Truth fears no questions.
—
Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung over the castle like a flag of mourning. Rickon rubbed his head against his eldest sister's neck, wiping his stream of tears on her shoulder. Eleonora helplessly soothed him, rubbing his back as she walked through the courtyard. Jory walked with them, leaning over for a moment to lift Arya on to his back. He had been by her side, helping with the little ones as much as he could since havoc had been wreaked on Winterfell. She feared words could never do justice to how much his presence had soothed her. Eleonora had been trying to remain strong, instill faith that Bran would recover not to frighten Arya and Bran. She could never let the others know that she was just as frightened as the rest of them.
It had been impossible for Eleonora to have a moment alone since Bran's fall. Her mother, understandably grief stricken, sat by her wounded son's bedside without a moment away. She neglected her two younger children, who felt frightened and alone in a castle of quiet chaos. Even Arya, the bravest little girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms, made less and less convincing excuses to remain by her elder sister's side. Eleonora had always been more of a maternal figure to Rickon and Arya, the youngest male and female Starks, for no particular reason. Recent events had made their bond more apparent.
The rising sun had not yet cleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were already hard at it in the yard below. The foursome walked slowly towards the group of sparring men. Robb and Theon leaned casually against the stone wall, sweaty and exhausted-looking.
"Arya, take Rickon and go to your brother," said Eleonora. "Tell him I want all of you to eat breakfast now and yes, you can tell him that especially includes he and Theon."
"Rickon won't want to leave you," she replied, sliding down off of Jory's back. Eleonora knew Arya was using Rickon's attachment to her advantage. Arya did not wish to leave her side as well.
"Well, he can come find me after he eats breakfast," she said, nodding to him as she lifted him off her hip. "Now, go on, both of you."
"I'm not hungry," she pleaded, tightening her grip on Eleonora's skirt.
"Yes, you are. I could hear your stomach's growl echo down the corridor," said Eleonora, sending her an all-knowing stare. "Take your brother and get something to eat before you waste away."
Arya took Rickon's hand and dragged him, crying and pouting all the way to Robb and Theon. Arya relayed the message to her eldest brother, Eleonora could see. He sent her a quiet smile and lifted Rickon to his hip, took Arya's hand and led them into the castle. Eleonora massaged her neck, Rickon had caused her muscles to grow sore.
"You need to follow your own orders, you know," said Jory. "You look like you haven't eaten in week. I fear you'll drift away on the next gust of wind."
"I'm too tired to eat," she sighed. "Since Mother has been camped at Bran's bedside, Rickon and Arya haven't left my side. They've been coming to my chambers each night, too fretful to sleep in their own beds."
"I've noticed," Jory smirked.
Eleonora moved quickly, pulling the Captain of the House Guard into the narrow alleyway between the stables. He was taken off guard but pleasantly so. She gripped the collar of his shirt, standing on the very tips of her toes to meet his lips. He cupped her face in his coarse hands, smiling against her mouth.
"I've missed those lips," he breathed.
"I know I have told you dozens of times, but—"
"Nora—" he started.
"No, let me finish," she insisted, placing a gentle finger to his lips. "You have been incredible to me and to the little ones since Bran's fall. I don't know what kind of state I would be in without you. Thank you."
Jory smiled a sweet smile, cupped her face in his hands and examined her expression before placing a meaningful kiss on her forehead. She held on to him by his wrists, quietly smiling up at him when he released her. Jory never needed words to express himself.
"Would you like me to walk you to your chambers?" he asked, pushing a long strand of hair behind her ear.
"No, don't be silly," she replied kindly. "You should find my father. I am quite certain he'll have been looking for you by now."
"I'll call on you later," he nodded, kissing her lips quickly before slipping out into the street.
Eleonora straightened her skirts and strolled back on to the cobblestone street. Sandor Clegane's rasping voice drifted up to her first, "The boy is a long time dying. I wish he would be quicker about it."
She glanced over and saw the Hound standing with Prince Joffrey as squires swarmed around them.
"At least he dies quietly," the prince replied. "It's the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarcely sleep last night."
The eldest Stark girl's wolfblood instantly began to boil. Her jaw tightened, clenching her fists. What a callous little dolt, completely unfazed by the suffering in Winterfell. He was more concerned about getting a good night's rest than of the crippled little boy, wasting away in the upper tower. Sandor Clegane cast a long shadow across the hard-packed earth as his squire lowered the black helm over his head.
