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KISS FROM A SUMMERS MAID !
( act i, | flowers of spring )
would the wolf dare be kinder than the lion ?
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GRAYCELAENAH  i,
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SUMMER'S KISS HAD faded from her skin. A month into the ride, Laenah Baratheon found her complexion paling more than she thought it able. Perhaps it was preparing for the harsh winds of the quaint, little country her father was dragging his wife and children to under the pretence of reunion. Anyone at the royal court could tell you that King Robert was in dire need of a new hand since fever struck Jon Arryn and killed him. Laenah had never really cared for the man, she thought him annoying but, still she supposed it sad that her father lost a trusted advisor. Not that he was very good at keeping Robert from his indulgences in wine and whoring in the first place.

"Mother," Laenah sighed tiredly when the carriage jolted over yet another bump in the road. "How much longer?"

Cersei's lips pinched into a smile at her daughter, caressing her face sweetly. "Not long now my sweet. Believe me, I'm jaded by this ride as much as you but we will be arriving at Winterfell soon."

Laenah released a dramatic groan in response, blowing a strand of hair from her face while paying no heed to the reprimand in her mother's green irises. Turning to the side, she pulled back the curtains by an inch to catch a glimpse of the North and was relieved to see the silhouette, although dull and grey, of a lords castle in the distance. Laenah would have leaped with joy if the roof of the four-wheeled torture chamber hadn't been so low.

"Have you ever been to Winterfell before mother?"

"No, sweetling. This will be my first time as well as yours."

It was Myrcella who asked, her voice sweet and silvery and lips pulled into a patient yet eager smile, unlike Laenah's own miserable frown. Myrcella was everything good and kind, and if her mother didn't love her firstborn the most, Laenah was shy to admit she would have hated her little sister. She almost set Kings Landing alight with the envy that burned into her veins when the golden-haired bundle was brought before her, cooped up in her Uncle Jamie's arms beside the mother she had just torn her way out of. Another girl! Another daughter! Laenah would have called it treason if she was old enough to know the word.

Her jealousy simmered down quickly when her father placed her in his lap, a rare moment of affection from Robert but precious all the same, and told her now she would have a friend to play with. She could dress her up in beautiful gowns, do her hair and host all the tea parties she'd like without trying to force a sobbing Joffrey into a dress.

Laenah had liked that idea.

Though, speaking of her non-complying nuisance of a younger brother, Laenah wondered if he'd grown sick of the journey like her too. They'd always shared a dislike for most things. She had her answer soon enough, the carriage coming to a halt and Tommen and her exchanging a look of glee before they all but sprinted from their seats, when she saw Joffrey trotting along on his horse with an air of arrogance and a smirk to match. His gaze was latched onto a girl with hair fierier than the flames of a furnace and Laenah held back a snicker when she saw the jaw of the boy next to her clench in protectiveness.

It softened when the eldest princess stepped in front, chiselled cheekbones and wide bow-shaped lips spurring his attention away from the crown prince's lustful eyes sweeping over his younger sister. Laenah may have had the last name of a stag but she was entirely Lannister by her looks, the spitting image of her mother in her youth— that was what was said.

When Laenah felt the blue eyes scrutinising her slightly, her lips pulled into something half-smile half-smirk as she met the gaze of the clean-shaved boy and the muscles in his jaw tightened once again. Her trip to Winterfell had just become all the more interesting.

A stern look cast over his features, Laenah watched as her father marched towards who she presumed was Lord Stark. It was plain to see the grey-eyed man was the warden of North since the hoard of people gathered to welcome the Baratheon's rushed to follow in his pursuit once he had knelt down to the King.

He gestured for him to rise with an impatient hand; he did everything with an impatient hand, forbearance wasn't one of the King's strengths.

"Your Grace," Ned bowed, his reverence for an old friend undoubtable. Laenah expected so, having heard much about the loyalty of the man her father was fostered beside. It was strange to think they were meant to be brothers, though the Laenah reckoned she owed thanks to the dead dragon prince. If he'd never spirited away with Lyanna Stark, she wouldn't exist.

