'what bloody man is that? he can report,'

_______

A PROCESSION OF golden knights filed in behind the bannermen, golden helms and cloaks catching and reflecting the weak sunlight, emanating the hue as if they, themselves, glowed. The procession, Reyona realized, was to protect the golden haired boy riding behind them with a scowl on his upturned face, his green eyes raking down her family in a way she did not enjoy.

     Reyona had the unpleasant feeling that this sour-faced boy was Prince Joffrey, the Crowned Prince of Westeros. There were many rumors that the boy was a right little prick.

     Behind the boy, a man in black, thick armor rode as well, his entire face covered by a helm in the fashion of a snarling, fierce-some hound. A lump formed in Reyona's throat as she watched the helm's black, empty eyes, finding it rather gruesome.

     She wondered how terrifying this man's helm would be in battle. All a soldier would see is a blood splattered dog helm and the glint of a blade in the dark. Reyona turned away from it, and instead watched the knight's impressive horse. The steed he was riding was larger than the others, and in turn, this man was quite large.

     Reyona, with a tilt of her head, figured that he had to be bigger than even Father. She had a feeling that she should know whom the knight was, but couldn't place him.

     Beside her fixated stance, Robb nudged Reyona's arm with his own and nodded towards Sansa, who was watching the Prince with an enraptured smile. Reyona bit her bottom lip, keeping herself from giggling, as she saw Sansa's eyes glaze over, as if her younger sister was in a heavenly dream.

     Raising an arched brow, Reyona glanced towards Prince Joffrey to see that his own smile was a more selfish one, as if he'd expected this behavior from her. As if he'd expected this behavior from all of them, the 'lowly ladies and lords', Reyona snidely thought.

     When his snarky smirk met her own, bored expression, his face fell slightly, green eyes prickling in distaste as if something foul was underfoot. Reyona realised, albeit too late, that she had unknowingly insulted him in someway.

    Another procession of men came in, but Reyona missed them. The oblivious girl was too busy watching the beast of a man lift the gaping mouth of his hound fashioned helm, displaying the charred flesh underneath. At the sight, Reyona felt her heart shudder in fear. Half of the knight's face was burnt and scarred, marring what could have been handsome features.

     Sansa, with an impatient hand, yanked on the side of Reyona's furs as she and the rest of the family bowed at the presence of King Baratheon. Blinking, Reyona turned away from the knight's disfigured face and quickly dropped down to an awkward curtsy before the royal party. In her mind, Reyona reminded herself of the bow Septa had taught each Stark girl to display. It kept one from getting dirt on their skirts and embarrassing themselves in the presence of royalty, and it would have saved Reyona from embarrassment if she had not been so distracted as to forget her place.

      The earth smelt like freshly cut grass and melted snow as Reyona faced it, the musk filling her nose and clouding her mind with thoughts of familiarity. After bowing, for what seemed like a long time to the girl, the sound of short, impatient footsteps drew closer and closer until finally, the King's round belly came very close to Eddard Stark's head. Reyona could feel her heart beat erratically in her ears. An outstretched a gloved hand swung down, motioning for the stoic family to rise.

      Rising to her feet, Reyona found herself drawn back to the frame of the beast man as he stood beside Prince Joffrey's horse, keeping his own dark eyes on the King. Inside her, a flicker of curiosity was ignited and quickly fanned into a wavering flame. Who was this impressing man? Surely he was a knight of fame, a valiant warrior who made minstrels sing tunes of victory and honor. There was something there, however, just in the glint of his eyes that kept Reyona captive. Something churning just under the surface.

     In the back of Reyona's attention, Lord Stark and King Baratheon joked and greeted each other warmly, but her attention was still quite focused elsewhere. And, elsewhere it remained until a glorious, gold-laden carriage came to an elegant halt in front of the procession of golden-clad knights, and the enrapturing Queen stepped out, escorted by ten ladies in-waiting.

      "Where's the Imp?" Arya questioned in a hushed whisper, hopping up on her toes to try and peer towards the crowd of nobility, but the famed 'Imp of Lannister' was nowhere to be spotted, much to her disappointment.

    Sansa shot Arya a glare. "Shut up."

    "Sansa," Reyona warned under her breath, "at least try to be pleasant to her, for once in your life. For the sake of our guests."

