WHEN STRANGERS MEET

"When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively boring." Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

They were in her chambers, as per her Mother's request, him taking up the doorway and herself idling. She couldn't tell if they were ignoring one another, if it was one of those games they might have played as children, but she had the feeling that Robb always lost, if anyone won in the first place.

Mindlessly, she slipped her hands across the cracked spines of the books she had lining the stone ledge of her window, nimble fingers pirouetting across the covers in an elegant fashion, coming to an abrupt stop as they ghosted along a chipped wooden figure of some long forgotten carving. It was wedged between two worse for wear tomes, she took great care in unslotting it for some reason. She held the crudely cut shape of a girl in one hand, and although it fit easily in her closed palm it seemed heavier than it really was- a gift from Ser Rodrik Cassel, a rare afterthought she had held on to from childhood. Robb owned the counterpart of a little wooden boy, it might have been for their name day, she forgot they shared one.

"I've still got mine, somewhere," Robb said.

Eledei frowned, those funny colourless eyes peering at him from over her shoulder, the figure held tight in her fist. She could feel each groove, each dip of the wood that Ser Rodrik had smoothed with his knife, whittling away for hours while she had watched with keen eyes.

At the doorway, he seemed occupied with what she had in her hands. His fascination with some long forgotten toy made him seem a lot younger, it preserved some childish quality to his cleanly shaved face. Maybe she ought to tell him it was just a toy, that it didn't mean anything, but she knew then that it meant plenty to him. It was, strangely enough, one of the only things they had shared. The counterpart of some wooden figures was a bond they could look back on, it was some jaded assurance to him that they were, in fact, two halves of a whole.

Her hair was redder than his, he had Tully blue eyes and hers were undeniably Stark if not her own, and other than sharing a womb she couldn't quite muster up any other similarities. It had always been their differences that defined them, shaped their relationship until it was some horribly warped thing, a silence gone stale and the uncomfortable dampness of inferiority creeping up on them as the years went by. She forgot they were the same age, sometimes, and she wondered how she must look to him. In her eyes Robb still had some quality she'd long ago lost, perhaps she'd left it in the woods or the crypts or some whorehouse where she'd knock back flagons of mead. He didn't look so old, in her eyes, and she couldn't wrap her mind around only being six and ten, she felt so much older somehow.

He reddened under her scrutiny, glancing down almost shyly. "I can't remember where I put it, but I know I still have it…"

She wasn't sure when they had drifted so far apart that he felt so uncomfortable in her presence, whether it was anymore warranted than her own oddities. Strangers often couldn't look her in the eye, even when she was a child there had been something dark clouding her face, making people look away. She wondered, briefly, if that made her and Robb strangers, too. It certainly felt like it, sometimes.

Carefully, she placed the figure back in its place on the ledge of the window, a wooden girl forever stuck at an age she could hardly understand, sitting there to be forgotten again.

"You can sit down, you know," she shrugged one shoulder, not even looking at him. Some part of her felt she couldn't, she couldn't stand making her own family squirm under her gaze, it maddened her to no end.

She watched his reflection in the iced glass of her window. He cleared his throat, his transparent being nodding. For a minute he just stood there, then he hastened and crossed the room in no more than three strides, sitting gingerly atop the furs in the furthest corner. The glass was never as vibrant, her view obstructed with it's warped influence that made everything appear darker, more cold- as if it sucked the warmth out of everything it touched and left a much less saturated world behind.

"Mother's furious, Eddie. She's escorting the Queen to her chambers, but she'll want to speak to you before the feast," Robb muttered, he didn't have his curls to hide behind anymore. The colour wasn't quite auburn in the glass, it was some hue of brown, as if all the red had been drained, and his skin was as white as snow.

With each exhale the window fogged, clouds of condensation blooming like billowing smoke from the chimneys at wintertown.

Neither of them spoke, instead he'd taken to looking into the fireplace as if there were some hidden secrets scattered in the ashes from this morning. She wouldn't start a conversation, and even if she wanted to she thought her Mother would be awfully put out if Robb died of shock. He was more favorable than she ever could be, besides.

"Eledei?" He called sadly into the empty chambers and their hollow walls.

She turned to see him with his head in his hands, looking hard into a fireplace with no fire.

"Do you think things could have been different, that you and I could have been closer?"

She stared at him, something unpleasant unravelling in her stomach. "Don't ask me cruel questions, Robb."

"Then I shan't- you'll only bloody run like you always do," he swore vehemently, jaw clenched in anger.

She watched him stand up, sweeping away from the room in a huff.

Eledei might have smiled then, because he was the one that ran away this time.

"He's hurt, you know," Jon called.

She turned, and there he was at the doorway, solemn faced. The bastard brother had inherited the Stark's look better than most, other than Arya that is. It must plague her Mother something awful, she knew it did, to look at a son that wasn't hers and see her Husband's face peering back at her.

"I didn't ask him to come," she snorted. It had been her that was ordered to her chambers, not Robb. Never Robb.

