#ttgot eu

good plan 

VISIT I.

“Have you met Ned’s new girl yet?”

Green eyes slid in the direction of her cousin. Gyles had just turned five and ten only a few months ago, yet he was tall enough to look a man of twenty. Far taller than Greta which bothered her. She hadn’t grown at all, still the same height for almost two years now.

“He has a new girl?”

“An Ironsmith.”

Greta wondered what sort of girl Ned would take to. She’d have to be quiet like him. Ned said he disliked when she rambled, so having a girl around like that would trouble him. The Thorntons were the only family in Stillport she was really acquainted with. Everyone else she only heard about from Uncle Lewis at dinner, or a few of Mother’s friends from childhood. The girls of this town were strangers.

“She’s pretty,” Gyles said, as if this would endear her. “Usually those Ironsmith girls look like their bloody faces got smashed in with a hammer.”

“Is she nice?”

Gyles hummed, one long note as he considered her question. “I think she can be.”

He then tugged on her hair, short, choppy chunks of blonde. “You know, if you keep slicing your hair off like this you’ll never get a husband.”

“I can get a husband,” she snapped, yanking her head away from Gyles’ touch. “Doesn’t matter how long my hair is.”

“Men don’t want to marry girls who look like little boys, Grets.”

She scowled. “I like it this way, so shut up.”

Gyles only laughed, tilting his head back as he always did. He smiled more than Ned —it was why the port girls like him so much. Greta spotted some now looking in their direction. One of them turned to her friend, giggling in their ear.

“Perhaps Issy and Ned are home now?” Gyles grabbed her arm, pulling her in that direction. “You can meet her.”

“I don’t want to.” She attempted to slip from his grasp, but her cousin was stronger. “You said we could go to the market, and you’d buy me something. You promised.”

“We can go another time.”

“You promised!”

“Greta, has anyone told you how loud you are?”

Her frown deepened. No matter what she said, Gyles would get his way. He was taller, older than her by three years. Anything she said or did would be in vain. So she resigned herself to returning to Galehaven to speak to this Issy whom she already disliked on the basis that their market trip was canceled because of her.

The two of them—Ned and Isabel—were seated together in the front room when Gyles and Greta returned. Ned has his sword out, cleaning it again, while Isabel read to him aloud from a book on her lap. Upon noticing Greta, Ned quickly hid the sword behind his chair.

“I thought you were both out,” Ned said, raising an eyebrow. He looked from brother to cousin, waiting for an explanation.

“Greta wanted to meet Issy,” Gyles replied.

She huffed—no she did not.

As Gyles said, Isabel was a pretty lady: a pale heart-shaped face framed by silky locks of honey colored hair. Everything about her appeared dainty and delicate, from the way light green eyes raised to meet Greta’s to the slender fingers that closed the cover of her book with a rather harsh snap.

“Isabel,” she corrected, voice smooth. She was Gyles’ age—fifteen—but seemed much older than that. “You know I detest that name, Gyles.”

“Ah, sister, you know I do it out of affection.”

“And stop calling me sister too. I’m no sister of yours.”

“You shall be one day, once our families finally settle things.”

Greta’s gaze shifted to Ned, alarmed. She did not know they were betrothed. She only thought Isabel was a sweetheart, or a passing fancy. Her cousin avoids her eye, instead glaring at Gyles.

“What? It’s no secret. Everyone in Stillport knows of the match by now.”

“We were going to tell you and Aunt Brigitte at dinner tonight,” Ned assured her. “but Gyles insists on having the biggest damn mouth this side of the Narrow fucking Sea.”

“Eddard,” Isabel warned, eyes sharp.

“This is how Ned speaks to me, Issy, you’ll get used to it.”

“You’re too young to get married,” Greta said.

“I’m seven and ten—a man.” Ned grumbled, embarrassed by this, at having to affirm his manhood to his baby cousin. “And as heir to this house I have to marry, Greta. You know that.”

