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Chapter Text

(Westerlands – Before Jon Arryn’s death)

Tywin Lannister awoke with a start, from a fever that had gripped him for the better part of a moon.  His surviving brother Kevan stood at the side of his bed, pale and gaunt from the same bout of fever that had struck Tywin.  The elder Lannister frowned at the corner of his room where the ghostly images of a boy and withered old man had stood.  He knew Kevan had been released from the clutches of the Three Eyed Raven almost a week earlier than Tywin.

“What did they show you brother?” Kevan ignored the confused looks on the face of the maester who was still fussing over Tywin.

Tywin narrowed his look at his brother, “More than I assume they revealed to you.”  He looked to the maester, “Has there been any word of other men or women of my station similarly falling ill as I and my brother have?”

With a shake of his head, that caused the links of his chain to clink noisily, the old maester answered, “Not that we have heard, but then we only informed your sons and daughter of your condition out of respect for your familial bonds.”

Tywin could spit on familial bonds, knowing the shit storm his damned daughter had brought upon their house.  The pertinacious girl had always thought herself a competent player of the game, she relied too heavily on Tywin’s own notoriety.  Jamie was a fool, and on hindsight he should have seen Tyrion’s reaction coming a mile away.  He’d thought his visions of things to come would have ended with those crossbow bolts perforating his bowls.

It had not, the boy, who he assumed was a slightly older Brandon Stark, had grabbed his hand, and had guided him through the frozen hell that was to descend upon these lands.  He watched the decimation of his lineage, the end of all that he knew and loved, the coming of the dead.  There was a flicker within him, a spark he would attribute to that First Men blood that would never be fully expunged by the Andal blood which also coursed through his veins.

He swiftly turned to his brother and asked upon the exact date.  At Kevan’s defeated look he knew they were too late to prevent the first tragedy.  No letter would reach King’s Landing in time to save the life of Lord Arryn, a pity, the man’s ablity to control Robert would have come in handy in the coming days.  Instead, they would need to act fast, not only to save their own House, but all of Westeros from the coming storm.

Against the maester’s wishes the brothers quickly secluded themselves within Tywin’s chambers.  Tywin swiftly sent out orders to his most loyal men.  To Gregor he gave the task of going to King’s Landing and removing the pimple on the ass of the world called Littlefinger.  The full list of Peter Balish’s crimes were unspeakable in truth, the man was a slaver, a pimp, a murderer, a rapist, a conman, and had single handedly triggered the events that led to Robert’s Rebellion.  That was the short list, Tywin would spend his sojourn North compiling the full list and fabricating the evidence.  Just on the off-chance Gregor gets sloppy and Littlefinger’s death gets traced back to him.

While Tywin personally loathed the idea of being a kinslayer, he knew they could not chance Joffrey ascending the throne.  Tommen he could probably salvage as his heir, he knew Robert had some affection for the boy and Myrcella.  He could at least salvage something from this massive fuck up.  He wrote the letter he never thought he would.  It had not been his word giving the order to Clegane and Lorch, it had been Cersei.  He knew the logic in removing poor Rhaenys and Aegon was sound, there had been no need for Elia to die as well, that had been his daughter’s vindictiveness bleeding through.  He’d protected her for years, knowing the Martells held no fear of him, and would have sought revenge against Cersei, regardless of her station as Queen.  He ended the letter with a request they spare Myrcella and Tommen.

Kevan had read over the letter before handing it back to his brother to seal, “You think they will honor that request?”

“It was the Queen of Thorns who poisoned Joffrey at his own wedding,” Tywin revealed, knowing from what his brother told him he’d only seen events that affected him personally, “Oberyn only had time to poison me, though it was Tyrion’s crossbow that did me in.  There is more that we need to do, and we do not have much time to act.”  Tywin was not ready to reveal that Aegon had been switched, or that Eddard Stark’s supposed bastard was in fact a legitimate son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.  He pulled out another sheet of parchment, “Viserys is as mad as his father, and we have no need for him.  Daenerys will be soon forced into a marriage with a Dothraki.  We need her secured, along with the dragon eggs that were to be gifted to her.”

Kevan frowned, “You want me to go to Essos?  I doubt they will be welcoming to a member of our house.”

“It will not be you I send,” Tywin finished writing the letter, “Varys has been playing a long game, with so many moving pieces I can only acknowledge his skills at weaving his web.  The letter is for the spider, it is time the last living man, if you can call him that, with the blood of the Blackfires makes himself useful.”

“Varys is a Blackfire?”  Kevan gasped, remembering the eunuch shooting him with a crossbow as his little birds stabbed him, “I thought they had died out in the male line?”

Tywin nodded, “They did, Varys is a Blackfire in blood only, his mother was the last daughter of House Blackfire.  His sister married a merchant from Pentos, and they had a son.  The merchant had desired to place his son on the throne to honor his late wife’s last wishes.  The babe died in the crib though, and Varys replaced the babe with baby Aegon after secreting him out of King’s Landing.”

Kevan froze, remembering the news of Jon Connington invading from Essos, claiming to be serving the true king of Westeros, Aegon Targaryen, “What are you planning Tywin?”

Tywin looked to his brother, “In the state Robert is in he is not likely to remarry.  The only eligible candidates to be his wife are either too young or too old.  There is also his deteriorating health, at this point his best choices are to legitimize one of his bastards or name Stannis as his heir.  Neither option is advantageous with at least two Targaryen poised to return at the head of two massive armies.”

Kevan ignored his brother’s slip at saying at least two, as Viserys was still a player on the board at this time.  Kevan thought over the visions of the coming threats to their house, “You plan to ride to the North, to do what?”

“Save what remains of our House,” Tywin grit his teeth, “I do not know who clearly your vision was, but mine was absolutely clear.  I saw Tygett’s line ended, his boy’s corpse left for the rats or made into bowl of brown in the slums of King’s Landing.  Your younger boys were slaughtered by Karstark,” Tywin paused as Kevan nodded.

“Saw that Tywin, they were killed because Eddard’s wife foolishly let Jamie free in turn for the safe return of her daughters.  A fair trade that was never seen completed.” Kevan glared, “Don’t even mention what became of my eldest, my line was as good as gone by the time Varys ended me.”

Tywin nodded, the Sparrows were among those who felt Cersei’s vindictiveness as she killed them all, regardless one of their number shared her blood.  He would not burden Kevan with the knowledge their sister was butchered along with her husband and sons by the resurrected Catelyn Stark, known as Lady Stoneheart, along with most the other surviving Frey.

Kevan frowned, “What of your line brother?  What fate befell them?”

Tywin grimaced, “I fear you would think me mad.”

“I have spent the last three weeks in and out of consciousness being tortured with the deaths of my family and kin,” Kevan snorted, “If not for you experiencing the same if not more, I would think myself mad.”

A nod from Tywin, and the old lord leaned back, “If Aegon is the conqueror reborn, then Tyrion is the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror’s bastard brother.  As I have often thought, Tyrion is no son of mine, though he is still Cersei and Jamie’s brother, and regardless of his words he loves them both more than life itself.”  Tywin grimaced, “The Starks have long warned that winter is coming, I doubt even they know the true horror of those words.  Jamie and Tyrion went north to give aid against what was coming.  The Wall fell, I know not exactly how, but before even warnings could be sent, what was left of the Northern houses fell one after another.  Tyrion died in the crypts of Winterfell as the last line for the infirm and children sheltering within.  Jamie was ripped in two by the walking corpse of a giant.”

Kevan paled once more at the mere mention of what horrors awaited the world, horrors from which he’d been spared by Varys bolt.  He swallowed, “What happened next?”

“The three heads were not united in time,” Tywin sighed, “one’s eyes became blue at Winterfell.  The others spent more time tearing each other apart, ignoring the approaching chill.  They were both on the frozen sands of Dorn when they finally took notice of the army of dead marching upon them.  Cersei had long been dead by then, a rotting corpse clinging to a rusted throne.  Daenerys and Aegon could only watch in terror as their dragons fell, only to rise again in the power of the Others.”

(Week later – Crossroads Inn)

Kevan sat with his men, the so call Lady Arryn and her party had arrived just as Tywin expected.  He could not mess this up, too much rested on everything going as planned.  His men were to sleep in the stables along with most the other guards and sellswords.  Bunks had long ago been stuffed in the stable loft for that purpose.  The delegation from the Vale was the entirety of the late Hand’s household that had been in King’s Landing.  Kevan waited for Lysa Arryn and her boy to head upstairs to the room reserved for nobles and merchants.  Much to his relieve, the Inn was only occupied by his party and that of Lady Arryn.

He motioned to the innkeeper to leave, and the heavy-set woman was more than willing to ignore what was about to transpire.  He’d paid her good Lannister gold for her silence, and she knew what fate would befall her if she let her tongue slip.  Kevan smirked as one of his guards began whistling the Rains of Castamere.  The few Arryn men still in the inn only had time to give confused looks before his men fell upon them.  His orders had been clear, no killing if at all possible, just ruffing up.

Withing fifteen minutes the entire Arryn party had been subdued.  The ladies and servants had been easily dealt with; his men had barred them in their chambers.  It did not take long for Lysa to be dragged before him, “What is the meaning of this you Lannister dog?”

“You know what this is about,” he held up the letter she had attempted to send to her sister in Winterfell, he enjoyed the way her face paled, “We Lannisters do not take kindly to slanderous lies.  We had no hand in the death of your lord husband, but you know that already, don’t you?”

“How?  How?” Lysa clutched at her son, but at the boy’s whimper of protest, one of Kevan’s guards pulled the boy away, “Peter said no one would ever figure it out.”

“You mean Balish?” Kevan sniped, “The true father of your bastard son here?”

If Lysa could become any paler she’d already be a ghost, “Lies, lies, horrible hateful lies.  How dare you say such horrible things about my sweet Robin, my dear Peter will punish you for such horrible lies.”

Kevan snorted, “By now your Peter is a cold corpse.”

The next morning soldiers from King’s Landing arrived at the Inn to find the Innkeeper standing before the burnt-out husk of the tavern.  She informed them the Arryn party had arrived late in the evening and had been her only guests.  She and her husband had gone to bed after seeing their guests settled for the evening.  Early in the morning she’d heard a great number of horses, the men upon them had no banners and their armor had been smudged with charcoal.

The soldiers found the majority of the Arryn party tied up in the loft of the stables, including the young Robert Arryn.  The only one missing had been Lady Lysa Arryn, her burnt bones were discovered beneath the smoldering ruins of the tavern.

(King’s Landing – Night before the burning of the Crossroads Inn Tavern)

Barristan Selmy had seen many horrible things in his time.  He was a survivor of the war with the Ninepenny Kings and survived the Trident during Robert’s Rebellion after all.  What he found upon the street of silks made him rethink his chosen profession.  The Master of Coin lay spread eagle in the middle of the street.  He’d been literally cut to pieces and scattered across the area.  His eyes had been scooped out and placed in each of his hands, which had both been chopped off and were set on a planter outside Chataya’s.  The fact Balish’s tongue was pinned to a door across the street might explain why nobody heard this assault take place.

Next to Barristan, Jamie Lannister sucked in air through his teeth, “First the Hand goes and takes a well-deserved eternal rest, and now the Master of Coin has been butchered.  I mean, this has got to be personal, don’t know many robbers who are going to take the time to display their victim like this.  I mean, usually they try to hide the body, not show it off.”

“Makes me wonder,” Barristan rubbed his chin, “Lady Arryn took off in quite the hurry, and now her childhood friend who she suggested to Lord Arryn for the position of Master of Coin just so happens to be murdered.”

Jamie froze, “You’re not thinking?”

“Lord Arryn went from healthy to on his death bed in a matter of hours,” Barristan glared, “I don’t care what the Grandmaester says, things like that don’t just happen.  Round up some gold cloaks and go bring Lady Arryn back.”

Jamie frowned, “I’m on duty with my sister this evening, you know how she can be.  I’ll send out the party with orders to bring the Arryn household back to the capital, but I don’t think I should be far from Cersei, especially if you think someone is targeting members of the court.”

Barristan smirked as he slapped a gauntleted hand to Jamie’s shoulder, “Good lad, I know you have it hard, with everyone throwing the whole king slayer thing in your face daily.  I may not have been as close to you as Arthur or Oswell, but I know you must have had a reason.”

“Aye,” Jamie avoided eye contact, “just wish I’d gone to check on Elia and the children instead of just sit there on my ass afterwards, maybe I could have saved them.”

“I am sure a day will come Jamie,” Barristan gave the younger man a friendly shake before letting his hand drop from the other man’s shoulder, “a day when you will be able to show everyone that you are more than what they believe.”

(The North – Night before the deserter’s execution)

Eddard urged his horse forward, the beast below him frantic to go in any other direction than that which Eddard commanded.  The area was familiar, just off from the bridge, the two great beast were circling each other.  Eddard stopped fighting his mount, instead leaping off, pulling Ice free of its scabbard as he curled into a roll.  He snarled like the Direwolf blazoned across his chest, and like the one that was torn between looking to him and focusing upon her prey.

Ignoring the Direwolf’s confusion, Eddard moved forward his Valerian steel greatsword catching the moonlight as he swung it in two vicious overhand arcs.  The stag had only enough time to reason another predator had arrived before its left antlers dropped to the snow, followed swiftly by those on the right side of its head.  Eddard stepped back from the disarmed beast and looked to the Direwolf, “He’s all yours.”

Intelligent as the Direwolf was, she leapt for the now antlerless stag.  What followed was much ripping and tearing, and within moments the only beings in the clearing were the Lord of Winterfell and one very satisfied female Direwolf.  Licking her jaws, she turned to where the human with the massive sword stood.  Eddard Stark was watching the moon rise over the distant hills, “Stupid horse, it’ll be morning before I reach Winterfell.”

Trotting over to the human, the Direwolf nuzzled at his hand before slipping her head into the space between arm and body, “What’s this, you want to come with me?”  Her tale wagged a few times to agree with his words, “Huh, guess things will be different this time.  Farlen is going to think I have gone mad, not that most my family hasn’t thought so since I awoke from that blasted fever.”

Chapter Text

(North – The day of the deserter’s execution)

Ned Stark watched as his children were herded by the great Direwolf.  Farlen had rushed into his solar, not more than an hour after Eddard had left the beast with him.  The pups that had been, and apparently would be his children’s companions had once more come into the world.  That had been early in the morn and now the Direwolf had left her pups under the watchful eye of Winterfell’s kennel master as she made her way through Winterfell, seeking.

It had been Catelyn’s frantic cry which had drawn him to the courtyard.  It was Eddard’s youngest, Rickon which the Direwolf had found first.  The young boy had been giggling from the great wolf’s back as she took him to the kennels, Bran who’d been enjoying a morning climb had been next.  She’d waited patiently for Bran to return to the ground before pushing him gently in the direction of the kennels.  Sansa and Arya had been in the midst of a sewing lesson, and Eddard would be deceiving himself if he did not admit the Septa’s scream of fright had not brought him a small bit of joy.

It had been the older boys that she’d had to wait the longest for, they had been in the training yard when this all began.  They had paused at both Catelyn and Septa Mordane’s cries.  It was only when they noticed the massive wolf watching them patiently that they put up their tourney swords and moved to follow her.  Eddard had winced when the Direwolf had viciously snapped at Theon when the boy attempted to follow as well.  He knew the mistakes the boy was destined to make but had not yet decided how best to handle the matter.

He arrived at the kennels to find Farlen sitting with his hounds, “Milord,” he greeted, “she gave Lady Stark quite the growl when she came back with your daughters, and the Lady was trying to take Bran and Rickon away.  I warned her she might not want to anger such a beast.”

“A fair warning Farlen,” Eddard moved towards the door, “I’ll see about having another kennel constructed.”

The kennel master shook his head, “She not staying here milord, she imprinted on you.  Been talking it over with the maester, he checked the old tomes.  She won’t want to be far from your side, that's why she gathered up your pups, so they can help take care of hers.”

Eddard had never truly thought about how his children and their wolves had bonded.  He remembered the great emotional pain Sansa felt after he’d been forced to kill Lady by that treasonous bitch Cersei.  He knew Arya had similarly felt a longing for her Nymeria.  That loss and separation would not take place this time.

Entering the kennels, he found his children each holding one of the pups.  It took him a few minutes to realize each pup was with their appropriate partner, another sign the Old Gods had intended these pups to be with his children.  It was Jon who first took notice of him, and it hurt him deeply that the boy seemed relieved when he noticed Catelyn had not entered as well.  Jon stood and moved to put Ghost back in the pile of hay Farlen had placed to keep the pups warm.  Ghost’s mother made a plaintive and confused whimper.

“What are you doing Jon?” Eddard asked.

Jon froze, the eyes of his siblings upon him, “I was putting the pup back, I do not know why she wanted me to hold him.”

“Because he is yours stupid,” Arya voiced from where she sat with Sansa, the two using rags soaked in milk to feed their pups.  Farlen must have brought the bucket and rags, Eddard wondered if the Direwolf had been injured in some way before he’d arrived to remove the antlers from the stag.  Though, from the amount of activity she had been doing today, it may simply be the kennel master had an inkling of what the she-wolf was doing as he’d pointed out that the number of pups equaled the number of children when you included Jon.

Eddard had to chuckle at the bluntness of his younger daughter, “Well, if not a little crassly, put.”  Eddard moved to Jon’s side; he’d thought sending the boy to the Night’s Watch would protect him.  It had done the exact opposite; it was no place for his son.  “She pulled you here because she sensed you were as much of my blood as any of my children.”

Jon bowed his head, “Thank you, father.”

“Good,” Eddard looked over each of his children, “seems you will all need to add tending to your wolves to your daily schedules.  Let’s leave them with their mother here at least until they are a bit older.”  The day must have gotten away from him, as Jory appeared at the door with a grim look.

Unlike the last time, Ned’s party included the addition of four dire wolves.  His daughters and Rickon were back at Winterfell tending to their pups.  Farlen had jury-rigged a harness for the pups to ride with each of his sons, this would help the horses become less unnerved by the wolves being so close.  The Direwolf mother would not leave Ned’s side, much as Farlen had said.  The horse he’d used the previous night had yet to be found, his current horse was a seasoned warhorse that would not shy so easily.

The execution did not differ much, he still heard Jon warning Bran not to look away.  A major difference though came upon the moment Eddard asked the man for his final words.  When the terrified man made his reference to the Others, Ned knelt next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  He then leaned in and whispered to the man, “Winter is coming."

For some reason, the recitation of Eddard’s house words gave the man renewed courage.  He looked Ned firmly in the eyes and gave a curt nod before placing his neck upon the block.  While Eddard could not fault the poor man for fleeing from a fate worse than death, the man had still deserted and broken his oath to the Night’s Watch.  His fate was sealed by his cowardice, and no last-moment display of bravery could alter that fact.

Eddard blatantly remembered Theon’s antics from before.  He kicked the deserter’s head around for a few moments before Robb chastised him.  There was none of that this time, Theon dared not budge from his spot as the head only rolled a foot before a massive paw held it in place.  The Direwolf gave Eddard a look of curiosity.  Eddard knew these creatures were far more intelligent than either wolves or dogs, yet he wondered if the Direwolf believed everything he cut was hers to eat.

Turning to the guards who’d captured the deserter Ned sighed, “Burn the remains and have the ashes sent back to the Wall.”  He was surprised when he turned back to find the Direwolf picking up the severed head in her jaws and following the two guards who were dragging the body toward the awaiting pyre, she dropped the head beside the body before returning to his side.  Ned scratched between her ears, “Good girl.”

It was Theon who remarked, “Lord Stark, she followed your command.”

“Aye,” Eddard looked to his ward, “I’m starting to see why my ancestors kept them around.  Some say they’re good judges of character.  What do you think Theon?”

The boy snorted, “Think she’s just a mutant wolf, can’t imagine how much it’ll take to feed her, let alone the rest of them once they’re eating solids.”

Ned thought he knew what was coming next and was preparing himself to go through the loss of Jon Arryn for a second time.  It had been hard enough the first time as that older Bran had not focused much on the fact that it happened.  The boy had emotionlessly informed him, that he would explain it in due course.  He swore to do all in his power to ensure his son never became such a cold and unfeeling creature as that boy had become.

So, it came as some surprise when Catelyn came to him in the godswood crying inconsolably.  In her hands was not clutched one letter, but three.  The first had come from King’s Landing, addressed to him, and was the expected news of Jon Arryn’s death.  The second letter had ended any plans Ned was making for bringing the two poisoners to justice, it was a letter from Edmund Tully explaining Lysa had been killed by bandits at the Crossroad’s Inn, and that Catelyn’s childhood friend Peter Balish, who’d been Master of Coin was murdered on the streets of silk.  Catelyn’s one consoling piece of news was Robin Arryn had been left unharmed by the bandits and would be coming north with the King’s party.

It was the third letter that truly surprised him, it held the seal of the Lord Paramount and Warden of the West.  Tywin had even added the flourishes to the seal which both Luwin and Catelyn knew could cost them their heads if they even dared to break the seal on the letter.  The letter contained very basic information, implying Tywin had important matters to discuss with his fellow Warden and would not trust normal means of communication.  He would be arriving ahead of the royal party.

Catelyn frowned, “Why is the old lion coming here?”

Ned grimaced; it was the last line of the letter that disturbed him.  Tywin had added a postscript, which was highly irregular for these types of missives.  ‘I know about the boy’ was plainly written.

(Highgarden – Around the same time)

Mace Tyrell would never openly claim his family’s ancestral ties to the First Men.  Yet of the Reach, he knew the Hightowers, Tarlys, and Redwynes were among the vilified traitor houses.  The Tyrells had bent the knee to the Andal invaders, along side the Gardeners and had served them loyally as stewards until the coming of Aegon the Conqueror.  There was a reason that historically the First Men of the Reach were never found to marry their northern counterparts.  Had he realized his mother’s plan to marry the Stark daughter to his eldest son, he’d have been split groin to neck by Lord Hightower.  The man had never gotten over his daughter marrying a Mormont.

He'd risen from his sick bed only a few days past, his mind reeling with what had been shown to him.  Within days he’d been visited by the heads of the other three First Men houses.  They too had been laid up with fevers of which their maesters could find no cause, even the archmaesters at the Citadel could not understand.  Tarly had blamed it on their ancestry, but Redwyne had rationalized it was only the four of them who had become ill, no of their kin or any other First Men descendants.  It was not the fevers that concerned Mace, it was the visions that had haunted him.  Death was coming for them all.

Lord Leyton had wished to speak with Mace separately from Lord Tarly and Lord Redwyne.  So, Mace agreed to meet in private while the other two men went to check how their families were settling in.  The door had barely shut behind the other two men when Leyton spoke, “I am heading north.  My ship is already prepared for my departure.  I will go to Winterfell and seek forgiveness for my kinfolk of ages past.  We have been greedy and ambitious.  We commissioned the Citadel to expunge our connections to the First Men, we abandoned our gods in favor of those seven who are one fools, and worst of all we have put ourselves above the needs of our people.  We have forgotten the true reason we ruled our people, the reason the Starks have ruled for eight times a thousand years."

Mace nodded, "Aye, a reasonable action following what we have been through, what we have seen.  I will admit I am not the smartest man, but I cannot let mother and the game govern our actions anymore.  The true enemy is coming if we are not prepared.  The Reach has one purpose Leyton, and it is a purpose we have failed.  We must prepare, for as the Starks say, winter is coming.”

“The enemy is at the gate Mace,” Leyton grimaced, “they are pounding on the door.  I have ordered my sons to restore our godswood, to make the pilgrimage to the isle of faces and restore the heart tree.”

“Of course,” Mace nodded, “I’ll have Garland do the same, Willas is unable to make the journey, and Loras is too caught up in his own affairs to take this seriously.  I would have you take a message to Winterfell.  Lord Stark has never struck me as a man for betrothals, he saw how they drove his siblings to such rash actions.  His son needs a wife of the blood, and it is time we reunited with our brothers and sisters of the North.”

Leyton chuckled, “Your mother is going to have a heart attack, she has planned for the Rose of Highgarden to be queen.”

“You did not see the visions I did Leyton,” Mace looked seriously at his bannerman, “my children dead or maimed.  My House brought low.  The gods have given us this chance, we must not fail.  I will have Tarly begin to organize training drills and have Redwyne prepare the fleet.  I will draw up a trade agreement with Dragon Stone for dragonglass, and send traders to Essos to acquire every piece of Valarian steel they can find and hire any smiths who can reforge it.  When the days grow short and there is a chill in the air.  We will be ready to send the Others back into their frozen wasteland.

(Dorne – Approximately the same time)

Oberyn paced as he read the various odd letters that had made their way to his brother’s desk.  The strangest of the lot had to be the Old Lion’s letter revealing it was his daughter Cersei who had ordered the rape and murder of his sister Elia and the death of her children.  The younger Prince was almost floored when he read that Tywin Lannister would rescind any protection of Cersei and her eldest child Joffrey but pleaded for the lives of Cersei’s younger two children.

