Chapter Four: Wooden Swords

A/N: Okay, so I'm not so sure about this chapter...but thank you all for reading and reviewing, and I promise next chapter will be better than this!

"I can hardly believe it!" Sansa's tone was bubbling with excitement as she and Mella took another turn around the castle, her arm linked through the princess's. Mella had scarcely been in Winterfell for a day, yet she had already decided that it may be wise to befriend Sansa Stark, especially as the younger girl was to become the future queen through her betrothal to Joffrey. "We are going to be sisters someday. Isn't that marvellous? I always wondered what it might be like."

So had Mella, yet she was gaining another younger sister from her brother's betrothal. Sansa's head was full of romantic notions, and she was rather like Alyss. She had told Mella a million times at least how lucky she was to have such a handsome, gallant younger brother. Mella dearly wished that could hit some sense into Sansa, or perhaps it would be kinder to simply tell her what Joffrey was really like. Yet Mella hadn't the heart to tell Sansa the truth. Sometimes, it was kinder to lie.

The dull thump of clashing wood and the jeering and shouting of young men reached Mella's ears. She extricated her arm from Sansa's and walked across to the balcony, leaning over to see the commotion below. It would appear that Robb and Joffrey, along with several other high-ranking young men, were participating in feats of swordplay in the courtyard below. Her grey eyes lit up with amusement as Robb managed to score a strike on Joffrey's arm.

"Come." Mella walked back over to Sansa, who was milling around a little uncertainly. She linked her arm through the younger girl's once more. "It would appear that our brothers are attempting to find out who is the more masculine of them."
Mella thought it would be rather entertaining to watch the boys trying to outdo each other in the courtyard. She knew that Joffrey had a sword of his own, a real one – but she also knew that he had no clue how to use it. The thought of him attempting to slash Robb Stark to ribbons with a wooden sword was indeed an amusing one, because Joffrey would have no idea how to in the first place. Mella would hazard a guess that her younger brother knew more about sewing than he did swordplay.

They reached the courtyard to muttered cursing and laughter. Mella descended the steps one at a time, watching as Robb drove her brother back with apparent ease. Joffrey was scowling and hammering wild, aimless blows at the older boy. Robb parried them effortlessly and after a few more moments of wood clashing and nearly splintering, Joffrey dropped his sword, spitting curses. Triumphant, Robb pressed the blade of his wooden sword to the prince's throat, to cheers from the Stark observers.

"Robb won." Mella observed aloud, walking across towards a clearly content Robb and a sullen Joffrey. She offered Robb a smile which he returned, and she was glad that he wasn't still embarrassed as he had been the previous night. Joffrey, however, seemed to remember all too well the words his sister had hurled at him last night. He glowered at her with angry, glittering green eyes – although whether he was angry at her, or the fact that he had lost to Robb, Mella did not know.

"My lady." Robb inclined his head to her. "I wasn't aware that you were coming to join in with swordplay."

He was teasing her, Mella knew. His blue eyes were glimmering and he was still cocky about his victory over Joffrey. Two could play at his game. Mella raised her eyebrows and allowed a smile to grace her lips.

"Oh, I might be a welcome change from my dear brother. I may not be adept at handling a sword, but you have my word that I would be better than Joffrey."

This raised a few laughs from those present, although Mella knew that it was a dangerous game she insisted on playing. Joffrey's eyes narrowed, a nerve twitching in his forehead. She smiled sweetly at her younger brother, and as she expected, he backed down. He stalked past her, deliberately knocking her as he stomped up the steps and out of sight. Sansa examined Mella, surprised, but if she was expecting a reaction from the princess, she got none.

Robb picked up the wooden sword that Joffrey had cast down, glancing at it consideringly. There was mirth sparkling in his eyes as he tossed the sword to Mella. She hadn't expected to have a wooden weapon tossed at her, and she fumbled, blushing furiously as the sword clattered to the ground. Was Robb deliberately attempting to embarrass her in front of all of these people?

"I had your word, my lady. Don't you wish to cross swords?"

He was bolder than he had been last night. Mella supposed it must be the presence of other men that lulled him into a false sense of security. She smiled and picked up the wooden sword. Of course, she knew very little about swordplay. Since she had been young, she had attempted to convince her uncle Jaime to teach her, but he had always told her that swords were not weapons used by a young lady, especially not a princess. Nevertheless, there was no harm in having a little fun. If she was going to be staying in Winterfell, she would have to learn to enjoy herself around the Starks.

"Princess Mella?" Sansa sounded startled. "He's only jesting, my lady. You don't really have to..."

"It's alright, Sansa," Mella laughed lightly, waving off her concerns. Robb looked rather surprised as she held the wooden sword with both hands. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to take his words seriously. She raised her eyebrows and Robb hesitated, but before either of them could move, someone was calling out from the balcony.