She did know, but knowing did not make it easier. Ned was her favorite cousin, the one she likes spending time with. Gyles took pleasure in mocking, in tricking her—laughing at her gullibility. He preferred the company of boys who liked to play rough rather than Greta who “complained about everything.” Ned allowed her to tag along whenever he ventured into town, showed her the quarry and the docks, patted her head, and never teased.

And now some other girl was taking him from her.

Ned coughed awkwardly into his fist before standing, grasping Greta gently by the shoulders and placing her in front of Isabel as if she were meeting a queen. The other certainly had that air of regality about her.

“Isabel, I’d like to introduce my cousin, lady Greta Bole.”

“It’s good to finally meet you, my lady.” From the way she spoke, it did not sound too good. “I’ve heard much about you from Eddard.”

“All bad things I’m sure,” Gyles commented.

“Shut up.” Greta glowered at him.

“He says you’re… a cheerful girl.”

The glower shifted to Ned.

“I’m sure the both of you will get along,” her cousin said, returning Greta’s glare with one of his own. One that says to play nice.  

VISIT II.

Neither Ned nor Gyles were anywhere to be found. She’d hoped to watch the ships sail into port today, and Mother did not like her going without one of the boys to accompany her. The girl was about to resign herself to pouting when Isabel appeared, draped in something elegant—the color of sea foam piped with gold. She seemed in a hurry to get someplace when Greta stopped her.

“Hello there, lady…” She trailed off.

“Greta.”

“Ah, yes.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, Greta staring at Isabel, and Isabel looking away as if she did not notice her staring.

“Gyles told me you’re an Ironsmith.” Greta had never been good with conversation. Her own father only spoke when addressed. If he had nothing to say he would not make up something just to say it. “Are those the yellow cloaks walking round town?”

“They are,” Isabel replied, already sounding bored.

“How did you and Ned meet anyway?” Better to get to the heart of the matter than to ask anymore useless questions. Father would be proud.

Isabel visibly stiffened, her queenly demeanor fading slightly to reveal the fifteen year old girl beneath. There was a light blush dusting her cheeks that Greta would’ve missed if she had not been watching the other so intently. Something she said struck a chord.

“My mother arranged it.” Her tone was clipped. Obviously it was something she did not wish to speak of. “Marrying into the Thorntons will be beneficial for our house—I’m sure you understand that.”

So she was marrying him not because she liked him, but because her mother wanted it. This did not cause her dislike to wave, however. In fact, it only grew. Isbael was using Ned. Did he know? Should she tell him?

“Are you happy about it?”

“I’m very happy.” Light green eyes narrowed at the younger girl. “Eddard is a good man. I’m proud to be his wife. Proud to be a part of this family.”

“You’re not his wife yet.”

“I may as well be. We’ll be married soon.”

The wedding would be on hold until Uncle Merlon returned from Dorne. Uncle Lewis wished for all his family to be present. His firstborn was marrying after all, and it was sure to be a big event—a big feast in the town square, dancing. Everyone would be invited: Drapers, Cottars, Coopers, Masons.

“Eddard speaks of you like a sister, so I do hope we can become friends.” Her smile is thin. Greta had not noticed it the last time she visited, but Isabel’s complexion had an almost sickly pallor to it. “I would hate for us to not get along—for his sake.”

“Anyone who likes Ned is alright by me.” She only said so to be nice.

Isabel opened her mouth to reply, but closed it once more, lips puckering as if she’d tasted something spoiled. A hand was raised to her mouth to cover it. The paleness now had a hint of green to it.

“Are you alright?” Greta asked, approaching the girl carefully. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

As she took a deep breath, the Ironsmith kept eyes squeezed tightly shut, perhaps holding back the bile that rose to her throat. To Greta she looked ill, but if Isabel proclaimed otherwise, she would not interfere.

“Do not tell Eddard about this,” Isabel ordered. “He worries when I’m unwell.”

“I won’t.”

The girl did consider going against Isabel’s wishes, if only to upset her, but thought against it. Ned might become angry if she did something to spite his new bride. Greta figured it wasn’t anything too bad anyway. The Thorntons ate so much damn fish. Isabel probably had gotten sick from it like Greta tended to.

