Chapter Two: The Stag's Predicament
A/N: Wow. I just have to say, thank you so much, you guys are amazing. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Also, I am going away tomorrow and won't be back until 13th January. I should have internet in some places and therefore be able to update, however it won't be as frequent as I'd like. I hope you all are able to bear with me!
Also, if you have read the books, I would love if you checked out my story Poison and Wine. Also, don't forget to vote at the Game of Thrones Christmas Awards 2012! A link can be found on my profile.
The closer they drew to Winterfell, the tighter Mella's stomach seemed to coil, until it felt like her insides were a spring. Pressed right up against the window, she could feel the cold chill of the northern air against her skin. She shivered, although if it was from the frigid air or apprehension, she didn't know. The landscape too was different from the south, although that she rather appreciated. She winced as Alyss worked a final braid into her hair, but in reality Mella was fully aware of her mother's eyes on her, judging her.
"You would do well to keep your composure amongst these northerners, darling," Cersei informed her daughter, the word 'northerners' coming out as though it tasted sour in her mouth. "Starks are known for their quick tempers, so you would do well to be wary of them. Your father might trust Ned Stark and his honour, but we have yet to meet their children."
Mella fretted about this slightly. What if the Starks didn't like her, and she was forced to resign herself to spending time only with her siblings? Her ladies had been discussing how handsome Robb Stark was rumoured to be, but this only left the princess feeling wary. Was her mother planning some sort of betrothal between her daughter and the heir of Winterfell? It seemed unlikely, considering how much Cersei disliked the north and the Starks. There had always been bitterness between the Starks and the Lannisters, of which Mella had only become recently aware.
Mella stared upwards as their carriage was drawn through Winterfell, underneath the portcullis and into the courtyard in front of Winterfell's cold stone castle. She rather wished she could be on horseback like her father and brother Joffrey, however Cersei had scoffed at such a notion and insisted that her oldest daughter ride with her in the comfort of the carriage. Mella wouldn't exactly call it comfort – she had been twisting her hands in the blood-red skirts of her dress the entire time.
She watched as the assembled congregation sank to her knees as Robert rode into the courtyard, requiring a box to dismount his horse thanks to his impressive weight. Mella might have found the situation slightly amusing if everyone else wasn't being so serious about it. It was only when Robert motioned with a gloved hand for Ned Stark and the others to rise that Cersei called for the servants to open the doors of their carriage.
"You grace," Ned Stark muttered, inclining his head. As she descended the steps onto even ground, Mella could hardly see the supposed friendship between her father and the lord of Winterfell. Both of them seemed as stiff and cold as the castle walls.
"You've got fat," Robert replied bluntly, a comment which made Mella smother her mortification. Even if she was the princess, she would never dare speak to anyone, especially a friend of hers, in such a manner. However, Ned simply indicated Robert's own massive stomach, causing the pair of them to burst out laughing like young boys and embrace like brothers, and the tension that held thick over the courtyard to dissolve.
Cersei gestured for her children to follow her as she crossed the courtyard to the Starks. Her expression was not a pleased one – Mella could tell that her mother wasn't even going to attempt a smile for these people. She followed her mother over, acutely aware of how painfully different she was to her mother and siblings. Joffrey dismounted his horse and sauntered over, causing the pretty red-haired girl – who Mella thought must be Sansa – to blush lightly as his eyes raked over her.
"These must be your children." Ned smiled benevolently at them.
"May I present Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and Mella." Cersei indicated the four children in turn, leaving her oldest daughter with resigned acceptance at being the last one mentioned. It was such a common occurrence that it hardly stung anymore. The queen's tone was never anything but curt, however either Ned didn't notice it, or simply chose to ignore it.
"Welcome to Winterfell. I truly hope that you will be in comfort here for the duration of your stay."
"Are you out of your mind?" Cersei demanded, pacing the rooms that she and Robert were to share. They were far smaller than her apartments in King's Landing, the décor far grimmer. It was none of those things that made anger flash through Cersei's green eyes, however. Her slender hands were clenched into fists as she confronted her husband. It was enough that he had dragged their entire family to bleak Winterfell, but now it seemed that Robert had yet other ideas.
