Unimpressed with her sister's display of maturity, Daenys falls down on the sofa, not at all in a mood to be complacent. She glances with longing at the door and wonders briefly if it would be beyond rude to take Maega's friends by the collars of their shirts and sent them home. It is, of course, inconceivable. Her mother would not approve, worse still, her mother would be right in her disapproval of such loutish behaviour. Daenys sighs and glares at the movie playing on screen as she pushes the bowl of popcorn into her sister's willing arms. This whole party is giving her a headache.

From her place in the kitchen, Sara smiles with satisfaction. She can well see that her daughter is nothing if not distraught at the prospect of acting as the minder of her little sisters and the assortment of friends, but she takes charge of the situation well enough. There will come a day when she is thankful for the experience, Sara thinks. Besides, sisters should spend their time together and not only for reading.

When it finally comes the time for the guests to leave and for the favourite book of everyone to be pulled out, both her daughters cooperate splendidly in the cleaning of the room. The faster they are, the faster they get their story, which Sara had taken to reading as of late. Even Rickard comes out of the room he had taken refuge in.

"Well, everyone, are you ready to begin?"

280 AL

Barbrey smoothed back the sleeping man's hair. The full moon illuminated the whole expanse of her room, conferring an ethereal aura to the scene. It might have been the light itself, or the very fact that the moon was full, or even the many thoughts that weighed her down, but the woman could not sleep. She shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position. Unfortunately it seemed that the gods would not give her the peace she craved. Barbrey sighed, not so much a sign of tiredness, as one of frustration

She loved the idea of Brandon, may the gods be her witnesses. But the situation they found themselves in was not what she had envisioned when he said he would talk with his father. Naturally, it was expected of the Old Wolf to put up a fight, but not to the degree he had gone to. What was the use of marrying Brandon Stark if he was stripped of his name and position? Her own father had told her to do what she must to secure the affections of this man, yet he had in mind for her the position of future Lady of Winterfell. He would not consent to her wedding a man with no title.

That brought Barbrey to her main problem. What did she do now? Brandon has risked everything for her. He had told his father of the intention to make her his wife and thus lost his position as heir. As he was of no value now, she ought to do as her father had told her and go back to the halls of her forefathers. Yet looking at Brandon, sleeping next to her, so trustingly placing his head on her chest, Barbrey found she could not follow her father's instructions. At least not without breaking her own hear in the process. Why did she have to feel this strange prickling in her breast at the thought of leaving him? She bit her lip and slipped away from his arms. Feet touched the cool floor, and Barbrey sat up. She gave a brief glance his way, but moved quickly and quietly to the window. She would write to her father and ask for his advice on this. Yet what could be done? While Brandon hadn't had her maidenhead, she was aware that her excuses would not hold much longer and she would either have to run away or be with him as a wife was with her husband. She shuddered at the though, fear and anticipation mingling inside of her. What did she want more, a high position or a man that loved her? The matter required careful consideration.

On the one hand she could run away with Brandon Stark and they would hide. The North was large – the largest of the seven kingdoms even – surely they could lose their trace somehow. She would not have a plentiful life, true, but she would have the love of a good man. They would raise their children together in a small, peaceful place and struggle from day to day in order to survive. She would never be able to see her father and sister again. While Barbrey hadn't had the luck to be born in a family that was as rich as the Starks, she had never wanted for anything. To be suddenly reduced to poverty was not a blow she could take lightly.

On the other hand, if she went back to her father, it would all be as it had been before. Her hand would be given to whatever lord was pleased to have her, and she would be the mistress of her own castle no matter its size. She would not love her husband, most probably, but she did not love Brandon either, or at least she did not think she did. Her children would be lords and ladies; she would have anything she wanted. In short she would keep the life that was so dear to her.

Somehow she could see it all more clearly out of his arms. It made sense. Perhaps they were just not meant to be. Brandon had to marry Catelyn Tully and stopping him would bring trouble not only to them two but to everyone else. Barbrey was not stupid. If he did as his father told him, he would have back his rank and it would all be forgotten. Perhaps she needn't write to her father, anyway. It would be the easiest thing to leave. She just needed to pack a few dresses and borrow some coin to get a horse. He wouldn't even know she was gone until he woke up. She edged closer to the bed and bent down over him. As time wore on she would become a memory, a distant thought. Barbrey grimaced, a distant thought indeed.