Doran entered the solar, “I was surprised brother as well.  Have you read the one from Willas, it was meant for you, but was delivered to me by mistake.”

“I am sure,” Oberyn frowned as he took up the letter from his friend Willas Tyrell.  The heir of Highgarden wrote that his father had taken ill and had been battling a fever for several weeks.  This had left Willas in charge of the Reach, though his grandmother had made her presence felt.  Oberyn knew Willas had a great distaste for the game, though he himself was quite the admirable player in it.  Most of the other players of Westeros allowed Willas’ infirmity to blind them to the young man’s skill.  Willas was learned, and a scholar in his own right, no little thanks to his friendship with Oberyn who’d tutored him on many topics the wizened maester of Highgarden viewed as beneath a future Lord Paramount and Warden of the South.  That had always rankled Doran, that the Tyrells were the Wardens of the South, yet like everyone else, they were north of Dorne.  Oberyn frowned at the mention of a fever, “Did not House Dayne send word that Lord Dayne had such a fever.”

Doran nodded, “Aye, he was already on his deathbed, but the maester claims the fever seemed to revitalize the man.  Lord Dayne has written that he wishes to meet, that there is much he must impart, and surprisingly it is not the Stranger he referred to.  He claims the Old Gods have given him a reprieve, but only just such.  His ancestors call him, and that call cannot be waylaid long.  For the love of his kin and ours, I will make the journey to Starfall, though the mountain air does nothing for my gout.”

The frown on Oberyn’s face deepened, “A fever that only affects people with the blood of the First Men but does not appear to spread as a normal illness.  Afflicting individuals leagues apart who have had no obvious contact with each other.  Brother?”

Doran sighed, “Fine, you may go to Highgarden and investigate the incident there.  If you learn of any others, please do not run off halfcocked to investigate them without first contacting me.  Take your paramour and your daughters, it will allay any suspicions of the reasoning for your visit.  You have long tried to convince Willas to take your eldest daughter as a paramour and bodyguard.  Perhaps this time, imply it to be more House Martell wishing to make amends for the unfortunate accident that left him crippled.  Obara has never been opposed to the idea, she has sworn she will never marry and refused any suggestion of legitimization.”

Ellaria Sand entered the chamber fully, having been standing next to Aero Hotah at the door for some time.  Doran knew the woman’s loyalty was to Dorne and she would never betray Oberyn especially.  She crossed imperiously, being the mother of Oberyn’s four youngest, she was the only motherly figure in the lives of the elder four.  “You would sell your niece to be the bed warmer of a cripple?”

Oberyn rolled his eyes, knowing Ellaria was protective of the girls.  It was Doran who the accusation had been aimed at, Oberyn knew his eldest daughter would never agree to be a pawn in a political marriage.  As he also knew Willas was far too honorable to treat any woman, even one born out of wedlock, with anything less than the greatest of respect.  Obara had been agreeable to the proposal as she knew Willas would never use her as a bed warmer, Willas was far too pious and honorable for such things.

The look on Doran’s face could kill, to accuse him of not caring for family was paramount to slapping him across the face.  Oberyn had made that mistake once and had ended up exiled to Essos for a second time, though it had given him cover to meet with the deposed dragons.  Doran looked to Oberyn, “Change of plans, you will go with your daughters, but Ellaria will be going with my lady wife to Essos to collect some things Lord Tywin entrusted me to obtain.”

Oberyn looked back at the letter from Tywin, but saw nothing of the sort mentioned, “I see nothing of such mentioned here brother.”

Doran held up another letter, Oberyn recognized the seal on the letter held the flourishes which signaled it was for the eyes of a lord paramount only.  Meaning even the maester had not read the contents of the letter, “It is something I must delegate carefully, lest we draw unwanted ire from a certain fat stag upon the throne.”

The next day found the Martells gathered upon the docks of Sunspear.  Arianne would be remaining in the city to govern in her father’s stead.  A wheelhouse was waiting for Doran, while two ships awaited their passengers.  Mellario of Norvos would be accompanied by her two sons and Ellaria, their assignment in Essos was secret.  Only Mellario knew the particulars, which she would share with the others after they set sail.  The other ship awaited Oberyn and his daughters, it was destined for Oldtown, where Sarella would join her father and siblings on the journey to Highgarden.

Doran looked to his departing family, “Whatever is going on, we must be prepared.  Arianne, I will return within a moon, two at the most.  I know you will have no trouble keeping Dorne in one piece in my absence.  To the rest of you, safe voyages, and may you all achieve the goals set before you.  Remember, we are House Nymeros Martell, unbowed, unbent, unbroken.”

(King’s Landing – Two days after the death of Peter Balish)

Sandor Clegane glared at the massive form of meat and muscle sitting at the empty bar.  Gregor took note of his entrance, “Finally showed your ugly mug, I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”  He thumped the bar next to him, “Wench get your ass out here and pour a pint for my shit-faced brother.”

A girl of no older than nine and ten name days entered and quickly poured a flagon and set it on the bar.  Sandor hated his brother, and knew it was better to not anger the massive brute that made him look small, “What’s the meaning here?  Why Lord Tywin sent you to the capital, not like he lets his dog off the leash.”

“What?  Cannot a brother simply want to see his only living kin,” Gregor downed what was most definitely not his first drink of the day, “We haven’t seen each other since the Greyjoy Rebellion, oh how those Iron Born wenches squirmed.  Though, you were too busy imagining their men folk were me to wet your pecker.  That was some brutality I never thought your pansy ass was capable of.”

“I had a good teacher,” Sandor sat at the opposite end of the bar, and Gregor slid the flagon towards him, “that scene on the streets of silks the other night.  From the sounds of it, reminded me of how one of your boys works.”

Gregor shrugged, “Might have been, might not of, who cares.  The mockingbird was a right git, probably mouthed off to the wrong people.  People don’t even care, they’re all morning the Old Falcon, hells I’m here guarding Lord Kevan who came to pay respect in the name of Lord Tywin.”

Sandor frowned, “Lord Kevan is in the city?”

“Aye,” Gregor snickered, “asked him why we didn’t go straight to the castle.  The lion said he is not here to pander to his nieces the Queen’s wishes to be the center of everyone’s attention.  We’re using the old manse; he’ll pay his respects to the royal family before we leave the city.”

“Better make it quick,” Sandor growled, “the day after the funeral for the Old Falcon, the royals are headed North.  The Queen has been trying to get Lord Tywin named the new Hand, but the King is insistent on Lord Stark.”

Gregor nodded, “Well, they’ll be leaving with one less dog.”

Slowly, Sandor’s hand reached for his dagger, “Is that so?”

“Aye, and don’t be stupid, I didn’t mean it like that.” Gregor tossed a missive on the bar, “Lord Tywin has ordered you home.  The Old Lion is making moves, he even set out for the North before sending Lord Kevan to the capital.”

A grimace came to Sandor’s face as he read the missive, “I’m to return to Clegane’s Keep and await further instructions.  He does realize having us under the same roof will undoubtedly result in us killing each other.”

Gregor snorted as he downed another pint, “I fucked up little brother.”  He narrowed his black eyes on his brother, “Back during the sack of this shithole city.  I thought I was following Lord Tywin’s orders.  Turns out they were the orders of that bitch queen.  Lord Tywin has rescinded all protections for me and Lorch over this.  I ride for the North, going to admit my guilt to Lord Stark and swear my life to the fucking watch.  I heard Lorch tried to flee, but one of the other Lannisters caught him, he’s on a ship bound for Eastwatch as we speak.”

“You, in the fucking Night’s Watch,” Sandor snorted, “you going to swear off women.  You fucking raped our sister.”

Gregor stood up violently, his face burning red, “I never laid a hand on her, and what would you know?  You were a pup when she died.”

Sandor stood as well, hand on the hilt of his sword, “The servants talked, they went on about how you followed her into the godswood.  She was found floating in the pond.  That was why father sent you away to foster.”

“I killed father because he was the one who did that to our sister,” Gregor snarled, “I was sent away because I tried to protect her.  You were a child; your memory of our parents is skewed.  You think I am a monster, everything I ever did was to protect your ungrateful ass.”

“How was burning half my fucking face off protecting me?” Sandor snarled.

Gregor growled, “Our grandfather was knighted for saving Lord Tywin’s father from a lioness.  Our father was little more than a commoner playing at being a noble.  Father knew shit about handling an estate, he had debts that he could never pay.  He and mother were going to sell you to a fucking Essosi pleasure house.  Our maester found out and sent word to me, why else do you think I showed up so suddenly?  You think I gave a rat’s ass about some toy knight I hadn’t touched in years and had thrown out?”

“What of all your wives?” Sandor glared, “You’ve gone through quite a few of them.”

Gregor huffed, “You think any woman wants to be married to a man with my reputation?  I am not the gallant knight their septa have promised they’d be wed to.  I’m the monster their mothers used to keep them from wandering past their castle walls at night.  Hell, not like I’ve gotten the best of selections.  The first was a sickly Frey girl, her father’s jap at fulfilling a promise with our father, she practically died of fright.  My second wife was a harpy, nothing was ever good enough, and I warned her about my headaches, unlike with our father it was an actual accident.  As for the third one, I think she’s still visiting her mother.”  Gregor noticed his brother’s eyes narrowing and frowned, “before you ask, I don’t go around killing the servants and secretly dispose of their bodies.  They’ve become so skittish over all the fucking rumors about me that I show any sign of anger or displeasure and they practically flee into the night.”

“So,” Sandor watched as his brother sat back down, the stool he sat on protesting the abnormal weight, “I get the keep and you’re off to the Wall.  Not exactly how I saw our last parting going.”

“Not exactly keen on spending the rest of my days fighting wildlings and whatever abominations exist beyond the Wall.”  Gregor shook his head, “Lord Tywin said if I didn’t do this, he’d cut off my head and send it to Dorne dipped in wax.  I’m not smart, but I’m not an idiot either.  If I go against Lord Tywin, I’d have all of Westeros coming after me.  Not even I’d survive that.”

Sandor raised his flagon, “May a wildling cut your balls off before they freeze brother.”

“Don’t go getting yourself killed little brother,” Gregor snickered, “almost forgot,” standing back up the Mountain unsheathed his greatsword, “Lord Tywin also made this an order, so, none of that shit of yours about swearing off being a knight.  You have the makings of a knight more than me.”

Snarling, Sandor stood and dropped to a knee, “Cut me with that blasted thing, and I’ll run you through before any wildling gets the chance."

"Don’t tempt me,” Gregor rested the blade on Sandor’s shoulder as he charged his brother to uphold the vows of a knight.  Once he was done, he sheathed the sword, “Rise Ser Sandor Clegane of Clegane’s Keep.”

Chapter Text

(North – Two weeks before King Robert’s arrival)

Eddard sat in his hall as Lord Tywin Lannister approached, there was a part of him that wanted to give the command to his Direwolf to attack.  He could feel her tense at his side, the beasts were not only smart enough to understand commands, but they could also sense the feelings of their partners.  Eddard had witnessed Nymeria snap at a servant boy who’d called Arya horse face while she was in earshot and had seen Shaggy Dog fetch Catelyn when Rickon had fallen and scrapped his knee.  He was pleased Catelyn had finally ceased her attempts to have the wolves cast out, though she wasn’t pleased his wolf shared their chambers now that the pups had taken to staying with his children.

He registered the surprised look on Tywin’s face as he took note of the Direwolf.  Eddard motioned a servant forward with bread and salt, “Lord Lannister, be welcome to Winterfell, please accept this offering of bread and salt.”

“I accept the offering, and intern promise to behave in kind,” Once Tywin had partaken of the customary offerings of guest rights, he drank the offered wine to wash away the taste, “Lord Stark, I had not heard your sigil had returned to life.”

Eddard smirked at the jape, “She is a recent addition to Winterfell, but she and her pups have made themselves at home.”

“She?” Tywin knew from what he experienced that the mother of the Stark children’s wolves was dead.

“Aye,” Eddard ran his hand along the Direwolf’s neck, which made the tension in her frame ebb away, “a few weeks ago I took an evening ride through the Wolf’s Wood.  My horse got spooked as I came upon my friend here fighting the largest stag I have ever seen.  I was thrown by my horse but had the presence of mind to grab my sword before the dumb animal bolted into the night.  I did not wish to be gored so used Ice to remove the stag’s antlers.  She did the rest of the work and accompanied me back to Winterfell.”

Tywin noted they were alone in the room, the servant having departed after giving him the wine, “Lord Stark, by chance, had you been ill with a rather prolonged fever recently.  One that gave you dreams of a certain nature.”

“Perhaps, would I be wrong in assuming that you have had a similar experience?” Eddard glared down at the older man, both knowing how paper thin the custom of guest rights would become.  Eddard stood, “This is not a conversation for such a place, come with me.”

At first, Tywin expected to follow Lord Stark to his solar, so was surprised when they left the keep and entered the godswood, “Is it not easier for people to spy upon us here?”

“Only the gods and they already know all that we shall be discussing,” Eddard leaned his sword against the heart tree before taking a seat on one of its roots, “Come, the gods rely on men to strike down those who have wronged them and my Direwolf only attacks if I command her to.”

“How well trained she is for being a wild animal mere weeks ago,” Tywin wiped fallen red leaves from another root and took a seat.  It was then he understood why Eddard brought them here.  Anyone who wished to listen in to their conversation would have to approach from a direction with a clear line of sight, “I take it many private conversations are held here?”

“The gods keep their council, and you southerners tend to ignore we still exist unless you wish us to fight in your wars.”  Eddard looked to where a child had darted from behind a bush, he had discovered three little birds had found their way into Winterfell.  He’d used them to send a message to Varys, two were on their way to King’s Landing with the message, and the third had taken to bringing him notes about the goings on within Winterfell.  Eddard noticed Tywin had also noticed the spy, “Ignore her, she works for me now.  One of Varys little birds, if he wasn’t already cut, I’d castrate him myself for what he’s done to them.”

Tywin nodded, “I have a few lurking about the Rock.  Have yet to catch them though, how did you do it?”

“Varys made a mistake if that is not hard to believe.  He underestimated my people.  The kitchen staff noticed them first and took them in, basic jobs of cleaning and bringing in wood from the stacks to stoke the cooking fires.” Eddard glared, his grey eyes turning hard as steel, “One of the ones I sent back to King’s Landing was a Summer Islander, she was not suited to this climate, and became ill.  Maester Luwin was called down to see to her.  When he saw that her tongue had been cut out, he checked the other two and summoned me.  When I learned they could read and write, I knew exactly what they were.”

This caused Tywin to understand Varys’ mistake, at most keeps orphan children were not taken in by the servants.  In fact, most servants would chase such children away, but not here in the North.  Added to that Winterfell’s maester cared for the small folk along with the family of his liege lord.  Tywin mused, “I will need to have a word with my servants, it seems little birds are easier to catch when employing honey instead of the stick.  How much of a vision did your son give you?”

“None,” Ned avoided eye contact, “whomever that boy was, he may have looked like my son, but he was not him.  He was a stranger, someone I have never met in my life, and I hope to never meet again.”  Eddard glared, “He showed me everything, and something he said is starting to make sense.  He said very few others would receive as much of a warning as I had.  I am not sure how to dissuade Robert from naming me as Hand, I am needed here preparing for what’s to come.”

Tywin shook his head, “We need you in King’s Landing, we would have heard if Robert had taken ill with a fever.  At the very least I would have had word from that insufferable daughter of mine.”

“You know what she and her brother did to my son?” Eddard snarled.

“Aye,” Tywin glared back, “why do you think I made haste to arrive before those self-indulgent incestual fools?  I have half a mind to have Cersei take a walk of atonement from here to Oldtown.  I am trying to salvage what I can from the mess they made.  I will attempt to persuade Robert to release Myrcella and Tommen to me, let me claim them as Lannister, and legitimize Tommen as my heir.”

Eddard balked, “You want Joffrey to remain Robert’s heir?”

“By all the gods old and new, no,” Tywin scoffed, “I’ll see the boy either sent to the Wall or dead.  He is as bad as Aerys ever was, and I cannot lay all the blame upon my daughter’s coddling.  He executed you without trial after you agreed to recant your accusations of him not being Robert’s son.  The way he treated women, especially your daughter was inexcusable.”

“At least we can agree on that, but that still leaves us the problem of Robert lacking a legitimate heir,” Ned frowned, “Stannis may not yet be under the thralldom of that Red Priestess, but like you said we have not heard of him having fallen ill with a fever.  To pass him over for Renly, would only invite another war we cannot permit with what is to come.”

Tywin nodded, “That is another reason I have come to you, you may be amenable to this proposal seeing you have sheltered a member of their family.”  Ned frowned as Tywin continued, “Aegon is the rightful king, and before you state that Robert’s claim is valid by right of conquest, he did not claim the throne on those terms.  He claimed it by his right through his Targaryen grandmother.  We need the three heads united; we both saw what occurred when they did not work together.  Your boy died alone here with what was left of your House and my sons.  His brother and aunt were too busy fighting over scraps and died for their ignorance.”

Ned glared, “You would have me turn my cloak for the dragons?  Robert would raise both our Houses regardless if your daughter is his wife just for us having this conversation.  You as well as anyone should know how he feels about anyone with the name Targaryen.”

“Indeed,” Tywin mused, “that is why I needed your assistance.  I plan to have Robert take his cousin Rhaegar’s surviving sons and his cousin Daenerys as his wards.  We then suggest he make Aegon his heir, Robert remains on the throne his remaining days, and the remaining Targaryen can live safely in Westeros and prepare to aid us all when the Long Night comes.”

Ned frowned, “This would have been easier if Jon were still alive.  Everyone on this continent thinks too highly of my ability to sway that great lummox.  You know he fell in love with a portrait of my sister that had been sent to me at the Eyrie.  The two of them only met twice in their entire lives, Lyanna hated him at first sight, she knew the kind of man he was.  The rest of us were just blind to his faults.”

“Lord Stark,” Tywin sighed, “I must also apologize for something else.  I have reversed my decision regarding the tragedy that occurred during the sack of King’s Landing.  You and many others blame me for what happened to Princess Elia and her children, I can say honestly, and I would swear to the gods, I did not give the order.  What I am at fault for is being a father who loved his daughter, had it become common knowledge Cersei in her pettiness had given such an order.  I know you love your daughters Lord Stark; we both know you would even sacrifice your vaunted honor if it meant their safety.”

Ned paled, “Cersei gave the order?”

“Yes,” Tywin admitted, “I have sent a letter to Dorne that should have arrived by now.  I expect Oberyn or one of his daughters will make an appearance eventually to enact their horrible vengeance.  I doubt you were shown my exact fate but suffice it to say Tyrion’s crossbow while not intentional was truly an act of mercy.”

(Highgarden – Around the same time)

Mace stood with Willas as they watched the wheelhouse approach.  Willas sighed from beside his father, “You did not have to come, father.  Prince Oberyn has just come for a visit with me, it is nothing official.”

“Please, son, the Red Viper of Dorne does not come simply on a whim.  The man wants something,” Mace looked to the young man at his side, “Besides, it is important I greet any guest to Highgarden, especially if they are as influential as Prince Oberyn.”

Willas grimaced as he adjusted his stance, putting more weight on his cane, “Probably got nervous about the letter I sent about your illness.  He’s been wanting me to take his daughter Obara as a bodyguard, or a paramour.”  At his father’s look, Willas raised his free hand defensively, “It’s just a jape father, he knows I’d never treat a young lady, even one of low birth, like a whore.”

“Good,” Mace frowned, “but perhaps we can consider the bodyguard angle.  She is rather skilled with that spear of hers is she not?”

Willas sighed as he watched the wheelhouse stop, and the door opened.  Oberyn stepped out followed quickly by Obara, the Prince then turned back to the wheelhouse to help each of his daughters exit, though the second and third each carried one of the youngest two.  As they approached Oberyn gave an exaggerated bow, “Lord Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Warden of the South, it is a pleasure to be in your presence once more.”  The prince motioned to his daughters, “you remember my lovely daughters of course.”

“Indeed,” Mace fought back the urge to scowl at the man’s proclivity to parade around his shame, “I must apologize in advance.  Willas had arranged rooms for your daughters near your own in the guest wing, but mother learned of this and demanded we move them to servants’ quarters.”

“I see,” Oberyn’s eyes narrowed, taking on more of the viper appearance he was lauded for, “in that case they shall room with me.  I’ll admit it has been some time since I’ve had to share a bed with either Obara or Nymeria, but the little ones often come to their mother and I when they have nightmares.”

Willas enjoyed the particular shade of red creeping up his father’s neck, as he no doubt realized the heat of Dorne made it common knowledge that most Dornish slept in the nude.  Those from the more prudish kingdoms often had trouble with the concept when visiting their southern neighbors.  During a visit to the Watergarden a year after his accident, Willas had turned so red when Tyene had entered his room in only her small clothes, to help him prepare for bed at the request of her uncle, that she thought he was about to succumb to heatstroke.

Offering to escort Oberyn and his daughters to their chamber, Willas watched his father leave, “He has been funny since the fever, I’m not sure the thought of you laying with all eight of your daughters sprawled around you didn’t just send him over the edge.”

“Come now my friend,” Oberyn preened, “do not tell me your Thorny grandmother got one over on you.”

Willas chuckled, “Of course not, my prince, I expected her to insert herself in any goings on in Highgarden.  I arranged for you to have the larger guest chambers.  The one with adjoining chambers for children and personal attendants.  There should be enough space as long as the girls group up as usual, and I am not mistaken Nymeria will find her way to my brother’s room.”

Nymeria smirked, “Garlan sent me the most interesting poetry, I did not know he knew so many flowers that paled to my beauty.  His wife is here, no?”

“Lady Leonette is in attendance yes,” Willas mused, “she’d have come to welcome you, but appearance must be kept.  Margaery has invited the younger girls to attend her sewing circle if they are so inclined.  I’ve warned her no meanness will be tolerated.”

Oberyn snorted, “Your brother is married, and he and his wife welcome my sweet Nymeria to their bed, yet you spurn my dear Obara.  If you were not my dearest friend Willas, I would take offense.”

“I blame Nymeria for seducing my brother and good sister before their marriage,” Willas retorted, “of all the Sand Snakes, she most takes after you.”

“True, but I tend to see a bit of myself in each of them,” Oberyn noticed Willas wince as he put weight on his bad leg, “you have kept to the routines I instructed you, have you not?”

Willas shook his head, “I’ve been too busy the last few weeks acting in my father’s stead.  Between handling petitioners, meetings with vassals and banners, and meetings with my grandmother.  I have been too tired in the evening.”

Oberyn nodded, “Is it the same room you put Ellaria and I in during our last visit?”  At Willas’s nod, Oberyn motioned to Tyene who quickly moved to Willas’s side, “Tyene will see to you this evening Willas, and tomorrow we will see how far you’ve regressed.”

Willas nodded, “Thank you Oberyn.”

“What are friends for,” Oberyn responded.

Tyene helped Willas to his chambers, “You have not been this bad in years, my lord.” The blond Sand Snake huffed, “Father is going to be furious.”

Willas chuckled, “I am crippled, what is the difference if there is pain when I put weight on my leg?  At least I still have the leg.”

“The difference,” Tyene glared, “is whether you wish to present yourself as a strong ruler or let yourself go and be ridiculed as a fat oaf like your father.”

Willas narrowed his gaze at the Sand Snake, “Watch yourself Tyene, I will not have you bad mouth my father under his own roof.  I know you and your sisters hold no love for him, especially after the way he decried your father after the accident.

Elsewhere, Oberyn found himself being summoned to Mace’s solar.  He entered the room to find he was not the only one summoned.  Randyll Tarly and Paxter Redwyne were already seated awaiting him.  Mace nodded to the Red Viper, “Good we are all present.”

Oberyn frowned, “I feel like the lamb being used to bait the jackal.”

“Trust me,” Paxter huffed, “you want to be here.”

Mace sighed, “Leyton has departed for the North, by ship he should reach Winterfell about the time the royal party does.  He will do what he can to warn Lord Stark without making himself look completely insane.  How goes the preparations for winter?”

Tarly leaned forward, “I’ve made the rounds, the farms are swapping to long-lasting crops and setting up the glass gardens.  Most floral farms are converting to edible crops.  I recently received news that Lord Lannister has issued a proclamation in the Westerlands.  He is giving a stipend of ten gold dragons to the family of each volunteer for the Night’s Watch.  The first ships of volunteers leave Lannisport on the first of the month.”

Oberyn watched as Mace rubbed his chin in thought, “Can we afford to do the same?”

Paxter shook his head in the negative, “We’re already stretching the coffers gathering Valarian steel and dragonglass.  I’ve sent word to all the houses that you want every cell emptied, and all prisoners brought to the Arbor for transport to the Wall.  Prisoners aren’t as reliable as volunteers, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

As confusion clouded his face Oberyn paused the conversation by raising his hand, “I must have missed something, when did the Citadel announce the seasons changing?  Are we not still in summer?”

