'fair is foul, and foul is fair:'

_______

IT WAS AN unusually warm afternoon, possibly the warmest Reyona had ever experienced in her sixteen, short years. It was the kind of afternoon that beckoned one to shed their furs and bare their naked arms to the bitter, summer wind.

     On any other occasion, it was quite possible that Reyona Stark would have. However, being that she was stuffed up in a tall tower with her two younger sisters, Sansa and Arya, (along with the Stark family's Septa and a few younger daughters of kinsman close to their father) she had to keep up her appearance. Either that, Reyona noted to herself, or she'd get an ear full from Septa Mordane. She'd rather muck out the stables before that happened once more today.

     Septa Mordane was always correcting Reyona in one way or another.

      'Lady Reyona, you slouch too much.'

      'Lady Reyona, use the fork on the outside first. Your house sigil is a direwolf, you are not.'

      'Please, Reyona, behave as if you were the nobility that you are, in the light of the Seven.'

     That was the second time Reyona had heard Septa Mordane utter so much as an almost curse.

     The first time had been many years before. Arya, who had always been the more mischievous of the three daughters, had been caught red-handed with sheep dung, stuffing it into a torn slit Sansa's downy feathered mattress. It had been a sort of 'revenge', if Reyona recalled correctly, for Sansa making fun of Arya for behaving like a boy.

     Either way, neither Reyona nor Arya would ever forget the plum red fury that had overtaken Septa Mordane in that moment.

     The Septa's light voice cooed in delight, causing Reyona to startle from her warm memories and prick her finger with a straw-thin, iron needle she was attempting to create a pattern with.

     Swallowing the curses that she wanted to say, Reyona instead fixed her overly hunched shoulders and watched as a small droplet of blood began to pool on the tip of her bony, milk coloured forefinger. Blood red and pale white was a striking contrast, but not an unfamiliar one to Reyona.

     Sighing, she glanced towards Septa Mordane, to make sure the teacher wasn't watching her, and rubbed the blood onto the coarse skirts of an old, wool dress. This particular wool dress had seen many a failed sewing lesson and was previously stained by random accidents and blotches of blood from different occasions. Which was precisely why Reyona wore it to sewing lessons. She found herself too fond of her other, more intricate, dresses to get blood on them.

     "That is a splendid job, Sansa," Septa flushed over the stitch work on Sansa's cloth.

     Peering over to assess Arya's scowling face, Reyona glanced down at Sansa's direwolf emblem stitched in grey and brown and black thread. It was decent enough, she admitted, and the fur was typical to the Stark house sigil, but Reyona had seen better tapestries in their home.

     While part of Reyona knew that to compare Sansa's art to that of a professional was unfair, she could help but feel uplifted by the thought.

     Leaning down over Arya's shoulder, Reyona murmured under her breath, "I've seen better tapestries in the bath." The youngest sister snickered into her cloth, earning a glare from Septa and Sansa, catching their attentions.

     "All right, Arya," Septa sniffled, prickling at the thought that the two brunette girls may have been poking fun at her, "what have you produced for us?"

     Arya's eyes widened in irritation. "Pick Reyona first, she distracted me," she pleaded, meanwhile trying to hide the monstrous direwolf pattern against her small chest, shifting around to shoot Reyona a withering glare.

     Expectantly, the Septa turned to Reyona.

       "Well?"

     Huffing, Reyona set down her needle and flipped the cloth board over, displaying her blatant disobedience.

     "It needs some work, but it fairs well, don't you agree, Septa?"

     "It's lovely, Reyona," a dawning grin broke out on her lips, surprising the eldest Stark girl. "The petals could use some work, but lovely."

     Arya muttered some curses under her breath, earning a glare from their strict teacher. "Arya! Watch your tongue, that is no way for a proper lady to speak."

     With a fit, Arya flung her needlework down on the ground, displaying the mongrel wolf for all to see, and shouted out, "I hate this! I hate stupid needlepoint!" She jumped from her seat, knocking the little wooden stool over with a clatter, and bolted through the open door of the tower, hiking up her dress skirts to her pale and scabbed knees, just to set off Septa.

