The men fear lions in the mountains, but the road itself hurts Sansa. 5/19

Myrielle was a quiet soul.

That much had been obvious in the early morning, when she had lifted her golden skirts and delicately padded across the yard, skirting wide around the tame mares harnessed to the wheelhouse and the mounted men waiting in the courtyard. Sansa followed, after bidding Lord Lydden and his elder son goodbye. While Myrielle closed the windows and Jeyne curled up by Sansa's feet, Joy insured that she was as comfortable as could be managed on the increasingly rocky road.

Without Tommen to entertain, they traveled in silence for a long while. Joy and Sansa chose to read, although Joy eagerly perused an archaic tome with failing stitching while Sansa tried to focus on a listing of Casterly Rock's holdings through the jolting of the road. Jeyne curled herself against the far end of Sansa's seat and opened the window to watch the road pass by, and Sansa was never certain if she was asleep or awake. Of them all, Myrielle kept the most interesting pastime. She had brought a psaltery with her, and in her corner she played it with her ruined hand. Sansa had never heard the instrument sound so beautiful.

She played nothing particular for a long while, experimented with notes and varied sound, before beginning a song Sansa had never heard before. Myrielle paused and played again, started and restarted, some notes worse than others and some better. After many attempts, her playing began to merge into a true song. Only once she heard the progress did Sansa realize she was making up the music as she went.

The beautiful playing was distracting, and when Sansa had read as much as she felt she could remember, she gently sat her parchment aside and addressed her new companion, "Lady Myrielle, you play beautifully. Have you learned anything else?"

"My sister Cerenna plays the rebec and viol, but I cannot hold a stringed instrument properly," she reminded Sansa of the queen, although she did not know how. Myrielle was short and soft spoken, timid and tame, while Cersei was none of those things. Perhaps it was only her long, golden hair?

"Ah, I leant the harp and recorder, but I could not play the psaltery," Sansa admitted. She hoped she might coax some of the elder girl's secrets out with her own honesty. Myrielle had been silent since dawn, spoke little and kept to herself, her pale dress and demure demeanor insuring that most overlooked her, "has a handmaiden been arranged for you?"

"The letter Lord Tywin sent said that Roslin Rosby would await me at Casterly Rock. I expect I can manage until we arrive," she looked out her window, or she would have, if it were not closed. It was entirely too warm for Sansa, she could not imagine how Myrielle felt, with her long sleeves, but the older girl had made no move to open her window, "it is two days through the mountains, and the second night we should reach House Doggett. I imagine we will also stay with House Payne, and reach the Rock the day afterward, shortly after sunhigh."

"Lord Tyrion has requested that I aid you, Lady Myrielle," Joy said, "your tent is to be near Sansa's, it will not be difficult. That is, if Sansa does not mind?"

Sansa smiled, "I do not mind, in truth, I am glad that Lady Myrielle will not be alone. Roslin Rosby, you said, did you mean Roslin Frey? Your brother mentioned she was being sent to Casterly Rock."

"When Lord Tully disbanded House Frey, Frey daughters and young boys took their mother's names and returned to their mother's houses. Roslin's mother was a daughter of Lord Rosby's brother, and so she has taken that name," Myrielle studied her for a long moment, green eyes solemn, "I did not know Lord Jaime was so fond of you."

"Oh. I- I do not think he is. Forgive me, Lady Myrielle, but he did not marry me by his own choice."

"Lord Tywin's heir would not wed a woman he did not want to wed," another difference, Myrielle's face showed no emotion as she spoke and her words were kind. Smile or scowl, Cersei's words were as sharp as her emotions, "and he has spoken for you. Lady Roslin was to be your handmaiden, traded for Joy, but he knew you would not want that and instead asked me to take her. There is also Lord Lewys' son."

Jaime had been right. Sansa would not have wanted to let Joy go for a Frey, "his son?"

The elder girl's head tilted ever so slightly, "Lord Lewys' youngest son is of an age with Prince Tommen. He was meant to accompany the prince to Casterly Rock, and serve as Lord Jaime's page beside him. Because of the insult the Lyddens gave to you, the boy was left at Deep Den."

Sansa did not know what to say to that, but Myrielle had no intent to fill the silence. The stillness grew between them, until Joy broke in, "it would be foolish for any Lydden to expect to foster at Casterly Rock after what was said."

Joy's eyes were lighter than her cousin's and flecked with gold, reminding Sansa more of Tyrion's green eye than the emerald green that belonged to Jaime and his sister. That had been the first thing she noticed about the other girl, her disdain of eye contact aside, the eyes that looked so much like Jaime's own. You look like my lady mother, Jaime had said. Were these Lady Joanna's eyes? Or had hers been bright and curious, as Joy's were?