She too would forget him. After all, she would have a husband and children to care for. Everything would turn out fine in the end, because this had been madness anyway. Her father would just have to content himself with not so grand relations. Rickard Stark was not a man to be disappointed, and if it was his wish that and alliance be forged with the South, his bannermen had to bow to that. Aye, Barbrey understood politics well enough and for that reason she knew the Wolf would not yield. Hadn't he dragged his only daughter kicking and screaming at the altar? Brandon had worried over his sister ands whether she would reconcile herself with the marriage that had been forced upon her. Barbrey, being a woman herself, knew well enough that given no choice the girl would have to comply in the end. If not, who was to say what her husband would do to her. It had all started with Lyanna Stark, hadn't it? Brandon had been happy to court her and jest with her before his sister was given to Robert Baratheon. It was only after seeing the ruthlessness of his father that he was prompted to act.

He was selfish, Barbrey realised in a moment of lucidity. His sister had to submit to a man she clearly hadn't wanted to be given to, yet he would run away from his duty, because he was a man and he could. Selfish, and he did it all for her. Was it supposed to warm her heart? Barbrey thought not, but despite that she was oddly pleased. Yet his sacrifice she could not accept. Mayhap if he had shown to his sister the same sympathy he showed to his own situation, she could have been persuaded to remain by his side.

"Barbrey?" Brandon murmured, looking up at her illuminated silhouette. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she answered hurriedly. "I was just coming back to bed." As if to prove her point she climbed atop the bed and drew the blanket over herself. She had no desire whatsoever to explain to Brandon what had kept her up.

He spread his arms invitingly and Barbrey had little choice but to accept his embrace. She settled back into her original position and closed her eyes, hoping to encourage him to do the same. Alas, it was not to be. "We should go to the godswood on the morrow," Brandon said, tucking her head under his chin.

"There is no need to press on so hastily," Barbrey tried to dissuade him. "We have time, Brandon. And your lord father has still not given his consent."

"And he's not likely to give it!" Brandon exclaimed, albeit quietly. "What are you waiting for, Barbrey?" He did not understand, he could not, and Barbrey did not blame him, but rather pitied him. Yet it seemed he was unwilling to force her hand. He simply murmured something she couldn't understand and let go of her to turn around. She now faced his back and breathed out a sigh on relief.

Closing her eyes in earnest this time, she moved just a little closer to Brandon's back, not quite touching him. Should she offer him comfort? Barbrey battled with herself over the appropriate course of action, but she could not suffer the despondency without doing anything. So she tentatively touched his shoulder, waiting for his reaction. There was none. Understanding by this that her touch did not bother him, Barbrey wrapped an arm around his waist and huddled closer even until her front was touching his back. Her body moulded after his instinctively.

While she could not be the wife he wished her to be, she could give him this and give it to him she would. Chasing away her darker thoughts, the woman breathed in lightly. She'd grown fond of him and she wished there was another way to make this all easier. It stood on the tip of her tongue to murmur an apology in his shoulder, but she managed to hold herself back. There was no sense in adding to the difficulty of their situation by uttering platitudes that would only serve to confuse matters.

Morning came with swift speed, and Barbrey was up before the first crowing on the rooster. She managed to get some paper from the innkeeper and found a quill packed among her small bag. It was time to come to a decision.

'My Lord father,

I write to you as I find myself in a situation that requires advice and delicate handling. It is at your own urging that I have endeavoured to make Brandon Stark amiable to a union between our houses. I have done everything in my power, as you well know, and I have been met with success. By now you must have found my last letter and I need not explain or give details. Alas, our work has been in vain!

Lord Stark has not accepted his son's plea and thus our marriage will not have his blessing. What is more, he threatened to remove Brandon's inheritance, which brings me to the benefits of wedding this man. If he is without a title and his lands, then the marriage is beneath our House, and I should not like to bring down ours with an improper entanglement.