“Do you know where Ned or Gyles might be?” It was what she wanted to know in the first place.

“They went out on Rafe’s boat for the day,” Isabel told her. She began inching toward the doorway. “Is that all you wanted from me, lady Greta?”

“Are you going somewhere?” Greta did not like Isabel too much, but if she was leaving, perhaps she’d allow her to tag along.

“Is it any of your business?”

“Well….”

“If you must know, I’m returning home to help my mother with some things. You are a nosy child, aren’t you?”

Greta scowled. “I was only asking.”

“You must learn to mind yourself, lady Greta. It’ll save you from getting into trouble.”

And with that, the maid turned on her heel, briskly leaving the room as quickly as she’d entered. Greta’s hands balled into tiny fists, annoyance burning her cheeks. The nerve of that woman—telling Greta to mind herself. If she did not like Isabel Ironsmith before, she certainly cared little for her now.

VISIT III.

Walking about town was not something Greta should’ve been doing alone. Mother worried something would happen if she were not always stuck by Ned and Gyles’ sides. The girl could never be irritated with her mother, but the lack of confidence was troubling. She could take care of herself! She did not need boys to protect her. Besides, nothing bad tended to happen in Stillport anyway. At least, she’d never heard of anything bad happening.

Having stopped at a small stand in the market, Greta almost did not notice the familiar bounce of honey colored hair in the distance. She set down the fabric she’d been admiring—was that Isabel? Surely there were other girls who lived here with the same sort of hair. Isabel mentioned once or twice of sisters and cousins—they’d look similar, wouldn’t they?

In the years to come she’d regret chasing after a suspicion, but for now Greta’s willfulness could not be stayed. The glimpse of hair led her to a quieter part of town. Not many were about even though it was midday. A small group of children ran past, shouting and jeering at each other, but Greta paid them no mind. She was focused on finding out if it really was Isabel she’d seen.

“I told you—I can’t see you anymore.”

Greta stilled. She would recognize that voice anywhere: a refined accent, sharp as splintered glass. The sound of it came from a small, cramped alley between two houses. Who was she talking to?

“What? Just because your mother is marrying you off to some Thornton prick?”

“He’s not a… a prick.” It was good to hear Isabel defend him. If she did not, Greta would’ve interrupted whatever clandestine meeting she was currently having. “And I want to marry him anyway, so as I said—I can’t see you. Stop coming around here looking for me.”

“Isabel…”

“You and your brother are the reasons she’s doing this anyway.” Isabel spat the word “brother” as if it were a disease. A word no lady should’ve carried in her mouth.

“Wait, what?”

Isabel was silent for a long moment. During this time, Greta pressed herself against the wall of the left house, close enough to hear but not to get accidentally caught. She could not see Isabel or the boy she spoke to.

After the long pause, Isabel said, “I have to go.”

“No—wait.” The boy struggled with his words. “What do you mean my brother?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”

Greta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making any noise. She slowly moved away from the house, seeing if she could catch a peek at the pair.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now let me go.”

“I can’t believe you let him anywhere near you.”

“It meant nothing to me.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“You’re getting upset.”

“Of course I am, Isabel! Seven fucking hells.”

“Can’t you keep your voice down?”

The boy then shot out of the alleyway, red-faced, crashing into Greta as he did so. Isabel soon followed, shouting after him. Their argument soon quieted as both noticed the younger girl fallen onto the cobblestone.

“What are you… what are you doing here?” Isabel looked even paler today. Perhaps from the exhaustion of bickering, perhaps from seeing her here of all places. The fear of everything she said being overheard no doubt was a part of it as well.

A lie could not even be thought of before her companion said, “You know this boy?”

“I’m not a boy!”

“This is Ned’s cousin.”

“Of fucking course. Probably sent her here as a spy too.”

Greta stood from the ground, brushing dirt from her dress. She was angry at what she heard, angry for being knocked over, angry for being called a boy. The one who had called her such was almost as tall as Gyles—likely the same age as well. His blonde hair was shaggy, hung in his eyes, and the glare he gave her full of vitriol. Greta noticed a big, multicolored bruise adorning his left cheek—it was hard not to.

