A/N: don't own, don't sue
Lyrics at the beginning are from 'Flying High, Falling Low' by Walking On Cars
Chapter Two
It's that time of the year again and you know I'd love to buy you something
But you know that I've got nothing, you know that I've got nothing
Please
I've had enough
In circles I'm turning
From this world I'm burning
Tell me what happens after this
Some days I'm flying high, I'm falling low
Some days I'm made of gold, I'm made of stone
Some days I'm flying high, I'm falling low
Some days I'm made of gold, I'm made of stone
I promised you better, but this is all I have
You say it's okay and you take me as I am
Frantic footsteps echoed along the length of the wooden gallery above her and Wren frowned, trying to block out the distraction. "Wren! Wren!"
She took a breath and released the arrow, cursing fluently when it sailed right over the target she'd pinned above her father's elaborately carved wooden chair on its raised dais. She was a damn good shot, when they went hunting she could take down a stag with one single arrow directly through its eye even when it was running, but anyone would lose their concentration with a set of eight year old twins thundering around like a herd of wild boar. She tossed the bow behind one of the audience benches as Dove and Robin hurtled down the wooden steps hidden behind the huge tapestries and erupted into the receiving room. Short, loud, adorably angelic with matching halos of soft dark blonde curls, huge silver eyes and plump rosy cheeks, her twin brother and sister looked the very definition of angelic. Until they opened their mouths. Devil twins. Dove yanked on the expansive skirt of Wren's dress, smudging dust all over the mint green fabric.
"Get off, brat."
Wren shook her skirts until Dove let go, sticking her tongue out at her. She poked hers out right back, just as Robin hurtled into her stomach, completely knocking the wind out of her. Wren swore at them again. They pulled rather maniacal faces at her and she rolled her eyes.
"You're going to be late to supper again." Dove announced gleefully, bobbing up and down on her tiny silk-slippered feet. "For our guests."
"Big deal." Robin muttered grouchily, rolling his eyes and tugging on his silk-trimmed cloak.
They'd all been forced into brand new expensive clothes for this little visit, something Robin took as a great affront to his boyish play. Personally Wren didn't see why they had to make such a fuss over a distant old friend of her father's arrival, especially when they'd never met before and they were only visiting now because her elder sister was getting married. Robin's sharp grey eyes zoned in on his sister's hand.
"Why are you wearing your hunting gloves?"
Wren tugged the rough leather gloves off sheepishly, sticking them into the pocket of her dress.
"Were you shooting in here?" Dove demanded. "Father said no more shooting indoors."
"Father also said you'd be back in extra lessons if he found out you were getting the maids to do your assignments again." Wren said sweetly, tweaking Dove's curls when she scowled.
"Better hide the evidence, Father is on his way." Robin pointed out as the overwhelming creak shaking the whole castle informed them the drawbridge was being closed for the night, something her Father always saw to personally.
Wren scrambled up onto the dais, tripping over fresh scented rushes and tugging the faded old tapestry she'd been using for target practise from the wall.
"That's only five." Robin said helpfully as she almost toppled off the dais with the tapestry under her arm.
"What?"
"One, two, three, four, five." Robin counted the arrows again, pointing each one out. He was right. The arrows were all piercing a faded silhouette from the old hunting scene. "There should be six. Where's your other arrow?"
Wren counted again, but it was definitely not there. The three of them scanned the surrounding tapestries and the wooden joists of the hall.
"There!" Dove crowed, pointing up at the arrow sticking grotesquely out into the air from a beam above the dais.
"Oh no." Wren muttered, staring up in horror. "Quick, help me get it."
Dove and Robin exchanged a look, the expression on their faces that hinted they were almost talking to each other without speaking.
"We can figure out terms later." Wren snapped, knowing she'd pay dearly for their help. "I'll get on Father's seat, Robin get on my shoulders. Dove, keep watch."
They screwed up their faces and glanced at each other again, then matching beatific smiles curled their tiny mouths and Wren sighed. Maybe she should leave it there and let Father see it, after all. Too late now. She hoisted her skirts and tottered into position, one foot on each of the thick wooden arms of the chair. Robin slithered onto the seat of the chair, ducked under her skirts and hauled himself onto the back of the chair. Wren bit back a curse as he tore the sleeve of her dress in his mad scramble to get onto her shoulders.
"Watch your feet." She hissed as he stood on her hair.
"Do you want our help or not?" Dove immediately leapt to her twin's defence. Wren ignored her, watching as Robin stretched his arm out towards the arrow.
"To your left, Robbie." Dove urged, her blazing gaze fixed firmly on her twin's reaching fingers. "Your other left, genius."
"Just cos you got long bony arms, some of us got muscles." Robin snarled, twisting his feet deeper into Wren's shoulders and stretching closer.