If it is your wish that I remain his wife, then I shall comply, but if you do not agree, then I beg that you send your men after us. I shall provide a messenger and he will show you the way. I can hold Brandon from performing the marriage rites for, perhaps, a week, a couple at most. Yet you must make haste for he grows impatient and I have not enough reasons to deny him much longer of the thing he wishes.

Yours,

Barbery'

She blew gently over the ink to hasten the process of its drying and took the paper, folding it carefully. She crept out of the room and down the stairs. The innkeeper was already up and washing the tables when she encountered him. She asked if he had a man available to carry a message. "I need discretion in this matter, my good man, and a person I may rely on." She held out a few coins to sweeten her demands.

The man happily accepted her offering. "I shall send my son," he said, after biting into one of the coins. "Your Ladyship needs only tell me where to send the boy. He's swift and honest and he will carry any task out."

"Bring your son to me and I shall tell him all he needs to know," Barbarey replied. She smiled at the old man. "Hurry now." She added a few more coins whgich sent the man on his way. Watching him run thus, she almost feared he would fall and expire without carrying her task out properly.

But she needn't have concerned herself for a young man came down shortly after the old one ascended. He had a comely face, clean and well kept hair, and a tall, slender frame. "My father said you wanted to see me, my lady."

"Indeed. I have a task for you." She spent the next hour instructing the lad about the whereabouts of her father's castle and how he could get there swiftest and safest. She gave him too some coin and reminded him that she needed him to be careful. Her reasons were vague at best, for she did not want to raise suspicions by unburdening herself to strangers. "He is an uncle of mine and I have not seen him in some time. My husband and I would like to visit, but I thought it fair to give my lord warning of our coming. I shall await your return with the reply."

Feeling that her duty was done, Barbrey simply requested something warm to drink. She knew that Brandon would have no trouble finding her down once he woke up. How very interesting that a man reputed to have his skill was unable to feel her get up and leave. Brandon was a heavy sleeper and he did not wake up during the night, only very rarely. It was Barbrey's luck. She hummed a song under her breath, sitting down at one of tables and waiting for her drink.

The innkeeper's wife came with the spiced wine and placed it before her. Barbrey nodded her thanks and answered politely to the questions asked of her. "Aye, we've slept well, good woman. My husband and I are very pleased with your services." That put a satisfied smile on the woman's wizened face. "And your son is a very nice young man. I am sure he's a good worker too."

"Aye, my lady, I've never had trouble with that one," the innkeeper's wife disclosed, feeling confident enough to sit at Barbrey's table. "He's the best son. I reckon there's not one boy as good for miles around."

"You are very fortunate," Barbrey said by way of conversation. "I should feel blessed to have such a child myself." Surprisingly enough, it was the truth she spoke. She would like such a child extremely well.

"No doubt you'll have the finest children, my lady." There was something secretive about the look in the woman's eyes, almost like she knew some things that Barbrey did not."Would you like something to eat? I'll make you something; free of charge."

Barbrey was about to protest hen her stomach grumbled. "That would be most welcomed." She had already tipped the husband and the son generously. Perhaps that was why the old woman was acting o nice. Ah, the power of coin Barbrey leaned back in her seat.

True to word, the mistress of the inn returned with the food and even more drink. She had prepared two plates, which was just as well since Brandon was coming down the stair. Barbrey greeted with a fond smile and a small peck t his cheek. For his part, Brandon was happy to see her in a more amiable mood. His eyes told her as much, for he could scarcely talk as his mouth was full.

Women trying to get his attention was a normal occurrence, at least for Arthur it was. Of course, said women were not exactly of the cleanest reputation, which was to say that it was well known their enjoyed an active life dedicated to pleasure outside of their marriage bed. Arthur was happy to comply with the request they brought to him, as it was mutually advantageous. It was easy to forget one's problems in the arms of a beautiful woman. That had been his objective these past few years, ever since Elia's death. It was a coping mechanism that worked very well for him. The visits were almost never innocent, and they left him satisfied – at least for a few hours. There had been two or three who suggested something deeper. The moment a woman looked at him with something akin to affection in her eyes, Arthur knew it was time to put an end to the relationship.

