Book One: Chapter 11

The sky is clear and blue above her, as Sakura makes her way through the mazes of small courtyards in the Winterfell grounds. The castle is surrounded by a labyrinth of enclosed spaces, in which warm springs sometimes bubble and the warm air is caught by the walls to keep the courtyards temperate, as if they are not open to the elements. In her many times wandering the castle, Sakura has found that the courtyards make for a pleasant place to read or draw, the warmth of the springs reminding her of the forgiving climate back in Highgarden. It is in search of one of these courtyards that she finds herself stumbling upon a small, private space, with straw and sawdust scattered across the stone paving and few windows looking down upon it. In this courtyard, the queen practices her swordplay alone.

Sakura has thought before that the queen’s sparring often looks far more elegant than she would expect, and once again her eyes are drawn to the lean curves of the woman’s body, barely hidden by her soft jerkin and hose. Her movement tells of strength and speed, her eyes steely with determination and Sakura imagines that on the battlefield she would be a force to behold.

So wrapped up in her training is the queen, that she doesn’t notice Sakura’s presence until the lady announces herself.

“Your majesty.”

Eunbi startles, reeling around in surprise as her sword drops to her side. She almost stumbles upon her own feet, so surprised is she at the sight of visitors, and Sakura privately retracts her thoughts of elegance.

“Lady Sakura,” Eunbi is so taken aback that Sakura is given the rare pleasure of seeing her utterly unmasked. Her eyes are wide, and Sakura hesitates over her words, momentarily stunned. Never before has she noticed just how green the woman’s eyes are, like the forests of the Wolfswood, and it steals the breath from her chest.

“I- you said you couldn’t dance.” Sakura manages, at last, and Eunbi arches at eyebrow, looking her over with interest.

“No,” She corrects at last, “I said I didn’t dance.”

“Is there a difference?” Sakura challenges her, tearing her eyes away from the queen’s face to resume normal thought.

“Of course,” Eunbi gives her a slight smile, clearly intrigued, “I find it better not to dance at those sorts of gatherings, but I could if the need arose. I was not utterly uneducated as a child.”

“I thought you said that you were taught swordplay rather than dancing?” Sakura takes a curious step closer, her eyes drawn to the shining blade in the woman’s hand.

“They are remarkably similar,” Eunbi explains, with a wan smile. “Though far more deadly.”

“Clearly, you have not had to displeasure of dancing with the lords of Riverrun,” Sakura raises an eyebrow in her direction, and Eunbi laughs freely, her eyes filled with mirth. “They are the least graceful creatures I have ever met.”

“Thank goodness you inherited the grace of the Tyrells, my lady,” Eunbi’s words draw a smile to her lips and a flush to her cheeks.

“And who did you inherit your grace from, your majesty?”

“My grace with a sword was drilled into me by hours in the courtyard with Ser Sooyoung and Lord Mormont,” Eunbi admits, twisting the sword within her grasp so that the steel catches the light. “Not as enjoyable as your dance lessons, I suspect.”

Sakura bristles, just slightly, and tells her cooly. “I’m not so sure, my dance instructor was from Pentos and he had very little patience. I expect he could have broken the spirit of stronger women than you, your majesty.”

Eunbi’s eyes widen in surprise at her words, and for a moment Sakura thinks she will take offence, but then the queen offers out her sword, “You think that swordplay is no real challenge, my lady?”

“I think it can be taught just as easily as dancing,” She answers, gingerly taking the sword into her hands. It is heavier than she expects, the silver wolf pommel cold beneath her touch, and her arm begins to ache only moments after accepting it into her grip, though she does not admit it to the expectant woman watching her. “Your blade is quite impressive.”

“Thank you,” Eunbi is watching her with a keen interest in her eyes, “You said your father had a similar weapon? Did you ever hold it?”

She is surprised that the queen remembers, her stomach curling a little at the mention of her father, but she nods, a mischievous smile playing across her features as she remembers. “Only when I was not supposed to.”

Eunbi laughs again, shaking her head so that her braids fall across her shoulders. “Did you have any training with weapons at all?”

Sakura’s lips press together, as she thinks of the poison still hidden in the slit in her mattress, but she shakes her head innocently. “A few archery lessons, but I showed no real aptitude and quickly lost interest.”