“For now,” Tarly growled out, “but such a long summer only means an equally long winter.  We cannot allow ourselves to be unprepared.  The Reach is the only kingdom that can provide ample harvests regardless of the season.  The rest of the Seven Kingdoms rely on us to feed their people during the winter.”

“Yes, yes,” Oberyn sighed, “and at extortionist prices.”

Mace shook his head, “No, those days are gone.  From now on we trade food at cost.”

“At cost,” Oberyn blinked, “I cannot believe your mother has agreed to such a thing.”

“My mother can join the silent sisters if she thinks to bully me into changing my mind,” Mace growled out, “she does not realize we are playing a much higher stakes game than she.  She is playing with crowns and imaginary power; we play with gods and demons.”

(North – A few days before Robert Arrives)

Tywin watched as Lord Stark interacted with his family, it was unlike most family dynamics he was used to.  Of course, he’d been distant with his children when they were growing up.  He’d even once threatened Cersei with wedding her to the now Lord Stark when he was just the second son to the Warden of the North.  Only now does he realize that would have been an insult to the Starks.

It was just passing midday when he spotted her and her Direwolf skirting around the edge of the training yard.  Arya Stark was the only one of Lord Stark’s children to take after him in coloring.  The oldest boy and girl both shared their father’s overall facial shape, but the auburn hair and blue eyes of House Tully.  “You are thinking about what we saw.”

Turning to find Lord Stark and his own Direwolf approaching, Tywin nodded, “She almost succeeded in stopping that thing.”

“I would not put my daughter through such horrors,” Ned crossed his arms, “but I agree.  The gods marked her by giving her the look of my House, and the wolf’s blood is stronger in her than any of my living kin.”

Tywin smirked, “Sandor Clegane is by now aware of his inheritance of Clegane’s Keep and has been knighted by his brother.”  He noticed Ned’s frown, “I am sending Gregor to the Wall, he should arrive here with Robert to admit his guilt to you and receive punishment for his crimes.  He is to request the Watch be his sentence, I know you are the only man in the realm Robert will not countermand on this.  Cersei will not be pleased; she is aware by now that I have taken Sandor from being Joffrey’s shield and will try to get Robert to rescind the punishment.  Knowing Robert, if I passed judgment, he'd overrule it just to spite me.”

Eddard nodded, “How does this concern, my daughter?”

“I do not know how much of your visions reflected Sandor, at first, I wondered why the ravens were showing me so much of a man I have only viewed as a mildly easier-to-control dog compared to his brother.  Sandor makes a most unconventional knight; he despises the entire institution due to the inclusion of his brother among the ranks of those claiming to be knights.  Yet, without taking vows the man upholds the very precepts of what knighthood is meant to be.”

“He rode down the baker’s boy at the crossing,” Ned commented.

Tywin nodded, “Indeed, but he was also under orders from my daughter and grandson, do you think either of them would have made the boy’s end quick or clean?  Joffrey is a beast; he gutted a pregnant cat for the simple fact he was curious.  What do you think he’d have done to the boy if Sandor brought him back to the camp alive?  What would the king’s guard have done to a boy of no standing, compared to the tortures they visited upon your highborn daughter.”

Tywin knew it was not hard to imagine what Trant or one of the others would do.  Especially as Barristan or Jamie would be preoccupied with other charges.  He waited as Eddard mulled over his words.  The Lord of Winterfell finally looked to him, “What exactly are you proposing?”

“I have already sent a letter to Gregor’s wife, informing her of the change in situations at Clegane Keep.  She is to remain and maintain the keep in Sandor’s stead.  His appointment is perfunctory at best, I doubt the man would desire to remain there for any great length of time.  I expect him to follow Gregor to ensure the man does as commanded and doesn’t run from his fate.  Sandor is gruff, but I am sure he will enjoy training her, especially if it is to spite your wife.  The man does not take disrespect lightly, and we both know your wife is quick to judge people based on gossip or the whispered word of someone she trusts.”

“I have already dispatched a letter to Syrio Forel, he is a friend of Lord Manderly and his sons, and as shown in my visions, is in search of a new patron.  I have offered him a place here at Winterfell.”  Eddard frowned, “Arya will be as prepared as I can make her, but there is still the fact she could not reach her target.”

It had been a disheartening sight; the girl was moments away from striking a deadly blow upon the fiend that commanded the Others.  Had he been defeated the rest of his race would have fled, returned to the lands of always winter, perhaps never to be heard from again.  She had let drop the Valarian steel dagger, prepared to catch it with her still free hand, but another hand caught her wrist.  A cold and lifeless hand, one attached to the body that had once been known as Jon Snow, a young man she had once called brother.

“Have you spoken with the boy?” Tywin frowned, “it would be best he knows the truth before we enact our plan.”

Ned nodded, “After the evening meal, I told him to meet me in the crypt.  It is the one place in Winterfell besides the godswood I know we won’t be overheard.”

(Dorne – Some days earlier at Starfall)

Doran Martell entered the bed chamber of the Lord of Starfall.  Lord Dayne was a younger man than Doran but had suffered greatly during the Rebellion.  Not only had he lost a brother and a sister, but he had also been thrown from his horse at the Battle of the Trident and was subsequently trampled by the mount of a countryman.  Lord Dayne survived but lost the use of one of his legs and his left arm had been amputated at the elbow.  Doran never pitied his old friend; the man would have been insulted by such.

A wheeze came from the brittle form upon the bed, Lord Dayne looked far older than he should, “Lord Doran, it is good you have come so swiftly.”

“Of course, my friend,” Doran hobbled over to the bed, lowering himself to sit on the edge, “a prince must remember his friends.  Especially those whose loyalty cost them so greatly.”  Doran frowned, “I have heard you requested Ned not to return until after you have passed.  Do you not wish to see your son, one final time?”

Lord Dayne smiled sadly, “Not my son, not a Dayne other than my wife, and I claimed him as such, claimed him as ours.”

A knowing nod came from Doran, “The tales of Ashara’s child being stillborn, and a girl, lies.  Why such subterfuge?”

“Pettiness, anger, revenge,” Lord Dayne chuckled, but it swiftly turned to a dry cough, “He abandoned her, swore he loved her but married that fish to appease the Tully cunt.  I forbade her from telling him when he came to return our brother’s sword.  To my shame that was too much to ask, to make her lie to his face as he held his nephew.”

Doran had realized Lord Dayne was speaking of Eddard Stark, “What do you mean?  Stark has no nephews.”

“One, he claimed the boy as his bastard, not even knowing his actual bastard would be raised as my son.”  Lord Dayne sighed, “Aegon, lives, Jon Connington is raising him in Essos.  The Storm Lord is too stuck in the past, full of too much hate, too much ego.”

Doran frowned, “My nephew lives?  How do you know this, and why haven’t you told me before now?”

“Didn’t know,” Lord Dayne motioned to a bowl resting on the table next to his bed, “fever, Bloodraven, and a boy, showed me what horrors transpire after my death.  You must prepare, the Long Night is upon you and yours.  Even Dorne will not be safe from the cold and the dead.  Standing alone will only mean Dorne shall die alone.”

If it had been any other man, Doran would take this for the ramblings of the dying.  He took Lord Dayne’s hand in his own, “I am not of the First Men, my friend.  Legends of the Long Night are but tales to frighten young children to me and mine, tales I never put much stock in when I was young.  Please, my friend, tell me what we must do to save Dorne, to shield our people from such horrors as you have seen.”

“Dorne cannot stand alone, the sands and mountains will not shelter you from that which lurks in the dark and cold.  The dead are relentless, they will find you they will kill you, and their masters will raise you to serve them.”  Lord Dayne gave a forced cough, “Put aside pettiness, and self-interest, abandon pride.  Let the ghosts of the past rest, the dead have no need for revenge, their one desire is for us to live.”

Doran’s jaw worked as he realized Lord Dayne was referring to his long-term goal to avenge his sister and her children.  He noticed Lord Dayne’s eyes fighting to remain open, “Rest my friend, we will speak more on the morrow.”

“There will be time to rest enough when I go to join my brother and sister,” Lord Dayne struggled to sit up, “The Others do not care about the blood in your veins, they want only for a world of death.  You are the Prince of Dorne, you are the one who can unite the three heads.  Brother must not battle brother, kin must not slay kin, Fire, and Ice.”  With those words, Lord Dayne slumped back on his bed, his head lolling to the side.

Hesitantly Doran placed two fingers to the pulse point on Lord Dayne’s wrist.  He felt the weak and thready thrum of a heartbeat.  He sighed as he gently moved Lord Dayne so that he was laying more comfortably and in such a way that his airway would not be obstructed.  Doran then stood up and looked down at the frail body upon the bed, “Regain your strength, my friend, the gods have not called you away quite yet.”

As Doran departed the room, he found the Dayne’s maester waiting patiently, “See to your lord, he exerted himself far too much.”  The maester bowed to the Prince of Dorne before bustling into the chamber.  Doran then noticed Lord Dayne’s last surviving sibling standing at the end of the hall.  As he approached, she began to curtsy to him, and he paused her with a motion of his hand, “Allyria, there is no need for such formalities between friends.”

Allyria grimaced, “A letter came for you from Highgarden, it bares the seal of Prince Oberyn.”

“I have been expecting this.”  He held out his hand and the youngest Dayne sibling passed him the missive, “We should dine together this evening.  I would like to hear all about this Storm Lord your brother arranged for you to marry.”

A blush appeared on Allyria’s cheeks, “Of course my prince.”

He watched her walk down the hall before entering Lord Dayne’s solar, not that the man had used the room in well over a year.  Doran glared at the sword Dawn resting on a stand in the corner, his anger toward the last man who wielded that blade was unquenchable.  He sat at the desk and grabbed a letter opener decorated with a falling star embossed on the handle.

The letter began with the normal mundane greetings along with the fact that Oberyn and his daughters had arrived safely and had been greeted warmly.  For all the animosity between the two houses over the tourney accident that crippled Willas, the Martells and Tyrells got along surprisingly well.  If not for the existing secret marriage pact with Viserys, he’d agree to a marriage between his daughter and Willas.

Doran frowned as he read Oberyn’s recounting of a number of odd meetings he had been included in by Mace.  The Lord of Highgarden had been meeting regularly with Paxter Redwyne and Randyll Tarly.  As Lord Paxter was kin to Mace, that was not odd in itself.  It was the inclusion of Lord Tarly, whose only useful skill was commanding and training soldiers.  Oberyn reported that the Reach was preparing for winter, and not just any winter, but the Long Night.

 A chill went through Doran as he read those words.  The words of Lord Dayne echoed around his head, along with the mention of the three heads.  Elia had oft mentioned the prophecy that haunted Rhaegar, the cause of his endless melancholy.  Doran turned to a chest he’d had brought into the solar, he’d intended to use the room during his stay.  Opening the chest, it took him only a moment to find a special seal.  One that all maesters would recognize, the sigil of House Martell with the flourishes that meant only another Lord Paramounts may dare read the words.

Chapter Text

(The Vale – A few days after Jon Arryn’s death)

The gates of Runestone opened, expelling a group of twenty riders who flew forth from the ancient keep.  At the head of the riders, a girl, more a young woman rode hard, her eyes focused only on the road ahead of her, knowing the knights at her heel would protect her with their lives.  Secured at her side, was a leather pouch containing letters and missives she had been charged with delivering at the behest of Lord Bronze Yohn Royce.

Mya Stone had sat at her guardian’s bedside for nearly a moon, tending to the man who in her eyes was a beacon of strength.  Lord Royce had shielded her from more than a few attempts by cutthroats sent by the Queen.  The one time she’d asked why he did not inform her father, the King about the attacks.  Lord Royce smirked and said, “These dogs just keep an old man on his toes.  Besides, you’ve faced worse from the Mountain Clans leading visitors to the Eyrie.”

It had shocked everyone at Runestone when Lord Royce shot up from his sickbed, his son Waymar’s name on his lips.  Lord Royce had been abed with a horrible fever when word came from the Wall of Waymar going missing during a ranging in the frozen wastes beyond.  Another missive came weeks after that a man who had been with Waymar was caught south of the wall, having been arrested and executed for desertion.  It was now believed the man killed his two companions somewhere north of the Wall, before finding his way south.

According to Lord Royce though, this was not the case.  Against the wishes of the maester and Mya, the Lord of Runestone sequestered himself within his solar, ignoring his sons and only admitting Mya when she delivered his meals.  He’d removed her from her normal tasks of guiding people to the Eyrie, not letting her far from his sight.  It was when word of Lord Arryn’s death reached them that Lord Royce began to scare her.  He’d talked of razing the Fingers and killing Balish.  He calmed though once news of both Lord Balish and Lady Lysa Arryn’s deaths had arrived.

For days Mya and her entourage road like minions from all seven hells were trailing them.  It was the night after the second to last letter had been delivered that Mychel Redfort, chief among her protectors finally spoke up, “Mya, we have been riding hard, I doubt there is a keep or castle in the Vale we have not visited.  Even my father was surprised, he barely had time to get us fresh horses before you had us moving.  What did Lord Royce say to you?”

Mya clutched at the leather pouch containing the final letter, one addressed to her father, “All of our fates are riding with us Mychel.  Lord Royce said the Old Gods gave him a vision; he saw what is to befall us if we do not move swiftly.”

Mychel had long had feelings for Mya, and she had feelings for him.  He knew he could not act upon them, his father would never permit the match, and if he even dared to touch her, well if Lord Royce didn’t kill him, the king sure as anything would.  It was no secret in the Vale that Robert Baratheon loved Mya, rumors had it he’d even wanted to call her to King’s Landing but decided not to after a fight with the Queen.

Mya had known why Lord Royce had sent her, her father would be more willing to believe her, his daughter.  She also knew Mychel was sent to protect her, as Lord Royce knew of the pair’s feelings.  She could only pray they intercepted the royal party before it was too late.

She should have known better; the gods are fickle and had never answered her prayers before.  A few days after leaving the Vale and entering the Riverlands, their party had reached the edge of the Neck.  One of Mychel’s men looked up from where he was examining the tracks along the King’s Road, “Large party moved through here, we’re probably three days behind them.”

“We need to press on,” Mya moved to proceed into the neck, but Mychel’s hand snapped out to catch the reins of her horse.

Shaking his head Mychel indicated the setting sun, “The Neck is too dangerous to ride at night.  We should camp here; the King’s Road is a narrow strip of land through there we could lose our way.  Everything from the plants and animals to the land itself will try to kill us in The Neck.”

Mya grimaced, “Fine, but we set out at first light.”

(Pentos – Days before Robert arrives at Winterfell)

Jorah Mormont had been ill with a fever, just before Varys message arrived.  He was about to toss the letter in the fire when he realized it was too soon for the orders to assassinate Daenerys.  Ripping open the letter there was the scrawl he was familiar with since his exile from Westeros had begun, he got enough promises of eventual pardons and the freedom to return home.

Varys was peculiarly asking for Jorah to retrieve three objects in the possession of one Illyrio Mopatis, a merchant prince of Pentos.  Jorah knew the man well, as he was often a contact of Lord Varys with whom many an order had come from.  What Jorah did not expect was the scene he found upon arrival.  The heads of Illyrio and Viserys on pikes and about a dozen Dothraki roaming about the manse.  Jorah immediately recognized Khal Drogo who was conversing with two women, a young man, and a younger boy.  The group wore clothing that was most definitely Dornish, both boys had the sun and spear of House Martell emblazoned upon their tunics.  One woman had the look of a Norvoshi, she was speaking with Khal Drogo as though they were well acquainted.

Knowing the chances of being caught spying would lead to a quick death, Jorah walked around the corner like he was late for a meeting.  The group spotted him, and Drogo motioned his men to stop his approach, Jorah obeyed the guards, and pretended to take in the severed heads for the first time, “Guess I’m not getting the money Mopatis owes me.”

“You are Westrosi,” the young man moved towards him, “from which kingdom?”

“North and your sigil mark you as Dornish, a Martell.” Jorah frowned, “beg pardon but I’ve was never very familiar with people of import from below the Neck.”

The young man sneered, “I am Prince Quentyn Martell, eldest son of Prince Doran.  What has brought one of Lord Stark’s underlings so far from home?  You Northmen never stray far from your trees.”

“Quentyn,” the Norvoshi woman scolded, “manners, the man showed you courtesy, so show it in kind.”  The woman kept glaring at the young man as she spoke to Jorah, “I’m Mellario of Norvos, lady consort to Prince Doran of Dorne.  You speak well, what House do you hail from, my lord?”

Jorah grimaced, “House Mormont of Bear Island, doubt you have heard of us.  As the boy says, we don’t normally stray far.”

The other woman gave a knowing smirk, “Lord Jorah Mormont, oh, how Lord Stark would pay a handsome reward for your capture.”  A couple of Dothraki must have an understanding of common as they bristled with the thought of coin.  The woman looked to her companions, “The man was driven to sell poachers he arrested into slavery to cover the debts incurred making his Hightower bride comfortable.  As you know slavery is illegal in Westeros, and Lord Stark is a most honorable man.  I am sure he’d enjoy executing you along with any other slavers he could catch.”  The Dothraki who could understand her suddenly leaned further away from the idea of seeking the reward.

Mellario frowned, “What debt did this merchant owe you?”

“Just a bit of coin,” Jorah shrugged, “did a job for him, he was supposed to pay me when I got back to Pentos.”  Jorah kept glancing at the severed head of Viserys, “Figured your lot would be all for Viserys, kind of wondering why you went and did King Robert’s work for him.”

The woman who had yet to name herself sighed, “We came for the girl, not the mad prince.”

Mellario glared at the woman before motioning to Drogo, “My friend here was in talks of claiming the girl as a bride in exchange for helping to reclaim the Iron Throne.  I made a counteroffer, Prince Viserys did not like my proposal and instead drew his sword.  Khal Drogo’s family and mine have sworn blood oaths, he killed Viserys to protect me and my sons, Illyrio was an unfortunate casualty when he tried to intercede on the prince’s behalf.”

Wetting his lips Jorah pulled the message from his sleeve, “I wasn’t fully truthful with you, I’m here under orders of the Spider.  Lord Varys had sent me to secure a chest, Mopatis should have had the key on his person.  The chest contains something valuable enough to garner me a king’s pardon.  You let me acquire it, I’ll stay out of your way unless you’d be willing to see me to King’s Landing to turn it over.”

Mellario frowned as she snatched the message and read it, “Varys says here a plan is in the works to reunite House Targaryen and House Baratheon, to resolve the disputes of the past and prepare to stand united against a future threat.  He calls all true sons and daughters of Westeros home.”

“My liege lord’s words are truly terrifying my lady,” Jorah grimaced, “Winter is coming, and what is in that chest will see us all through the winter to come.”  He looked around, “Where is the princess?”

Within the manse, Daenerys sat locked within her chambers, she’d barricaded the door as best she and the servants could as Illyrio’s guards fought the Dothraki.  She’d tried to calm her brother when the party of Dornish nobles had revealed they’d received word to escort Daenerys back to Westeros.  Viserys had commented that it was about time the people called him home to take the throne.  It had been the younger Martell brother who’d rather coarsely said that they were leaving her brother to rot in Essos because nobody wanted him.

Viserys had threatened the boy, which had enranged the Dothraki Khal who went to shield the child who’d dared to wake the dragon.  When her brother had been run through, she distinctly remembered screaming before a guard began ushering her to safety.  Now she and the half dozen servants Illyrio had charged with attending her were barricaded within her guest chamber.

A knock at the door drew her attention, “Princess, are you all right?”

She did not recognize the voice, though it spoke in the common tongue, “Who are you?  Are you with those Martells?”

“Not exactly Princess, I’m from the North,” The voice sighed heavily, “I feel kind of silly talking through this door, and our friends out here are not exactly patient.  Do you mind if we talk face to face?  You have my word no harm will come to you.”

She saw the servants shaking their heads in the negative, fearful of what would befall them, “What of the servants?”

“They’ll be fine princess, the rest of the merchant prince's servants are alive and well, only the guards who attacked first were felled.” The voice chuckled, “Princess, you have my word as a member of House Mormont of Bear Island that no harm will befall you or the servants under your care.  If it makes you feel better, I’m wearing Westrosi armor, makes me a bit formidable against these Dothraki’s swords.”

The servants looked to Daenerys, the fear still evident, “We will remove the barricade, you are being honorable enough seeing as you could simply break your way in.”

“I thank you, princess,” It took the servants a few minutes to deconstruct the barricade, she had attempted to help, but one of the servants had made her sit on the raised bed, making her look down on whoever entered the room.  Once the door was clear of obstructions one of the servants opened it.  An older man she assumed was of an age with her elder brother Rhaegar entered, “See, that wasn’t so hard.”  The man looked to the servants, “Khal Drogo is offering you all employ at his manse here in Pentos, otherwise his bloodriders have a pile of loot from which you can fill your pockets on your way out.”

The servants all turned to her, she had no authority here but nodded to them, and they quickly fled.  She bowed her head, “Lord Stark has sent you to take my head?”

“Lord Stark would take my head.  If I laid a hand on yours princess.  He hasn’t spent the years since the Rebellion sheltering and hiding your nephew for nothing.”  At her confused look, the man chuckled, “Sorry, just wanted to see your face when you learned that fact.  My liege lord’s bastard, you may or may not have heard of him.  In truth, he is the son of your eldest brother, and the Lady Lyanna Stark.”

“Did you come here to tell Viserys and me this?”  Daenerys frowned, “To use it to make Viserys release his claim to the throne?”

The Northman grimaced, “Anyone who tries putting Lyanna’s boy on the throne is going to have to take him from the North.  We aren’t too keen on the south, and no way we’d be letting one of ours back into that viper’s nest easily.  Lord Stark knew what he was doing claiming Jon as his own bastard, hid the boy in plain sight, and prevented those with too much greed and ambition from even looking at him.”

A smile came to Daenerys face, “Jon?  That is not a very Targaryen name.”

“No, but it is a strong northern name, for a strong northern lad,” Jorah remembered watching the boy’s somber look as his own brother and aunt abandoned him and the rest of the North to their fate, “A lad who from what I hear is close to those he has been raised to believe are his half-siblings.  He doesn’t know that he is your brother’s son, he’ll need support when that comes out because he’s been raised with the truth.  The truth that your father, his grandfather, murdered his other grandfather and uncle.”

“Father,” Daenerys bit her lip, “Viserys always claimed father was in his right to execute them.”

Jorah sighed, “Your brother was a boy, he did not know everything that was occurring around him let alone understand it.  I fought in the Rebellion, I marched beside my father to get justice for Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon, and to see Lady Lyanna safely returned.”  Jorah noticed the girl frown at the last part, “There had been a misunderstanding, a couple of malcontents had made Lord Brandon believe your brother Rhaegar had abducted Lady Lyanna with impure intentions.  That is what led to the events that caused the Rebellion.  There is something I remember very clearly from the end of the Rebellion.  The day Lord Lannister presented the bodies of Elia and her children, Robert’s behavior very nearly saw the North turn on him.  Had Lord Stark not ordered us to quit the city, and sent most of us home, I am not sure what would have happened.”

Daenerys grimaced, “What am I to do?  The Usurper will hunt me down.”

“There is a chest I recovered from Illyrio’s office, I’m to return it to a contact in King’s Landing.”  Jorah grimaced, “The Martells have agreed to give me transport.  They were hoping you would return with them; they could reunite you with your nephews.”

“Nephews?” Daenerys looked confused, “There is more than Jon?”

“Aye,” Jorah sighed, “though I do not currently know his location.  Varys secreted Aegon from the capital before the sack.  I am sure Lord Doran and Lord Stark can utilize their resources to find him.”

“What of the Usurper?” Daenerys asked.

Jorah mused, “Leave that to Lord Stark, he is the one man in the Seven Kingdoms who can knock some sense into the stag king.  If all else fails, I’ve heard rumors Lord Stark’s Direwolf enjoys the taste of stag.”

The next day, the Memory of Elia left the dock of Pentos with the four members of House Martell, Jorah Mormont, Daenerys Stormborn, and a chest carrying three dragon eggs.

(Shy Maid – Around the same time)

Young Griff/Aegon watched as Septa Lemore glared down at the quailing form of Griff.  Lemore had taken to fever over a moon past, and Aegon had stayed at her bedside as Haldon had done all in his power to tend to the woman.  Griff had wanted Aegon to be kept away from Lemore, but Haldon had swiftly told them the fever was not from any known illness.  So, Griff had relented and allowed Aegon to help tend to the ailing woman.

That all changed an hour ago, both Aegon and Haldon had left her side for only a moment to tend to their own needs.  Within that time the septa had risen from her bed and had made her way to Griff’s cabin.  The others aboard heard indistinguishable yelling, before Griff let out a scream that was higher pitched than any aboard had ever heard come from a man.

When Aegon entered the cabin, he found his two primary guardians glaring daggers at each other, but the fact Griff was on the floor clutching his manhood protectively made Lemore’s glare far more poignant.  She turned to him and those gathered at the doorway, “Yandry, bring us in to dock.  Rolly, find us a ship that can make the journey to White Harbor.”