"You sound like that smelly old blacksmith from the village." Dove mocked, wrinkling her tiny nose in disgust.
"Hurry up." Wren snapped, her legs wobbling dangerously as she fought to keep them both balanced.
"Ungrateful." Dove sniffed.
Wren opened her mouth to swear at her when Robin let out a strangled shout of triumph as he managed to pry the arrow from the wooden beam. Unfortunately the struggle to inch it out of the wood had overbalanced him and he toppled over. Wren lost her grip on the chair trying to catch him and Dove let out a piercing shriek as they plummeted over, taking the heavy chair with them. Dove reached for Robin and got dragged down into the fray, screaming her head off indignantly. Hearing the screams, squeals and angry cussing, the eldest Stark boys, Lord Stark and Lord Mountguise exploded into the room expecting to find a massacre. Instead they found the three of them struggling to untangle themselves from the masses of clothing and flailing limbs. Her father's face went red then white then red again. He sheathed his sword, turning to Lord Stark besides him with a rueful grin. Unable to contain his laughter, he strode across the hall chortling loudly and thrust a hand into the pile of bodies. He pinched Robin's collar in his fist and hauled him up so high his feet were swinging. He smiled sheepishly up at his father.
"Lord Robin Mountguise."
Lord Mountguise propped him back on his feet and he was immediately snatched up by Luisa, the twins' governess, to be dusted down and neatened up. Wren watched her father lift Dove up and set her on her feet.
"Lady Dove Mountguise."
Dove curtseyed prettily, smiling so her dimples showed. Knowing she was next Wren hurriedly scrambled to her feet. She avoided her father's eye and used the momentary distraction of his humour to kick the fallen arrow deeper into the rushes out of sight.
"You've met Lady Wren. I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason my children are brawling on the ground like dogs when they should be on their way to supper with our guests."
Wren hung her head, glancing at a furious Luisa and hoping she didn't look as bad as she thought she did.
"Now, I'm sure you're aching of thirst after your trip." Lord Mountguise led the Starks back into the main hall and Luisa dragged the twins away, already scolding them.
While she was momentarily forgotten, Wren squatted down amongst the rushes, searching for the hidden arrow. She finally found it, half buried under the chair.
"You forgot these." She jumped so hard she caught her head on the heavy wooden base of her Father's chair.
Eddard Stark's dark haired son was standing beside the dais, holding out the heeled shoes she'd abandoned before they'd even gotten here. She flushed. He looked back at her awkwardly, a half-smile curling his mouth.
"Uh. Thank you." Reaching out for the shoes she revealed the arrow still clasped in her hand and his dark eyes flickered over it curiously. Her face got even hotter. "I was… uh… practicing."
He cocked his head, his dark curls tipping over his ear. His hair was a very different black to her Mother's, each curl a different shade of inky black to its neighbour. She felt very ruffled and very dusty and completely ridiculous. Shifting awkwardly, she ducked back down and retrieved the ruined tapestry. He eyed it without comment, surveying the holes from the arrows she'd pierced it with in silence. His dark eyebrows lifted up into his hairline and a slight smile lingered on his lips.
"I'm Wren." She said, hoping to fill the contemplative silence. "Lady Wren Mountguise of Stone Castle." She corrected herself after a moment, wondering why she was introducing herself for the third time.
"Jon Snow." He replied awkwardly, his face drawing in slightly and his shoulders tensing beneath his elegant tunic.
Wren opened her mouth to speak, then she realised that this was Eddard Stark's bastard. He had no title. She closed her mouth again. He studied her as they fell into an awkward silence. He was very attractive she noted absently. Dark and light contrasting sharply in his pale skin and dark hair and eyes. He looked every inch a Northerner. Used to the soft hair and eyes of the Western Lords, he was as exotic to her as Soombaa was to these lands.
"Lady Wren." She shoved the tapestry and the arrow behind her back as Luisa marched back into the room, swelling self-importantly. "Your Father wants you presentable for dinner." She curtseyed smartly at Jon Snow then skewered Wren with her sternest glare.
"Good afternoon, Jon Snow." She muttered, bowing politely. "Why are you standing like that?" She asked sharply, her eyes narrowing as she searched Wren's waist for her hands still hidden behind her back, her eyes gleaming at the possibility of catching her out for something.
Wren stepped forwards, hoping to rush past Luisa before she could catch her and hand her over to her Father. If he found out she'd been shooting indoors again, she wouldn't be allowed to practise archery anymore.
"The Lady Wren found my scarf." Jon interrupted smoothly, taking the damaged tapestry from her hands and coiling it around his neck.