     For a brief moment, Reyona refrained from laughing and instead turned her gaze back to Sansa, who was pouting as she took Reyona's work into her hands.

      "Do you like it, sister?" Reyona smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as Sansa glared down at the golden rose as if it was a pox upon her house.

      "If you do," Reyona continued, a tease in her tone, "you can keep it as a token. I can assure you that I will have no need for it after next year."

     "You don't know if Lady Tyrell is planning to have you for Loras," Sansa snapped, but nervously lowered her tone as Septa sent the two of them a sharp glare, "that was merely a small topic that Father had brought up at dinner for... small talk."

     Shrugging her dainty shoulders, Reyona tucked her thick, dark braid behind her neck and stood up from the chair to stretch out, listening as her joints creaked and popped at the release. She'd already wasted a good hour on the stitch work, but she still had coloring to do. Needlepoint was serious, albeit useless, work.

     Reyona pulled at the furs around her slim figure and strode to the tower window, slipping her steel grey eyes shut for a moment as she let the brisk breeze waft over her face. Taking a strong breath, letting the taste of damp earth and fresh pine fill her lungs, Reyona finally reopened her eyes to watch the courtyard below as men were practicing their swordplay and other training.

     Up from this height, Reyona imagined that she could see past the thick stone walls of Winterfell, past the vast rolling hills of green, and peer across the whole, massive land of Westeros.

     While she had never left Winterfell, Reyona liked to imagine what the differing lands looked like. She had heard many tales from Old Nan, and she had read about Dorne and Highgarden and the Red Keep in her books, so she figured that her mental picture was enough to sustain her until she was actually to travel the plains.

     As she peered out over the tower window, Reyona pictured the Reach. She wondered that it would be like, and whether the people would like her. Reyona envisioned towering castles and widespread gardens, as far as her eye could see with grapes as big as one's head.

     She pictured wildflowers as big as boulders with all the colors of the rainbow and, perhaps, even colors unknown to Reyona.

     Old Nan had once told a tale of Giants, who had roamed the lands before the Tyrells, that had grown giant sized fruits and vegetables. Food large enough to feed all of Westeros for a century-long winter. The Giants hadn't feared the winter like humans, Old Nan had claimed.

     It seemed like a fantasy world to Reyona, but soon this fantasy would be a reality.

     Reyona turned her eyes away from her fantasy land and glanced back to the snow littered castle grounds, focusing on the little people beneath her tower until she was able to make out the blobs and shapes as specific human beings.

     She watched as a tiny version of Bran chased a mini Arya around the yard and she watched as Jon Snow loaded up a barrel of deadly sharp arrows, keeping his head down.

     As her eyes made their rounds, she also found her father, Eddard Stark, in the stables, helping saddle up four of the house's best horses. The horses that belonged directly to the Starks of Winterfell.

     "Septa," Reyona craned her head around to glance at her teacher, "Where is Father off to?"

     She offered Reyona a stern frown and adjusted her plump frame on the downy pillowed chair she was seated in, "Your lord father has many tasks to accomplish as the Lord of Winterfell. I cannot be certain what he is doing every minute of every day, Reyona. Now, come back and finish your Tyrell sigil. You can offer it as a gift to the Tyrells when they visit on the morrow."

     "They are not coming on the morrow, Septa," Sansa huffed, breaking into the conversation as if she'd been involved, sniffling as if she was wounded by the topic. "They are riding here, but they did not give a specific day. They could take a whole month if they had the desire."

     Despite the unladylike interruption, the Septa only chuckled at Sansa's naivety, "Oh, dear girl, they seek to take your sister as a ward. I think they shall be here very soon."

     Reyona let Septa and Sansa carry on the conversation without her input as her thoughts began to sweep Reyona away once more, pondering over everything and nothing. She was being to feel the creeping sensation of uncertainty. The uncertainty of whether she even truly desired to be a ward of House Tyrell.

     Reyona was smart enough to know what this 'wardship' meant. It merely meant that the Lady Tyrell was attempting to prune her, the eldest daughter of Winterfell, for a summer wedding in Highgarden.

