Decisions | Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things
Sybel liked to read in the morning sun, especially after she had found a secluded enough space in the gardens where she could be left mostly alone. Joyeuse accompanied her with her own book, and Sybel had told her Septa they would be attending to their lessons by reading about the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. Her Septa had enough difficulty wrangling Arya from her supposed dancing lessons long enough to get her to sit for lessons, so she had quickly shooed Sybel and her friend away, glad for one less responsibility.
In her southern dresses, the warmth felt almost pleasant as it cocooned her, the yellow, unobscured brightness seeming to shine on her hair and set it on fire, a rainbow in the gloss. And she thought her pale skin had deepened slightly in the last two months since leaving Winterfell, a flush of life colouring her now, though she had a way to go before she was as caramel as some of the southern ladies.
They hadn't done a lot of reading since their arrival in the gardens earlier, instead taking the opportunity to talk. Joyeuse only had questions for her since their brief encounter with Jaime in the training grounds, thoroughly confused by her brazenness and his forwardness.
"What will you do about Jaime Lannister?" She always kept her voice low, never wanting to be overheard in a place that always seemed to have listening ears, but especially after finding out about the Queen's spies.
Sybel had told her a few things after their encounter with Jaime; about his teasing of her and some of their conversations. She didn't tell her a lot of details though, not ready or able to voice some of it out loud let alone to someone else, other than Alyse. Even though she didn't think Joyeuse would spread her secrets, as each day she trusted her more and more, she still had to protect herself. Sybel frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It's not right what he's doing," Joyeuse shook her head. "He's pushing boundaries and tempting rumours about your virtue. You should tell your father, have him put a stop to it."
Sybel felt her defensiveness rise. That was the last thing she wanted to do, and she set about trying to think of a way to explain it to Joyeuse to help her understand too. "I don't think that is necessary, Joy. Jaime Lannister is smug and conceited but he is also harmless."
Joyeuse seemed momentarily thrown by the shortened use of her name, but a pleased smile took its place before she gave Sybel a pointed look. "You've seen him fight, he's not harmless."
Sybel waved her hand as though that would help to dismiss Joyeuse's concern. "That's different though, when he talks to me, he just likes to get a rise out of me. Getting my father involved would only strengthen the tensions between our families. My father already doesn't trust them, I don't need to add to that because I can't handle a little provocation."
How could she explain that there was maybe a part of her—maybe bigger than she would acknowledge—that kind of enjoyed the provocation? Especially when it already worried Joyeuse just thinking that Sybel was the victim, and not a participating party.
"A little provocation?" Joy raised her eyebrows at Sybel as though she were asking her who she thought she was trying to kid. "I think we have differing opinions on the definition of a little provocation. Mine doesn't result in the Queen's spies following you. Surely this already shows a little tension?"
"That's a simple misunderstanding," Sybel told her, though in honesty she made a good point and the Queen did worry Sybel. When she thought about the Queen, her stomach tied in knots in anticipation of what she might do if she thought Sybel manipulative or of loose morals. She had the sudden question burn into her mind then—was she of loose morals, if she enjoyed the back-and-forth between her and Jaime sometimes...ok, most of the time? Was her friend's concern actually highly indicative of her interactions with Jaime Lannister being problematic?
Should she at least try and consider how she had let herself skip over the worry of rumours amoung the court? There had to be some circulating around now—Jaime Lannister couldn't publicly ask for her favour and then dance with her, and have nothing come from it. She held onto the "welcoming" excuse but at some stage that would no longer be believable and everyone else not buying into the rumours right now might be swayed to the gossip. And then how would she explain it away? She was struck suddenly with the realisation that she was trying to explain it away instead of putting a stop to it. She was paving a path for herself by not addressing it with him, and while she could see all the possible negative outcomes, she also found it incredibly hard to consider doing anything that would put an absolute stop to it. What was wrong with her?
"I just worry for you." Joyeuse sighed, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of her book, giving her a look filled with unease.
Sybel smiled softly, feeling more unsure than before and tripping over the lie. "That is sweet, but there's nothing to worry about."
"I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. That's two reasons already to worry." Her voice was almost pleading.
She didn't have the opportunity to try to alleviate Joyeuse's worries any further by denying whatever she thought she saw of Sybel and Jaime, because their quiet space was interrupted then by a smooth, soft voice. "Ladies."
