𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔲𝔫.

          was it the wine going to his head, or was he so emboldened by her insipid prying, that he spoke so ? if he seemed amused, or careless, anya couldn’t help but hear an edge concealed beneath his voice, not mild-mannered amusement, but a distilled contempt. ‘ oh, it’s certainly excessive, but not half so excessive as a war --- and as you say, that would be undesirable. yet it seems men must find some excuse to beat each others brains out, and the excesses of tourneys must be excused. ’ she glanced furtively at the two kings seated at the high table, but that was all the hint she gave of her concern --- let him think she thought nothing of his words, that she was the fool they all believed her to be. ‘ if life is a game, it is not a very good one. it is terribly unclear who wins or  loses --- and i suppose we all lose in the end. and you sell yourself short, your highness. i’m sure you do much more than just watching and parading. ’

          maya had been whisked away once more into the arms of a young lord, and anya observed, amused, over the edge of her cup. stirred by some sense that she was being watched, that she had best look engaged with, and at home in present company, she cast her gaze around for a familiar face. or not quite familiar --- she recognized lucan arryn’s heraldry much more clearly than she did his features. ‘ lord arryn --- how’s your head ? ’ the injury had looked like a bloody affair, from her vantage point, the side of his head gone all red, but now, clean and dry, the wound looked unremarkable, just a red scrape near the hairline, not even long enough to stitch.   /   @lucanarryn

          ‘ jousting is a very different sort of skill set, ’ she agreed diplomatically. he was distracted, and she was annoying him. anya had spent enough time vying for some attention to know the telltale signs of someone who didn’t particularly care what she had to say, and was only humoring her questions for as long as propriety dictated. still, she would pretend, as she always had, not to notice the obvious ; despite the sinking feeling in her gut, she had yet to die from making a fool of herself. ‘ oh, that’s a pity, ’ she remarked, with an earnestness that suggested she was truly invested in the answer, not just grasping at the flimsy makings of a conversation. ‘ i’m afraid i’ll never hear the end of it. truthfully, i don’t know enough about fighting to fully appreciate the sport of it, but for what it’s worth, i do enjoy the performance. ’ her gaze flickered down to the table, almost embarrassed, as if she had all but announced that she was an idiot.

          after all the proprieties had been observed, congratulations and blessings and a choir of well-meaning wishes for king brandon and his reign, the great hall had settled into a low murmur of conversation --- mostly polite, with here and there a pocket of raucous laughter and lesser lords getting steadily more drunk. it was a little stifling, and she was still nervous as ever, but it was pleasant all the same. one might even be fooled into thinking all was well. another rousing chant of the king in the north echoed through the hall, and when it died down, she turned to the king in question. ‘ you are well-loved, your grace, ’ she observed, with a mild amusement, stopping herself from congratulating him yet again --- she would start sounding like one of those talking birds from the summer isles. ‘ your men must take great pride in their king. or is this customary ? ’ somehow, she could not imagine the stark king as a man who would abide being cheered for relentlessly.   /   @icegcd

          she recognized his look all too well. polite, unassuming, and entirely uninterested, despite varying attempts to appear attentive. that look had been turned on her often enough that anya paid it no mind, merely pressing on as if the stark prince had answered with enthusiasm, rather than his apparent reticence. ‘ then you were wise even as a boy --- my father always says that if a man learns nothing else, he has to learn to fight. ’ those weren’t quite lord redwyne’s words, but in this company, it would not reflect well on her to quote him precisely. ‘ if my son is half the warrior you are, i must count myself lucky. and does your expertise extend to jousting, too ? ’ the change of subject came swiftly. in her experience, men did not care to dwell on the hopes of mothers. ‘  two of my ladies are in some disagreement about whether or not ser olyvar’s win was quite deserved, but i’m afraid neither of them knows enough to convince the other. what would you say ? ’ if it was an obvious ploy, it was nevertheless earnest ; he seemed terribly bored, and if nothing else he would be entertained by her acting the fool, as she couldn’t help but doing.

         the northerners were a stoic bunch, she had been well-warned ; something about cold places breeding cold people, or some such nonsense. she hadn’t found that to be the case --- with food and ale, dancing and toasts to the king in the north, the celebration had grown quite warm. even at the high table, a murmur of conversation and compliments flowed as freely as the wine, yet in a lull in the conversation anya noticed the young prince stark was rather disengaged. in fact, he looked positively disaffected, as though he had rather been anywhere else but there. it was perhaps a foolish impulse that moved her to speak, a desperate desire to ingratiate herself here, among strangers. ‘ prince benjen, you fought wonderfully in the melee this morning. i’ll admit, i know little of swordsmanship, but even i could see you are a an expert fighter. ’   /   @princebenjen

