Chapter 6

Drin kept her gaze modestly lowered, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as her father engaged in conversation with Lord and Lady Stark. She could hear their discreet inquiries about her health and accomplishments, though the words felt distant, as if they weren't truly about her. The exchange reminded her uncomfortably of Ramsay's mocking comment about livestock, an unkindness that wasn't entirely unfounded. It struck her that the questions bore a resemblance to assessing a horse for purchase.

Not that she felt offended. Drin was well aware of her role. Her value, she understood, lay in her ability to attract a suitable husband. And in this moment, her singular goal was to present herself as flawlessly as possible. There would be no union without the approval of Eddard Stark.

She hadn't dared yet to imagine what life would look like if her father's ambitions bore fruit. To go from belonging to her father to belonging to Robb Stark would be a change, but not one she could control. Her life, her future, would rest entirely in his hands.

He seemed pleasant enough from what little she'd seen of him, but Drin knew better than to trust appearances. Experience had taught her that looks could be deceiving. Not that her feelings or fears mattered. Whatever the outcome, she would do as she always had: adapt, endure, and survive.

As the conversation continued, Drin risked a glance at Robb Stark. He was sitting beside Lord Stark, his gaze flickered to her now and then.

Her father's hand on her arm startled her. "Drin," he said smoothly, "Lady Stark asked you a question."

Drin blinked, quickly composing herself. "Forgive me, my lady. Could you repeat the question?"

Lady Stark smiled, though there was a sharpness in her eyes, as if measuring her. "I asked if you enjoy riding. Winterfell has many fine trails."

"Very much, my lady," Drin replied, keeping her voice steady. "Though I fear I may lack the skill to keep up with the horses here. They seem bred for the strength and endurance the North demands."

"That's practical," Lady Stark said approvingly. "Winter is always in our thoughts here."

"And how do you find Winterfell so far?" Lord Stark asked, his voice calm yet piercing in its scrutiny.

Drin met Lord Stark's gaze, steadying herself under the weight of his question. His tone was polite, but there was no mistaking the intent behind his words. He was assessing her.

"It feels much as I imagined, my lord," she replied, her voice even. "The North is known for its strength and resilience, and Winterfell embodies that fully. There's a quiet grandeur here, and a sense of purpose that commands respect."

Lord Stark nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "A measured answer," he remarked, his tone neither approving nor dismissive.

Drin lowered her gaze slightly, a small gesture of humility. "Thank you, my lord."

Beside him, Lady Stark watched Drin closely, her expression softening just enough to suggest a hint of approval. "The North can be demanding," Lady Stark said, her voice lighter now. "But I suspect you understand the value of endurance."

"I try to, my lady," Drin answered.

Her father's grip on her arm loosened slightly, a subtle sign of his satisfaction. For a fleeting moment, Drin allowed herself to feel relief. But it was short-lived. The conversation turned back to matters of trade and alliances, leaving her to sit quietly and focus on her poise.

As the meal continued, Drin's attention wandered briefly to Robb. He appeared at ease, speaking with his father. Yet his gaze still found her now and then, a quiet curiosity lingering in his expression.

Drin's thoughts were interrupted by her father leaning closer, his voice a low murmur. "You are doing well," he said, his tone laced with quiet command. "But remember, every word matters."

Drin inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. She knew what was at stake and had no intention of faltering.

"What do you think?" Robb asked, closing the door to his father's study behind him.

Both of his parents were already waiting for him.

"I think she could be a suitable match for you," Catelyn said, glancing at Ned.

Ned folded his arms, his expression contemplative. "She carries herself well, Robb. Graceful and respectful, though it's clear she's under her father's shadow. That's to be expected, given who he is."

Robb nodded, stepping further into the room. "She's quiet, but there's a sharpness to her. I think there's more to her than what's immediately visible."

Catelyn tilted her head, studying her son. "You've taken a liking to her, then?"