"Lord Baelish," Sybel nodded in return, as they both stood to greet him, startled by the addition to their privacy.
Petyr Baelish gave them a small nod, but Sybel found his eyes stuck on her, on her shining, burning hair. His expression was slightly awed before he schooled it into a controlled smile. "From a distance, I could almost believe you to be your mother."
His voice was so smooth, pitched low and calculating, in a way that forced people to lean in and listen close. He hummed in thought. "But then I see your face and know you are a Stark."
"My mother is a Stark, Lord Baelish," she reminded him politely. Perhaps she should demurely look down or away, but there was something about the older lord that made her stare too.
This close she could see the grey flecked through his hair and beard, could imagine him leaning in close and whispering secrets and telling careful misdirections. He smiled wide. "I knew her before she married your father, so to me she will always be a Tully. We were very good friends then."
Sybel felt agitation in her gut when she listened to him speak. His face spelled kindness and gentleness but his voice and words just made her uneasy, and it was an odd juxtapose that confused her. The way he'd commented about her mother just invited her to ask him questions. And she wanted to—she wanted to ask about her mother when she was younger, what she was like and what she liked before she married Sybel's father. She wanted to know what she spent her time doing, what kind of a girl she was before she became a mother. But she didn't ask—couldn't when it felt too much like she was doing what he wanted. Like he'd wanted to pique her interest and make it so he held all the information.
When she didn't ask, and when she floundered for something else to say to him in reply, she watched a sly smile slip onto his face like he knew what she had been thinking.
Petry Baelish gave her the impression of someone who very carefully thought ahead about what information he would share; considering his angle and what he wanted from them; choosing his words carefully to get just that, and all the while doing his best to make it seem like he wasn't. Maybe it was just that he had learnt to play the games here better than the rest; maybe it was what he needed to do. He was not from a noble house, but he had worked his way up to the small council of the King to be Master of Coin, all the while running a profitable business trading in pleasures of the flesh. There was nothing about him that made her feel at ease, and she thought about his whispering away in Sansa's ear at the tourney.
Lord Baelish looked at the book in her hands, taking it from her to look over the cover and read the title. "The Orphans of Greenblood. You like books about bloodlines as much as your father, it would seem."
What an odd thing to say. She didn't know anything of her father's reading habits and it seemed he likely meant to create some reaction in her with his words; maybe to pique her interest, or gauge what she knew. But she didn't find herself surprised he knew her book from the title alone though; men like Lord Baelish did not get by without cunning and knowledge they could glean from books—any and all books they could get their hands on. She frowned. "I couldn't say for sure, my lord."
"I would imagine your reading doesn't anger the queen though." He handed the book back to her with an innocent smile. His eyes kept darting to her hair. Behind her, Joyeuse had patiently started reading her own book while the lord spoke with Sybel.
He seemed like he didn't give anything away unless it benefited him, but his words had the desired effect this time. The Queen caused her too much anticipatory anxiety to be able to stubbornly not play into his innocent comments. She tried to ask without showing how important it was to her. "I'm curious what you mean by that, Lord Baelish."
She was also curious what he meant to achieve with asking her in that way though, dropping just enough information to seem like they both knew the same thing, both on the same side and in on the joke. But his crafty eyes gave away that he knew much more—she didn't think she'd be surprised if he knew everything that went on in Kingslanding.
He made her feel like she was a puppet and he was pulling her strings.
He kept smiling at her but it became more of a smirk when he noticed Sybel's watchful stare. "I think you're probably more astute than your father, aren't you? Perhaps you might do well here after all."
Did he think she was playing his game? She was avidly trying not to get sucked into it.
Though, perhaps that was exactly what the games here at the Capitol were all about—one-upping each other with how much you knew, how much you could find out, how much you could out-wit the other with. How carefully you could tread with your words; letting on just enough how much you knew, and how much you knew they knew too, so that they would know it. How many layers there was to it—it was too hard to keep track.
"I don't think so, my lord." Sybel tried to keep her face neutral, pleasant, like a good lady.
His lips twitched before acquiescing. "It isn't for everyone. Luckily your lady sister seems rather capable."
He wasn't going to answer her question, only pull her in with more.
"Is there something I can help you with, my lord?" Sybel asked. She was looking for an end to their conversation as quickly as possible now.
He made a face like she had reminded him. As if he forgot a single thing.