Jon gave her the look, one he reserved especially for her and the Greyjoy ward. He never did appreciate the finer aspects of their antics, whoring and running took a lot more than the eye first caught on to.

Unlike her twin, however, he knew not to prod too much. He'd always known his sister to have a particularly sharp bite, she liked to lash out when people got too close for her liking. That was the only reason she hadn't drove him away immediately, because despite her distaste for small talk or any talk whatsoever she did possess some quality of fairness.

"Out with it, then," she demanded, "or do you mean to ornate the doorway?"

"Eddie, what do you think of the Night's Watch?"

"It's a fools bargain, why?" She said, bored.

When she took a moment to look at him properly she gave a sharp grin. Looking her in the eyes was something akin to a mirror, he saw his own boyish face staring back at him.

With that same grin, she ventured; "Ah, so I'm not the only one hiding, am I?"

He looked away.

"You should go, Jon. My Lady Mother will be here soon."

She didn't look to see if he took her advice, she didn't much care. Whether he was there or not, she was sure an argument would follow.

Still, some part of her sought out the wooden figure piece, considering it for a moment more. Perhaps it deserved such momentum in her mind, it was one of the few possessions she had held on to since girlhood, one of the few possessions she would take with her when it came time to leave. It appeared that such a time was fast approaching, she supposed her engagement would be announced soon enough.

It was while she considered the carving, a sparse fondness for Ser Rodrik Cassel filling her memory, that her Mother entered the room. She was looking harrowed, the stress of a Royal party visit eating away at her, and under Eledei's keen eye she observed that her Mother had lost a little weight since such visit had been announced. Part of it might have been because of her, too, and she decided she didn't like that thought as soon as it occured.

"You were instructed to tie your wolf to it's post," she said.

"Good evening to you too, Mother."

"Honestly, Eledei, you should know better. You should be setting an example for the others-"

"I don't mean to upset you, you know," she interrupted cooly, looking away from her Mother's stern gaze. "Ser Cayn had taken my wolf to leash her, I didn't set her free or anything of the sort. It was an honest mistake. The way you go on it's like I purposefully go out of my way to be a constant disappointment."

The pair of them let the silence fill the room, her rested against her bed furs and her Mother standing by the window. Is this what Robb must have felt like in her presence? It was cruel, if such were the case. She felt small and tired and angry, like a child, but she tried her utmost not to let her temper get the best of her. Like she said, she wasn't trying to upset anyone.

Sometimes she dreamed of leaving and never coming back. Each step she took outside the grounds only furthered her resolve.

"In some months time you will be married," her Mother said eventually. She was watching out the window, reminiscing of her own time at such an age and the impending engagement that had fallen to her. "You'll be a capable wife, you've always done well in your lessons. But I worry… I've always thought that my children would find love in the matches your Father and I made. That each of you would find love the same way we did…"

Strangely, she wished her Mother would scream and shout at her, at least then she could understand. If only her Mother would express her anger and disappointment, she'd have something tangible to chew over, but all that came to her was a terribly empty feeling.

"Lord Ryswell has expressed his consent towards the engagement, but your Father and myself still hold some doubts towards the match," Catelyn admitted.

Turning, she looked at her eldest properly. She hadn't outwardly expressed anything pertaining her theoretical betrothal, in fact trying to ply a word from her about the matter was like pulling teeth. Looking at her, she surmised that she was much like her Uncle Brandon, hot-blooded and young- Brandon had never had the chance to grow old. A gallant fool, her Father had said, she remembered it clearly now, she always did when she looked at her daughter. It often felt like she was betraying Ned when such thoughts arose, and perhaps some part of her resented Eledei for it.

She had been named for her Father, but the gods had deemed it to liken her to her Uncle.

"Eledei, you've always been difficult. Even as a babe, you'd fuss in my arms, and when you learnt to walk nobody could keep up. But now I need your compliance, I need you to set an example for your sisters and go beyond your own selfish whims."

Her mouth felt dry, with each word that passed her Mother's lips it was like a noose getting tighter and tighter until she struggled with each shallow breath. Difficult… Yes, she was rather difficult, wasn't she? Difficult, unruly, selfish. She'd wanted her Mother to lecture her, to say something she could fathom rather than fanciful notions of love that she had never quite grasped, and yet now those thoughts had burnt up and left the taste of ash in her mouth.

"I need you to demonstrate your loyalty to your house, and serve under our banners like a Lady should."

Eledei wanted a drink. Wine, and plenty of it.

"Can you do that for me?"

Her Mother was regarding her with a kindly face, Tully features open with earnest and a small dose of pleading.

Why did she share her wineskin with Theon? It's emptiness was glaring, she thought her bodice too tight to breathe, like her ribs were concaving in on itself.

"Yes," she said, mindlessly.

Catelyn smiled. She didn't notice the desperation clawing at her daughter's eyes, or the wineskin she clutched in the fold of her skirts.

