Book One: Chapter 13

Eunbi isn’t sure whether she should allow Chaewon the luxuries that she does. Surely, she ponders to herself, a queen should not allow someone to lounge back upon one of her armchairs, her feet kicked over one of the arms and her boots dangling as she picks from the plate of food before her, while the queen herself is measured for a gown. It seems improper in a way that Eunbi can’t quite place, even as she lifts her arms obligingly for her seamstress. But there is little she can do about it now, and with no one to teach her the ways of royalty other than Yunho, she supposes there’s no harm to it, as long as none but her most trusted spot the captain so in her element. She lowers her arms again at her seamstress’s command, and twists to look at her cousin again as the seamstress murmurs over the measurements of the skirt to her apprentice.

Chaewon catches her gaze and raises an eyebrow, her gaze travelling over her. “Going through a growth spurt?”

Eunbi snorts, inelegantly, “I should hope not.” She brushes a hand over the emerald green material, tracing the silver embroidery, “It’s for Yujin’s name day banquet.”

“You didn’t want to wear one you already had?” Chaewon asks, casually, plucking a piece of cheese from the platter and chewing noisily and Eunbi’s eyes flicker away as she answers, carefully neutral.

“I thought a change would be good.”

Chaewon only hums, and mercifully changes the subject. “You plan to name Yujin heir at the banquet?”

Eunbi nods, a smile stealing across her features. “I thought it would be a good occasion, yes. He proved himself with Karstark and Bolton.”

Chaewon’s brows furrow at the sound of those names, and she spears of piece of chicken aggressively with her knife, eating around the blade.

“Regardless,” Eunbi ignores her annoyance, remembering Chaewon’s fervent instance that she simply behead the lords and have it done with. “He is heir in all but name anyway, and there should be an heir in place officially, in case something happens.”

“Yunho will be pleased,” Chaewon remarks, bitterly and Eunbi shakes her head, allowing herself to be turned this way and that as the seamstresses place the thick silver girdle, a delicate piece showing intertwined leaves and wolves, around her waist. She hears Chaewon’s boots hit the floor.

“Yunho does not have to approve of my choice of heir, he is sworn to serve Winterfell whoever may be ruling it, and I am the queen.”

“So I understand,” Chaewon appears at her side, and pokes at the girdle, her brows raising again, “Expecting an assassination attempt, your majesty?”

The seamstress gives Chaewon a look that could freeze stone and even her cousin is cowed enough to retreat back to her seat. Eunbi gives her a triumphant look from over the seamstress’s shoulder, and Chaewon rolls her eyes.

“The boy is a good choice,” Her cousin continues, after a moment’s pause, “He’s a skilled fighter, and he’s charming enough that the lords of the north should melt at his feet like butter.”

“He has been well taught,” Eunbi agrees, and though she means Chaewon’s training in the yard, she can’t help but think of Yujin’s reports from the lords of the north, poisoned secrets reported with an easy smile.

“Have you told him yet?” Chaewon asks, curiously and Eunbi shakes her head.

“I will soon, it’s only fair I tell him in private first.” Her eyes flicker to her cousin and when she speaks again it is with measured surety. “I also intend to legitimise him.”

Chaewon, to her relief, only nods her agreement and says, her voice lilting with the slightest hint of reluctant tenderness. “The boy has been a Stark in all but name for his whole life. Your father treated him as a full blood son, and you as a legitimate brother. I don’t think it will come as any great shock to the northern houses to hear him named officially Stark.”

---

The Smoking Log is almost too warm, a feeling that Sakura thought she had long forgotten in the north. It has been some time since she wished her corset were looser and felt the prickle of heat running up her arms and neck, and the change is sincerely welcome after the freezing chill of the far north and the Wall. Smallfolk crowd the tavern, pushing past one another to get to the bar, and leaning against the walls when there are no more seats left, and the sound of conversation and laughter fills the room with a comfortable buzz of activity. At their table in the back corner of the tavern, they are afforded a little more space and room to breathe, in part thanks to Hyewon’s heavy sword and Faith’s stark white figure sat beside Sakura’s chair.