"The Queen asked me to give you a message." He handed her a small folded piece of paper with a wax seal—a lion. "I am most curious about what the Queen would want with you. Your younger sister I could understand, she will marry her son after all, but you... curious..."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Lord Baelish," she muttered, opening the paper to quickly read what was written inside. It requested Sybel to attend to her tonight before bed; something Sybel had never done in her life, but certainly a message she didn't require Lord Baelish to deliver to her.
Sybel thought it curious herself why the queen would have sent him instead of one of her servants; she was basically inviting his interest. Was the queen trying to get Lord Baelish to watch her too, raise his interest enough for him to try to gather information too? Did Lord Baelish report to the Queen? Her questions seemed never ending.
"I bid you a good morning," he nodded again, eyeing her hair one last time before looking over at Joyeuse and giving her a nod. "Lady Erenford."
Joyeuse seemed startled that Lord Baelish knew her—Sybel just thought he was showing off. She gave Sybel a look asking what that was about and Sybel shook her head, just as confused. All she knew was that Petyr Baelish gave her a strong sense of apprehension that was best left uninvestigated.
They sat quietly for a while after his departure, Sybel thinking over the Queen's note. She had never attended to another lady before other than her sisters, let alone a Queen. Sybel might have to talk to her Septa beforehand—if the wheelhouse meeting was anything to go by, she wouldn't be able to focus on attending to the Queen correctly and being cautious about how she answered questions. She felt worry wrap around her heart and squeeze a little that she tried her hardest to calm. The thought of the Queen and of Lord Baelish both set her teeth on edge.
"I have to tell you something," Joyeuse said then, suddenly, and looking pale. Her fingers fretted with the pages of her book. It did nothing to help how Sybel was already feeling.
The anxiety leaked into her voice. "What is it, Joy?"
"My father sent me here to make an advantageous match," she started and Sybel nodded, frowning. She already knew that and she wondered where she was going before she had an awful dawning understanding. She pictured the portly old man from the gardens and felt her heart beat fast for her friend; surely not. "But he's not a very patient man and it seems I've been taking too long. So now I am to be Walder Frey's eighth wife."
Silence met her words and Sybel felt a slow, burning sadness and fear creep over her as she looked at her friend. Walder Frey was an elderly man who had fathered many children and had taken many wives—and even more mistresses—and of all the possible suitors in the whole of Westeros, Sybel couldn't even begin to comprehend how he was even an option for Joyeuse. How her father could think five or six months at court was too long, and now their best chance for advantage was Walder Frey. Sybel couldn't even think of a situation where her own father would willingly marry her to the old, lusty lord that refused to die, and here Joyeuse was, calm in the face of a thoughtless decision that would change her fate. Sybel's heart just about broke. "Joy..."
"It's fine. I'm fine." Joyeuse cut her off quickly, blinking hard to get rid of her tears, and looking away at Sybel's gentle, cautious, fearful tone. Because her tone let Joyeuse know that she knew what this would mean for her, and if she thought about it too much she would crumble. Sybel's veins coursed with the injustice of it.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Joyeuse's father got tired of waiting and easily brokered a deal without consideration for his daughter's future happiness. It wasn't fair that someone as kind, and dutiful and warm as her would have him as her husband. All that Sybel had heard of Walder Frey was that he was a dirty old man who liked to stick himself into his young wives with so much frequency that they all ended up dying in childbirth at some stage. His House was almost a joke, her own father having little to no respect for Lord Frey, which told her enough.
Sybel knew it was done; knew that young ladies were married off to old men, fat men, mean men, all the time—of course they were, when their sole value as a woman was in their ability to attract attention, ensure an advantageous match and produce heirs—but it had not ever been something Sybel worried much about. Sybel had never felt so thankful for her life and her father and her family, because she couldn't even conceptualise a world where Walder Frey would be the choice made for her. The privilege she had, to even be able to consider herself having some say in the decision, to know her father wouldn't choose some combination of fat, old and mean, let alone because he was impatient.
She felt the guilt of her situation and didn't know what to say, so she grabbed Joyeuse's hand and squeezed, feeling her eyes well up for her friend. She wouldn't say anything; wouldn't insult her by saying things she already knew and was probably terrified of, knowing that there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. This wasn't about Sybel.
