape as far as she could see, the pulse of life and people moving below.

"It's...incredible," she whispered out loud to herself, not able to keep the thought inside her head when she looked out over the Capitol. While she knew Winterfell was larger than the Red Keep, Kingslanding seemed to spread out before her in a spectacular fashion, sprawling down and out and seeming to buzz with activity and movement. Never had Sybel seen something look so alive.

"I can't wait to explore," Arya breathed in awe as she joined Sybel. Seemingly without fear she jumped herself up to lean out over the ledge on her belly to see around, causing Sybel to grab a hold of her just in case. "You can almost see the Sea!"

Sybel was certainly not brave enough to lean out as far as her younger sister was. Sybel suggested, if only to bring Arya away from the ledge, "Maybe we should go and find our rooms?"

Arya jumped back down and Sybel released the tension in her body. "Alright."

At the side there was another hallway, this time leading passed a door to where their personal household staff would sleep, and to another, smaller, circular staircase that she assumed went up to their chambers. Arya ran ahead, small legs practically jumping up each stone stair. Each door they passed, Arya pushed it open to check inside. After she had thoroughly looked behind every door on the winding staircase, she chose a red room towards the bottom of the staircase—closer to adventures.

Sybel found a room painted in a soft blue colour, the walls hanging with tapestries of flowers and sunshine that she thought Sansa might like and called out to her to show her.

Half way up the staircase she found a large room, lined with a lush green tapestry with many windows and a small balcony looking out towards the sea. There was a fireplace and soft textured rugs across the floors, archways separating the spaces in the room letting through soft filtered light, and a small stone step up to a large bed piled high with soft sheets and pillows, transparent gauze hanging from the frame. And while it was far more open and brighter then her room back home, it felt warm and inviting enough that she chose it for herself.

Through another set of doors, she found a bathing room and Alyse helped her draw a bath to clean the lingering smell and effects of their long travel. Alyse returned with flower petals and sweet-smelling oils to mix into the warm water and it felt far more luxurious than she'd ever experienced before. Maybe Kingslanding wouldn't be so bad.

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There was a welcome feast that was also a celebration of her father's appointment as Hand of the King. They had celebrated it in Winterfell already, but this celebration was a formal one for the court and those in the Capitol. When Sybel looked out over Kingslanding before she entered the great hall for the feast, she could see torches burning and the faint sound of singing and cheering and dancing, the feast for everyone in the city.

They were given seats of honour up on the dais with the royal family and Sybel felt the eyes of every lord and lady of the court on her the whole night. She had never been more uncomfortable at a feast, but she'd also never been at a feast with so many lords and ladies of importance. She was sure her cheeks would be coloured red the whole night.

"Isn't this so exciting," Sansa seemed to be shining with happiness, animated in her delight of being so held in esteem and looked upon. Her betrothal to the Prince had also been formally announced and she had beamed under the looks from the crowd. Sybel did her best to pretend she was home, in the Winterfell great hall, filled with familiar and kind faces.

Thankfully when they finished eating, they were able to move more freely around the room and Sybel could escape from what felt like the viewing platform. She caught Arya rolling her eyes at Sansa, biding her time until she found someone she could run off and play with. She watched Arya eye off the girls around her age, smoothing their dresses and sitting quietly, before quickly searching for others that would match her wild spirit. Sybel tried not to laugh.

It was a nice respite for her nerves, watching over her so very different sisters, and she did it for as long as she could until it came her turn to consider who might be willing to speak with her tonight; who might be kind enough to take pity on her as the out-of-place Northerner, or who might be willing to be a friend.

She didn't need to worry about approaching anyone though, because as soon as she stepped down from the dais, she was met with expectant eyes coming close to her. She reflexively took a step back, clashing her calves into the stone step and nearly tumbling over.

"You must be Lady Sybel," said the man, tall and broad with a hook nose. "We have all been eagerly awaiting your arrival to the Capitol," his dark eyes glinted as he shamelessly looked her up and down, "What I mean, of course, is we have been eagerly waiting on the new Hand of the King and whatever entourage he saw fit to bring with him."

Before Sybel could even think of what to say to someone so overtly bold despite being unknown to her, another man appeared beside him, clapping him on the shoulder and crowding closer.

"I apologise for Ser Osmund's forwardness," said the other man, not at all looking apologetic and instead like he enjoyed Osmund's roguishness. Or enjoyed being the saviour to his roguishness. "He is surely a reprobate. A sellsword, you know."

"I did not know," Sybel answered, finding her voice and an opportunity to get a word out. She raised an eyebrow in surprise and some degree of curiosity, looking closer at the hooked-nose man. She considered that perhaps, while knights were meant to be chivalrous and valiant, sellswords had the liberty to be brash and daring. "I've never met a sellsword."