"Oh, for the love of the Seven, woman." Robert's tone was impatient. He and his wife argued on a regular basis, however he thought Cersei would have been pleased at the prospect of betrothing their oldest child. "Ned and I have always spoken about joining our houses. Mella is sixteen, Robb is seventeen. They are both of an age to wed. She will be wife of the lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North! How is that such a disagreeable prospect?"
"You would sell off my daughter!" Cersei exclaimed indignantly. "Ask Ned Stark for his daughter, betroth Sansa to Joffrey. I don't want any child of mine having to stay here and suffer in this bitter cold, Robert. You know how I feel about the Starks…"
"I know how your father feels about the Starks," Robert corrected irritably, his face reddening as their verbal battle continued. Gods, he wasn't made for such things as haughty wives and betrothing children. He loved Mella fiercely too – she was his oldest, the only child he could seem to connect with – and yet, her station as a princess of Westeros made her a very desirable match. Why not marry her into House Stark, a family that Robert knew and trusted, rather than for some alliance with another distant house?
"I forbid it," Cersei said coldly, tilting her chin up.
"Forbid it, do you?" Robert inquired, a mix of annoyance and amusement lacing his tone. "I am the king. You can't forbid me from doing a damn thing. But if you are really so worked up about this whole thing, then yes, I will talk to Ned about Sansa and Joffrey. However, considering that Ned and most of his family – with the exception of likely Robb, who will stay here in Winterfell – will accompany us to King's Landing, I think it's only fair we show them the same courtesy they are showing us."
Cersei watched her husband, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"
"I think it would suit us nicely to leave Mella as a ward of Winterfell." Robert could see Cersei beginning to protest, and he raised a hand to make her lapse into silence. "Be quiet, woman. It would only be for a year. I think there's a great deal more about the north our daughter could learn than what her septas and maesters teach her."
"You are hoping she will fall in love with Robb Stark," Cersei replied sourly, beginning to see how Robert's mind was working, "That if she stays here with him, the two will marry eventually in any case. This isn't the same as you and Lyanna, Robert…"
"Don't talk about her," Robert growled, a menacing light entering his eyes that made Cersei fall silent once more. "If they wed then they wed, dammit. Mella is old enough now to stay here without her family, just as Robb is old enough to remain without his while he keeps charge of Winterfell in his father's stead."
Cersei's mind began working to, like a clock ticking down time. With Mella in the north, she would have a member of her own family watching over the Stark family's best interests, someone who wasn't Robert and who didn't naively trust in them because of some boyhood friendship. She could still send Mella ravens, getting her daughter to inform her of exactly what Robb Stark was doing, for Cersei was a Lannister through and through, and so did not trust the Starks at all. Perhaps the arrangement would suit Cersei better than she thought, although she made no comment of this to Robert.
Mella sat in stony disapproval as Alyss and another lady-in-waiting, the opinionated Livia, worked her hair into an elegant knot above her head. Her posture was stiff and despite the fact that the others were gossiping excitedly about the much-awaited evening feast, Mella could feel nothing but the simmering resentment that washed off her in waves. She sat very still as Alyss and Livia chattered about several young men about Winterfell that they found good-looking, yet Mella couldn't care less.
Her father had come to her a few hours earlier and informed her that she was to be fostered at Winterfell, a ward of the Starks. Perhaps Robert had expected his oldest daughter to be pleased, yet it had taken all of Mella's self-control not to tug off the stupid necklace that he'd given her for her sixteenth name-day and throw it at the wall. How was that even remotely fair? Her brother Joffrey had been betrothed to Sansa, and Mella pitied the girl…yet there was no betrothal for her, only the hollow notion of being a ward.
"It's only for a small while," Robert had convinced her upon noting her sullen silence. "Besides, you won't be alone. Ned's boy, Robb, is only a year or so older than you."
If that was supposed to be some sort of consolation, it was a very small one. The north was so vast, and cold, and empty. The prospect of being separated from her family was not a welcome one, and when her father had tried to kiss her cheek and tuck back a strand of her dark hair like he had done to appease her when she'd been little, but Mella had only shifted away from him. She barely even knew the Starks. What if they didn't like her?
