"Ah, she is clever after all," said Cersei, smirking.
"Wit is such a rare accomplice to beauty yet we
stand, alone, in a room crowded with only that."
Cersei lifted a thick strand of Eleonora's hair, ran it
through her fingers, and dropped it back o...
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Blessed is she who is both furious and magnificent. —
"They celebrate the Feast of the Maiden in the South," said Eleonora, taking a finalist sip of her first course, thick sweet soup made with pumpkins. Rickon sat upon her lap, choosing to play with his wooden toy dragons than clear his plate. "I overheard some of the servants speaking on it early this morning. They have a Temple of the Maiden in Flea Bottom."
"Best of luck gaining permission from your father," said Porther, rubbing his crooked nose as he chuckled, nudging Jory beside him.
Porther, Varyl, Jory, and Jacks were the Stark guards sitting closest to Septa Mordane, Mira, Rickon, and the Stark women for their afternoon meal. Jory was the highest ranked and most respected of the foursome and of the house guard in general. Jacks and Varyl were revered by the Stark family, and Porther, despite his bumbling and whoring, was beloved in his own right as well. The group occasionally dined together in the Small Hall which earned its name to set it apart from the Great Hall, where the king could feast a thousand, but it was a long room with a high vaulted ceiling and bench space for two hundred at its trestle tables.
Fat Tom and Wyl accompanied Lord Stark to his council meeting that morning leaving the rest to dine together. Each man in the house guard now wore a new cloak, heavy grey wool with a white satin border. A hand of beaten silver clutched the woolen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers as men of the Hand's household guard. There were only fifty of them, so most of the benches were empty. Eleonora chose to sit at the very end of her table to sit closest to Jory and furthest from Septa Mordane.
"Perhaps you could pull your cock from a brothel long enough to escort me yourself, Po," she said, earning stifled laughs from the other three men who were all equally trying to remain out of earshot from Septa Mordane.
"I am rather fond of my head," said Porther, sipping his soup until the bowl was dry. "I would prefer to keep it."
"My father would allow me to attend if I was escorted," she replied, pushing some of Rickon's coarse hair from his eyes as he continued to play unfazed.
"You are delusional, my lady," said Jacks, "with all do respect of course. Flea Bottom is the underbelly of King's Landing, and your father would never permit you to be seen celebrating in the those rancid streets around those sorts of folk."
"They're just people, Jacks," said Eleonora, "like you and I."
"You are being naive, Lady Eleonora," said Varly, setting down his spoon as servants took their bowls away to bring their second course from the kitchens, "only trouble can be found in Flea Bottom."
Eleonora rolled her eyes and chose to argue no further. She looked over onto Arya. She appeared to be in a rather sour mood. Her head hung low as she concentrated on fiddling with her knife. She had been less than talkative the last few days but Eleonora had yet to broach the subject with her yet. Eleonora gently placed her hand upon Arya's fidgeting knife hand and ceased her aimless carving. The eldest Stark wrapped her arm around her littlest sister and pulled her against her affectionately, placing a kiss atop her head with no words spoken between them. Arya leaned against her sister, nuzzling her head upon her bosom. Just as the servants made their rounds for the second course, Lord Stark entered the Small Hall. He had been fighting with the council again. A blind man could see it on his face when he came to table.