Sybel wondered why she hadn't said anything earlier, instead letting Sybel prattle on about Jaime Lannister and the—now comparatively—ridiculousness of that situation. But then she thought about how saying it out loud made it real, how other people knowing made it real, and Sybel knew she would have avoided saying anything for as long as she possibly could too.
Joyeuse took a deep breath and smiled, like she was charmed and excited. It was fake, but Sybel would let her pretend. "I shall be married in less than a month."
Sybel took her lead and smiled too. It didn't reach her eyes and Joyeuse pretended not to notice. "How exciting this news is!"
"I leave in three days' time for the Riverlands."
Sybel's smile faltered, as she realised what else wasn't fair about Joyeuse's situation. She had become important to Sybel in a short time; her first and only friend she'd made amoung the experienced and sometimes unkind ladies of the court. And now she was going to lose her. Sybel thought a large part of what had helped her warm to the Capitol was Joyeuse's quiet and friendly companionship, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what her days would look like now without her company.
Sybel didn't voice a single one of her selfish thoughts, sadness weighing her chest down so much she had to fight to stay sitting upright. She didn't let go of Joyeuse's hand.
"I should need a friend on my wedding day. My father and brother are hardly the sort to be supportive, and my mother passed many years ago..." She trailed off, looking at Sybel like she wasn't sure how she would respond and was testing the waters.
"I have never been to a Southern wedding," Sybel smiled easily, and tried to think about Joyeuse's wedding day rather than who she would be marrying. "I should very much like to see one."
Sybel's easy agreement seemed to be enough reassurance for Joyeuse to drop her mask for a moment. Sybel saw the panic in her eyes, feeling it through the sudden tight, sweaty grip she had on Sybel's hand. Her words seemed stuck in her throat as she tried to get them out. "Perhaps you could come with me too, if your father lets you. I could use a travel companion."
"Of course," Sybel said, not even needing to think on it. She just felt that panic mirrored in her and knew she would agree to whatever Joyeuse needed of her. Someone to distract her, support her, cry with—Sybel would do it.
Joyeuse's frown smoothed out and she looked away, somber and thinking. Sybel sat in that silence with her for a long time; neither really talking or reading for their lessons, but both holding tight onto each other's hands.
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Sansa refused lunch. Sybel didn't always eat lunch with her sisters, and she wondered how frequently this was happening. Arya was at dancing lessons still, and their Septa had already quickly eaten and was taking an afternoon nap, so it was just Sansa and Sybel sitting at the wooden table. It had taken Sybel a while to notice—too long for her liking, her mind too filled with Joyeuse.
But now Sybel watched Sansa stab at her embroidery, face drawn and sad, and she realised she had been so preoccupied the last few weeks with being called on and courted and deciding her future that she had neglected to recognise her sister's struggle. Guilt swamped her, like a thick weight in her chest.
"Sansa, are you alright?" She asked, moving her chair closer to her. Sansa looked up, her expression blank except for the slight red ringing her eyes, but at Sybel's question, her red eyes seemed to water. Sybel grabbed her hand, pulling her close so she could give her a hug when the tears started. "Oh my sweet, you're not alright, I'm so sorry."
Sybel crooned into Sansa's small, shaking body, hand smoothing over her hair and down her back. Being the eldest daughter, Sybel had done her fair share of soothing and calming and regulating with her younger siblings, but without fail, each time it made her tear up a little too, full of emotion and empathy. It never felt nice to see her siblings distressed. Sybel let her cling onto her until she quietly sniffled and pulled away, wiping her eyes and looking down at her lap. "I don't know why I'm so upset."
"I think there's been plenty of things to be upset about in the last couple months, Sansa," Sybel said gently, taking her small hand back into her own and rubbing gentle circular patterns, the way she would when they were younger. "You more than any."
Sybel could see her lips press together like she was holding back more tears. She took deep breaths. "I miss Lady. It's not fair that she's not here now, and the Prince hates me. How am I supposed to marry him when he hates me?"
"He doesn't hate you," Sybel reassured. "How could he possibly hate you?"
"He hasn't been to see me once and I see him talking to other ladies sometimes," Sansa sniffed. "I think he blames me."
Sybel hummed, thinking back to their journey to Kingslanding. From what she'd heard, Arya had disarmed the prince and her wolf had bit him while Sansa begged for him to not be hurt. Sybel assumed his pride had been wounded, his masculinity threatened under the protection of a little girl. "I think perhaps the prince is embarrassed by what happened. If he hasn't come to see you by now though, he is just being childish. Even Rickon knows better than to sulk for longer than a couple days."