     Sansa's eyes widened in anger and she opened her lips as if to spew some retort, but she was cut off by a demand from the King just as more riders began to file into Winterfell. It couldn't have come sooner, to the relief of Reyona. Once Sansa got started, it was hard to reel the fire-haired girl back in.

     "Let me introduce myself, then." King Baratheon chortled as he stalked down the line of children. Reyona felt her neck pebble with a fine coat of sweat, fearing the wandering eyes of the most powerful man in the kingdom, at the sight of his wind-weathered face, Reyona cast her eyes down.

     The King gave Robb a brisk nod, not noticing the fearful girl beside the young man, "you must be Robert, strong lad." Rob smiled at this, as it was a the King's name he was granted and it seemed to him that King Baratheon was well pleased. The King continued down the line, every heavy weighted step filling Reyona's stomach with fear.

      What if the king did not find her pleasing? Reyona shook that thought away, reminding herself in a calm, collected mental thought that it truly did not matter how King Baratheon found her. She would be for the Tyrells, and no displeasure to her figure from the King would change that.

     She failed to consider what would happen if the king did find her pleasing.

      With a faltered break in his confident stride, King Baratheon paused at Reyona's slouched stance. Remembering Septa Mordane's words, Reyona straightened herself out and offered the King the best smile she could form, pushing past her unwarranted fear with ease. King Baratheon's eyes drew cold and his grin fell, for only a moment, as he glanced towards her Father. "This... she looks just like her, Ned."

       Eddard merely nodded with a heavy heart.

    King Baratheon turned back to Reyona and took her slim hand into his own fleshy one, peering into her eyes. For a moment, Reyona mused that she could see into the King's very soul. It was a somber sight, filled with a vastness that she did not want to comprehend. And, as soon as the King released her hand, it was gone.

    "It's a pleasure to meet you," he trailed off, waiting for a name.

     "Reyona," she blurted out to him, curtsying once more due to her nervous nature and watching his face carefully. She was shaken by the vast dark she had seen in him and could not quite understand why he seemed so sad in her presence.

     There was a familiarity to his eyes, Reyona decided. He seemed as if they had met before, but she was far too young to remember if he had. Something told her that they had never met.

       Clearing his throat, the King moved on, complementing Sansa on her beauty of the Riverlands and Arya on her kindred spunk. "And, who might you be?" He asked her, raising a brow as she gave him a sour look, taking the King by surprise.

       "Arya."

     "Arya? That's a good name," he told her, then grinned at Bran, "Ah -- you look like a strong boy. Show me those muscles!" Bran pushed back his furs to flex his small biceps, earning a chuckle from everyone except for Sansa, "why, yes. You'll be a soldier for sure, lad."

      Continuing down the line of soldiers, King Baratheon greeted them warmly until he was out of Reyona's withering sight, a gold cloak following him closely. However, Reyona's attention was soon attracted by another regal figure, the glorious Queen Cersei.

     She was as beautiful as the minstrels told, with long blonde hair and startling green eyes that seemed to hold all the gracefulness and courtesy in the world. Freckles were scattered across her cheeks, and Reyona could not help but picture a younger girl of ten and two, bathing in the sun, all giggles and smiles.

     This was not the Cersei in Winterfell, however. This was an elegant queen with a pretty smile and a commanding presence that captured all of Reyona's thoughts.

     Queen Cersei floated to Eddard Stark of Winterfell and reached out a dainty hand for him to kiss, a soft smile whispering at the corners of her mouth.

     "Show me to your crypts," King Baratheon cleared his throat, interrupting all forms of pleasantries, eyes landing on the inattentive form of Reyona before he locked eyes with Ned, "I wish to pay my respects."

     The Queen sighed and pressed a hand to her chest as if his words drained her. "We have been riding for nearly a month, my love. Perhaps the dead can wait?"

     "Come on, Ned." The King ignored his wife's advise and made a move for the halls of Winterfell, without so much as a lead from the Lord of the castle, when the next carriage came through the gates.

     Reyona decided that this procession was extremely small compared to that of the King's company, but it was still enough to take her breath away at the intricate designs on the sides of the carriages and decor. Everything was carved with intricate, lavish designs. The carriage was laden with golden leaves and painted with the most careful touch, parading wealth that Reyona doubted had ever been made in the North.

