#parthenopaed

while most of the other houses had wisely joined the southern entourage as the crown travelled from the capital through to the north, house mallister had decided to utilize their familiarity with the seas, travelling from their castle stronghold to flint's finger in the north, before crossing the barrowlands into winterfell. it was an unnecessarily dangerous route, considering the constant threat of the ironborn at sea, but it was something that she agreed was prudent, as tempers were still high within the family whenever houses tully or frey were mentioned. as she exited the warmth of the smoking log, fur - lined cloak tucked against her body, she wondered just how she was supposed to singlehandedly keep the peace between the families, especially with all of them gathered in the north. the men had sworn to behave out of a respect for house stark and their loss, and she would hold them to their word, even if that might eventually prove to be foolish. her thoughts were not on the pride of men today, however, and her furrowed brow smoothed over at the sight of a familiar face waiting for her at the mouth of the marketplace, feet hastening as she reached out to grasp gilliane by the arm. ❝ were you waiting long ? my apologies, i had to make sure that my siblings were behaving themselves. ❞ thankfully, the topic in the inn seemed to revolve around the rather ostentatious parade. ❝ i was so sorry to hear about lord cregan ... and your own jorella ... will you accept some flowers for the crypts later ? ❞ her voice was hushed, head turned to whisper ─ she knew better than to ask if she could go down there. ❝ oh ! and your relatives were most accommodating to us. i will write to thank them, but i wanted to thank you too for arranging things so quickly. i know you must have been busy preparing for all ... this. ❞

the cloth came down to a scattering of applause . torrhen stared. the statue towered over the winter town, pale creamy stone. too fine. too expensive. too southern. one could tell it did not belong against the grey of the wintertown, and the walls of winterfell. even though whomstever had carved it had been skilled enough. the fur cloak looked almost real enough to warm a man. the sword was handsome. the face was handsome too. that was the problem.

his grandfather had never been handsome. cregan stark had posessed a long face lined with age, weather, and stubbornness. he had looked like the north. this man looked as though he belonged in a song.

around him, a group of southeners smiled politely as he felt his mouth flatten. " it doesn't look like him. " he said to gilly, standing beside him with her children, and karlon on the other side. not taking his eyes off the stone. the statue gazed nobly towards the horizon. with a certain softness in his features, as though reminiscing, or contemplating wisdom. nothing of the sharp-tongued wolf that had demanded ravens be sent south every day during the winter. nothing of the man who had often complained that half the realm had been born fools.

whoosh! a blur of gold races down the corridor as elinor weaves through servant and guest alike, throwing many a breathless sorry! and pardon me! over her shoulder and most certainly wrinkling her skirt where she has it balled up in her fist. she's a woman on a mission; an arrow hurtling fast towards its target. she had already waited far too long to hear for certain if the pauper prince would be paying her a visit after all, and dammit she could not stand to wait any longer knowing that he was here at last.