          anya watches nervously, eyeing the enthusiastic, surefooted passes with a growing dread --- she’s never been a skilled dancer, and the unfamiliar steps are a sure sign that if she tries, she’ll only embarrass herself. for a while, she is safe, occupied as she is with food, drink, and conversation at the dais, but before long her reluctance surely begins to look like contempt and the only polite thing to do is to descend from the hight table. she spots the former lady hightower quickly, a familiar face she hasn’t seen in all too long, betraying for a moment the same look of apprehension that anya, too, is trying to suppress. people move from her path as she approaches, offering katherynne a smile that she hopes is commiserative. ‘ i was wondering the same. for me, i don’t think it will make much of a difference --- i’m a dreadful dancer. but surely there’s some gallant northman who would be more than happy to teach you, ’ she suggests, encouraging.  

          dark eyes flash dangerously at him, but only for a moment — to look at that face, earnest as he was, truly believing what he said, and yet being so terribly wrong, was infuriating, and she had not even the slightest authority to contradict him. ‘ if you believe that, you’re a fool, ’ she tells him, the even, calm tone of her voice ringing hollow even to her. ‘ the night’s watch is an old, proud institution, and the punishment for desertion is death. if the northern king sends forces south for you, we must either risk a war with them, or an uprising from our own bannermen if we let them have your head. tell me, what good does that do the realm ? ’

          ‘ and you will wait another lifetime, if it comes to it. the wall can wait. ’ she can’t pretend not to share his curiosity, and if the circumstances had been different she might have acquiesced and even accompanied him on the ride north. but such talk, at such a crucial diplomatic juncture, simply cannot be tolerated. ‘ my lord, you are no man’s prisoner — if you wish to ride for castle black, none of our men will stop you. but you know as well as i do that your king needs you by his side, now more than ever. he will give you leave when he sees fit. if you depart before then, i can assure you, you had best stay there. ’

          ‘ and what of him ? the young lord crakehall ? ’ anya suggests in hush tones, the arm looped in reina’s pulling her closer, an air of mischief in her voice. she sounds like a young girl gossiping about a handsome household knight, but where men have their hunts and hawking, women’s sport is destined to remain the frivolous hunting of hands in marriage, and the titles they confer. if it is to be her lot, anya means to do her best to enjoy it, but a glance at reina, and her voiced apprehensions, make her think better of it. reina, of course, dreams of a northman — lord crakehall would never do — but anya reads her hesitation only as embarrassment, and it leaves her feeling strangely the fool for even bringing it up. ‘ of course, i’ll hold my tongue, ’ she acquiesces, confidentially, with the air of an ever-patient and world-wise septa, despite being only two years reina’s senior. ‘ but do consider it well, my lady. your feelings on the matter are infinitely valuable — i would not see you wed to a man you detest, but for that you must make your opinions known, at least to me. ’   /   @reinabaratheon​

          gently, she pulled from his embrace, remaining close as she turned to meet his gaze. ‘ then you must prove them wrong. ’ it was a foolish, simplistic solution, but uttered with a sweet, ardent confidence. she had feared, and then quickly grown to love him --- given time, perhaps the lords of westeros could do the same. ‘ everything they know of you, they hear from the mouths of lesser men. now you can show them you are not a spectacle. you are strong, and just, and kind, and a good king. let them see that. ’   

          it was a relief to finally retreat to the comfort of her chambers, withdrawing from so many curious eyes to the security of enclosed walls and only familiar faces. a trace of the old anxiety still remained --- after all, who knew which walls had ears in this unfamiliar castle --- and her thoughts lingered on her son, wondering how he was, anxiously awaiting word from king’s landing. ‘ maya, ’ she prompted, rather trying to shake her own thoughts from her mind, ‘ come, play a round of cyvasse with me. ’ taking a seat at the table, she pulled the board equidistant between the two seats and nodded towards the empty one, expectant. ‘ and tell me, what are your impressions ? what do you make of the northerners ? ’   /   @mayaswann​

          ‘ it isn’t quite so colorful as the south, to be sure, but don’t you think the grey and white make it all the more beautiful ? a rose in a field of roses is boring. a rose in a field of snow isn’t. ’ her reflections rang childish, a girlish admiration for the striking and exceptional that doesn’t extend beyond an appraisal of the surface features of beauty. 

          it was strange, anya thought, that though the leffords and arryns alike were sworn to the starks, there was so little of the north in lady ursula ; in her manner, she was as much a southron lady as any one from the crownlands. her hair, her eyes, even her furs were all as light as anya’s were dark, and yet she felt as if she were looking into a looking glass — or perhaps a pond, the reflection rippled, slightly distorted, and with more thought, a little superficial. ‘ my lady, if it would not offend your king and queen, would you join me tomorrow to watch the jousting ? ’ she suggested on impulse,