No Song So Sweet

            ❛❛ AND DEPRIVE OTHERS OF YOUR COMPANY ? MY DARLING , I WOULDN’T DREAM OF IT .  ❜❜  a light squeeze of amerei’s arm accompanies her words. the pair have been quite unfortunate in their matches , but katherynne cannot look at her dearest friend and not be determined to see her happy , to do whatever is in her power to ensure a happiness that she deserves . to ami’s remark , katherynne couldn’t help but laugh , more heartily than she had recently become accustomed to.  ❛❛ if there are northern lords looking at me , it is only to wonder how i’ve survived  this visit.  ❜❜ slight as she was , katherynne looked odd almost anywhere   - - like a fragile thing easily displaced . she was sure her generally nervous disposition did very little to make her look as though she belonged.  katherynne took a step back , extending her hand towards her friend and mimicking a lordly bow . ❛❛ surely king harlon will not mind us upsetting his coronation feast by diverting all northern attention to us . may i have this dance , my lady ? ❜❜

“Deprive away. I am far more interested in spending my time with you than any other,” Ami had her faults. She was anxious, and vain, and could be sly when she put her mind to it, but never for Katherynne. She made Amerei a better person, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around her old friend and shield her from that which might cause her harm. She had grown distrustful over time, though there were a few who could still see past her veneer and open her heart. She shook her head, though fondly, amusement at Katherynne’s joke twisting a smile around her lips. “They do not know that all Stormlanders are strong, no matter how delicate and beautiful they look.” It took a certain type of person to thrive in the Stormlands, somebody who could navigate howling winds and lashing rains, and the fierce, headstrong temperaments their people were known for. Ami wasn’t sure she was the right kind of person, not anymore. Katherynne may not have seemed the sort, either, but Amerei saw the best in her, all her faith in the brunette’s inner strength. “Let us hope not, or we may cause an international incident,” she quipped. Then, she curtsied, playing along with the charade, and placed her hand in Katherynne’s. “I would be honoured.” 

            HE  HAS  NO  INTEREST  in  the  affairs  of  northern  men  .  he  is  a  southerner  ,  through  and  through  .  though  his  loyalty  publicly  stretches  toward  the  targaryen  king  ,  he  has  always  had  his  priorities  on  house  baratheon  .  it’s  the  reason  he  himself  has  never  traveled  farther  than  the  eyrie  and  even  that  itself  was  for  the  familiarity  of  his  eldest  sister  .  when  it  comes  to  his  people  ,  those  in  the  stormlands  who  support  his  family  before  any  king  ,  cedrik  is  a  welcoming  man  .  he  does  not  mind  standing  with  them  for  hours  ,  spilling  his  mind  to  whoever  will  listen  .  they  are  loyal  to  him  and  that’s  a  comfort  that  no  northerner  can  match  .

            CEDRIK  KNEW  MUCH  of  lady  caron  .  he  knows  much  more  of  the  ruling  lady  ,  but  house  caron  is  one  he  is  quite  familiar  with  .  perhaps  she  would  have  been  a  good  match  for  a  betrothal  in  their  youth  ,  but  with  her  record  of  husbands  ,  he  counts  his  lucky  stars  .  could  she  extend  her  abilities  to  the  men  who  dragged  his  sisters  away  ?    ❝    once  ,  in  my  youth  ,  though  i  don’t  remember  the  trip  .    ❞    he  answers  with  a  shrug  .    ❝    yes  ,  i  suppose  so  .  it’s  the  least  they  could  do  ,  not  let  us  freeze  to  death  .    ❞    it’s  comforting  to  know  they  speak  of  the  same  home  ,  the  stormlands  .  he  smiles  ,  a  rare  gesture  ,  at  the  thought  .    ❝    i  have  ached  for  home  since  the  moment  i  arrived  .    ❞

Ami let a small sigh of relief escaped her. She doesn’t remember when it had begun feeling like every conversation was a risk, like she was on trial for her misdeeds, and that was when she managed to entice somebody to speak to her at all. Often, she chose merely not to speak, not to try, and prevent others from holding that power over her. Other times, like now, it felt a little less challenging to offer small talk - particularly with the Baratheons. Though they were the ruling family of her homeland, her friendship with Katherynne left her a little less inhibited in their presence. 

“That makes sense. If you could remember, I doubt you would have wanted to return.” though the cold wasn’t hitting her in the hall, the fire pit filled her eyes and her lungs with smoke, and crammed full of bodies, the heat made it stifling. In the North, it seemed, it was one extreme or another. “They may not allow us to freeze to death, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of us ride south with a touch of frostbite. I have never known a cold like The North.” She pulled her cloak around her, despite the relative warmth. “In that, we are alike. I am grateful for the opportunity to come, but I yearn for my own bed every night I am away from it.” 

