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Chapter Two: We Stand Together
The first thing that a Frey is taught - male or female alike - is our words. We stand together. We speak it every day. When I was still being tutored, the Septa would make me stand and say it over and over again until my voice would go hoarse and my sisters would be nodding off.
My father had always been of a more honest constitute.
"I would sooner stand with my cock out for all the lions, wolves and stags to nibble at than with any of you!" I had been nine, barely able to sit at the table without a stepping stool to get into my chair. At the time, our family from the North had come to our halls and our father had set us up at the main table like pies ready for the market. It was painfully apparent that he wanted one, if not all of us to be married off that very night.
It had been the first time that I had seen the great hall decorated so tastefully, our current mother taking a torturous amount of time instructing the maids. The long rows of oak tables gleamed, our house colors of blue and gray displayed artfully through the table clothes set daintily along the wood. The walls which were usually bare and cold were gleaming with candlelight and hung heavily with our banners - twin towers of blue set off against a grey background and lined in silver and gold threading. The stone walls were swept and mopped until they looked clean enough to walk barefoot across without collecting a single speck of dirt.
And above it all were the dias reserved for my family and the Lords and Ladies important enough to sit with us.
The raised platform took up the whole front wall and swept around to hug the benches below in a warm sort of embrace. Only the Frey's had such a main table. It wasn't a fact that I had known back then but now it was all too apparent. In a way, these types of facts made our mockery that much more noticeable. My family was so convoluted and mixed that it was needed a main table to fit. From bastards to blue bloods, Walder Frey displayed us like stuffed animals to be picked from and admired. In some ways, I suppose such unashamed showmanship was refreshing in a world filled with masks.
My father had been so deep into his cup that the maids had begun to tear up whenever they were ordered to serve him - their clothes ruffled from his constant assaults. Blithely, he raised his cup and grinned down at the hall filled with people. "Do you think that because you came from my cock, I would raise my sword for you worms?"
My ears peeked at this, a blush rising to burn my cheeks and neck even though I didn't quite know why. Perhaps it was the way that the halls had gone silent, the tension creeping from the room and seeming to infuse in the walls. Sitting beside my father, I saw Stevron's eyes widen, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed in discomfort. Beside me, Walda twitched, her round, chubby cheeks going a ruby color as she straightened in her seat.
The candles flickered, making the shadows in our great hall seem even darker. Looking back, I remember feeling like a prisoner, shackled to the rickety wooden chair that Walda had helped me scramble onto. Instead of the raised dais making me feel tall and powerful, it suddenly felt more like I was on display, the eyes of our distant kin and subjects suddenly peaked with interest. The high ceiling, echoed with my father's barking laughter.
"Survival," my father slurred, swaying forward and then back as he sent his plate skittering to the edge and then shattering to the floor. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away from the lukewarm soup that was slowly chilling in front of me. "Do you think anyone else in this horrid hell is doing anything other than that? Do you think they live for anything greater than simple survival?"
When I was nine, I had believed that such things existed. I believed in fairytales and knights. I believed that princesses found their princes and they were both charming and beautiful and filled with so much love for each other that it made the world beautiful too. That was why I couldn't take it anymore. That was why I stood up, my chair shrieking and then falling with a clatter as I got up and stormed over to my father.
"You're wrong!" I had shrieked, my finger jabbing to point at my father even as he wobbled around to see me, looking similar to a cat I had once seen trying to regain it's balance. Walda's arms caught me, her hold painful as I wrenched against it. "There are princes who are kind and kings who are noble! They fight for things! They do!"
No one spoke.
"Willa, you need to stop this," Walda whispered to me, her voice hot against my ear as I grappled with her hands, trying to get them to release me.
"Tell me, Willa Child," my father drawled, leaning back in his high seat with a tip of his brows, obviously goading me. "What do these noble men fight for?"
"Love!" It was spat, like a curse from my lips. "They do it for love!"
Someone coughed in the great hall. I held my father's gaze, desperately trying to hold my tongue as an irrational kind of anger pumped through me, searing my veins. I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to tell me I was right. There was more coughing.
"Oh, Willa," Walda whispered against my ear and I blinked as I felt her shake as she set me down.