Unprincipled and untrustworthy, her father would say. Never trust a man that will kill for the highest bidder. She glanced over at her father who sat grimly beside the king, in deep conversation that was too preoccupying to notice the company of his daughter.

Ser Osmund smirked. "Well why would a lady such as yourself have need of a sellsword?"

Even his smirk was more lecherous than she thought possible. He was undoubtedly a man used to being an outrageous flirt with any woman willing to tolerate it. Sybel tried not to think too much about how her stomach did flips when the Lannister Kingsguard smirked at her, but she felt nothing at all except a small amount of annoyance when Ser Osmund did it. She kept her voice at a deadpan, not willing to invite his interest. "You are right, of course. I wouldn't."

"I am Ser Justin Massey," the other man asked, his smile more pleasing. He was tall, with flaxen hair and a triple spiral tunic on that became obscured when he lent forward in a bow. "How are you finding the Capitol so far, my lady?"

"Comparatively hot," Sybel smiled and both men burst into more laughter than her answer was worth.

Her Septa had talked with her sisters and herself before the feast, gave them instruction about delicate manners and courteous conversation, and right at the end forewarned Sybel that she would be set upon by many men looking to make an advantageous match into a great house. Sybel hadn't quite believed her. And now she thought maybe she should've taken heed because she didn't quite know what to do with this interest.

Another joined them then and Sybel suddenly felt penned in and surrounded.

"Ser Horas Redwyne," said the new addition. He had red hair and many freckles, with a stout frame and broad jaw. "At your service, my lady."

They had many questions for her—what did she like most about the Capitol, what was Winterfell like, what did she think about the latest fashions. But mostly, they talked amongst themselves in boastful ways, trying to out-wit one another or claim who was the best swordsman, who had the most battle experience, who would win in a fight between them. At one point, Sybel thought that perhaps she didn't even need to be present, except that they seemed to like it when she laughed at their jokes or stories.

Ser Justin recounted vapid stories of defending pretty ladies. Ser Horas talked about useless, fat Tarly squires that he "taught"—by which he meant, humiliated. It took a lot for Sybel not to show her disgust. She had never much liked bullies, especially not those in positions of power over those they tormented.

The only stories of actual interest to her were those from Ser Osmund when he recounted fighting in the Stepstones with the Gallant Men for Lys and Tyrosh. Sybel asked what those foreign lands were like, and he told her about stormy seas and high walls. And when he had her just hooked enough on his stories, he leaned in closer and spelled out wicked thoughts with his eyes, mistaking her interest in his adventures with interest in him. "I could tell you more stories, if you like. Perhaps tomorrow? In the Castle gardens?"

"Oh." Sybel said, caught off guard, not sure what to say. "I..."

She was saved from having to think of a way to politely decline, when a pretty man in fine clothes stopped in front of her. "Lady Sybel, your Lord father has sent me to bring you to him."

"Thank you kindly," Sybel said quickly, making a polite exit from the men around her. She fell into step with the pretty man, looking around for her father and asking, "Where is my father?"

He gave her a lopsided grin, sheepish but not repentant in the slightest. It was almost playful, and Sybel found she was surprised for it to not be directed at her for once, more like they were playing together than her being the game. "I have a confession, my lady."

She felt her lips tug up in to her own playful half-smile joining his not-at-all contrite one. "I'm not sure I'm the right person to be confessing to, my lord."

"A request for forgiveness, then," he amended with a laugh. He had light, clear blue eyes and when he laughed they managed to almost twinkle with his amusement.

"Why would you need my forgiveness, my lord?" She felt taken in by the light merriment of his eyes; it was like an invitation on his face. Sybel quite liked it; found it quite disarming.

"Your father didn't send me, I lied about that. But you looked like you needed saving from those three." He had long blonde hair that was thick and straight and he kept it behind his shoulders, like he had made an agreement with each individual strand to stay put and tidy. It was a complete opposite to Sybel's hair where each strand told her off and did what it liked.

She thought that over for a moment, holding back a pleased smile, and thinking she didn't mind at all to be saved by this handsome lord. But she knew better than to let it show too much on her face. "I think I owe you a debt then, my lord. You saved me from a very long night of commentary on who is the best swordsman."

He laughed. "They simply like to entertain themselves with the shiny new thing at court, my lady. You will have many more swordsman stories to listen to by the time you are finished here at Kingslanding."

"All ladies do love to hear they are akin to entertainment," She raised an eyebrow filled with playful derision, pursuing her lips.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I only meant that it is lucky for us that the new Stark ladies at court are so very pretty, too."