It took only a glance at the floored man for the other two to scurry away to fulfill the septa’s orders.  Lemore then turned back to Griff, “Jon, you can return with us, or you can remain here to rot with your regrets.”

“You think your lover will protect you?  He abandoned you for that cold trout woman, he probably hasn’t thought of you in years.” Griff snarled, “I won’t let you sacrifice Aegon, the Usurper will kill him.”

“Ned will never let that happen, he has protected Aegon’s brother for years, you know the North is the safest Kingdom, only a fool tries to invade without dragons.”  Lemore pulled a dagger from her dress, “You will remain in this cabin until we depart.  For the love of Rhaegar and Elia we share, I do not want to kill another who remembers them fondly, but for the vileness you levy at Lyanna, I will not hesitate.  Her memory does not need to be tainted by your jealousy.”

Griff grumbled inaudibly but otherwise remained on the floor.  Lemore turned to Haldon, “Take everything he could use to cause harm to himself or others, and all documents we may need.  Leave him a book or something to keep him entertained.”

Aegon frowned, “Septa?”

Lemore turned to him, “My prince, we must hurry, with any luck we can make it to Winterfell before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” Aegon looked to the others before looking at the septa seriously, “I thought we had to wait for an army to retake the throne.”

Lemore shook her head, “There is something direr than reclaiming your family’s throne.  I must reach Winterfell before he leaves for the south.  Before your bother chooses to take a path, you cannot follow.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, Griff had told him about the woman who’d lured his father away.  A girl from the North who’d used feminine wiles to seduce his father.  Any brother from that woman would only be a bastard out to take what was rightfully his.  Lemore must have seen these thoughts through his expression as she began stroking his cheek as she’d done when he was very young, “Oh, my sweet child.  If only I was stronger then.  Jon is a spiteful wretch.”

“Hey,” Griff yelled indignantly from his place on the floor.

Lemore ignored the outburst as she continued to soothe Aegon, “It was your mother who selected Lyanna, she saw how the girl railed against the indignity of being betrothed to Robert Baratheon.  She despised the man for his womanizing, for the fact he already had a bastard child.  Would someone who had those thoughts truly lure another woman’s husband to have a bastard of their own?  There is much we do not know, Lyanna had sent a letter to her family, a letter that apparently never arrived.”

Aegon frowned, “What do you mean?  My mother selected Lady Lyanna.”

“After you,” Griff growled from the floor, “your mother could not have another child.  She was one of the smartest people I knew, kind and loyal.  Unfortunately, the gods cursed her with a frail body with a weak constitution.  Rhaegar, the beautiful fool, believed he needed to have a third child.  A Visenya to complete the set with your sister Rhaenys and you Aegon.  The three heads of the dragon, or so he thought.”

Lemore sighed, “Rhaegar was right to a point, the dragon needs three heads, three dragon riders.  He was wrong that they needed to emulate the Conqueror and his sister wives.  He thought you were the prince that is promised, Azor Ahai, the champion of the dawn.  Many names that relate to the same prophecy.  There is a problem with that theory, you stop being a prince the day you are crowned king.”

Aegon looked to his feet, “Then my brother, he is the prince that is promised?”

“No one person is all those things, prophesy is what we make of it.  Trying to make it happen or prevent it is only asking for suffering.  Instead, we take destiny in hand, and make the world we desire.”  Lemore indicated her septa robes, “I am tired of pretending to be someone I’m not.  I abandoned two people who mean more to me than my own life, both believe I killed myself, and I must face the fact they may never forgive me.  You have family who believes you are dead; they plot and scheme in the shadows to avenge you.  All that plotting will do is weaken us all for the trials to come.  To borrow the words of others, winter is coming, and the night is dark and full of terrors.”

(North – A few days before Robert arrives)

Jon Snow entered the crypt, a torch guiding him down into the cold earth.  While his father had not specifically told him where to meet, it was not uncommon for Lord Stark to call Robb and Jon down here for history lessons on their ancestors.  The girls were not included, and Bran and Rickon were too young yet to include, and while Lady Stark had been against Jon’s inclusion, she had given up when his father used his “Jon is my blood” line.  Jon had long ago learned that was his father’s nice warning, the only other warning usually involved Ice and the redundant polishing rag.

What Lady Catelyn didn’t know, was Lord Stark taught Robb and Jon other lessons down in the crypt.  It was where he’d allowed them their first drink of ale, wine that had not been watered down, and mead.  It was also where he had given them the talk, which he’d repeated in his solar a month later when Theon got caught sneaking down to Winter Town.  It was also the place he took them for any serious talks, like when he had to explain to them why Jon had the surname Snow. 

This was why Jon knew where to go within the crypts, if it was serious talk, there was only one place Lord Stark took them.  Robb thought it was their father seeking strength from grandfather, Uncle Bandon, and Aunt Lyanna.  That had sounded like a good enough reason to Jon for their serious talks to take place before their closest relatives within the crypt.  So, it was no surprise to find Lord Stark before the statue of Aunt Lyanna, a fresh winter rose resting on the pedestal.  Jon moved to stand beside his father and gave a silent prayer for his departed family.

Eddard waited for Jon to finish his prayer, there were times Jon reminded him so much of Lyanna.  Then others he could only assume it was his father showing through.  He knew he could not delay this conversation.  Lord Tywin had been blunt in pointing out there were no doubt others who’d received the same amount of detail to the visions as they.  Jon would need to be prepared, especially if for some reason Robert learned the truth before Eddard could be in a position to reason with his old friend.

The image of the fiend leading the Others driving a sword made of Ice through Jon’s stomach played through his head.  Jon had gone to protect Bran, arriving just after Theon had been cut down.  He challenged the monster, it had sneered maliciously, it was aware the sword Jon wielded was Valarian steel, and had seen him cut down its followers in previous battles.  When Jon went to strike, the fiend stepped closer, caught his wrist, and plunged its cursed blade into Jon’s stomach.  The creature’s sneer had turned into a grin as it twisted the blade before pulling it out.

“Father,” Jon looked to Eddard with mild concern and confusion.

It was only now he realized he’d been staring at the boy, “Sorry, Jon, just lost in thought.”  He looked to his sister’s likeness, though the carver had not done her justice, “There is a part of me that would like to never have this conversation.  A part that wished Catelyn had done as I asked and treated you with kindness.  That she’d open that cold heart of hers to see you as I do.”

This confused Jon, “What do you mean father?”

Eddard grimaced, “Jon, no matter what you are my blood, and I have loved you as one of my own since the day your mother placed you in my arms and made me promise to protect you.”  Jon remained silent as Eddard rallied the conviction to continue, “Jon, you have asked me the identity of your mother more times than I could count.  Not to mention the number of times my lady wife has asked.  There is a reason I have not been able to reveal who your mother truly was.”

Jon swallowed hard, “But that’s changed?”

“In a way yes,” Eddard frowned, “originally the information was only known to a handful of people.  Most of them had since taken the knowledge to their grave, leaving myself and Lord Howland Reed as the only ones who knew the truth.  Something occurred recently, and now the information has spread to an unknown number of people.”

“Does this have something to do with that fever you had?” Jon grimaced, “Lady Stark was worried, she even started one of those prayer wreath things like she does when the others get sick.”

Eddard grimaced, “In a way, Lord Tywin had a similar fever as did his brother Lord Kevan.  It is why Lord Lannister came for a visit, to arrive when he did, he set out from Casterly Rock before Lord Arryn passed and King Robert set out from King’s Landing.  He did so because while he had that fever, he received a vision of sort from the Old Gods.”

Jon frowned, “Lord Tywin is from the south, doesn’t he follow the Seven?”

The made Eddard chuckle, “Just because someone is from the south doesn’t automatically mean they follow the faith, though what I know of Lord Tywin he isn’t exactly a man to put his faith in anything other than himself.  The fever does not seem to be regulated to people based on faith, considering the number of messages I’ve received from the Reach.  It does appear to only affect people who share our blood, the blood of the First Men.”

“So, why did it only affect you father, and not the rest of us?” Jon looked seriously at Eddard.

“That question gets complicated Jon, and there are parts of the answer I have not yet come to grips with myself,” Eddard sighed, “You will be burdened enough in the coming days without the additional burdens that are mine to bare.”  Realizing he’d stalled for as long as he could he spoke calmly, “Jon, the reason I could not tell you who your mother was, was the truth would endanger not only you but all of us.  You know the story of my sister Lyanna.”

Jon’s brows furrowed as he nodded, “She was abducted by Prince Rhaegar, and when Uncle Brandon went to rescue her, he was arrested by the Mad King.  The Mad King then summoned grandfather to King’s Landing.  The King then murdered grandfather and Uncle Brandon.  At the end of the war, you found Aunt Lyanna, but she died.”

Eddard nodded his head, “That is the basic information, but what nobody knows is who else I found when I found my sister.”

Shaking his head Jon disagreed, “You found the three missing King’s Guard.”

“Aye,” Eddard sighed, “but why were three members of the King’s Guard guarding a girl in the middle of the desert?”  He could tell by the look in the boy’s eyes he was starting to piece it together.

Jon bowed his head, “You aren’t my father.”

“No, I did not sire you Jon, but in every other way, you are my son,” Eddard growled out, “I’d have legitimized you as a Stark if I did not have to deal with Cat’s misbegotten fears either you or your children would endanger your siblings or their children’s claim.”

“My father was it,” Jon seemed unable to finish his sentence though Eddard could sense why the boy had such troubling thoughts.  While there were stories throughout the realm that Rhaegar and Lyanna eloped, no bard dared sing those stories in Robert’s presence.  The prevailing tales painted a much darker portrait with claims of rape and abuse.  Unfortunately, those tales were also predominantly told in the North as the bards and minstrels feared Lord Stark had a similar view regarding the romantic tales as the Baratheon king.

Eddard had to think back on his final meeting with Ashara, her eldest brother had only just returned from the war and had refused to meet with him.  Ashara had met him in her brother’s stead, he’d feared the storm of rage within her eyes had been aimed at him, but it was the sole property of Ser Arthur.  Arthur had accused Ned of abandoning Ashara and had sworn to make him pay.  Howland’s spear had kept the Sword of the Morning from making good on that threat.

Ashara had broken down in his arms, explaining everything.  Rhaegar’s obsession with prophecy, Elia’s inability to conceive the third child Rhaegar was desperate for, and Lyanna’s willingness to act in Elia’s stead to bare another child.  Rhaegar and Lyanna had wed first at the Isle of Faces, then again at the sept of Sunspear with Princes Doran and Oberyn as witnesses.  It had been Oberyn who sent the note revealing the location of the Tower of Joy, and he was meant to meet Eddard’s party before they arrived.  Eddard never learned why Oberyn did not show up as he’d promised Ashara.

Eddard shook his head, “While I cannot say what feelings were between my sister and your father,” even now he had difficulty naming Rhaegar as Jon’s father, “you were not the product of anything untoward.  Some truths will come forth in the coming days, but Jon, I need you to trust me and know I will let no harm come to you or our family.”

“Yes Lord Stark,” Jon said flatly, “may I have some time alone?”

With a nod, Eddard turned to leave, but paused, “Before I go, there is one thing.  For their safety, do not tell Robb or the others what we have spoken of.”  A Jon’s pained look Eddard shook his head, “I do not ask you to lie, just do not tell them the identity of your mother until after I have broached the subject with Robert.  I am already summoning a few of my more steadfast banners to help me with that.  It is best Robert hears it from me in person, I can gauge his moods easier, and if he hears it from someone else by chance.”  Eddard grimaced, “I’m trying to stop wars, not start them.”

Jon watched Lord Stark disappear around the corner of the crypt before letting his eyes turn to the statue of his mother.  He knew from the way Lord Stark’s face had dropped whenever the subject of his mother came up, that she must be dead, there had always been a deep sadness in his uncle’s eyes.  The thought of Lord Stark being his uncle and not his father was more painful than the knowledge his mother’s bones had been so close, that he’d paid respects at her grave so regularly with his brothers and sisters, who were actually his cousins.

A wave of sudden anger came over him when he thought of Rhaegar Targaryen.  The man may have sired him, but he was no father.  The memory of Maester Luwin teaching about the sack of King’s Landing to Robb, Theon, Sansa, and himself were rather fresh.  Jon realized the two bodies laid at the feet of King Robert had been his real sister and brother, that their father had failed them just as he’d failed to be there for his mother and him.

Jon did not know how long he’d been sitting in the crypt, but it was nearing the hour of the wolf when he exited to find the only living thing in the Litchfield was Ghost.  His Direwolf, the Direwolf given to him by the pup’s mother.  He remembered Lord Stark’s words he realized now where a slip on the man’s part.  He’d said the mother Direwolf had sensed Jon was as much his blood as any of his children.  It was only knowing what he knew now that the wording made sense.  Seeing his pup let out a yawn and stretch, Jon knelt and scooped him up, “I know it’s late Ghost, but there is someone I must speak with.”

With the Direwolf pup half running to keep up with Jon’s stride, he headed in the direction of the old keep.  Lord Tywin had taken up residence in one of the guest rooms there.  As he approached a guard in a crimson cloak looked him over, “He’s expecting you boy.  Said we’re to let you pass.”

He sent a glare at the guard before pushing the door open.  He found Lord Lannister combing over an old tome, most likely one from Winterfell’s library.  Tywin raised a brow, “You are later than I expected.  How was your conversation with your father in the crypts, enlightening I would guess.”

Jon growled out, “You sit there so smugly after what you did to my sister and brother?”

“I sit here smugly because you are acting exactly as I predicted you would,” Tywin smirked, “as any young man would after finding out the man accused of the murders of his kin was within striking distance.”

“What do you mean?  You ordered your men to butcher them, everyone knows what happened during the sack of King’s Landing.”

Tywin snorted, “Everyone knows shit, the masses are easily swayed with tales of proud honorable knights and vile greedy men.  I do admit I have garnered a reputation for vile and despicable acts.  I was not the one to order the deaths of your birth father’s first wife or your siblings.  My orders had been to secure them so loyalists could not flee with them and prolong the war.  There are nonlethal means of removing one from succession, the greatest example resides at the Wall to this very day.  Your granduncle Aemon is the maester of castle black.  Your brother Aegon could have been sent to join him when he came of age, and Rhaenys could have been sent to the faith.  I know your father would burn the other kingdoms if anyone even suggested putting you on the throne, I suggested we tell Robert you’d be taking a holdfast in my lands and marrying a Westerland girl.  I’m not sure whose snarl was more threatening, Lord Stark’s or the mother of that beast at your feet.”

Jon frowned, “Why do you keep calling Lord Stark my father?  You know he is my uncle.”

“Is he not?  Who has it been that has put food in your belly and a roof over your head?  Was Rhaegar the one who gave you those clothes?  Who’s living sigil is currently half-asleep leaning into your shin,” Tywin scoffed, “I have seen the way Lord Stark is with you boy, he treats you no differently than Lord Robb or either the other two whelps that trout woman squirted out.”

“My lord, you shouldn’t speak about Lady Stark like that,” Jon may not be on good terms with Lady Catelyn, but he would not stand here and listen to someone demean her in her own home, “She is the Lady of Winterfell.”

Tywin sneered, “I know her type boy, and I applaud your loyalty to your kin.  I also know she’d have no such loyalty to you if she felt you endangered her children in any way.  She is emotional and short-sighted.  She acts rashly without contemplating the consequences of her actions.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, “This has to do with the fever, your vision from the Old Gods?”

This surprised Tywin, but he was quick to mask it, “Yes, though I am surprised Lord Stark told you about that.”

A shrug was Jon’s physical response, “He was explaining to me why he was revealing the truth now, he said there are people out there who know the truth.  He’s worried King Robert might hear it before he arrives.”

A smirk appeared on Tywin’s face, “I have manufactured a distraction that should ensure that does not happen.”

Jon could only frown in confusion.

(King’s Landing – Day of Jon Arryn’s funeral)

Sandor Clegane grumbled as he walked towards the smithy run by one Tobho Mott.  Not exactly his first visit, the man was the best in the city, and working for the Lannisters you were never light on coin.  Sandor was surprised to learn Mott had an apprentice, he had never seen the boy during any of his visits before.  The letter from Lord Tywin though mentioned the boy by the name of Gendry Waters.  Sandor was to take him as a squire and bring him North with him, as Tywin suspected Sandor would choose to escort his brother as far as Winterfell, he could pawn the boy off on another knight there if he so wished.

A snort came from the recently knighted man.  He wondered when his liege lord had become clairvoyant.  After getting knighted by his brother, Sandor returned to the Red Keep to inform the Queen about his summons by her father.  He’d arrived just as the King went postal after learning Peter Balish had been stealing from the crown.  After his death, the King’s Guard searched Balish’s private quarters and found two sets of accounting books.  The first set were the books he showed the small council, the second was his personal accounts revealing the sums he’d skimmed from the royal coffers.  Any threat to the crown was a threat to Lord Tywin, so now Sandor knew why Gregor was sent with Lord Kevan.

It did not surprise Clegane when Mott nervously met him at the door, “My good ser, how can I be of service today?”

“Cut the ser crap Mott, you know I hate that shite,” Sandor crossed his arms, “heard a rumor there’s a boy you got working here, big lad, strong too.”

Mott worked his jaw, and Sandor knew the man was contemplating lying.  He was pleasantly surprised when Tobho chose to be honest, “Aye, Gendry is a good lad, what business you have with him?”

“My piece of shit brother pissed off our liege lord,” Sandor decided it was best to use what was soon to be public knowledge, “showed up yesterday and freaking knighted me so I can take over our damned estates.  So, now I’m a damn Ser, and twats like us are expected to have little shites running around doing everything for us short of wiping our asses.”  Sandor indicated his armor, “Need to be decently strong little shite to help me in and out of this plate.  Figure if the lad had some skill at metal work, might save a bit of coin on repair work.”

Tobho frowned, “I have been entrusted with the boy’s safety, and you know your and your brother’s reputations precede you.  I cannot simply turn him over to you without some form of guarantee he will not be harmed.”

Sandor scoffed, “Words are shit,” he tossed a pouch of dragons on the counter, “that should compensate you for any losses incurred until you can find another apprentice.” He dropped a second pouch, “and this should be enough to see the lad appropriately kitted out.  I’m no fucking tourney knight, the lad needs real armor, not the shiny shite those fops prance around in.”

“Of course, Sandor,” Tobho chuckled, “Gendry has been working on his own armor, hoping I’d let him enter a melee when he is a bit older.  He finished his helm not too long ago.”

“Good,” Sandor waited as Mott went in the back to call Gendry.  The moment he saw the boy he realized why Lord Tywin wanted him removed from the city.  The boy was the spitting image of the King, and knowing what he did of Stannis and Renly, he was pretty sure the boy was one of the Kings.  “So, your Gendry, Mott explain to you?”

“Aye, ser,” Gendry held a bull-shaped helm under his arm, “Master Mott said you wanted me for a squire.  Lord Stannis, before he left after the death of the Hand, seven keep him.  He said he’d call on me to serve at Dragonstone’s smithy.”

“Did he, well, his loss,” Sandor sneered, “you got the arm of a smith boy, but the look of a warrior about you.”

It was some hours later, after finding Gendry a suitable horse, namely one that didn’t shy away at the sight of the boy in his bull helm, they found themselves sitting at an eatery near the Great Sept.  Sandor leaned forward and lowered his voice, “How much you know about your father lad?”

Gendry blinked in confusion, “Nothing, just that some man in a robe with a beard paid Master Mott to care for me.  The Lord Hand and Lord Baratheon came by a couple of moons back asking similar questions.”  The boy shrugged, “Not that it matters knowing him, I’m a bastard, no one cares about people like me.”

Sandor nodded at the boy, “The sooner you learn that lesson the better, but you should know it doesn’t matter if you are born the lowest shite or the highest cunt.  This world doesn’t care about any of us, it’s a meat grinder, and none of us is getting out alive in the end.  So, the first rule, as long as you’re my squire you watch my back and I’ll watch yours.  Somewhere out there, a wench or highborn girl has squirted out the cunt who’s meant to kill you or me.  The only way to stop them is if we kill them first.”

“So, we’re looking to start fights with anyone we think is aiming to kill us?” Gendry frowned, “Got to be more to this than just that.”

“Aye,” Sandor sneered, “we do what the guy paying for that food you are eating tells us to do.”

Gendry’s brows raised, “What are we supposed to do?”

“Relax today,” Sandor smirked, “find you a wench who needs a good field tending and raise a pint to the Old Falcon.”  Sandor raised his mug toward a table of Valemen who joined him in the salute to their fallen lord.  It had come to some shock when word of Lysa Arryn having poisoned her husband had begun spreading throughout the capital, no one had found the source of the rumor as of yet.  Sandor downed his drink before looking back to Gendry, “Come tomorrow we tag along with the royal party heading North to convince Lord Stark to take up the posting of Hand, gods watch over him.  My brother is being escorted by a number of my countrymen, but I’d feel better watching him being carted off to face Lord Stark like a common criminal.”

“Why is your brother submitting himself to Lord Stark’s judgment?” Gendry asked curiously, “Shouldn’t the King or Lord Lannister judge him?”

Sandor shrugged, “My brother is dim, but he isn’t a fool.  Lord Stark has been wanting to see Gregor bound to the Wall since Elia’s children were laid at Robert’s feet.  Those Starks don’t think them soft; they know death is a quick and clean punishment.  An instant of pain, then it’s over.  The Wall though, now there’s a punishment to fear, spending the rest of your days freezing your balls off with the worst the kingdoms have to offer.  If the cold doesn’t get you the damn wildlings will.”

(King’s Landing – The next morning)

Robert Baratheon sat heavily in his saddle; his mood had soured over the past few days.  Following Jon’s sudden passing things had spiraled.  Peter Balish had been found murdered on the streets of silks, and a search of his personal effects had revealed several crimes.  The only crime publicly related to him was the theft of nearly half the crown’s debt, he knew he was a spendthrift but wondered how Jon let things deteriorate that badly.  Then there were rumors spreading throughout the city that Jon’s death had been the result of poisoning by his wife Lysa.  Not that she could defend against these accusations as she’d been killed by bandits at the Crossroads Inn, bandits that seemingly vanished into thin air and have not been seen since.

He rode along the column to were a late addition to their party was.  Kevan Lannister had come to court after the funeral for Jon had been held, it had surprised Robert that the man had been in the city for several days dealing with business for his brother.  One piece of business now sat in a prisoner cage usually used by the Night’s Watch to transport those who have been sentenced to the take the black.

“Explain to me again Lord Kevan,” Robert growled, “why are you taking Gregor to Ned like a common criminal?”

Kevan grimaced, “Unfortunately I was not privy to that information.  My brother only tasked me with the apprehension and transport of the Mountain to Winterfell.  Along with any of the Mountain’s men who refused to return to the Westerlands or attempt to aid Gregor in escape.”

Robert nodded, “I see, as long as he doesn’t cause any trouble.”  He motioned to where Sandor rode at the back of Kevan’s column, “What of his brother and the boy?  Thought your brother summoned him back to Casterly Rock.”

“Technically he summoned Sandor to return to him, and my brother is currently at Winterfell,” This surprised Robert, “I believe Tywin was hoping to aid your grace in securing a betrothal between one of your children and one of Lord Starks.  We understand that your friendship has been rather strained since the beginning of your reign, Tywin believes some of the faults of that lay at his feet.”

Robert nodded, “So, who is the boy?”

“A blacksmith’s apprentice I believe,” Kevan mused, “some of the men in the keep had been praising the boy’s skill.  You know Sandor, your grace, he is not anything if not pragmatic.  Tywin told him to start acting like a knight, so he needed a squire.  I doubt the Hound has the patience for some second son of a lordling from the Westerlands.”

A chuckle came from the king, “Indeed, that explains the hammer then, might need to see for myself if the lad knows how to swing it properly.”

“I am sure the lad would be honored to gain instructions for your grace,” Kevan commented.

Later after the camp had been set for the evening Gendry stood against Sandor as the older warrior instructed him on how best to use his size and strength.  Gendry wore his helm at all times outside their tent, Sando explaining it as an intimidation tactic.  Due to Gendry’s size, unless they saw the youthfulness of his face, the other men would think him older.

As Gendry caught Sandor’s downward strike and redirected to his left, a voice called out from the side, “Good form lad, now remember to follow through.  Old Ned favors greatswords like that too, you got to take advantage of an opening like that.”

Sandor and Gendry both bowed to Robert as he approached, “Your grace, my squire thanks you, don’t you lad.”

“Right,” Gendry bowed lower, “I’m actually new to using hammers to fight, I’m more used to using them in the forge.”

Robert laughed loudly, “New, boy that counter was perfectly executed, had you been facing a lesser man than the Hound, they’d been falling over themselves after having their greatsword redirected like that.  Now, let’s have a look at your stance.”  At Sandor’s nod, Gendry took up his stance, his war hammer at the ready, both men saw the way Robert frowned, “That’s good, but something’s off.  Lad go ahead and take a couple of overhead strikes, just hit the ground with the mallet.”