"I could silence the creature, if it please you," he said through his open visor. His squire placed a longsword in his hand. He tested the weight of it, slicing at the cold morning air. Behind him, the yard rang to the clangor of steel on steel.
The notion seemed to delight the prince. "Send a dog to kill a dog!" he exclaimed. "Winterfell is so infested with wolves, the Starks would never miss one." Eleonora quietly gasped, lifting her skirts to confront the prince, but Lord Tyrion Lannister swept in before she could pounce. She stood idly in the background to observe the scene unfold, her presence unnoticed for the time.
"I beg to differ, nephew," he said. "The Starks can count past seven. Unlike some princes I might name."
Joffrey had the grace at least to blush.
"A voice from nowhere," Sandor said. He peered through his helm, looking this way and that. "Spirits of the air!"
The prince laughed, as he always laughed when his bodyguard did this mummer's farce. Tyrion was used to it. "Down here."
The tall man peered down at the ground, and pretended to notice him. "The little lord Tyrion," he said. "My pardons. I did not see you standing there."
"I am in no mood for your insolence today," said Lord Tyrion, turning to his nephew. "Joffrey, it is past time you called on Lord Eddard and his lady, to offer them your comfort."
Joffrey looked as petulant as only a boy prince can look. "What good will my comfort do them?"
"None," said Tyrion. "Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has been noted."
"The Stark boy is nothing to me," said Joffrey. "I cannot abide the wailing of women."
Tyrion Lannister reached up and slapped his nephew hard across the face. The boy's cheek began to redden. Eleonora snorted a silent laugh, thinking better of herself before covering her mouth.
"One word," Tyrion said, "and I will hit you again."
"I'm going to tell Mother!" Joffrey exclaimed. Lord Tyrion hit him again. Now both cheeks flamed.
"You tell your mother," Tyrion told him. "But first you get yourself to Lord and Lady Stark, and you fall to your knees in front of them, and you tell them how very sorry you are, and that you are at their service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or theirs in this desperate hour, and that all your prayers go with them. Do you understand? Do you?"
The boy looked as though he was going to cry. Instead, he managed a weak nod. Then he turned and fled headlong from the yard, holding his cheek. Eleonora watched him run. Sandor Clegane followed slowly. Once Joffrey was out of sight, she approached the smallest Lannister. She held her hands together as she walked, swaying from side-to-side in very pleased manner. Tyrion glanced up at her in a somewhat surprised way.
"Lady Stark," he said, bowing his head.
"I must admit, I would not have expected someone of your... stature to have such an effect on a future king," she teased. Tyrion slowly raised his head, smirking at the young beauty.
"I pray you were far out of earshot and could not hear the words exchanged," he said.
"You mean to ask if I overheard Prince Joffrey insult my family and threaten to have my brother's direwolf executed?" she asked. "No, I was luckily too preoccupied to hear such crass blather."
"My apologies for my nephew's insensitivity to your family's sorrow," he said, and Eleonora knew he truly meant the words.
"Thank you, Lord Tyrion, but I have been taught to neither acknowledge nor accept apologies on the behalf of another," she said, no hint of venom in her tone.
"You must know then that you do not always have to be the one at fault to be the one who is sorry," he replied. "I am, for example, very sorry to hear of your brother's fall. If there anything myself or my family can do to ease your pain, please do not hesitate to ask."
"You are very kind," she said, nodding her head.
"What of the boy?" he asked. "How is his condition?"
"There was no change," she said, "Maester Luwin thought that a hopeful sign."
"That is good news indeed," said Tyrion. "Is the maester optimistic of—"
"No," she interrupted, knowing precisely what he was to ask her and unwilling to hear the question. "Bran will never walk again. The fall was too great."
"I am truly sorry then," he said.
"As am I," she frowned. "I should have never let him run off by himself, but Bran has always been such a skilled climber. I cannot fathom how this could have happened. He has never fallen before, not once. I worry—"
Tyrion offered her his arm, hoisting it higher than most men would. She graciously accepted his offer and slowed her pace to stride with him towards the Great Hall.
"Worry is but rust upon a blade, my lady," he said solemnly.
—
"You worry too much," said Jaime, sitting idly on the edge of his sister's bed as she paced like a caged lion.
"You heard Tyrion," said Cersei fiercely. "They believe the boy to survive."
"Wishful thinking," said Jaime, smirking in his usual infuriating way.
