The Way Of Winter | Robb Stark

ARYADNE - I

ARYADNE WATCHED THE TREES pass by outside the small window of the wheelhouse. Through the diamonds of its lattice shutters, she could see the mist that hung low in the white sky, over mountains far off. Their peaks stabbed through the dips in the rolling green hills. She was sure they were taller than the walls of the Red Keep. Compared to the unbearable warmth and stench of her seaside home, the North was a welcome change. She could taste the chill in the air and dreamed of snow.

"Dry your tears, now, darling," Queen Cersei cooed, leaning across to dab at the flushed face of the boy sat beside Aryadne.

He sniffled and nodded. Seeing him start to wipe furiously at his eyes, the Queen offered him a handkerchief, its corner embroidered with a golden lion. His hiccups continued. "Will I ever see Robin again, mother?"

She was used to her son's emotional disposition and remained patient. "Perhaps."

"What happened to his father?" Myrcella enquired. Next to her mother, she was her spitting image, dainty and fair-haired. They even wore the same style of dress, red for Cersei's maiden house — the Lannisters.

Aryadne, however, wore blue to match her eyes. The dress was thin enough for the heat of King's Landing but she did not mind. The pricking of her skin was an oddly pleasant sensation. For one unfamiliar with the royal family, she would not have been believable as one of the princesses. This was not just for her black hair that was in stark contrast with the rest of her siblings. She was hardly built like a princess and was reminded of it by her mother from the moment she could talk. It worsened when she started to flower, shooting up to an unbecoming height and losing the youthful chub that hid her square jaw and jutting cheekbones. Now a moon after her seventeenth nameday, she had given up hope of losing the defining features of her father's house.

"You remember how old Arryn was, Flower. All it took was a fever." After a moment, she added an unconvincing mumble, "Gods keep him."

Aryadne had given up on the book in her lap and drew a dark ribbon through the crease between the pages, shutting it. She wanted to see the hills. It took a few tries and she had to rise out of her seat slightly in order to undo the latch that held the shutters in place. They did not open far before slamming shut again with a sharp push.

The Queen raised a pointed brow, so thin and yellow that it may have been stitched on just like the lion of her kerchief. "Child, stop your gawking. Do you wish to arrive looking like a gulping fish?"

Pursing her lips, she slumped back into her seat.

"And close your legs. As unbelievable as it is, you are a princess."

She locked her knees together until they ached. Some time passed, twiddling her thumbs and picking at some fluff on her skirt before she dared to pick up her book again. It passed without comment, much to her relief. Her hand absentmindedly rose to trace the stag embossed into the golden pendant hanging at her neck. 

The last hour of their journey passed without another word. She dared another look and was taken in an instant.

Winterfell was a wonder to behold. Framed by hills and forests, it stood sentry. Thick turrets with oddly flat rooves rose above the stone keep. The children clamoured at the windows to marvel at the sight but their mother soon ordered them back to their seats. Instead, they resorted to staring through the lattice. Past the main gates, houses of wood and stone dotted around, separated from the castle by yet another wall. It was certainly duller than King's Landing, all grey and gloomy.

They came to a stop in front of the castle. After some hurried preparations, smoothing down dresses and hair, wiping the snot from Tommen's little face, they were ready. Cersei muttered something about filth and gathered her skirts before stepping out. The children followed.