Luisa frowned at him and Wren gaped at him over her shoulder. Jon smiled blandly back, the dusty tapestry sticking out of his cloak under his chin. Luisa didn't believe him for a second, but she couldn't outright question someone above her rank. Even a bastard. She dipped again, took Wren's elbow and led her away. Wren glanced over her shoulder. Jon Snow was standing just where they'd left him, the tapestry tucked down the front of his cloak and a laughing smile on his face.
"Seriously?" Wren muttered in despair, scowling at the reflection glaring back at her.
Her maid, Amelia, giggled at her expression, lifting her heavy curtain of hair to smooth the curls out over her shoulders. Wren sighed, leaning back so Amelia could comb the tangles out.
"Trust me to look like I've been dragged backwards through a bush the first time he lays eyes on me." Wren grumbled, wincing as Amelia worked at a knot.
"Handsome, is he?" She asked slyly, grinning at their reflections.
"That, is neither here nor there." Wren sniffed and Amelia rolled her eyes with a grin. "Besides, it hardly matters when the first time he saw me I was crawling around with Soombaa and the second time, I looked like this."
She scowled at Soombaa's reflection in her looking glass. The panther was stretched across her entire bed like a lazy housecat, his sleek head cushioned on his huge paws as he dozed.
"Don't be ridiculous." Amelia scolded. "You're beautiful."
Wren pouted at her reflection again. She had dust all over her from the old tapestries, blending in with the faint scattering of freckles on her cheekbones, her usually bright midnight blue eyes were dull and red framed by black smudges from a combination of too little sleep and shooting indoors in bad light and her thick dark honey-gold hair was a veritable rat's nest from her dash around the courtyard.
"Yes. I can see what you mean." Amelia peered closely at Wren's reflection, leaning over her shoulder until her face was besides her Lady's. "You really are hideous, aren't you?"
Wren elbowed her out of the way and she laughed. While Amelia twisted and bound and braided her hair, Wren sulked and fiddled with the accruements scattered across her vanity table. Throughout this ridiculous hoopla organizing a wedding, everyone seemed to have forgotten that this time on the morrow her sister would be marrying a Lord who'd be packing her up and shipping her away. Wren didn't know who she was more furious with, her mother for arranging all of this or her sister for meekly agreeing to go ahead with it.
"Stop sulking." Amelia warned as she pinned the last golden curl in place. "Your Lady Mother won't like it."
"I don't care." She muttered mutinously, folding her arms across her chest like a petulant child. "How can she do it? How can Piper just marry him? Like it's nothing. Like it's not her life she's handing over?"
Amelia had listened to this rant multiple times ever since the betrothal had been announced, as usual she didn't reply. Amelia and Wren had a closer relationship than was usual between a maid and her Lady but she still knew her place. That didn't stop her pinching her Lady when she didn't do what she needed her to, though. Wren rubbed the red mark on her arm and gloweringly climbed to her feet as Amelia tidied up her new gown around her.
"Stay there, this will need mending." Amelia tsked and poked the ripped sleeve Wren had forgotten about.
"She's always been that way. 'Yes, Mother', 'immediately, Mother', 'throw me away to some nobody so we can stuff our coffers with his bribe? Certainly, Mother'." Wren continued to rant as Amelia stitched her sleeve. "If she grew a spine she'd die of shock."
"And if you ever learned to hold your tongue, we'd die of shock." Amelia mumbled under her breath.
Wren made a rude noise at her and she laughed, tweaking the dress and adjusting the jewels.
"Presentable. If you keep your mouth closed. Just in time." Amelia observed as the bell rang summoning her to supper. "Try and behave or, if not, at least misbehave with that pretty young Lord." Amelia winked, scuttling back into Wren's rooms before she could reply.
"Wren?"
She almost collided with her sister in her hurry to not be the last one arriving to supper for once, Piper steadied her and looped her arm through her sister's.
Wren was pretty, she knew that. Golden hair, huge dark eyes, lithe slender frame from too much exercise. But her twin sisters were stunning. Thick ebony hair like a waterfall, flawless porcelain skin and wide-eyed silver-grey eyes fringed with long dark lashes topping small delicate features and limbs. Jaws literally dropped when one of them walked past. When she'd first been growing into her looks she'd resented them for it, now she was just glad the predatory looks were focused on them and not her.
"You look pale, are you well?"
Piper nodded and Wren fought the urge to roll her eyes. She could be bleeding to death and she'd still say everything was fine rather than embarrass Mother in front of guests. Wren was safe on that count; Mother ignored her at all times anyway. Wren was Father's favourite and as such Mother barely tolerated her existence. Starling she enjoyed as a novelty of being a twin and people admired Dove and Robin for their matching beauty. Yet it was Piper she adored, not in an affectionate way, in a chilling way that made it clear she was a prize mare Mother intended to breed for all she was worth. Wren shut her mouth before she said something that would only upset Piper and not get them anywhere at all, leading Piper through the labyrinthine hallways of their beloved stone castle.
