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THE MOST BEAUTIFUL C H A O S )
THE SUN HAD set some hours past, melting away behind the castle walls and turning the pale sky a thousand shades of crimson and gold, then fading to black. The castle slept peacefully except for Cassandra, for her nights at Winterfell had been fitful and restless. When she had been able to sleep, evil things awoke in her mind — she dreamt of bloodstained marble slabs, the hopeless screams of a lioness, haunting blue eyes that followed her every movement.
So, it was for that reason she found herself staying awake late into the night in hopes of avoiding the inevitable. She curled up in her window seat with a pile of wolf pelts and a book in her hand, the candles flickering in pools of hot wax and the moon a pale sliver of silver in the night sky. The castle had been quiet for some while, the only sounds beyond her window the wind whistling through the godswood and the sporadic howl of a direwolf.
The daytime was most uneventful in comparison. Life at Winterfell seemed to be easier than at court, for it was free of snakes and spiders and creatures that thrived in chaos. She spent her days either sewing pretty patterns under the guidance of the castle septa, or sat in the courtyard watching her brothers train with Winterfell's master-at-arms. That previous morning, however, had been different.
The boys had drilled in the yard with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel. Bran and Tommen were in the midst of a duel, the small boys sweating under thick layers of leather and feather cushions. Bran had managed to push her little brother into the dirt, the little round prince not much of a fighter. Tommen was padded so heavily he was unable to get up, flailing like a tortoise flipped on his back. Bran stood over him with his wooden sword upraised, ready to whack him again once Tommen regained his feet. The crowd was beginning to laugh — Joffrey hardest of all.
"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out their armour. Prince Joffrey, Robb, fancy another round, boys?"
Her brother stood in the shadows of the Great Keep, surrounded by a group of young Lannister squires and knights who followed him around like a dog may it's master. Meanwhile, Robb stood alongside Theon and Rodrik Cassel, where he had been cheering on his younger brother.
The Stark boy eagerly stepped forward, sure as anything, still sweaty and breathless from his previous bout. "Gladly."
Joffrey too moved into the sunlight, his hair shining like spun gold, boredom wrought on his features. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik. Only green striplings fight with mummer's swords."
"You are a child," Theon snorted derisively, eyes full of disdain. No doubt he wanted to add "and a green stripling" besides, but even a Greyjoy knew when to hold his tongue.
