AN: Thank you guys for faving and following this story, it means the world to me. Like I've already said in the previous chapter, this is the last chapter without any of the pairings and I won't be updating this story until I've closed the poll on my profile, so if there's someone you'd like Ryssa to be paired up with, I recommend you vote for them on the poll. Hope you'll like this chapter and leave me some feedback in the reviews. I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors in advance since I have no beta and barely have the time to skim what I've written after I wrote it. ;)
The better part of the afternoon was spent getting ready for the feast that was to ensue for the King's visit. Ryssa wondered if the king had already asked Lord Stark to become his Hand and, if Lord Stark accepted, what consequences it would have for her. She was aware that in that case Lord Stark would take his daughters along with him and she was supposed to learn the ways of a lady with the girls so it would probably mean she would have to come to King's Landing. She would have to go South where it is so much warmer than in Winterfell. She felt sick just by thinking of it.
Her brothers were all in Therenger's chambers getting ready while her sisters were in her chambers. They were all giddily chattering about, doing each other's hairs, helping getting them into their dresses and applying make-up. Each of the Manalis sisters was already dressed in some of their best dresses.
Ryssa was sitting on the edge of her bed doing Mienthya's hair. She was altering between running a thick brush through her thick wild black curls and braiding them in places to get a similar hairstyle to the one she wore on most days. At her vanity Nientine was putting final touches of her make up before she sat Yiehdel down on the chair in front of it and started braiding her hair in tiny braids she would later neatly arrange on the girl's scalp.
Minethya wore a dress made of dark purple winter's silk which gradually faded into a light lavender towards the ends of the butterfly sleeves and the skirt' hemline, which ended just above her ankles. There was even beautiful detailed embroidery of lavender butterfly wings over the back. Yiehdel wore the same dress, only in reverse shades and both girls wore small black leather boots trimmed with white fur. The colours of the dresses brought attention to the violet of the girls' eyes that already stood out with their pale skin and black hair.
Nientine was dressed in a gown of palest silver with the same high neckline and butterfly sleeves that shifted into an ink black. A reverse colored belt held the dress at her narrow waist while a complex pattern of embroidered snowflakes went along the sleeve and skirt hemline. Tiny black slippers adorned her feet like they did Ryssa's.
Both of the older sisters had their eyes lined with kohl and shadowed with black so they had a smoky effect to them while Ryssa wore the same gown she wore when the Stark children were presented with their direwolves. Her red hair was carefully braided into complex six-strand braids crisscrossing down the length of the rest it, which flowed freely down her back in soft waves.
...
The sisters met up with their brothers at the entrance to the Great Hall where the feast was being held. They too had changed into their best clothes butt, as usual, spent no time on their hair leaving it wild as they were.
They were seated together with the Starks and the royal family during the feast. Ryssa, Minethya and Yiehdel spent the better part of it laughing their hides off at the way the boy twins wolfed down their food, only to practically lick their plates clean and dig in for more, four or five times. Given how skinny both of the boys were, one had to ask themselves where all that food had gone to. Nientine only offered a tiny smile and a shake of her head before returning to her own meal and conversation she was leading with Sansa. The conversation, Ryssa strongly suspected involved embroidery, fashion and gossips.
It was only after the meal had finished and the minstrels were brought in that the real fun began, in Ryssa's opinion. If there was one thing she and her siblings shared, besides their love for stories and weapons, it was their love for music.
Throughout history, all the Manalis children were bred and trained; from the moment they could walk, to use almost any weapon and the art of music. They were all able to play at least one instrument and/or dance as easily as they could breathe.
As the music flowed into the ears of all in the room, many people, including the King, rose to their feet to dance. Ryssa couldn't help but tap her feet to the rhythm of the song they were playing, feeling a sudden strong urge to get up and dance. By the faces of her sisters and brothers, they were feeling the same urge. One look was enough to bring them all to their feet and for the music to take them away.
...
Ryssa breathed in the cold air with a smile, letting it cool her from the heat of the hall. It was fun to dance and reconnect with her siblings, but the heat that had built up inside was starting to make her queasy and she remembered that the hall in Winterfell was quite a bit smaller than the one beck home.
She could feel the light sheen of sweat, which had built up on her skin, sticking strands of her hair to her face and the way her dress had started to cling to her fair skin. Ryssa didn't fear catching a cold from the cool air, she was never sick back home as a child and the temperatures there were much lower than here. She was also kept warm by Aidan's presence on her shoulder; the young bird spread warmth like a furnace.
The sound of a blade hitting straw attracted her attention. When she approached it she saw Jon wildly hacking away at a straw dummy.
''Whoa, I do not know what he did, but I do not want to be in his shoes, err... straw right now,'' she joked, Aidan screeched in confirmation. When he turned to her she continued, ''Your uncle told you something you didn't like, hasn't he?''