And that's when I heard it. They weren't coughing. All of them - my eyes burned as I stared down at the people below me - they were all shaking with laughter. It rose and swelled until it muffled my own embarrassment, wrapping around me like a thick blanket.
I felt foolish. I felt utterly humiliated. Like a child that knew nothing.
"LOVE!" My father roared, howling with laughter as his cup went spilling onto the floor. Across the room, my brother's eyes met mine, obvious pity in them. "Love of a good pussy to sink his cock into!"
My mind went numb, my face burning as tears threatened to spill over. Still roaring, my father grabbed onto the nearest girl and yanked her onto his lap, his mouth already seeking out hers in a sloppy attempt at foreplay.
Yes. Love, my mind whispered brokenly, the word seeming somehow very empty as I watched my father's fingers turn into talons as he grappled to raise the girl's skirt.
That night I had earned a new nickname from my sisters. Princess, they would whisper snidely to me over our needlework. Every time they said it, it tore a bit more at the girl inside of me. Whatever bit of respect they had had for me was ripped away in one moment and with it was taken something that I didn't know could be lost.
I never spoke of princes or honor again. At dinners, when my father would talk of survival or the latest news of knights and glory, his eyes flicking to me in an obvious challenge, I would keep my mouth shut. Frey's are not born to such frivolous things. While other houses rose to power through strength and valor and hard work, Frey's rose through pure, cold cunning. We waited. While others fought and bled and died, our ancestor had looked to the maps. Instead of fighting for land, we took water. Through stone and gates, we learned how to conquer both the North and the South.
We stand together. More than our house, I had learned that that motto came from our bridges. Without the twins, we would have nothing. No one came without begging our leave - and paying our price.
"He's won," my brother Gavin said dully, staring down at the paper with an almost blank expression. His eyes flicked up to my father who looked just as enthused at the news. "Again."
"Well, he's a persistent little shit isn't he?" my father said gruffly, Joyeuse had grown unusually relaxed as she stood demurely by his throne. I kept my eyes firmly on the book in my lap, my muscles tensing as I went rigid on the bench at the balcony.
Clean, river air blew crisply into the hall that my brothers and father kept. They had been using it more often than not of late. It was precisely why I was able to get away with being so near them when they spoke of the Stark boy. With every letter of his savagery and utter victory, a new wash of interest diverted their attention.
"They say that he feasts on the flesh of the slain," my youngest brother piped up, his seat far in the back. Snickers bounced off of the stone walls before my father's harsh gaze swept through like a winter's breeze to silence them.
"He very well might," my father hissed, his bony fingers tensing around the armrests.
No one spoke.
He had become more prone to these random outbursts, his eyes always drifting into distant thoughts as he receded into his own world. For the first time, I saw my father unnerved. He thought about the Stark boy. When we received ravens, he would jump at them like a hungry, rabid dog.
And with my father's interest, through a way that wasn't entirely intentional, I began to grow interested. My mind would tick around the new information that was brought in on each swoop of dark wings.
Eddard Stark had been executed by the new boy-king. Robb Stark was surely to collapse under this - his army disappearing. Wrong. The Kingslayer had been captured at the Battle of the Whispering Woods. More lords took up the cry and joined Robb Stark's cause. Winterfell, home to the Starks was lost, two of Robb Stark's brothers killed in the massacre. Surely, he would fall now.
He won four more victories.
It was numbing to imagine such a man. A man who could face such fear and still lunge forward and win. Like a giant wolf crouching over the land, Lord Stark's teeth dug into the Lannister armies on all sides. "The Young Wolf," they call him. The King in the North, more still began to say.
"Have I slipped into a fantasy world where children win wars?" I heard my father whisper to himself one day, his head tipped to the side as a letter fluttered to the ground.
Tentatively, one of my brothers stepped forward to retreive it. Without knowing it, my head had tipped up, my attention fully on the scene before me. Across the room, my brother turned slightly, his eyes catching mine from the corners.
"They've won," my brother murmured numbly, gesturing to the paper.
I didn't even realize that my book had slipped from my fingers, it's solid mass slamming to the ground so forcefully that every head snapped in my direction. My insides felt like they were made of chilled metal. It had been only two years since he had come to our doors and asked for our bridge.
"Girl!" I flinched, blinking rapidly at the roar of my father as I came back to myself. "What are you doing in here? Do you think these conversations for the ears of females?"