Cersei gnawed on the knuckle of her index finger. Her eyes darted about, stomach in knots. If the Stark boy lived and more importantly remembered what he saw in the tower, she and Jaime and their three children would be surely killed. She couldn't bear the thought.
"This is your fault, you know," said Cersei.
"My fault?" he scoffed. "You insisted we sneak off to the tower. I pushed the boy from the ledge to protect us."
"You know what I mean," she seethed. "You stopped the boy's bleeding. Why would you try to take his life only to save it?"
"So no one would suspect us," he said indignantly.
"No one would have suspected us at all had the boy died!"
"He might yet!"
"I think you care little of the boy, but you do care for the eldest Stark girl," said Cersei in a cool tone.
"Do not be ridiculous," said Jaime. "She's wild, rude, and infuriating."
"She's also dangerous," she replied. "No good can come from her in the south."
"Well, we depart at sunrise," said Jaime. "Little can be done to prevent her joining her family south now, or would you ask I push her from a tower as well?"
"I'll match her," said Cersei, "I'll match her with someone as far north as possible, or west, or east, anywhere but the south."
Jaime laughed aloud at the idea.
"Yes, sister, I'm certain she will happily accept your proposal," he laughed.
"She will not deny such an offer from the Queen," she snapped. "I will speak with Ned Stark about the matter before sunset."
"And who shall tell the king of this news?" asked Jaime.
"He need not know," said Cersei.
"Don't be stupid, sister," said Jaime. "Do you honestly believe Robert will allow some foreign lord to steal away Lyanna Stark from him once again? Eleonora Stark may be many things, but she is no fool. I'm certain she's aware of that fact as well."
—
"You asked to speak with me, Father?" asked Eleonora, closing the door behind her as she entered her parents' chamber.
"Yes, Eleonora, come in," he said, bring her into his arms and kissing her cheeks.
Ned Stark looked exhausted, his face gaunt and eyes hollowed. He had mourned Bran's fall as the others had, unable to eat or sleep as he should. He worried for his wife almost as much as for Bran. She had gone mad with grief, locked in Bran's room as a recluse. There was no use convincing her to leave his side for she refused to even broach the topic. He knew that they would still leave for King's Landing soon, no matter Bran's condition and he needed to know he was leaving Winterfell behind in capable hands.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes, everything is fine," he nodded. "I wanted to speak with you in private before we begin our journey south tomorrow. I know how excited you are."
"Incredibly," she said through her teeth.
"I know you are dreading the move more than anyone else," he said, leading her to sit down across from him at the sitting table. "I want to thank you for being so strong for your siblings sake and for not fighting the journey south."
"I wouldn't allow Sansa nor Arya to travel to a foreign land without me," she said. "No, I am not looking forward to leaving, but I would rather know they're safe and happy in the south than worried sick in the north."
"I wanted to speak to you about Rickon, too," said Ned. "Your mother is less than able to care for him with Bran in his current condition, so I would like to bring him with us to King's Landing. I wanted your council on the idea. Rickon has always clung to you more so than your mother, and I want your input on what would be in his best interest."
"Mother is in no state to look after anyone besides Bran, not even herself," said Eleonora. "Prince Tommen and Rickon are close in age, and they seem to get on quite nicely. That will please the King and Queen. I wish for us all to stay in the north together as you know, but Rickon would be much more content with me to care for him until Bran and Mother can recover."
"I am pleased to know you agree, and you won't be away long," said Ned. "Perhaps you'd have a much more temporary stay if you were to be matched—"
Eleonora quickly took to her feet, pushing her chair out from the table. Her father stood up after her. She was not keen on returning to the subject she hated most the day before she would be leaving her home.
"I will not speak of this again," she snapped before she could stop herself.
"Sit down, Eleonora," said Ned, his words were stern but gentle. Eleonora stopped in her tracks, crossed her arms across her chest and violently plopped back down in her seat like a pouting child. "Sit up and wipe that look off your face. You may not be a child any longer, but I am still your father and you will keep your temper under control."
She sighed, unfolded her arms and pushed herself into a more appropriate position. She desperately fought the urge to roll her eyes. She had hoped the conversation would not happen again. Her father had discussed matching her countless times since her fourteenth name day, but after her refusal continued, Lord and Lady Stark gave up the idea temporarily. It had been two years since the topic had been broached. Eleonora couldn't claim to be terribly surprised. She expected the move south and Sansa's betrothal to bring up the notion of marriage again.