"You've got fat."

Laenah was perusing the litter of wolves and the forefront when he said that, glad for it when she descried their stunned expressions. The Kings' handsomeness was a thing of the past now, his bulging belly not exactly an attribute that could be well-shrouded but still, he joked. Tommen had tittered beside his sister, and she joined him in his delight even though she was certain he didn't know what was funny.

When Lord Stark raised a brow in regards to her father's obvious heaviness, Robert's chuckles licensed the burden of courtesy to fall away and Eddard laughed with him. He looked quite sweet to Laenah, when he smiled and joy clung to the wrinkles on his face. They embraced, short and sweet before the King pulled the red-haired woman on the right of Eddard for a hearty hug.

"Catt." He sung.

"Your Grace," Cat smiled as he moved on to ruffling the reddish curls of the little boy at her hip. When the child met the eye of Laenah, he blushed as he looked on at the golden-haired princess shyly. She winked at him, a smile gracing her lips when his eyes darted around rapidly to check if anyone else had seen.

"Nine years, why haven't I seen you Ed, where the hell have you been?"

For a moment, Laenah wondered why she had never seen Eddard Stark if the man was so dear to her father and if it had only been nine years. Her lip curled in remembrance. Laenah had been eight when the ironborn rebelled against the throne as a means to revive the what they called the 'Old Way.' Whatever it meant, the princess despised Balon Greyjoy for the few months he tore her father away. She'd been miserable when he left, and he'd been miserable when he returned.

"Guarding the North for you your grace," Came the dignified response from the Lord of Winterfell, just as a litter of handmaids stepped out of the opulent carriage, all tawny haired like herself dressed in lovely fabrics that before long seemed like rags in comparison to the gorgeous silks and regal garments of the Princess Myrcella, their mother in harmony.

Her and Tommen stood some feet away from the rest of the procession along with the King, and Laenah envied his young age, knowing he would be spared from their mother's scolding for rushing out of the carriage.

As presumed, Cersei ambled to her children in the same lavish furs she insisted Laenah wear but not before her green irises swept over the courtyard in distaste. She called it a 'quaint little' country and that was enough for Laenah to know the North was no place for a lion. A stag, perhaps would do well here.

"Winterfell is yours."

When Lord Stark uttered the words, Laenah refrained from a partial scoff. The North could not be held by an outsider, not truly. It was too big and too wild, it's people the same— a proud people who would serve a man only by the name Stark. So, while Robert Baratheon was the King, 'First of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men. Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm (Laenah had heard the title many times), the Northeners bowed to him out of obligation, not faith.

"It's not becoming of a princess to race out like that," Her mother said to her in a hushed tone, "You have to be brought out."

Laenah rolled her eyes, turning a deaf ear to the scolding, "Myrcella wasn't brought out."

"Myrcella is not of mariable age."

"Where's the Imp?"

The princess was thankful for the question a scruffy-looking little girl shouted out, for it saved the feud that was on the verge of inception. She had turned away many fine proposals, finding none of them fit for the firstborn of the King, and her grandfather was growing tiresome of her antics. Robert himself wasn't too fussed on marrying his daughter off as of yet; one of the few things her parents agreed on was Laenah needn't be sent to far. Jon Arryn had even put forward the idea of marrying his sickly son, and Laenah had wanted to slap the old man for trying to foist a child who still suckled at his mother's breast onto her.

Strangely, Cersei hadn't hated the idea how Laenah thought she would; the Queen would've liked it if her eldest babe stayed by her side.

"Will you shut up?" The pretty girl Joffrey had given a glad eye to snapped, a sheepish expression gracing her face when the princess regarded her mirthfully. She seemed a sweet thing.

"Who do we have here?" Laenah's gaze travelled over to the handsome boy from earlier, watching him with wanton eyes as her father shook his hand. "You must be Robb."

Robb. Ned Stark must have admired the King a great deal, to present him a heir named after him. He moved onto Robb's little sister, "Aye, you're a pretty one." Laenah found she had to agree, the girl with the locks of flaming orange was nothing short of beautiful. A pretty maiden like her would be wasting away in the North.