Briefly my eyes flicked to Joyeuse but I kept my mouth shut, standing shakily and dipping a quick curtsy before hurrying from the hall.
The Frey's had never moved from our spot. We were river people through and through - walking the thin road between the North and the South like children trying to balance on the rails of balconies. It was easy to watch the world go by from there. In fact, it had grown so comfortable to live that way that it was more than disconcerting to be intrigued by the petty squabbles of the rest of the world.
That was why it shook me so much to actually feel joy at the Stark boy's victories. The war was ending and it was sickening for me to realize that I actually enjoyed that idea.
"You can't wear that to greet the King!" Roslin exclaimed, looking down in dismay at my plain, brown dress and simple shoes. The best that I had done was clean myself and brush out my wild mess of hair. Her pretty green eyes flicked around my room in dismay as she hurried over to my closet to riffle around. "Father says we must look our best!"
It was sad to say that I ranked my sisters on outward appearance but when you had as many as I did, sometimes ranking was the only way to keep their names straight. Roslin was within the top of our ranks when it came to outward beauty. She had full lips and wide, forest green eyes that made her seem younger and more innocent than she actually was. Her hair, although thin was a beautiful brown that swept like silk over her shoulders.
"I'm sure our Young Wolf has seen far worse than a woman in a simple dress," I murmured, flinching as the brush in my hands ran across a particularly dense knot in my hair.
"Don't call him that!" Roslin whispered harshly, her head peeking out from behind the wardrobe doors for a moment as she gave me a quick glare before she went back to her mission.
I didn't reply. Roslin may have been meeker than a rabbit but she was more of a lady than I could ever be. In any matter, she would more than likely be the woman that the Young Wolf picked to be his bride.
The thought still shook me and I set down my brush, gulping down a breath as I stared down at the light wood of my vanity. There had been so many rumors of the wolf's affair with a healer maiden that I had assumed… My eyes turned to stare blindly back at myself in the wavering surface of my mirror. Perhaps there was still a part of me that believed in fairy tales. For a moment - when Lady Stark had walked through our halls and asked for our ascent to go through the Twins, I had thought that she would refuse on behalf of her son. Maybe if he had been here, she would have.
But he wasn't. And now Arya Stark had been wed off and so had Lord Stark. All that was left was the choosing and then the wedding.
"Do you ever think we're just pieces in a horrid, horrid game?"
Roslin's eyes met mine in the mirror, her brows furrowing for a moment as a confused smile curled her lips. "I don't understand what you mean, Willa."
I forced a smile, my nails digging into the wood of the vanity. "Never you mind, Roslin. I'll change - you go attend to the twins and bring them back so that we can fix their hair along with Shirei."
Disquiet settled over my sister's face as she straightened. "You don't think the Wolf will choose one of them, do you?"
Something inside me coiled painfully, nasou settling along the pit of my stomach as I forced my face to stay blank. If Roslin saw the fear in my face then she would be terrified before we even dined with Lord Stark. But there was always a chance that he would take one of them. My throat dried. Even the chance that he would take both of the twins if our father offered them.
Nodding curtly, Roslin hurried out of my room with a hum. She had always been one of the few of my sisters that wanted to see past the walls of the Twins. If anything, this marriage would allow her to do just that.
Swiftly, I got up and made my way to the wardrobe sitting just in front of my bed. All of the rooms of the Twins always seemed to be too small, the beds too large for the little amount of space and the wardrobes seeming to burst with an excess of corsets and petticoats. It was oppressive and it rarely made me feel that there was any room for me to breath but perhaps that was just the effect the keep had on everyone. My eyes drifted to the windows sitting just beside my vanity on the other side of the room. At the moment, the sun was setting, making the top of the river flash a startling array of oranges and reds. Like a bowl filled with embers about to catch fire.
Shaking myself, I quickly pulled out my best dress, staring down at the thick, green material before sighing and setting it on my bed. I had seen enough of the people from both the North and South to know that my dress would have probably been what the high ladies wore when they wanted to go a simpler route.
Far from light, it was made of a thick, pine wool with dark fur line the swooping neckline that would leave my shoulders bare. Gold trim banded my sleeves and ran along the front of my skirt allowing a triangle of deep orange to show through. I sighed, tugging absently at the hem before I went to find a serving woman to help me.
