the prerogative of the brave . . . 2/6?, 30 Days of Caroline
title: the prerogative of the brave . . .
series: 30 Days of Caroline
author: Eena
disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em.
category: Game of Thrones/Vampire Diaries (the first, right? *Bounces happily*)
characters/Pairing: Caroline, Caroline/Robb Stark
spoilers: Season One for GoT, Up to 3.03 for TVD
summary: It is a world without Elenas, Bonnies, Moms, Tylers, Matts, Stefans, and yes, even Damons. It is a world where she is overwhelmed by a surging seas of constant companionship. The loneliness is the same.
a/n: I apologize because this isn't finished. I have about a third of it left to write, but as it was taking so long, I thought I would just post what I have and then update it later. For ishi_chan, for her Robb/Caroline prompt.
By twelve, her days are not complete without a fight with Joffrey. Their latest altercation results in one torn tunic, a muddied gown, four broken fingernails, and two fistfuls of blonde hair.
But this time, it is Caroline who comes thundering to Mother.
“He nearly broke Tommen’s arm!” she shouts, in lieu of her usual polite greeting. Caroline swats away the maid who tries to pull her away to a bath. Mother dismisses all the servants in the next breath; soon only they two remain, with Ser Uncle waiting curiously from the doorway.
Mother’s mouth is turned downwards. ‘Caroline-“
“NO!” It is her first angry explosion, the loudest she has been since the days in her crib. But she has not the patience for the docile princess routine. “Enough! He hurt Tommen! Myrcella is terrified of him-they both sleep in my bed at night, because I shield them from the worst of him. But that is your duty, Mother!”
Mother turns from frustration quickly into real anger. “Caroline, boys play rough.”
“Joffrey is not a boy! He’s a monster-and you let him be!”
“Caroline! I am your mother! You will not speak to me in this way!”
Mother knows nothing of how Caroline could talk to her, how she used to talk to Liz Forbes. Caroline can be as biting and hurtful as the queen is to Uncle Tyrion, but she has always kept back. But there is a limit to all things, and Joffrey has pushed Caroline well past all of hers. She knows that if she had been as she was in that other world, like the creature Katherine Pierce had made her, Joffrey would have been dead, or close to it, this day.
“If you are our mother, then act it,” Caroline feels a chaotic sort of determination descend upon her, one that stills her movements and softens her words, but build the pressure inside her body up to an erupting point. “You all say I am growing-that I am becoming a woman. I know you will marry me off soon. But I will not leave Myrcella and Tommen here to be victims to his mood swings. You will punish him, Mother, you will control him. Or I swear, to gods new and old, that I will tell Father to do it. And we all know he will listen.”
Mother has never looked so enraged, so angry that her fair skin is nearly scarlet. Caroline knows she must look the same, only worse for her dishevelled hair and ruined clothes.
It is Ser Uncle who breaks the tension with laughter. “She is most definitely your daughter, Cersei.”
Mother blinks and stares at Caroline strangely. Slowly, her colour returns to normal and there is a bemused smile on her face. “She is, isn’t she?”
But she’s not; not really.
Tommen and Myrcella are back in their own beds within a month. And Joffrey hates her more than ever.
The feeling is quite mutual.
~0~
The tournaments start four months past her twelfth name-day. All the Storm lords send their eldest sons, the lords of the Reach and the Riverlands do the same. Mother purchases Caroline gown after gown, Uncle Renly buys her jewels, and even Grandfather sends her golden trinkets for her golden hair.
Father merely drinks more, and whores more than that.
Ser Uncle smirks at her whenever she catches his eye, and waggles his eyebrows whenever one of the heirs comes bowing before her. Joffrey seems happier as well, a miracle considering his absolute foul mood following Mother’s edict. Uncle Stannis is stoic, as always, and Uncle Tyrion advises her to choose wisely even while Jon Arryn assures her that the king will choose wisely for her.
Father keeps to his drinks and his whores, until Mother calls her cousin Lancel from the Rock and puts him before Caroline and the king. Mother suggests that Lancel ask Caroline for a dance when Father throws his cup to the floor, rises from his seat, and shouts loudly so that all can hear: “She is my daughter! Mine! And I’ll send her to marry where so ever I deem worthy of a princess of Westeros!”
The hall is very silent as the king storms from the room. Caroline does dance with Lancel that night, but only because she feels badly for him. The boy is so frightened that he cannot stop shaking. If she leads the dance, no one mentions it, and if Lancel is still pale when he retires for the night, still no one mentions it.
“Ser Uncle says Father means to feed you to the wolves.”
Myrcella, at six, is made entirely in her mother’s image. Her hair, the same blonde as Cersei’s own, already tumbles down well past her shoulders. It is soft and silky, and Caroline tends to it every night before bed. She twists it carefully into a loose braid that night, taking her time because she doesn’t know how she should respond. Marriage is a difficult topic these days, with the queen demanding a say and Jon Arryn fretting about offending this or that lord. Caroline had hoped to spare both Myrcella and Tommen from the worst of it, but there is no helping what Father did that night.
Also, Ser Uncle couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.
“Caroline?”
Caroline loves Myrcella, to a depth she loves no one else in this world. She’s not sure what makes the girl so special, but the feeling is there. Tommen is a dear, but Myrcella is different. Caroline has taken to her role of elder sister in a way she did not with Joffrey, almost from the moment she first saw Myrcella in her crib. Caroline looks at the blonde curls and wide green eyes and wonders if she could have had a daughter like Myrcella in that other life, had she been allowed to live.
“Ser Uncle is joking,” Caroline says finally, fingers playing with the few fly-away curls around Myrcella’s face. “He is always joking, don’t you know?”
Myrcella is also very wise, just at six. “Caroline, be serious. Mother was angry too.”
Caroline shrugs and moves to pull down the covers on Myrcella’s bed. The younger girl scrambles to get underneath, waiting patiently for an answer.
“Mother thinks they live too far away,” Caroline tugs the covers almost to Myrcella’s chin, hands smoothing down the edges in a way reminiscient to how Liz Forbes would tuck Caroline in as a child. “And Father said nothing of it himself; you need not worry.”
Myrcella gives her a sour look. “Father has said enough. And Mother’s right, don’t you agree?”
Caroline thinks marriage before twenty-five is ludicrous, but in this situation, she thinks even Father wouldn’t listen to her. “Any place beyond King’s Landing is too far.”
Myrcella giggles at that, cheeks dimpling. “They’ll be nice, I know it.”
Caroline smiles, indulgent. “And how do you know?”
“Because, Father would never send you anywhere the people weren’t nice. He saves all his love for you, so he wouldn’t.”
And Caroline again does not know what to say.
“It’s okay,” Myrcella says at the look on Caroline’s face. “Father saves all his love for you, and Mother saves all hers for Joffrey. But you save all yours for me, so I save all mine for Tommen. Everyone is loved by someone here. It’s better than not being loved at all.”
There are tears in Caroline’s eyes, ones she tries vainly to blink away. “And what happens if I go? How can I leave you if there’ll be no one left to love you?”
Myrcella embraces her then, throws her little girl arms around Caroline’s big girl neck and squeezes hard. “Don’t cry, Caroline. Tommen loves me and we’ll take care of each other. And you’ll get love where you go; Father wouldn’t do it any other way. But I’m worried about him. What’s Father going to do without you to love?”
They both know what he’ll do, that the drinking and lechery will be more pronounced than ever before. Father will send her away to marry and then sit about, drunk, bitter, and fat.
“It’s time for bed, Myrcella.”
The little princess goes back under the covers slowly. “They’ll be nice,” she says again. “And maybe you’ll get to play in the snow sometime.”
Caroline kisses her forehand, fingers trailing through that beautiful blonde hair one last time. “It might not happen, Myrcella.”
Three days later, Father announces her engagement to Robb Stark of Winterfell.
Myrcella grabs Caroline’s hand under the table, even while Tommen asks loudly where Winterfell is. Joffrey laughs around a mouthful of lamprey pie and Mother’s lips press tightly together once more. Father takes a large swallow from his cup and glowers until he gets his applause.
Caroline smiles graciously to the cheers that echo around the hall and then goes back to her meal.
She cries a little that night, and every following night for two weeks, and she doesn’t completely understand why.
~0~
She marries at fourteen.
Robb Stark is two years her senior (or fifteen years her junior, depending on her mood). He is, by all accounts, a very handsome boy. His uncle, Edmure Tully, comes to King’s Landing to sign the marriage contract on behalf of his good-brother, and apparently Robb shares many of his uncle’s features. Auburn hair, Tully blue eyes-Edmure himself is attractive in many ways. Caroline almost can’t believe this man is brother to Lysa Arryn, a women worn and aged ahead of her years. But Caroline remembers the Lysa Arryn of her infancy, and remembers how pretty the woman used to be before the miscarriages and heartache.
The future Lord of Riverrun comes just before her thirteenth name-day, full of cheer and good humour. Father takes to the man instantly, recalls this or that battle during the war where Hoster Tully won the day. It’s not just nostalgia, this remembrance; it’s a very pointed rebuke of the Lannisters, who showed no bravery during Father’s war, but certainly earned their share of infamy.
Mother says nothing of this provocation, plays at the gentle queen and happy mother all the time of Edmure’s visit. It is Ser Uncle who starts to crack and show wear during these days. He forgets to smile, and Ser Uncle never forgets to smile. For a full week, he only glowers or scowls, if he deigns to show any expression at all. Caroline is relieved when the papers are signed and the ink finally dries because she doesn’t know how much longer Ser Uncle could last without exploding. Everyone has their limit, and almost everyone knows that Ser Uncle’s rests somewhere amidst the memories of the Sack.
Caroline suspects his limit lies directly in a pool of dragon’s blood, but even she hasn’t the courage to say that.
~0~
Edmure Tully returns to Riverrun a month after he departed from it, and leaves many gifts in his wake. He presents a trunk on his first night at the Red Keep, opens it to show gowns, jewels, and trinkets courtesy of her future good father. Caroline runs her hands over piles of silk and satin, of velvet and furs, and Mother says her good-mother’s touch must be in here somewhere. The white, gray, and silver gowns would be Eddard Stark’s doing, the queen explains the night they put away the gifts. Catelyn Tully herself must be dying for the blues, reds, and purples of her father’s home, Mother insists. Caroline listens with only half an ear, barely stifles a gasp of joy at the sight of a beautiful yellow gown nestled amongst the others.
Mother, for all protests to the match, understands Caroline a bit better than perhaps even Caroline knows. The yellow gown is altered and fitted just in time for the contract signing, a jewelry set of Lannister gold accompanying it.
The letters start to arrive even while Edmure is still at the Keep. Robb asks after her health, after her family’s well-being, writes of things he delights in doing and asks how she likes to spend her time. Myrcella giggles too much at the sight of Robb’s letters, teases too much for a girl who is only seven. Caroline hushes and chides and tries very hard not to blush when all her maids start tittering. Even Mother cannot hide a small smile when she tells Caroline to send a suitable reply.
That this is as close to dating as she will get in this world actually makes Caroline a little sad.
Gifts continue to arrive, week after week: a pair of riding gloves, exquisitely embroidered and so soft to the touch; a blue gown, with layers of finely stitched lace and gray pearls along the collar; a silver brooch, shaped like a wolf with sapphires for its eyes-the list is exhaustive. For her fourteenth name-day, Robb sends a silver chain and pendant. The pendant is engraved with a stag and a wolf encircling each other. The stag is made from gold, the wolf from silver. It is not as extravagant as the other gifts, and certainly not as costly as the jewelry coming from Casterly Rock.
Caroline puts it on, and does not take it off.
Even Uncle Stannis has presents for her. “I’ll be returning to Dragonstone to attend to certain affairs-I won’t be able to go north,” is what he says, his tone so matter-of-fact that it dispels any pretence of apology.
Caroline isn’t so much offended by his behaviour. Uncle Stannis has always been socially awkward at best. She supposes there is something to say for being so truthful that feigning social graces for the benefit of others never crosses your mind. She is not entirely sure what exactly that something is, so she just smiles and nods.
“Here,” and then he shoves a small metallic box into her hands. “A gift, from your aunt and I.”
Caroline can count on one hand how many times she has actually seen Aunt Selyse. Uncle Stannis prefers to leave his wife at home, and from what Caroline has seen on those rare visits, she doesn’t blame him.
She opens the box to find a singular silver ring on a couch of velvet. The band is thick and plain, save for two small stags engraved around the fat blue stone in the middle. The stone matches her eye colour and shines brightly. The ring itself is nothing in comparison to the gifts Uncle Renly has brought her, not in the same class as the gifts from her Lannister relatives. But it reminds her of the other ring, in that other world, the one she was supposed to wear forever.
This ring is plainer than that one, and much thicker and more reminiscent of Stefan or Damon’s ring than her own. But it fits on the same finger and she feels closer to the girl she’s supposed to be than she has in all her fourteen years here. She’s the girl who’s older than her body; pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, broken home, and a cold weight on her forefinger that reminds her to always be careful.
“It is not-“
“It’s perfect,” she slips the ring onto her finger and smiles bright and wide at her uncertain uncle. “Thank you, Uncle Stannis. I am very honoured by your gift.”
Uncle Stannis is obviously not prepared for such a positive response. He stands there, staring at her, and she wonders if she has to remind him of his courtesies.
“Some days, I think you are entirely Lannister; most days, you are entirely Robert’s daughter. And then there are those days when I am not certain you are related to either of them.”
There is, as always, that tremble of fear when someone is nearer to the truth than they should be. It is overcome, in this case, by the amusement derived from the sour look on Uncle Stannis’s face.
“Perhaps, Uncle, on those days, I am your niece.”
Uncle Stannis huffs and shakes his head. “Robert’s daughter, for certain.”
On days like this, Caroline feels more like Katherine’s daughter than anything else.
She does not take the ring off; not then, not later.
~0~
The bride always goes to her groom, and that applies to all brides, princess or not.
It is the first time she is insistent, argumentative and surly towards the king. It is also the first time Father tells her ‘no’.
She pouts, demands, and outright refuses to speak to either the king or the queen for near on three weeks. Uncles Renly and Tyrion try to persuade her with honey words and promises of chests filled with gowns, books, jewels, and whatsoever her heart may desire. Father reacts to her obstinacy with more of his own and Mother tells Caroline calmly, quietly, that she is acting like a child.
Surprisingly, it is Ser Uncle that manages to convince her.
“If your father could up-end hundreds of years of tradition to placate you, he would. But he can’t, not without insulting the family he is marrying you into,” Ser Uncle taps Caroline on the nose, a move that this affectionate and patronizing at the same time. “We must act the parts we are given, and make the sacrifices that society demands. You must go there, eventually; you must leave us all the same. Now, go make up with your parents before Robert drinks Joffrey onto the throne.”
There is a lie behind all this, because Ser Uncle cares for Father’s health not a bit. But there is also some shine to his eyes when he talks to her, as if he cares more for her well-being and is willing to concede Father’s health for it. It is puzzling and uncharacteristic for the Ser Uncle she has known these past years.
“You will miss me too?” it is a question, and it makes him laugh.
“You are my sister’s daughter, and I have known you for all the years of your life. Of course I will miss you.”
And there is the lie.
Ser Uncle wants her away from King’s Landing, whether for her own benefit or for his, she cannot tell. But that there is Lannister scheming afoot is absolutely the case.
So, Caroline relents. Father will need to be sober for whatever is coming.
“I will go north,” is what she says to Father later, but she looks at Ser Uncle when she says it.
“I will be watching” is what she wants to say.
The results are the same.
~0~
It takes over a month to reach Winterfell.
Preparing to leave King’s Landing takes longer than that.
~0~
It is partly the packing.
“Why, in the name of the Father, do you have so many clothes?” Father’s eyes are almost comically wide as he watches her maids work.
“People keep sending more,” Caroline answers with a careless shrug. “Most are wedding presents. They say a new bride can never have too many new clothes-she has far too many new people to impress.”
Father lets out a laugh that is mostly bellow. “As if my daughter could ever fail to impress!”
Caroline can’t help but smile when Father hugs her close and kisses her soundly on top of her head. “You haven’t seen all my shoes yet.”
“Gods! What creatures are women!”
Caroline only smiles wider and hugs him back.
Later, she tells her maids which of them will be going with her, and which of them would be staying behind. Annie and Ruby are the ones she has chosen to accompany her forever northwards. They are young girls, unmarried and with little family to leave behind.
They are also Jon Arryn’s spies, but they are preferable to the other five. Rosemary is the Spider’s girl and Susan is Littlefinger’s. Beth and Nelly are her mother’s eyes and ears. Bessie belongs to the Grand Maester.
She thinks that she will not be able to keep an eye on any of them any more from her new home in the north, so they should not be able to keep eyes on her. And Jon Arryn is the only one who even considers Father in his plans.
The others, she fears, see him only as collateral damage.
Father doesn’t really see them at all.
~0~
It is partly the planning.
“Your Uncle Jaime will go in my stead,” Mother tells her one day in the gardens. “I cannot leave your sister and brothers for such a long time, and neither can your grandfather leave his duties at the Rock for so long.”
Uncle Renly has left his duties at Storm’s End for much longer in the past, and he does not once stop to consider that while he prepares for the journey north. Father is king, but he is leaving Jon Arryn on the Iron Throne while he goes north. Father and Uncle Renly bring with them over half of the Storm Lords, all leaving their lands and homes to see a princess wed.
What Mother does not say is that she disproves of this union so whole-heartedly that she will not move an inch northwards. Grandfather, for all his duties, had made many plans regarding Caroline’s marriage to his nephew Lancel, and since that marriage is not to be, Grandfather’s pride will not let him sit through the marriage that would happen. That both, man and daughter, are deliberately not attending out of protest bothers Father not a whit, a fact that only infuriates Mother further.
Mother does not say these things. And for the sake of diplomacy, Caroline doesn’t say them either.
But Ser Uncle is too much.
“Why not Uncle Tyrion?”
Mother is a truly beautiful woman, but her mouth twists in the ugliest ways whenever Uncle Tyrion is mentioned. “Really, Caroline-don’t start with that nonsense again.”
Uncle Tyrion wouldn’t be a better choice, not in the long run. He’d spend most of his time drinking and visiting whore houses-but he would do what was expected of him. He would attend all the right functions, be perfectly gracious (though mostly sarcastically gracious), and make it through the entire enterprise without alienating her new family too much.
Ser Uncle would not be able to do any of these things. More importantly, he would not want to do any of these things.
“Why doesn’t Grandfather send Uncle Kevan then?”
Mother’s eyes narrow and her face is pinched with disapproval. “Caroline, why don’t you want your Uncle Jaime to accompany you?”
Mother knows exactly why Caroline doesn’t want Ser Uncle to accompany her. It is for those very reasons that Mother is sending him.
“It is not likely that they will change their minds, upon meeting him. I will not return with Father, and I will not go west after all. Please Mother.”
Mother shakes her head. “Oh Caroline. You don’t understand, darling. You just don’t understand.”
Caroline does understand, but doesn’t think she should have to ask Mother to come to her wedding. That they both know she wants to is enough. That Mother knows and will not relent is painful in a way Caroline had not thought it would be.
And that Mother is disappointed with her is nothing new at all.
~0~
It is mostly the farewells.
This world is not entirely unlike the one before. There, her world had been large, and yet confined entirely to her hometown. This world is just as large, but King’s Landing is the most she has known, and the Red Keep is as familiar as the dimples on her face. She knows this place, knows its secrets, knows it joys, and knows it sorrows. Her shadow remembers these halls, and her footsteps are almost set into the stone.
How do you leave home? She’s never had to try.
Myrcella and Tommen try their best to put on a brave front, but as her things are packed up and the bridal party continues to arrive, their resolve is shaken. They spend every night the week before her departure in her bed. She sleeps with a golden head on each arm, gets no real rest but refuses to give up the warmth of their little bodies when she sheds quiet tears in the dark.
There are fond smiles and waiting loss on the faces she has known for so long. The maids, the cooks, the courtiers, the ladies, the lords-they know she is leaving, and there is goodbye in every nod and every bow and every curtsey.
Uncle Tyrion leaves for Casterly Rock days before she is set to depart. He hands her three books, and they are no less stunning than the others he has given her over the years. “A history of the House Stark, a book of the legends and more infamous brothers at the Wall, and a chronicle of the First Men. Know the people you are going to join, sweetling; acceptance is something not even Lannister gold can buy. We must work at it.”
She hugs him tight before he leaves, and does not care how Mother scowls at her for it. Caroline will miss her Uncle Tyrion, and he will miss her.
Joffrey cares not that she’s leaving, only that she takes so long to leave. They play nice before Father and Mother, but he does not bother to hide his smirk and she makes sure all her promises remain in her eyes. If he squeezes her roughly when he hugs her farewell, it is fine because she digs her nails into his shoulders. A threat for a threat, and he understands her well enough to know the north is not so far away that she can’t watch over him. And she understands that the north is so far away that she can’t watch over him all the time.
And then there is Mother. Unrelenting, graceful Mother with all her quiet, violent anger.
“We have fought, more than I wanted. You take after your father so much that I often lose sight of how much of myself resides within you. But you are mine own daughter. When you were born, I prayed to the Mother every day for your health. I would have split my own blood over the altar if that was what it would have taken, because nothing was so precious to me at that moment than every little breath you managed to take. You were ill for eight months-it took ten months to remove me from your bedside. Every second that you have strengthened, every step you took and every word you learned-every day you lived was a gift from the gods. They did not spare your older brother, but they gave me you, my sweet girl. And I have never been ungrateful.”
And this truth, at the end of her supposed childhood, is too much.
“Please Mother.” Caroline’s not sure what she means, thinks that she means everything. Please don’t be sad, please don’t be angry. Please watch over the children, please remember your promise. Please it let go, please be happy-please don’t do anything rash. But mostly, she knows, it means please come with me.
Mother’s tears are real, but her pride is still stronger. “You are a woman, now. You don’t need your mother to hold your hand.”
The disappointment is familiar, as is the resentment. “Everyone needs their mother, but you wouldn’t understand. You need only to hold onto Joffrey’s hand, and wait for the day your pride will be assuaged.”
“Caroline!”
But she’s not sorry, not ashamed, only smarting from her own wounds. “It is my wedding, Mother. My wedding-and you will not come.”
Mother sighs and tries to touch Caroline’s cheek, but Caroline draws away. “You might understand better after a few years of marriage, sweetling.”
And then Caroline can only laugh. “I will never understand, Mother, because I will not let my marriage become like yours.”
There’s sadness where Caroline is expecting anger. “When I first married your father, I thought the same. But time has changed that.”
And so did your father, but Mother doesn’t say that. Caroline turns away because she doesn’t want to feel the regret already tugging at her heart.
“I loved him, once,” Mother says, as close to an apology as Cersei Lannister is to get.
“But not for long,” Caroline accuses, though she knows the fault lies not with Mother. She knows she is repeating mistakes she made as Liz Forbes’s daughter, but the passing seconds are only making the hurt worse-not better.
She walks away, even as Mother calls her name. She thinks, right up to the day of her departure, that Mother may yet change her mind. It is a fool’s hope, and she should know better. But Caroline cannot help the way she feels.
She’s not Cersei Lannister’s daughter, not really. But fourteen years have made the queen Caroline’s mother. And what girl doesn’t want her mother’s love and acceptance?
Caroline keeps looking back, almost every step out of the Red Keep, waiting for a sign. Every time, Mother stays where she is, hands on the shoulders of her youngest children as they sob into her skirts. Finally, Mother raises a hand in farewell.
Only then does Caroline look away for good.
And she does not wave back.
~0~
They stop at many halls along the way. Caroline only remembers a few, the names and faces swirling together as her nerves continued to unsettle.
She knows Harrenhal, remembers Lady Whent if only because of the rumours of ghosts in the lady’s castle. The monstrosity, Harrenhal all twisted and melted and deformed, may or may not have any ghosts, but Caroline doesn’t meet one.
But Father and Ser Uncle must have seen them, because they are tense and closed off in the way men get when their emotions become too strong. Father drinks not to his usual staggering depth and she think he does not really notice the feast or the entertainments. Wherever Father is that night, Caroline knows it must be a time when his wolfgirl still lived. The memory of Lyanna Stark subdues Father moreso than anything else.
She looks at Uncle Renly during the feast, and he nods ever so slightly. When they ride out the next day, Uncle Renly keeps pace with her carriage and whispers the story of the Queen of Love and Beauty into her window.
It does not explain Ser Uncle’s mood. But she doesn’t question any further. She learnt years before that asking after things that happened under dragon rule always leads to anger, from one side or the other.
They go westward after Harrenhal, though it takes them off the kingsroad and delays them unnecessarily. But Lord Hoster Tully calls, and Father goes laughing and cheerful. They pass three days at Riverrun, feasting and dancing and hearing stories from days past. Caroline receives more gifts to add to her belongings and many smiles from the weakening Lord of Riverrun.
Father leads them from Riverrun straight up to Oldstones. Casterly Rock is not mentioned, quite deliberately, and Ser Uncle smiles while trying to keep down his anger. Caroline doesn’t know what Father gets from goading Ser Uncle so obviously, but knows that road leads to ruin even if Father fails to see it.
They cross the Green Fork at the Twins and Caroline will never remember the names of all Walder Frey’s children. She leaves thinking every girl is Walda and every boy is Walder and everyone has their own moniker to join to the name (‘Fat Walda’ is not a nice name and Caroline absolutely refuses to use it even if Uncle Renly and Father laugh at how fitting it is). They end up back on the kingsroad and pass through the Neck fairly fast. They have stop for one last feast at White Harbour and by then Winterfell is so close that Caroline remembers absolutely nothing about her time at Lord Manderly’s seat.
“It won’t be long now, sweetling,” Uncle Renly smiles at her when they are back on the road. She tries her best to smile back, but knows she does not manage it.
And though she is still unhappy with her, Caroline cannot help but to wish for Mother every day and night between White Harbour and Winterfell.
But Mother is not there.
~0~
The wolves are waiting at the gates.
She has dressed carefully, thought long and hard about exactly how she would meet these Starks and how she would look to them. Annie brushes her hair near on a thousand times and twists the strands around her fingers to bring out the curls. Ruby prepares wash after wash for her face, leaving her skin clear, smooth, and as fair as ever. The gown is blue, flowers embroidered in fine silver thread all over the skirts. Her boots are white, buttons polished bright and shining under the sunlight. Robb’s necklace is around her neck and Uncle Stannis’s ring is on her finger. Her hair she leaves without the intricate braids of the south; it hangs loose around her shoulders as is the fashion in the north. The sides are pulled back and held in place by a silver hair pin Father gave her for her eleventh name-day.
Ser Uncle’s eyebrows go high when he ducks his head into her carriage. “A lady of the north, already? Not even a speck of Lannister gold in honour of your mother?”
She does not smile at the joke. “Mother is not here,” she reminds him softly. “And I am a Baratheon, not a Lannister. I wear the sigil of my house to honour my father.”
Ser Uncle quickly loses the smile and she sees a flash of anger before he covers it. “Your mother loves you, Caroline.”
She just looks at him, eyes blank and face like stone. “Mother is not here,” she repeats.
Father has gone first, and when it seems Ser Uncle cannot entice her from the carriage, Uncle Renly appears to offer her a hand. “Stunning, as usual,” he says with a wink and deliberately ignores Ser Uncle’s presence. “Come and show the north what a true princess looks like.”
The air is sharper in the north, given to sudden slaps of icy winds on overcast days. But today, the sun is shining, and the air seems warmer. Caroline still must fight the urge to shiver, fight the impulse to pull her cloak tightly around her. A princess does not shake in the wind, and she does not hide behind anything. She walks steadily, with grace and purpose, to where Father beckons.
“This is the daughter I’m giving you, Ned,” Father is red-cheeked and half-way to anger at his own reminder that he’s come so far to give his daughter away. “Yours is the only family I trust to give her to.”
That Caroline had harboured certain expectations before meeting these Starks in the north is something she is unaware of until they fail to meet them. It is the wolf, their sigil, she decides, that prompted her mind to think of black hair, brown eyes, and toothy smirks even though she knows the truth of it. Handsome devils, so tragic and so dark, and if these men are to be called wolves, they must look the part.
Lord Eddard Stark, who Father loves perhaps more than his brothers (but did he love the wolf more than he loves her?), is tall with brown hair and gray eyes and a face that has likely been carved from ice. His predecessors were called the Kings of Winter, she recalls from her books, and winter is a thing that is always on the northern mind. The ice must be in their blood, part of their makeup-it might have to be, for them to live and rule where they do.
But he can smile, this Stark of Winterfell, and that surprises her more than the rest. She dips down into her perfect princess curtsey, a soft ‘my lord’ on her lips, and looks up to see that smile. It melts the ice off his face, but not from his eyes. This is the coming of spring, she decides, but not the actual season itself. The snow is melting, but the ice of winter is too stubborn to disappear completely.
“My princess,” and a returning bow. Father has moved onto the Lady Stark, a hug and a kiss that is far less lecherous than his usual to ladies who are not Mother. Lord Eddard is bent over to kiss her knuckles, but Caroline feels the lady’s eyes on her. Baratheon blue meets Tully blue, and when Caroline dips her ankles before Catelyn Stark, she rises to meet a mother pleased for her son.
“My princess,” because they know their courtesies here in the north, and neither will call her daughter, or even just Caroline, until the cloaks have been exchanged.
And then, it is just Robb.
She curtsies, rises and expects him to follow with his bow. But he doesn’t, and when she looks to him to see why, she finds him looking at her. His eyes are just a smidge wider, his breath is even, and he is just looking at her.
Caroline remembers a ghost of a love in the past, when Elena still loved Matt and all that boy could do was look at Elena like she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
Matt never looked at Caroline that way. No one in that other world ever did.
Robb looks at her that way.
Caroline, quite honestly, doesn’t know what to do.
~0~
series: 30 Days of Caroline
author: Eena
disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em.
category: Game of Thrones/Vampire Diaries (the first, right? *Bounces happily*)
characters/Pairing: Caroline, Caroline/Robb Stark
spoilers: Season One for GoT, Up to 3.03 for TVD
summary: It is a world without Elenas, Bonnies, Moms, Tylers, Matts, Stefans, and yes, even Damons. It is a world where she is overwhelmed by a surging seas of constant companionship. The loneliness is the same.
a/n: I apologize because this isn't finished. I have about a third of it left to write, but as it was taking so long, I thought I would just post what I have and then update it later. For ishi_chan, for her Robb/Caroline prompt.
By twelve, her days are not complete without a fight with Joffrey. Their latest altercation results in one torn tunic, a muddied gown, four broken fingernails, and two fistfuls of blonde hair.
But this time, it is Caroline who comes thundering to Mother.
“He nearly broke Tommen’s arm!” she shouts, in lieu of her usual polite greeting. Caroline swats away the maid who tries to pull her away to a bath. Mother dismisses all the servants in the next breath; soon only they two remain, with Ser Uncle waiting curiously from the doorway.
Mother’s mouth is turned downwards. ‘Caroline-“
“NO!” It is her first angry explosion, the loudest she has been since the days in her crib. But she has not the patience for the docile princess routine. “Enough! He hurt Tommen! Myrcella is terrified of him-they both sleep in my bed at night, because I shield them from the worst of him. But that is your duty, Mother!”
Mother turns from frustration quickly into real anger. “Caroline, boys play rough.”
“Joffrey is not a boy! He’s a monster-and you let him be!”
“Caroline! I am your mother! You will not speak to me in this way!”
Mother knows nothing of how Caroline could talk to her, how she used to talk to Liz Forbes. Caroline can be as biting and hurtful as the queen is to Uncle Tyrion, but she has always kept back. But there is a limit to all things, and Joffrey has pushed Caroline well past all of hers. She knows that if she had been as she was in that other world, like the creature Katherine Pierce had made her, Joffrey would have been dead, or close to it, this day.
“If you are our mother, then act it,” Caroline feels a chaotic sort of determination descend upon her, one that stills her movements and softens her words, but build the pressure inside her body up to an erupting point. “You all say I am growing-that I am becoming a woman. I know you will marry me off soon. But I will not leave Myrcella and Tommen here to be victims to his mood swings. You will punish him, Mother, you will control him. Or I swear, to gods new and old, that I will tell Father to do it. And we all know he will listen.”
Mother has never looked so enraged, so angry that her fair skin is nearly scarlet. Caroline knows she must look the same, only worse for her dishevelled hair and ruined clothes.
It is Ser Uncle who breaks the tension with laughter. “She is most definitely your daughter, Cersei.”
Mother blinks and stares at Caroline strangely. Slowly, her colour returns to normal and there is a bemused smile on her face. “She is, isn’t she?”
But she’s not; not really.
Tommen and Myrcella are back in their own beds within a month. And Joffrey hates her more than ever.
The feeling is quite mutual.
~0~
The tournaments start four months past her twelfth name-day. All the Storm lords send their eldest sons, the lords of the Reach and the Riverlands do the same. Mother purchases Caroline gown after gown, Uncle Renly buys her jewels, and even Grandfather sends her golden trinkets for her golden hair.
Father merely drinks more, and whores more than that.
Ser Uncle smirks at her whenever she catches his eye, and waggles his eyebrows whenever one of the heirs comes bowing before her. Joffrey seems happier as well, a miracle considering his absolute foul mood following Mother’s edict. Uncle Stannis is stoic, as always, and Uncle Tyrion advises her to choose wisely even while Jon Arryn assures her that the king will choose wisely for her.
Father keeps to his drinks and his whores, until Mother calls her cousin Lancel from the Rock and puts him before Caroline and the king. Mother suggests that Lancel ask Caroline for a dance when Father throws his cup to the floor, rises from his seat, and shouts loudly so that all can hear: “She is my daughter! Mine! And I’ll send her to marry where so ever I deem worthy of a princess of Westeros!”
The hall is very silent as the king storms from the room. Caroline does dance with Lancel that night, but only because she feels badly for him. The boy is so frightened that he cannot stop shaking. If she leads the dance, no one mentions it, and if Lancel is still pale when he retires for the night, still no one mentions it.
“Ser Uncle says Father means to feed you to the wolves.”
Myrcella, at six, is made entirely in her mother’s image. Her hair, the same blonde as Cersei’s own, already tumbles down well past her shoulders. It is soft and silky, and Caroline tends to it every night before bed. She twists it carefully into a loose braid that night, taking her time because she doesn’t know how she should respond. Marriage is a difficult topic these days, with the queen demanding a say and Jon Arryn fretting about offending this or that lord. Caroline had hoped to spare both Myrcella and Tommen from the worst of it, but there is no helping what Father did that night.
Also, Ser Uncle couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.
“Caroline?”
Caroline loves Myrcella, to a depth she loves no one else in this world. She’s not sure what makes the girl so special, but the feeling is there. Tommen is a dear, but Myrcella is different. Caroline has taken to her role of elder sister in a way she did not with Joffrey, almost from the moment she first saw Myrcella in her crib. Caroline looks at the blonde curls and wide green eyes and wonders if she could have had a daughter like Myrcella in that other life, had she been allowed to live.
“Ser Uncle is joking,” Caroline says finally, fingers playing with the few fly-away curls around Myrcella’s face. “He is always joking, don’t you know?”
Myrcella is also very wise, just at six. “Caroline, be serious. Mother was angry too.”
Caroline shrugs and moves to pull down the covers on Myrcella’s bed. The younger girl scrambles to get underneath, waiting patiently for an answer.
“Mother thinks they live too far away,” Caroline tugs the covers almost to Myrcella’s chin, hands smoothing down the edges in a way reminiscient to how Liz Forbes would tuck Caroline in as a child. “And Father said nothing of it himself; you need not worry.”
Myrcella gives her a sour look. “Father has said enough. And Mother’s right, don’t you agree?”
Caroline thinks marriage before twenty-five is ludicrous, but in this situation, she thinks even Father wouldn’t listen to her. “Any place beyond King’s Landing is too far.”
Myrcella giggles at that, cheeks dimpling. “They’ll be nice, I know it.”
Caroline smiles, indulgent. “And how do you know?”
“Because, Father would never send you anywhere the people weren’t nice. He saves all his love for you, so he wouldn’t.”
And Caroline again does not know what to say.
“It’s okay,” Myrcella says at the look on Caroline’s face. “Father saves all his love for you, and Mother saves all hers for Joffrey. But you save all yours for me, so I save all mine for Tommen. Everyone is loved by someone here. It’s better than not being loved at all.”
There are tears in Caroline’s eyes, ones she tries vainly to blink away. “And what happens if I go? How can I leave you if there’ll be no one left to love you?”
Myrcella embraces her then, throws her little girl arms around Caroline’s big girl neck and squeezes hard. “Don’t cry, Caroline. Tommen loves me and we’ll take care of each other. And you’ll get love where you go; Father wouldn’t do it any other way. But I’m worried about him. What’s Father going to do without you to love?”
They both know what he’ll do, that the drinking and lechery will be more pronounced than ever before. Father will send her away to marry and then sit about, drunk, bitter, and fat.
“It’s time for bed, Myrcella.”
The little princess goes back under the covers slowly. “They’ll be nice,” she says again. “And maybe you’ll get to play in the snow sometime.”
Caroline kisses her forehand, fingers trailing through that beautiful blonde hair one last time. “It might not happen, Myrcella.”
Three days later, Father announces her engagement to Robb Stark of Winterfell.
Myrcella grabs Caroline’s hand under the table, even while Tommen asks loudly where Winterfell is. Joffrey laughs around a mouthful of lamprey pie and Mother’s lips press tightly together once more. Father takes a large swallow from his cup and glowers until he gets his applause.
Caroline smiles graciously to the cheers that echo around the hall and then goes back to her meal.
She cries a little that night, and every following night for two weeks, and she doesn’t completely understand why.
~0~
She marries at fourteen.
Robb Stark is two years her senior (or fifteen years her junior, depending on her mood). He is, by all accounts, a very handsome boy. His uncle, Edmure Tully, comes to King’s Landing to sign the marriage contract on behalf of his good-brother, and apparently Robb shares many of his uncle’s features. Auburn hair, Tully blue eyes-Edmure himself is attractive in many ways. Caroline almost can’t believe this man is brother to Lysa Arryn, a women worn and aged ahead of her years. But Caroline remembers the Lysa Arryn of her infancy, and remembers how pretty the woman used to be before the miscarriages and heartache.
The future Lord of Riverrun comes just before her thirteenth name-day, full of cheer and good humour. Father takes to the man instantly, recalls this or that battle during the war where Hoster Tully won the day. It’s not just nostalgia, this remembrance; it’s a very pointed rebuke of the Lannisters, who showed no bravery during Father’s war, but certainly earned their share of infamy.
Mother says nothing of this provocation, plays at the gentle queen and happy mother all the time of Edmure’s visit. It is Ser Uncle who starts to crack and show wear during these days. He forgets to smile, and Ser Uncle never forgets to smile. For a full week, he only glowers or scowls, if he deigns to show any expression at all. Caroline is relieved when the papers are signed and the ink finally dries because she doesn’t know how much longer Ser Uncle could last without exploding. Everyone has their limit, and almost everyone knows that Ser Uncle’s rests somewhere amidst the memories of the Sack.
Caroline suspects his limit lies directly in a pool of dragon’s blood, but even she hasn’t the courage to say that.
~0~
Edmure Tully returns to Riverrun a month after he departed from it, and leaves many gifts in his wake. He presents a trunk on his first night at the Red Keep, opens it to show gowns, jewels, and trinkets courtesy of her future good father. Caroline runs her hands over piles of silk and satin, of velvet and furs, and Mother says her good-mother’s touch must be in here somewhere. The white, gray, and silver gowns would be Eddard Stark’s doing, the queen explains the night they put away the gifts. Catelyn Tully herself must be dying for the blues, reds, and purples of her father’s home, Mother insists. Caroline listens with only half an ear, barely stifles a gasp of joy at the sight of a beautiful yellow gown nestled amongst the others.
Mother, for all protests to the match, understands Caroline a bit better than perhaps even Caroline knows. The yellow gown is altered and fitted just in time for the contract signing, a jewelry set of Lannister gold accompanying it.
The letters start to arrive even while Edmure is still at the Keep. Robb asks after her health, after her family’s well-being, writes of things he delights in doing and asks how she likes to spend her time. Myrcella giggles too much at the sight of Robb’s letters, teases too much for a girl who is only seven. Caroline hushes and chides and tries very hard not to blush when all her maids start tittering. Even Mother cannot hide a small smile when she tells Caroline to send a suitable reply.
That this is as close to dating as she will get in this world actually makes Caroline a little sad.
Gifts continue to arrive, week after week: a pair of riding gloves, exquisitely embroidered and so soft to the touch; a blue gown, with layers of finely stitched lace and gray pearls along the collar; a silver brooch, shaped like a wolf with sapphires for its eyes-the list is exhaustive. For her fourteenth name-day, Robb sends a silver chain and pendant. The pendant is engraved with a stag and a wolf encircling each other. The stag is made from gold, the wolf from silver. It is not as extravagant as the other gifts, and certainly not as costly as the jewelry coming from Casterly Rock.
Caroline puts it on, and does not take it off.
Even Uncle Stannis has presents for her. “I’ll be returning to Dragonstone to attend to certain affairs-I won’t be able to go north,” is what he says, his tone so matter-of-fact that it dispels any pretence of apology.
Caroline isn’t so much offended by his behaviour. Uncle Stannis has always been socially awkward at best. She supposes there is something to say for being so truthful that feigning social graces for the benefit of others never crosses your mind. She is not entirely sure what exactly that something is, so she just smiles and nods.
“Here,” and then he shoves a small metallic box into her hands. “A gift, from your aunt and I.”
Caroline can count on one hand how many times she has actually seen Aunt Selyse. Uncle Stannis prefers to leave his wife at home, and from what Caroline has seen on those rare visits, she doesn’t blame him.
She opens the box to find a singular silver ring on a couch of velvet. The band is thick and plain, save for two small stags engraved around the fat blue stone in the middle. The stone matches her eye colour and shines brightly. The ring itself is nothing in comparison to the gifts Uncle Renly has brought her, not in the same class as the gifts from her Lannister relatives. But it reminds her of the other ring, in that other world, the one she was supposed to wear forever.
This ring is plainer than that one, and much thicker and more reminiscent of Stefan or Damon’s ring than her own. But it fits on the same finger and she feels closer to the girl she’s supposed to be than she has in all her fourteen years here. She’s the girl who’s older than her body; pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, broken home, and a cold weight on her forefinger that reminds her to always be careful.
“It is not-“
“It’s perfect,” she slips the ring onto her finger and smiles bright and wide at her uncertain uncle. “Thank you, Uncle Stannis. I am very honoured by your gift.”
Uncle Stannis is obviously not prepared for such a positive response. He stands there, staring at her, and she wonders if she has to remind him of his courtesies.
“Some days, I think you are entirely Lannister; most days, you are entirely Robert’s daughter. And then there are those days when I am not certain you are related to either of them.”
There is, as always, that tremble of fear when someone is nearer to the truth than they should be. It is overcome, in this case, by the amusement derived from the sour look on Uncle Stannis’s face.
“Perhaps, Uncle, on those days, I am your niece.”
Uncle Stannis huffs and shakes his head. “Robert’s daughter, for certain.”
On days like this, Caroline feels more like Katherine’s daughter than anything else.
She does not take the ring off; not then, not later.
~0~
The bride always goes to her groom, and that applies to all brides, princess or not.
It is the first time she is insistent, argumentative and surly towards the king. It is also the first time Father tells her ‘no’.
She pouts, demands, and outright refuses to speak to either the king or the queen for near on three weeks. Uncles Renly and Tyrion try to persuade her with honey words and promises of chests filled with gowns, books, jewels, and whatsoever her heart may desire. Father reacts to her obstinacy with more of his own and Mother tells Caroline calmly, quietly, that she is acting like a child.
Surprisingly, it is Ser Uncle that manages to convince her.
“If your father could up-end hundreds of years of tradition to placate you, he would. But he can’t, not without insulting the family he is marrying you into,” Ser Uncle taps Caroline on the nose, a move that this affectionate and patronizing at the same time. “We must act the parts we are given, and make the sacrifices that society demands. You must go there, eventually; you must leave us all the same. Now, go make up with your parents before Robert drinks Joffrey onto the throne.”
There is a lie behind all this, because Ser Uncle cares for Father’s health not a bit. But there is also some shine to his eyes when he talks to her, as if he cares more for her well-being and is willing to concede Father’s health for it. It is puzzling and uncharacteristic for the Ser Uncle she has known these past years.
“You will miss me too?” it is a question, and it makes him laugh.
“You are my sister’s daughter, and I have known you for all the years of your life. Of course I will miss you.”
And there is the lie.
Ser Uncle wants her away from King’s Landing, whether for her own benefit or for his, she cannot tell. But that there is Lannister scheming afoot is absolutely the case.
So, Caroline relents. Father will need to be sober for whatever is coming.
“I will go north,” is what she says to Father later, but she looks at Ser Uncle when she says it.
“I will be watching” is what she wants to say.
The results are the same.
~0~
It takes over a month to reach Winterfell.
Preparing to leave King’s Landing takes longer than that.
~0~
It is partly the packing.
“Why, in the name of the Father, do you have so many clothes?” Father’s eyes are almost comically wide as he watches her maids work.
“People keep sending more,” Caroline answers with a careless shrug. “Most are wedding presents. They say a new bride can never have too many new clothes-she has far too many new people to impress.”
Father lets out a laugh that is mostly bellow. “As if my daughter could ever fail to impress!”
Caroline can’t help but smile when Father hugs her close and kisses her soundly on top of her head. “You haven’t seen all my shoes yet.”
“Gods! What creatures are women!”
Caroline only smiles wider and hugs him back.
Later, she tells her maids which of them will be going with her, and which of them would be staying behind. Annie and Ruby are the ones she has chosen to accompany her forever northwards. They are young girls, unmarried and with little family to leave behind.
They are also Jon Arryn’s spies, but they are preferable to the other five. Rosemary is the Spider’s girl and Susan is Littlefinger’s. Beth and Nelly are her mother’s eyes and ears. Bessie belongs to the Grand Maester.
She thinks that she will not be able to keep an eye on any of them any more from her new home in the north, so they should not be able to keep eyes on her. And Jon Arryn is the only one who even considers Father in his plans.
The others, she fears, see him only as collateral damage.
Father doesn’t really see them at all.
~0~
It is partly the planning.
“Your Uncle Jaime will go in my stead,” Mother tells her one day in the gardens. “I cannot leave your sister and brothers for such a long time, and neither can your grandfather leave his duties at the Rock for so long.”
Uncle Renly has left his duties at Storm’s End for much longer in the past, and he does not once stop to consider that while he prepares for the journey north. Father is king, but he is leaving Jon Arryn on the Iron Throne while he goes north. Father and Uncle Renly bring with them over half of the Storm Lords, all leaving their lands and homes to see a princess wed.
What Mother does not say is that she disproves of this union so whole-heartedly that she will not move an inch northwards. Grandfather, for all his duties, had made many plans regarding Caroline’s marriage to his nephew Lancel, and since that marriage is not to be, Grandfather’s pride will not let him sit through the marriage that would happen. That both, man and daughter, are deliberately not attending out of protest bothers Father not a whit, a fact that only infuriates Mother further.
Mother does not say these things. And for the sake of diplomacy, Caroline doesn’t say them either.
But Ser Uncle is too much.
“Why not Uncle Tyrion?”
Mother is a truly beautiful woman, but her mouth twists in the ugliest ways whenever Uncle Tyrion is mentioned. “Really, Caroline-don’t start with that nonsense again.”
Uncle Tyrion wouldn’t be a better choice, not in the long run. He’d spend most of his time drinking and visiting whore houses-but he would do what was expected of him. He would attend all the right functions, be perfectly gracious (though mostly sarcastically gracious), and make it through the entire enterprise without alienating her new family too much.
Ser Uncle would not be able to do any of these things. More importantly, he would not want to do any of these things.
“Why doesn’t Grandfather send Uncle Kevan then?”
Mother’s eyes narrow and her face is pinched with disapproval. “Caroline, why don’t you want your Uncle Jaime to accompany you?”
Mother knows exactly why Caroline doesn’t want Ser Uncle to accompany her. It is for those very reasons that Mother is sending him.
“It is not likely that they will change their minds, upon meeting him. I will not return with Father, and I will not go west after all. Please Mother.”
Mother shakes her head. “Oh Caroline. You don’t understand, darling. You just don’t understand.”
Caroline does understand, but doesn’t think she should have to ask Mother to come to her wedding. That they both know she wants to is enough. That Mother knows and will not relent is painful in a way Caroline had not thought it would be.
And that Mother is disappointed with her is nothing new at all.
~0~
It is mostly the farewells.
This world is not entirely unlike the one before. There, her world had been large, and yet confined entirely to her hometown. This world is just as large, but King’s Landing is the most she has known, and the Red Keep is as familiar as the dimples on her face. She knows this place, knows its secrets, knows it joys, and knows it sorrows. Her shadow remembers these halls, and her footsteps are almost set into the stone.
How do you leave home? She’s never had to try.
Myrcella and Tommen try their best to put on a brave front, but as her things are packed up and the bridal party continues to arrive, their resolve is shaken. They spend every night the week before her departure in her bed. She sleeps with a golden head on each arm, gets no real rest but refuses to give up the warmth of their little bodies when she sheds quiet tears in the dark.
There are fond smiles and waiting loss on the faces she has known for so long. The maids, the cooks, the courtiers, the ladies, the lords-they know she is leaving, and there is goodbye in every nod and every bow and every curtsey.
Uncle Tyrion leaves for Casterly Rock days before she is set to depart. He hands her three books, and they are no less stunning than the others he has given her over the years. “A history of the House Stark, a book of the legends and more infamous brothers at the Wall, and a chronicle of the First Men. Know the people you are going to join, sweetling; acceptance is something not even Lannister gold can buy. We must work at it.”
She hugs him tight before he leaves, and does not care how Mother scowls at her for it. Caroline will miss her Uncle Tyrion, and he will miss her.
Joffrey cares not that she’s leaving, only that she takes so long to leave. They play nice before Father and Mother, but he does not bother to hide his smirk and she makes sure all her promises remain in her eyes. If he squeezes her roughly when he hugs her farewell, it is fine because she digs her nails into his shoulders. A threat for a threat, and he understands her well enough to know the north is not so far away that she can’t watch over him. And she understands that the north is so far away that she can’t watch over him all the time.
And then there is Mother. Unrelenting, graceful Mother with all her quiet, violent anger.
“We have fought, more than I wanted. You take after your father so much that I often lose sight of how much of myself resides within you. But you are mine own daughter. When you were born, I prayed to the Mother every day for your health. I would have split my own blood over the altar if that was what it would have taken, because nothing was so precious to me at that moment than every little breath you managed to take. You were ill for eight months-it took ten months to remove me from your bedside. Every second that you have strengthened, every step you took and every word you learned-every day you lived was a gift from the gods. They did not spare your older brother, but they gave me you, my sweet girl. And I have never been ungrateful.”
And this truth, at the end of her supposed childhood, is too much.
“Please Mother.” Caroline’s not sure what she means, thinks that she means everything. Please don’t be sad, please don’t be angry. Please watch over the children, please remember your promise. Please it let go, please be happy-please don’t do anything rash. But mostly, she knows, it means please come with me.
Mother’s tears are real, but her pride is still stronger. “You are a woman, now. You don’t need your mother to hold your hand.”
The disappointment is familiar, as is the resentment. “Everyone needs their mother, but you wouldn’t understand. You need only to hold onto Joffrey’s hand, and wait for the day your pride will be assuaged.”
“Caroline!”
But she’s not sorry, not ashamed, only smarting from her own wounds. “It is my wedding, Mother. My wedding-and you will not come.”
Mother sighs and tries to touch Caroline’s cheek, but Caroline draws away. “You might understand better after a few years of marriage, sweetling.”
And then Caroline can only laugh. “I will never understand, Mother, because I will not let my marriage become like yours.”
There’s sadness where Caroline is expecting anger. “When I first married your father, I thought the same. But time has changed that.”
And so did your father, but Mother doesn’t say that. Caroline turns away because she doesn’t want to feel the regret already tugging at her heart.
“I loved him, once,” Mother says, as close to an apology as Cersei Lannister is to get.
“But not for long,” Caroline accuses, though she knows the fault lies not with Mother. She knows she is repeating mistakes she made as Liz Forbes’s daughter, but the passing seconds are only making the hurt worse-not better.
She walks away, even as Mother calls her name. She thinks, right up to the day of her departure, that Mother may yet change her mind. It is a fool’s hope, and she should know better. But Caroline cannot help the way she feels.
She’s not Cersei Lannister’s daughter, not really. But fourteen years have made the queen Caroline’s mother. And what girl doesn’t want her mother’s love and acceptance?
Caroline keeps looking back, almost every step out of the Red Keep, waiting for a sign. Every time, Mother stays where she is, hands on the shoulders of her youngest children as they sob into her skirts. Finally, Mother raises a hand in farewell.
Only then does Caroline look away for good.
And she does not wave back.
~0~
They stop at many halls along the way. Caroline only remembers a few, the names and faces swirling together as her nerves continued to unsettle.
She knows Harrenhal, remembers Lady Whent if only because of the rumours of ghosts in the lady’s castle. The monstrosity, Harrenhal all twisted and melted and deformed, may or may not have any ghosts, but Caroline doesn’t meet one.
But Father and Ser Uncle must have seen them, because they are tense and closed off in the way men get when their emotions become too strong. Father drinks not to his usual staggering depth and she think he does not really notice the feast or the entertainments. Wherever Father is that night, Caroline knows it must be a time when his wolfgirl still lived. The memory of Lyanna Stark subdues Father moreso than anything else.
She looks at Uncle Renly during the feast, and he nods ever so slightly. When they ride out the next day, Uncle Renly keeps pace with her carriage and whispers the story of the Queen of Love and Beauty into her window.
It does not explain Ser Uncle’s mood. But she doesn’t question any further. She learnt years before that asking after things that happened under dragon rule always leads to anger, from one side or the other.
They go westward after Harrenhal, though it takes them off the kingsroad and delays them unnecessarily. But Lord Hoster Tully calls, and Father goes laughing and cheerful. They pass three days at Riverrun, feasting and dancing and hearing stories from days past. Caroline receives more gifts to add to her belongings and many smiles from the weakening Lord of Riverrun.
Father leads them from Riverrun straight up to Oldstones. Casterly Rock is not mentioned, quite deliberately, and Ser Uncle smiles while trying to keep down his anger. Caroline doesn’t know what Father gets from goading Ser Uncle so obviously, but knows that road leads to ruin even if Father fails to see it.
They cross the Green Fork at the Twins and Caroline will never remember the names of all Walder Frey’s children. She leaves thinking every girl is Walda and every boy is Walder and everyone has their own moniker to join to the name (‘Fat Walda’ is not a nice name and Caroline absolutely refuses to use it even if Uncle Renly and Father laugh at how fitting it is). They end up back on the kingsroad and pass through the Neck fairly fast. They have stop for one last feast at White Harbour and by then Winterfell is so close that Caroline remembers absolutely nothing about her time at Lord Manderly’s seat.
“It won’t be long now, sweetling,” Uncle Renly smiles at her when they are back on the road. She tries her best to smile back, but knows she does not manage it.
And though she is still unhappy with her, Caroline cannot help but to wish for Mother every day and night between White Harbour and Winterfell.
But Mother is not there.
~0~
The wolves are waiting at the gates.
She has dressed carefully, thought long and hard about exactly how she would meet these Starks and how she would look to them. Annie brushes her hair near on a thousand times and twists the strands around her fingers to bring out the curls. Ruby prepares wash after wash for her face, leaving her skin clear, smooth, and as fair as ever. The gown is blue, flowers embroidered in fine silver thread all over the skirts. Her boots are white, buttons polished bright and shining under the sunlight. Robb’s necklace is around her neck and Uncle Stannis’s ring is on her finger. Her hair she leaves without the intricate braids of the south; it hangs loose around her shoulders as is the fashion in the north. The sides are pulled back and held in place by a silver hair pin Father gave her for her eleventh name-day.
Ser Uncle’s eyebrows go high when he ducks his head into her carriage. “A lady of the north, already? Not even a speck of Lannister gold in honour of your mother?”
She does not smile at the joke. “Mother is not here,” she reminds him softly. “And I am a Baratheon, not a Lannister. I wear the sigil of my house to honour my father.”
Ser Uncle quickly loses the smile and she sees a flash of anger before he covers it. “Your mother loves you, Caroline.”
She just looks at him, eyes blank and face like stone. “Mother is not here,” she repeats.
Father has gone first, and when it seems Ser Uncle cannot entice her from the carriage, Uncle Renly appears to offer her a hand. “Stunning, as usual,” he says with a wink and deliberately ignores Ser Uncle’s presence. “Come and show the north what a true princess looks like.”
The air is sharper in the north, given to sudden slaps of icy winds on overcast days. But today, the sun is shining, and the air seems warmer. Caroline still must fight the urge to shiver, fight the impulse to pull her cloak tightly around her. A princess does not shake in the wind, and she does not hide behind anything. She walks steadily, with grace and purpose, to where Father beckons.
“This is the daughter I’m giving you, Ned,” Father is red-cheeked and half-way to anger at his own reminder that he’s come so far to give his daughter away. “Yours is the only family I trust to give her to.”
That Caroline had harboured certain expectations before meeting these Starks in the north is something she is unaware of until they fail to meet them. It is the wolf, their sigil, she decides, that prompted her mind to think of black hair, brown eyes, and toothy smirks even though she knows the truth of it. Handsome devils, so tragic and so dark, and if these men are to be called wolves, they must look the part.
Lord Eddard Stark, who Father loves perhaps more than his brothers (but did he love the wolf more than he loves her?), is tall with brown hair and gray eyes and a face that has likely been carved from ice. His predecessors were called the Kings of Winter, she recalls from her books, and winter is a thing that is always on the northern mind. The ice must be in their blood, part of their makeup-it might have to be, for them to live and rule where they do.
But he can smile, this Stark of Winterfell, and that surprises her more than the rest. She dips down into her perfect princess curtsey, a soft ‘my lord’ on her lips, and looks up to see that smile. It melts the ice off his face, but not from his eyes. This is the coming of spring, she decides, but not the actual season itself. The snow is melting, but the ice of winter is too stubborn to disappear completely.
“My princess,” and a returning bow. Father has moved onto the Lady Stark, a hug and a kiss that is far less lecherous than his usual to ladies who are not Mother. Lord Eddard is bent over to kiss her knuckles, but Caroline feels the lady’s eyes on her. Baratheon blue meets Tully blue, and when Caroline dips her ankles before Catelyn Stark, she rises to meet a mother pleased for her son.
“My princess,” because they know their courtesies here in the north, and neither will call her daughter, or even just Caroline, until the cloaks have been exchanged.
And then, it is just Robb.
She curtsies, rises and expects him to follow with his bow. But he doesn’t, and when she looks to him to see why, she finds him looking at her. His eyes are just a smidge wider, his breath is even, and he is just looking at her.
Caroline remembers a ghost of a love in the past, when Elena still loved Matt and all that boy could do was look at Elena like she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
Matt never looked at Caroline that way. No one in that other world ever did.
Robb looks at her that way.
Caroline, quite honestly, doesn’t know what to do.
~0~