A confused look crossed his face. ''How did you know I spoke with my uncle?''
''Easy really. I just came outside and I haven't seen him for the last couple of minutes so I assumed he was with you. But anyways, what was it he told you that's got you so riled up?''
With a huff he put his sword away and retold her of his conversation with his uncle while pacing throughout his explanation. Ryssa couldn't say she was surprised of his decision to join the Night's Watch; she was surprised he wanted to leave for the Wall so soon. She assumed he would stay in Winterfell a few more years before taking the black. Was he even aware of how much he would miss if he left now? There were still so many things they were all to learn; she, Jon and Robb, not to mention the rest of the Stark pack.
''Look Jon,'' she started, ''I respect your decision to join the Black Brothers, I really do, but I think you're getting ahead of yourself with wishing to leave now. There are still so many things to learn and so much more to see.''
''You don't understand, none of you do!'' His tone took her a little by surprise. In the year she lived here, she had never heard him raise his voice at anyone, no matter how angry or frustrated he was. ''It is the only way for me to make something of my life.''
''Your uncle's in the Night's Watch,'' a voice in the shadows cut her off before she could answer. Both she and Jon turned to see the person who spoke. There was a small shadow, no bigger than a child's, with a slightly oversized head. The person stepped out of the shadows to reveal a dwarf with curly golden hair and one green and one black eye. This was the Queen's youngest brother, Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.
''What are you doing back there?'' Jon asked the half-man as he approached them.
''Preparing for a night with your family,'' he said. Ryssa noticed he had a wineskin in his skin and could smell the faint odour of wine from him, no doubt was the man already half drunk. He took a swing for the wineskin and leaned on a wooden post. ''I've always wanted to see the Wall.''
Jon gave him a measuring look before coming to the same conclusion as Ryssa had a few seconds ago. ''You're Tyrion Lannister. The Queen's brother?'' The last sentence sounded more like a question that a statement.
''My greatest accomplishment,'' the little lord said with his head bowed down as if in shame before lifting it up to look them both in the eye. ''You're Lady Manalis, Ned Stark's ward, am I correct?'' he said to Ryssa.
Ryssa offered a small smile. ''Only Ryssa, my lord, for I'm afraid I am no lady.''
''You are the oldest daughter of Lord Rafario Manalis of Forgehammer and the Ashlands, the one who is called 'The Blademaster'?''
''The one and only, my lord,'' she said with a small nod which sent some strands of her red hair falling over her shoulders and covering parts of her face.
Tyrion was still confused by her answers. ''If you are Lord Manalis' daughter then why are you not a lady?''
''In my family's tradition, one must earn their title of Lord or Lady, and I have not yet proven my worth so I am not a lady.'' She reached up to pet Aidan who was still perched on her shoulder making Tyrion notice the magical bird for the first time.
''Is that a Phoenix on your shoulder?'' he asked.
''Yes, Aidan was a present from my father. He sent me the egg which hatched only a few days ago. She is very gentle and loyal to me but I am afraid that she still mistrusts other people so I will have to pass on your request to touch her in fear that she might get startled and attack you.'' Tyrion's hopeful look fell and he turned his attention from Ryssa to Jon.
''And you? You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?'' he said to Jon who then walked away from him. ''Did I offend you?'' the little lord called after him. ''Sorry.'' Jon stopped in his tracks and turned back to Tyrion with a sour look. ''You are the bastard, though,'' he said as he walked towards him.
''Lord Eddard Stark is my father,'' Jon confirmed. Ryssa gave Aidan one more scratch on her head before sending her away into the night.
''But Lady Stark is not your mother, making you a bastard.'' She could see more anger seep into Jon's eyes even from a couple of yards distance. 'Oh gods don't let him say or do anything he would regret,' she prayed inside while watching the two men talk.
Tyrion Lannister seemed like an interesting person, in the least. He was not bothered by his height and seemed to rather like outwitting everyone who would stigmatize him for it. She could admire that.
''Let me give you some advice, bastard: Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour and it can be never used to hurt you.'' That did seem quite clever when you think about it.
''The hell do you know about being a bastard?'' Jon asked the little lord as he started to walk away, probably to join the feast. Tyrion paused and turned to answer before he would continue on his way.
''All dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes.'' With that he took another swig out if his wineskin and went inside leaving both Jon and Ryssa to stare after him.
