FORGED » t. greyjoy

iv

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KINGSLANDING,
298 AC

JON ARRYN, NOW PREVIOUS HAND OF THE KING, DIED unexpectedly.

Jon's maester, Colemon, tried treating an assumed stomach illness by purging the body. The moribund Jon kept mentioning the name Robert, and his final words to his wife Lysa Arryn and King Robert I Baratheon were "the seed is strong". Afterwards, his speech became too slurred to comprehend and he died the following morning.

The deceased lord of the Eyrie's funeral was held in the Red Keep, in front of the Iron Throne. Many candles were lit for the ceremony as the Silent Sisters of the Faith of the Seven were to attend.

"As your brother I feel it is my duty to warn you, you worry too much," Jaime stated to his twin sister, Cersei, as she overlooked the funeral ceremony of the deceased Jon Arryn. He continued, "it's starting to show."

"And you never worry about anything," the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms retorted. "Only at seven you jumped off of the cliffs at Casterly Rock. Hundreds of drops into the water — you were never afraid."

Jaime exclaimed, "There was nothing to be afraid of until you told father. The Lannisters don't act like fools."

A pause concluded, the Lannister twins' attention were centered to the Silent Sisters who circled the corpse of the previous Hand. "What if Jon Arryn told someone?" Cersei wondered, her eyebrows furrowing with worry.

"But who would he tell?"

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sighed, looking to her brother for a moment, "My husband."

"If he told the king, both of our heads would be skewered on the city gates by now," Jaime stated. "Whatever Jon Arryn knew or didn't know died with him. Now Robert has to choose a new Hand of the King to do his jobs while he's fucking boars and hunting whores. Or is it the other way around?"

Cersei smiled a bit at Jaime's joke. Jaime concluded, "And life will go on."

She looked to her brother and implied, "You should be Hand of the King."

"Now that is something I can go without. Our days are too long, and our nights are too short," Jaime replied.

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WINTERFELL,
298 AC

A LETTER HAD BEEN SENT  to Winterfell by King Robert of House Baratheon, current king of the Seven Kingdoms, announcing the passing of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, and the letter also announced that Robert Baratheon, his family and band of followers were to arrive in Winterfell in about a moon's turn.

Mallie Flowers, handmaiden of both Lady Catelyn and her daughter, Sansa, had been transporting the dresses made for Sansa that had just arrived at Winterfell. The dresses had been dropped off at the local seamstress to hold onto.

"Hello, Mallie dear," she heard a voice call out as she entered through the door where the seamstress worked. It had been the seamstress who had called out to her, behind a table which had tons of fabric and thread laid onto it. The lady sat up from her chair and walked over to greet the girl, "How are you, this fine afternoon?"

Mallie was about to answer, but the lady interrupted her: "Ah, you've come for Lady Sansa's new dresses. Have you?"

"Yes," Mallie sighed, snickering, "Lady Sansa has been urgently reminding me these past days about the dresses. I'm afraid she's too concerned about them."

The lady had laugh lines and graying black hair that was pulled up into a loose bun. The seamstress laughed at what Mallie had stated, "A lady should be concerned about her silks, after all: her dresses came from the Reach and Dorne. Now, I'll go fetch those dresses."

Mallie Flowers had dark golden hair that flowed down her back in braids, surprisingly tan skin despite her life in the North, and vibrant golden eyes that matched her hair. The girl wore a dull orange dress with a white cloak, which she swung over her shoulder.

The seamstress returned a while later, holding around half a dozen dresses that were all covered with cloth, handed it to Mallie, "I feel like I am forgetting something. Am I?"

"Ah, did Lady Sansa order an accessory?"

"No, not that," the lady leaned against her work space and looked at Mallie Snow with the dresses. "Oh! I know, it's your name day. You are a woman grown, are you not?"

"Yes," Mallie nodded. "Thank you for noticing. I have now known sixteen name days."

"Happy name day," she patted Mallie's shoulder as both of her hands were full of dresses. She looked confused for a second and asked Mallie: "Have you found a man to wed yet?"

"Oh, seven gods, no," Mallie answered, her face flushed with embarrassment.

The seamstress opened the door for Mallie, "Well, you should be off, I am sorry to bother you, Mallie dear."

Mallie nodded and walked off through the door and head towards the castle of Winterfell, carrying Lady Sansa's dresses swiftly above her head to keep them from dragging onto the dirty ground. She thought about what the seamstress had asked about her possibly finding somebody: even if she had wanted to, no man would wed a handmaiden, until she had retired. And Mallie had not wanted to retire just yet: her handmaiden duties had given her something to do.

As she headed through the doorway where two guardsmen stood, nodding to her, she thought one last thought: And where would she go after retirement? The only jobs open were at the brothel.

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