"Mella…" Robert had sighed.
"Get out of my room." Mella's tone had been as icy as the frosty northern region they had come to. "I need to prepare for the feast."
How could her father forsake her in such a manner? Did she really mean so little to him? It had no doubt been an incentive for Ned Stark to accept the position as Hand of the King. Mella had always believed that she had been Robert's favourite, everyone always had…yet now, it certainly didn't seem like it. She would be left in the frigid north along with Robb Stark, perhaps even Lady Catelyn and the younger ones if the venture south proved too much for them. It wasn't an enticing concept.
Was it selfish of her, to feel so annoyed? All she wanted was to remain with her family. They didn't always get along, and she especially didn't like Joffrey, but she would prefer to bicker with him in King's Landing than be away from them all in Winterfell. What was there for her in the cold north? Did Robert see an impending marriage of some sort? The notion made Mella flounder, for no doubt it was Robb her father would see fit to marry her to, in order to join their houses.
"What did you think of the Starks, my lady?" Livia asked of her, bringing her from her petulant reverie as her soft fingers worked at rubbing scented oils on the princess's arms. The sharp smell of roses invaded Mella's nose. She tried not to grimace at the scent. It was lovely, but very overpowering.
"They were all very nice," Mella murmured in response, not really wanting to delve into detail – but in her mind, she was still recollecting the introductions.
Lord Stark was a pleasant man, although the years had rendered him rather haggard. According to court gossip, Ned had a strict sense of honour and justice. He was such a contrast to her father – Mella knew all about Robert's drinking and whoring, despite her mother's attempts to conceal such unseemly matters from her – that Mella wondered how they could possibly be best friends. Lord Stark had greeted Mella kindly, stating that he had never met her before, but she looked so like Robert.
Lady Stark was still lovely despite the years, with the famous red hair and sharp blue eyes of her house. She had responded a little stiffly to Mella, as she had to Cersei. Mella guessed that Lady Stark was no doubt wary of the southerners after spending so much time in the north, and she had felt a little guilty by intruding on the good lady's hospitality. Lady Stark had not asked to house over two hundred guests for a month.
The youngest two children, Rickon and Bran, both strongly resembled their father with his dark hair and dark eyes. Mella had taken to them immediately, as Tommen was of a similar age to Bran and she had always doted upon her soft-hearted younger brother. The younger girl, Arya, also resembled her father, although she had her mother's eyes.
Sansa Stark, the girl that Mella was sure she would befriend, was like a younger apparition of her mother. She was indeed a beauty, and when she had greeted Mella, she had been very gracious despite her shyness. Mella wondered how the poor girl would cope with being betrothed to Joffrey, although she hadn't missed the approving glance the two had shared upon the royal entourage's entry into Winterfell.
Then there had been Robb Stark. He was perhaps a year Mella's senior, and he was indeed as handsome as Alyss had predicted. He also favoured his mother's colouring, although his hair was rather darker, close to black. Robb had kissed Mella's hand, but she was aware that it was a mere polite gesture, and of course thought nothing of it.
"What about that Theon Greyjoy?" Alyss gasped rather excitedly as she pinned the loose ends of Mella's hair. "I was speaking to some of the ladies earlier, and apparently he is quite the womanizer. I have to admit, he's handsome enough."
Theon Greyjoy was the Starks' ward, and he had been standing behind the family along with Ned's bastard son, Jon Snow. He had lazily eyed many of the girls in the royal congregation, but Mella had been more amused than insulted. She knew many young women would frown upon Theon's boldness, but she found it more refreshing than reserved manners and smiles that didn't reach eyes.
"You shouldn't be speaking of him in front of the princess," Livia chastised. She was older than Alyss, in her mid-twenties and married to Ser Donnal Swann. By Mella's standards, she was quite worldly. "She doesn't want to be hearing about the infidelities of the Starks' ward. How about that young Robb Stark. My, if I wasn't a married woman…"
Mella sighed, breathing in deeply as Livia and Alyss fussed about tightening her corset. She didn't really want to think about the Starks for some reason. She would rather think of home, of the tourneys and the feasts, of the gossip and of the sweet summer heat. She feared that she would freeze to death in the icy north, or else die of loneliness. Of course, Robert would permit several of her ladies to stay – but married women like Livia would accompany their husbands back to King's Landing.