          “ why, thank you, my lady. ” anya flutters her eyelashes prettily — doltishly — at the compliment, mischievous smile holding back laughter, part mirth and part nerves. if she had been alone, she might have made her excuses much earlier ; she can only stand polite company so long without someone familiar to lean on. even a knowing glance from across the room could sustain her. to walk arm in arm with amerei, equal parts observing and observed, has her toeing the line between giddiness and anxiety, but not at all inclined to withdraw. “ oh, you don’t mean that, do you ? ” anya prods, brow quirked suggestively. “ i’m sure the northern cold is not so terrible with someone to keep you warm. ” she nudges ami ever so slightly, but won’t press the issue just now. it would be rather devastating, losing amerei to so distant a land as the north, but if it could see her goodsister happy, anya cannot make any objection. “ and i don’t think i’d have forgiven you either, ” she teases, “ it’s been much too long. will you travel back to king’s landing with us ? stay at least a while, before going back to nightsong ? ” 

The laugh that escapes her is quiet, but genuine. Anya was the best thing to have happened to Nightsong since she was a girl. It was she, rather than Lord Caron, who made it feel like home there. Ami had made home in several keeps in the south kingdom since she had first been wed. She knew better than anybody how fragile the concept could be, and didn’t take Anya for granted. She felt suddenly self-conscious, glancing around to ensure no Northerner was gazing her way. As she cast her head, a few lord and ladies turned theirs so as not to meet her eye. She had thought one day, she would have gotten used to thinly-veiled whispers, but it didn’t get easier. “I mean it. I was meant to be in the south,” she affirmed. Not to mention that her trust in men had long since left her, and she wasn’t entirely sure she could face a fourth marriage, fourth husband, a whole other new life to undertake. The mere thought exhausted her. “I would love to visit, and see how you live when in the city, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen The Crownlands. I’m not sure I’d be entirely welcomed.” 

He smirked and took a sniff of his drink when she mentioned an additive. Then, in jest, his eyes rolled upwards and he brought the back of his palm to his forehead. With a snort, he returned back to his normal self. “Only thing added to this wine is vinegar, I reckon. Dornish swill.” He then let out a rather long sigh and turned his cup over, drinking it down in one go. “But alas, I have a reputation to uphold.” He smirked a little when she asked her question and shook his head just a little. “Who’s to say that these two things are mutually exclusive? Though, if there were scuffles, I would prefer them between houses internal of the kingdoms. The poor man’s only just been crowned.”

He took her respect with an appreciative nod of his head. “Nothing to forgive, my lady. I should have recognised you. I was at your late husband’s funeral.” He shot her a short, polite smile, before turning back to the room. “A tragedy. Three times wed, three times widowed. My sincerest sympathies. I know what it is like to lose a spouse. None should endure it. And three times? Without children to lean on?”

She chuckled at his theatrics. The Lady Caron did not let smiles grace her face easily. She had endured too many rumours to find much to smile about. But she was under the influence of wine, and Lord Tyrell was proving good company. “They do have Reach wine. I asked the serving girl for some,” she said, pointing to her own cup. “The wine from Dorne doesn’t agree with my head in the mornings these days.” She was 30 now, too old to drink without consequence. “I should hope there is no fighting at all. I’m not sure my nerves could handle it.” It was true enough. At the first sight of trouble, she would be out the door. 

She wanted to ask which one, but it seemed callous to do so, especially for a woman with so much vitriol thrown her way. It could not have been her first, her only love. There had been no body to recover. The second had died at Dragonstone, and the funeral had been small- as he had deserved. If she had to guess. It would have been the third. “Lord Errol was a good man,” she said, slowly, on the off chance she had gotten it wrong. “I did not realise you were in attendance, My Lord.” She wasn’t used to the kindness, and a part of her felt a little suspicious. “I am sorry that you know how this feels. It doesn’t get easier.” She was speaking starkly, a rarity for the blonde. “But we must disagree. I am glad there were no children. To be a widowed mother is no small feat.” 