"Father, I beg you, I do not wish to speak on this topic again," said Eleonora, pleading.
"I have been far more patient with your reluctance to marry than most fathers would," said Ned, and he was right. "You are nearing your twentieth name day, and you are still utterly unwilling to even talk about the proposition of marriage."
"I will not do it, and I have made this perfectly clear," she insisted. "Sansa is betrothed to the future King of the Seven Kingdoms. You should not be concerned about my matrimony."
"Your younger sister should not be wed before you," he replied.
"She will not be wed before me because I do not wish to wed at all," she spat.
"The Queen has graciously asked to match you with a fine northern lord," said Ned, "and I would not allow you to marry someone unworthy."
"Yet you are allowing Sansa to wed Prince Joffrey," said Eleonora.
"You mustn't say such things," he said.
"I speak the truth," she replied.
Ned sighed, sipping his goblet before diving into the conversation again.
"I have never seen a woman with such a natural gift with children, nor a woman so passionate, nor willing to love," he went on. "Why, with such innate qualities, are you still so reluctant to marry?"
"As I have said countless times before, I am unwilling to abandon my freedom for the sake of a title and procreation," she admitted. "There is nothing I treasure more."
"You speak as if marriage is a death sentence, as if you would be locked away to rot in a dungeon," said Ned, ignoring his daughter's involuntary scoff. "Your mother and I were matched, and I cannot imagine living without her."
"How lucky you were, but your love is rare," said Eleonora. "What of the King and Queen—"
"Choose your words carefully," he warned.
"I only mean that King Robert loved your sister, and he would have married her if Rhaegar Targaryen hadn't stolen her away," said Eleonora as her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He married Cersei Lannister as a political gesture, and even you cannot deny that he bears no love for her. A blind man could see it."
"They have three children—"
"Yes, how wonderful for three children to be born not out of love but to carry on a bloodline," said Eleonora. "Pardon my reluctance to follow suit."
"What if you meet a man you fall in love with without the help of a match?" asked Ned. "What then?"
"Marriage is not always accompanied by love," said Eleonora, "so why must love be accompanied by marriage?"
"If the Queen finds you a match, you must not refuse her, Eleonora," said Ned. "Do not expect me to defend your refusal."
"I fear little that a match is in my not so distant future, father," said Eleonora, smirking to herself. "I know you are well aware of the King's fondness of me, or rather, fondness of looking at me. I doubt very much that he would welcome the thought of me having a husband to share my bed."
—
Robb threw a small tree branch onto the floor for Grey Wind to fetch. He laid on his back upon his bed, hands crossed beneath his head as he gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling. He would be the Lord of Winterfell in his father's wake soon, and he had yet to fully comprehend the responsibilities he would inherit. His chamber door creaked open, earning his attention. Eleonora, Night by her side, slid into his quarters and closed the door behind them. Night and Grey Wind nuzzled each other playfully as Eleonora climbed upon her brother's bed. Robb pushed himself up and leaned his back against his large ironwood headboard.
"There you are," he grinned. "I haven't seen you all day. I was beginning to think you'd ran away to the Wall to avoid the south."
"Do not tempt me, brother," she replied, Night leaping onto the bed. Robb leaned over and playfully ruffled Night's coal black fur around her neck. She released a quiet bark in reply.
"You're certain you wish to leave Night behind?" asked Robb. "Sansa and Arya cannot part with Lady and Nymeria."
"After I overheard Joffrey's ease to kill our wolves? No. Besides, Night is a creature of the north," said Eleonora. "She belongs here."
"Same as you," he replied and his sister frowned.
"I just spoke with father," said Eleonora, anxious to change the subject. "He asked Rickon come to King's Landing."
"In Bran's place?"
"I believe him to be more concerned with mother's ability to care for Rickon with Bran in his current condition," said Eleonora. "She hasn't left his side since the fall as you know. Rickon is still barely three, and he needs someone to mother him."
"I think it wise he go with you then," said Robb, nodding. "No doubt Rickon will be pleased to not have to leave your side now. Will he bring Shaggydog?"
"No, I will convince Rickon to allow him to stay to watch over Bran and mother," she said. "I am quite certain he will fight me a bit, but he will finally agree. Arya and Sansa are old enough to make their own choice, but you'll look after them both?"
"The same as I care for Grey Wind," he said, and she believed him.
"And you'll look after Bran?"