     Her breath was stripped from her body, not simply because of the Tyrell's riches, but because within the carriage was her future. Once more, her veins coursed with fear. This, she knew, was the moment Reyona was to be faced with the reality outside of the home she'd always known.

     Her pulse skipped as the wood and gold door was propped open by a foot soldier, show casing an older woman with a silk green, plumed hat and matching frock that extended from her wrists and capped off just above her ebony shoes. The woman had no trouble escorting herself out of the carriage and even shooed the soldier away as he reached out a tentative hand.

       Lord Stark, at the sight of the new arrivals, offered the King an apologetic frown as he greeted the older lady while she stepped out from the rose adorned carriage, followed by three, slim and seemingly nervous, ladies in-waiting. Then, last but certainly not the least in Reyona's mind, a lovely, young woman around her age, if not younger, clad in a powder blue dress and furs stepped out, peering at her surroundings with a sense of wonder. Reyona enjoyed that sense in her eyes.

       "Ah, you must be the honorable Eddard Stark," the older woman grinned, elegantly stepping forward and grasping his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Lady Tyrell, and this," she turned so all in the presence of this auspicious woman could see the young girl standing sweetly beside her, "is my lovely granddaughter, Margaery Tyrell. We would have been here a few days sooner, but when we heard that the King's Road would be traveled by his Grace himself, we thought we could use the companionship. It is a rather far journey, you see."

       Reyona perked up at Lady Tyrell's words; the way she talked was honest and kind, but also very witty, and it comforted the storm of emotions slurring through her bones.

      "It is a pleasure to have you here, Lady Tyrell," Reyona watched as her father bowed and kissed the lady's outstretched hand respectfully, greeting Margaery with a tight smile. "I am afraid that I will be escorting his Grace around for the time being, but my wife," he then led Lady Catelyn out of line and directed her towards the Tyrells, "will be available to answer any requests and questions you may have. If you'll forgive me," he bowed and made his way off the scene, showing King Baratheon to the crypts.

     Reyona watched her father and the King leave, considering the possibility of her own exit from this place. Perhaps, she pondered, she could slip away as the townsfolk begun to filter back into their daily routines.

     Already the people of Winterfell were collecting their wits once more, now that the Queen and her children had gathered at the main hall of Winterfell castle, moving their things into the best rooms the Starks had to offer.

     "Doesn't stick around, that one," Lady Tyrell chuckled, waving off Lady Catelyn where she stood, ready to be used in any way possible. "We are fine escorting ourselves, but could you introduce us to your gaggle of children?"

     Lady Stark seemed taken aback for a moment at Lady Tyrell's choice of words, but she regained herself and nodded with a tight-lipped smile. "This is Rickon, and Robb," she skipped over Reyona, "Sansa, Arya, Bran, and this one," she pulled her eldest daughter in front of her. Reyona frowned at the action, feeling as if she was a choice goat or some other piece of meat. "This is my eldest daughter, Reyona Stark."

      Silence filled the air between the four of them, and Reyona braved the quiet with a raised head, extremely aware of the fact that the Tyrell women were circling her as a wolf circles it's prey. Her fingers twitched at her sides, wanting to close around her nervous frame, as if to provide some shield, but Reyona willed her hands down, and kept her face a mask of stone. This was not the time to seem vulnerable, she decided. She would be strong, if only for a few brief moments.

     Swallowing a knot in her throat, she felt a pair of eyes on the side of her head, just at her temple. And, as Reyona lifted her eyes towards the feeling, her eyes met the dark gaze of the knight with the hound helm. He was stone faced, standing statuesque beside Prince Joffrey, but still he stared her down, even after Reyona had caught his gaze he still watched, perhaps more intently than before.

      "Yes, yes," Lady Tyrell broke the silence with a smart, curt laugh. "Well, I am pleased to say that your beauty is much more under exaggerated from what I have been told."

     Frowning at the flowery comment, Reyona tore her steel gaze away from the towering soldier. "From what you've been told?" Catelyn excused herself as she caught Sansa and Arya bickering and Bran jumping up onto the low roof of the stables. She then left Reyona alone with the two southern women, to attempt small talk.

      'Gods help me', Reyona begged to the old faith.