          anya knows such events can be uneasy ; even she suffers under the sharp, watchful eyes of a crowd, but amerei bears the brunt of the disapproving glances and unabashedly curious stares. alone, to be so observed is unsettling, but arm in arm with her goodsister anya can find some amusement in it too, bolstered by the security of not being the only one. leaning into one another, speaking in hushed tones with slight smiles on their lips, they float through the festivities with slow, measured steps, the very image of proper southern ladies. as different as night and day, yet it is obvious to any observer the bond the two women share. “ i don’t doubt it — if that lot don’t have a drop of wildling blood, then i’m garth greenhand, ” she jests. of course she’s seen southern men much further in their cups than this, but even then there was always some element of decorum, however foolish and unnecessary. the wildness of the north makes her nervous, but she admires it too. her brow quirks at amerei’s observations, lips still smiling but pursed with just the hint of tension. “ oh ? you never know. we may lose you to some great beast of a northman ; i suspect they are less spineless than their southern counterparts, ” she suggests, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “ of course i’m glad. any opportunity to see you, even if the travel was hellish and i’m sure to catch a chill. and how many coronations might we see in a lifetime ? certainly not enough to pass up such an opportunity. ”

Amerei wasn’t sure she would ever fully get used to the rumours, but she did little to fight them. She wasn’t the murderous witch they made her out to be, but she had taken a life, even if nobody knew it to be true. She deserved at least a little of the venom directed at her. Still, with Anya, she is able to forget for a moment and be merry, enjoying the feast as any normal woman would be. “You’re prettier than the legends say, Lord Greenhand,” she said, a stupid wisecrack that would have revealed itself for none but Anya. Though they stuck quietly to the sides of the room, speaking only to each other, she could feel stares on her, from southerners who thought they knew their stories and northmen who couldn’t give a shit, but looked at them with lust. It was almost as though Anya could read her mind, and as she thought this, the brunette’s statement clicked in her mind, and she laughed. “Not bloody likely. I don’t like the thought of shivering for the rest of my days,” she said, dismissively. She had resigned herself to a life in Nightsong, of spinsterhood and solitude. “We shall enjoy our time together, even if we’re cold and miserable.” She squeezed her arm gently. “It is a momentous occasion. I’d never have forgiven myself if I missed it.” 

“Northerners smile for their wives, their ale and their legends, I’ve noticed.” He said, pointing the hand with his cup to two examples. One lord was smiling as his wife sought to dazzle the surrounding patrons, while another smiled as he watched his ale being poured by a servant girl. Then, Gareth took his cup to his lips and sipped himself. “I agree, however, that this is an impressive feat. I’ve yet to hear of trouble tonight. And with as many lords gathered in one space as this, there are more feuds, bastards and secrets hidden in this room than stars in the night sky. Bound to be friction.” A shrug followed as he turned his head to look at a rather dashing conversational partner. “A shame everyone is so well-behaved.”

He then turned fully and bowed his head. “I don’t believe we have ever met, my lady. Lord Gareth Tyrell of Highgarden, lord of the Reach.” He then waited, with his signature smile and a glint in his eye for the name of the other.

“Then at least it is a genuine smile, and not one to draw you into a false sense of security,” she mused, the jaded thoughts of a woman who had learned to never leave her back turned. Her eyes followed his gesture, and she softened a little at the Northern couple, enough so that the happy drunk brought a laugh to her lips. “The night is still young yet. I’m not sure you can put Stormlanders, Ironborn, and Dornish under one roof without an argument breaking out,” the three regions in particular were known for their tempers, their ferocity and their passion, and there was bound to be cross words and drawn blades before the end of the knight. “Or perhaps the Northerners had the good sense to slip something in our drinks, keep us happy and docile.” She was joking, though perhaps the widow of Nightsong should have been more careful before making jests about a man’s drink. “Were you looking for a fight, my Lord, or simply to be entertained?” 

She turned to face him more fully, granting him the respect that his station demanded. “It appears I have found myself in illustrious company without realising. Forgive me, my lord.” She laughed, a humble show of self-deprecation. Ami had never seen Highgarden, but had heard much from her goodsister of The Reach in all its glory. “Amerei Caron, Lady of Nightsong.”

          anya finds little comfort at nightsong ; little from the people, none from the castle itself, and even less from her husband. this is less true of king’s landing, but the capital, however vibrant and interesting, lacks the one person who made nightsong bearable. her goodsister amerei is a comfort anya has done little to deserve, but come to rely on ; her mere presence here lifts anya’s spirits immensely, and her suggestion brings a wry little smile to her lips. “ a brilliant idea, my lady, ” she agrees with a nod. following amerei’s lead, she rises to her side, but forgoes the hand she is offered in favor of linking her arm with amerei’s. leaning in slightly, her voice lowered conspiratorially and masked by the noise of the celebration, she asks, “ tell me, what do you make of all this ? can you imagine something like this in the south ? ” her gaze falls on a group of young northern lordlings, singing the bear and the maiden fair at an increasingly loud volume, despite the musicians playing quite a different tune. southerners were certainly just as capable of such unrestrained merriment, but in the court of a high lord or king ? anya couldn’t imagine it.

