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When Joselyn Stark was told she and two of her siblings would be attending the Tourney at Harrenhal, she did not curse like Brandon, she did not beg like Lyanna, and she did not cry and run off like Benjen.
Instead, she smiled plainly at her lord father and asked if she may be excused from the table — to go and make sure her little brother was alright.
Her father let her go with guilty eyes.
After escaping the tense hall where three out of five parts of her family sat, she made her way down the corridor, her long skirts fluttering delicately around her legs. Joselyn used the solitude of the deserted hallway to think. About the tourney, about her family, about everything.
Except, she didn't know what to think. News of the tourney had kicked up quite the fuss within Winterfell; she had already spied a few servants gossiping as they did their duties around the keep. And not to mention her siblings, who had all lost their decorum so fast you'd think they'd never had it in the first place.
She didn't even know if she wanted to attend. On one hand, she was excited to see anything other than the snow and trees of her home. Which, at first, could all be considered quite beautiful in its frosty elegance. Quickly, though, it could become boring, especially after being around it all of one's life.
But on the other hand, she found the brightness of the South to be strange, and she doesn't know how she'd cope, being surrounded by all that refinement. Joselyn had, after all, only ever known the cold of the North. She wasn't used to seeing a glimmering sun or the bright coloured silks of the nobility. Speaking of, she wouldn't have a clue on how to manoeuvre the flowery lords and ladies of the South, whom she had heard dripped pretty poison from their lips, like snakes.
Shaking off that last thought as her brother's room came into view, she took a deep, calming breath and knocked gently on his door. After waiting for a moment, she opened it and peered into his room with the eyes of a concerned sister.
At the sight of her little brother, curled into a small ball on his large bed, tears staining his pale cheeks, she scurried into his room, shut his door and scooped him up into her arms.
And as she soothed her hand over his head, her slim fingers treading lightly through his hair, Joselyn decided she did not want to go to the Tourney at Harrenhal. Not when it had already brought her family so much pain.
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hi guys, im back. officially at least. i don't know where this chapter came from, seems like I just kinda pulled it out of my arse. but anyway, i hope you all enjoy it despite its relatively short length.