Gendry did as the king commanded, but paused after the second strike, “The weight’s off.”  Sandor’s brow raised as he saw Robert nod in agreement.

The king requested the war hammer and examined it fully, “You make this one lad?”

Gendry shook his head, “Master Mott never let me do war hammers, said they are finicky weapons and would teach me when I was older how to craft them.”

“You worked for Master Mott?” Robert frowned, “I know Master Mott, his only apprentice is a lad who cannot be more than four and ten,” Robert motioned to Gendry’s helm, “Remove the helm lad, and tell me your name.”

Sandor was surprised Robert knew of the boy, seeing as how protective of him Tobho Mott was of him.  At Gendry’s look, Sandor nodded, aware only Barristan Selmy was present.  He frowned at the King’s Guard knowing look, the man had been acting strangely after being ill for several weeks.

Gendry pulled off his helm and held it under his arm, “My name is Gendry Waters, your grace.”

“Thought as much,” Robert eyed Sandor critically, but knew the man did not play the games of nobility, the man scorned most of what was considered social norms, “Barristan.”

Selmy stepped closer, “Yes your grace.”

“My old war hammers are on the baggage cart, correct?” Robert asked, eyes never leaving Gendry.

“Yes, your grace,” Selmy smirked, “It took the Lannister boys a bit to load them, neither is blessed with your strength.”

Chapter Text

(North – Day of Robert’s arrival)

Winterfell was a hive of activity as final arrangements for the royal visit were underway.  Each keep along the King’s Road had sent riders reporting on the progress of the royal party.  While Robb Stark should be assisting his family in dealing with the final preparations, he was walking towards the Smoking Log, Grey Wind at his side.  A townsman was coming out as he approached, one look at Grey Wind, and the man pushed open the door, “Milord, good day.”

Robb nodded to the man as he followed his Direwolf into the alehouse.  He was not surprised to see Theon deep in his cups.  The Iron Born ward of Eddard Stark had his head laying on the table and was blurry-eyed looking at Grey Wind.  “Fuck off you damn beast,” Theon slurred as he flung his arm as though he was trying to strike the wolf.  Grey Wind did not budge, but a warning growl came from him.

With a sigh, Robb took the seat across from him, “You’re lucky it is me who came to find you and not father.  He was livid when the servants reported your bed had not been slept in.”

“What do I care,” Theon grumbled, “I’m just a useless leech, who’ll lose his head the moment his father does something stupid.  Whom am I fucking kidding, my father’s a git, he won’t even care if something he does results in me getting killed.”

Robb frowned, “What in the name of the Seven has gotten into you Theon?  Ever since you got that letter from your Uncle Harlaw the Reader.  You’ve been acting like a damn right prick.  You know I had to hold Jon back from punching you after you made Rickon cry last night.  All he asked was you to read him a fucking story.”  Robb snorted, “For the first time in our lives, mother scolded me, saying I should have let Jon thrash you for that.”

Theon snorted, “The Seven, why you bring them into this, you’re a tree humper and I belong to the Drowned God.  You taken to kneeling for the Septon?”

“Damn it Theon,” Robb growled, “the King is going to be here in a couple of hours and here you are soaked like a pickle and smelling like stables after Grey Wind’s mother gets too close.”

Theon smirks, “Why thanks Stark, you look like shit too.”

“I look like shit because I was up at fucking dawn finishing the chores you were supposed to do.  I don’t know why I fucking care.  You treat my siblings like shit, and you try my father’s patience at every turn.  I’m on your side Theon, I’ve defended you, you damn squid, I’ve sided with you over my own brother.”  Robb watched Theon fumble for the empty flagon.

The heir of Pyke finally got ahold of the flagon, but glared into it realizing it was empty, “Shite.”  He then turned his glare to Robb, “Maybe you shouldn’t care, I never asked you to side with me Stark.  Just leave me here.”

With a sigh, Robb stood up, “Can’t do that Theon.”  The door to the inn opened revealing Jory and a half dozen Winterfell guards.  “Father treats you as a ward, but you know that is not what you are.  If father was a less honorable man, he’d claim last night was an attempted escape.  Theon, for the remainder of the king’s visit, unless otherwise stated you are to remain within the walls of Winterfell.”

Back at Winterfell, Catelyn was busy seeing that her children were appropriately ready for the royal arrival.  Sansa was perfect as always, while Arya had been avoiding her most of the morning.  Bran had been caught climbing and needed to change for the second time that day.  Robb was still out with the guards; Ned had sent him to collect Theon.  The only child Catelyn had yet to find was Rickon.

The boy had not been in his room or the nursery, the two places she’d requested the servants keep him.  One of the servants had nervously told her he’d been asking for a story out of a book written in the runes of the First Men.  Cat knew of only three members of the family who could fluently read the runes.  Ned had been teaching Robb and Jon the runes since they were old enough to read.  He’d been trying with Sansa, but she wasn’t as keen on the old legends as the boys.  With Ned busy and Robb not in the keep, it narrowed where she had to look.  She had banished Jon to his chambers after he had finished with his chores.

As she approached the bastard’s chamber she heard his voice, “The Others drove all the other peoples south, no one race could stop them.  Then came the last hero, and his followers, the first Night’s Watch.  They made a pact with the Children of the Forrest, and together with the giants, they fought back as one.  The Others were driven away back to the frozen lands of Always Winter.”

“Look Jon,” Catelyn heard Rickon’s always excited voice, “It’s papa.”

Jon chuckled, “Not quite little brother, but I can see the family resemblance.  That’s Brandon the Builder, he raised the Wall so if the Others were to return, we’d be ready for them.”

“He has a wolf, like us,” Rickon pointed out, “but it doesn’t look like Shaggy Dog, it looks like Ghost.”

Catelyn bristled at that, a part of her wanted to rip the illustration from the book, but she paused at Jon’s words, “I don’t know Rickon, I think it looks more like Lady.  See the shading here on the shoulders of the drawing.”  Catelyn approached the open door and peered into the room.

When Jon was younger he’d shared a room with Robb, when they had gotten too old to share, Jon had at first been moved to the room across the hall.  That room had once been Eddards when he was the second son.  She’d tried to expel Jon from the room when Sansa was old enough to have a room of her own, but the older servants like Old Nan had gone straight to her husband.  It wasn’t that she was trying to take the room from Jon, but that she was trying to house a daughter in a room meant for a son of Winterfell.  There had been no such outcry when Bran came along a few years later.  There was some outcry when she would not permit Jon to have any of the other rooms within the family wing of the castle, mostly from her children, save Sansa who never argued, like a proper lady.

Catelyn took in the room Jon had been regulated to, it was a cell meant for visiting Night’s Watch members.  The chamber Benjen used during his periodic visits was right next to the one Jon used.  Due to the unseemly nature of many Night’s Watch members, Ned would often suggest Jon stay with one of his younger brothers when such members visited without Benjen.  The room was spartan, with only a bed, a dresser with a mirror and washbasin, and a footlocker.  Currently, Jon was sitting against the headboard of his bed, Rickon using him as a seat as the two boys perused the old book of legends.

Rickon had tired of stories as he was turning pages and looking at the various illustrations.  He stopped on one and frowned, “Where this?”

She noticed Jon adjust the book to better catch the sunlight coming through the window, “I think that looks like the hot springs beneath Winterfell,” Jon smiled at Rickon’s surprised look, “When you are older, Robb and I will take you down there with father.  That’s where he taught us how to swim.”

The young boy looked back at the book, “Who’s that man?  He wears a lion, like Lode Ty When, but Lode Ty When don’t have a lion like him.”

Jon chuckled at his brother’s over pronunciation of Lord Tywin, “I think that is supposed to be Lann the Clever, he is Lord Tywin’s ancestor.  This is the legend about the Lions and Wolves breaking their ties with King Greenhand.  Some people think Lann the Clever, and Brandon the Builder were either half-brothers or were both foster sons of Greenhand.”

“You mean like us?” Rickon asked innocently, “Sansa says you are only half because you don’t have a mama.”

Catelyn’s jaw tensed, unsure how the bastard would react, would he hurt the boy over such an innocent question.  It was silent a moment, and only then did she realize Jon had taken notice of her and was looking at her.  He knew better than to look to her for any help, she’d made that quite clear when she slapped him for daring to call her mother when he was a small child.

The sudden glare that crossed Jon’s eyes made her feel as though the boy was thinking of the same incident.  Gently, Jon set the book aside, “Sansa’s right Rickon, I’m only your half-brother, but she’s wrong about me not having a mother.  Everyone has a mother somewhere, mine is just not here anymore.”

Rickon’s face screwed up in a mix of confusion and irritation, “Then papa should make her come back.”

The Lady of Winterfell had to swallow a gasp as the shoulders of her husband’s shame visibly dropped, “She cannot come back Rickon, she’s with the gods now.”  Catelyn remembered the dinner when Eddard told Jon to meet him in the crypts later in the evening.  She’d had half a mind to follow and listen in, many a time when Ned took the older boys into the crypts to tell them about their ancestors she’d thought to follow but didn’t.  Though that evening she’d been forced to play dutiful hostess to Lord Tywin, and by the time she’d begged him good evening, Ned was already exiting the crypt.

Rickon was still too young to fully understand what it meant for someone to be with the gods, but he did know it meant they were not coming back.  The boy’s face became as serious as a child his age could, “You can have our mama, then you wouldn’t be half anymore, and you’d have a mama.  She’s a good mama, most of the time, but she makes us go listen to the guy in the funny dress, and she yells when Shaggy Dog and I roll in the mud.”

Catelyn’s heart pained at the innocent sincerity of her littlest one, a part of her wanted to rush forward and praise the boy for being so kind and thoughtful, while another wanted to rip him away from the bastard and tell him to never say such foolish things again.  She was saved from making a spectacle of herself either way by Jon’s voice, “Sounds nice little brother, but it doesn’t work like that.  You’ll understand when you’re older.  It’s getting about time for the King to arrive, better get you back so the servants can make sure you’re ready.”

“I’ll take him,” both boys turned to her as she stepped into the room, “you need to change as well.”  She saw the frown on the boy's face, “Theon will be in no right state to be brought before the King and what would it look like if both your father’s ward and you were not present?  With all the talk of strange illnesses across the realm.  You’ll stand behind us, the last thing we need is Sansa and Arya making a scene.  The younger ones tend to mind you.”

“As you command Lady Stark,” Jon bowed his head.  Catelyn gave a stiff nod before picking up Rickon and leaving the chamber.

(North – Day of Robert’s arrival)

Barristan Selmy sighed as he rode next to Jamie in flanking positions behind the king.  Gossip had come up the column that Lord Tywin was already at Winterfell, and his younger sworn brother was on edge.  It had taken Barristan a few days to decide the best course of action to take following his fever and the accompanying visions.  The ravens were terrifying, and he had heard firsthand accounts of Bloodraven from Ser Duncan the Tall himself.

His first instinct had been to go straight to Robert with what he knew but had swiftly realized that would ultimately be futile.  Robert would doubt him, doubtlessly claiming his visions were fever induced.  In actuality, the fever was caused by the vision, or so the Three-Eyed Raven explained.  Worse case Queen Cersei would not hesitate to arrange an accident.  It was only when Peter Balish turned up scattered across the streets of silks that he realized he was not alone, and someone was already making powerful moves.

“Bold,” Barristan turned to find Jamie looking at him, “you’ve been quiet the last couple of miles.  No interesting bits of battle lore rattling around in that head of yours to break up the monotony of this dreary landscape?”

Selmy chuckled, “I would not wish to frighten the young prince,” he looked to where Tommen sat at the front of Jamie’s saddle, “most of the battles that occurred this close to Winterfell were horrible affairs between the Starks and their ancient enemies the Red Kings.”

He saw Jamie grimace, “They’re the ones who became the Boltons?”  Barristan gave a quick nod and Jamie patted the boy’s golden locks soothingly, “Right, let’s talk of happier things.”

The sound of hooves signaled the arrival of another of their sworn brothers, Sir Oakheart rode up with Myrcella secure in front of him, “Your grace, the Queen begs we make for Winterfell quickly.  His grace Prince Joffrey does not seem to be improving.”

Robert grumbled, “The only good thing Trant did was die from the blasted venom first,” the King motioned to the approaching walls, “That’s if memory serves, Winter Town.  We’re within spitting distance from Winterfell.  Barristan, ride ahead and give Ned word to forgo the usual pomp and ceremony, tell him we need his maester to meet us at the gate.”

Barristan gave a curt nod, “Of course your grace.”  Kicking his heels his horse bolted forward, he knew Arys would take his place in the formation.  He rode hard, finding the gates to Winterfell open and waiting.  The people were just gathering for the customary greeting.  He noticed Eddard Stark’s frown at his sudden arrival at a full gallop.  He dismounted and strode to stand before Lord Stark, “Pardon my lord, but the King requests we dispense with the customary greeting and introductions, there has been an accident.”

Eddard’s frown deepened, “What sort of accident?”

“Prince Joffrey picked up a snake in the Neck intending to use it to scare his younger siblings.  My sworn brother Meryn Trant was supposed to be watching him but failed to notice this.  This morning as we were leaving Cerwyn, the reptile got loose.  It attempted to strike Princess Myrcella, but Ser Trant did his duty.  Instead of drawing his sword and killing the stupid thing, he tried to pick it up.”  Barristan shook his head in disgust, “It struck him repeatedly, before we could act, the Crown Prince made to reclaim the serpent, before we could intercede, he was struck.”

Barristan noted Lord Stark paling, “What did the serpent look like, the markings, tell me quickly.”

“It was a viper of sorts, a bright green with a yellow belly, red triangular marks above the brows like tiny horns.”  Barristan heard Catelyn Tully gasp; he was not aware the Starks were so familiar with the fauna of the Neck.  He focuses on Lord Stark, “You know this creature?”

“Aye,” Eddard glared, “You said Ser Trant was struck repeatedly, I assume he has already passed?”  Barristan nodded as he noticed Catelyn moving to clear the yard and summoning their maester from where he stood with the more prominent residents of Winterfell.  Lord Stark sighed, “Then he should count himself fortunate.  The serpent you described is colloquially called the coward's repent.  The legend goes they are the souls of the Andal invaders who fled into the swamps during their failed siege of the North.  It is rare to find one so close to the causeway, they tend to lurk in the deeper swamps.  I am sorry, but I have never heard of anyone surviving the bite of one.”

“Would the people of the Neck know an antidote?” Barristan asked as the maester and Lord Tywin came to join them.

“I am afraid not,” Maester Luwin grimaced, “when I first came North, I had the chance to speak with a crannogman who was versed in the flora and fauna of his home.  For a number of years, he brought me specimens to examine, he brought me the corpse of a coward’s repent he’d caught, and when I asked for a live specimen, he refused.  He told me the crannogmen avoid the creatures because their venom is so lethal.  To the point, if even a drop of it even touches bare skin, they grant the victim mercy as soon as possible.”

Tywin frowned, “Maester Luwin, you are a skilled maester, not a commoner living in a bog, I hope you try everything in your power to aid my grandson.  Though, I understand if it is beyond you.”

Luwin’s chest puffed up in indignation, “I’ll do all in my power, my lord, I may not have much knowledge of this particular serpent’s venom, but I am not unknowledgeable in the field.”  With that, the man turned and hurried off to his tower.

The Lord of the Rock smirked as the man departed, “We need to speak, in private.”

“Crypt is closest,” Eddard remarked as he led the two men towards the Litchfield.  He lit a torch and led them to the crypt of Cregan Stark, “If anyone noticed we came down here, they’ll check at my father’s resting place first.”

Barristan mused, “I take it you both had sudden illnesses recently, as Lord Lannister did not come to Winterfell in the vision I was given.”

“Neither did you Ser Barristan,” Tywin remarked, “neither was my grandson stuck down by a venomous snake.”

Eddard rubbed his chin in thought, “No one in the North would use such a method, the crannogmen, in particular, would never strike at a child in such a careless way.  As Ser Barristan said the snake went for Princess Myrcella first.”

Barristan grimaced, “Pardon my lords but I may have fabricated part of the tale.  Prince Joffrey did not pick up the snake, but the snake did come from the prince’s luggage within the wheelhouse.”  Selmy frowned, “Ser Jamie suggested that the prince must have found the snake.”

“Jamie?” Tywin’s eyes widened, “was my son ill at the same time as you?”

Barristan paled, “Before me, the maester assumed it was some form of contagion when I came down with it after he recovered.  I had tended to Ser Jamie as I am the Lord Commander, after I fell ill the maester suggested Jamie tended to me as he’d already had the illness.  Jamie has not let on to have had any form of vision, but I have noticed when he is guarding his sister he makes a point of having at least two Baratheon guards present.”

“Why would Ser Jamie kill his son?”  Eddard turned to Tywin, “it doesn’t make sense.  He had just cause to breaking his vows and committing Kingslaying, but to be labeled a kinslayer.”

Tywin shook his head, “They moved swifter than I thought possible.”  He looked to the other two men, “I sent word to Dorne that it was my daughter who changed the orders given to Sers Clegane and Lorch.  I also told them I would not protect Cersei or Joffrey any longer, and their fates were in the hands of the gods.”  Tywin crossed his arms behind his back and turned away from the surprised looks of the other two, “I would suggest a thorough examination of my grandson’s effects, I am sure a box will be found with a hole that would allow the snake to get out.”

Eddard nodded, “Not that the visions exactly gave us calendar dates for events, but I admit you made good time.  The snake was probably placed in the baggage somewhere before you reached the Neck, the snake was most likely meant to strike before you left the swamp.”

Barristan nodded, “We made good time.  Ser Sandor Clegane’s squire is to credit for that.  He shored up the axel on the wheelhouse and made sure the wheels were in good order every evening when we made camp.  The boy kept to himself mostly, the Queen was even praising him for his diligence, told him she’d make sure Lord Tywin rewarded him when Sandor and he returned to the Westerlands.”

“What’s this about the Hound having a squire?” Eddard frowned, but realized quickly, “You had him brought here?”

A chuckle came from the King’s Guard, “Robert already realized the boy is one of his, but the Queen hasn’t seen the squire’s face.  He keeps his bull helm on whenever in her presence, and the only ones in the party who’ve seen his face are his Grace, Lord Kevan, myself, and Sandor of course.”  Selmy sighed, “He was the one to kill the serpent though, smashed its head with his war hammer once Joffrey dropped it.”

(Back with the King’s party)

Jamie had passed Tommen off to Robert and ridden back to the wheelhouse to check on his sister.  As he lashed his horse to a hitching point on the monstrosity, he took the proffered hand of his sworn brother who was watching over the Queen.  They were now short a member, “We’re in sight of the gate, ride up and stay with his grace, and the prince and princess, I’ll take over here.”

With a nod, the other King’s Guard jumped on Jamie’s horse and unlashed the reins, and urged the horse forward.  With a sigh, Jamie entered the wheelhouse.  The room still smelled of piss and shit, Trant’s bowls had voided before they could drag his corpse from the wheelhouse.  They were all used to the stench from years of living in King’s Landing, but it was still unpleasant.  There was also the dent in the floor where Sandor’s squire had smashed the damn serpent.  Joffrey had summoned the older boy upon learning King Robert had been instructing him in the use of his war hammer.

It had surprised Jamie to find Gendry here, he’d at first thought the boy had also received the warnings that he and to his suspicions Barristan had.  He’d yet to confide in the Lord Commander, but he knew now the man had to have been warned as well, Barristan had not come to Winterfell in the future shown in the vision.  It was only upon hearing from Uncle Kevan that Tywin had forced Sandor to accept knighthood that pieces started to fit.  Sandor and Gendry were as oblivious as Robert, but Tywin had been warned and he was making moves.

Jamie so wanted to join Sandor and Gendry at their fire, the pair usually made camp away from the main column, usually close to the prison cart housing Sandor’s brother Gregor.  The vision had shown him they were better men than most whom Jamie knew, and men he would proudly fight to the death with.  Well, considering they were now minutes away from returning to the place all three of them would die if things went to shit again, he’d find the time to get a pint with them when their imminent death wasn’t hanging over their heads.

Returning his thoughts to the here and now, he had trouble understanding how things had already changed so greatly.  Joffrey was laying on a couch unconscious, Cersei sitting next to him, eyes red from crying.  Trant had been bitten at least three times by the snake and had dropped dead within minutes, Joffrey was bitten only once.  Jamie knew the horrible things his ill-begotten son could potentially do, but he’d hoped to dissuade his sister from arranging the king’s death at least long enough to figure something out.

Cersei looked up at him, “My precious boy, how could this happen?”

It had been Jamie who quickly claimed Joffrey must have caught the snake as they passed through the Neck.  He couldn’t give his sister’s paranoia the chance to manufacture the idea someone had intentionally targeted them.  She’d have somehow blamed it on Tyrion, not that they had many interactions with him on the journey as he’d taken to either ride next to Uncle Kevan as they discussed matters they kept private, or spent his evenings drinking with his Grace.  At least when his Grace wasn’t sparring with Gendry.

A grimace crossed Jamie’s face, he couldn’t give her an explanation, and he would not permit her to manipulate him once more.  Cersei only brought the worst out of him.  He’d lost count of the number of people he’d murdered to protect their secret, the things he believed he had done for love.  He’d throw a child from a tower for gods’ sakes, well technically push but that’s semantics for the maesters to argue over.  The same child whom he stood next to as he watched the horrors to come, the boy might have called himself the Three-Eyed Raven, but he had the face of Bran Stark, the face of a child he almost murders in the coming days.

Jamie shook his head, “I don’t know Cersei, things like this just happen.  We’re almost to Winterfell, their maester might know some way to treat Joffrey.”

“He better,” Cersei snarled, “if Joffrey dies, I’ll see that grey rat dies with him.”

“Cersei,” Jamie scolded, “you cannot threaten someone for something out of their control.  It isn’t that maester’s fault the snake bit Joffrey.  You should have done a better job teaching him not to pick up strange animals.”

Cersei turned on him, “You are blaming me for this?”

Jamie glared, “Yes, you have sheltered the boy and coddled him.  Made him think of himself so high that everything in the realm bows down to him.  Even a lion must be wary of the snakes lurking in the grass.”

(North – King’s Road a few miles behind Robert’s party)

Mya Stone grumbled as her party stopped to make way for a wagon headed south to Cerwyn.  The white tarp over a large, armored figure made them pause.  Mychel motioned the driver to pause, “Who’s this?”

The man driving the wagon huffed, “King’s Guard, Meryn Trant, died defending Princess Myrcella from a serpent attack.  I’m taking the body back to Castle Cerwyn to await the silent sisters to come to prepare it for transport back to King’s Landing.”

“A serpent attack?” Mychel frowned, “I did not think there were venomous serpents this far north.”

“There aren’t,” the driver huffed, “at least not normally.  Prince’s uncle Ser Jamie thinks the prince might have caught the thing while passing through the Neck.  Not exactly sure how, cowards repent are aggressive things, they have no fear of men or beasts.  The cannogmen patrol the causeway to ensure none of those serpents make a home there.  The only time any were ever caught alive was by special request of the Citadel about fifteen to twenty years ago requesting some live specimens for research purposes.  Old Lord Rickard Stark gave the okay, but the Citadel had to send their people to do the gathering, he wasn’t sacrificing his people for something so foolish.”

Mychel shared a look with Mya before letting the man go on his way, “We’ll arrive at Winterfell not long after the King.”

(North – A couple of miles ahead of Mya’s party)

Leyton Hightower smirked as one of his guards picked up the dead snake.  He turned to the man at his side, “You are sure the prince was bitten?”

“Aye milord,” the man replied morosely, “snake struck true right through the sleeve of the prince’s doublet.  Bull headed squire pulled the snake away before bashing its brains with his war hammer.  King’s party took off fast for Winterfell.”  The man grimaced, “The snake also got one of the King’s Guard, bit him a few times before getting the prince.  Might have reduced the amount of venom it gave the prince.”

Hightower snorted, “From that type of viper, a single drop could fell a dozen men the size of the Mountain, and still have enough left over to fell a giant.  At least that’s true of the wild variant, the Citadel had warned me the venom of their domesticated snakes has lost some of the potency of their wild cousins, it should still be enough to ensure Prince Joffrey goes with the Stranger.”

The man nodded, “Of course milord, but there’s the matter of my payment, you promised me work and a roof if I snuck that beast into the prince’s luggage.”

Leyton nodded as he motioned to one of his men, “That I did, and you will find both at Castle Black.”

“What?” the cutthroat’s eyes widened just before the Hightower guard’s fists came down on the back of his head.

The Lord of the Hightower glared down at the unconscious man, “Remove his tongue and escort him to the Night’s Watch.  Inform the Lord Commander that this man is a criminal who’s been sentenced to the black.  If he asks for the man’s crime, tell him it was heresy against the Seven, that’s why he lost his tongue.”

(North – Winterfell)

Robert and Cersei sat by the cot Joffrey had been lain on.  Maester Luwin was examining the bite mark on the boy’s wrist, “Most interesting, you said the prince was bitten earlier this morning?”