"My lady!"

Mella whirled around, the sword dropping from her hand. She had no doubt that it was her, and when she looked up, she noticed that it was her uncle Jaime standing watching her with an impassive expression on her face. She felt guilty, like a child who had been caught scoffing sweets. She flushed and glanced across at Robb.

"Forgive me, Robb. I'm being summoned. I suppose I shall see you later."

Robb inclined his head. "I look forward to it, my lady."

Mella gathered her dress and walked up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. Her uncle was there, clad in the white of the Kingsguard, leaning against the balcony railing as Mella approached. Jaime inspected his niece with a weary expression, before he gestured to the courtyard.

"Would you care to explain that little spectacle, Mella?"

She no longer felt like a young lady, or even a ward of Winterfell. She felt like a little girl being chastised for something she had done wrong, and she hated it. However, she was going to act maturely about it. Mella took a deep breath and met Jaime's eyes. She hadn't done anything wrong, not really.

"I wasn't serious. I just...it was just a wooden sword..."

"You know swords aren't a woman's weapon," Jaime reminded her. He didn't yell at her like her father did when he was angry, or even snap like her mother did. Jaime didn't even show anger, because Mella doubted he ever really was angry. There was just a sort of calm disinterest, and it scared her a little, because she didn't really know how he felt about the situation. "You should be lucky that it's me who caught you at it and not your mother."

Of course. Cersei would say that she shouldn't run around like some harridan, that was of far too high a station to even consider using weapons. She had guards trained to protect her, so what was the need in learning to handle a dagger? Mella just thought it must be useful to know even slightly how to defend herself. What would happen if one day her guards failed? All her courtly manners wouldn't save her then. A sword, though...a sword would. Maybe even a dagger would suffice.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just..."

"I saw what happened, Mella," Jaime sighed, raking a hand through his golden hair, "Just because the Stark boy challenges you, it doesn't mean you have to take him up on it. You're just like you're father when it comes to that."

Mella took his words like a slap to the face. The way Jaime spoke about her father...it was almost negative, like he thought that being like Robert was a bad thing. Mella would have scowled at him, had she not been brought up better. He never spoke like that about Cersei, but that was because Mella could tell her uncle disapproved of Robert's drunk, often ill-mannered ways, and Cersei was his twin. Mella often wondered if he saw Robert when he looked at her, Robert in a girl's form.

She was sorely tempted to burst out all the things she was feeling. Did you know my mother plans for me to stay so that I can bed Robb Stark and spy on him? The thought still revolted her. She was a princess, not a whore. She was here to be fostered, and even that situation, her mother was attempting to take advantage of. It made Mella feel rather embarrassed. She wondered whether Robert knew of Cersei's schemes.

Mella glanced down at the courtyard. Robb had now taken up his wooden sword against his bastard brother, Jon Snow. Rumour had it that Jon would be leaving for the wall when his uncle Benjen did. Mella felt that if even bastard boys had more freedom than she did, something was wrong. How she wished she'd been born a boy sometimes. Then she might be down there with the others, practising swordplay. She would be the heir to the throne instead of Joffrey. Not that she wanted a crown...all she wanted was the liberty of choosing her own fate. Instead she would be married off to some high-ranking nobleman, for duty more than anything.

"They fight well," Jaime observed, noticing that Mella's gaze was trained on the courtyard once more. "Better than your brother, certainly. But somehow I don't think it's their fighting style that you're watching so closely."

Mella felt a blush creeping up in her cheeks. She could tell, because her face had suddenly grown hot. Was she flushing because of the insinuations her uncle Jaime had made, or because they were true? She glanced down at the boys in the courtyard, trying to decipher her own emotions. Just because she'd danced with Robb, it didn't mean she was suddenly in love with him. She drew her dignity around her like a cloak.

"I think you presume too much, Uncle Jaime. I barely know Robb Stark. I don't know why you and Mother insist on believing that I'm head-over-heels in love with him. Perhaps I'm just trying to befriend him because I am to be a ward in Winterfell..."

Mella trailed off when she noticed that Jaime's gaze was directed behind her shoulder. She turned to notice that Robb and Jon had ascended the stairs and were standing mere feet away. They must have heard everything that she had just said, yet Mella still strived not to blush tomato red. She didn't think she had ever been more mortified in her life, yet she was a princess of Westeros and she would not flee.

"Robb. Jon." She smothered her complete horror and forced a gracious smile, just as she had been taught to do. Cersei had always told her, no matter what happened, she must keep composed. There was a rather astonished look on Robb's face, and Jon looked as though he was trying not to smile. "I'm off to lunch with your sister Sansa now. You must excuse me."