“I was only passing through because I thought I saw you, Isabel.” It was the truth.

“Is Ned with you?” she asked, brow creasing with worry.

“I hope he is…” the boy grumbled.

Isabel gave him a look before repeating the question to Greta.

“No, it’s only me today.”

“How long have you been here?”

Greta hesitated. She could’ve admitted to hearing everything that was said. It all sounded suspicious, Isabel’s relationship with this boy and whoever his brother was. Ned would surely not care for it. Neither would Uncle Lewis. The opportunity to ruin their marriage dangled before her—she could either take it or leave it alone.

Isabel’s light green eyes, once haughty and disinterested, now held a real fear in them. It’d be wrong to tell Ned, Greta knew that, but it’d be wrong to not tell either.

“Not long,” Greta said. Guilt at having lied—more for Ned than Isabel—but she knew deep down it was the right thing to do. She did not want to be responsible for whatever trouble this would cause. Did not want Ned to hate her. “I only just got here when this brute knocked me over.”

“Watch your tongue, girl.”

Greta stuck it out instead.

“If you don’t watch it I’ll cut that thing out.”

“Hush.” Isabel elbowed the boy out of the way, drawing closer to Greta with a desperation in her voice. “This here is a friend of mine. An old family friend. My uncle works for his father.”

“Oh.”

“I apologize for his temper. He needs to learn how to speak to family.” The word is laced with ill intent, directed toward the boy. He only rolled his eyes.

“He needs to apologize to me. He knocked a lady over.”

“Lady?” The boy laughed. “You’re a girl of what? Eight? And one who looks like a fucking smallfolk boy.”

Greta yanked her hair self-consciously. Perhaps she should grow it out. “I’m not eight. I’m twelve.”

“Is there a difference, my lady?”

“You need to leave.” Isabel must’ve realized Greta was not going to ask any more questions, was not going to pry into business that was not hers. She moved to take Greta’s hand in hers. The boy’s eyes narrowed, scowling at their intertwined fingers. Isabel had made her choice, and it was not him. “My cousin and I will be returning to Galehaven. Good-bye.”

How strange of Isabel to treat her this way when only weeks before she had acted so coldly. Greta did not protest their linked hands—it was something she enjoyed, often clinging to her mother’s hand though she was far too old. Everyone at Thornbird thought her odd and didn’t like to play with her, so she was stuck aiding to her father’s will, or practicing her embroidery and music. Perhaps Isabel could be a new friend.

“Forget what you saw.” They had walked enough away from the boy that he was nowhere to be seen. Isabel dropped her hand. “If you tell Ned that would be the end of everything, do you understand, Greta?”

“I do.”

“Do you promise not to tell?”

Greta shifted from one foot to the other. “What did you mean anyway, when you said all those things? About that boy and his brother.”

“He likes to make a fool of me,” Isabel said, sighing. “I humored him once and all of a sudden he thinks I belong to him.”

“The brother though.”

“Yes, his brother is the same way. Even more so… but it’s all done with now. I’ve taken care of it. Ned won’t have to worry—you know he worries for me, Greta. I wouldn’t want him to. And I wouldn’t want this alliance between the Ironsmith and Thorntons broken because of some stupid boys.”

Greta nodded.

“So do you promise not to say a thing?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Thank you.” Isabel glanced around, noticing they were in the market place now. “How about I buy you something—anything you’d like.”

Her face lit up at this. “There was this fabric I saw—a blue one. Do you think if I asked Uncle Lewis he’d get it made into a dress for me?”

“If you asked nicely, yes.”

At twelve, Greta did not quite realize Isabel was buying her silence. It hardly mattered if she did or did not—the younger girl would not say anything about the incident. Though Isabel had taken Ned from her, he seemed happy to have the lady as a wife. Greta did not want to be responsible for ruining that happiness. It was doubtful anyone would believe her if she said a word of it. Isabel was beloved by Ned and the other Thorntons—unable to do wrong in their eyes.