Robb hesitated before answering, choosing his words carefully. "I think she's intriguing. And I believe she could handle the responsibilities that would come with being at Winterfell."

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn before speaking. "You're not just choosing for yourself, Robb. A wife for the future Lord of Winterfell must be able to strengthen the North, not divide it."

"I know," Robb said firmly. "That's why I'm asking for your guidance. Her father…" He paused, frowning slightly. "He's not an easy man to trust."

"That's putting it mildly," Catelyn muttered. "But alliances are rarely made with friends. Lord Bolton's loyalty has always been… conditional."

Ned leaned forward, his gaze steady. "The question isn't just about her father. It's about her. Can you see yourself leading with her at your side? Trusting her in the years to come?"

Robb thought back to his moments with Drin, her measured responses, her composed demeanor, and the fleeting glimpses of vulnerability behind her mask. "I don't know her well enough to answer that yet," he admitted. "But I'd like to find out."

Catelyn gave a small smile. "Then perhaps you should spend more time with her. Observe how she behaves beyond the feast hall. Actions often reveal more than words."

Ned nodded in agreement. "A match with the Boltons could be a boon if handled carefully. But if you sense any reason to doubt her, or her loyalty, don't ignore it."

Robb inclined his head. "I understand, Father."

Catelyn reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Remember, Robb, you're not just choosing a wife. You're choosing a partner for your life, and for Winterfell's future."

Robb offered a faint smile, the weight of their words settling heavily on his shoulders. "Thank you. I'll take your advice to heart."

"They seem happy," Drin remarked, her gaze lingering on Grey Wind, who was playfully wrestling with Ghost.

"They know how to enjoy life," Robb replied with a smile.

He had invited Drin to take a longer walk in the godswood with him, and she had arranged for someone to accompany her maid, who apparently was afraid of the woods. That had seemed a bit odd to Robb, but thankfully, Jon had agreed to escort the maid. They were walking behind Robb and Drin, keeping a respectful distance.

Robb couldn't help but feel the weight of the decision he would soon have to make. His instinct told him that Drin would be a good match for him, but something still held him back. Was it her beauty distracting him? He didn't think so. She checked all the boxes, and he had no doubt she could handle the responsibilities that came with such a union. Granted, he didn't know her well yet, but that was common enough in marriages between noble houses. He was fortunate, at least, to have a choice in the matter.

Drin walked beside Robb, her steps quiet on the soft earth of the godswood. The air was crisp, the scent of pine and the faint trickle of a nearby stream creating a serene atmosphere. She glanced toward Grey Wind and Ghost again, their playful energy a stark contrast to the heavy thoughts she carried.

"You're fortunate to have such companions," Drin said, her voice soft. "They're loyal and fearless."

Robb nodded, his smile tinged with pride. "They are, though they can be a bit reckless at times. Grey Wind seems to think he can take on the world."

Drin allowed herself a small smile. "It must be comforting, to have something so steadfast at your side."

"It is," Robb agreed. "But loyalty isn't just found in direwolves. I imagine you've had to rely on your own kind of strength growing up."

Drin hesitated, carefully considering her response. "Strength means different things to different people, I suppose. For some, it's about standing firm. For others, it's about learning when to yield."

Robb looked at her thoughtfully. "And for you?"

She kept her gaze forward, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. "For me, it's about finding balance. Knowing when to endure and when to act."

Robb nodded slowly, sensing the weight behind her words. "That's a wise perspective."

Drin cast a quick glance behind them, wanting to make sure Larra was alright. She knew how much the woods and the hounds frightened the poor girl, especially after she had been forced to witness Ramsay's sadistic games.

Larra was walking beside Robb's brother, nervously clutching her cloak. Drin could only hope he wouldn't treat Larra cruelly. The poor girl had already endured more than enough.

Drin's glance lingered briefly on her maid, her concern sharpening as she observed Larra's tense posture. The girl's knuckles were white from clutching her cloak so tightly.