Maybe she was being protective of her sister, but his behaviour made her think he was a spoilt, entitled little boy who was too used to getting his own way and being doted on by his mother. And from what Sybel had seen, those boys grew into troublesome men. She hadn't really given much thought to how she felt about Sansa's betrothal before, but the more she was in the Capitol, and the more the Queen worried her, and the more the King seemed to be absent, the more Sybel didn't like it. She had been glad of it, for her own sake—it took the pressure off her somewhat. But she was beginning to feel like maybe it wasn't worth it.
Sansa laughed and gave Sybel an awkward smile. "And Rickon is just a baby!"
Sybel gave her a dramatic, pointed look. "A very sulky baby sometimes too!"
Sansa gave a short laugh and took a steady breath. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, showing Sybel how above it she could be, how done she was now with crying. Sybel didn't think Sansa realised how in awe she was of her sometimes. "Hmm."
Sansa turned back to her embroidery and chatted away in a far more chirpy fashion than before, picking at some bread, asking her about Lord Caron and Lord Renly, and telling her about how annoying Arya was now that she wouldn't shut up about her dancing lessons, especially because Sansa could already dance. Sybel listened and laughed and answered her questions and when Sansa seemed more settled, Sybel thought to ask about Lord Baelish.
"I've been wondering about what Lord Baelish said to you at the tourney, do you remember?" Sybel asked curiously. "I met him today."
"I'm not supposed to tell," Sansa looked apologetic but all it did was make Sybel nervous. Why would Lord Baelish want Sansa to keep a secret for him?
Sybel thought she did a good job of keeping herself calm. Asking Sansa to keep a secret would only serve a purpose that would help him—she had quickly learnt that morning that he wasn't the kind to freely share anything, which maybe meant he was playing some angle with her younger sister. Sybel had thought maybe Sansa would be immune from the games of the Capitol given she was little more than a child, but she was apparently not safe from him. "Why is that?"
Sansa's expression was embarrassed, sheepish. "He told me the story about how the Hound got his scar. It wasn't a very nice story. And Lord Baelish said he wouldn't react well if he heard people gossiping about it, so I promised to keep it a secret."
Sybel nodded like this made sense, but it didn't really. Why would Lord Baelish tell Sansa that story? It felt too much like he was trying to build her up to be trusting of him, and Sybel didn't like that. Maybe she needed to keep an eye on Lord Baelish when it came to her sister.
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.
"What are you doing?" Jaime's voice pitched low in an almost-hiss at her as he stood outside the King's chambers, watching her walk towards him. Well, she was walking past him to get to the Queen's chambers but to him it probably looked like she was walking towards him, why else would she be in that corridor? He knew she wasn't touched enough to be seeking the Queen out herself, late at night without reason.
He stood tall and shining in Kingsguard armour, the clean white a contrast with the harsh lines of his face as he frowned at her. The armour made him appear broader, bigger, stronger, and Sybel found herself looking him over just a little bit too long, unable to help herself. He really was unfairly handsome; more so than any one man should be.
When she looked up at his face again, she thought maybe his cheeks were tinged pink as he watched her gaze linger too long over him, and she felt embarrassed at having been thoughtless enough to be caught. She shook her head, sure she must be mistaken and when she looked at his expression, she saw he was unhappy and frustrated, confirming it must have been a trick of the low lighting. Jaime Lannister did not blush.
Despite the slight thrill the idea of making him blush sent through her, her mind was filled with the sobering news from that morning, of Joyeuse's betrothal and Lord Baelish's motives and what the Queen wanted of her now, so much so that she didn't think she could be around him. The back-and-forth between them, the at-times over familiarity, the tension (at least on Sybel's part); it was too much and too ridiculous all at once, and in no way helped her. She couldn't in good conscience play into it when there were bigger, more concerning things to preoccupy her with—it would be downright self-destructive of her.
She tried to hurry away from him, not wanting to be around him when all it did was make her want to stay, to think about him, admire him, provoke him. She looked away, continuing past him and replying quietly so at least he had some answer and could drop it. "Her Grace the Queen has asked me to attend her tonight."