"You know I will," said Robb. "Maester Luwin says he may wake soon."
"He'll never walk again," said Eleonora and Robb's face fell.
"No, he won't," he said, "but he will live. I would never have thought I would owe my brother's life to a Lannister. If Ser Jaime had not stopped Bran's bleeding... well, even the Maester said he would have died long ago."
"Yes, we can all be thankful for the Lannisters," she sighed.
"You know what I meant," he said.
"Yes, but sometimes the lion taunts its prey before he eats it," she said.
—
Eleonora's bed was full for the night. Rickon and Arya were nuzzled up against each other on her side, snoozing quietly as the winds outside grew blustery. Arya's arm was wrapped around Eleonora's waist, her face buried in her sister's side. The three direwolf pups curled up on one large pile of fur at her feet. An occasional quiet yelp could be heard as the wolves dreamt of a hunt. Her candles burned still, allowing her to read a book given to her by Lord Tyrion, a book from the Great Sept of Baelor, a tale of ice dragons that captivated her imagination. She would return it when they arrived south, she thought.
The shutters hummed a quiet tune, the winds fierce and unforgiving outside the comfort of Winterfell. Eleonora's door slowly crept open. A pale grey snout was visible first, sniffing about before the direwolf slithered in between the cracked door. It was Lady, followed by a skittish-looking Sansa. She slipped in to her elder sister's room and quietly closed the door behind her. Lady gracefully climbed on to Eleonora's massive bed to curl up with her sleeping siblings.
"What's wrong, Sansa?" Eleonora whispered to not wake the two sound asleep.
"Nothing," she said swiftly. "Lady was anxious and couldn't sleep, so I took her for a walk."
"She seems to be sleeping quite well now," said Eleonora, seeing straight through her sister's fib.
"Yes, so she does," said Sansa, peering down at her feet. "I suppose I'll get back to bed."
"Come in then, Sansa," said Eleonora, sending her an all knowing smile as she lifted her heavy covers beside her.
Sansa hadn't slept in her sister's bed since she was as small as Rickon, but she seized the offer to do so again. She curled up beside her elder sister, resting her head in the nook of Eleonora's shoulder. The warm blankets fell on top of her as the eldest Stark began to affectionately stroke Sansa's pretty auburn hair. Sansa had been scared for Bran but struggled to find a way to do so when she was expected to give off an air of perfection when she could possibly be betrothed to a prince.
She was also afraid to leave her mother. She needed her very much, and the thought of being so far away from her sweet words and calming touch caused her much worry. Her father would be with her, of course, and Eleonora, but neither of them had the feminine touch that she needed. Eleonora knew how to present herself, but only just, and she hardly enjoyed it. She was more likely found barefoot and bareback on a horse, shooting her bloody arrows at a field fox than stitching herself a new shawl for a ball. There was no doubting her sister's love for her, however. Sansa knew that she would protect her from anyone or anything that threatened to harm her. That fact still made it very difficult for the two very different girls to see eye-to-eye.
"What weighs heavy on your mind, sister?" asked Eleonora quietly.
"We leave for King's Landing tomorrow morning," said Sansa, struggling to find the words.
"That we do," said Eleonora, smiling sweetly. "I doubt very much that anyone has been more thrilled at the fact than you."
"I am most excited," she retorted, "but I am slightly anxious to leave Winterfell."
"You have always been more a Tully than a Stark," Eleonora soothed. "Your blood is warm, and you will you will thrive in the south like mother says."
"I will miss mother," she frowned, "and I worry for Bran."
"Mother will visit as soon as Bran is well," said Eleonora, "and Maester Luwin is assured that he will wake very soon."
"We will all be reunited for my wedding at least," said Sansa in a suddenly whimsical voice. "Mother, Robb, Bran and even Jon will have to melt in the sun to see me become the future Queen of Westeros."
"You are young still, Sansa," said Eleonora. "You shouldn't think of such things until you're much older."
"Not much," she said, looking over at her sister. "Will you be matched in King's Landing, Nora?"
"Father has broached the subject again recently," she admitted.
"And?"
"I refused, again," she said.
"You are fortunate that father has not forced you into a betrothal," said Sansa. "You are far beyond the age most girls marry."
"Yes, Sansa, father reminded me of that as well," she sighed.
"Why won't you allow father to find you a match?" asked Sansa. "You know he would never betroth you to a man unworthy of your affections."