       Everyone suspected it.

     But, Reyona also was aware that her father would never agree to it. Lord Stark had hardly accepted Lady Tyrell's proposal letter to have Reyona visit for a while, and insisted to Mother that she was too young to be on her own in a new place, without a Northern chaperone.

     Ned had even made it a point to explicitly remind Reyona that the morals were far lower in the Reach, and yet, Lady Catelyn had soothingly managed to reassure him that it was only just a wardship. Nothing would come of it.

     Smiling to herself, Reyona sat back down on her downy pillowed chair and recounted how Sansa had broken down with fit frustration and slight hysterics at the news the night Father had told the family he had finally agreed to let Reyona travel to the Reach.

     "It's not fair," Sansa had objected, face burning a passionate shade of red, "You are giving her to the Knight of Flowers? While I'm stuck here, forced up in towers, not allowed to get a potential husband of my own?"

     Father had been furious and he would not hear another word of it, "Sansa, Reyona is almost a woman," Mother had to reply; Father was too stricken by Sansa's words to form a coherent sentence. "She is the second born of you children. We have been offered a wardship, not an engagement. The Tyrells simply wish to meet her."

      But, even with her soothing words, they all were aware that there was a deeper meaning to it. No one merely came to Winterfell to meet someone if they did not want something of greater value to them. It was too far a journey.

     A few hours passed until Reyona could no longer bear to stitch another seam. Reyona's fingers were cramped and aching, begging for relief from the tiring work. Dropping the needle on the table, she stretched the cloth out before her, eyes scanning the work she'd accomplished. The rose was perky and seemed vibrant, which was pleasing to Reyona -- as she had never been very good with needlepoint. However, even she was aware of the fact that the rose appeared as if a child had stitched it. It was no professional job.

     Arya bounded through the door of the tower and shrieked with delight, an oddity that never happened these days. "Father's home," she began, hands behind her back as she rocked on the tips her toes, swaying with excitement. "And look!" She exclaimed, pulling a small pup out from behind her small waist, where it had been hidden, holding it protectively in her arms.

     "Father brought us a dog?" Sansa's once dreary aura perked up at the animal, setting her needlework aside to get closer to the tiny beast.

     Septa, noting the new wave of air in the tower, stood from her chair with a relenting huff and offered the girls a curt bow.

     "I see that your wits are to be otherwise preoccupied for the rest of the day. We shall resume lessons when more convenient." There was a whip of annoyance to the Septa's tone, but the girls (if they had even really picked up on it) ignored it, giving her short goodbyes and turning back to the pup with grins plastered on their faces.

     The Septa did not like dogs and was hesitant as she danced around the wiggling mass of potential hound.

     Arya, who quickly picked up on the Septa's distaste for the beast, followed the lesson master down the tower's flight of stairs with the pup outstretched in her arms, Sansa eloquently trailing behind.

      While Reyona was excited at the presence of a pup in the home, she decided to tend to the gathering up of sewing materials first. She hated the shrill sound Septa made when the room was left in disorder and, as the eldest daughter, it was bestowed upon Reyona to make sure messes like these did not remain uncleared.

      It didn't take too long for the mess to be sorted and, as Reyona gathered up her Tyrell pocket handkerchief, her half-brother Jon came into the sewing room, announcing his presence with a soft clearing of his throat.

       In his hands, Jon held two more wiggling wolf pups.

     "There's one for you, Reyona," Jon grunted, handing her a squirming, black pup as it tried to bound around. "I thought it would suit you well."

     "It's beautiful." Reyona praised it with a budding smile as it began to wiggle around in her arms, trying to focus on everything at once. "It's a bit spastic, wouldn't you say?"

     "Why I thought of you," he winked, holding up his other hand where he was clasping onto the loose skin of an albino pup. "Greyjoy told me that this runt was mine; I almost punched him."

     Laughing softly, Reyona set the pup on the cold, stone floor and let the beast investigate the new room it was in. Reyona watched it for a while, deciding that this creature was very curious for a little one, and also deciding that it was indeed a girl, as she had suspected.