"Willa, you're being unfair!" Roslin exclaimed as she entered the room just as my maid was clipping on the the golden belt to hang lowly around my hips. Her face fell into a pout as she eyed me, the twins and Sherei making their way quietly into my room. "He's not even going to look at the rest of us if you wear that. Put the brown one back on."
My head throbbed dully as I eyed my younger sister, sparing a short smile and a thankful nod to my maid before she hurried away. "I think you're exaggerating and frankly being a little foolish. If anything he will immediately go to you or Freya."
The truth was that my hair was too coarse and unruly - making me look like I had glued tufts of horsehair onto my skull - and my face which was round and open was too childish looking. It didn't help that I still had a splatter of freckles that colored my face and that I had a button nose which twitch liked a rabbit when I was agitated or lying. The best compliment that I had ever gotten had come from my eldest brother when he had said that I looked like a flower or some kind of lost animal like a bunny or kitten.
Even then I was more tempted to view it as an insult. Who wanted some frail lost animal for a wife? Or even worse, a useless flower easily trampled on and prone to wilting in little time at all.
No, my sisters were built more for what men wanted. Roslin was meek enough looking that she still had an air of innocence but still sensual enough to grab the attention of men.
Roslin's cheeks flushed, her lips tipping up as she took the compliment. I turned my attention to the three other girls who were watching the exchange quietly. The twins were only a year older than Sherei who came in at nine and although they had already bled it had only been a month before. I wouldn't have them sold off like cattle. Not yet.
"Father intends for them to be at the feast," my sister whispered quietly, stepping forward to run a hand over Sherei's hair, her eyes darkening with worry. "I've heard that the Starks are a noble family. They stick to their honor."
"They say Lord Stark can turn into a wolf when he wants," Sherei suddenly spoke up, her dark eyes running over us nervously. Beside her, the twins stilled. Her eyes caught mine. "I don't want to marry a beast."
"He won't pick us will he?" The twins questioned together, their hands searching each other out.
Sudden fear clogged my throat as I stared down at them. The truth - horrible and repulsive as it was - was that I didn't know what the Young Wolf would do. I knew what our father would do. I knew what most of the drooling dogs that would be attending tonight would do. Weakly, I forced a smile, shaking my head.
"No - no." My nose twitched uncertainly, my fingers knotting together. Gallantly, I straightened, going over to my vanity to pick up a brush and some pins. "But just because he will not pick you does not mean that we can't look our best."
They knew I doubted my own words. I could see it in the way that they all paled, even Roslin. But Frey's didn't speak of such things. Doubts were completely useless unless they were being put to good use in warfare and cunning.
"Willa! Willa, I know you hear me!" Sighing, I rubbed a hand over my eyes and stopped to face my brother. Eyes wild, he gave me a thin stare as he trotted up to me.
"Shouldn't you be in the great hall?" I asked to his obvious annoyance. The stone halls roared with the laughter spilling from the giant dining area, the candles flickering along their holders.
Night had already fallen and with it, the Stark army had come. From my window, I had seen their approach across the bridge of my family, the flames from the lamps running along the crossing catching the glint of their thick armor and horses. My eyes were intent on the front of the procession, a hulking figure sitting stiffly on his horse. Occasionally, the flames would catch bits of him. A gloved hand here. A teasing flicker of auburn hair. A whispered glimpse of the fur blanketing his shoulders. And then, curiously the shadow of a large animal roaming beside his mount, it's coat glinting a frosty white even in the shadows. But then the light would dance away like even it was afraid to fully light the figure of the Wolf of the North.
The gates had moaned as they opened wide for the Starks, men scuttling this way and that as the army was welcomed into our halls. And just like that the daughters of Frey had been called down.
Many things could be said about my father but no one would ever say that he didn't have flare. It was almost suspicious how much thought he had put into our appearance. Only a few minutes into the meal, the great doors would swing open and then one by one we would all be introduced. I was beginning to think that he held a certain soft spot for the King of the North.
"Why are you wearing that?" Corlin questioned, his nose wrinkling as he stared down at the sweeping material of my dress. Gasping, he suddenly caught sight of the swooping neckline and off the shoulder design. "Are you insane, Willa? Have you gone from your senses complete - Cover yourself, sister!"