But a maiden of good family was not one such visitor, so Arthur's surprise was understandable when he suddenly found himself in the presence of a young lady who he had met not too long ago, and unaccompanied. His first thought was that something had happened, yet she seemed at ease, or something close to that. "Lady Frey, what brings you here?"

Her cheeks reddened, no doubt with the knowledge that what she was doing was improper. "I did not mean to disturb, my lord. But I find myself in need of assistance." She waited to hear his reply, but Arthur was too busy studying her face. "I wish to see Lady Stark, but they tell me I am not allowed to."

"Did they tell you why?" he asked, inching closer to her. She took a small step back. He stopped."Well, my lady?"

"They said I needed the approval of His Majesty the King, the Lord Hand or yours, my lord." Her eyes fell to the floor as she struggled to put the words together in something that resembled intelligent speech. "I wouldn't dare pull the King from important matters, and I should not wish to divert the Lord Hand. I was thinking you might help me."

"Are you saying that the matters I see to are not important?" Arthur asked suddenly. He saw her eyes widen and her blush deepened. It was certainly an enjoyable interview. She hurried to make her apologies, her slight frame trembling at the thought of having incurred his wrath. "Lady Frey," he stopped her mid-sentence, "I was jesting."

She huffed, a sign of incredulity. "My lord!" Her frustration was a charming sight.

"There now, my lady. Shall I conduct you to Lady Star's chambers?" Her nod produced a smile from him. "Follow me."

He would have liked it better if she kept pace with him and walked at his side, but her rank was below him and to bring her next to him would only set tongues waggling. The last thing Arthur needed was the gossipmongers of King's Landing thinking he had an interest in a young girl. More to the point, the guards were actually doing their job for once. Rhaegar would be pleased to hear that.

Sure enough two men had been posted outside the doors of Lady Lyanna's lodgings. They were armed and attentive enough. Arthur approached him, Tyta close behind him. "You ser, what is your name?" he asked the man on the right."

"Quentyn Blackwood, my lord," the first sentinel answered.

"And you, ser?" Arthur questioned, turning to the other one.

"Alyn Royce, my lord?" the second guard replied.

"Well, Ser Blackwood and Ser Royce, this lady here," he nodded towards Tyta, "is to be permitted access to the rooms of Lady Stark at all time." The two men looked at one another for a short moment, then nodded their understanding. "Good men! Well, Lady Frey, I hope this is to your satisfaction."

"Thank you, my lord, for taking the time to assist me," she said simply.

"You are most welcome, my lady." He gave a sharp nod to the men and then retreated, leaving Tyta in their company.

"You are one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters – the old one – are you not, my lady?" Alyn Royce asked, with a small smile on his face. He looked inoffensive enough and he had a kind face.

"Indeed, Ser Royce. You are, I believe a nephew of the late Lady Perra, are you not?" She made him a small curtsey. Perra Royce had been the first wife of her lord father. It was said that the members of that family resembled each other greatly.

"I believe I am more entitled to ask about her knowledge, Alyn!" Quentyn exclaimed. As the son of a cousin of Lady Alyssa Blackwood he was closer related to Tyta. Alyssa Blackwood had been the fourth wife of Lord Walder, and Tyta's mother.

"You are Doryen Blackwood's son," Tyta recalled him well enough. Quentyn was some years her senior and a pleasant enough fellow. According to some of her older sisters he was also an excellent kisser. Of course, Tyta had paid no attention to their description of him. He was tall, but not quite as tall as Lord Dayne and just a smidge shorter than Alyn Royce. "I think you are the one who put that grasshopper on Morya's plate."

"My lady has a good memory. You would not have been above seven years of age at that time." He smiled impishly and opened the door for her. "We are glad to have seen you again, aren't we, Alyn?"

"True, true. Send our regards to your Lord Frey," the other added.

Tyta thanked them for their kindness and entered the ante-chamber. A maid was carrying out some dresses and made a strange face upon seeing Tyta, as if to ask what her business there was. Tyta ignored the woman and went to the second set of doors. She opened them, an anticipatory smile already blooming on her face.