       "Are you in love with me, Jon?"

     "Why, of course," he responded, thinking of when the two were children. They had both grown up together with Robb, the three of them being rather close, but Reyona had always taken a special liking to Jon. He was different.

      Reyona had always had a special place in her heart for those that were different.

     And, as Reyona watched her oddly curious and trusting wolf pup, she realized that this beast was different as well.

     Nodding, Reyona crossed her arms over her firm chest and shifted, playfully, on the balls of her slipper-clad feet, acting the fool.

     "I figured as much. Only lovers would give girls pups as gifts. Are you trying to steal me away before the Tyrells come? You'd best be quick about it, then. They will be arriving on the morrow, you realize."

     Jon's eyes crinkled as he laughed along with the silly jest. "You'd be lucky if they get here within a fortnight."

       He lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. "There was been a raven."

      "A raven?"

     "Yes," Jon nodded. "The King rides for Winterfell, along with his Queen and the Crowned Prince. They are coming to meet with Father. Your mother thinks that they may want him for some task, but I didn't overhear what it was."

     'Odd.' Reyona thought, pulling her thick braid over her shoulder and aimlessly toying with the loose, flyaway curls that jutted rebelliously out from it.

      Reyona tried to contemplate over why King Baratheon would bother coming all this way to Winterfell if it wasn't concerning a favor from Father.

     "It has to be something quite large for the King to ask, for him to travel this far North," Reyona concluded, frowning at Jon's nod.

     She did not enjoy when people came to Winterfell. She did not enjoy people demanding things from her father and from herself.

     'Nothing good could come of this,' she decided, running her tongue over her back molars in contemplation.

      Finally, with a sigh, Reyona nodded to Jon. "And, if the Tyrells hear of this, they will try to meet with the royal party, obviously they live for that."

     Stooping down, Reyona caught the female pup in her nimble arms and pulled it against her chest, eyeing the beast's brother that was stoically hanging from Jon's grasp, it's blood red eyes watching every movement with practiced patience.

     "He's a frightful little beast," Reyona bluntly stated, staring it in the eyes, "definitely different."

     Reyona's eyes lit up at the memory that the frightful hound brought to her mind, a memory that she had not thought about in too long a time.

      "Remember when we were children, back when Bran was three or so, and Robb took me, Sansa, Arya, and Bran down to the crypts, telling us ghost stories?"

     "And I was in the shadows, covered in white flour, like a ghost," Jon added, eyes glazed over with memories long past, "that was good fun."

     "You nearly scared the hide off my back," Reyona told him with a bite in her voice, still a bit frustrated at how easily she had been scared, even after all the years that had come and gone since that time. "Ghost, then."

     Reyona reached down and stroked the small pup's white fur as the brother and sister growled at each other, swiping paws and nipping at each other lightly, "he's haunting enough."

     Jon smiled down at the wolf, pondering over the name for a moment or two, before nodding. "All right, Ghost. Did you think of one for yours?"

     Reyona shook her head in response, watching the bouncing ball of black fur pant and wriggle around. Focusing her attention up and to the left corner of the ceiling, Reyona thought hard on a good name. However, she found herself fruitlessly empty. 'I'll think of something eventually,' she assured herself.

♕ ♕ ♕

     For the next fortnight and a few days following it, the Stark Castle was alight with the bustle of servants and builders, each with an important task at hand.

      Winterfell had to be 'perfect' for the arrival of King Baratheon and his kin, along with his guards, the Tyrell family, and their guards as well. The Starks were in for a filled house.

     It was dawn as Reyona stepped outside for a calming, much needed, breath of fresh air, clad in her tie dress that usually was supposed to be worn under furs for the type of weather that was fermenting in the air around Winterfell.

      But, as the pink rays of morning's first light shone softly against Reyona's skin, she couldn't bring herself to return back into the stone chambers where people were flying by, preparing last minute details.

      While she didn't particularly think the King would truly care about how much time and effort had been put into the household, Reyona understood that the Queen may have some objections to an unprepared chamber.