“Aye,” Robert barked, “we were about midway between Castle Cerwyn and here, figured it would be quicker to come straight here than turning the wheelhouse around.”

Luwin looked to the royals, “The description of the snake Ser Barristan gave us is accurate correct?  Bright green with a yellow belly and red markings above the brows.”

Robert nodded giving a glare to Cersei, she’d demanded the snake’s corpse be tossed from the wheelhouse before anyone realized it could be important for the maester to treat Joffrey.  He turned a less thunderous glare on Luwin, “That’s the description, remember from my first trek to these parts.  Ned gave me a stick and told me to check under my bedroll before climbing in for snakes looking like that.”

“True, of any poisonous animals in the Neck, which there are many.  The cowards repent is the only one we have no antidote for the venom.”  He noticed Cersei’s stricken look, and the maester gave a reassuring smile, “but had it been a true coward’s repent that struck the prince, he’d have succumbed long before reaching Winterfell.  The wound does not match my notes, the bite pattern is right, but the necrosis would be much more prevalent.  I have not heard of any such mimic to the cowards repent, and this concerns me, but for now, the prince appears to be responding to treatment.”

Cersei sighed but noticed the sadden look on the maester’s face, “What is it?”

“I am afraid the prince’s hand will have to be amputated.  While not as prevalent as I would expect for this type of venom, it has still spread quite aggressively.”  Luwin sighed, “I would advise removal up to his elbow to be safe.”

Robert saw the way Cersei paled at the suggestion of maiming her precious boy in such a way, “Is there no other option?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Luwin grimaced, “If not stopped soon, the necrosis may spread into the chest cavity and further upset the boy’s humors in an undesirable manner.”

The king nodded before standing up and guiding Cersei to do the same, “Well then, better be on with it.  We should go down to the hall and properly meet with our hosts.”  Robert was surprised Cersei allowed him to guide her from the chamber before she started spitting and scratching at him.

“What are you doing, you cannot let that man maim my precious son, my golden child,” Cersei screamed, she caught sight of Jamie who had been guarding the door, “Jamie, stop him, he’s going to hurt Joffrey.”

“Silence woman,” He turned to Jamie, “ignore her, the maester has to amputate Joffrey’s arm if there’s to be any chance at saving the boy.  I’ll let Lord Stark and your father know, they are awaiting us in the Great Hall right?”

Jamie nodded, though he’d gone slightly pale at the mention of the amputation, “Yes, your grace, everyone is awaiting you there, I’ve heard a few groups of riders have also arrived behind us.”

“Interesting, I wasn’t aware we left so many stragglers,” Robert mused as he half guided, half dragged Cersei down the hall.

(Winterfell – Great Hall)

Catelyn watched as the Mountain Gregor Clegane was brought before her husband in chains.  She could not ignore the satisfaction that only she and others well versed in reading Ned Stark could see.  Ned had long harbored the desire to see the Mountain bound and brought before him on his knees.  She’d once asked him what he would do if the Mountain were to be brought to him for judgment.  Ned had blankly looked at her and said that it would depend on his mood.

She scanned the hall for her children, thankful she’d sent Arya, Bran, and Rickon with Myrcella and Tommen to play in the gardens under the watch of Ser Sandor Clegane’s squire and a dozen household guards including Jory.  Robb stood at the opposite side of Ned’s chair from her.  Sansa sat with lady Mormont and her daughters, the Mormonts had arrived late the previous day along with several other noteworthy individuals of the North.  Across the room she spotted Jon, his face was so like Ned’s that she had no trouble reading his expression.  He held nothing but contempt for the Mountain that rides, a contempt that she’d never had levied against herself no matter maltreatment she’d foisted on him.

Tywin Lannister approached and spoke so the entire hall could hear, “Lord Stark, as we have spoken privately on this matter, I do not wish to rehash it here.  Ser Gregor Clegane has lived with the guilt of many atrocities that he has come to regret.”  Tywin pulled a yellowed piece of parchment from his sleeve, “I submit this document to evidence, recovered from Clegane Keep by Ser Gregor’s wife at his behest and turned over to me.  These are the original unopened orders I sent to Ser Gregor before we marched on King’s Landing.  I present them still sealed so that you might attest to the age of the sealing wax.”

Eddard nodded, and Robb stepped down to collect the message, which he quickly passed to his father.  Ned examined the letter, “The wax is aged, cracking, and flaking around the edges.”  Ned then proceeded to break the seal and begin to read the missive.  Catelyn surreptitiously looked over her husband’s shoulder, the ink was partially faded but still legible.  The orders plainly stated for Gregor and Lorch to secure Princess Elia and her children and bring them to Lord Tywin so that he might turn them over to the rebel lords as a sign of good faith.  Catelyn could not conceal her gasp as her eyes turned to the monster kneeling on the floor of her home.  Yet it was Ned’s voice that kept her from speaking out of turn, “Gregor Clegane, these orders were for the capture of Princess Elia and her children alive.  Yet they were still sealed, why did you seek out the Princess if you had not read your orders?”

Gregor raised his head to look at Lord Stark, “I received other orders, orders I thought were true.  They were written in Lord Lannister’s hand and were signed with the sigil from his signet ring.  They stated for us to kill the Princess and her children.  They requested we do it as brutally as possible to send a message to anyone who dared to cross the lions.”

Ned snarled and his Direwolf stood up from where she’d been laying at his feet with Grey Wind curled up next to her, “Where are these orders now?”

“Ashes, somewhere between the Westerlands and Crownlands.” Gregor grumbled, but his eyes were affixed to the Direwolf, “the orders said to burn the missive.”

“Yet you kept the original orders,” Robb asked before shirking back at the glare he got from his father.

Ned’s glare shifting to Gregor was all the monster in the skin of a man needed to figuratively spill his guts, “I never really thought of them, just a piece of parchment in the pile of others Lord Tywin sends me.”

“While any southerner might think I should just be done with it and remove your head,” Eddard stood, Catelyn noticed people around the room nervously backing away as Lady and Ghost both stood along with Grey Wind who stood next to their mother.  “Death is too easy a punishment.  Ser Gregor Clegane, I sentence you to spend the remainder of your days serving the realm.  You will take the vows of the Night’s Watch, and you will hold to them, otherwise know there is not a place on this world I will not find you.  Pray that whenever we meet again, we stand on the same side, otherwise you will learn why even unchained giants kneel before a Stark of Winterfell.”

Gregor bowed his head, “I swear to you my lord, I will keep to the vows of the Knight’s Watch from this day forth until my watch is ended.”

“Damn Ned,” Robert said as he and Cersei entered the hall, “who went and woke the Quiet Wolf.  Haven’t seen you like this since the rebellion,” Robert paused, “Ours that is, you were more mellow when we went squid hunting.”  The King indicated the Mountain, “Guessing this is all settled, whatever reason he came all the way here to get sent to the Wall.  Lord Kevan Lannister never gave me the full details.”

The Mountain stood and walked to where a group of Night’s Watch along with Benjen Stark waited.  Catelyn noticed the despondent look on the Queen’s face, “Your grace, Prince Joffrey is not?”

Cersei shook her head morosely, “He lives, but your maester informed us he will lose his right arm.  The surgery is being done as we speak.”

“How horrible,” Catelyn moved to take the Queen’s arm, “Let us adjourn to the garden, the younger children are currently there.  I am sure his grace and my lord husband can handle greeting the other guests who’ve arrived.”

Ned surrendered his seat to Robert who sat in it heavily, “So, who are these guests?”  The king sighed, “anything to take my mind off what’s being done to my boy up in your maester’s quarters.”

Tywin moved to another chair Robb had pulled over next to the King as Jon had quickly moved around the edge of the hall to provide a chair for his father once Catelyn had exited.  Eddard motioned the boys to stand at the side of his chair before answering Robert, “Lord Leyton Hightower arrived just after your party.  There is also a group from the Vale led by a son of Lord Redfort.”

Robert nodded, “Wonder what has brought them here, a long way to travel otherwise.”  Robert saw Leyton Hightower and motioned him forward, “Lord Hightower, hope this doesn’t have something to do with your errant good son and daughter running off to Essos.”

Leyton bowed, “No your grace, though there is a business of that which I would speak with Lord Stark about privately without the court that has followed you here listening in.  The reason for my journey is twofold, the first is to renounce the Seven and seek forgiveness of my true gods.  To kneel before the heart tree in Winterfell and beg the gods for guidance and absolution for the sins of my ancestors.”

The king made a good impression of a fish before stuttering out, “The most devout know of this my lord?”

“If they do it does not matter,” Leyton said, his eyes held no emotion, “my sons have already begun the process of rebuilding our godswood and have set out on a quest to obtain a true heart tree from the Isle of Faces.  If the followers of the Seven disapprove, they can find a new city to reside in.”

“Well, as long as your sure, I guess,” Robert looked to Ned, “anything like this happen before?”

Ned shook his head, “Lord Hightower knows the history between the North and the Reach.  He was against his daughter’s marriage to Jorah Mormont for that reason.”  Eddard looked to Lord Hightower, “You said your visit was twofold, what was the second reason?”

Leyton chuckled as he looked to where Robb Stark stood, “It is a matter of House Tyrell, but my good son and liege lord trusted me to present the proposal in his stead.  Lord Mace Tyrell wishes to unite the houses of First Men blood of the Reach, with our Northern cousins.  He offers the hand of his first and only daughter Margaery of House Tyrell, true and of noble birth, the blood of the First Men, to be the wife of your son and heir Robb Stark, future Lord of Winterfell.”  The Lord of the Hightower preened, "You would be hard-pressed to find a better match than my granddaughter."

"It is a most monumental proposal Lord Hightower,” Ned noticed Robert begin to turn red trying to hold back his laughter at Ned’s expense, “and not one to take lightly.”  He looked to Robb who’d never been one to think about his prospects in wives.  “I would not dismiss the proposal but would not wish to force something upon them.  Perhaps we can arrange a meeting.”

Leyton clapped his hands and a young woman stepped forward to stand beside him, “Her father thought as much, and sent her by way of White Harbor under the guard of her brother Loras and two of Prince Oberyn’s daughters.”  Leyton motioned to a disgruntled-looking young man and two young women.

(Highgarden – Sometime after Oberyn’s arrival)

Prince Oberyn frowned at the missive from his brother, a very enigmatic command to head for Winterfell, and that Doran would meet him there eventually.  He’d yet to get a handle on whatever was going on in the Reach.  Other than Ser Loras and his father getting into an argument over plans for Lady Margaery.  Apparently, Loras had been scheming with Renly Baratheon to supplant Cersei Lannister with the Tyrell girl, a scheme that was put an end to by Mace deciding to send an olive branch to the North.

“Prince Oberyn,” He looked up to find Willas at the door, “nothing too troubling I hope.”

Oberyn smirked, “Nothing too much, though I will need to depart soon it seems.  My brother desires my presence in Winterfell.  I dare say this is not a visit I am looking forward to.”

To Oberyn’s pleasure, Willas walked with his cane only taking the weight his leg could no longer handle, and without the pain, the young man was experiencing upon their arrival.  The heir to Highgarden took a seat at the table in the room, “I did not know you had animosity with the Starks.”

“Animosity, no,” Oberyn sighed, “I broke a solemn promise to a dear friend.  For that broken promise, good men died senseless and needless deaths, and a life I could have saved was lost to the Stranger’s grasping clutches.  I always put on an image of bravado, but when it comes down to it, I am a selfish and pathetic excuse for a human being.  Anyone I have ever cared for; I have failed them when they have needed me the most.  Elia and her children were murdered, and where was I, ensconced in Sunspear.  My friends the Daynes needed me to parlay, and where was I, drunk with my face buried in Ellaria’s bosom.  Lyanna Stark needed me to use the skills I gained at the Citadel, and where was I, well same as before, drunk and with Ellaria.”

Willas poured two goblets of wine, “You have not failed all, your daughters are healthy and whole.  You have been a consistent and loyal friend to me since the accident.  You have tried pushing Obara on me since then as well, though I do not exactly know why.”

“She is my eldest, and though I do not favor one over the others, we have always had a special bond,” Oberyn smirked, “I would see her happy and doing something that would please her.  If allowed, she’d one day take the place of Aero Hotah as the chief protector of her cousin.  I would not see her throw away all possibilities without experiencing the joys of life she would be giving up.  Hotah has no kin, and he will never marry or father any children, his whole life is focused on the preservation of my brother’s life.”  Oberyn shook his head, “Obara is not the comeliest of my daughters, handsome indeed, but she is overshadowed by her sisters.  Were you to become intimate, and a child resulted, you’d have no fear of future claimant issues, Obara would never permit her own children to be pawns in the game, and we of House Martell take care of our own.”

Willas shrugged, “Father has implied he is interested in the idea of your daughter at least taking up a position as a bodyguard.  If anything, to give my grandmother something else to argue over.  She is displeased he made plans to betroth Margaery to Lord Stark’s son without even consulting her.  Apparently, it was she who put the idea to supplant Queen Cersei in my brother’s head.”

Oberyn chuckled, “An interesting thought, but I would think it more likely to have her matched to the crown prince.  Unless your grandmother wishes your father to be compared to your Hightower ancestor, Lord Hand Otto Hightower.”

“I brought that up as well, but apparently Loras gained some information from Renly during his time as his squire.”  Willas lowered his voice and leaned forward, “Renly has been raising one of King Robert’s bastards at Storm’s End.  The boy is black of hair and blue of eye, like every Baratheon in recorded history, the same goes for all of Robert’s known bastards regardless of the appearance of their mothers.  Yet, the King’s true-born children are all blond with green eyes, the coloring of their Lannister mother.”

“You are not implying,” Oberyn noticed the serious look on his young friend’s face, “we are not two gossiping septas, so you have more evidence than your little brother voicing a conspiracy told to him by the King’s brother.  Does this have something to do with your father suddenly embracing his First Men heritage?”

Willas nodded, “It does, I noticed it when Loras tried to use it as an argument to sway father’s decision.  Though, that would be futile seeing as he requested Grandfather to make the proposal during his visit to Winterfell.”  Willas took a drink of wine, “Father did not show any reaction to what he was hearing like he already knew this information.  He said the iron throne didn’t matter, that it was a distraction from our duty to the realm.  The Reach has a duty to perform and anyone who does not uphold their duty would be unwelcome.  The Reach has always been the primary food supplier for the kingdom, and father is doubling and tripling production.  The numbers I’m seeing will have the normal winter silos filled to max within the year, the additional winter silos he’s having Lord Tarly raise will see us through an average winter with some to spare.”

A knock at the door signaled the arrival of Sarella, “Father, I am sorry to interrupt, but Lord Tyrell has requested Nymeria and I accompany his daughter to Winterfell.  He planned to ask you himself this evening but wanted to see if we were amenable to the task.”

Oberyn looked to Willas, but the young heir could only shrug as he was rarely involved in his father’s plans these days.  His involvement was limited to monitoring the books and sending messages to the various bannermen.  The prince looked to his daughter, “Did he give reason he wished you to accompany her over her normal ladies in waiting?”

“To quote the Lord,” Sarella mimed air quotes, “because he did not want simple girls to be his daughter’s only companions when there were so many threats lurking around.  He wanted brains and cleverness, he specifically said Nymeria and I were the best suited to this.”  A frown appeared on the girl’s face, “I was not aware Lord Tyrell wasted much thought on any of us Sand Snakes.”

Willas snorted, “Up to a few weeks ago, my father didn’t waste much thought on anything.  His moniker was well-earned, but something came to pass.  Something that drew father, grandfather, Uncle Paxter, and Lord Tarly into close confidence.  The fever that affected them, it is the only commonality.”

Sarella’s frown deepened, “A fever?  That is curious, while I’ve been at the Citadel, several maesters have reported their lords suffering from a mysterious illness that has laid them up for days or even weeks.  A handful has been down for an entire moon before suddenly recovering as though they were never sick in the first place.”  Sarella looked to her father, “As uncle told you, Lord Dayne was among those afflicted, but he was the only one in Dorne reported to the Citadel.  Not saying there were not others that had not been reported.  It has not only affected men of high birth or high standing.  Maester Aemon of Castle Black reported two recruits who’d freshly arrived both suddenly came down with a fever.  Both recruits were smallfolk before joining the Watch.  Maester Aemon reported that their personalities had completely changed upon their recovery.  They started acting like seasoned members of the Knight’s Watch and requested to take their vows immediately before the heart tree, neither man was a follower of the Old Gods before the fevers.”

Oberyn’s brows furrowed, “Sarella, whom all do you know of have been affected by these fevers?”

“Well, I wasn’t attached to the Archmaester who was investigating this, but I’m friends with his apprentice.”  Sarella rubbed her chin, “Lord Dayne as I said, and the four lords in the Reach we know of.  In the Westerlands both Tywin Lannister and his brother Kevan were afflicted.  In the Vale, there was only Lord Royce.”  Sarella paused before continuing, “Grand Maester Pycell reported two King’s Guards were possibly afflicted but he didn’t report their names, only that he suspected it was a common ailment as he thinks one was exposed while treating his sworn brother.”  She then shrugged, “The Citadel doesn’t have much of a presence on the Iron Isles, and I don’t remember hearing of any Storm Lords coming down with it.  If a Northern lord came down with it, their maester wouldn’t report it, the North likes to keep their secrets.”

“What about the Riverlands?” Willas asked.

“Blackwood and Bracken,” Sarella remarked, “Edmure Tully had to go in his father’s stead to calm their families, both had started accusing the other of poison.  Lord Tully requested a neutral maester come to examine the two lords and assure their kinfolk that no poisons were involved in their illnesses.  After the two men recovered, they spoke with Edmure privately, he has since taken both men into his confidences and they act as his personal advisors.”

“Both,” Willas shook his head, “the feud between those houses is legendary.  It is practically a living reminder of the animosity between the two primary religions of Westeros.”  He looked to Oberyn, “Something very wrong is going on.”

Oberyn nodded, “Indeed, and your father has given us an opportunity to look to the source.  Nymeria and Sarella will accompany your sister as requested.  I will take a more indirect approach, swing through the Riverlands and speak with Lord Edmure and see what his bannermen have told him.  I will leave my other daughters here under your protection, I’ll send word to my niece, she will send Ellaria to collect them once she has returned to Dorne.”

(Dorne – Day of Robert’s arrival at Winterfell)

Starfall was silent as Doran sat in the solar of Lord Dayne.  His old friend had grown weaker by the day, their talks limited to a few minutes each day as he tried to help guide his prince in preparing for the horrors to come.  Yesterday, Lord Dayne was too weak to even wake, and this morning the maester had given notice the end was coming.  Against Lord Dayne’s wishes, Allyria had sent word to Edric and Ser Beric Dondarrion of Edric’s father’s deteriorating condition.

It had taken a few days for Allyria to finally admit she knew of her nephew’s true parentage.  It took a decanter of Dornish Red to open her lips on the entire affair.  Allyria was too young to fully remember her sister and had no memory of Arthur as he’d already gone to King’s Landing by the time, she was old enough to have any memory of him.  What she remembered of Ashara was the sadness, and the hours of her sister praying in the godswood for her wolf to forgive her.

Doran had only then realized what Ashara would be wanting forgiveness for.  He and Oberyn had played the part of witnesses for Rhaegar’s marriage to Lyanna.  The she-wolf had won both men over, especially her thoughts of acting in Elia’s stead.  She had no desire for a crown, only her freedom.  Doran had made it known to all the Dornish the sacrifice the girl had made for their beloved princess.  There were some who spoke Lyanna’s name along with those of Elia and her children as victims of Robert’s Rebellion who cried out for justice.

Most of what Allyria knew had been told to her by her late good sister.  She had been barren, unable to bare a child, Starfall was doomed to fall into the hands of the Daynes of High Hermitage, something nobody in Dorne would wish to see happen.  Ashara had suffered all the losses she could, her lover being forced to wed his brother’s betrothed, the deaths of Elia, her children, Lyanna, and Arthur.  Allyria was told one morning her sister had been seen jumping from the top of the Pale Stone Tower.  This had left Edric in the care of Lord Dayne and his wife, Edric was born extremely small and the maester was not even sure he’d survive his first year.

Doran had frowned at that, “Is that when they came up with the tale of Ashara’s child being a girl and had been stillborn?”

“Yes,” Allyria looked sadly out the window, “my brother claimed it would not hurt, and it was better for everyone to believe Ashara’s child was dead and gone.”

Edric spent his first couple of years just struggling to stay alive.  It was four years after his birth that Lord Dayne had officially named Edric his son and hid all traces of his true parentage, even sending his wetnurse Wylla away.  It was not unheard of for families to postpone notice of a child’s birth, especially if there had been complications that indicated the child might die in infancy.  What was uncommon, and rather underhanded was claiming a sibling’s bastard as one’s legitimate child and heir.

A part of Doran wished this revelation had never been made to him, for it put him in an uneasy predicament.  Edric Dayne was truly Edric Sand and held no actual rights to Starfall over his legitimate cousins in High Hermitage.  If a member of that family learned the truth, they could issue a challenge for rights to everything including the ancestral sword, Dawn.  If it became known that Doran had knowledge of the deception and had not given the rights to their proper claimants, the situation in Dorne could potentially escalate to civil war few outsiders knew how precarious the political climate of his kingdom was.

Allyria had watched him like a hawk with her purple eyes, so similar to those of her sister, “What are you thinking my prince?”

“I must speak with your nephew,” Doran grimaced, “and his birth father.  Your brother’s deception robbed him of his right to claim his own son, and his right to decide the boy’s future.  If he agrees to permit Edric to be legitimized as a Dayne, I will uphold his claimant rights as the sole member of the main branch of your House, as you are marrying Ser Dondarrion.”

“I thank you, my prince,” Allyria bowed her head, “would you allow me to be present when you tell Edric?  He is the only family I have left.”

Beric had also requested to remain present; he had become more of a father to young Edric than Lord Dayne had ever been.  Doran watched looked at the couple for a moment before looking the Edric, “Edric, you know I have been meeting with Lord Dayne in private these last couple of weeks.”

“Yes, my prince,” Edric grimaced, “auntie says you and him had much to discuss, making plans for the future.  Father was always preparing for the future, that’s why he arranged Auntie Allyria’s betrothal to Ser Beric.  In his last letter to me, he was still looking to arrange a betrothal for me, he was hoping to find a suitable match in the Reach.”

Doran nodded, “A wise man, a clever one too if I might say.”  Doran sighed, “There is no easy way to say this Edric, so I’ll be blunt.  On my first day here, Lord Dayne revealed to me a secret that is far too dangerous to simply let fester.  You were not born the son of Lord and Lady Dayne, from what I have learned from your aunt and corroborated by Starfall’s maester, Lady Dayne could not even bare a child as she was barren.”

A confused expression appeared on the boy’s face, “What are you saying, my prince?”

“Your maester confirmed that you were born shortly before the end of Robert’s Rebellion, a small sickly child that most in the household thought would die within your first year.  Against all odds, you began to rally and gain strength, but your growth was quite slow, and even when you were eight years old, the first time we met face to face, you could pass as a child of four, which was what I was led to believe at the time.  Even now, you can pass for a youth of your assumed age, and no one would be the wiser.”

Edric turned to his aunt, “Is this true?”

Allyria nodded, “It is Edric, my brother feared our house falling to the Daynes of High Hermitage and took the opportunity given to him by divine providence.  You look more a Dayne with your coloring, but I have heard the servants who’ve met your birth father talking.  It just so happens his house and ours share several physical traits thanks to both being of the First Men.”

“Then,” Edric looked to the three adults in the room, “who were my real parents?  Why would they allow Lord Dayne to do this?  What does it mean for Starfall?”

Doran sighed, “I’ll answer that last question first, as I am already planning to address it swiftly.  If your true parentage were to come out at the wrong time it could lead to serious political ramifications, especially if it was learned I knew the truth and did not act accordingly.  By the right of the decision of Lord Dayne, you are the rightful heir, as long as you remain a Dayne.  The problem comes with the fact that if your true parentage were to come out, your cousin house could petition for your claim to be annulled by having you declared a Sand, as your birth father did not give up his authority over you to permit Lord Dayne to officially legitimize you.

Ser Beric frowned, “You have not mentioned who the boy’s father is, can we not simply send a letter to him to have this matter cleared up?”

Doran snorted, “I would rather not have Lord Stark any angrier than he no doubt is with my family at this time.  I have sent Oberyn to Winterfell, and this will be their first meeting since my brother failed to arrive at the Tower of Joy.  Oberyn was meant to be there to ensure Lady Lyanna was attended to properly and to ensure the three King’s Guard fools my good brother assigned as her protectors didn’t do something stupid.  Instead, good loyal men died and Lady Lyanna was lost to childbed fever.”

Those present in the room shared a look of surprise.  Edric was the first to speak, “I was told Jon Snow was my milk brother, that Lord Stark fathered him on Wylla.”