"Your name is?" The king enquired peering down at the little wolf who's been keen on locating her Uncle Tyrion.

"Arya." She stated affirmatively, Laenah most amused as her father nodded and looked to the boy who looked no older than ten. "Ooh, show us your muscles," He flattered the child, chuckling heartily as the Stark flexed his arms. "You'll be a solider."

Much to Laenah's pleasure, that was the end of all that and soon she could take rest in her chambers. She could only hope they would be half as well-furnished as her room at home. Her Uncle Jaime rode forward then, removing his helmet and his silky hair fell loose, the jangling sound of his armour catching Laenah's attention as he hopped off his horse.

"I'm sure you're pleased the hours of being squashed in a carriage have come to an end, niece." Jaime smiled at her handsomely, Laenah's ears catching a mutter about the Kingslayer as he stood beside her. He didn't like to be called as much, Laenah knew that yet that is who he is.

"I'll be forced back into that carriage a month from now when we return home."

Something dawned on Laenah when she watched her mother offer her pale, bonny hands to Eddard Stark with her full pink lips curling up every so slightly at the ends when he pressed a kiss to them. Theon Greyjoy, the last living son of Balon Greyjoy, was taken as a ward by Ned Stark after the failed rebellion. Laenah was curious if he could be sought out in the crowd, what is it like to be in endless captivity?

"My Queen," Eddard regarded her, his wife uttering the same with a curtsy when green slits trailed to her.

"Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects." Her father said, and Laenah sighed, wondering if her mother had ever even tried to compete with the ghost of Lyanna Stark.

"We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait." Cersei bit icily, and Laenah cringed when her father barely regarded his wife, and turned swiftly back to Lord Stark. "Ned," Was all he said, and they made their way to bones and rotten flesh entombed in stone.

"The dead can wait," Laenah said to her Uncle with raised brows, both golden-haired lions adopting the slight on the Queen's behalf, "It's the mourner of a dead woman who ran off with another man that won't."

Jaime gave her a sidewards glance, "I'm no enthusiast of Lyanna Stark but I hardly consider being abducted by the Targeryan heir as running off."

Blue eyes flecked with sprites of Lannister green scintillated with a craze when Laenah smiled like there was something only she was smart enough to figure out. "How hard would do you think it would be to persuade any young girl to slip away with a silver-haired Prince?"

Once again, a call came, interrupting whatever was about to fall from Jaime's lips.

"Where's the imp?"

Laenah glanced to Arya, her dark plaited into two braids, half-amused at her insistence to sight a dwarf. She walked to her, Robb Stark almost jolting when the scent of lavender oils and vanilla wafted through the air with every step the princess took closer, crouching down to the little wolf so they were at eye-level. "His legs are very little. It takes my poor Uncle more time than ordinary people to hop onto a horse, he's most likely still at King's Landing trying to climb one."

Arya grinned cheekily, her older brother stifling a smile when her eyes swanned over to him before she walked back to Jaime. The Kingslayer smirked with a shake of his head, and her mother criticised her with a scolding glare while she commanded her twin. "Where is our brother? Go and find the little beast."

When he sauntered off in pursuit of Tywin Lannister's great shame, his niece toddled after him like she had since she could walk. At least she tried. Cersei snatched a handful of fur to bring her daughter near her, "You are not following him there."

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OATH—
keeper !
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EDDARD STARK'S banquet differed from the lavish dinners Laenah was used to at King's Landing. Where there was usually cornish game hens with butter sauce, there was honeyed chickens and where there was smoked ducks, there was beef and bacon pies. Iced blueberries were her favourite but the North didn't favour harvesting fruits. It was too cold a place to produce anything apart from meat, that Winterfell was rich in. Still, there was a spray of grapes Laenah was happy for. Just as she tore a berry of the bunch and popped it in her mouth, the bench dipped from the weight of a body as the aroma of wine skin and perfume came with it.

"He's been staring at you all evening." Joffrey murmured, Laenah turning to see her brother's green eyes twinkle with a teasing glint. "It wouldn't hurt to spare the boy a glance sister. After all... there is talk of you being his bride."