"Nothing is more precious to me than the ability to choose my own fate," she said, "and I refuse to give up my freedom to man I'd hardly know."
"Look at mother and father," said Sansa. "They were matched, and they are happily in love."
"Sweet girl, happiness and marriage are always a matter of chance," said Eleonora, stroking her sister's hair to soften her words, "a chance I am not yet willing to take."
"I will be happy to have Joffrey as my husband," she swooned.
"Sansa, do not allow yourself to be fooled by his golden hair and a title," said Eleonora, "It is what lies in a man's heart that truly matters."
—
Eleonora climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time she would see the north in quite some time. Night padded silently beside her. She reached the landing and stood for a long moment, weary. Night nuzzled at her hand. She heard her mother's voice, speaking softly to Bran's unconscious figure. Lady Catelyn Stark was beside Bran's bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran's side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room.
Eleonora stood in the doorway silently for a few minutes before Catelyn called out to her. "Eleonora," she said. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Eleonora had never seen her cry before. She had been patient with her grieving mother since Bran's fall. She understood her mother's sorrow. She loved her brother will all her heart, but she couldn't imagine the love Catelyn bore for her son.
"Mother, I have come to say 'goodbye,'" said Eleonora, "to you and to Bran."
She stepped forward, nestling herself upon Bran's bedside and gently ran her fingers through his hair. He seemed to just be taking an afternoon nap, never appearing as if he may never wake again. Eleonora leaned down and placed a kiss upon her brother's forehead, "When you wake, Bran, I must never hear word from Robb that you've been seen for one moment without a bow in your hand. I love you, pup, and we will be together again soon."
She looked back upon her mother. Catelyn appeared frail as she shuddered, trying to keep her concentration on her needlework. Finally, she looked up at her daughter through her tears, "Your father asks that Rickon join you in the south. He fears I am in no state to give him the time and attention he needs with Bran—"
"I know," said Eleonora. "He told me."
"You've always been as much of a mother to him as I," said Catelyn. "I trust you to be that still."
"Of course," she replied.
"And to Arya and Sansa," she continued. "I know how Arya and Sansa bicker, but you must be patient with them. They needs you whether they realizes it or not — now more than ever."
"Yes, Mother," she said softly.
"You know as well as I that we have not always seen eye-to-eye," said Catelyn, "but know that you will always be my first born, the first child I ever loved, and I love you always."
"I love you, Mother," she said, "always."
—
Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off. Robb was in the middle of it, shouting commands with the best of them. He seemed to have grown of late, as if Bran's fall and his mother's collapse had somehow made him stronger. Grey Wind was at his side.
Jon Snow tightened the belt to his saddle, patting the side of his black steed to calm him. He would be traveling to the Wall, taking the Black and leaving his life at Winterfell behind. He was a bastard, but he would not be a Snow there. He would be a guard of the Night's Watch. He would live his days protecting the realm, a noble life and life he would never have as Ned Stark's bastard son. His eldest sister approached him. She looked beautiful though he knew how unnerved she was to leave the north. She had the effortless ability to calm him by a mere smile. He loved her as his mother, the only one he'd ever known. She'd cared for him, loved him when she was too young to bear the weight of a son. He could never repay her for her kindness, her selflessness. He feared to know who he would be without her affections. He would miss her most.
"Now, I hope you don't plan on being embarrassed when your older sister comes to visit you more often than she rightfully should," said Eleonora, lifting her heavy skirts as she approached her brother.
"Never," said Jon, smiling.
"Good," she said. "I fear I will not be able to keep away from the north for long."
"I would hope not," he said, a fierce pain radiating in his throat now. "The north will miss you. I will miss you."
Eleonora smiled weakly, cupping his face in her hands and peering up at him. He had grown up overnight, nearly a man now as he towered over her small frame. A tear fell from his eyes and she pushed it away.
"I am so proud of you, Jon, so terribly proud," she smiled softly.
"I love you, sister," he said.
"We will be together again, brother," she said softly, pressing her forehead on to his. "I promise."
—
Eleonora bode farewell to the others, Theon, Maester Luwin and the rest. They had left Winterfell on the same day as Jon and Benjen Stark, riding out to the sound of men shouting and horses snorting, to the rattle of wagons and the groaning of the queen's huge wheelhouse, as a light snow flurried about them. The kingsroad was just beyond the sprawl of castle and town. There the banners and the wagons and the columns of knights and freeriders turned south, taking the tumult with them, while Jon turned north with their uncle Benjen.
