"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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Blood will withstand the rocks. —
Robb had instructed the northern lords to rest their heads early, preferring to spend his evening alone. He poured himself too much ale for a boy or man, and attempted quite adamantly to focus on anything but his mother's accord with the Frey's.
Eleonora snaked into his tent with a plate of sweet bread and honey, a favorite of the pair. She knew her brother must be struggling with his pact with the Frey's though he would not show his disdain outside his quarters. She knew him far too well.
"I brought us a celebratory sweet to commemorate this momentous occasion," said Eleonora, playfully swooping the plate to the table in a jovial manner.
"You truly are wicked," said Robb, the left corner of his lips fighting the urge to curl.
"Ah, yes, your wicked big sister," she said, sitting across from her brother and pulling off a piece of sweet bread. "I'll be more wicked if I eat all of the sweet bread before you manage to steal a morsel."
Robb half smiled and pulled off a large portion of the warm loaf they shared, "have you come to wallow in my misery then?"
"No," said Eleonora, no jest in her voice. "I take no pleasure in your position. Marrying someone I do not love is quite the steep mountain to overcome, but Smalljon is good and he is kind. Betrothal to a Frey is... unthinkable."
"Mother says there is one decent..." said Robb drifting off.
"There is no such creature as a decent Frey," said Eleonora, looking down at her hands. "She may bear some beauty, but her blood is as black and bemired as the Green Fork. They should never be trusted, Robb, not ever. No matter how close you may become — never trust a Frey."
Robb looked his sister intently up and down. He knew there was more behind her words, but he knew her well enough to know she would always speak her mind to him if she wanted.
"Arya may choose to remain in the south as a prisoner once she hears the news of her betrothal," said Robb, his voice softening a bit. "I could not blame her."
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