A scoff came from Doran, “That tale was Lord Dayne helping to cover the boy’s true parentage.  Even though I supported Lady Lyanna being Rhaegar’s second wife, many in Dorne believe that I only went along with it to protect Elia from the dragon’s wrath.  They were half right, it was to protect Elia, but not from her husband or his family.  Those who believe the rumors of Lyanna being a seductress never truly met the girl.”  He looked to Edric, “Your aunt was a vibrant and willful force of nature itself.  Had Elia not needed her to be a surrogate, I believe she could have tamed even Oberyn.”

Edric frowned, “If Lord Stark is my father, then my mother is?”

“Ashara,” Allyria smiled sadly, “my sister loved Lord Stark, my brothers were infuriated when he abandoned her in favor of marrying Catelyn Tully to uphold the betrothal pact between their families.”

Doran grimaced, “Lord Dayne told me he forbade your mother from telling Lord Stark about you.  I find it ironic how he claimed his sister’s child as his bastard son, while his true bastard was claimed as a legitimate son of his uncle.”  Shaking his head Doran continued, “I will set out for Winterfell via White Harbor in a couple of days.  I will seek Lord Stark’s permission to legally legitimize Edric as a Dayne and legalize his claim to Starfall.  With the backing of the Warden of the North behind him, High Hermitage will dare not move against Edric.”  He focused on the boy, “You need not accompany Edric, nor will I force you.”

“I will come,” Edric looked to Ser Beric, “if that is all right with you Ser Dondarrion.”

“Aye,” Beric nodded, “I’ll come as well, your wellbeing is still my responsibility.”

Allyria stepped forward and placed her hands on Edric’s shoulders, “I’ll come as well, it is my responsibility to make amends for the deceit our house committed against your true father.”

Doran nodded, “I’ll have my ship prepared, once we have handled Lord Dayne’s funeral arrangements we will depart.  I will have the maester refrain from sending out messages confirming Lord Dayne’s passing and Edric’s ascension to Lord of Starfall until after we have cleared up this mess.”

Chapter Text

(North – Day of Robert’s arrival)

Jon was relieved when the impromptu court session had finally ended, and the Great Hall cleared to give the servants time to prepare for the welcoming feast being held that evening.  He’d had to stand next to Robb after bringing a chair so that their father could sit next to the King and hold court in his own hall.  Jon had tried to make himself unnoticeable, even though his father had wanted him to assess for people paying undue attention to him, people who might know his real origins.

He'd not seen anyone that paid him much mind, save for Sansa who kept motioning him to stand up straight and not slouch his shoulders.  He’d much preferred to have been sent to watch over his younger brothers and sisters but would not insult Jory by suggesting he was not skilled enough to handle that task.

Lost in thought, he’d not heard the voices as he approached his chambers.  Coming around the corner he found his Uncle Benjen speaking with the two Dornish girls who’d arrived with Robb’s potential betrothed.  From the ire of his uncle and the two Night’s Watch members standing guard, he could guess who was residing within that cell, “What’s this here now?”

Everyone turned to him, the girls glaring for a moment before realizing his identity, the older of the pair spoke, “Pardon us, we only wished a word with Sir Clegane before he is shipped to the Wall.”  She moved towards him, “His goalers will not let us in though, perhaps you would show your sisters kindness and help us reason with these men.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, “I have no sisters other than Lady Sansa and Lady Arya Stark,” His frown deepened, “What business do you have with Ser Clegane.”

The darker-skinned Sand Snake whose mother was most likely from the Summer Isles smirked, “All bastards are brothers and sisters, or at the least cousins, we have more in common than any true-born sibling could ever understand.”  The girl buffed her nails as she narrowed her gaze on him, “Ser Clegane may think he has absolved himself of his most heinous crimes, but Dorne will never forgive nor forget.  We only wish to ask him to tell the truth, we know he knows who sent the orders he followed.  All we want is for him to admit it to everyone,” she paused before waving her hand absently, “that and to die a slow and painful death while begging for mercy.”

Benjen huffed, “The Mountain belongs to the Wall, I’m sorry but I cannot let you speak with him.  He is undertaking quiet reflection before taking his vows and being sent to Castle Black.  In the eyes of the land, he has faced justice and his sentence will be carried out.  What you want is vengeance, I would not see my ancestral home tainted by such.”

“Ancestral home?” the younger Sand Snake paled, “That means you’re a Stark?”

“I take it in your quest to get through the door you did not pause to ask,” Jon stepped around the two girls to stand next to his uncle, making the similarities between them even more evident, “May I introduce my uncle, First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, Benjen Stark the third son of the late Lord Rickard Stark.  I know, the beard makes it hard to tell, but he and my father look more alike when they’re both clean-shaven.”

Benjen scoffed, “Haven’t been clean-shaven since you were five name days and I left for the Wall.”

The elder Sand Snake gave a curtsey, “Nymeria Sand, daughter of Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell,” she motioned to the younger girl, “this is my sister Sarella”

Jon nodded, “Jon Snow, as you seem to be aware,” he didn’t recognize the two members of the Night’s Watch guarding the door but knew there were at least a dozen more lurking about, “My ladies, I will see you to another part of the castle, when there are members of the Watch present, not even my sisters are permitted to come down this hall.”

Benjen coughed, “Speaking of that, Rodrick was by with a couple of servants.  You’ll be rooming with Rickon until we depart.  You know the drill, not all of this lot are volunteers, Ned never leaves you down here when I got more than wandering crows with me.”

“Right, wasn’t sure,” Jon motioned the way behind the two girls, “We shouldn’t linger here.”  Once they had rounded the corner and were down the hall Sarella stopped him, “Yes?”

Sarella frowned, “You seemed tense about getting us out of that hallway, why?”

“My father does not forbid us from speaking with the Night’s Watch members, as long as it is in public areas of the castle.  When I was younger, shortly after I was moved to a room down here by Lady Stark, I was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of my door opening.  A man entered my room and stood over my bed; Uncle Benjen uses the room next to mine.  He came running in with his sword drawn and escorted the man out.  The next day father had me go back to sharing Robb’s room until the Watch members departed.”

It was Nymeria who realized the implications, “The man was not a volunteer member, but a man sentenced to take the black.”

Jon nodded, “Father explained it to me and Robb later, the man had been well behaved and gained the trust of the Lord Commander.  He allowed him to join the wandering crows to recruit, Benjen didn’t trust the man and had come with him on the pretense of making another request of Lord Stark for supplies.”

Nymeria fumed, “Your uncle should have gutted the man.”

While it hadn’t been Uncle Benjen who executed the man, it still technically was his uncle.  Robb and Jon were too young to attend executions at the time, but they knew what was happening when Lady Stark had called them both to the sept though neither of them followed the Seven, especially considering the way Septon Chayle made him kneel without a cushion on the rough-hewn stones while Lady Stark and her children had cushions to kneel on.

“That man is no longer a threat to anyone,” Jon frowned, “I believe Lord Stark has had Lady Tyrell and her brother placed in a room down that hall and up the stairs.  I’d take you the rest of the way but need to check on my father’s ward.”

Sarella grinned mischievously, “That’s right, the squid hasn’t been seen since we arrived.  I’ve always wondered what happens to an Iron Bron when they are so far away from salt water.”

Jon huffed, “Apparently, they get drunk and insult people who are only trying to help the ungrateful shit.” Jon reddened at his slip, “pardon, please forget I said that.”

(Riverlands – Near the Neck, around the same time)

Oberyn looked to his small company.  He’d ridden from Highgarden alone but was soon joined by the eldest son of Lord Tarly, a rather large boy named Samwell.  Sam was riding north at the behest of his father to ply his talents at scholarly endeavors.  From what the boy explained, he was to aid the engineers of the Night’s Watch with repairs and preparations for winter and prepare a report on how best the Reach could further support the Wall.

Among his other additional companions was Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest who claimed to have a vision within his fire that had directed him to head north.  After Thoros had come, a man and girl who had done well to keep their identities hidden were accompanied by a peculiar group, but Oberyn had swiftly recognized the girl.  Daenerys Targaryen, though her hair was tightly wrapped in a dark purple cloth, along with a hooded cloak to shield her eyes.  The man with Daenerys was most definitely not Viserys and was somewhat familiar to Oberyn.

The men accompanying the fugitive princess and her guard were another matter.  Daenerys never spoke to them, only her protector, who was obviously Westerosi but could understand and speak Dothraki.  Oberyn had been shocked when the group with Dothraki protectors rode up to him, Samwell and Thoros.  The man had named the three of them, which had further confused Oberyn and caught his companions off guard as well.

It was when the Neck came into sight and the tension that seemed to be Daenerys constant state of being, and the sole reason Oberyn did not confront her, seemed to melt away, that he finally approached the Westerosi man, “Who are you really?  You come here with a group of Dothraki, and Daenerys Targaryen.  She has been jumpier than a fat cat in flea bottom.  Yet the moment we are in sight of the Neck she relaxes.”

The man chuckled lightly, “I have promised her we’d find safety with my liege lord.  With any luck, the rest of our party has reached Winterfell and prepared things so I can keep my promises.  You might be pleased to see them as well My Prince.  Your good sister and paramour were kind enough to take us as far as King’s Landing.  We’d have accompanied them to Sunspear, but I thought it better if the Spider does not know exactly where the princess is headed or by what means.”

“Elaria is on her way to White Harbor?” Oberyn frowned, “two of my daughters should be in Winterfell by now.  You have not yet named yourself.”

“Jorah Mormont,” the Northman said flatly, “exiled lord of Bear Island, and currently the sworn shield to Princess Daenerys.  We celebrated the defeat of the Greyjoy’s Rebellion together in Lannisport.  Surprised you hadn’t remembered, Thoros figured that was how I knew his name, Robert honored him for his sheer reckless madness.  We entered the breach together, but your Dornish forces showed up late, just in time for the after party.”

Oberyn grimaced, it had been the plan to let the Stag’s forces bleed themselves against the squids, only showing up late as a perfunctory sign of loyalty.  They had not planned for the sheer speed at which Robert moved to crush Greyjoy and his people.  Bold battle strategies resulted in a swift victory, and Dorne was regarded with suspicion for showing up only after the fighting was over.

Jorah frowned, “I am surprised to find you here, actually all three of you.”

This comment made Oberyn suspicious, “Lord Mormont, were you perhaps stricken with a peculiar fever some weeks ago?”

“Were you?” Jorah countered.

Oberyn shrugged, “I will not lie and say yes, but I have met others, including young Tarly’s father who has experienced the same.  I believe it is the lack of First Men blood in my veins or at the very least the quantity of it being so minuscule that it barely registers enough to tie those of my House to whatever connects those of that blood to one another.”

“I see,” Jorah sighed, “the fever isn’t a cause, it’s a symptom.  At least that is what they tell us.  I have seen what I would have done, what I would become.  I did not like the man or the fate that awaited me.  To succumb to the pale mare or greyscale had been horrible ends to witness.  Neither Raven seemed sure, telling me only that Essos would be my grave long before Westeros became a frozen hell of death and undeath.”

“Ravens?” Oberyn mused, Mace and his banners had not been open to telling him much more than vague warnings of the looming winter and return of the Long Night.  Those men had become near fanatical over preparing for what was to come, they had yet to even trust those outside their circle with what the true reason was for their preparations for winter.  Most Reach men believed Leyton Hightower had received early notice of the seasons changing and had informed Mace.

“It may sound crazy,” Jorah looked to where Daenerys was listening to Samwell talk about the various houses that called the Neck home, “I was visited by two people I had never met, and they showed me the life I was doomed to live if I did not choose to change the path I walked.  My time is limited, if I’m to save my father from betrayal, I must reach the North swiftly.”

Oberyn frowned, “Is there a threat coming to your home?”

“So many threats, I would not even know where to begin,” Jorah laughed humorlessly, “but the Old Bear doesn’t die there.  He is currently the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch; he chose to join when he thought me ready to lead Bear Island.  In a few months, some occurrences will lead him to make a Great Ranging into the north in an attempt to confront an army of wildlings.  The ranging never actually fight the wildlings because they find something far worse.  The true threat that was driving the wildlings down to the wall, the Others had returned.  After a confrontation with the Other’s wights, my father’s group of survivors takes shelter at a wildling man’s home.  Members of the watch betray and murder my father and any Watch member loyal to him, Samwell was the only loyal member to survive, though he never got to pass along my father’s final message to me.”

“Samwell is only going to the Wall as an envoy for his liege lord,” Oberyn frowned, “why would he have accompanied a Great Ranging?”

This surprised Jorah, “I’m not sure, the vision clearly showed your young companion at my father’s side in his final moments, wearing the raiment of the Night’s Watch.  I only know his name through my father’s calling him by name.  It appears Lord Tarly has chosen to follow another path, one that does not see his son become a member of the Night’s Watch.”

(North – Castle Black day of Robert’s arrival)

Jeor Mormont stood behind the two young recruits who’d come out of a peculiar fever raving of horrible things.  He’d almost opted to dismiss the young men for madness, but Todder and Halder began telling him things they’d have no way of knowing.  Todder had spoken of Craster and the man’s predilection of marrying his daughters and having no living sons, even naming one of Craster’s daughter-wives Gilly.  While he might have overheard this from one of the rangers, the boy had only been at Castle Black a few hours before becoming ill.  Similarly, Halder noted several aspects of the Wall that only seasoned and experienced builders would know.

Each young man was from somewhere south of the Neck.  Todder was from the Reach, where many with First Men’s blood still lived thanks to their nobles converting to the Seven during the Andal invasions.  Halder though was from the Riverlands, his family lived on lands under the purview of House Blackwood, but he’d been raised following the Seven.  These facts were why Jeor personally came to observe them taking their vows, they had been insistent that they join immediately and requested to say their vows before the heart tree.

It had been a shock to the Old Bear when their group approached the tree, both recruits pulled their swords and dropped to a knee before the tree.  Without prompting they recited the vows as though from memory, which further confused the Lord Commander, who’d been in a dazed state since both had practically leaped from their sickbeds to assail the steward Chett who’d been helping Maester Aemon.  They called the other young man an oath breaker and deserter, much to poor Chett’s confusion.

Once their vows had been made, Jeor ordered the rest of their party to return to Castle Black as he turned to the two new brothers, “All right lads, what in all that is good is going on with you?  This is an order, so spill it.”

Halder was not the brightest mind on the Wall, or the most eloquent speaker so looked to Todder to answer for the both of them, “He told us to tell you his name was Bloodraven, he said you would know we spoke the truth after saying his name.”

Jeor paled at the mention of one of his most noteworthy and infamous predecessors as Lord Commander.  He looked the two boys over and saw they were both serious about whom they had seen during their fever dreams.  Swallowing hard Jeor commanded, “What did he have to tell me?”

Halder spoke up, “The time has come, we must remember our true purpose to protect the living from the Others, they come upon the cold winds from their frozen realm of Always Winter.”  He looked to Todder who gave a nod, “I know where the ancient armory of the First Men is located, the storehouse where the kings of old left their sacred weapons.”

“That is an old myth,” Jeor frowned, “didn’t know anyone outside the North had ever even heard it.  Brandon the Builder never recorded its exact location.  It was a secret passed from one Lord Commander to the next, not even our stewards are allowed to know of it.”

Todder shook his head, “You left a letter with Alliser Thorne, but he refused to give it to Jon when he was elected to replace you.  We were transferred to Shadow Tower by Jon, and he was betrayed by Thorne and others not long after.  King Stannis Baratheon found it and read it; he sent word to Shadow Tower to send men to the Night Fort to search for the armory.  We were still searching when the Wall came down on us.”

“You experienced all this?” Jeor asked.

“Not exactly,” Halder frowned, “We watched it happen.  With that Bloodraven fellow and a boy, he called the Three-Eyed Raven.  They let us see what was to come.  It was nice at first, I had friends, but then things started going wrong.  Jon’s father got arrested and we had to stop him from deserting, he wanted to help save his father and sisters.  We stopped him before he could break his vows.”

“Yeah, for being in a celibate order surrounded by rapists and murders, can’t complain,” Todder chuckled, “you know except for the whole monsters from old stories coming to life and raising the dead and wanting to kill everyone.  Life was great the first couple of years, at least for the two of us.  Halder was a builder, and I wasn’t selected for your Great Ranging.”

Jeor nodded, “I’ll have you both returned to those rolls again.  Though, as you have revealed Thorne and Chett have proven untrustworthy, we will have men you now to be loyal keep eyes on them, but please do not condemn your brothers who have yet to break their vows.”

Todder nodded, “Right Lord Commander, it was just seeing Chett again, after knowing everything he did.  He’s craven as they come.  At least Edd and Grenn stood their ground against the Others and wights.”  He shared a look with Halder before continuing, “Also, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not happy with Thorne for stabbing Jon, but I can kind of see where he was coming from.  He thought he was doing it for the Watch, he knew the Others were coming, I mean the guy had to take the hand of a wight to King’s Landing.  He just didn’t agree with the logic of bringing the wildlings to this side of the Wall.  Him and his conspirators just didn’t get it, if we didn’t bring them south, we’d end up fighting their corpses once the Others had finished slaughtering them.”

Later that evening Jeor met with Maester Aemon, “How much have these recruits told you?”

“As much as I could stomach for a day,” Jeor grumbled as he fed his greedy crow his allotment of corn, “what worries me is that even with proof of the Others return.  Why had I not sent out the message to Lord Stark?  Whomever this Jon is they kept mentioning, must be quite the leader.”

Aemon hummed a moment before responding, “Is not Lord Stark’s bastard son named Jon Snow?  Could this be the one they speak of?  Benjen is currently at Winterfell to discuss reestablishing the old holdfasts within the Gift and New Gift.  He has mentioned in the past his desire to recruit his nephew to allow the boy a way to escape the callousness of Lord Stark’s wife.”

Jeor nodded, “Aye, Benjen has never been fond of his good sister, once told me she was the reason for his joining the Watch.  He’d promised his brother to wait until he at least had a second legitimate son, but barely made it five years under the same roof as the woman before begging his brother’s forgiveness and fleeing here.”

A snort came from Aemon, “I am sure she is not that bad, but I would have to cede to your knowledge as I have never had the pleasure of meeting this charming woman.”

“Be grateful for that fact,” Jeor sighed, “I am planning to take a company and head for the armory of the Night Fort.  If what they say is true, the runes there should be glowing.  I was hoping if you felt up to it, you’d accompany us.”

“I think I can manage,” Aemon grimaced, “I have felt stronger as of late, an unusual feeling.  My vision is beyond repair, but the ache in my joints is fading and my muscles do not betray me as they had of recent.  My dreams have also been of a surprisingly vivid nature.  They are of my first years here, when Uncle Brynden and I would stand atop the Wall together and talk as kin and sworn brothers.  Yet the conversations are not ones from my memories, they are new.”

Jeor blinked, “Lord Bloodraven is speaking to you from beyond the grave?”

Aemon shook his head, “No, I believe he is alive, somewhere beyond the Wall.  Where, I cannot say, but I believe he has tied us together in ways only those of most ancient blood could understand.”

(North – White Harbor the day Robert arrives at Winterfell)

Wendel Manderly watched the Essosi ship pull into the dock.  It was not scheduled to arrive here and no message from its port of origin had preceded its arrival.  The captain had signaled he had passengers who’d paid him an exorbitant number of dragons to bring them to White Harbor as swiftly as the winds would bring them.  The harbor master had merely shrugged and left the matter in Wendel’s hands.  How he wished his brother was here to handle this but had been summoned by their liege lord.  When the Wolf called the Merman would swim against the current to reach his side as swiftly as possible.

The ship’s gangway was lowered to the dock, and a small accompaniment of people calmly departed the ship.  The group kept themselves bundled within their cloaks, not that Wendel begrudged them that fact, the breeze of the harbor was cool and crisp to him, but to some used to the warmer climes of Essos, it could be unforgiving.  The group calmly approached him, only taking notice of the numerous guards he’d prepared before letting them dock.

It was a woman who led the group, she kept her hood pulled low, but her dark tresses were still visible.  Wendel halted her a few steps from himself, “We have no record of your ship at this harbor, nor record of your port of origin.  Name yourselves and declare your intentions, or you will find yourselves guests of the Wolf’s Den for your remaining days.”

The woman reached into her cloak as she began speaking, “Lord Wendel Manderly it has been far too many moons since last we met.”  She extended her hand, fist closed over some objects, “I would rather we continue this conversation in the presence of your lord father and after receiving guest rights.”  The woman’s hand opened to reveal two pins, the first Wendel immediately recognized as the Direwolf of House Stark.  It was the second that shocked him, the falling star of House Dayne.  He had seen these two pins before, at Harrenhal when Lord Eddard had given Lady Ashara a pin as a token of his promise to seek her hand, she had in turn given her pin to him.

“My lady,” Wendel turned to the guards, “I want the street between here and the New Castle cleared, no one sees them before father.”  He watched the guards rush to follow his orders, only two remaining to protect him.  Turning back to the group he offered his arm to the woman, “I am shocked, as will many others.  Father never believed you would do such a cowardly thing as take your own life.”

The woman gave a humored chuckle, “Even the Spider is wary of the Merman.  My companions, you are not curious about their identities?”

“If they mean harm, I will warn them here and now,” Wendel mused, “my crossbowmen have had them within their sights since your foot touched the dock.  There have been far too many guests of peculiar station and origins for us to take chances.”

The woman nodded, “You were quick to accept my identity, how do you know these are not forgeries?”  She indicated the two pins.

Wendel snorted, “As you remember I was present along with Great Jon and little Dacey Mormont when he gave you his and you gave him yours.  We were greatly honored to bear witness for Lord Eddard and reported as such to Lord Rickard upon our return North.  If those were forgeries, then I would have to applaud the forger.  The wolf pin was the one Lord Rickard was given by his lady wife, who was his cousin.  It has a scratch where it was damaged during the battle against the Ninepenny Kings.  As for your pin, Lord Stark had it on his person during the melee at the tourney.  It was nicked by Lord Robert’s hammer when he eliminated Lord Eddard from the competition damaging one point of the star.”

“Facts only someone who considers themselves a close friend of Lord Stark would know,” one of the woman’s companions, a young man by the sound of his voice stated.  The young man moved to stand at the woman’s other side, “Lemore, are we truly safe here?”

“Lemore?” Wendel chuckled, “Of all the names in the world, you choose that to hide yourself with?”

The young man grumbled, “What is wrong with that name?”

Wendel snorted, “It’s the name of the wench Lord Brandon Stark bedded thinking he was bedding Lady Ashara Dayne.  It was how Lady Dayne was shamed at the tourney.  Lord Brandon began claiming he bedded Lady Dayne, much to her horror, though he only started the rumors in an attempt to shield his sister from the backlash caused by the Crown Prince crowning her as queen of love and beauty.  Safe to say Lord Rickard was less than pleased with half of his children following Harrenhal.  Only Lord Eddard and Lord Benjen left the tourney without some sordid gossip biting at their heels.”

As they walked towards the New Castle the woman asked, “How quickly can transport to Winterfell be arranged?”

“It might be a few days,” Wendel shook his head, “We had a party from Highgarden the other days, they requested use of the one wheelhouse we had ready.  We do not usually have so much traffic through here.”

The young man shook his head, “We don’t need a wheelhouse, we just need horses and directions.”

Wendel snorted, “It is a six-day ride from here to Winterfell boy, you are not acclimated to the cold yet.  We let you ride off to Winterfell your frozen corpses will be the only thing arriving there.”  Wendel looked to the woman, “He yours?”

The woman shook her head, “No, he is the son of dear friends though.  I am in a hurry to reach Winterfell, something I learned while hiding in Essos must be relayed to Ned as soon as possible.”

“It must be grave for you to come back from the dead for,” Wendel mused, “I am sure he will be pleased to see you once more, and I am sure Jon will be ecstatic to finally meet you.”

As Wendel looked away he noticed the woman and young man share a look.

(North – Winterfell day of Robert’s arrival)

Gendry was never happier than when the Queen appeared in the garden and dismissed him.  He’d spent the better part of an hour at least fielding questions from three Starks and two Baratheons.   He didn’t know being a squire meant watching the children of kings and high lords.  Entering the main yard of Winterfell, he noticed the stable boys having trouble arranging the various horses, so walked over to help, “Need a hand?”

“Thanks,” the lad handed the reins of one of the larger horses to him, “We’re trying to find space for all these beasts.  Your southern stock aren’t liking the smell of wolf.  The Winterfell horses got used to them after a bit.”

He remembered seeing the wolves when they first arrived.  Six of the beasts only looked like large dogs, but the one following Lord Stark around was something out of a nightmare.  Even Sandor had frozen in place as the Direwolf stared them down.  Shaking himself Gendry pulled the reins on the horse and followed the stable hand inside.  The other hands were busy tending to the horses already housed within, with the stable master shouting orders, “Geth get that Vale roan down here closer to the door, they’re not as skittish as them Crownlands prancers.”  The man turned to see him, “Eh, a southerner not afraid of a bit of work.  Take that Stormlander mare down by the Westerlands paints, it’s warmer down there.”

Gendry did as asked and then came back to the man, “Know if the blacksmith needs a hand shoeing?  I was a smith’s apprentice in King’s Landing before squiring.”