The ride south would be long and tiring, and Eleonora was in no rush to reach her new home. As the temperature rose after each passing mile, so did her anxiety for what was to come. She rode Moon in silence, thinking of Robb and of Jon and how horribly she already missed her dear brothers' presence. Sansa, Arya, and little Rickon traveled by carriage. Eleonora had been asked to ride with them but refused to leave Moon's back. Yes, she would see as much of the north as she could before it was gone.
The kingsroad was well trafficked, and at night for their comfort there were rude inns to be found. Three days ride from Winterfell, however, the farmland gave way to dense wood, and the kingsroad grew lonely. The flint hills fell shorter and tamer with each passing mile. It had grown warmer after that, and far more quiet. Eleonora had barely spoken the first week of their travel. She cared for her siblings, put on a pleasant show for her father and the king but purposely secluded herself from everyone whenever she could. Jory had put effort into lifting her spirits, and though she appreciated his attempts, her solemn disposition was unwavering. She had not spoken to Jaime Lannister since Bran's fall. He seemed to avoid her, blatantly fleeing in the opposite direction whenever Eleonora was near him. She cared little at this, and partially hoped his silence would continue. There was an odd feeling between them now, and she wished to avoid it.
They had been twelve days crossing the Neck, rumbling down a crooked causeway through an endless black bog. The air had been damp and clammy, the causeway so narrow they could not even make proper camp at night, they had to stop right on the kingsroad. Dense thickets of halfdrowned trees pressed close around them, branches dripping with curtains of pale fungus. Huge flowers bloomed in the mud and floated on pools of stagnant water. There were snakes watching from the trees, and lizard-lions floating half-submerged in the water, like black logs with eyes and teeth.
Eleonora shuddered when she woke from her slumber one foggy morning. Her skin felt sticky, the unfamiliar blanket of sweat engulfed her pale skin. She hated the warmth. Eleonora had been told by her lord father that she and her two sisters were to ride in the queen's wheelhouse that day. The mere idea made her ill. She pulled on her blue gown with Rickon still dozing quietly beside where she had slept. She adjusted her corset with great difficulty, brushed out her raven locks, picked up the sleepy Rickon to place on her hip and stepped outside.
Outside, she stood for a moment amidst the shouts and curses and the creak of wooden wheels as the men broke down the tents and pavilions and loaded the wagons for another day's march. The inn was a sprawling three-story structure of pale stone, but even so, it had accommodations for less than a third of the king's party, which had swollen to more than four hundred with the addition of her father's household and the freeriders who had joined them on the road.
She found Sansa, already looking her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest green silks. She had obviously been looking forward to riding in the queen's wheelhouse. It was supposed to be a great honor to ride with the queen. Eleonora assumed her sister was hoping Prince Joffrey might be there, her betrothed. Sansa barely knew Joffrey yet, but she seemed to be already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.
"Sansa, where is your sister?" asked Eleonora, pushing her brother's mess of hair from his eyes as he yawned. "Where's Arya?"
"She ran off with the butcher's boy, Mycah," she frowned. "I told her the Queen has delayed our travels with her for a time, so she ran off to play. A wheel shattered on the wheelhouse. We won't be able to leave until tomorrow morning once the squire returns with the ironwood to mend the wheel."
Eleonora was elated, but she pretended otherwise for Sansa's sake.
"I am sorry to hear that," she said. "I know how excited you were."
"The Queen suggested Joffrey and I spend the day together instead," she replied, smiling to herself. "We're going to go for a walk."
"Sansa, be careful," warned Eleonora.
"The prince will protect me," she cooed.
"Yes, and who will be there to protect you from the prince?"
"Don't be stupid," said Sansa, picking up her skirts and trailing off to find Joffrey.
Eleonora's stomach lurched at the idea of Sansa spending one second alone with Prince Joffrey Baratheon.
Rickon pointed to where Prince Tommen was sitting with his Septa a few yards away, distracting Eleonora from her thoughts of Sansa.
"Can Prince Tommen play with us today?" asked Rickon, yawning.
Eleonora placed Rickon back on the ground, taking his hand in hers. Prince Tommen appeared quite bored as he usually seemed, sitting quietly beside his Septa. Eleonora smiled as they approached him, curtsying as a proper lady should. He looked up at her and to Rickon.
"Prince Tommen, would you be interested in a bit of fun?"