His arm shot out and he grabbed her elbow. Admittedly, she walked close enough by him that he would only need to take a step to be able to reach out and touch her, and it made her question just how much was and wasn't purposeful when it came to him. It almost embarrassed her just thinking it, she felt so silly. His touch was warm on her bare skin.
"Why would she do that?" He hissed again, eyes searching her face like she had the answer tucked away and hidden there. Like she had everything he needed tucked away and hidden there and all he had to do was look.
Sybel was caught off guard by how close his face was to hers then and how she could breathe him in if she wanted. He smelled of soap and something musky and earthy that was entirely appealing; surprising her with how appealing it was, how it made her skin buzz and made her bite her lip to stop herself acting on the intrusive thought to taste it. Her mind provided a distracting image of him pulling her in closer still and her nose being filled with the smell of him, tasting it from his skin. The draw so strong that she startled herself into shaking her arm free and he let her, dropping his hand.
She held her arm in her other hand like she didn't trust the errant limb to not try to reach out, going back for more, and she tried to rub the burn of his skin away. Being alone with him wasn't a good idea, though she hadn't set out that night intending to be alone with him. It just seemed to happen. Everything just seemed to happen with him—that was the problem. How could she even begin to figure out how to stop it when it just happened? And if she managed to figure out a way, how could she even describe to him what she wanted him to stop? Stop looking at me like that? Stop setting me on fire? Stop leaning in close? Stop making me want to taste you?
The way he looked at her made her think he might have seen that image too, his body almost unconsciously pulled back from her, leaning away, face apprehensive, eyeing how she was worrying her bottom lip. He cleared his throat and repeated himself, bringing reality back to the moment. "Why would my sister ask you to attend her?"
He looked confused and suspicious himself, like he didn't know the answer but didn't trust what was happening. And underneath that, was a low simmering fury, and Sybel had yet to piece together the specific cause of it—why would he be so furiously angry that his sister was having her followed, was calling on her to attend her, to meet with her? How did it affect him, really? The only one to have the consequences of his actions was her, though she knew she wasn't faultless either. She blamed him though, considering that was the only indication the Queen had given her for her interest in Sybel, but the whys didn't fully make sense to her, and then the responding fury from him didn't make sense either.
"Why do you think?" Sometimes when she answered him, it was less of an answer and more of a demand of his attention. She felt it all over her body when she had his undivided attention. "Did you explain to your sister that she doesn't need to have her spies follow me?"
He straightened reflexively in anger. His jaw was clenched, like he was chewing on his words and still so angry. All he managed to get out was, "Not yet."
Sybel sighed. "I'll just have to explain it to her myself then."
"I think it would be best if you said nothing," he grunted, rubbing at his face and eyes like she was giving him a headache. "Leave my sister to me."
Almost, as if feeling the need to justify it when it was beginning to feel too much like they were conspiring to keep a secret, she added. "I mean, there's no reason for it, right?"
Maybe she shouldn't have asked it as a question—it made it seem too much like she wasn't sure, and she was. She should be sure, she should feel secure in the knowledge that they weren't doing anything wrong, but her stomach dropped because she knew better. She did have something to hide, and she knew it.
And the problem with asking it as a question meant that he had to answer. And he looked her over; over her dress and hair and eyes; over her lips and neck and chest, like he was thinking intently about her, like he was scrutinizing her without realising he was doing it. His answer was slow coming. "...Right."
Her heart picked up its pace in her chest and she quickly turned and walked away.
Of course Joyeuse was right to be worried.
Of course she had something to hide.
Of course that meant it couldn't end well for her.
Maybe she really did need to do something about it.
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As far as Sybel could tell, the Queen did not need anyone attending her. She was draped in a soft-looking, thin robe, still looking regal and elegant despite her state of undress, as she sat in front of a mirror rubbing sweet smelling lotion into her skin.
"Your grace," Sybel said with a small curtsy when she was beckoned into the room. "How best can I attend you tonight?"
"You may brush my hair, my sweet." She smiled—the Queen always seemed to smile even when it looked like her words tasted bitter to her. She looked at Sybel in the reflection and was quiet for a moment while Sybel gathered herself enough to know what to do. Everything about the Queen threw her off that it seemed to take her a moment to be able to think. "How are you adjusting to the Capitol? Do you love the feasts and dances and courting?"
"It has been enjoyable, your grace," Sybel answered quickly and easily, beginning to pull the pins and ties from her hair, letting the golden strands unravel, the knots loosening. "Not anything I am used to."