The Tyrell isn’t quite sure if the wolf likes being in the crowded, rowdy tavern, but Faith seems to have accepted her fate with a reluctant, martyred attitude, and when she rests her head upon Sakura’s lap, Sakura scratches the spot between her ears that makes her rumble pleasantly.

“I win again,” Sakura casts a triumphant smile across the table, where Yuri is glowering at the dice before her as if they have personally betrayed her.

“Lucky,” The smith mutters, reaching across the table to collect her dice with a grumble and Hyewon rolls her eyes when Sakura continues to gloat.

“Not luck, skill.”

“Another game,” Yuri insists, and as she stretches out her leg, Sakura glances to the side, watching Hyewon’s distracted gaze.

Snow has been distracted all evening, unable to settle and quiet, and while she usually doesn’t deign to involve herself in their games, she usually has at least one or two scathing comments to input. Sakura twists, following her gaze, and though for a moment she sees nothing, her eyes fall upon Ser Chaeyeon, leaning against the fireplace, talking with someone. Her eyes widen, and she looks to Hyewon again curiously, remembering the many times she had found the young knight outside her door, and the time Hyewon spent with him at Longlake.

“You should go and speak to him.” She says, as casually as she can and she keeps her eyes on the dice as she throws her turn, though she can feel Hyewon’s glare.

“Speak to who?” Yuri’s head perks up from where she’s been rubbing at her leg, and she looks between them eagerly.

Hyewon stays stoic and silent, but Sakura has no qualms and she can feel the spiced wine heating her blood and loosening her tongue. “Hyewon can’t keep her eyes away from Ser Chaeyeon.”

“Ser Chaeyeon?” Yuri echoes, her voice ticking up a notch, teasingly, and she follows Sakura’s pointed gaze to the man leaning against the fireplace and hums her appreciation. “I see.”

“You’re both being ridiculous,” Hyewon breaks her silence to snap, and Sakura smirks.

“Ridiculous enough that you’re blushing?”

“I am not,” Hyewon insists, furiously. “It’s hot in here.”

When Sakura glances up again, she finds Ser Chaeyeon’s eyes upon them and her lips pull into a small smile. He gives her a respectful nod, his eyes flickering to Hyewon with a sort of hopeful glimmer that makes the tiniest part of Sakura swoon. Hyewon’s eyes dart away from him, widening and she gives Sakura the foulest look she’s ever seen. Ser Chaeyeon pushes himself away from the fireplace and says something to his companion, and Sakura’s smile rises triumphantly at the sight of him approaching.

“He’s coming this way,” Yuri points out and Hyewon’s head swings around to look so furiously that Sakura fears it may fall from her shoulders and roll across the floor all the way to Ser Chaeyeon’s feet.

“I-I have to go,” Hyewon makes to rise, but Yuri clamps a hand on her shoulder and holds her down.

“Can’t have that Snow,” She tells her plainly, and then continues at Hyewon’s affronted look. “You’re the best entertainment we’ve had all evening.”

Before Hyewon can make to stand again, Ser Chaeyeon appears at their table from between the crowd. He seems even taller than usually, stood above them while they sit, and he gives them a smile that is all good humour and charm. He offers Sakura a half bow, and greets her respectfully.

“My lady,” His eyes twist to Yuri and Hyewon, “Mistress Choi… hello Hyewon.”

When it seems that Hyewon is too likely to trip over her own tongue, Sakura interjects. “Ser Chaeyeon, it’s good to see you.”

“And you, my lady. You seem well after your troubled travels.” He says, politely and she nods.

“I was lucky to have the assistance of the Queensguard,” She allows, with a smile.

“And now you’re celebrating?” His eyes twinkle with a hint of mirth, but there is no malice in it and Sakura allows herself a bashful smile. “Can I bring you ladies anything more to drink?”