Mella turned and walked off at as brisk a pace as she dared, although she wished that she could scream and kick a wall. How embarrassing! Robb must have heard the whole thing, and underneath that civil demeanour, he must be cringing. He probably though her a fool, to fall for him after knowing him a day...and she hadn't fallen for him. Why did everyone think that? She was only still getting to know him.

It had been some time since Mella had ridden on horseback, and she was glad for it. The part that she wasn't glad for was that Robb would be accompanying them on their ride, which was more of a tour of Winterfell than anything else. She had to smother her utter embarrassment, as she had not spoken to him since he had caught her saying those awfully outspoken things. Therefore, Mella deliberately kept her horse walking at a slow pace at the back of the riding party, while Robb rode at the front, and Robb's siblings bickered and squalled in between. That was excluding Sansa, who kept her head held high.

Mella had chosen a practical dress for riding, a plain red garment with no jewels or accents. It was perhaps the simplest thing she owned, for she didn't want to ruin one of her best dresses if she somehow managed to embarrass herself further in front of Robb Stark. The only thing that could be more excruciating than his accidental intrusion on her conversation with her uncle would be if she managed to fall off her horse into the mud.

"It's a fine morning, my lady." Mella turned to see that Theon Greyjoy was riding beside her. Although many of the ladies often gossiped about his notorious reputation, and Mella herself hardly knew him, she didn't mind him. Perhaps it was because he had shown concern when she had been upset at the feast. "My apologies. I don't think we have been properly introduced. I'm Theon Greyjoy, ward of Winterfell."

"Mella Baratheon," she replied with the hint of a smile. "You must excuse me for my behaviour at the feast the other night; I wasn't quite myself."

Theon nodded, and a rather mischievous glint had entered his eyes. "Is your brother always that much of a prick?"

"Theon," Sansa snapped at him, turning and glowering over her shoulder at him. That was the problem that Mella found – Sansa was a delightful girl and a welcome friend, but if anyone spoke a word against Joffrey, she would become irritable. She supposed it was because Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey and wanted to see him as the sort of dashing prince he liked to pretend to be. "How dare you speak about him in that manner, and to Princess Mella no less!"

"I'm sorry, Sansa," Theon replied, but a grin crossed his face when Sansa turned back, and he lowered his voice, "For letting you hear."

Mella smothered laughter. In reality, she should not find Theon's behaviour amusing, but she was so used to the stiflingly boring court that his honesty was refreshing. She would love to tell him that yes, Joffrey was indeed...what he said he was. Only she was raised to be polite, so she would never say that about her own brother even if it was true.

"How are you finding Winterfell?" Theon inquired. If this was the sort of flirtation that her maids often spoke of, Mella didn't find it too blatant at all. She liked to see it as kindness, yet she could be wrong. There were all different manners of flirtation, as Cersei had taught her from a young age, and she was to be wary of all of them. She saw Robb chance a look over his shoulder at she and Theon – and he looked less than impressed. She offered him a somewhat hasty smile, but by that time he had already turned back to face the front.

The godswood in Winterfell was very different from anything Mella had seen in King's Landing. The trees were old here; her mother had spoken disdainfully of the old gods the Starks still worshipped in the private sanctuary of their godswood. Admittedly, it sent shivers down Mella's spine. How was she to pray to the Seven, with only a small sept to do so? These northerners were indeed strange people, but she knew better than to voice her opinions on them.

"It's...very different from King's Landing," Mella replied, hoping that she had sounded polite rather than disdainful. Everything that had come out of Cersei's mouth since they had arrived in the frigid north sounded as though it was dripping with contempt. There was no love between the Starks and the Lannisters, Mella knew that much, yet she had thought as queen, Cersei would have tried a little harder to make a good impression.

"Never fear, my lady, we'll both be wards here." Theon flashed her a grin. "It's not all that bad."

He steered his horse with ease, seemingly knowing his way through the godswood by heart. Mella glanced around and thought that all of the trees looked much the same to her – apart from some that looked as though they had been crying blood, crimson liquid running down them in rivulets.

"Theon," Robb called rather brusquely, waving a hand for his friend to join him at the front of the small column. Theon offered Mella one last smirk, before trotting forward to converse with Robb in hushed voices. Mella manouevred her horse so that she was riding beside Sansa. If Robb didn't want to speak to her, so be it. No doubt he thought her rather rude, or perhaps – Mella felt excruciatingly embarrassed at this – he thought she was in love with him, and merely attempting to deny it.

She still wondered why, of all her siblings, her father had chosen to leave her behind. Cersei claimed it was because he wished to recreate the betrothal between himself and Lyanna. It felt strange to Mella, that Robert wanted her to live the life he had never got to. He wanted her to find happiness in the north, with Robb, but what if she couldn't? You couldn't make one person love another, even if it was convenient...even if the people in question wanted to love each other, if only to please everyone. But what if they couldn't?