"Father told us to dress accordingly to greet our new King," I said patiently, trying not to roll my eyes heavenward as he fluttered about, trying to tug up the dress.
"It looks like you want to do more than greet him," Corlin muttered darkly and I swatted at him.
"He will pick another, brother," I snarled, glaring at him.
"Remember who he is." Something in Corlin's tone caught my attention, his face suddenly going somber enough for my irritation to be completely erased. "He's killed more men than you have seen in these walls, Willa. His hands are soaked in the blood of millions. And I daresay that he won't give up the color so easily. His banners should be dyed red."
A chill slid across my spine, freezing my skin for a moment as I stared at my brother. He was right. Robb Stark was a wolf through and through. He killed to survive. Stiffly, I nodded, a silent agreement passing between my brother and I as he gently touched my elbow.
"And don't be fooled by his looks," Corlin snapped as he turned, breaking the moment. Swiftly, he moved down the hall to enter through a hidden door and into the great hall.
Shaking my head, I hurried to the great hall's doors, finding that all of my sisters were already gathered there. Roslin was murmuring reflexively to herself, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her as she stared up at the massive doors in front of her. She didn't so much as look up as I approached.
"I thought you would miss the feast," Walda, my portly well-natured older sister said as I came to stand beside her. "You know father ordered for the honey bread and red wine peach tart, right? Be a shame to miss something like that."
I refrained from telling her that I had in fact ordered the kitchen to make that, knowing full well that Walda would be the first to notice and appreciate it. Although already betrothed to Roose Bolton, she would be leaving when he was fully situated with his son and castle. In the past months, it had grown increasingly more apparent that the Bolton family was under some sort of strain. In fact, it looked as if they were to collapse. It was a shame that Walda had to be carted off to such a family. That was more than partially why I had decided to add in some of her favorite desserts.
"Not every feast is meant to be a celebration to stuff your face, you pig." My nails dug into my palms as I turned at the familiar, shrill voice of Derwa. Ordinary would be the best word to describe Derwa although the way that she acted suggested that she fullwell thought that she was far from it. Brown hair, brown eyes and an expression that could curdle milk, she had chased after many of the servants in the Twins. Sometimes I wondered if she wasn't so close to being like our father that it would get her into trouble. Her smile turned sickly sweet as she turned to me. "Princess."
"Derwa," I greeted back, smoothing my expression to cool indifference. Derwa got bored easily so the best course of action was ignorance.
"Do you always have to be so sour, Derwa?" Walda questioned, seemingly saddened by the thought. "A King is in our halls waiting to take one of us as his next bride and you can't even muster a genuine smile."
"When he takes my hand in marriage, I'll smile," she dismissed, before turning her full attention on me. "Father says that you'll be after Sherei. The end of the line."
My brows furrowed. That seemed like an odd request. Suspicion slithered through me. "Why?"
"Who knows?" Derwa snarled, pushing me toward the back of the line with a glare. "Perhaps he wants to showcase his prize child."
I blushed, flinching as a few of my other sisters snickered. Derwa gave me a smirk, flicking her fingers in a childish wave. "Bye - bye, princess."
There was nothing more to be said. The doors to the great halls were already sliding open and my sisters were shuffling forward. I would have to go to the back of the line or make a scene. And if I were being honest with myself, I had no place to disregard one of my father's direct orders. Even if it did draw attention to me since all of the daughters and granddaughters had been lined up eldest to youngest.
"Willa," Sherei greeted me, hope lighting her eyes which were a dull brown before she caught sight of me. Her gaze flicked forward briefly, her brows creasing in confusion. "What are you doing back here?"
"I wanted to see you," I lied, placing a hand on the small of her back and straightening as the throng of women began to slither forward into the hall.
Already the scent of buttered pastries stuffed with meat and smoked honey ham drifted out to tease the air, the flicker of candles and lamps that lighted the great hall spilling out to wash our feet in light. The great hall was much like it had been when I was nine, with it's circling dias and rows of oak benches. Arched windows hung open to let clean air roll into the hall, giving brief glimpses of the darkness outside.
"Won't you be in trouble?" Sherei whispered anxiously, her thumbs working at each other as we made our way slowly down the center aisle.