It was cheeky of him, but well within the boundaries of what would not garner scandal. He seemed to be the sort who played by the rules. Her heart beat a tiny bit faster and her cheeks blushed a tiny bit pinker, but it was all withing the realm of safety. It felt like...flirting.

She bit her lip with the reasliation and looked away, feeling herself blush. "Well perhaps my rescuer could at least tell me his name?"

"I am Lord Bryce Caron." He inclined his head towards her, eyes bright with pleasure at her blush.

Sybel tried to reign in her wayward cheeks, and asked with curiosity, "Lord of Nightsong?" When he nodded in answer, she said. "I have heard Nightsong is formidable looking castle."

He grinned with pride. "I should like to show you some time, my lady. I think you would be rather impressed."

She gathered courage to be playful again, trying not to think too much about the fact that she was flirting back lest she lose what courage she could muster, "I think I'll be the judge of that."

He looked back at her with his own lively smirk. "I would of course bow to your judgement of castles, my lady. Perhaps tomorrow you could give me your judgement of the Redkeep?"

He wanted to see her tomorrow. Her brain pieced it together and she realised then, that he intended to court her. She had never been courted before and she felt a rush of warmth through her body, both unsure and excited. "You are forward, my lord."

He shrugged lightly. "I simply know what I want and right now, I know I want to see you again tomorrow."

"I would not mind that, my lord."

"I will send for you tomorrow then." He came to a stop from leading them slowly around the room and turned bodily to face her. He gave her a genuine smile and bent forward in a bow. "I enjoyed speaking with you, my lady. Until tomorrow."

She smiled to herself as he walked away. And she finally heard the music and chatter fill the room again, creeping back into her senses with the absence of him. She looked around the room, those who were watching them quickly looked away, pretending to be in the middle of their own conversations, and she looked away too, pretending she hadn't just caught them.

She stayed where she was for a moment, processing her encounter with Lord Bryce, but quickly stopped when she saw the red-headed Ser Horas had seen she was now unattended. He made towards her, trying to catch her eye, at the same time as a couple other eyes saw she was alone enough to need new company, and she quickly ducked her head and moved away, slipping between people and finding herself outside the doors of the great hall and looking for a place to hide. The hall was just as filled, the court guests spilling out here seeking respite from the heat of so many bodies but still wanting to be part of the celebration.

She felt silly for hiding like a child but she also had endured as much as she could from him that night and was not ready to prepare herself for another conversation. She found a small alcove with a banner half covering it and sat behind it, the cool stone seeping through the layers of her skirts. It relaxed her and she decided just to bide her time here until she could re-appear in the hall long enough to bid her goodnights and retire to her chambers.,

It was nice to have a moment to think, away from the clamouring male attention and the overwhelming feeling of so many eyes on her. She looked out of the small window beside her though it only favoured her with a view of more of the Redkeep's stoned walls and towers. As she looked out into the dark night, she felt a heavy sadness in her body, a contrast to the lively party celebrating in the great hall. She felt a home-sickness and a kind of scared anticipation of everything new that was about to happen—this night being only the beginning. Being at court, being courted...eventually becoming betrothed. It was the first time she realised that she might never return to her home in Winterfell as a Stark daughter, might only ever visit as the wife of some lord. It might never be her home again.

It filled her with a nauseous fright and she tried not to think about it.

Perhaps she should return to the great hall and check on her sisters, deciding that the great hall filled with everything she had just sought to avoid now seemed like the welcome distraction to the new anxieties pilling up in her gut. She wasn't ready for it all to change and the threat of it wrapped around her heart and pulled back on her naïve eagerness, making her steps more measured than only minutes before. Was this how all young ladies felt when facing down the prospects of their future and the change that came with it, or were other ladies braver than her, seeking it out and embracing it? She wished her mother was here to ask.

She decided she would write to her tomorrow instead. The thought of tomorrow brought a wave of fear back again. Perhaps she should not meet Lord Bryce tomorrow. Perhaps she should stick to her father's side, using him as a shield to warn others away. Perhaps—

"Enjoying yourself, I see."

Sybel just about jumped out of her skin, her hurried thoughts broken in a jarring way that made it take longer for her to comprehend the angled slant of a long muscular body leaning against the wall beside the banner she was strategically sitting behind. It shouldn't have taken so long to comprehend the gold hair, green eyes and self-satisfied smirk though.

"Of course, good ser. It is an impressive feast."

"So impressive that you feel the need to hide from it?" He pointedly eyed her, and then her hiding spot. "Or just the interested gaze of all those smarming idiots in there?"

Her cheeks felt warm, though this time in frustration at him seeing right through her so quickly and easily, at him making presumptions of her actions as though he knew her. It wasn't a feeling that was anything like the pleased embarrassment of being complimented by Lord Bryce before. Almost just to be obstinate and contradictory with him, she said, "I would hardly think all of them are smarming idiots."

