Canines and Canaries

Rose Garden Dreams Set on Fire by Fiends

AN: A sincere apology for making you wait for this chapter! I've had a lot going on in real life and my head hadn't really been in a place to write. However, I am hoping this chapter will make up for it as it is VERY long (the kind of solid half-an-hour reading length that would make GRRM himself proud!)

Happy reading!

Eruanna

Lifting her fork from the table, Eruanna kept her eyes lowered to her plate as she began to eat. The trestle table was of dark wood, polished near black, with the form of stags carved into the legs, great antlers crossed in combat. There were four tables in the Small Hall in the Tower of the Hand, and though each stretched far enough that they could have sat fifty apiece, a single table had been set for only five. On one side of the table sat Theon and Morven, each with a plate of steaming venison and onion soup before them. On the opposite side were Ned Stark's daughters, Eruanna seated between the two trueborn Stark girls to prevent them squabbling, as was a regular occurence with Arya's penchant for vexing Sansa. Though a sixth plate lay waiting at the head of the table, the seat remained vacant as Lord Eddard Stark had other matters to attend to rather urgently.

There was silence in the hall, save for the scrape of Arya's fork against a chicken bone which echoed against the high-vaulted ceiling as she tried to strip the last pieces of meat from it. Both Sansa and Eruanna quietly took delicate bites from their kidney pies as Morven stirred her soup idly.

"We will be riding for Winterfell on the morrow," Theon Greyjoy announced as he reached for the goblet of wine in front of him. As soon as Theon turned his gaze on her, Eruanna's eyes shot down to her plate. She was not sure whether Theon had deliberately seated himself opposite her, but regardless, she found herself in much discomfort, and the glint in Theon's eyes told her that he was well aware of that. Since stumbling across Theon in what could only be described as the throes of passion, Eruanna had made sure to avoid crossing paths with him lest he torment her with the memory of what she had seen.

She found herself envying the wards, for they would be back home in Winterfell before the next moon. The capital was far too warm for Eruanna's liking, and though she had not yet visited the city, she knew it swarmed with smallfolk like flies to a rotting carcass. The stench of the city was not far from that either; the hot air that carried the putrid waft of excrement to the Red Keep was so vile that Eruanna would oft refuse to open her windows no matter how hot she felt under her dress. She longed to breathe the cold air deeply, letting the frost bite at her nose and cheeks until they turned pink. She missed feeling her boots sink into fresh snow as the sun rose over the godswood, and missed her trees most of all.

But she was to be married soon, and she knew she was going to be very happy with Ser Robar Royce in the Vale. For him, I'd live under the heat of a thousand suns.

"Will you be coming to Eruanna's wedding?" Arya's enquiry took Eruanna by surprise.

"What?" Arya continued, letting the cleaned bone clatter onto her plate as she looked at her. "Sansa told me. I do pay attention, you know. You'll be going to the Vale, won't you? She said that now you'll have a real name–"

"Arya!" Sansa interjected shrilly, her mouth agape.

Theon laughed at that. "Oh, yes. The gallant knight rescues the poor bastard girl from her poor bastard name? Sounds a finer love story than Florian and his Jonquil. Don't you think so, Sansa?"

Sansa's mortification flooded her cheeks the same hue as her hair as she looked to Eruanna desperately. "No, I didn't mean–"

"Didn't you?" Theon said with a grin at the younger girl, his brows lifted.