Men, big and brooding and still sweaty from the ride here, turned to watch us on all sides. Occasionally, I would see the familiar face of a soldier from the Twins but mostly our people had stayed away, leaving the feast for the Stark men alone. A small part of me wondered if they were afraid. We had neither helped nor hindered either side in the war. Would some view that as cowardice?
My grip on Sherei tightened and I battled my instincts down until my face was as serene as it would get. Up ahead, I heard the familiar drone of my father's voice as he announced girl after girl.
"I won't get myself into trouble. I promise," I breathed, leaning down briefly to push a few strands of hair out of her face. I had worked her hair into a braid, wanting to draw attention more to her age than anything else. Letting out a shaky breath, I gave her my best smile and turned my attention back to the front.
"And this is my daughter Walda - not that much to look at but I assure you that most who lack in beauty find other ways to make up for it." A few in the hall burst into laughter entirely at my sister's expense and I caught sight of her scurrying away and up to her proper seat at the dias.
Gritting my teeth, I resisted the urge to lean around the few sisters and nieces that I had left to properly see the main table. Unruly hair seemed to run in the Frey family because at that moment three of my sister's tangled curls were completely obscuring my vision of the main table. All I could see was a dour looking man with thinning brunnette hair and a strong, square jaw. I assumed that he was a Tully by the scaled armor that he wore. And then on his other side was a quiet looking woman with auburn hair and striking blue eyes. Everything about her screamed a serene sort of elegance like how I supposed you would feel when standing beneath the shade of a great willow.
Seated on the other side, I saw the attentive expression of my eldest brother, Stevron as he leaned closer to my father and the King, I supposed. However besides that, I could not see a single hair of what was going on. My eyes drifted to the ground as I absently listened to what my father was saying, diligently keeping a calming hand on Sherei's back as we made our way slowly forward.
"My granddaughter…" There was a pained silence. "Wertha?"
My eyes flicked up as one of my brothers, Marie's father coughed, shifting in his seat in agitation as Marie's back went stiff. There were only the twins left in front of Sherei and I now I could clearly see the almost confused expression on my father's face. I shook my head slightly, trying to be discreet as I saw Lord Tully's brow tip up.
"Waldra?" He took a wild jab again and Marie coughed, jerking her head in a small shake. My father's brows knit further together as he leaned forward. "Waldina?"
"I'm Marie," she finally burst, raising her head as she met the King's gaze. I blinked. The King. I had been so busy thinking of my father that I hadn't even realized that he was there.
He was handsome.
Even in the back of my mind that word seemed wrong. Beneath a heavy brow, his eyes shone a striking stormy blue and his auburn hair coiled this way and that in a tidal wave of curls that tickled his nape and ears. A beard and moustache darkened a strong jaw.
He didn't look like a man that had slaughtered the Lannisters one after another.
"And this is my youngest, Sherei." I blinked, taken aback for a moment as I realized that I was fully staring at him. Beside me, Sherei's tiny shoulders quivered and I had the sudden urge to grab her hand and make a dash for the nearest horse. Something about this man scared me to the Seven Hells. There was an unpredictable nature to his gaze which I could feel boring into the side of my skull at that very moment.
But I was a Frey and I was a woman at that. It was one thing to disobey orders. It was completely different to disobey a King.
"Willa," Sherei whispered fearfully and I glanced up in time to see my father's agitation growing, anxiety and fear tightening my heart.
"Listen to me," I murmured, kneeling beside her and grabbing her face so that all she could see was me. I gave her a strained smile. "You see that man up there?"
Her eyes flicked up and from the corner of my vision I saw the King of the North shift, his head tipping to the side in interest. I gulped, licking my lips. She nodded.
"There are a great many evils in this world, Sherei but he isn't one of them." I don't know why I said it. Perhaps it was a prayer. Perhaps I wanted to believe it as well. Sherei's eyes unclouded a bit and I smiled again, rubbing her arms. "Good."
"Get up here, girl!" Our father roared and I flinched, kissing her cheek gently before I pushed her forward, anxiety clawing at my heart.
He didn't look like the type to take girls as wives. But… I bit at my lip, watching warily as Sherei stepped forward and gave a small, awkward curtsy. Sitting straighter, Lady Stark gave her an encouraging smile and I suddenly remembered that she had two daughters of her own. Unwanted, my eyes drifted to the imposing figure of Robb Stark and I flushed as I caught his stare.