     It slowly became apparent to Reyona that this may be one of the last times she would be able to freely stroll the grounds of Winterfell before she was taken away. The sudden realization was hard to take as she strode toward the towering walls and glanced up at a small blot of brown against the cobbled stones, clinging to the surface like a vine.

       "Bran? Is that you?"

     "Aye, Yona," the faint voice of her younger brother echoed from high above as he continued to scale the wall, showing no fear in the face of heights. "I'm looking out for the King!"

     "You'd best get down from there and get on some proper clothes, Brandon!" Reyona hollered back, checking behind her to make sure Mother wasn't around, "and, you'd best get off there before Mother sees you! You know how she hates when you climb!"

     "Reyona?" The flustered tone of Septa Mordane's voice calling for the girl from inside the stone walls of the house reached her ears. "Reyona! Where is that girl?"

     Reyona rolled her eyes and waved off the sight of her silly, little brother as she returned to her chambers. Septa caught the girl by her arm just before she reached the inside.

      "Mornin', Septa." Reyona nodded.

     "Where have you been?" The Septa's sharp, hawk-like eyes immediately noticed the mud stains on Reyona's skirt, but she let it slide -- much to Reyona's surprise and delight.

     "The boys are already getting ready for the visitors and your sisters are preparing as well. Now, I have laid out a dress for you. One of the servants will help you into it. Hurry now," she frantically waved her hands, motioning for Reyona to get to work primping for the arrival of the King's party.

     "And do not coat your skirts with mud! A lady must maintain appearances at all times!"

     "All right, all right," Reyona waved her Septa off, opening the wooden door to her chamber and closing it tightly in the hefty woman's face, just in case she thought about snooping on Reyona's progress.

      Septa Mordane had a bad habit of nit-picking the most minute problems with Lady Reyona's appearance. It was a trait that Reyona found insufferable and refused to be subject to whenever possible.

     Laid out on her mattress was a wool, grey gown that capped off at the shoulders, paired with one of Reyona's favorite animal pelts, and, an interesting model of leather boots. Grey and brown seemed to be the only colors that existed in Winterfell.

     Reyona's handmaiden, Shaire, helped her tie the strings and loop all the hooks together, eventually getting the wool fabric over her head and the fur onto her back.

     Then, after all that, Shaire began the extensive work on Reyona's hair. Like her older brother before her, Reyona was blessed with thick locks of curls. And, while essentially a blessing from the gods, they were impractical to tame.

     Shaire tugged and pulled and brushed endlessly, attempting to tame the fierce tangles that had nested in the matted, ebony waves. Finally, the black curtains fell neatly (as neatly as curls can rest) over Reyona's shoulders and down her back. Shaire grabbed a few wood carved hair pins and tucked up some of the front parts on one side, leaving it alone after that.

     During this long process, Reyona assessed her reflection staring back at her, taking in her Northern hair, her steel Stark eyes, and her high-sprouting cheek bones. There was something irrevocably plain to Reyona's face, she thought, scrutinizing her pores; there was no special air of beauty that sparked a western claim of allurement, and this was something that she was very conscious of. 

     Reyona often found herself pining over the 'what-should-have-been' of her image, looking longingly at the sort of softness that came so easily to her younger sister, Sansa.

     Sansa held the coveted beauty of a true Westerosi maiden, with her bright auburn mane and supple, rose-flushed cheeks. Reyona, on the opposite edge of the sword, had a fierceness to her skull.

     Her structure jutted out sharply, from her temples to her chin, there was no point undefined. Her locks of ink black tendrils were as wild as the winter and as stubborn as a storm.

       Her sharp cheekbones held no rosy hue but protruded her eyes, her favorite feature.

       The North was in her blood, it was sure.

     "You look beautiful, m'lady," the handmaiden praised Reyona, forcing a half-smile though her face expressed a hint of sadness, "I'm sure the Tyrells will sweep you away to Highgarden as soon as they see you."

     The compliment brought a smile to Reyona's lips, and she brushed the jealous fingers of covetousness from her mind, turning her attention onto Shaire.