Ami had come to love Anya like her own blood sister, and like any sister, she wanted better for her. She had taken to her immediately, and the selfish part of her was glad she had come to Nightsong, but she wasn’t blind, and she could see there was an unhappiness in the Lady Caron. It was because of this that Ami had done all she could to take her under her wing, to make things a little easier for the younger woman the way she wished somebody had for her during her second marriage, if not for the bride’s sake, than because she knew how the story went for the groom. She smiled, entwining their arms and leading her away from the table so that they could survey the celebrations. Ami’s fair head bowed towards Anya’s so that she could hear her, a small smile playing on her lips. “No,” she answered, truthfully. She had thought the Stormlanders were a fierce, wild people, but though tempestuous, it was nothing like the unbridled revelry displayed by the Northerners. “The people seem more free, here. Perhaps there’s wildling blood in their veins, somewhere down the line. Some of the men certainly seem like the sort.” She cast her eyes to the table of noisy lords, the untamed whiskers on their chin and alcohol staining their tunics. “It is a shame the North is so bleak. Could you see the sun in the sky, I might like it here. But what of you? Are you glad you came?” 

In her younger years, Amerei would have been right at home here. The young Ami Caron would have delighted in all of this, but now, she just felt uncomfortable. She would have been a fool not to know what others said about her, the dark deeds she stood accused of. Now, she stuck self-consciously to the shadows, surrounding herself with the Stormlanders, her people. She doubted many of them trusted her, either, but at least there were friends around her, Katherynne Baratheon chief amongst them, her eldest and dearest friend. 

As she adored Katherynne, she extended that love to the other Baratheon siblings, though that was the extent of her relationship with Cedrik Baratheon. Still, she took comfort in the presence of his familiar face now. “Have you been to the North before?” She questioned, conversationally. She had never been further north than The Crownlands, and had been excited by the prospect, but though she tried to make the best of The North, she found it a barren, frozen wasteland, devoid of all beauty. She didn’t see how anybody could want to return if they had visited before. “At least the castle is warm, though the longer I’m here, the more I ache for home.” 

          the thrill of the coronation is somewhat lost on jeyne, as is the joy of reunions. so many of winterfell’s visitors have in this whole event an opportunity to see those they have not seen in years. brothers, sisters, here or there an old enemy or lover, but jeyne has few friends and fewer family. instead she seeks solitude, not out of desire but out of discomfort, the overwhelming sense of unbelonging. the godswood is easy, large enough to hide in without seeming to hide ; she can pretend to be enthralled by the sights, instead of distressed, so long as no one sees her kicking the stone in her path with more vigor than strictly necessary.

          even her father, a lord in his own right and bannerman to the new king, would not attend the coronation. he writes that his wife is ill, that they cannot travel. jeyne suspects privately that he takes great offense to the ironborn presence, but cannot help but wonder, if it’s true, if the lady lannister is ill, or if it might be a euphemism for with child. an unsettling prospect. strained expression, arms crossed, she picks her way through the leaf-strewn path, so absorbed in her own discomfort that at the sound of a voice, she startles out of her thoughts, heart in her throat.

          “ seven hells ! ” hand on her heart, she lets out a breath of laughter at herself, feeling like a complete fool. “ forgive me — something like that, yes, ” she admits, her cheeks, rosy from the cold, flushing darker in embarrassment. “ i imagine it’s beautiful in the snow, and absolutely unbearable. but there are the hot springs too, warm no matter the season. have you seen them, my lady ? ” she tries at light, easy enthusiasm, despite the weight on her mind, hoping with some desperation that it’s convincing.

Amerei’s mouth quirked upwards at the exclamation from the other, but she tried her best to rearrange her expression in one of concern. She was, by now, a well-practiced actress, after all. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I apologise,” she said, and that, at least, was true.  It hadn’t been her intention to frighten the other woman. She offered a smile of apology, and beckoned the stranger closer, a silent invitation to join Amerei if she so pleased. 

“The hot springs?” she repeated, glancing from left to right as though she might spot them from where she stood, hiding behind a tree she may have overlooked. Of course, she spotted no trace, but the lady had her entire attentions now. “I can’t say I have noticed much warmth in Winterfell, and certainly no hot springs. Is that what you have come to find?” She asked, curious as to what would have brought anybody who wasn’t from the North out to The Godswood Despite her own presence. 

Amerei pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself, a shudder running up her spine, the thought of hot springs making it seem all the colder. “Perhaps we can search for them together? I must admit, it would be nice to be reminded of what it is to be warm.”