"Oh?" He said, raising an eyebrow like an invitation for her to surprise him. "Who would you suggest is not?"

Her eyes spelled out her rejection of his invitation and kept her voice neutral and politely proper and waiting for the returning annoyance from him. "Lord Caron seemed pleasant and not at all smarming."

She only knew she succeeded from the slight narrowing of his eyes and the definite irritation in his voice. "That prancing fool has managed to take your fancy, then? How entirely predictable."

Her own eyes narrowed. "You know, if one was inclined to think that way, they might almost believe you were jealous."

She didn't really think he was jealous but she enjoyed the flashing fury in his eyes and the upturned curl of his lip. Enjoyed the way it felt to be the one to provoke him, when every time they spoke it felt like a race to see who could unravel the other the quickest. Sybel had never been competitive until she met him.

"Jealous?" He laughed. And then laughed harder. He laughed hard enough to make sure she heard the insult in it.

Her lips pushed together in a flat line. "Yes. Jealous. How else do you account for your stalking of me?"

"Stalking," his voice was incredulous. Sybel couldn't quite hold her smile back as she nodded. "Why would I be stalking you?"

"How should I know why, all I know is here I am wanting to be left alone and here you are, again, intruding on that peace."

He settled himself back into a leaning position Sybel didn't realise he'd straightened out of, and languidly looked at her in blatant disappointment he intended for her to read. His eyes roved over the halls of the Redkeep and the great hall and the celebrations where the King and his sister and brother and fellow Kingsguard sat and roved around, poking holes in her flimsy reasoning. As if to say where else would I be?

"You may find this hard to believe, but the world doesn't revolve around you, Lady Stark." He was so condescending. "The whole Seven Kingdoms aren't waiting on your favour."

"Bryce was," she snapped, the only things she could think, despite it being presumptuous and immodest of her.

She heard it too late though and he pounced like a predatory cat towards the unshielded neck of its prey.

"Bryce," he mocked her. "First name basis are we? When should I expect my wedding invitation then?"

She angrily blushed and he just watched it crawl down from her cheeks to her neck and chest. Watched it wash across her features and warm her body. She glared at him, equal parts anger and embarrassment, both at the misstep she had hastily made and at what she gave away with her words.

He eyed her, eyed her neck and the travelling colour on her features, and the way she swallowed her feelings down, trying so hard to regain control, mind racing to figure out how to put him on the backstep. "Red does look good on you."

He said it like he hadn't intended to say it. He said it like he had almost surprised himself. He said it like it made him angry.

It said a lot for someone who measured the weight of his words every time he spoke. She didn't think she could blush harder, but it seemed she could. Silence descended and she cleared her throat and looked away, feeling butterfly wings fill her belly like a storm.

He did his best to turn it mocking, doubling down. "Do you think there is a man in there worthy of the blushing Stark maiden?"

She did look at him then, the red still in full-force. Nothing short of jumping into a pile of snow could cool it back down now. She couldn't think of a single thing to say to him.

He barreled on, like he had to fill her lack of retort, now playing their game one-sided. "Maybe your Lord Caron?" He pretended to think. "Hmm, no. I don't think there would be any man here worthy enough, not when your father sets such a high bar."

"Careful, Ser Jaime," she breathed, standing up and brushing off her skirts, pushing out from behind the banner where she hid. She met his eyes straight-on, burning green and smoking grey clashing. "Or I might almost believe you are jealous."

His jaw clenched and she bid him a good night, returning to the hall, passing between gathered people in search of her father to be able to return to her chambers, suddenly feeling very done with the night. She let herself be drawn into polite conversations with other members of the court on her way, knowing he was watching her, and trying to communicate to him how agreeable she felt towards others company—anyone's but his. She kept those conversations short though, continuing to the hall towards her father.

She re-entered the feast and Lord Caron caught her eye, giving her a smile. It was kind, not an ounce of mocking. She smiled back, pushing as much gentle excitement and interest into it as she could. She tried not to think about how it was a poor imitation of the way her body felt laced with wildfire only moments ago. She quickly looked away, head down.

Flirting in safety felt nice, exciting, giddying even. But Jaime felt like a rush, like being stuck by lightening—like heat and smoking and tingles all over her body, in places she shouldn't have tingles. She didn't notice her quickly beating heart, her swirling stomach, her uncoordinated fingers until later, when he was gone from her sight and the sensitive circuits in her body. Flirting outside of safety felt like leaping off a cliff and free falling, tumbling, crashing down to the rocky ground below, knowing she had no rope to save her.

Is that what we were doing, her mind asked her, flirting?

Gods, she was ready for bed.