"I would think not," the Queen murmured, keeping that smile on her face. "My little birds tell me Lord Caron has been courting you. He would make a good match, don't you think?"
Her little birds. She thought about telling the Queen there was no need to have her little birds follow her around but decided that maneuvering around the Queen was far out of her league and should be left to Jaime, as he'd said. Sybel was not cut out for subtle, high-stakes conversations.
"He would, your Grace. He has been kind towards me." Sybel used her fingers to gently comb the hair out and when it was all free and tumbling down her back, she picked up the brush to smooth and detangle it.
She hummed in response, watching Sybel closely like she was looking for a tell or give-away, though Sybel didn't know why she thought she'd lie about that. It was common knowledge by now that he had intention towards her and that she had not been refusing him. "It seems you didn't need my help finding a husband after all. You will marry him?"
Sybel frowned because it didn't sound like a question, glancing up at the Queen's waiting expression. It seemed lately that every interaction with every member of the court left her guessing as to the intention and meaning behind it. Why was the Queen bothered by this, bothered enough to ask or care who Sybel would marry? Was she concerned for how any Stark actions might reflect on the Prince, given the betrothal between Sansa and him? "If he asks and my father agrees, then I suppose I will."
"And what about Renly? I hear he made a proposal too?"
Sybel shouldn't be surprised she knew that by this point, but she was. The Queen would know that Sybel met with Renly—he'd pointed out her spies, so Sybel knew they were there and watching—but how did she know he'd made a proposal, or proposition more like? Did Renly tell her? Sybel laughed lightly, trying to play it off, but found the sound awkward. The Queen's eyes were too shrewd. "To be honest your Grace, I wasn't entirely sure I was what he wanted."
"With Renly on the small counsel, it would all but ensure you remain at court for longer than perhaps you'd like. Though at some stage you would return to Storm's End, likely when you have gotten with child." Sybel blinked. The Queen was clever and subtle, but Sybel had the strongest sense that she was laying down words designed to encourage her away. She wondered if she'd offended the Queen in some way.
"I'm sure my father will make the right decision for me."
The Queen nodded like that sealed it. "I shall counsel him, if you like. It's for the best that you look to your future rather than the unavailable."
Sybel flushed. Did she mean Jaime? The Queen's comment was too similar to her own thoughts and deliberations about Jaime and her future for her to have any idea what else the Queen could be referring to. Sybel thought the Queen looked like she knew exactly the kind of thoughts she'd been having about Jaime in the corridor just before, despite her face remaining nonplussed.
And then she thought maybe this was the Queen's way of removing Sybel from the situation, being subtle and gentle and ensuring there was no scandal, no gossip, no need for any rumours to be spread. The situation being the few interactions she'd had with Jaime; she wondered what it was about her that made the Queen so resolved of Sybel's poor character. Maybe she assumed only nefarious things of Sybel when it came to her brother. Or, perhaps she suspected Sybel's silly girl fancy and decided to intervene before she embarrassed herself and had that embarrassment reflect poorly on the Stark House and then by extension, them.
Sybel didn't know what to say. "Yes, your Grace."
"And how is your sister?" the Queen asked, voice dripping with saccharine concern, even grabbing onto Sybel's hand as she let the ends of the Queen's hair drop, finished her plait. The Queen held loose like she was ready to let go as soon as she could. "It was an awful business, with the direwolf."
"It was, your Grace." She nodded demurely. "I think she would feel better if she knew the Prince didn't hate her for it."
She smiled like it hurt her to do it. "She is such a sweet little dove. I will talk to my son."
"That is kind, your Grace, I'm sure Sansa would appreciate it." Sybel smiled in thanks, and the Queen dropped her hand like it stung and dismissed her for the night.
Sybel tried not to hurry out of the rooms, but she did hurry past Jaime still on duty. Sybel decided that the point of the Queen asking her to attend her was entirely because she could. A reminder she was Queen, and had all the power and control, and could have her watched and change her future and anything else she pleased, if it pleased her. And there was nothing Sybel could do to stop it.
It would be a good thing to leave the Capitol for a while, if her father agreed.
.
.
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A/N: I have been toying with the idea of the next chapter being a split chapter with both Jaime POV and Sybel POV. I've avoided alternate POV's because I don't think I can write them in a way to do it justice, but I had some thoughts that might make it fun to try. What do you guys think?