“Yes, three mugs of spiced wine would do nicely,” Yuri requests, and then her eyes swing exaggeratedly to Hyewon, “That’s far too much to carry alone, Hyewon, you’d better help him.”

“What?” Hyewon demands, furiously, and Sakura has to bite on her lip to keep herself from laughing.

“Oh, I can manage-” Ser Chaeyeon offers, chivalrously, but Yuri shakes her head insistently.

“Nonsense,” She all but shoves Hyewon from her seat. “Hyewon will help you.”

Hyewon stumbles to her feet and for a moment she and Ser Chaeyeon only stare at one another, before the man manages to regain his composure and gestures for her to go first.

They watch the pair squeeze through the crowd towards the bar, and Sakura sits back, scratching at the spot between Faith’s ears and feeling a swell of self-satisfaction.

“I’ve never seen her moon over someone like that before,” Yuri says, idly, her eyes following them until they’re out of sight.

“Do you know him?” Sakura asks, curiously, and Yuri half shrugs.

“Only in passing, I grew up in Winter Town and around the forge, you get to know who people are.”

“You’ve never really talked about growing up here,” Sakura observes, quietly, and throws the dice to distract them both.

“There’s not much to tell,” Yuri shrugs, collecting the dice into her hands and shaking them. She’s calmer than Sakura would expect, but there’s something in the downturn of her eyes. “My mother was brought here by my father from Bravos, and when he died she never learnt to love Westeros, so she turned to drink. A drunk mother doesn’t have much use for a baby girl born with a bum leg, so I learnt to care for myself pretty early on.”

“You’re partly Bravosi?” Sakura’s eyes widen and she looks at Yuri in a new light. Now, with a practiced eye, she can see something in the tan of her skin and the dark sheen of her hair that alludes to her heritage.

“Barely. I can speak and read the language some, but other than that all I know is the drunken tales my mother would tell.”

“So you were born with your leg?” She isn’t sure if she should pry, but the healer’s training her mother and grandmother passed down to her prompts her to ask. “Does it pain you much?”

Yuri glances up at her, her gaze searching, and when she eventually nods, and pulls in a long breath, it is as if she’s building up the courage to speak. “Yes… I actually… it’s getting worse.”

“It is?” Sakura’s brows furrow, and Yuri continues, unable to quite meet her eyes.

“I think I’m going to go down to Kings Landing.”

“What?”

Yuri presses her lips together firmly, “The healers are better down there, I hear. I’ve seen every healer in Winter Town, even the queen’s, there’s nothing more they can do for me.”

“But the journey… surely that will hurt your leg more.” Sakura shakes her head, unable to contemplate the idea of the north without Yuri in it. Even the thought of it makes her heart squeeze tightly in her chest, a panging ache of loneliness that she has come to know too well.

As if hearing her thoughts, Yuri says. “I’ll come back when I’m better, and maybe while I’m there I can learn from some of the Kings Landing forgers.”

“Let me help you,” Sakura begs, finally, “I know some people in Kings Landing, a letter with my seal could really help you. I could pay for a carriage, to help your leg.”

“I won’t take charity,” Yuri says, sternly, but after a second of hesitation she adds. “But the letter could be useful… thank you, my lady.”

“Sakura,” She corrects her, and Yuri offers her a smile that feels like a warm balm to the sting in her heart.

—

The evening has drawn a dark cloak around the castle, blanketing them in the peace of dusk, and Eunbi can see the sky turning from blue to washed indigo from her place staring out of the library windows. She feels safe here, in the room where she had taught Yujin so many lessons as a child, with guards at every door to prevent any disruption. The table still sits pushed up against the window, from her time with Sakura, and upon it is a parcel of dark fabric. She feels uncharacteristically nervous, though she has no reason to. She knows that Yujin will not refuse her this, he’s been groomed for it for most of his life, and yet there is still a flicker of fear which dances in her stomach like the flame of a dying candle.