Ryssa chose not to say a word during their conversation thinking it would be of more effect on Jon. He already showed that he was not going to listen to her or his uncle, Benjen, so she figured that the words of a complete stranger would make him open his eyes. She cared for Jon, deeply, but he could be so infuriating with the way he was always brooding. She even went so far as to tell him he was worse than a woman when she has her moon blood once. The only problem with that comment was that she had forgotten Theon was with them at that moment and he hadn0t let Jon live down her words for the next couple of months. The only reason she tolerated Theon was that he reminded her of one of her cousins back home with his arrogance, even if her cousin could be even more arrogant no matter how impossible it seems.
''He is right you know,'' she said as she stepped up to Jon, who was still staring after Tyrion. ''There's no use in denying it.'' He frowned at her comment.
''I thought you were supposed to be on my side,'' he said.
''I am on your side,'' she said with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her dark eyes. ''It is you who is not on your side.''
''What is that even supposed to mean?!''
'Save me of the stupidity of men,'' she thought to the sky. ''If you do not wish to heed my words, fine, don't. Who am I to judge you and your choice of lifestyle?'' She was getting angry at him for being such an idiot. '' You want to go onto a humongous heap of ice and stone and spend the rest of your days freezing your arse up there, away from your family, everyone who loves you, cares for you and wishes only the best for you!? Then go! Become a Crow! But remember, what Lord Lannister was trying to tell you was: All dwarves are bastards, but not all bastards are dwarves.'' With that she stomped away from him, back into the Great Hall. Her blood felt like it had reached its boiling point.
...
Ryssa had wandered the hallways of Winterfell for almost an hour trying to cool down. Jon had really gotten on her nerve with his stubbornness, not even her horse, Wynter, was that stubborn, and that was saying something.
After a few more minutes, she had returned to the Hall only to find that some of the occupants were a bit more drunk than they were when she left, the King included. The minstrels were playing some songs she had never heard, probably from the South, and could see her sisters standing not too far from where she was looking at the dancing people with slightly confused expressions on their faces.
''Where have you been, Ro? We've been looking everywhere for you!'' Nientine told her when she approached them.
''I was just outside getting some air and got caught up talking to Jon,'' she admitted. ''Where are our brothers, if you don't mind me asking?'' Ryssa had only now noticed the lack of her brothers in the Hall. How could she have missed that? If they were her they would most probably be laughing and dancing, even climbing on top of tables wasn't out of the question.
''Bo went back to his room to sleep, he was tired, and Raf and Rin left with Ren,'' Yiehdel said in a small voice. ''They said they were going to some place called a 'Broth'. Isn't that a word for soup Ro?''
Ryssa smiled at her younger sister. ''You are right Della, 'broth' is a word for soup and they didn't go to a 'Broth', they went to a brothel,'' she explained to both the young twins. ''Gods help them when I get a hold of them,'' she muttered to herself.
Just then, she saw Nientine going up to the minstrels and whispering something in the leader's ear. When she moved a few steps away from them a familiar song started to play, it was one of the songs that usually played in Forgehammer during all big celebrations. It was a cheery song filled with the sound of drums, fiddles and, sometimes, bagpipes as well as flutes. No special dance existed to this song, you just took someone with you and let the music carry you away and move you to its beat. More people then rose from their seats and moved to the dancefloor, even Arya had decided to join in the dance. Since the Manalis sisters were the ones best versed to dancing to this song the all grabbed hands and moved into the centre of the crowd where they started dancing and twirling and laughing and screaming and jumping, doing cartwheels and pirouettes making the skirts of their dresses fly with them. Ryssa's looked like it was truly on fire, as she moved, so did the flames on its hem.
The rest of the evening went in an ecstatic mood, everyone was dancing and laughing and just having a great time. Ryssa was sorry Jon couldn't be a part of it but if he would rather pout and brood than have a good time let him have his way. She danced with her sisters to a few more songs, shared a dance with Lord Stark and Theon, much to her dismay. She had even danced with the crown prince, much to Sansa's dismay if it were to be concluded from the longing looks she was sending to them as they danced. Ryssa didn't like Joffrey; there was something about the boy that rubbed her the wrong way. That and the fact that he was spoiled rotten by the Queen. His siblings seemed much more pleasant company than him.
The last person she danced with that night was Robb. Even despite him almost stepping on her feet from time to time he was a good dancer and she didn't understand why he insisted that he was dreadful, she told him as much.
''I don't understand why you claim to be dreadful at dancing when you seem just alright to me,'' she told him as he twirled her as they danced.
''You give me more worth than I deserve,'' he told her with a smile.
''I'm serious,'' she exclaimed ''You haven't stepped on my either my dress or feet so I would call it a great accomplishment. Trust me, I've seen much worse dancers than you claim yourself to be.''
''And who could they be? Name one.''
''Theon,'' she said in a deadpan tone making them both laugh. He gave her one more twirl before bowing and kissing her hand as she curtsied, thus ending their dance. The returned to the table where they talked and joked all night before going to bed.