Tommen smiled an excited grin, looking hopefully up at his Septa. She sent him a feeble smile and nodded towards his parents standing nearby as if to imply he ask them himself. He darted to his father, tugging on his leg until the large king looked down at him. Cersei's face reared up in a scowl but Robert looked more than pleased at such a proposition. He released a loud laugh and ruffled his son's hair. Eleonora sent them a pleasant wave that the king returned. Tommen sprinted back with his apparent approval.
—
"He has been gone all day," Cersei insisted, peering across to her husband. "It's far too late for him to be out."
"Let the boy be," said Robert, sipping on his goblet of ale. "It's good for him to roughhouse a bit, it'll toughen him up. Leave it to a northerner to make a boy a man."
"Let Joffrey be a man, Tommen is still a child," she argued. "Joff has been away with Sansa Stark all day, so please allow me to have one of my sons home before midnight."
Robert rolled his eyes, reaching across the table for a handful of hadn't touched her plate of food, opting to worry about her two missing boys. The king turned to Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister in a reluctant sort of way. He waved his arm at them and grunted.
"Jaime, will you please bring Tommen to me?" she pleaded.
"Of course, Your Grace," he bowed, pushing back the flap and exiting the tent.
The sounds of drums and boisterous songs could be heard just outside of camp, beside the tree line. Jaime followed the noise and dimmed firelight. A large group of very rough looking men from the Stark's House Guard sat in a circle, guzzling wine, clapping their hands in rhythm and singing loudly off tune. Jaime approached the men and lifted his nose at them as if he was revolted from an odor. Tommen and Rickon were leaping about, their silliness making the group of men roar with laughter. Then he spotted Eleonora.
The girl danced with no rhythm, drunk on the thick summer air and lost in the starlight. Her feet were bare, coated in mud and earth. Her hair bounced wildly as her figure twirled and drowned in the beat of the makeshift drums. She flung her arms above her head, seducing the moon with her inelegant dance. Jaime stood in silence until Eleonora spun about and caught sight of him. She paused for a moment, her smile falling from her face. She lifted her skirts, slipping from the circle of dancers, and approached him.
"If you are waiting for me to ask you to dance then I fear you will be quite disappointed," she smirked, her eyes illuminated by the moonlight.
"I was sent to retrieve Prince Tommen," he said, peering over to the laughing boy.
Eleonora followed his gaze before meeting his eyes again.
"Let him be a bit longer," she replied, smiling softly.
"The Queen is worried," he said. "He should not have-"
"Tommen may be royalty, but he is still a child," she interrupted. "He should be allowed to play and to laugh."
"He has responsibilities—"
"He is seven," she said. "His only responsibility should be returning to his mother each night with a muddied face, sunburned cheeks, and skinned knees."
"He is an heir of the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," said Jaime. "He is Prince—"
"He did not choose such a fate-"
"No one chooses their fate," said Jaime. "He is not your blood. You have no say in the matter."
Eleonora paused. The lion was right, she did not have a say. She thought for a moment, mulling over her next words very carefully.
"He is of your blood, Lannister," she said and Jaime shuttered an uncomfortable gulp. "You do have a say and what will it be?"
Tommen had been sheltered all of his life by his mother. Even for a queen, she was protective of Tommen as if he was an orphaned fawn. Jaime could not recall a time that Tommen looked so happy. He didn't look like a prince, he looked like a boy having fun with his mates. Who was he to take that away from him? Jaime knew Cersei would do all she could to prevent Tommen from leaving her side in such a manner again.
"A moment longer," he sighed after a long pause.
"Thank you," she said softly, crossing her arms over her chest. They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the boys dance about. Finally, Eleonora spoke again. "You have been quite elusive as of late. I do not believe we have spoken since Bran's fall."
"Ah, did you miss me that much?" he teased.
"I didn't say I was complaining," she smirked.
"And there's that snark I sorely missed," he said and Eleonora playfully bumped her hip against his. Jaime returned her gesture with gently nudging her shoulder with his elbow, as their height difference was so immense.
"Nora!" a familiar voice shouted from behind them.
It was Jory. He appeared frantic and out of breath from his hurried run. He barely noticed Jaime Lannister beside her. Eleonora dropped her crossed arms to her side, one hand nervously gripping her abdomen.
"Jory, what's wrong?"
"It's Arya," he replied, struggling to catch his breath. "She's gone."
—