The wolf trotted sullenly in the pathway, stopping so that Eledei had no choice but to match her movements or take a hard fall against the cobblestone. The lunatic of a direwolf pup might have gone to make some sort of noise, but thinking better of it she borrowed her wet snout into the awaiting palm her owner offered readily.

She could sense her owners misery, perhaps.

"Hush, now." Eledei preemptively ordered, eerily attuned with her beastly companion and it's childish whims. "You're the one that got me into trouble in the first place, and isn't that the truth?"

Naught but a puppy, albeit a particularly loveable one with a coat the colour of blood, she found haven in the depths of the Stark girls skirts. Fur tangled and winded against fabric and the bare skin of the Lady's legs, a playful nipping of her ankles through tough leather boots and baby teeth.

"Toothless, sure," she snorted.

Knowing full well she was being manipulated, she found herself resting against the hard stone that dug into her back. It seemed as if she was at an impasse at the archway entrance of some whorehouse she liked to frequent. The promise of wine did wonders to improve her darkened mood, washing away her Mother's words with the intent of dulling her too sharp mind.

The day had started awful enough, surely. She took this time to reflect, like she so often did after a strenuous bout of human interaction, fingers threading through fur. With Sansa almost in tears over the ever expansive connotations of one's braid and how very well to do the Southern styles were. The Mill and the wine had been somewhat of a gentle reprieve, only dampened by Theon's duties and punctuality, for the one time she sought out company he was busy. Wine, Eledei thought, might just have been the only grace in her life.

She had left the confinements of Winterfell's walls in want of naught but a drink. Looking at her Mother's face sometimes had such an effect, she felt the uncomfortable dryness of her throat and wineskin alike become apparent as Catelyn's face took shape tiresomely.

It was days like this that could shape themselves up into a series of misfortune or something dreadfully dull, she knew. The later in the day it was the sterner the face and the longer the shadow's loomed. Thus, Eledei did what she did best. She disappeared. Now, looking into the face of some golden man from many a story, she leant herself the benefit of the doubt.

She had been standing in the gaping mouth of a stonewell archway in the depths of Wintertown, it's aching cavity casting a jagged light that warmed the evening air, like it had swallowed her campfires and lit the night with spiced wine. The door opened quite suddenly, and she was met with the blinding white of the Kingsguard armour, uniform in it's finery, and a man that looked much more like what a King should be if the stories were to be believed. She was standing in the entrance of a whorehouse, with the golden lion of Lannister, because of course she was. There had never been a time when Eledei Stark had not been in a place she shouldn't have been.

She had only sought out the brothel for naught but a drink. This flurry of light in the darkened skies of the North was attractive and warm to the skin, like what the sun might have felt like in the South perhaps.

He was handsome, undeniably so. She thought the gold of his hair might just be the colour the sun would give off if one dared to look up close, and just like the sun he burned. Viciously, tempered and beautiful. Turning men a reddy colour, be it heatstroke or broken skin, and young maidens blushed when they looked upon him the same way their cheeks freckled in the long summertime.

Of course he had to be the one to open the door, to let the light leak into the cold and thaw out the ice of the archway stone. It was an orange flame that licked at his features and her red hair.

Ser Jaime Lannister paused, eyes trailing over herself and the wolf half hidden in her skirts lazily.

She thought time had its own funny ways of manifesting itself. It felt like a long time since she'd woken up, longer still since she'd slept, but the day wavered onwards with incessant persistence. Time filled up steadily and went off-kilter to the song of fat Kings and squabbling siblings, the disappointment of her Lord and Lady parents and stray direwolves. Eledei was used to feeling tired, but it felt better somehow without people around to make up all the noise; just the trees and the whispering of the woods that almost seemed to know she was there.

Unknowingly, he had broken the peace of solitude she had sought out endlessly, and she might have hated him for it.

Two people meeting in the most unexpected of places wasn't so unexpected, perhaps. It was the perfect kind of day for it, though Eledei begrudged acknowledging the simple truth of it all. And when his green eyes lit up with something, be it recognition or amusement, she blamed her Mother wholeheartedly.

Her Mother's words had sent her into one of her moods. It was a mood meant for one cure and one cure only; drink. And here she was, at a place for whore's and lustfull creatures, and she wondered which category he fell into, the former or the latter.

"You're the Stark girl," he drawled, tall frame fitted to the door and leaving sparse gaps but nowhere to go.

She looked bored, even in the face of the Kingslayer and at the opening of a whorehouse.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"You suppose or you are?"

"It's funny how those two coincide more oft than not," she remarked, and he saw the impatience and sheer annoyance that flashed through her face quick as a lash. There was no recognition, the dawning of realisation when people saw him, it was almost as if she had no idea who he was. "I am a Stark girl, one of three. If you don't mind?"

She motioned to the door, and graciously he moved sideways so as to accommodate her.

(AN: I've been slow at updating all my fics. Apologies.)