Laenah tutted in response, the gesture making a teeth-kissing sound as she raised her chin. She wore an unfazed smile, golden curls glistening prettily in the updo most of her hair stayed locked away into. "Mother would never allow it."

"Mother isn't King," Joffrey reminded her, "She can protest all she likes but we both know father has the last word." His gaze travelled over to Winterfell's heir, a disinterested look cast over his features that could have even put Cersei's to shame. "The North isn't where any Southerner should come, let alone a place fit for a princess to marry into. If it comes to it, I won't let anyone make you marry him."

"What a good little brother you are," Laenah said, tone half-mocking when she replied. "But truly, the chances of me being the Lady of Winterfell are slim. Father hasn't forced me into any betrothal so far, why would he now?"

"Father's awfully fond of Ned Stark. If the man asks for your hand for his son, do you see him refusing the request of his closest friend?"

Joffrey posed a fair point but Laenah huffed in displeasure still, "Can't be that close of friends if this is the first time they're seeing each other after nine years?" She fiddled with her chain, pressing the pearls close together while her brow furrowed in a shrouded apprehensiveness. "Besides Eddard Stark hardly strikes me as the kind of person to put in such a... daring request in the first place."

"He would if his son took a liking to you, which... apparently he has." Joffrey said smugly, stealing the piece of buttered bread from his sister's hand as he gestured to the blue-eyed boy with his head. "As I said, he's been staring at you all evening."

At last, Laenah regarded her admirer, sizing up the auburn-haired Stark with a soft gaze, biting back a smile when water dribbled from his mouth when he noticed he had met the eye of the princess. A lean, cocky-grinned man beside him howled with laughter, offering his friend a pat on the back whilst he continued to choke.

Shy joy graced Laenah's lips anyways when a tinge of pink flushed Robb's face, finding it awfully amusing how his eyes darted around the great hall all the while she soaked up the dashing looks of the heir. Hitching up her golden skirts, Robert Baratheon's daughter was out of her seat and on her way to the pair who couldn't tear their gazes away from her.

Right as every hair on the back of Robb's neck rose, and a nervous lump formed in his throat, the pretty girl approaching him was ripped away.

A serving girl whispered timidly in her ear, and another beckoned for Sansa Stark for them both to come before the Queen. Laenah sighed, batting her lashes at the heir coyly before she spun on her heel. Her mother was elevated on one of the wooden seats, Catelyn Tully beside her as they chattered idly. The table before them was furnished with a plethora of fruits, a tray of sweetmeats and a greased boar atop a platter, and a lemon-lathered cake of honey prettied with red raspberries.

"You asked for me, my dear mother." Laenah clasped her hands together by her belly, her cascade of golden curls tousled atop her head and a slew of strands arranged in a braid slung by her breast. Gems hung from her ears, and pearls from her neck. Her lips pulled into a sourly sweet smile when she regarded Lady Stark with a princesses courtesy. "My Lady, this banquet is wonderful. I thank you for such a pleasant welcome."

"No need, Princess. It is our honour to host the King, his Queen and their children."

When Laenah caught her mother's grimace, she glanced over her shoulder. The King roared with laughter, slapping a servings girl arse as he demanded her jug fill his cup with ale. A golden crown of antlers circled his dark curls but Laenah thought her father looked less a stag, and more a drunken fool. She tore her gaze away when he kissed the uncomely wench, meeting her mother's gaze with a mirrored disdain.

Cersei looked regal, in comparison. The cloth of her dress was cut from gold and red satin, straps crossing from shoulder to shoulder as her golden tresses twisted into a tall, elegant braid. An antler crown, like the one her father wore except smaller, nestled into the style and the gem of it glinted with the same green as her eyes. Wordlessly, the Queen beckoned for her eldest child to take a seat beside her.

Laenah did as she was told.

The pink of her lips was rosed by the Merlot wine she'd helped herself to, eyes wet with a haze as they swept the Great Hall of Winterfell. Her skin was as radiant as Sansa Stark's had looked when she came before the high seats.