Whatever Myrielle might have said was interrupted by a sharp jolt. Sansa bit back her yelp as her parchment went flying, only her instinctive grip on the back of the seat keeping her from falling. Jeyne was unseated by both the jolt and it's effect on Sansa, and she slipped from her seat with a squeak, her pale blue skirts thrown across the floor. Myrielle clutched her psaltery and moved with the jerk of the wheelhouse, rolling forward onto the balls of her feet, still crouched, and sat back down as the wheels straightened again. Joy had the worst of it, but even when her head struck the wood of the wall to her right she did not lose her grip on her book.

As the floor settled beneath their feet, Ser Daven's voice came from outside, "Myrielle? Lady Sansa? Are you hurt?"

"No," Myrielle answered for them, considering Sansa carefully, "we are fine, Daven."

"If the road becomes too much, we will stop," he answered, but Myrielle made no reply. Instead, she offered one hand to Jeyne, who stared up at her like a frightened foal before gingerly taking the offered aid. Myrielle's grip tightened, and she pulled the younger girl to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" The question was directed to all of them, it seemed, but it was Joy who answered.

"No. I just did not expect that."

Myrielle had opened the chest behind her seat, gently cushioning her psaltery among the silks there. She returned with a little box in her hand, which she offered to Joy. The younger girl smiled widely as she accepted it, turning it on end to pour out the cards contained within, "do they play alouette in the North?"

"Mother said that gambling was not a suitable game for a highborn woman," Sansa admitted, although Jeyne said nothing.

"Then we will not gamble," Myrielle said, as Joy shuffled the cards swiftly. The wheelhouse jolted again, although not as sharply as the first time. Sansa hoped for their sake that the driver was being careful.

"I will teach you to play," Joy handed out the cards, nine to each of them, and tucked the remaining cards under her leg, into the folds of her dress, "Myrielle will play a card because she is to my left, then we will all try to play a card higher than hers."

Myrielle played a Jack of Swords, and after some deliberation, Sansa played a lower card instead of the Jack of Coins in her hand. It was Jeyne who won, with a queen, and both of the Lannister girls passed her their cards, "yours as well, Sansa. The person with the highest card wins the trick. Now Jeyne gets to go first."

"What happens if we tie?" Sansa asked.

"We play again, and whoever wins the next trick wins that one as well," Joy replied, and so they went on. Sansa won twice, but Myrielle won the hand. Once they were done, Jeyne nudged Sansa's leg and gave her a curious look, and Sansa spoke for her.

"Let's play again."

They did, and again after that, and before Sansa had noticed the passing of the day, Joy was drawing out flatbread, white cheese with green olives, and watered sweet plum wine. It was not as strong as that in King's Landing, but the water also affected the cloying sweetness and Sansa drank it gladly. She had seen Joy slip a bit of milk of the poppy from the vial Maester Pycelle had given her into hers, and she hoped it would help with the growing pain from the jolting road.

Jeyne was nibbling on a bit of cheese and considering her cards, but Sansa set her own aside and ate eagerly. She had not enjoyed the morning meal and now she was hungry. As the games had gone on, Sansa had won fewer hands, and Jeyne more. For a while she had only compared herself to Joy's tricks, until Joy insisted they form teams so she and Sansa might win too.

The pain faded a bit, but every bump hurt now, and Sansa ate less than she might like. Joy bundled the food away again, Myrielle keeping a few olives to herself. She popped one into her mouth as Jeyne started a new hand, and was only just swallowing when the wheelhouse rolled again. Sansa grit her teeth against the pain, asked, "will the road be this harsh all day?"

"This day and the next," Myrielle answered, "it's the mountains. There will be more guards until we are out of the mountains too."

"More guards?" Jeyne peered over the top of her cards at the elder girl.

"For the lions," Joy said, when Myrielle did not respond, "there are still many in the mountains. I saw one, once. It was a beautiful creature."

"Do they really have such manes?" Sansa had seen drawings of lions, but they seemed unreal. No other creature had hair like a human, but circled around it's entire head. She could almost believe that they were simply cats writ large, but she did not know how any man would imagine such a mane.

"Only the males. There are paintings of them in Casterly Rock, you should ask Lord Tyrion to show you once we arrive."

"My septa once told me that they kept lions under Casterly Rock, once."

"They did, when Lord Tywin's father was alive, but not anymore," Joy brushed her green skirts down, a sad smile pulling at her lips, "I would have loved to see them."

Another twist of the wheelhouse, but this time Sansa could not stop the yelp that escaped her. Joy stood on the rocking floor, hurried to her side and tried to adjust the pillows that cushioned her from the worst of the movement. Jeyne tucked herself closer to the window, eyes wide, hands playing nervously with the cards as she watched. It was Myrielle who concerned Sansa the most, her dark eyes searched her face as Sansa struggled to right herself and calm her breathing.

"Daven," she called, voice louder than Sansa had ever heard her yet, clear even above the creaking of the wheelhouse, "call a stop. Ask for Lord Tyrion."

"No," I am a Stark of Winterfell, "Jaime," Sansa said. The words made it the command her tone avoided, "bring me Jaime."