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i have dined with kings i've been offered wings and i've never been too impressed.
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Morning broke over Winterfell with the unmistakable stir of anticipation. The news of the Baratheons' arrival had traveled through the cold, still air like wildfire, and Winterfell's inhabitants braced themselves for the intrusion of their Southern guests. Hermione's handmaiden, Mary Blackwell—a young girl with a kindly disposition and a smith's heritage from Camelot—assisted her with care. The gown she donned was of pristine crème, embroidered with silver threads that caught the pale morning light with a muted glint.
The great hall of Winterfell became a canvas of noble houses and bloodlines. The Tathams and the Starks were aligned by age and station, a tableau of power and legacy. Lord Eddard Stark presided in the center, flanked by Lady Catelyn on his left, her children Rickon and Leo at her side. To his right stood Lady Clara, with Robb, Hermione, Sansa, and Bran forming a constellation of the Stark children.
"Where is Arya?" Lady Catelyn's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the murmur of assembled lords and ladies. "Sansa, where is your sister?"
No sooner had the question been posed than Arya came barreling down the dirt path, her small form barely visible through the crowd. Hermione's lips twitched in a suppressed laugh, but Lord Eddard's smile softened the moment. "What is this?" he asked, lifting the helm from Arya's head and directing her to her place. "Go on, now."
With a huff and a slight scowl, Arya squeezed into her spot. Robb leaned in, his breath warm against Hermione's ear. "You excited?"
Hermione offered no reply, her silence a chisel against Robb's patience. Their lack of communication since their last encounter in the woods had only exacerbated his frustration. Hermione had retreated to the sanctuary of books and the company of Sansa, Rickon, and Leo, avoiding the training grounds where Robb's brooding presence was a constant reminder of their estrangement.
Even now, as Robb's gaze bore into her, Hermione resisted the urge to meet it. The thunderous blast of the approaching horn shattered the moment, signaling the Baratheons' grand entrance.