"Hello, little dove." Cersei said sweetly, a smile on her face as she tilted her head. Sansa smiled shyly in return, her hair in gorgeous braids as her eyes glittered with admiration and joy at the compliment. "But you are a beauty."

The Stark girl wore a dress of grey furs, the linen of her eggshell undershirt poking at her neck and collarbones. Her gaze flitted to the princess as her cheeks grew rosy. Laenah's features were soft and warm when she found the red-haired girl her brother was to be betrothed to. "My mother does not lie. You are a pretty thing."

Sansa's cheeks turned from rose to crimson. "Thank you, Princess."

Cersei's voice came again, "How old are you?"

A pretty thing yes, and shy and sweet. Much too soft for the vipers that lurk the red keep, and the lionised stag she wants to wed. Sansa's mouth was pinched into a delighted pout, set on the lioness to mesmerise her. "Thirteen, Your Grace."

"You're tall," Her mother observed. "Still growing?"

"I think so, Your Grace." Sansa nodded again, polite and pretty as Lady Stark watched her proudly.

"And have you bled yet?"

Laenah exhaled pointedly, a childish whine to it as Sansa's smile dropped, eyes widening in slight as she glanced to her own mother unsurely. "Mother," The cub drawled in a playful disapproval, chastising her almost as her irises rolled to the side. Cersei silenced her daughter with a softly raised hand.

"No, Your Grace."

"And your dress, did you make it?" At the question, the Northen girl's smile came bright, and the corner's of the Queen's lips stretched slowly until they mirrored the expression. "Such a talent. You must make something for me."

Her tone had been so sweet, and yet Laenah knew it not to be entirely kind. Nor unkind. Her mother's heart fit only four, and they had grown in her womb and came from between her legs. Forgetting a lion's nature for a moment, the Princess caught the longing on Sansa's face as she doted silently on her pink bodice. The muslin was shy of red, patterned with faint designs and a thick lace hemmed it's neckline, low enough so her breasts would pool from them, and still high enough so that she did not look a harlot. Her sleeves and skirts were of a muted gold tone, the fabric falling into a cape around her wrists.

"I should have a dress like mine made for you, if you like Sansa. A girl of your calibre deserves gowns of gossamer and pumps spooled from silk." Laenah's elbows rested on the wooden table as she leant forward slightly, donning a kind smile. Lady Stark looked on her warmly, and Sansa shuddered a disbelieving breath of a giggle. "That would be lovely. Thank you very much, Princess Graycelaenah."

Cersei had wanted to name her firstborn Grayce, and Robert had liked Lyanna, of course. Laenah was the closest the Queen would allow, she'd be damned if she allowed the wraith of the wolf girl to doom her daughter too. And so, the realms delight was gifted the title of GrayceLaenah; a name that reminded her of how little love there was between her mother and father. Her nose wrinkled, but her grin did not fade. "Call me Laenah, I insist."

Sansa nodded docilely once more, and took her leave.

Cersei glanced to her lap briefly, turning to Lady Stark after a beat of silence. "I hear we might share a grandchild someday."

"I hear the same," Lady Catelyn muttered pleasantly in return, and Laenah pitied her. A child of three and ten, unflowered, and already her hand was promised to the crown prince in the far South. So far from home, so far from her mother she would be...

"Sweet Sansa and Joff's children would be beautiful," Laenah offered, and it was true. Her auburn fire of locks, and the deep green of her brother's eyes would make a Queen of love and beauty out of their daughters ten times over at tourneys. Lady Stark hummed agreeably, lips thinning as she played the part of a loyal subject.

"Your daughter would do well in the capital," Cersei said with certainty, and Laenah flinched at the thinly-veiled jab that came next. "Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever."

It appeared her mother had caught wind of Lord Eddard's heir's fancy for her daughter after a single glance, and refused to entertain the notion. Laenah was relieved, she would be a poor choice to turn from the Princess to Lady of Winterfell, even if Robb Stark was a lovely sight for sore eyes. Perhaps that had been why she called for Laenah to come by her side when she saw the girl had drowned out the bustling throng of people to find the handsome wolf.

