7- Melantha
While on her first night she slept heavily and peacefully, Melantha found herself restless all the nights following the first one.
Each day that passed, more and more nobles rode through the gates, eager to witness the royal wedding and be a part of the grand festivities. On the second night she spent in King's Landing, the king had announced a tournament, which would begin the day after the wedding and would last a week.
Everyone seemed rather excited at the prospect of playing around with deadly weapons and possibly dying, and she was already dreading having to sit through days on end of the nasty sound of armor and steel crashing. She shuddered at the memory of her own training.
However, she supposed that a tournament couldn't be as bad as marriage. If she could manage to not run off and put on a good face for her upcoming nuptials, she could survive a few days of unnecessary violence.
Still, the approaching wedding would not give her rest. The bells of the Sept, which rang at dawn and dusk to indicate the prayers to the southern gods for a fruitful union did not help either.
She had calculated all the times those bells would sound before she was wed, and the internal countdown had her pulling at her hair.
There was also the matter of the weather. While King's Landing was not dreadfully hot yet she missed the true winter of the north. Melantha always slept better when there was a storm upon Winterfell, the violent, high pitched sounds of the wind lulling her into a world of endless possibilities. She missed the weight of the heavy furs upon her body, the soft fire cracking by the side, and Maekar fast asleep next to it. She also missed the darkness, how days were more gray and even on sunny days, the sun seemed eager to hide behind some clouds.
She also missed her brothers.
Melantha hoped Bran hadn't set anything on fire, or at least not the library.
She frowned, sitting upright on the bed.
"What is it?" Lyanna asked from her place by the window, feeding Maekar some sweets and scratching him behind his ears.
"I bought books from home."
Lyanna rolled her eyes.
"Don't you have plenty in the royal library? I heard it is massive."
Melantha stood and rushed to one of her chests, ignoring how abruptly the feeling was rushing back into her legs. She almost fell over but managed to catch herself.
She opened the chest and rummaged about for a few moments before pulling out a bag with an old book and scrolls.
In all her dread and anxiety, she had forgotten about the book Maester Luwin gave her before departing Winterfell, the one which she had been attempting to translate before her father gave her the news of her wedding.
She looked down at the tattered tome and the scrolls. She supposed that if she was to spend the rest of her life with the prince, she might try to find some common ground to make their union more amicable.
"Open the door." She requested of Lyanna, who was quick to obey.
Ser Arthur stood guard outside, and turned with a small, polite smile to address the sisters.
"You're good friends with the prince, are you not, Ser?"
"He does seem to follow me around all the time, My Lady."
"Splendid! Maybe you happen to know where he could be at the moment?"
"I believe so."
"Lead the way, then."
Ser Arthur offered to carry the book and scrolls for her, but Melantha refused, not bothered by the weight and too overzealous of her possessions.
She walked a few paces behind him, too busy keeping the scrolls from slipping off her grip and pretending she couldn't notice the other nobles around her. She was certain they weren't paying attention to her, but still didn't risk a glance.
"I've been acquainted with your lady sister recently." She said, placing a scroll in between her chest and jaw and pressing down, wishing the Red Keep wasn't so immense.
She noticed the gardeners walking around the center of the western garden, taking measurements and speaking amongst themselves. She pretended that they weren't doing that for her.
Maybe she should turn back. Being near the prince would do no good to her efforts. He was the reason why she was being stripped from her home and family, dragged to an unknown place, where the colors were so bright they did an excellent job at concealing the snakes lurking around.
Melantha shook her head. Pining for Winterfell was useless; she'd never go back there. She wasn't the first woman married off against her will, and she wouldn't be the last.
The thought made her want to drop her book and jump into the sea.
"I heard. I must apologize for whatever she might have said."
Melantha looked up; she had forgotten about Ser Arthur.
"There's no need, Ser. I found her company very pleasant. Although I do believe Lady Catelyn's ears are a tad sensitive for the likes of Lady Ashara."
Ser Arthur chuckled.
"I'm afraid that's the case for most noble ladies." He turned to look at her. There was something new in his dark gaze, less detached, slightly warmer. "Not for you, though?"
"I found her as delightful as the winds of winter." Melantha smiled as best as she could."I only hope she thought kindly of me as well. Do you think she'd like it if I invited her to dine with me today?"
Ser Arthur smiled back.
"I'm sure she will be offended if you don't ask her."
"Excellent! I shall have someone send the message."
Ser Arthur came to a stop near a secluded area of the garden. A canopy of a deep purple with a linear, golden design protected the prince and his companions from the sun as they examined what appeared to be a map of the Crownlands.
"It is costly."
"I'm aware, but I still think we should improve the roads." The prince replied to his ginger friend, sounding persistent. Rhaegar pointed at something and opened his mouth to continue, but Ser Arthur spoke up.
"You Grace, Lady Stark is here to see you."
Ser Oswell looked up at the same time as the ginger man, who wore a grimace on his face as his eyes landed on her. The other man, tall and of a darker complexion, gave her a polite bow. Melantha assumed those two to be Lord Jon Connington and Prince Lewyn Martell, one of his close friends and member of the Kingsguard.
Melantha did a curtsy before approaching the men with an affable expression.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your meeting, Rhaegar, but-"
"Thank you for coming all this way, Melantha, but I'm afraid I don't have time for you today." He interrupted with a cold voice and distant eyes that wouldn't meet hers.
Melantha staggered and her face reddened when some of her scrolls slipped and fell to the ground. She had not seen him since the welcoming feast, but in all occasions previous to that, Rhaegar had shown himself as well mannered and warm.
She cleared her throat, feeling the heat traveling down her neck as Ser Arthur picked up the scrolls and gently placed them on her arms once more.
She truly felt like the book might fall off at any moment, and prayed internally that her arms would hold on some more.
"I'm sorry, My Prince," She looked down. Maybe she shouldn't have used his given name in public. Had he asked her to only address him informally while in private? She couldn't recall; but maybe that could explain his change upon seeing her. "I didn't mean to distract you, but I thought we might begin to get acquainted. I heard you like books just as much as I, and I happen to be attempting to tran-"
"I said I don't have time for you." He interrupted again, his voice as cold as the wall, and clearly losing his patience. "You and your book may take your leave of me."
Melantha bowed her head immediately, feeling utterly stupid. Brandon had warned her that everyone was a stinking piece of shit in the south, but she had heard so many stories about prince Rhaegar's good nature, and she had caught a glimpse of it as well, she led herself to believe that maybe he would be a nice companion.
She clutched the book to her chest. She shouldn't have sought him out. She should've stayed in her room with Lyanna.
Her vision clouded, and she desperately tried to come up with something cruel to say, something to hurt and infuriate him the way he was doing so to her at the moment. She wished she could come up with something the way she had when Lady Lysa had attempted to hurt her dog, but all she could focus on was not spilling her tears in front of these men.
She performed a quick, clumsy courtesy again and turned, fleeing Rhaegar's presence.
Scrolls fell down to the floor again but she didn't want to humiliate herself further by picking them up, so she sped up and avoided eye contact with every Lord and Lady roaming about.
Melantha climbed stairs two at a time, cursing at everything she could think of for not making her more strong willed.
Was she truly so feeble that she had already forgotten what coldness felt like?
As she pretended not to hear Ser Arthur rushing up to catch up with her, Melantha had a dreadful feeling that she wouldn't survive long in that place.
A/N: New characters coming up on the next one!
Thank you to everyone who has taken a few minutes of their time to read my story. I can never find the words to express how much I appreciate everyone
Also, Happy ides of march! My favorite holiday!