Out of respect for their guests the Starks had been seated first and the sisters joined them at the top table. Once they had taken their places there was a noisy scuffle as the mixed retainers reclaimed their places on the benches and dug into the filled dishes lining the tables. Wren felt her collarbone turning pink when Jon Snow nodded politely at her. She had been subjected to a rigorous lecture from Luisa on the way back to her chambers about dallying alone in rooms with young men and, from the look on her mother's face, she'd receive her punishment in due time. It would be far worse than the one she'd received for Soombaa's unfortunate appearance. A flicker of a smile curled his lips before he turned away and Wren tried not to grin. Piper shot her a questioning look and she shook her head.
"Your eldest is the bride?" Catelyn Stark was asking their mother politely.
"Indeed. She'll be a beautiful bride, she looks so fragile in ivory. Stunning." Her Lady Mother sighed, immediately launching into a full description of everything to do with the wedding it had taken the best part of a year to construct.
Within ten minutes Wren was bored out of her skull. The eldest Stark girl looked enraptured by the conversation though Lady Stark had a look on her face as if she'd smelt something bad. Piper picked at her food and stared at her hands uncomfortably. Starling dug into her supper with relish and giggled with the younger Stark boys. Even the twins were on their best behaviour, although they had probably been bribed. All of the Starks were impeccably behaved, although the younger girl did cuss rather loudly when she knocked over her sister's wine and spread the dark liquid all over the white table linen. She baulked, blinking owlishly at her father who was trying not to laugh. Wren's father had no such reservations, he chortled happily and lifted his goblet to the little Lady.
The courses flowed into one another, her Mother bored Lady Stark and her eldest daughter rigid and Piper remained as a statue besides her. Wren was deep in thought, contemplating how her aim would improve if she could tighten the string on her bow a little, when she sensed a lull in the conversation as the trenchers were removed and fingerbowls were passed around. As was custom in the West, seats were rotated and Wren suddenly found herself between Jon Snow and the youngest Stark girl.
"Are you really allowed to shoot a bow?" She demanded immediately without any preamble.
"Arya." Jon muttered and she glared.
"Arya. I'm Wren." Wren grinned. "Yes, I'm allowed to shoot. Depending on whose opinion you seek." She whispered the last part in her ear, glancing at her mother who was watching Piper make awkward conversation with the eldest Stark boy with hawk eyes.
"My Mother won't let me, either." Arya replied in a conspiratorial whisper, shooting Lady Stark a half-look.
She was busy laughing at Bran and Lord Mountguise having an arm-wrestling match across the table. Arya sighed and proceeded to launch immediately into a discussion on archery. Wren was pleasantly surprised and more than a little amused. She'd just spent a good five minutes describing a particular shot she'd been trying to nail when she realised that Jon had been listening to their conversation in silent amusement. The idea distracted her and she lost her train of thought.
"I bet you're a brilliant shot." Arya enthused, propping her chin on the heel of her hand and staring at Wren as if she was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.
"She is." Jon flushed pink when Wren and Arya glanced at him in surprise. "I mean… I saw your targets." He stammered.
Arya craned her neck to look around Wren at Jon. She opened her mouth to retort but her sister said something that distracted her and the two of them dissolved into a heated argument. Wren glanced at Jon. He was staring at her sister from the corner of his eye. Wren felt a tiny flutter of disappointment in her belly but she pushed it away. Of course he was admiring her, every man did. Before she could fall into a glum self-pitying daze, Jon drew her back into a discussion about archery. Wren felt the jealousy dissipate, replaced by a warm feeling. Her sisters were stunning, and she loved them both dearly, but they were bloody boring conversationalists. Wren was not.
Jon and Wren were arguing the finer points of wearing gloves or bare hands to shoot when she felt someone burning a hole into her back. At first she scanned the hall but no one was looking at them. Her mother was talking Lord Stark's ear off about some rubbish so it wasn't her beady eyes. Her father was playing a game with Starling, Bran and Rickon, flicking coins into goblets at different distances along the table. Eventually she realised it was Catelyn Stark watching them. Actually, she was boring a hole through Jon's head with her glare. As if her he sensed her watching, he glanced across at her and instantly his whole body tensed up.
"What is it?" Wren asked quietly, suddenly finding her hand on his arm. It was rigid with tension, the muscles coiled tightly.
"Nothing." He shook himself, forced a weak smile in her direction and excused himself.
She watched him leave, her opinion of Catelyn Stark slipping down a notch.