Laenah wanted to charm him still. Just because she did not wish to wed him did not mean she had no desire to be bedded by the Stark of Tully blue.

As she swept the swarm of people that flocked to the King's feast, a roasted swine was brought in from the kitchens and lemon cakes served to every table by maids and cooks alike. Her attention to the catering dwindled when the silvery laugh of Robb Stark howled loudly, and Laenah thought it like music to her ears. Like a snake to a flute, it beguiled her.

The little wolf had flicked a spoonful of bean soup at lovely Sansa, and Laenah knew it unkind to laugh at the red-haired's plight as she lamented over her favourite dress. "Arya!" She'd cried out, and Laenah hid her titter behind her hand, finding some amusement on this night at last in the unruly girl's antics. "It's not funny. She always does this. This was my favourite dress, and she ruined it. She always does this!" Sansa continued to whine, rubbing the stains from her sleeve as the pretty-featured girl beside her dabbed at the brown slodge on her cheek.

Laenah dreamed off fighting with her sisters and brothers like this, but her mother never allowed it. Once, she had pushed Joffrey down the steps in the red keep, and he'd grazed his knee so badly it bled. Cersei berated the princess so gravely, her Uncle Jaime cooped her into his arms when she wept and lulled her to sleep as he lay her to rest in the jonquil-coloured canopy of her bed. After that, Laenah did little to torment Joffrey, and turned her frustrations to Myrcella's ugly dolls instead. She'd rip out their straw heir, and scratch their painted eyes off til the toys were left blind. Robert had always found it more funny than cruel, and when Laenah grew to be more comely and polished than any lady at court (naturally), he knew there had been nought to worry about.

As Arya guffawed, her mouth hanging open as she reached excitedly to scoop another morsel of soup, Lady Stark narrowed her eyes at her eldest and silently nodded to the scene unfolding. Laenah peered at Robb curiously, sucking her bottom lip in with her teeth as her mouth fell into a brief smile. His smile faded as he rose from his place near his friends, pulling his little sister off her bench from under her shoulders as he set her on the ground. "Time for bed," He shook his head at her fondly, shoving her forward slightly.

He sent his mother a glance to assure her, and somehow, a sea of arbor blue could not help but drift to the most winsome maiden he'd ever seen. Princess Graycelaenah, there had to be songs of someone so fair with honey in their hair. Oh, sweet she was, and pure, and fair! The maid with honey up in her hair!

Laenah sipped at her goblet then quickly, jumping from her seat in delight as she saw Robb lead his sister out from the feast through the gallery. "Mother," She said, without sparing a glance to her or Lady Stark as she climbed down off the higher stand. "I shall go to rest in my chambers now, I am feeling rather tired still after our journey here."

"GrayceLa—"

The princess did not wait to be forbidden, the ruffle of her curls bouncing along with her as she fled from the feast crowded with floods of lords and ladies she did not care to know. Her feet had led her astray, the coral pink of her slippers spoiling as they trudged through the dimly lit gallery, past the kitchens and into the yard where the cold wind blew. Laenah shivered, the promise of winter nipping at her nape and biting at her collarbones.

A set of furs were placed over her shoulders, and when the girl half-stag, half-lion craned her neck to look back, she bathed in the warm gaze of a boy half-wolf, and half-fish. Laenah's lips parted in surprise, fingers slowly grasping at the ends of the pelts Robb Stark had leant her so she could shrug them down to her chest. Flakes of snow melted in his dark auburn hair, and Laenah imagined the same spray of melting ice to crown her golden head.

"Winterfell is much colder than Kings Landing, even more so for a Southern princess I gather." Gods, even his accent was handsome.

She smiled winsomely at him, turning softly on her heel so she could face him properly. Robb had blue eyes like hers, except where hers raged with the fury of Storm's End, his glowed softly with the Tully of Riverrun. Curls sat boyishly on his head, strewn messily and falling to his ears. His jaw was sharp and free of stubble, though Laenah thought he'd look all the more charming if reddish-brown wisps hung from his chin.