"Tyta!" her friend exclaimed sitting up so suddenly that she must have made herself dizzy. She held out her hand."I am so glad to see you; you cannot begin to imagine."

The she-wolf looked somewhat dishevelled, but that Tyta thought to be from her confinement. A few shadows and bruises could still be seen, yet she had healed, In body at least. Her leg was still bandaged, but her wrists were now free. Scars hugged the arms, adorning her like bracelets. Tyta took them as signs of her courage. Her eyes filled with water at those. It was foolish of her to be crying now, but they looked painful. She daren't think about how they felt. Lyanna's worried glance prompted her to try speaking, but all she managed to do was release a sob."I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tyta cried.

Lyanna pulled her closer. She took her in her arms in a sisterly hug. "It is alright." There was an understanding quality about the older female which made the other comfortable enough to shed her tears and release all the fear festering in her breast.

"I should be the one comforting you." A sincere apology bloomed on her lips. "If only I had been a little faster."

"Don't," Lyanna warned her softly. "You saved me. If it hadn't been for you, I do not think they would have found out soon enough that Robert had taken me." She smiled serenely. "Your timing was just right. And it continues to be so. You won't believe how frustrated I've grown locked up here."

"Are they not taking proper care of you, my friend?" Tyta laughed sweetly, imagining that, indeed, Lyanna was more used to doing as she wanted than to be locked away.

"You laugh now, but you just wait until you are confined to your apartments." The teasing caution made both break into peals of laughter. "By the way, how did you ever manage to come in? I thought it was ordered that guards be posted at the door."

"There are," Tyta confirmed, adding a nod to strengthen the point. "But I managed to obtain Lord Dayne's help. I do wonder, though, when shall you be able to leave these rooms?" Not that they were anything less than grand, but she too would chafe at being locked away.

"The Maester said that I'm making fast progress and if I promise to keep off my legs, I should be taken out to the gardens very soon." Lyanna leaned further back against her pillow. "I thought I would be better rested after so many days of lying abed, yet I confess I find myself even more fatigued. Have you ant news from the outside world that you might share with me?"

Understanding her friend's need for a distraction, Tyta set up a constant stream of chatter, speaking about whatever came to her mind. She did her very best to satisfy Lyanna's curiosity. The truth, however, was that few things had happened. If one did not count Cersei's constant attempts to catch the King's attention that was. Even Tyta found herself shaking her head at the lioness' displays which only continued to get bolder.

It soon came time for her to take her leave of Lyanna. She departed with a promise of another visit and possibly some lemon tarts which the master had forbidden the injured woman, claiming it would only serve to agitate her. Privately, Tyta agreed, but she wouldn't be the one to stand between Lyanna and lemon cakes if she could help it. As it happened her friend held those sweets in high affection.

Outside the guards had changed. She greeted the men respectfully but did not engage any of the two in conversations. While Blackwood and Royce were somewhat related to her and could claim an acquaintance, the others she had no business speaking to. Stevron had been quite adamant that she have a care to whom she spoke, claiming that she was young and impressionable and someone might take it into their heads to take advantage of the deficiencies her age provided. Tyta was inclined to listen to him, if only for the fact that he ought to know better than her how men thought and what their intentions were. Not to mention the fact that her brief encounter with Robert Baratheon had put a seed of fear inside of her. Now she knew that some males could be inconsiderate brutes even to women they claimed to love.

But perhaps she was being too severe. Robert Baratheon was clearly deranged, or if not he must needs be a very morbid person. Either way she was glad that he'd run away and that he would no longer inflict his presence upon Lyanna. Rumour had it that the King himself had spoken to the High Septon and in a matter of weeks a trial was to take place to determine whether the marriage between the unfortunate Lady Lyanna and her wretched husband would hold. If her friend's claims were true, and Tyta did not doubt for a second that they were, then she would be truly free to begin her life again, and possibly even find a man to her taste to settle down with. What a fine thing it would be, for Tyta did consider it a pity that good women like Lyanna Stark were forced to endure execrable marriages, while people truly terrible continued to torment others at their own leisure.