     Getting up from her chair, Reyona took Shaire's hand into her own, lightly squeezing the handmaiden's palm. "I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Besides, they will be here for a while. They more than likely wish to remain around the King's party. Thank you," Reyona added, motioning to her appearance, "I feel as if I do not say it enough."

     " 'Tis my duty, m'lady," Shaire reminded Reyona, but accepted the gratitude while she trailed behind the young lady out of the chambers, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

     There was the piercing tone of a brass trumpet sounding from the watch tower and Reyona knew that the visitors had arrived, at last.

     The Septa met Reyona in the hall, Sansa twitching nervously behind her. "You are presentable? Good. We are to meet with the rest of your family at the entrance. There, you will greet the guests with respect."

     Septa stressed the need for civility on behalf of the youngest girl, but Reyona nodded at her words as if she needed the reminder as well. In the background, Reyona could see Arya mouthing the Septa's words with distaste. Giggling like a blushing maiden, Reyona clapped a hand on her younger sister's shoulder, hushing her quietly.

     Sansa walked behind Reyona, and Arya behind her, while the Septa stayed back. It wasn't a servant's place to stand beside the Stark family in line as they greeted the royal family into Winterfell.

     Smallfolk of all shapes and sizes gathered at the sound of brass notes in the air, crowding around the gates as Stark soldiers called for order, making a large path in the midst of the training yard.

     Men and women and children greeted the girls as they passed, welcoming them and offering them well wishes for the days to come. Reyona smiled at all of the small folk, thanking them. She didn't know any of their names; however, they knew her's.

     Somehow, though the walk was only a brief one, Sansa and Reyona lost Arya in the crowds.

     Reyona's heart stalled, for only a moment, as she whipped around in search for the little Stark girl, continually moving forward through the sea of townspeople. She allowed herself to groan, for a moment, and pinch the bridge of her nose in agitation.

     Reyona knew that this loss would reflect on her own character in her mother's eyes, but she decided to go ahead and let it happen. Arya was continually fighting for her own, feeble, form of independence and who was Reyona to deny her that pleasure?

     Solemnly, Reyona took her place beside Robb in the order of oldest to youngest. Sansa took the place beside her while Bran and Rickon idly stood around, reminding themselves not to do anything stupid for the arrival of royalty.

      Reyona felt the prickle of a taloned paw on the back of her furs, pulling her from her mixed emotions.

     "Lyanna," she whispered at the wolf pup in hushed tones, stooping down as the gates were methodically pulled open, permitting a flood of different sigil embroidered banners to come in, fluttering in the wind like multicolored brands in the cloud thickened sky.

     "Behave yourself," she hissed. Confused by Reyona's warning time, the pup mustered a human-like expression of perplexity and cocked it's head to the side.

     Reyona sighed and grabbed her direwolf by its leather collar, holding onto the beast with a tense strength. Reyona knew how fond of chasing horses Lyanna was and did not want the pup running underfoot of one of the large steeds to end up trampled.

     Her Father had stressed the importance of making sure the wolves were well cared for by their respective owners. Every waking minute, and non-waking minute, Reyona had kept a watchful eye on her mischievous pup.

     Reyona would be damned to the Fates if she was going to let Lyanna get trampled after all the sleepless nights the wolf had tortured the girl with.

     In fact, it had been one of those nights spent in the wake of perpetual howling from the young direwolf and its restless searching of Reyona's chambers, that sparked within Reyona a name for her little beast.

          Lyanna. 

     The name sparked an air of regality and mischievousness. Reyona thought of all the tales of her late aunt that Father had told when the girls were young.

     'Lyanna,' Father had spoken softly in the candle lit night, peering at his daughters' curious and innocent faces as their eyes shone with intrigue, 'had been beautiful and kind and iron-willed.'

     Part of Reyona had hoped that by naming the pup after her legendary aunt, some of that kind nature would rub off. Yet, as namesakes often do, the beast did not resemble the great Lyanna. However, it was pretty for a wolf and spunky in nature, always getting in trouble with her brothers.

