Chapter 10
"Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?" Catelyn asked, hoping to ease the tension.
Queen Cersei's eyes were on the King, who had just pulled a giggling servant girl onto his lap. The musicians played lively tunes, and everyone in the Great Hall, except the Queen, seemed to be enjoying themselves.
"Yes," the Queen replied, giving Catelyn a brief glance and a polite smile. "Lovely country."
"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing," Catelyn continued. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me here for the first time."
Cersei's gaze shifted to Sansa, who sat with her closest friend, Lady Jeyne. Sansa stood and approached the Queen's table, offering a shy smile.
"Hello, little dove," the Queen greeted her warmly. "You are a beauty. How old are you?"
"Thirteen, Your Grace," Sansa replied.
"You're tall. Still growing?"
"I think so, Your Grace."
The Queen smiled, observing Sansa. "And have you bled yet?"
The blunt question clearly made Sansa uncomfortable. She glanced at her mother before replying.
"No, Your Grace."
The Queen's smile never wavered as she continued. "And your dress? Did you make it?"
Sansa nodded, giving the Queen a bright smile.
"Such talent," Cersei praised. "You must make something for me."
Sansa curtsied and returned to her seat, her discomfort fading as she whispered with Lady Jeyne.
Catelyn felt uneasy but hid it behind a composed expression.
"I hear we might share a grandchild someday," Cersei remarked, her tone light.
"I hear the same," Catelyn replied, forcing a polite smile.
"Your daughter will do well in the capital. Such beauty shouldn't be hidden up here forever."
Catelyn pressed her lips together; there was something about the Queen's tone that unsettled her. Across the room, Sansa continued whispering with Lady Jeyne, while Prince Joffrey smiled as he watched her. Arya, meanwhile, was up to her usual mischief, shooting food at Sansa with a spoon.
"Arya!" Sansa cried, mortified, as Lady Jeyne quickly helped clean her face.
Robb, much to Catelyn's disapproval, was chuckling at Arya's antics. Catelyn shot him a commanding look and nodded toward Arya, who was preparing to fire another shot. Robb sighed and quickly crossed the hall, scooping Arya up.
"Time for bed."
"Robb!" Arya protested, squirming in his grasp.
"I'm sorry, little sister, but you didn't leave me a choice." Robb's tone was playful but firm as he carried her toward the doors.
As Robb led Arya out of the Great Hall, Queen Cersei turned her gaze back to Catelyn, a calculating smile on her lips.
"I heard you also have a third daughter," Cersei remarked, her tone deceptively casual. "Older than the little dove."
Catelyn's expression tightened slightly at the mention of Daliya, but she kept her voice calm and measured.
"Yes, Daliya is…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "She's not well tonight."
Queen Cersei raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Not well? How unfortunate. I would have liked to meet her. It's rare for a girl to be absent when a king comes to call, don't you think?"
Catelyn's polite smile barely wavered, though she felt a subtle barb in the Queen's words. "She's more comfortable in quieter surroundings."
Cersei leaned back in her chair, her gaze sharpening as if probing for more. "Is that so? Perhaps the capital wouldn't suit her either then. Such a shame." The Queen's voice was silk, but there was a coldness beneath it.
Before Catelyn could respond, Sansa's voice broke the tension.
"Mother, may I sit with the Queen for a little while longer?" Sansa asked, her wide, innocent eyes betraying nothing of the awkwardness in the conversation.
Cersei's smile widened, a faintly predatory look. "Of course, little dove. You'll stay by my side at court one day."
Catelyn glanced at Sansa, her discomfort deepening. She could see how her daughter, eager to please and be part of the world she romanticized, was being drawn into the Queen's orbit. "It's getting late, Sansa. You should retire soon."
Cersei's gaze flicked between mother and daughter, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Let her stay a little longer. She's hardly had a chance to enjoy herself."
Catelyn pressed her lips together but nodded. "Very well. But not too late." She caught the Queen's satisfied glance and felt a shiver of unease.
Just then, a servant approached to pour more wine, and Cersei turned her attention back to the festivities, leaving Catelyn alone with her thoughts. As she watched Sansa sit by the Queen's side, laughing softly at something Joffrey said, her unease grew.
Outside the hall, Robb carried Arya toward her chambers. She was still grumbling under her breath.
"I was just having fun," Arya muttered.
"Fun is fine, but you can't keep pelting Sansa with food, Arya," Robb chuckled. "You'll get yourself in trouble one day."
Arya's expression darkened. "Sansa's the one who'll get in trouble. She'll get herself tangled up with that stupid prince."
Robb paused, looking at Arya curiously. "Why do you say that?"
Arya shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I just know. She's too good for him, but she won't see it until it's too late."
Robb frowned, surprised by Arya's blunt observation. "You're too sharp for your own good."
Arya smirked. "You're just slow."
Robb grinned and tousled her hair before continuing down the corridor, but Arya's words stuck with him, leaving him with an uneasy feeling that wouldn't quite go away.
Back in Daliya's chamber, the candlelight flickered as Jon poured water into a cup and set it down in front of her. Daliya sat quietly, her hands wrapped around Ghost's fur.
Jon watched her closely, a protective look in his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.
Daliya shook her head. "No. Not tonight." Her voice was quiet but firm.
Jon sighed, sitting down beside her. "Alright. But I'm here, if you ever need to."
Daliya gave him a small smile. "Will you stay here with me tonight?"
He nodded. "I will."