"He will be escorting you in to the feast tonight, my lady," Alyss babbled rather excitedly, her eyes wide at the prospect.
The feast. As if Mella could forget. An event that once might have excited her now seemed so dreadfully dull. All she could seem to think about was the fact that she was condemned to the north. In King's Landing, they had dancers and singers and fools at feasts. She doubted it was the same in Winterfell. She closed her eyes and sat patiently as her ladies fussed about her dress, her hair, her jewellery.
Why did it matter what she looked like? It wasn't as though she was going to be charming anyone, and these northerners would think her far too extravagant. Perhaps they would only view her as a spoiled, pampered princess and treat her accordingly. Was that the sort of impression she wished to leave upon the family who would be fostering her for the next year or so?
Mella tried to look on the positive side. Perhaps the feast would prove a chance for her to get to know the Stark family. Maybe she could warm up to them. It would be lovely to become close to Lady Stark and the boys, who would be staying in Winterfell when Ned and the royal entourage departed.
"There now." Alyss sounded impressed with her work as she tugged Mella to her feet, guiding the princess across to the full-length mirror that had been set up in the girl's room. Mella thought the Starks must think her awfully vain with such a mirror, not that it had been her choice. Alyss had insisted, and as usual, Mella didn't have the heart to shatter her romantic illusions. "Don't you look stunning, my lady."
She did. Her black hair was bound back in an elegant bun at the top of her head, with two thin strands hanging loose by her ears either side. Sapphires glittered in her ears, and more at her throat as Livia's slim fingers fastened a silver-chained necklace around her neck. Her dress was of the southern style, as Cersei had stubbornly insisted upon it, a beautiful dress of deep blue with silver accents. It was more low-cut than she was pleased with, and it clung to the curves of her body in a way that made Mella certain her mother wanted her to attract attention.
"I do," Mella admitted quietly. Her mother had often taught her there was nothing to be gained by false modesty. In fact, Mella remembered a rare moment she had shared with her mother soon after her thirteenth name-day. A young lord had complimented Mella, comparing her dark hair to raven's wings and her grey eyes to storm clouds. She had flushed a bright red and of course denied that she was beautiful.
"Let them compliment you," Cersei had told her daughter later, tucking a strand of dark hair behind Mella's ear, "You are beautiful, Mella, surely you see that. Beauty is a woman's weapon, did you know that? If you are beautiful, they will all fall at your feet to do your bidding. Remember that, sweetling. One day your beauty will fade, and you would be best to use it while it lasts."
Mella knew that she would feel guilty if she attempted to manipulate men using her beauty. Her mother may be content to use her good looks to charm others and get what she wanted, but Mella had always been rather more self-conscious. She would be embarrassed attempting to flirt with young men. What if they laughed her down? Not all men would be susceptible to the charms of a young woman.
"Oh, all eyes will be on you tonight, my lady!" Alyss exclaimed excitedly, earning a scathing look from Livia.
"Don't be stupid, Alyss. The princess is most beautiful, but there are other lovely young women bound to earn attention tonight as well. Take the lady Sansa for example. She may be thirteen, but anyone can see that she will become a beautiful woman."
Mella thought it be wonderful to be a wolf. She was a stag. There was nothing exactly awe-inspiring about being called a stag. The Stag of the South-East…no, it didn't quite have the same ring to it. For Mella, being kind was often a chore. There had been many times when she would have preferred to say something honest, and been chastised for not holding her tongue. Cersei had also told Mella that men wanted women to be seen, but not heard.
"Are you ready, my lady?" Alyss asked, holding out a hand.
Mella took one last look at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was beautiful, but she would be even more so if she actually attempted to smile and be happy. She was determined that she would put aside her disappointment at becoming a ward at Winterfell and have a brilliant time at the feast tonight. However, things are often more easily said than done.