Drin turned her attention forward again, masking her worry. She couldn't risk appearing distracted or overly anxious, not now. But a part of her resolved to speak with Larra later, to ensure she was truly all right. As much as Drin had tried not to get attached to the girl, she couldn't simply ignore her distress.

Robb followed her gaze, his brow furrowing slightly. "Your maid seems uneasy," he observed.

"She's not accustomed to the wilderness," Drin said carefully, keeping her tone neutral. "The woods and the wolves are… unfamiliar to her."

Robb smiled faintly. "The wolves can be intimidating, but Jon has a way with calming nerves. He'll look after her."

Drin nodded, her grip on her composure tightening. "I'm sure he will."

They walked a few more steps in silence before Robb spoke again, his voice lower, more reflective. "You seem to care deeply for her."

Drin glanced at him, surprised by the comment. "She's a sweet girl. Her well-being matters to me."

"That's rare," Robb said, his tone carrying a note of respect. "Most wouldn't think twice about their servants beyond duty."

Drin hesitated, unsure how much she could reveal. "Larra has endured things no one should have to face. If I can offer her some measure of kindness, I will."

Robb looked at her with quiet admiration. "That says a lot about you."

She met his gaze briefly before lowering her eyes again. "I'm not sure it says anything at all, my lord. It's simply what I believe is right."

As they continued their walk, the sound of birds overhead and the rustling of leaves filled the gaps in their conversation. Robb found himself stealing glances at Drin, intrigued by the measured way she spoke and the quiet confidence in her stride.

Drin, meanwhile, was acutely aware of his attention, every word and gesture carefully chosen. She knew the godswood was sacred to the Starks. If Robb was testing her, she intended to pass.

Finally, they stopped at a small clearing where the ancient heart tree stood, its red leaves vibrant against the pale bark. Robb turned to Drin. "What do you think of the godswood?"

She looked up at the weirwood, its face carved into a serene expression. "It's beautiful," she said earnestly. "There's a stillness here that feels… eternal."

Robb watched her closely. "It's a place of honesty for my family. We come here to reflect, to seek guidance. Some say the Old Gods still watch through the eyes of the heart tree."

Drin met his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words. "And do you believe that, my lord?"

He tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "I'd like to think so. It's comforting, having something greater to trust in."

Drin nodded, her voice quiet. "Faith has its strength. Perhaps that's why Winterfell endures."

Robb studied her for a moment longer, then smiled. "Perhaps."

The clearing seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the heart tree's ancient presence wrapping around them like a cloak. Robb's smile lingered as he glanced at the carved face on the tree, its gaze inscrutable yet calming.

Drin allowed her eyes to trace the details of the weirwood's face. The deep red sap that trickled like tears gave the tree an air of quiet sorrow, and yet its roots gripped the earth with unyielding strength.

"You've given me something to think about," Robb said, breaking the silence.

Drin turned to him, her brow lifting ever so slightly. "Have I, my lord?"

He nodded, his tone lighter now. "I've spent so much time seeing this place through the eyes of my family. Hearing your perspective reminds me how it must appear to those who didn't grow up with it."

"It must be strange," Drin replied, her voice soft but steady, "to have your life so deeply tied to a place, a legacy. To carry it with you every moment."

Robb chuckled, though the sound held a trace of melancholy. "Strange, yes. But also... grounding. The North is harsh, but it's also home. Every challenge, every storm, reminds us who we are."

Drin studied him for a moment, choosing her next words with care. "And who are you, Lord Stark?"

He looked at her then, his blue eyes catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. For a moment, he didn't answer, as though weighing the question.

"A son," he said finally. "A brother. One day, a leader. I suppose I'm still figuring the rest out."

Drin tilted her head slightly, offering a faint smile. "That sounds like someone worth trusting."

Robb blinked at her in surprise. "You have a way of saying much with few words, my lady."

She inclined her head modestly. "Sometimes, less is more."