     Often times, more frequent now than ever, Father would pause when passing Reyona in the dimly lit halls at dusk. Reyona would notice her father's face pale in fright (or perhaps simply the interaction with the supernatural) as if he'd seen a ghost, and then shake his head before walking off.

     This happened frequently, and the thought that Reyona was doing something wrong unnerved the girl. So, one afternoon, she caught her father in the midst of the grand dining hall and proceeded to pressure him into telling her what she was doing wrong.

     "Oh, my child. You are doing nothing wrong. It's just... You haunt me. The more you grow, the more you bear Lyanna's likeness. I swear you look just like her."

     Lyanna sat beside Reyona's leg, watching eagerly as bannermen galloped past, streaking sigils of stags, lions, and roses flapped against the brisk air. The wolf whimpered in excitement but did not try to break away from her master.

     Proud knights trotted past, stiff-shouldered and heavy helmed. Reyona, while pleased and excited at the events taking place in Winterfell (this being the first time a large party such as this had graced the gates with their presence) couldn't help but seek out her youngest sister in the chaos.

      Across the carved path, Reyona's gaze fell upon a feeble, vegetable cart that Arya had clambered atop, a stolen knight's helmet on top of her head. Reyona stifled a small chuckle at her sister's antics and settled for a lop-sided smile. She motioned for Arya to come stand beside Sansa and herself, her sister's rightful place, but Arya pretended as if she hadn't seen, too interested in her special view of the events to change her place now.

     Mother glanced towards Sansa and the missing place in line with a furrow collected on her brow, nudging Reyona softly, but with a pointed necessity.

       "W-Where's Arya? Reyona, where is your sister?"

     'Here it comes,' Reyona shifted on her feet, turning her eyes onto Catelyn Stark's.

     Reyona's gaze flickered towards the cart while Sansa shrugged, but instead of pointing out her little sister, Reyona decided to let Arya have her fun, offering her mother an innocent frown. "Oh, I haven't the faintest idea, Mother. But, I can assure you that Arya is fine. She is Arya Stark after all."

     Mother did not appreciate Reyona's tone, and it was apparent in the way her thin, pale lips pressed together into a tightly drawn line. Lady Stark, with her auburn hair tucked into a tight braid and her brow furrowed deeply, was not a person who took disrespect lightly.

     Reyona bowed her head under the weight of her mother's distaste and felt her heart sink in shame. Her mother had a phenomenal way of making Reyona feel ashamed with just the pursing of her lips. In an attempt to calm her mother's rage, Reyona looked back to where Arya had been before as if to force her sister out of hiding, but Arya seemed to have disappeared into the ever shifting sea of grey and brown and black.

     Reyona could still feel her mother's piercing gaze in her bones, so she decided to look harder, stepping out of line to get a better view around the crowds of Winterfell.

     Breathing a sigh of relief, Reyona found a short Arya jogging to join the group, helm low over her eyes (so low, in fact, that for a moment she found herself debating whether her spunky little sister could even see where she was going).

     When Arya slammed head first into Father's leg, Reyona had her answer.

      "Woah, where do you think you're off to?" Father chuckled, reaching down and yanking the helm off Arya's head to reveal her nicely plated dark hair, her steel blue eyes flickering with an air of adventure. "Stand in your place, Arya," he sighed, motioning her towards Sansa who rolled her eyes in distaste at Arya's behavior.

     "Ugh," Arya groaned with a frown as she trudged, mid-fit, towards her spot beside Bran.

     "Move!" Arya pouted, shoving Bran out of the way, taking her frustration out on him. Reyona prickled at the mistreatment and reached behind Sansa, smacking Arya lightly on the back of her head.

     This was something Reyona always did when Arya started to throw her fits. After a while, it had become a sort of reminder to Arya that she was being childish. Arya's haughty gaze broiled against Reyona's skin, but she kept her hands to herself, choosing to instead cross her arms over her chest.

          'Thank you', Reyona mouthed.

     There was a trumpet blast, then two. 

          The King had arrived in Winterfell.

----
Please, Comment to Tell Me What You Think! It would mean a lot to me :D

If you guys like it, I'll keep going!