"That it is," She muttered sweetly. "The North suits a Stark much more than I. It's a lovely place still, but nothing is dearer to me the pageantry and grandeur of my home. Have you ever frequented the summery countries, My Lord?"

Robb shook his head, his gaze falling to the ground briefly before it found her again. He looked on her tenderly, and Laenah did not think anyone— not even Ser Arys Oakheart— but her mother regarded her like a rare thing. She felt likened to the crown then, for what else did men covet so deeply but the touch of a beautiful woman?

"I have not journeyed much further than the North Princess, unless one considers my birth in the Riverlands a visit."

Laenah hummed, irises flickering with a faint mirth. "Yes, you inherit your mother's looks. It is fitting Lady Catelyn's first son was born at her home, not only because you are half-fish... I find it rather unfair the woman should grow the babe in her belly for nine moons, and yet the father has more a right of the child. Do you not, My Lord?"

Robb's brows rose somewhat, and he appeared he was sincerely mulling over what she had said. Then the corners of his lips tugged up, "A mother gives the babe life, the least a man can do is offer his sons and daughters his name and house."

A string of soft giggles fell from Laenah's mouth before she could remember herself, and a fondness cast over her features when she stared at the heir of Winterfell. She had liked that answer. Robb grinned, pleased to have elicited some joy in the realms delight. "I suppose that is fair," Laenah sunk her teeth into her bottom lip prettily, gazing at the Tully wolf through feathery wisps. "I hope you travel South someday, for your own sake. Summer will pass you by, and you will dream of spring when the winter your House does promise so comes. The fruits of Highgarden are so ripe they explode in your mouth, and the Arbor red is so sweet, you'll never touch ale again. You must experience it."

The brown leather of Robb's tunic squeaked as he shifted on his feet, the collars of his fluffy undershirt creeping onto his neck. His eyes seemed to gloss over as he smiled, and the air around the pair seemed to quiet as if drizzled in honey and sugar. "If the Princess speaks so highly of the South, I must venture there one day. And if I am so lucky, she would be my guide."

Princess GrayceLaenah laughed again, that sweet sound better than a thousand songs. I am not much of a song... she thought, songs are of and for girls like Sansa and Myrcella, and Jenny of Oldstones too. "I shall make sure of it, My Lord. My grandfather likes for me to tour, and I intend to frequent DragonStone and Storms End in a few moons for the next. To see my uncles." She would've liked to see Dorne too, but... her mind trailed to Elia Martell, and her dead children. There was no love lost between the house of the rising sun and the lions.

"Why is it you've never toured North before?" Robb queried, and Laenah's lips twitched into a playful pinch as she draped the falling furs over herself again, pulling them closer. "I am here now."

He chuckled in response, and Laenah likened the sound again to youth. Age would embitter him, and her too how it had King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister— it was the thief of joy. So while her breasts were ample and her cunt tight, the Princess would amuse herself with the realm and its gifts at her disposal.

When she shivered again, Robb offered his arm. Ever the gallant. "I'll escort you back to the feast or your chambers if you would like, the hour is late and cold, my princess."

Laenah took it gladly, gusts of wind biting at the lace of her dress as the beads of her sleeve were lost beneath the warm, and rich furs. "Were you wandering because you lost your way around the castle?" Robb asked, guiding her to back to the Great Hall with him. His thick brows furrowed, and Laenah smiled at him softly.

"I was looking for you, My Lord."

His face brightened at that, and Laenah could feel a glow decorate her own cheeks as they rose in a fullness otherwise unknown to her. "Our fathers are old comrades, and we are both the eldest of our sisters and brothers. I believe we will make good friends."

"As do I, Princess."

She wanted to hear her name on his tongue, enveloping her hand around the middle of his warm girlishly.

"You may call me Laenah, Robb."

author's note: first chapter done!! wooo! was struggling with lady jeyne motivation so thought id visit some of my other works (and start a few new ones, I know I know crazy but I can't help it) and work on them. let me know your thoughts, hope you enjoyed <3 welcome to Laenah's story x