No one, not even Lady Stark, had protested when Ned had asked Jon to stay with Daliya for the duration of the King's visit, to watch over her. There was no longer talk of what was proper or concern over Daliya's reputation, not anymore. The most important thing now seemed to be keeping her out of sight. Jon was glad to be the one caring for her without restrictions, but it also made him angry. Angry that her own family saw her as something to hide, as though she were something to be ashamed of. The whispers about Daliya had always been there, but lately, they had grown louder.
Jon stayed silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving Daliya's face. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on her features, making her look both fragile and distant, like she was somewhere far beyond the walls of Winterfell.
"I'll always stay," he said quietly, knowing that his presence was often the only thing that gave her any comfort these days.
Ghost lay beside her, ever watchful, and for a brief moment, it felt as though this small, quiet room was the only safe place left for her. But even here, Jon could sense the weight pressing down on Daliya, the whispers, the way people looked at her, the way they kept her hidden as if her existence was a secret too dangerous to share. It made Jon's blood boil.
"You shouldn't have to hide, you know," Jon said, his voice thick with frustration, though he tried to keep it gentle. "You're not something to be ashamed of."
Daliya's eyes flickered to him, uncertainty crossing her face before she lowered her gaze again. She didn't respond, and Jon's heart ached, wondering if she even believed him anymore.
He shifted slightly on the bed, drawing a breath. "You remember how we used to go to the godswood? Just the two of us? When you could hear the wind in the trees and it made you smile?"
Her lips twitched faintly at the memory, but the sadness never left her eyes. "I'm not the same, Jon," she whispered. "They've changed me."
Jon clenched his fists, hating the weight of those words. "No, Daliya. They tried, but you're still you. You're still here."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, as though searching for something in his face. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire.
"What if I never get better?" she asked in a voice so small, it almost broke him.
Jon leaned forward, his expression fierce. "Then I'll still be here. Every day. It doesn't matter what anyone else says. They don't know you. Not like I do."
Daliya's fingers tightened on Ghost's fur, her knuckles turning white. For a moment, it seemed like she might cry, but then she closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.
"I'm afraid you'll hate me," she murmured, her voice so soft that Jon could barely hear her.
"What?" he asked, leaning closer.
"You deserve better, Jon. Better than the dark path I've dragged you onto."
Jon's heart clenched at her words, and he quickly shook his head, leaning closer. "Daliya, don't say that." His voice was soft but firm, filled with an intensity that made her open her eyes again. "You haven't dragged me anywhere. I chose to be here. I chose you. Always."
Daliya looked down, her face full of doubt, but Jon wasn't going to let her sink further into that darkness. He reached out, gently placing his hand on top of hers, feeling the coldness of her fingers against his.
"You don't have to be afraid of that," Jon continued, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt. "I won't leave you, no matter what happens. You're not a burden to me, Daliya. You never have been."
Her gaze slowly lifted to meet his, and for the first time that night, there was something in her eyes that wasn't just fear or sadness, it was something deeper, something fragile but still alive.
A tear slipped down Daliya's cheek, but she didn't look away this time. Instead, she studied his face, as if trying to find some reason to believe his words. Jon held her gaze, refusing to let her retreat into her own doubts.
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the room filled only with the sound of the crackling fire and the soft breathing of Ghost. Then, almost hesitantly, Daliya leaned into Jon's shoulder, her body trembling slightly. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, letting her know that no matter how dark things seemed, he wasn't going to let her slip away.
"Fire…" Daliya murmured, her voice distant and unfocused. "Your blood… the blood of a dragon…"
She pulled back slightly, her hands cupping Jon's face. A soft, almost ethereal smile spread across her lips, and her eyes, dreamy and faraway, seemed to look straight into his very soul.
"Fire…" she hummed again. "It's beautiful. You're beautiful. You have a golden crown on your head."
Jon froze at her words, his breath catching as Daliya's soft murmur echoed in the quiet room. Her eyes, hazy and unfocused, held an intensity that made his chest tighten. "Daliya..." he whispered, his heart pounding.
She didn't seem to hear him, her fingers still lightly tracing his face as if she were seeing something far beyond him. "The fire... it's inside you, Jon. I can see it, feel it." Her voice had a dreamy, almost ethereal quality, as if she were speaking from a place Jon couldn't reach.
"You wear a golden crown, the dragon's crown," she continued, her smile faint but serene, as though this strange vision brought her comfort. "You'll burn so brightly, and they'll follow you… they have to follow you…"
Jon swallowed hard, his mind racing. What was she seeing? Why was she talking like this? It wasn't the first time Daliya had spoken cryptically, but something about the way she was looking at him now sent a shiver down his spine.
"Daliya, you're just tired," he said gently, though he wasn't sure if he was reassuring her or himself. "Rest. I'll stay with you."
She blinked, her expression softening as the distant look in her eyes faded. Her hands dropped from his face, and for a moment, she seemed confused, as if waking from a dream. "Jon?" she whispered, her voice fragile once more.
"I'm here," Jon assured her, his voice steady despite the unease churning inside him.
Daliya gave a small, shaky nod, her earlier intensity fading into exhaustion. She slumped back against the bed, pulling Ghost close for comfort. Jon watched her in silence, his mind weighed down by the strange words she had uttered.
"I'm cold," Daliya whispered, her voice fragile. "Please, let me share your warmth."
"Of course," Jon replied softly, doing his best to steady his voice. He lay down beside her, moving carefully, and wrapped his arms around her. His body tensed for a moment as he felt the weight of responsibility pressing in on him, but he relaxed as she nestled into his chest, seeking his warmth.
"A dragon's crown?" he murmured under his breath, the phrase lingering like a distant echo. He wasn't sure what it meant, or if it meant anything at all. Yet, it unsettled him, as if a shadow had passed over them both.