Eventual Spring

The Guests Arrive

Arya

By sunset, Arya and Alana were ready in their finery, waiting to greet the new arrivals. Arya was resigned to this peace summit, yet reluctant. She saw the value in lasting peace, but that didn't mean she couldn't resent this burden or Tyrion's trickery.

Arya had decided that Alana would stay by her side for the duration of the invasion; it was the only way to keep her safe. Alana, for her part, seemed pleased at being included. Arya decided from then on, Alana would have a prominent role with official Winterfell proceedings.

Tyrion was also present, wisely shouldering the bulk of the hosting duties.

The first to arrive was The Iron Isle, Yara Greyjoy striding confidently in, dressed in neutral unadorned leathers. Arya was impressed with her lack of embellishment, if not her sour demeanor. She rode her horse well, which Arya also admired. She didn't know much about the Iron borne woman, besides being Theon's sister, but her position as the first woman to lead her people already put her in some esteem. Her relationship to Theon did not.

"Welcome, Lady Greyjoy. We are most pleased to have you in attendance." Tyrion greets, making Arya want to roll her eyes at his formal niceties. Yara scoffs.

"No pleasantries necessary, Imp. I'm here to make sure the Iron Islands have a voice at the table. I'll thank you not to bullshit me with your fancy Southern tongue."

At this Arya lets loose a smile.

"I'm afraid that's how he addresses everyone. Don't take it personally. But you'll get no bullshit from me, promise." Alana giggles at her mother's use of the word bullshit, and Yara finally cracks a smile.

"How about you, little one? Will you give me bullshit?" Alana shakes her head strongly in answer. Yara gives a nod of approval, though her smirk belies her humor.

"Someone will show you to your rooms." Yara follows the servant to her rooms, shouting something about her horse.

Next, was Highgarden, Margaery and Loras, whose attire put her own Northern finery to shame. Their elegant silks were embroidered with intricate flowers and vines; Alana was clearly impressed, a look of awe on her face. They were both beautiful, though Margaery did look older in the lines around her eyes, she'd survived three husbands. Loras still had the seven pointed star etched onto his forehead, the marks peeked through whenever the wind caught his fringe.

"Ah, Highgarden, it is truly a pleasure. We have missed your presence in the capitol. I look forward to your level-headedness in these matters." Arya was already sick of Tyrion's smooth words and insincere flattery, and it was only noon. She'd forgotten that side of him.

Margaery is well-versed in the dance of words, however, and takes Tyrion's hand, kissing him on each cheek.

"Wonderful to see you again Lord Tyrion, serving the Queen truly agrees with you. You look excellent, so full of... health and vigor." Margaery counters. She has that same sly smile as she addresses Arya.

"My Lady Arya, I am so pleased to finally meet you. I have heard much of your strength, you are an example to women everywhere." Arya is thrown aback, not having expected a compliment on anything other than looks or clothes.

"Thank you." Arya swallows. "I must admit, I have long been curious to meet you as well." Arya manages in return. Margaery smiles warmly, taking it for the compliment it was meant to be. She looks over at Alana then, who straightens up at the attention.

"And who are you?"Alana was pleased at the attention and too well-mannered to ignore a direct question.

"Alana, My Lady." Her daughter answers, even managing a little curtsy.