"What have we here?" The question startled Tyta out of her thoughts. Unfortunately for her, it was not a pleasant encounter she was about to have.

"Lady Lannister," she curtsied, her voice low and subdued. Perhaps she would be left alone. "Good evening."

"It would be good, if the likes of you would not block my way." Strangely enough, the hall was wide enough to fit at least ten persons walking side by side. "Have you come all the way to King's Landing with all of Lord Frey's brood, or is it just you, lithe girl?"

"I am here with my brother, Stevron, my lady." Cersei Lannister loved nothing more than to pick on persons she thought beneath her. And quite clearly it brought her a great deal of joy, by the look on her face. Tyta tried not to flinch.

"Doubtlessly you're here to breed," the blonde sneered, her lovely face contorting. "But don't you think there are quite enough of you already?" she asked meanly, a cruel grin spreading over her lips.

How did one reply to that? Tyta blinker owlishly. "To my knowledge, my lady, there is only one of me. Unless of course, you know differently, and my father had two, three or up to ten other daughters by the name of Tyta." Satisfied, she realised only too late that Cersei would not appreciate being talked back to.

Going ashen, the lioness made an impatient gesture with her hand. Her eyes widened comically and the same hand came down to deliver a stinging blow to the younger female's cheek. The bodily assault was followed by a string of curses so foul that Tyta had to wonder who it was that taught Tywin's daughter to speak like that. The imprecations, accusations and threats left little doubt in Tyta's mind that she made an enemy of a very powerful person. How rotten a luck she must have! For all that, Tyta endured the verbal assault stoically, hoping that a person might pass by and stop the tirade. Even Cersei Lannister had to be too much of a lady to cause a scene in the presence of others.

Her payers seemed to have reached a benevolent god, for not a minute had passed before Cersei was cut off mid-sentence by a booming voice. "Lady Lannister! You grace us with your presence once again. How very fortunate." The tall frame of Arthur Dayne emerged from the shadows, somewhere behind Tyta. "The Lord Lannister was just now wondering at your tardiness, but I see you have met Lady Frey. I am sure that if you explain matters to him, he won't be cross at all." Which was a lie, of course. To the best of Tyta's knowledge the Lord Lannister was never pleased if he could help it, and most of the time he could help it admirably well.

Cersei hissed sometime unpleasant under her breath but she curtsied and departed, while her eyes promised that Tyta had not seen the last of her. "Thank you, my lord," she finally spoke after a long moment of silence in which they'd watched Cersei disappear down another hall.

"I am a knight, my dear girl; saving maiden from lions on a rampage is a requirement," came his easy answer. Did he practice these lines? Tyta had no time to wonder why Cersei herself was not included in the category of maidens, not would she have troubled herself with the thought if she did have the time. "Come, my lady, 'tis high time you were back in your own rooms," she heard him say.

"Mother, are you certain we can't simply erase her from the book?" Daenys asks pleadingly, almost as if she doesn't know that no matter how much they wish for Cersei to be taken out of the way, it won't happen.

"Fate has a reward in store for everyone, my dear," Sara replied calmly.

"I hope that all fate has in store for Cersei Lannister is a punch in the face," the younger daughter interrupts. "She's a mean, hateful person and I won't be at all sad if someone were to put her in her place." Doubtlessly, in her head, Maega becomes a brave lady at the court of King Rhaegar, her special mission being to tell Cersei off. Her glee positively radiates as she imparts upon the rest of her family the following, "But more to the point, what is going on between Arthur and Tyta."

"No spoilers!" Daenys lunges forward. "Don't tell us, mom, it'll ruin the story."

"I don't mind the spoilers," Maega tried again.

"Well, I do, so at least have the decency to wait until I'm in my own room," the older girl manages to get out.

"Now, now, girls," Sara chides both, giving her husband a stern glance for not coming between the two. "I won't be giving anything away. The last thing you need to know when hearing a story is the end of it. What do you think is important about stories? And don't say the ending."

"The journey," both sisters say at the same time.

Chapter title from Alexander Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard".