Chapter Text
The incessant tolling of bells. That’s what woke up Princess Joanna Baratheon, on a day that should have been like any other.
Every moment of her daily life was structured. She'd be awoken by her lady's maids and dressed. Then, she'd break her fast with her family. She'd attend morning prayer, followed by a walk with her ladies through the gardens. Lunch before lessons with her tutors. Afternoons spent in a sitting room, either her’s, her mother’s, or one of the many other high-ranking ladies of the court. Dinner where her father would, on occasion, grace them all with his presence. Then she'd retire, only to be faced with often fitful sleep and dreams she couldn’t understand. In truth, she was a captive in the monotony of her life, and while she hated how resigned she’d become to her fate as a Princess of Westeros, the consequences she’d faced every time she’d tried to break free from her gilded cage were severe enough to keep her in line.
This day, however, would surely be a break from the tediousness and routine of her life. The bells currently chiming around the city could only mean a few things. First, a marriage, and Joanna hadn’t heard of any important ones coming up to warrant this. Second, a royal birth, and her mother was decidedly not pregnant, and she herself was a maiden, unwed and unbetrothed. Third, a coronation, and unless her father had died… Which brought Joanna to the last possibility on her list; someone had died. Someone important. No sooner had she sat up in bed than her lady in waiting, and confidant, came rushing in.
“Your grace,” Elain gave a shallow curtsey once she’d shut the door.
“What has happened?”
“Jon Arryn has died, your grace. A fever, in the night.” The hair on the back of Joanna’s neck stood up, as though a wind carrying only danger had flown in through the still closed windows and curtains.
“What?” Elain made her way around the room as Joanna pushed the covers of her bed back, throwing her legs to the side and standing. Elain’s warm hands clasped her forearms, drawing her in close, knowing as well as Joanna did that anyone could be listening.
“And, there’s more. His wife and son have left the capital for The Vale. In quite the rush.” It didn’t make sense. Joanna had just seen Lord Arryn yesterday, on her walk through the garden. He’d looked fine. Old, sure, but incredibly healthy for a man of his age. She’d have been far less surprised if she’d heard that it had been the Lady Arryn, Lysa, who’d died suddenly. She was a frail, bizarre woman to say the least. And for her to leave so quickly, and with young Robin… it all left a bad taste in her mouth.
“My father?”
“His grace is incredibly distraught, as to be expected. Your brother is already with him.” Steffon, her twin. Steffon was the spitting image of their father, tall, with dark hair and a thick black beard. Same strong square jawline, same booming laughter. He was deadly with a sword, even deadlier with an axe. He’d also, unfortunately, inherited the King’s penchant for women of comfort. If it wasn’t for his eyes, you’d barely know that Cersei was his mother. Joanna would also argue that Steffon was smarter than their father was; hopefully, he’d be a good king. He’d been born first, but for the first few months, he was the frailer one of the two. He’d been so small at birth that they weren’t sure he was going to make it, and then he’d caught a fever. Their mother didn’t sleep for days, thinking that if she did, she’d wake up and he’d be dead. At least, that’s what they’d been told.
Joanna shared the same dark black hair as her brother, except with her father’s stormy blue eyes. Eyes are the gateway to the soul, and Joanna’s often revealed everything she felt, even when she wished they wouldn’t. She’d been told more than once that she was the spitting image of her late grandmother, Cassana. Ironic, really, considering she’d been named for the blonde-haired beauty that was Joanna Lannister. She often wondered if that was why her uncle, Stannis, could barely stand to look at her, the resemblance to the mother he’d lost so horribly. Renly must have been too young to truly remember her likeness since he’d adored Joanna since she was born.
“I should go to him as well.”
The pair set to the task quickly, dressing Joanna simply in a sky blue wrap dress with long trailing sleeves, and taming her wild curls. She grabbed a silver beaded shawl before she hurried from the room, heading down the halls to her father’s chambers. Her bodyguards, courtesy of her grandfather, the mighty Tywin Lannister, followed closely.
Her mind felt like a hurricane of thoughts as she made her way through the Red Keep. Jon Arryn was dead. This would have bothered her no matter what, and not just because Lord Arryn was the Hand of the King, but because Lord Arryn had been like a grandfather to her, in many ways that her actual grandfather was not. He picked her tutors, her dance masters, and her riding instructors. He made sure she was well looked after and tried to make her happy. Her own father saw him as a replacement for the father who’d drowned before his eyes in Shipbreaker Bay. But more than all that, Lord Arryn had been… off, the past few weeks. He’d seemed troubled, tired, anxious. He’d also been spending more time around her brother, and herself. Something just didn’t sit right with her. She was out of time to think on it though, as she came up to the doors that would lead to her father, flanked on either side by two of his Kingsguard. Ser Barristan opened the door for her, and she braced herself for what she’d encounter inside. Her father did indeed look as distraught as Elain had said. Cheeks red, hair disheveled, his shirt mostly undone. It was only a few hours past sunrise, and he already had a full goblet in his hand, and she made an educated guess that it wasn’t his first.
“Father,” she gave a quick curtsy before moving to his side. “I’m very sorry to hear about Lord Arryn.” He acknowledged her with a quick look and a nod, and when she squeezed his shoulder in an attempt of comfort, he grabbed her hand tightly in his, still not speaking. She looked across to where Steffon leaned against a cabinet, a grim look on his face. Before anything else could be said, their mother swept into the room, already talking about replacements. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Baelish, and the rest of the small council followed behind her.
“Send a raven to my father, he would ride from Casterly Rock today.”
“No.” Joanna could see the storm brewing inside her father, already stricken with grief that was now mixing with fury.
“Oh, please, he’s a natural choice. It only makes sense to-”
“No!” Robert stood up and slammed his fist on the table. “There is only one man in the entire Seven Kingdoms that I will have as my hand, and it is NOT Tywin fucking Lannister!”
“You can’t possibly-” Her mother sputtered in response.
“I am the KING, and I bloody well can,” He turned to the assembled small council. “We ride for Winterfell. Immediately.” No one, not even Cersei, dared speak against the king's order. Steffon and Joanna shared a look. Everyone was ordered out of the room, and Joanna waited outside for her twin.
“Join me for a walk, brother?”
“Of course.” The pair looped arms and headed to the Godswood, where they knew they wouldn’t be disturbed. They strolled for a while in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Joanna looked around briefly to make sure they were truly alone.
“Do you think that Lord Arryn was sick? And that maybe that’s why he’d been acting so strangely the past few weeks?”
“No, I don’t. You saw him, Joanna, did he look sick to you?”
“No… Troubled, maybe, but not sick,” She paused, looking deep into her memory of the past few weeks, to every conversation she’d had with Jon Arryn, every question he’d asked her. “It seemed like he was searching for something, an answer to a question or maybe a problem?”
“I think so too. Perhaps he found what he was looking for, and someone didn’t like that.”
“It’s possible. Should we be worried, after all, that he’d been so close to us lately? If someone wanted him dead, they might want one or both of us dead as well.”
“They can certainly try, but if they do, they’ll come to understand the truth behind our words.” He pulled Joanna closer to him. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”
“I know.” Before they could continue their conversation, Joanna could see Elain and some of her other ladies in waiting coming down the path towards them.
“Pardon the interruption, your graces, but the Queen wishes to see you, my lady.” Joanna rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“I’d better hurry then. I’ll see you later, brother.”
“Sister.” Steffon sent a wink to her ladies, who blushed and giggled like school girls to Joanna’s supreme annoyance, but led her ladies away without rebuking him. When she arrived at her mother’s chambers, she found her mother pacing, with her Uncle Jaime leaning against one of the stone pillars by the balcony. Her mother looked both troubled and enraged, and her uncle’s signature smirk was missing from his face.
“Mother,” Joanna curtsied in Cersei’s direction before facing her uncle. “Uncle.” He nodded at her, and his expression softened, but the mood in the room didn’t lighten.
“There you are, you certainly took long enough. I can’t believe your father has given us only a week to prepare for the journey to Winterfell.”
“Patience has never been one of his strong suits.”
“You’re quite right about that. Still, the whole notion is ridiculous. Ned Stark will do as well here in the capital as a Silent Sister would in one of Littlefinger’s brothels,” Joanna knew better than speak her mind, even if she was in agreement with her mother. “We have been given one small mercy; however, your father doesn’t seem to have any plans to betroth you to Robb Stark. I may have to suffer through the older of the girls being betrothed to Joffrey, but she’s young; I could bring her into the fold.”
Joffrey. Her cruel, vicious, younger brother. Everything that Steffon was, Joffrey was not. The only justice in the world was that Steffon would be king and not Joffrey. Joffrey, who’d constantly screamed and thrown tantrums as a child when he didn’t get his way, and Joffrey, who tormented their other younger siblings, Tommen and Myrcella. That poor Stark girl would suffer horribly as his wife, even if it did mean she’d become Lady of Storm’s End.
“I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to hear of his impending marriage.”
“Indeed. Regardless, I want you to be perfect while we are there. I want to show the North, and the Starks, who we are. The Starks are never to be trusted, no matter what Robert says.”
“Yes, mother,” The feud between the Lannisters and the Starks had gone on for a long time, though Joanna couldn’t remember what started it. All she knew was that her mother hated them, all of them. Even Ned Stark’s Tully wife, Catelyn, was damned by association. The last thing Joanna would be allowed to do on this journey north would be to fraternize with the enemy. “Shall I begin preparations?”
“Yes, go. Oversee Myrcella and Tommen’s packing as well. I’m going to have the seamstress pay you a visit; you don’t have anything warm enough for that frigid hell.” Joanna nodded, leaving the room once her mother dismissed her, but instead of heading directly to her room, she headed in search of the one person she knew she could trust.