Robb gestured toward a smooth stone at the edge of the clearing, motioning for her to sit. She hesitated for only a moment before obliging, perching delicately on the edge. He leaned casually against a nearby tree, his posture relaxed but his eyes attentive.

"Do you ever think about the future, Lady Drin?" he asked. "What you want for yourself?"

Drin felt her chest tighten. The future was a maze she'd been navigating blind, every path dictated by someone else's desires.

"I think about it often," she replied, her tone measured. "But the future feels like a tapestry still being woven. Each thread is uncertain until it's placed."

Robb looked at her curiously. "That's a thoughtful way to see it. But I imagine you'd hope for more than uncertainty."

Drin met his gaze, offering him a smile. "Hope is what keeps us moving forward, my lord."

She noticed then that there was no sign of Larra or Robb's brother. Drin's heart skipped a beat as fear gripped her. She was all too aware of how many nobles viewed their servants as disposable commodities, to be treated however they saw fit. Lord Bolton certainly wouldn't care if Robb's brother were to harm Larra.

Drin's unease grew as her eyes scanned the woods behind them. The shadows of the trees seemed to stretch farther, swallowing the path where Larra and Jon had been moments before. Her thoughts raced, her practiced composure threatening to slip.

Robb noticed the shift in her demeanor. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She hesitated, biting back the first words that came to mind. She couldn't accuse his brother of anything. "I… I don't see Larra," she said carefully, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Robb glanced behind them, his brows furrowing. "Jon wouldn't leave her," he said confidently. "He's not the type."

Drin nodded faintly, struggling to mask her fear. "Forgive me, my lord. It's just... Larra isn't used to places like this."

Robb's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "If it puts your mind at ease, we can find them."

Drin exhaled, her relief mingling with the fear of making a mistake. She certainly couldn't insult him by implying anything about his brother. "Thank you, my lord. I don't doubt your brother's ability to keep Larra safe, but I'm afraid she doesn't have the best sense of direction. I wouldn't want to inconvenience your brother if she's gotten lost."

Robb's expression shifted to one of understanding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's no inconvenience," he assured her. "Jon knows these woods well, but if Larra's unfamiliar with them, I can see how she might feel uneasy. Let's go find them."

Drin dipped her head in gratitude, careful to mask the lingering apprehension in her eyes. "You are very kind, my lord."

Robb gestured for her to follow, his movements easy and confident. The path twisted and turned, the towering trees casting shifting shadows as the sun began its slow descent. Drin's mind raced as they walked. She hoped fervently that Larra was unharmed.

After a short distance, Robb paused, tilting his head slightly. "There," he said, pointing toward the faint sound of voices coming from deeper in the woods.

Drin's heart lifted at the familiar timbre of Larra's voice, followed by Jon's steady reply. As they approached, the scene came into view: Jon stood beside Larra near a cluster of moss-covered rocks, the stream trickling nearby. Larra's face was pale, but she appeared unharmed, clutching her cloak tightly as she nodded to something Jon was saying.

"They're safe," Robb said, turning to Drin with a small smile.

Drin felt a wave of relief but kept her expression composed.

Larra was the first to notice them. Her eyes widened as she quickly dipped into a curtsy, her hands gripping her skirts. "My lady," she said softly, a tremor in her voice.

Jon turned, his sharp eyes settling on Robb. "She was feeling unwell," he explained simply, gesturing toward Larra. "I thought a sip of water might help."

Drin offered him a grateful smile as she stepped closer. "Thank you, my lord," she said to Jon. "Your thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated."

Jon inclined his head, his expression neutral but his posture relaxed. "She'll be fine," he said simply.

Robb glanced between Drin and Larra, then offered his arm to Drin. "Shall we return?"

Drin hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting Larra's. "Larra, are you well enough to continue?"

Larra nodded quickly, though she didn't lift her gaze. "Yes, my lady. Thank you."

Drin studied her for a moment, then nodded. Satisfied, she turned back to Robb and accepted his arm. "Yes, my lord," she said softly. "Thank you for your patience."