Queen of the North

Chapter Seven

"My lord," said Jory when Lord Eddard entered. He rose to his feet, and the rest of the guard rose with him.

"Be seated," said Ned. "I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city." He signaled for the meal to resume. The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.

"The talk in the yard is we shall have a tourney, my lord," said Jory as he resumed his seat. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honor of your appointment as Hand of the King."

"Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?" he grumbled.

Sansa's eyes had grown wide as the plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Mira and Septa Mordane, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. "Will we be permitted to go, Father?"

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honored for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly."

Lord Eddard looked upon his eldest daughter, sharing a glance. They both knew of the King's preemptive invitation, but they both chose to not acknowledge this before the group.

"Oh, please," said Sansa. "I want to see."

Septa Mordane spoke up. "Princess Myrcella will be there, my lord, and her younger than Lady Sansa. All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honor, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

Lord Stark looked pained. "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for the girls."

"I don't care about their stupid tourney," said Arya suddenly.

Sansa lifted her head. "It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted."

Anger flashed across Lord Eddard's face. "Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?"

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. Eleonora held Arya's head against her side again, lovingly pushing her stray hairs from her face. She whispered in her little sister's ear, "It's alright, pup."

The only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. "Pray excuse me," her father announced to the table. "I didn't mean to interrupt your meals. I have little appetite." He disappeared down the hall and into his chambers without another word.

Sansa began exchanging excited whispers at Mira who attempted to appear excited. Down the table Jory laughed at a joke with Varyl, and Hullen started in about horseflesh. "Your warhorse, now, he may not be the best one for the joust. Not the same thing, oh, no, not the same at all." The men had heard it all before; Desmond, Jacks, and Hullen's son Harwin shouted him down together, and Porther called for more wine.

Eleonora understood why Sansa and Arya fought, all too well. She would not deny that she quarrelled quite intensely with Sansa herself on many occasions yet nothing compared to the hostility between her two youngest sisters. Their bickering had become so frequent that Sansa would no longer speak to Arya unless their father forced them. Arya had not been herself since the family had traveled south, none of them had, but the joy that had once radiated from Arya had dimmed. She had been excited at the idea of visiting the sea, exploring the tunnels beneath the castle, and even for the warmer weather. She grew tired of all of these prospects very quickly. The thought of the Butcher's boy had never left her conscience, and began to bother her more and more as time went on. None of the Stark men had protected her friend, none of them, not even her father.