"As I was saying," my father continued on and I had the urge to leap forward and shoo Sherei to a safe spot at the table with our sisters as King Stark's eyes cut from mine to run over her. "She is my youngest. She hasn't even bled yet."
Deep horror cut through me as Sherei's ears went red and my nails bit into my palms. The hall had gone tense at the mention of her age, Robb's eyes flashing with something I couldn't particularly decypher. With one deft wave of his hand, Sherei went scampering over to my other sisters and stiffly, I moved forward.
The weight of a hundred gazes hit me like a boulder, my shoulders tensing as silence fell heavily over the hall. The forceful gaze of the Young Wolf felt like the heaviest one of them all, my face heating as I dipped into a deep curtsy. It irritated me to no end that he was having this effect on me.
"And this is one of my other girls, Willa." There was something about my father's voice that made me want to glance up - a curious tone that I couldn't quite snag onto. But I kept my eyes on the ground. "Although I don't know why she decided to place herself after my youngest."
My shoulders tensed, shock and bewilderment shocking through me. Derwa, my mind hissed angrily, glaring at her from the corner of my eyes as I saw her snickering. A few of my other sisters seemed to be receiving just as much amusement from the whole event as the hall was filled with light giggles.
Anger rose heavily inside of me as I straightened, meeting my father's eyes with a tip of my chin. "I'm sorry, father. Derwa was worried that Sherei's beauty might overshadow hers so she asked if I might be willing to trade positions with her. I didn't realize that she had chosen to stand all the way in the back."
All laughter stopped and I saw Lady Starks brows tip up as she gave my sisters an indulgent smile. Apparently, our side stepping ways of jabbing at each other were very ill hidden. The King's expression didn't change although his eyes swirled in amusement as he glanced to my sisters. Giving Derwa a quick glance, my father smiled and nodded.
"Ah, yes," he murmured before turning fully back to stare at me. "My daughter Willa has just come across her eighteenth nameday." His mouth twisted sourly at my age and my eyes turned quickly back to the floor. The next part was spoken as if he was musing to himself, making me flinch unintentionally. "And still unwed. I don't even believe we've gotten a proposal."
Just like that, the snickers returned. Painfully, I drew in a breath, trying to ignore the fire that was slowly engulfing my face. I could still feel the stare of the King in the North, his eyes drilling into the side of my face.
For a moment, the hall was silent and it took all I had not to let myself droop under the critical attention. Adamantly, I repeated the words that the Septa had taught me like a prayer. Head up. Spine straight. Hands in front. Don't be cocky, girl. But don't look like you'll be pushed down in the next storm.
"Hhhmmm," my father murmured to himself. Clicking his tongue, he caught my eye and flicked his hand to my sisters. "Are there anymore? Have I finished?"
Dipping into a hurried bow, I firmly avoided King Stark's eyes as I gathered my skirt to make a quick exit.
"What did you tell her?" The words stilled me, shock making me forget myself as I glanced up and became ensnared in the stormy gaze of Robb Stark. I gulped. Interest crinkled his brow as he tipped his head towards my youngest sister, Sherei. "You told her something to get rid of her fear before you came forward. What was it?"
I was obliged to answer it. The way that my father was staring at me, I needed to do just that within the next few seconds or else I would wake to find myself in the river.
But it truly was the worst thing that he could have asked. I gulped, my nose twitching in irritation as I turned. I wanted to lie. I could feel a million of them bubbling to the surface, waiting to be let loose. I could tell him a fanciful one. I could flatter him. He hadn't heard. He wouldn't know.
My eyes caught his and I was tugged underwater. I didn't look away. "I told her that you were not to be feared. That there were many evils in this world and that you were not one of them."
Everything stilled. The familiar sound of silverware halted and I saw my father splutter form the corner of my eyes. On the King's other side, I saw his mother's eyes widen, her hand tighten on the goblet in front of her. But I wasn't looking at him. My full attention was on the man in front of me, his eyes spiked through with shock as he took me. He looked liked like he was confused. And there was something else there. Something that I didn't want to delve too deeply into.
"Your Grace," I said quickly, tearing my eyes away from his with all the force in my being and going into a quick curtsy again.
This man was dangerous, I thought to myself as I hurried away.
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