    Margaery's eyes lit up as she nodded, slipping her arm into Reyona's to walk with her as Lady Tyrell took the girl's other arm into hers. "Why of course, you are very pretty. Word is bound to spread that there is a Stark ready for marriage with looks such as yours."

      Reyona flushed and dropped her head; she hadn't been told very often that she was 'very pretty'. Bitterly, she thought about Sansa's looks. Reyona knew that she had an unfavorable sharpness to her features that was not considered very endearing-- unlike her little sister, but the compliment was nice either way and she chose to accept it.

     A confused arch etched itself onto Reyona's brow as they walked through the courtyard of Winterfell. "Oh, I was not aware. I only just turned ten and six a little over a second fortnight ago. In fact, when we received your first letter, it was the eve of my name day."

     "Believe me, my dear," Lady Tyrell pat the Stark's hand, eyes sparkling, "any lady your age is ready for a husband. In fact, I was wed to my Lord Tyrell when I was just ten and five."

      "But, we are not here to discuss marriage," Margaery waved that topic away with a laugh that reminded Reyona of the gentle and sweet tinkling sound of bells, turning their bodies past the stables and towards more grassy areas to walk. In the corner of her eye, Reyona could spot Sansa watching the three of them with a displeased frown, her steel eyes sharp and wounded as her friends flocked around her, peppering her with frivolous gossip and fevered questions about the royalty.

      "You are right, of course," Lady Tyrell sighed, watching the scenery. "We are here to take you as a ward. Of course, we have been preparing for you and all of us at Highgarden are excited about the arrival." Their words sounded like rich, Braavosi honey.

       "Highgarden?" Reyona couldn't place why she had questioned their home; she determined it as nerves, or perhaps it still was taking her a while to completely come to terms with the fact that she truly was leaving Winterfell, perhaps forever. It was a heavy load to carry. But, Reyona smiled and shrugged it off. If she wanted to, she was sure she could always come back. No reason to fret.

     "Oh, but you must visit Highgarden, of course." Margaery snickered, finding this all good fun. Reyona allowed herself to laugh along, letting them fill her head with thoughts about wild flowers and giant pumpkins the size of carriages.

     A few hours past and Reyona found herself back in her bed chamber, hunched over an old, weathered book that Old Nan had often read to Sansa, Arya, and Reyona when they were just tiny things, always bickering amongst themselves about what should be read to them. It was a hard feat for one to pick a tale that all three Stark girls would agree on, but against all odds, Old Nan had found a way. It had romance for Sansa, battles with knights for Arya, and everything in between for her. Reyona was never too picky about the type of story she preferred, as long as it was interesting.

     A light knock on the door caused her to set the book aside on her cluttered vanity table as I straightened herself up, smoothing the creases in the front folds of her dress and patting down stray, rebellious curls. "Come in."

     Sansa's wide-eyed face poked it's way into the candle-lit room, peering around for Reyona before she gingerly walked inside, red hair plaited in an elegant braid of the Tully's. Reyona could tell that she had their mother style it for her, and thought it strange that Sansa would come see her at this hour, so close to the feast.

      While the two girls had been close in their younger years, certain events, wardships, and even simple personality traits had begun to drive the two sisters farther and farther apart. "Have you heard the news, Reyona?"

      "No, what news?" Reyona frowned, leaning back in her chair and turning it so she could be looking directly at her younger sister. Reyona could sense the nervous, anxious, and yet over joyed emotions flittering over Sansa's face, and thought that this must be an important gossip piece, for Sansa to trouble herself.

     There was a moment of pause as Sansa strode, giddy smile intact, to a flickering candle before meeting Reyona's waiting eyes. "I'm to be betrothed," Sansa breathed out, cheeks flushed as she flopped herself down on Reyona's mattress, soaking up the sweet, sweet feeling she was in. "I'm to be betrothed to Prince Joffrey!"

    Reyona was quiet for a bit, watching her sister with a startled look. The words recycled themselves through her brain for a few turns, and she finally was able to sort out her own thoughts. "Betrothed? Already, Sansa? Father agreed to it, too?" She blurted out, a small laugh at the end off all her hammering questions, unable to believe that it was really happening. "How did Mother take the news? Her two oldest daughters leaving home at once?"

