Charlotte was born a royal, a princess. A Lannister. Through the acts of thievery, she ends up in Winterfell, being raised by Lord and Lady Stark. As Jon Arryn's death has come to pass, King Robert needs a new Hand. Who other than her father, Eddard...
"It's always changing, who we're suppose to love and who we're not. The only thing that stays the same is that we want who we want."
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Charlotte's POV
The rest of the night went as planned. The King, my father, was eating as a starving man, attacking each plate as though he was conquering all of the Seven Kingdoms. He held a gullible spirit, jolly and laughing. At least this is what I observed of him, as I watched from the corner of the room .
I just wanted some fresh air, away from royals, away from everybody.
Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Arya managed to flick food onto Sansa's dress. It caused a frenzy of commotion at the table seating the royal children. I belonged among them, to be sitting and enjoying myself as I drank summer wine. To laugh at the jokes that escaped the children's mouths. To bond with my new siblings, Myrcella and Tommen.
I just couldn't gain the courage to walk over there. The stares would be enough to send me to my bedchambers crying with complete humiliation.
"Shouldn't the Princess be enjoying the grand feast prepared in her honor?" A familiar voice speaks from behind me. I pivot around quickly, coming to face to face with Lord Stark's brother. "Uncle Benjen!" I run into his arms, letting him pick me off the ground as he hugged me tightly. "It's good to see you, my dear."
A huge smile covers my face. "It's been so long...."
"I've missed your beautiful smile. My, you've grown into a fine young lady. " My face turns different shades of bright red. "Thank you!" We both share a giggle before he departs to Lord Stark.
He's not really my uncle.... My previously happy self was now drowning in her sorrows again.
*~* Two days later *~*
My attendance was required in the womanly art of needlework. The gods already know that I am wasting my time, as I should be doing other... more productive things in Winterfell. The Queen required that I accompany Myrcella to needlework under the direction of Septa Mordane.
Being slightly older than the rest of the class, I was beyond my years of skilled needlework. Seven Hells.... I DON'T BELONG HERE. Boredom was overtaking my hands, causing my stitches to waver slightly to the right. I was able to fix them in seconds, the effects of being an adept seamstress. Across the room, Septa Mordane was drowning Myrcella with praise.
Praise, I didn't think her mediocre stitches need. But those thoughts would never escape my mouth.
Minutes passed, and I was growing ever frustrated. Septa Mordane's back was turned and I took it as my opportunity to escape.
As I passed through the doors, Myrcella notices my leave of absence. "Charlotte? Where are you going?" Her voice was soft enough to not alert the Septa of my escape. "Do you want to do something fun?" Myrcella stares at me with uncertainty. "Mother will be mad."