The door creaks open and for a moment she keeps her gaze fixed to the window, as she listens to the footsteps come closer to her. When she does turn, it is at the sound of her brother’s voice.

“You wanted to see me?”

He seems suddenly older than he ever has before, and her eyes travel from his feet to his eyes as she wonders when he had truly become a man, in the time she wasn’t looking. Yujin frowns at her, clearly curious, and she clears .

“I have something for you.” Being from the north, they have never been people of many words or ceremony. “An early birthday gift, if you will.”

“Alright,” Yujin is curious, but as amiable as always. He watches her expectantly, and she is surprised to find that when she turns to take up the pile of black fabric, her hands are shaking.

“Here,” She places it into his arms as delicately as though it were a newborn babe, and he unravels it, admiring the fine material.

“A cloak,” His eyes flicker to her, nonplussed, and she rolls her eyes, crossing the space between them to point at the silver crest stitched finely on the , right over his heart. His eyes widen, and his lips part in amazement. Something flickers across his face, between disbelief and amazement, and she bites down on her lip to stop her smile. “This… this is…”

“Yujin,” Her voice is solemn enough to draw his eyes up from the crest, “I would like you to become Yujin Stark, officially.”

“Yujin Stark,” He echoes, his lips curling around the words as if he can’t understand them, and he looks back to the crest, unable to stop himself. “Stark.”

“You have always been my brother, in my heart,” She tells him, quietly, “And I believe that our father considered you his true son. I thought it was time the world understood that.”

“You want to legitimise me,” He stares at her, his eyes as round as saucers, and she reaches out to touch his shoulder, grounding him.

“I mean to make you my heir.”

“Your heir ,” He pulls in a sharp breath at the word and she nods, seriously.

“I know we’ve spoken of it before, but this is your chance. I am placing the future of our father’s kingdom in your hands, little brother. Can you rule it?”

His chin tilts up, and his shoulders straighten. “I can,” He promises her, earnestly, “I want to.”

“Good,” Her composure breaks and she allows herself to smile, “That’s even more important.”

---

When her handmaiden knocks for the third time upon her door and asks if she’s ready to retire, her shoulders drooping when Eunbi shakes her head from her place at her table, Eunbi sends her away with a wave of her hand and her assurance that she can find her own way to bed just fine. The letters that scatter her desk come from north and south alike, and they demand her attention like an urgent lamb calls for his mother, though they all say the same thing. Lords both north and south write to ask her what she means to do about the absence of an heir to the southern throne, and though she know that any ambition she had for the Iron Throne and all of Westeros would be best acted upon now, she cannot find it in herself. She was not raised to want more than what was owed to her. Extending her love and duty to the people of the north was not hard; as the Lady of Winterfell, she would have been Warden of the North anyway. The north runs in her veins, she feels it in the prickle of her blood and the cold of her breath, so fighting for its freedom when the southern reach become too much was no task. But she has never lusted for the chance to rule all of Westeros- what does she know of the lands to the south? Baked under the sun and heavy with wealth and opulence, deceit and ill-will: there is nothing about the south that calls to her.

Yet many of these lord and ladies would have her pounce in a moment if it would benefit them. They hide their selfish desires under concerns for the stability of the king, and the influence of his small council, but Eunbi knows that they would not chase this outcome if not for their own gain. She has no desire to her people back into war when the spring has only just come.

Her mind feels as if it is filled with wild horses, so that when her eyes begin to water from reading by low candlelight for so long, she finds herself unable to sleep. Instead, she pulls on her hose and boots, and a thick jerkin, swings her cloak around her shoulders and steps out of her room, intending to make the most of the quiet night air. The battlements give her the peace she so desires, and for some time she leans upon walls and stares out at her kingdom, glowing under the bright light of the moon. Her thoughts are quiet and her mind is still. After some time, Sage appears at her side and settles beside her to