     "Well, she seemed a bit against the match," Sansa frowned down at her hands as she sat up on her sister's bed, regaining her composure with a small crease in-between her dainty brows. "But, I have not the faintest idea why. Well, I do have some idea, but it's of small report. I'd be queen one day, Reyona! Me, the Queen. Can you imagine?"

     A grin encompassed Reyona's face and she clasped her hands together, despite the small pang of uncertainty she felt. Perhaps it was always that sense of elderly command that made Reyona's heart falter. The thought of Sansa ruling the Seven Kingdoms did not feel like something Reyona wanted to imagine. 

     "That's amazing, Sansa, truly. I'm very happy for you. But, is that all that King Baratheon came to meet with Father for?"

     "Well, no," she sighed, not happy that Reyona wanted to pull the conversation away from her nuptials, "the King also may have brought up the possibility of Father being the next Hand of the King. He'd have to move down to King's Landing, but I reckon that he'll take me too!" Her joy returned once more, unable to control her overflow of emotions.

     Reyona tried to suppress the firm frown forming on her face. Another knock sounded at the door and Septa Mordane came inside, followed by Shaire. In the Septa's hand was a cornflower blue silk dress with golden decorations. "Sorry to interrupt, but Lady Tyrell sent this. They brought you a lovely," Reyona's ears picked up the strained way Septa forced the compliment out, causing her to wonder if the Septa truly liked the Tyrell's choice in attire, "dress from Highgarden, and I thought it may be fitting for you to wear it to the feast tonight, in honor of the arrangement." Septa Mordane set the dress on the edge of Reyona's bed and turned to Sansa, who was eyeing it with a contorted look of envy, "and, I think it is high time you changed your dress as well, Sansa."

     Sansa agreed a bit grudgingly, but complied easily, anxious to dine with her friends and gush to them about her betrothment. Reyona rolled my eyes at her silly antics but felt happy for her sister despite herself. 'Sansa could be a brat for nine years, but even just one year of happiness with her could make up for the other nine', she told herself. That was how innocent Sansa seemed; it was a naivety that she possessed.

     "It's a beautiful dress, m'lady," Shaire admired it, tugging on the delicate fabrics, "it's so rare that you ever wear anything of this light material."

     "Well," Reyona said, unhooking the latches of the dress she was currently wearing, "that would be because it's always so damned cold here, Shaire. Silks and Winterfell do not get along." Shaire chuckled a genuine laugh in agreement and helped Reyona strip herself of the morning's garments and slip her into the cool fabric from Highgarden.

      "Where is Loras Tyrell today, m'lady? If you don't mind my asking." Shaire asked as she readjusted Reyona's hair, settling for a crown of braids and long, black waves cascading down the lady's back.

     With a surprised arch to her brow, Reyona adjusted the fly-away hairs on her head and looked towards Shaire in the mirror as she stood behind her, focused on her work, "I'm not sure; to be honest, I didn't even miss his presence."

          "Have you ever met Ser Loras, Lady Reyona?"

     "Never," she shook her head, then rested her chin against her palm, staring into her own steel grey eyes in the looking glass before her. "But," Reyona jested, thinking it all very amusing, "I've heard from Sansa that he's loyal, handsome, kind, brave, and other things that any good man should be."

     Shaire smirked a bit, her brown eyes swimming in amusement. "And, has Sansa ever met him?"

         "Never."

      The feast was a large party in reality. Reyona was glad to be in the warm hall. She tugged at the flimsy, capped sleeves at the tops of her shoulders. The dress that the Tyrell's had brought for Reyona was a small problem in her eyes. It was rather cold outside for it, and Reyona found that the rough furs of Winterfell and the soft silks of Highgarden certainly clashed. So, Reyona braved the night air with bare arms. It seemed that Margaery and she were the only ones to do so.

     Reyona took her place beside Arya, as usual. Mother had always preferred Reyona to sit beside her, she felt that she could keep Arya's mischievous nature in check, but it was more often than not that they both ended up making a bigger problem than needed. Beside Reyona, Margaery was seated while Lady Tyrell was placed beside Lady Catelyn.

    It was odd, Reyona decided, seeing the graceful Margaery Tyrell sitting in this dining hall full of drunks and roughens. She was just as soft and precious in the eyes of Reyona as the dress that clung to her frame. Reyona was sure Margaery was finding this all a bit rugged and odd from Highgardener's perspective, however, there was a grin on her lips and wine in her cup. Margaery seemed to be feeling perfectly fine.