“That’s a shame, I think you would be rather lethal with some training,” Their eyes meet and something unspoken and hot flashes between them, catching Sakura’s breath in and leaving her cheeks to heat as Eunbi tears her gaze away and continues, her voice a notch hoarser. “Besides, everyone should know the basics of swordplay to defend themselves should the need arise.”

“I fear my lack of experience would scare off any potential tutor,” Sakura shakes her head, handling the weapon with ungainly hands.

“I would be happy to teach you a few things,” The offer seems to surprise them both, because when Sakura looks up, her eyes wide, she finds Eunbi looking back at her with equal shock. “Though,” The queen stumbles over her words, “Of course- you need not-”

“No,” Sakura dares to interrupt her, though Eunbi seems grateful for it, “Since the attack I… I have been worried. It might put my mind at ease to learn how to swing a sword.”

“Then… I would be happy to help.” Her smile is so kind that for a moment Sakura feels as if she is looking at someone utterly different. “Though you should perhaps start with a lighter blade.”

“Yes, I think you may be right,” Sakura admits, happy to hand the heavy longsword back to the queen when she holds out her hand. The queen crosses the courtyard to exchange it at the rack of weapons pressed against the wall, and Sakura takes the moment to look over her shoulder. To her relief, Hyewon has taken her post outside the courtyard archway and has her back to them.

“Here,” Eunbi’s voice startles her, bringing her attention back to the queen, who looks at her with eager interest. In her hands, she offers out a shorter, wooden training sword, the like of which Sakura has seen young pages practicing with, and Sakura smiles wryly. When she takes it from her, their hands brush softly.

“I suppose this is safer for everyone involved.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but it’s easy to be injured training, as you’ve seen before.” Eunbi grins, and holds up her own wooden sword. “There are several basic principles to swordplay,” She switches so seamlessly into the role of teacher that Sakura wonders whether she has taught her brother before, or some of the younger pages. “Timing and balance to name a few.”

“Doesn’t sound so different to dancing, so far.” Sakura teases, and Eunbi actually rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Maybe not so far, but there are several things you have to learn before you can even cross blades with someone. For example, stretch out your sword please?” When Sakura does as instructed, she tuts, her eyes narrowing as she examines her form. “I… I’m sorry but your grip really isn’t very good.”

“I think I know how to hold something,” Sakura remarks, and Eunbi’s eyes flash up to her in surprise, before the queen steps forward and with one deft knocks the practice sword straight from her hands. It lands in the dirt at their feet with a clatter and Sakura splutters her outrage, looking to the queen for an explanation.

Eunbi’s expression is not forgiving; instead, the queen arches an eyebrow, and asks. “Did you expect this to be easy, my lady?”

“No,” Sakura huffs, bending to collect her weapon. “I suppose you ought to show me how to hold it.”

“Curl your fingers further… that’s right, a little higher,” Eunbi watches as she adjusts her grip, “No, your thumb needs to be stretched out.” She edges closer, and only catches her reaching hands at the last moment. Green eyes flicker up to meet hers, and Sakura barely realises how close Eunbi is when she asks, “May I?”

Sakura can only nod mutely, and watch as warm, calloused fingers gently adjust her own. This close to her, she can see the smooth cut of Eunbi’s jawline and curve of her neck, the arch of her nose and brush of her eyelashes against her cheek as she focuses on Sakura’s hands. The sight is enchanting, haunting, and for a moment she is no longer the queen who brought the south to its knees, but a beautiful girl, under the sunlight. Sakura wonders what would happen if they had met in a different world, if Eunbi had been a visiting noble to Highgarden and she had shown her through the orange groves, and stolen away with her into the sunlit groves where wandering hands and lips could not be seen.

“There, that’s perfect.” Eunbi’s words draw her so sharply from her reverie that she pulls in a sharp breath, her cheeks colouring when Eunbi’s eyes find hers, gentle with concern. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Sakura is ashamed of how breathless her voice is in Eunbi’s company. “Yes, quite well your majesty.”

“I think… in these circumstances… you should call me Eunbi.” The queen looks at her with eyes so open and soft that Sakura feels her heart constrict.

“Then you should call me Sakura.”

Eunbi’s lips pull up into a smile so bright it could rival the evening stars, “Thank you, Sakura.”