     The night passed with a light conversation on each side and the music was an uppity roar that playfully encouraged the swirling intoxication of the Northerners beneath the Stark family table. "Are Winterfell dinners usually like this?" Margaery asked, a giggle on her breath as she watched a few painted girls hang themselves over the King.

     "Honestly?" Reyona grinned, raising a brow. "Yes. Quite often."

     "It must be such fun," she nodded, pausing to take a sip of wine. "I wish Highgarden dinners were always like this. Instead, all the crazy nature comes out during the summer festivals. But, it's still fun to watch in moderation."

     Reyona smiled at that. With a swift lift of her goblet, Reyona tapped it against Margaery's own, light-heartedly. "Well, to more dinners like this." Reyona fiercely swallowed the fermented wine, wincing as it burned the back of her throat. Father only allowed her to drink during special occasions, such as these.

     Next to her, Reyona watched as Arya loaded her spoon with a ball of goat meat, leaning against the table to aim at Sansa from across the hall. Reyona watched her, conflicted. On one hand, she knew she could stop her and attempt to make her little sister behave, but on the other, if Arya made the shot, it could be potentially very funny.

       Sipping her wine, Reyona decided to choose the latter option and watched as the dripping, mess of a meatball soared across the room, hitting Sansa square on the cheek. Sansa shrieked in horror. 

     Margaery and Reyona both spared each other a small glance before breaking down into a fit of giggles brought on by the wine and the boisterous laughter from Robb and Theon.

     "This was my favorite dress!" Sansa protested, wiping at her face, "I made it by hand!"

     Reyona instantly felt bad about the situation, seeing the embarrassed tears collecting in Sansa's lashes, and the red sauce on her pretty dress. Reyona recalled her little sister being so very proud of the frock. 

     Lady Catelyn shot Reyona a pointed glance. Reyona sighed and reaching out a firm hand, grabbing Arya's arm as she began to load another meatball sling-shot. "Let us not." Reyona smirked, leaning down to murmur in her ear, "but that was a brilliant shot, good one."

     It was not too soon after that Robb appeared behind us and yanked Arya up from under her arms, carrying her away, saying: "Time for bed." This left Reyona and Margaery to themselves to enjoy the view of Northerners parading themselves as typical Northerners do. 

     Across the hall, Reyona eyed the blonde prince watching Sansa with the same self-glorifying smirk he'd had before, and the knight beside him with the same, cold expression.

      Reyona shifted in her chair, feeling very uncomfortable in that moment. There was something unsettling about the pair.

     "Lady Margaery," Reyona called her attention away from the sight of a band member drinking out of his lute, "do you know that knight, the one sitting just beside Prince Joffrey? I feel as if I should, but I cannot recall."

      She craned her head over the crowds to try and get a better glimpse before nodding. "Oh, yes. That would be Sir Sandor Clegane. My brother talks about him sometimes. He's known as 'the Hound'; a personal guard dog for the Prince." Margaery offered me a reassuring smile. "You may call me Margaery, Reyona."

      "Right," Reyona nodded with a flicker of an embarrassed blush on her cheeks, feeling as though she had said something stupid. "How long are you planning on staying in Winterfell?"

     "You mean we?" She jested, poking at a sausage on her plate. "I'm not quiet sure, actually. Grandmother is always changing her mind, but I think we are due to leave before the King. She tires easily of having the same company for too long."

        "Oh?"

     "Yes. I think she'd been hoping to meet the Imp, but he didn't travel up with the King's company, and he isn't at dinner."

     Reyona sat in silent contemplation for the rest of the evening. Her mind lingered at whispers of people and imagination of placed unknown to her. Reyona thought about how drastically her life was about to change.

      The Tyrell's had mentioned marriage and it had only been a few minutes after they had met her when they did. Reyona had already come to the assumption that, before long, betrothal would crop up. Everything seemed to be taking a slow course towards the unexpected. The unexpected, yes, but Reyona had a creeping feeling that her future would be a pleasant surprise. Something to look forward to.

     As she glanced towards Prince Joffrey's table, Reyona caught the bored gaze of the Hound.

     One thing was still true, whether her future was bright or not. Winter is coming. Winter is always coming.