---

As Spring settles across the north, the snow melts away and the roads clear enough to allow travel. In Highgarden Sakura rarely stayed in the same place for longer than a few weeks. It was easy to sail down to Oldtown, or ride to Kingslanding to see Wells and take in the excitement of the city, so her confinement in Winterfell grates upon her the longer she is kept within the cold grey walls of the castle. When the queen tells her that the Kingsroad to the Wall is passable now, she jumps at the chance to accompany her on her visit. It takes some preparation, though they expect to only be there for a day or so. It buoys her spirits, which have been low since the spring festival came to an end and the lords who had been filling it returned to their own lands.

A messenger scrambles into the courtyard the morning they are due to leave. He clambers past the waiting pages and soldiers, the horses and carts that accompany a trip with the queen, and rushes to the kitchens as if he's being chased by the old gods themselves. After some berating, he is able to hand over his charge to a serving boy, and collapse in front of the fire to beg scraps from the cook, as the boy delivers his message to Lady Sakura.

The southern lady turns, startled by the knock on the door. Her handmaiden tuts where she is gathering the last of her things, and Faith’s ears perk up from her place curled in front of the fire, but the door swings open at her call to show Hyewon and a serving boy clutching a letter.

“A letter from the south, m’lady.” The boy holds it out for her, but keeps talking even as she takes the letter. The seal is a golden stag. “The messenger said he fell ill just over the border, apologises for the delay.”

“Are you sure he didn't just fall into a house?” Hyewon mutters darkly and the boy flushes and fumbles for the right words.

“How long was the delay?” Sakura asks, as she tears into the letter.

“Several weeks, m’lady.” The boy flinches at the glower she settles him with, and is glad to escape when she waves her hand to dismiss him.

Hyewon hesitates in the doorway, but Sakura is so focused on her letter that she barely realises the soldier is still there. It is written is scrawling, spiralling words, the letters spiked with panic and fear. There are places where the ink is stained and smudged, as if smeared by wine or an unsteady hand, and the writing veers from large, uneven letters to a tiny, cramped scrawl. Her eyes scan over the words, her stomach sinking as she reads, and a breath escapes her, so loud that Hyewon says her name curiously.

“My lady?”

Sakura tears her gaze up, landing on Hyewon and blinking as if she had forgotten the girl was there.

“Are you alright?” Hyewon steps closer, her brows pulling together with concern. “What does it say?”

“Nothing,” Sakura answers, after a beat of silence, and strides across the room to toss the letter into the flames. “Only a letter from my mother. Could you check my trunk has been properly stowed?”

Hyewon eyes her as if she doesn’t fully believe her, but when it seems that Sakura will not relent she nods, and turns to hurry from the room. Sakura’s feet feel frozen to the spot, her eyes drawn down to where the flames at the corners of the parchment, easing across her friend’s words. Wells’ letters have long been troubling, but this panicked spiral of words has left her feeling deeply unsettled and fearful. The prince writes of wrongs he has committed, and things which cannot be undone. He begs her forgiveness for burdening her with this, but she cannot decipher between the words what it is he has done, and the worry for her friend sends her hurrying to the trunk at the bottom of her bed to pull out parchment and a quill. In a letter so short she is almost ashamed to send it, she pleads that he be more direct and allow her to help him, but even as she seals it with a green wax rose, she knows it will not appease him. Her stomach curdles with her desire to travel to him and ensure his wellbeing, but instead she must be satisfied with ing the letter into the hands of a messenger when she makes her way down to the courtyard and instructing him to run all the way to Kingslanding.

“My lady, we are not quite ready to leave yet.” A knight who is part of their retinue tells her as she climbs into her carriage and she feels so suddenly trapped that she leans from the window and barks.

“Then you had better make haste, because I will be leaving now with or without you.”

---

The journey to The Wall takes several days, if they keep at a good speed. Their caravan is small enough, with only Lady Sakura’s carriage to slow them, and Eunbi rides near the head of the procession, her black mount glad of the chance to stretch his legs. She runs a hand down his neck as they keep a steady pace onwards, and enjoys the sound of the hoofbeats around her and the cold breeze plucking its fingers at her hair and cloak. Her cheeks are flushed, her nose stinging with the cold, but she is intensely glad to be on the road again. It has been some time since she last checked in on the Wall, and the much needed provisions she supplies will be received gratefully, she is sure.

At her side Chaewon rides, ever faithfully at her side, her white cloak billowed out across her horse’s rear like one of the knights of old. Eunbi smiles privately at that thought; certainly, Chaewon would not appreciate being compared to one of those prancing princes. Yunho, to her quiet relief, remains in Winterfell, with Yujin there to act as regent in her stead. She had spoken to