“Old Mikken, not one to snub a willing hand,” the man held out a hand, “Names Hullen, master of horses, what’s an upstanding lad such as you doing squiring for a Lannister dog?”

Shrugging Gendry frowned, “The Hound needed a squire.  I got a strong arm, and I kind of dreamed of being a wandering smith.  Going from town to town, fixing things for people.  At least I’d get to see the world.”

Hullen nodded, “Good dream that,” he looked to where one of his hands was pulling the saddle from the horse Gendry had tied up, “Not much time to stand around and gab with all the horses needed to be tended to before the fete.  I’ll let Mikken know of your offer, he’s already quieted the bellows for the day, Lady Stark didn’t want the royals to ride into the smell of smelting metal.”

Hearing the dismissal Gendry exited the stables to find a young woman staring at him, “Can I help you?”

“You survived a month riding up the King’s Road with her?”  The young woman shook her head in disbelief, “You are either the luckiest git that ever drew breath, or one of the gods actually decided to cut one of us some fucking slack.”

Gendry’s brows furrowed, “Who are you?”

The woman smiled before holding out her hand, “Mya Stone, I was told you reminded people of father, but thought just maybe you’d inherit your brains from your mum as I did from mine.”  Confusion spread across his face, and the woman rolled her eyes, “Come on, please don’t tell me that helm you carry around isn’t as telling as I think.”

Swallowing hard Gendry took the young woman’s hand, “Your one of his too?”

“Afraid so,” Mya smirked, “though I have the benefit of being born before he got married, so wasn’t quite as big of a deal.”

Gendry blinked, “How’d you know I was here, or that we were siblings?”

“Uncle Renly,” Mya shrugged, “Bronze Yohn received a letter from him shortly after I left Runestone.  He responded that I would be coming to Winterfell, a letter was awaiting me at Castle Cerwyn.  He was concerned when Mott reported the Hound took you on as a squire, wanted to check that you at least made it this far alive.”

Sitting down heavily he looked up at her, “I didn’t think anyone knew about me, the King didn’t act like he knew who I was at first, not that I knew he was my father, but then he gave me one of his old war hammers.”  Gendry motioned to the weapon strapped to his back, “He told me he was sorry about my mum, that the Spider could only get me out before the Queen’s man came.”

Mya smiled sadly moving a stool over to sit next to him, “She’s not too fond of us.  Bronze Yohn used to make a game out of it when I was little.  Tell me to hide and listen to him count, I was to multiply that number by my age at the time, then count to that number before coming out of hiding.  Was ten name days old when he only counted to one, didn’t give him enough time to have the body removed before I climbed out of the cupboard, I was hiding in.”

Gendry grimaced, “Master Mott would get letters, and he’d get this wild look in his eyes.  He’d either send me down the road to fetch something or have me call it an early day.  Realized it was always when Westerlanders were visiting the shop.  The Hound was the first man from there Mott didn’t receive a warning about.”

“There you two are,” they turned to see Robert approaching with Barristan on his heel, “good you two got to meet.”  They rushed to stand, but the King waved them to sit, “Bah, none of that foolishness,” he motioned to another stool and Barristan grabbed it for him, “Worse places for you two to cross paths.  That piece of work of a wife won’t do anything foolish with Lord Lannister lurking about.  He gave her quite the tongue lashing after the whole incident with the twins.”

Mya grimaced, but Gendry was confused, “What twins?”

His sister spoke up, “Father bedded a servant at Casterly Rock.  The Queen found out and their bodies were found at the base of the Rock the next day.”  Mya shook her head, “They were not even two.  I doubt Lord Lannister was concerned about their deaths, more that it was blatantly obvious the Queen arranged it.”

The King nodded, “It was after that I had Varys move you, and had Renly take custody of your younger brother Edric from his mother’s family.  Been a bit more careful about things since then.  I only knew of the three of you for sure,” he looked to Barristan, “has the Spider reported on any others?”

“Not to my knowledge your grace,” Selmy made a face that none of them could read but looked like he was making plans.

Robert nodded, “Well, keep be informed.”  He turned back to Mya and Gendry, “Mychel said you have a letter from Lord Royce for me?”

“Right,” Mya pulled the leather pouch from her belt and handed it to Robert, “I don’t understand everything, but he said it was urgent you got it before reaching Winterfell.  We got delayed and never seemed able to catch up with you.”

“Thank your brother,” Robert snorted, “the lad is a miracle worker with a hammer and not just the war kind.  Kept that blasted monstrosity of a wheelhouse on the road day in and day out.”  Robert pulled the letter from the pouch and after inspecting the seal broke it, “So, what does old Bronze Yohn have to say that was so important it needed to be hand delivered.”  Robert went silent as he began reading the letter, his son and daughter shared looks as his face began changing colors, first a light pink before deepening to a red that rivaled the Lannister colors.

Barristan stepped closer, “Your grace?”

The words broke whatever spell had fallen over Robert, “Those fucking degenerate cunts.  How dare they think that can get away with this?  Reins of Castamere my ass, they’ll be I don’t pull that fucking rock down stone by stone and drown them in their thrice damned gold.”

“Your grace?” Barristan froze as Robert stood and slammed the letter into Selmy’s chest plate.

As Barristan read the missive, Robert continued his tirade, “It’s treason, the bitch thought she could get away with it.  She and that cuckolding vow-breaking brother of hers.  Think they can get away with this?  I’ll have their heads, I’ll have all their heads.  Incestuous fucking lions.”

Gendry and Mya had both stood by now and were watching their father with concern, eyeing the various people around the yard who were playing witness to this.  Gendry grimaced, “Your Grace?  What did the missive say?”

Robert snorted and motioned to Barristan, “Tell the lad, tell him how that abomination he saved isn’t worth the effort.  Tell them how my unfaithful whore of a wife spread her legs wide for that unfaithful cur.  How she’s been playing me for a fool, passing off those things as my children.”

Barristan grimaced, “The letter informs that Lord Jon Arryn sent word to Lord Royce, that in the event he died under suspicious circumstances, that, this information be passed to his grace.  Lord Arryn had discovered evidence that the royal children are in reality not of the King’s seed.  It says the proof of this is evident in any of his grace’s other children.  All one has to do is look at two of you standing side by side.”

“Gendry,” Robert rounded on his son, “your mum, you remember the color of her tresses?”

“Blond, the color of corn silk,” Gendry supplied, “Master Mott knew her, told me about her whenever I had trouble remembering.”

Robert nodded, “Aye, you were a wee lad when she died.  I remember clearly, a beauty she was, had to keep focused on the blue of her eyes, otherwise, I thought of my shrew of a wife.”  He took a step towards the boy, “If your mother’s hair was like that wife of mine, yet you bare the black hair and blue eyes of my house?  Why the fuck are those three shits the color of damn Lions?”

(North – Winterfell day of Robert’s arrival)

Tywin sat in Lord Stark’s solar, the five guards at the door all wearing the yellow and black of House Baratheon.  Tyrion sat in the other chair that wasn’t behind the desk, calmly drinking.  Behind the desk, Eddard Stark was busy writing missives to his various banners.  Joffrey was still in the maester’s tower, though Stark guards and Lord Umber were now guarding him.  Tommen and Myrcella had been confined to quarters, a mix of Baratheon and Stark men guarding them.  Cersei was under guard in the chamber that serves as a sept in Winterfell.  Jaime though was on the run, the moment Robert began yelling in the yard, Tyrion had convinced his brother to flee, it had surprised Tywin that Jaime did so without more of a fight.

“I am surprised you were able to convince your brother to flee,” Tywin asked his alleged son, “it is not in his character to flee from a fight.”

Tyrion looked to Lord Stark, “I merely told him it would be easier for Lord Stark to keep Cersei and the children alive if he wasn’t here to cause trouble.  I do hope I’m not a liar my lord.”

Ned glared at the dwarf, he’d always appreciated the man showing kindness and protecting Sansa, but he would not trust the imp.  “Your sister is beyond my abilities to save, she broke the laws of the land, and she attempted to conspire to place illegitimate children on the throne.  I will try to reason with Robert to see she is not executed, but her crimes occurred in the Crownlands, I have no jurisdiction over this.”

“Unless” Tywin mused, “you were to take the position of Hand.  Then you can act as a judge in the trial and show her mercy.  Cersei is unwell, House Lannister will see that she is made comfortable and kept where she can do no further harm.”

Ned nodded, “Aye, but that still leaves the children.  What shall be done with them?”

“Joffrey is no longer suitable for taking the black, and we know not how his mind may be affected by the venom.  I would wait to see when he awakes.  The younger two, I’d beg the crown to legitimize them as Lannisters.  I will take Tommen as my heir.” Neither lord paid mind to Tyrion’s irritated look, “Myrcella I will find her a suitable marriage in the Westerlands.”

Tyrion set down his goblet, “If I did not know better, I would think this were a play for my benefit.”  He glared at his father, “Was this what you were truly doing here the past weeks?  Planning my siblings' downfall and how best to recover whatever dignity we can from this shitstorm.”

“Of course,” Tywin mused, “I have had my suspicions ever since reading your mother’s journal after her death.  She recorded her discovery of them fornicating when they were teenagers before I even tried marrying your sister to Rhaegar.  I have been wary of them continuing, it was one of the reasons I wanted Jaime to be released from his vows and returned to the Rock.”

“Yet you came here before Jon Arryn even died,” Tyrion looked to Lord Stark, “did Lord Arryn send you a warning as he did to Lord Royce?”

Ned shook his head, “No, the only notices we received were of Jon and Lysa having died, and their son being safely recovered.  We had only just received the news of Lord Balish’s involvement before your arrival.”

Tyrion sighed, “Well, I guess we can assume the welcoming feast is not going to happen.”

“What are you saying?” Robert entered the room and the three men stood and bowed, “This, calls for a celebration, I’m free of the shrew, and thanks to this I have ample means to bully Neddy boy here into being my Hand.”  He nodded to Tywin, “I apologize for the course language earlier, my temper got a little hot.  Couple rounds with Gendry and Ned’s boys, in the sparring ring, and I can think clearly again.”  He moved to the table with the wine and goblets, “Now some fortification.”

Ned frowned, “How’d the boys come through the spar?”

“No lasting damage,” Robert chuckled, “your bastard might be breathing hard for a couple of days, took the mallet of my practice hammer to his chest.”  He snorted, “Boy was smarter than most I’ve hammered in the chest, went with the blow instead of resisting it.  Got a smart lad there, want to see him knighted I know Barristan wouldn’t mind a new squire.”  He looked to his guard who stood at the center of the formation of Baratheon guards, “Isn’t that right Selmy?”

Barristan nodded, “It’s been a few years since I had a squire, but not ready to retire yet your grace.”

“Hah,” Robert turned to Ned, “think it over, Ned.”  He clapped his hands, “Now, down to business.”  He pulled the Hand of the King Pin from his pocket and tossed it on the desk, “Ned, you take that and hand ruling this blasted Kingdom of mine.”  He then turned to Tywin, “Lannister, I’ll imagine you weren’t aware of your degenerate children before recent events.  In compensation for the loss of your grandchild being on the throne, I name you to the position of Master of Coin, you can oversee the repayment of the crown’s debt to your house and deal with the Iron Bank.”

Tywin nodded, “I would accept this honor but feel you are trying to appease me.  I would instead suggest that you name my son Tyrion Lannister to the position.  With any luck, he can scrape up the coin to manage to restructure the sewers of King’s Landing to alleviate the stench.”

“Hmm,” Robert turned to Tyrion, “what say you Imp?  Willing to deal with the books of the Kingdom?”

Tyrion snorted, “I doubt there is any way I could do worse than the last poor sap to hold the position.”

(North – Night Fort several days after Robert arrived)

Jeor watched as Halder and a couple of senior builders worked at opening the ancient doors.  The locks had long ago been iced over and would have to be broken to allow admittance into the lower sections of the first castle.  Todder stood nearby holding a torch as Maester Aemon stood using the young man as only a guide.  Aemon mused, “When was the last time anyone looked in the armory?”

“Three centuries ago,” Jeor frowned, “after the conquest.  Aegon requested access along with Torrhen Stark.  The Lord Commander at the time was not pleased with being ordered around, especially by the man who burned his brother and nephews at Harrenhal.”

“Wasn’t Harren the Black an Iron Born?” Todder asked.

“Aye, but Iron Born are still First Men, just by another name,” Aemon supplied, “The Drowned God may in truth be one of the multitudes of gods the First Men worship.  The Faith of the First Men is a ponderous system of belief, with few if any of their gods being called by name.”

Jeor saw Halder throw his weight into the prybar being used to break the locks.  With a loud snap followed by the clattering of aged iron on the stone floor, the first lock was removed.  With a nod, he led the way beyond the door.

Chapter Text

(Dragon Stone – The few days after Jon Arryn died)

Stannis entered the guest room of his most trusted man.  Davos had fallen ill the evening they had returned from King’s Landing following the death of the Old Falcon.  He’d received word from his brothers that Jon was indeed poisoned, but it was not the Lannisters who did it.  Lady Lysa Arryn was the perpetrator reportedly, not that they could question her on the subject since she’d been killed by supposed bandits on the road to the Vale.  Stannis had never heard of bandits who murder one woman while leaving her guards and servants as potential witnesses.

“Your grace,” his storm blue eyes zeroed in on Melisandre, who looked up from where she’d been sitting next to Seaworth's bed, “There has been no change, and the flames have been silent.”

A scoff came from Stannis, “Your god fails you then.”  He tossed a letter at the Red Woman’s feet, “There have been cases of similar illnesses across the Seven Kingdoms.  Almost always men of repute, and those of strong First Men blood.  Davos was a smuggler before I knighted him, but he grew up in the slums of King’s Landing.  Even he doesn’t have full knowledge of his ancestors.”

“Hmm,” the priestess scrutinized the motionless man upon the bed, “This is no illness then, this is a message from the gods.  That explains Rhilor’s silence, something the Old Ones have done has brought pause to the Lord of Light.  No doubt they are working the battle the Great Other in their own way.”

“I thought your Red God was the only true god?” Stannis mocked, “the only true power.”

Melisandre smirked, “He is not alone, but Rhilor is the most powerful, it takes all of the Old Ones together to even come close to him.”  She looked to Davos, “At least my god only works through those who are willing.  The Old Ones are petty and will bend those that they see as theirs to do as they bid.”

A snort came from Stannis, “You don’t see your manipulations as being any different?”

(North – Winterfell, day of Robert’s arrival)

His mother had wanted to postpone or cancel the feast following the excitement of the day.  The King though would not hear of it, so just after sundown everyone high born or low was present within the Great Hall.  It had taken Robb more than an hour to drag Theon down to get properly cleaned up.  He and Jon had been properly groomed earlier in the day, much to their displeasure.  It had been Theon missing that appointment along with his bed not being slept in that had sent Robb to Winter Town.

“His grace has danced with your mother, Sansa, and even dragged poor Arya out on the floor.”  Jon snickered from his place next to Robb.  His mother had been almost apoplectic when the King had arrived dragging his two bastard children in his wake.  Mya and Gendry were both good people, Mya even rushing to hug Robb’s father and calling him Uncle Ned.

Robb was pleased to have his brother sitting with them, it was where Jon belonged.  Robert had taken one look at the assembled Stark children and had immediately questioned where Jon was.  Arya had blurted out that mother would not allow Jon to sit with them.  The King overruled Catelyn swiftly.

“My Lord,” Robb looked to his other side where Margaery sat with her brother, her two Sand Snakes had opted to sit with their guards.  The Rose of Highgarden smiled benignly at him, “Would you and Grey Wind mind accompanying me to get a bit of fresh air?”

Seeing the way, the king was ogling anything with tits that wasn’t his own daughter, or either of Robb’s sisters, the heir of Winterfell grinned and stood offering the young woman his arm, “It would be my honor, my lady, and please.  It is just Robb, if we are to be wed, should we not at least use each other’s names?”

The girl from the Reach gave a demure nod, “In that case please call me Margaery.”  She looked to her constantly sulking brother, “Loras, please behave while we are gone.”

Her brother glared back, “What are you saying?  I am your escort; I should come with you.”

“Nonsense,” Margaery motioned to the feast, “you should enjoy yourself.  I am sure there are plenty of guards in the yard who will vouch for my innocence to be untainted come dawn.”  She then looked to Robb, “I am also led to believe Robb’s honor is as unimpeachable as his Lord Father, whose honor is second only to the Warrior himself.”

Robb nodded to Loras, “I would never dishonor your sister in such a way, especially within my own home after you and yours had been granted guest rights.  Besides the Lady of the Keep is lurking in the yard, Grey Wind will have to be at the top of his game to impress his mother.”

Jon snorted, “You know dear brother, Father hates when people call her that.”

“Aye,” Robb growled, “but you heard him, we’re not saying her name while within earshot of the king.  Especially when he’s deep in his cups.”

Margaery realized whom they were referring to, “I wondered why she was not here, each of you has your wolves present, but your father’s is not here.”

Jon motioned to the room, “Too many people and too much noise,” he poured himself another cup of wine, “she’s probably pacing by the door unless father convinced her to go hunt.  The pups are a little bit used to such things, their mother is still mostly a wild animal.”

After saying their good evenings to their brothers and the rest of Robb’s siblings, they exited the hall.  Grey Wind led them out into the yard and towards the new keep.  Robb knew the moment the mother Direwolf had approached.  He felt a mix of trepidation and elation, mixed with an exuberant amount of joy that definitely wasn’t his.  Grey Wind stopped, and took the guardian stance, his hackles raised.  His display would be almost perfect if not for the happy languid sway of his tail.

He felt Margaery tense at his side as the mother Direwolf stepped into the light, “Relax, she will not harm you.”  To prove his point Robb took a knee and spoke to the Direwolf, “Lyanna, come here, there is someone I would like you to meet.”

“Lyanna?” Margaery questioned, “Your father gave her the name of his dead sister?”

“Technically,” Robb smirked sheepishly, “It was Old Nan, says it would be just like my aunt to come back in the form of a Direwolf.”  Lyanna the Direwolf approached slowly and sniffed at Robb before looking at Margaery, her eyes piercing through the girl like she was looking at her soul and judging her.  The great wolf tilted her head before laying on the ground, “She’s inviting you to pet her, it’s rare she’d let anyone outside the family do so, not even mother has.”

Margaery joined Robb in kneeling and tentatively reached her hand towards the wolf.  Which grew tired of the girl’s hesitancy as she brought her head up to meet the outstretched hand.  Margaery’s hand moved gently through the wolf’s fur, “She’s so soft.”

Robb nodded as he scratched Grey Wind behind the ears, “They are, the Kennel Master is the only one outside us who’s gotten a lot of time examining them.  He said they have a double coat, meant for keeping them warm.”  Robb watched as Margaery marveled over the Direwolf before them, “Not to presume, but perhaps tomorrow we could take a walk through the godswood.”

Margaery turned a beatific smile to him, “I would love to.”

(Inside)

Catelyn fumed at the various bastards polluting her home, it was bad enough she had to put up with Jon Snow, but now the king brought a Stone and Waters into her home, not to mention the two Sands parading around as ladies in waiting to the girl who was more than likely going to be Robb’s betrothed.  She wished she’d been present for Lord Hightower presenting the girl, she’d have convinced Ned to accept the offer immediately.  The girl was from a good family and had the proper upbringing regarding the faith.

She noticed Jon escaping the clutches of one of the Sand Snakes, retreating to Sansa’s side to glare at anyone who looked at her in any improper manner.  The boy may be a stain on her husband’s honor and a constant reminder of his infidelity, but he tried to act like a proper gentleman.  She had to constantly remind herself that it was only an act, he was conniving by nature, it wasn’t his fault, it was in the nature of all bastards.  He only acted so around his siblings to get them to drop their guard so they wouldn’t expect it when he stabbed them in the back to take what was rightfully theirs.  She still hadn’t figured out how he’d swindled the Direwolf into giving him one of her pups.

“Milady,” Catelyn looked to see Jory standing at her side, “tis Lady Lannister, she is asking about her boy.  The fellas want to know if we’re allowed to tell her?”

A grimace appeared on Catelyn’s face, more bastards making her home unclean.  She’d have to burn half the bedding just to get the stench out.  Seeing Jory’s concerned look, she pursed her lips, “Tell her you will inquire in the morning.”

Jory nodded, “Of course,” his eyes swept the room, “is there something troubling you Lady Stark?”

“No Jory, nothing but the usual complaints.  Rodrik moved the boy to Rickon’s room as Lord Stark ordered?”  Catelyn did not like allowing the boy so close to her children but would not countermand a direct order from Ned.

“Uncle saw to it personally,” Jory mused, “Little Lord Rickon was happy as could be, dug out one of his story books and told his wolf that Jon would be able to tell them stories all night.”

This only served to irritate the woman.

(Later that night)

Lantern in hand and Direwolf at his heel, Ned Stark made his rounds of the keep.  He’d checked on the guards standing at the doors of various guests.  Sandor and Gendry were stationed at the doors leading to the rooms held by Tywin Lannister, his son Tyrion as well as Myrcella and Tommen Waters.  Another boy named Podric stood with them, he introduced himself as Lord Tyrion's squire.  At the door to the rooms assigned to Lord Hightower and his grandchildren and guests, Sarella Sand stood with a few Dornish and Reach guards, she greeted him warmly and asked if she could peruse Winterfell’s library, which Ned gave permission readily.

All seemed in order, aside from a few hedge knights he’d disturbed from their drunken stupor within various alcoves.  More than a few servants went scurrying from those men’s clutches upon recognizing the Warden of the North.  He stopped briefly at the cells of the Night’s Watch members and spoke with his brother who made an effort to convince him to allow Jon to join the Watch.  Ned would not be allowing that again.

Finding his way to the sept chamber, he entered to find Cersei looking out the window upon the Litchfield below, “My fat oaf of a husband stumbled his way into your family crypts some time ago.  His lap dogs no doubt worry about him.”

“Perhaps,” Ned put the lantern on a table as his Direwolf entered and sat next to the door, “I checked on Joffrey, he has yet to wake but Luwin has him on a strong dose of sweet sleep.  I have convinced His Grace to spare the children, for now, you can help their case by publicly confessing and accepting the revoking of their claims to the throne.”

Cersei glared at him, “You want me to admit to adultery?  The Faith will have me burned at the stake.”

Ned glared at the masks of the seven hanging on the walls, “Convert to the faith of your forefathers, to the beliefs of the First Men.”

“You want me to worship trees like you barbarians?” Cersei mocked, “how is that any better?”

“I can protect you by the laws of the First Men,” Ned crossed his arms, “It is not a widely known law, but was brought forward by the Conciliator.  The Faith cannot persecute people who follow the Old Gods without first requesting permission from a Green Man, they would have to seek one on the Isle of Faces, which we both know they would be wroth to do.  Their only other option would be to request the highest-ranking lord of the First Men to surrender you to them.  I’m a Stark, no one stands above us, even the Kings of the Rock would not challenge us.”

A glare came to the woman’s face, “Lions do not bow to sheep.”

Ned knelt as the Direwolf moved to stand next to him, “Direwolves are not sheep, my lady.”

(The Crypts)

Robert drunkenly stumbled through the rows of statues.  He could have been stumbling all night had he not noticed a light coming from an alcove.  As he approached, he spotted Ned’s boy kneeling before the statue of Lyanna Stark.  The boy’s whispered prayers were too quiet for him to hear.  It was what the boy was holding that caught Robert’s breath.  A wreath of winter roses.  The boy kissed the wreath before resting it against the statue’s feet.

“Your Grace?” Robert blinked as he saw Jon stand and turn towards him, “can I help you with something?”

Robert cleared his throat, “Just, just came down to pay my respects.”  The King slowly approached his eyes on the wreath, which looked so alike a crown of roses he’d seen once before.  At a tourney, he would never forget.  He looked to the boy, “You come down here often this late.”

“Half past the hour of the bat,” Jon nodded, “I was supposed to tend to the graves before your arrival, your grace.  I got busy looking after Rickon and forgot.  Was hopeful father would not notice before I had a chance to amend my error.”

“She was something else,” Robert focused on the statue, “she does not deserve to be consigned to this dark fetid crypt.  She should be in the sunlight.”  He looked to Jon, his drunkenness seemingly vanished, “Your mother was too good for this seven’s damned world.”

He noticed the boy’s frown, and almost rethought his assumptions.  Jon took a step back, “What are you talking about Your Grace?  You knew my mother?”

“Pfft,” Robert snorted, “you're as good of a mummer as Old Ned.”  Robert frowned, “I knew it the first time I held you when Ned brought you to King’s Landing on his way home.  He only stayed long enough to attend my wedding, but I was curious.  He’d introduced you as his bastard and claimed your wetnurse was the camp follower he’d bedded at some time in the rebellion.  Anyone else would have bought that shite, hook line, and sinker.  I knew Ned, there was only one woman he’d have broken his vows for, and she was no comely wench named Wylla.”  He placed his hands on his hips, “You were a scrawling red little thing, crying out against a world that had given you a shit lot in life.”

He saw the boy take another step back, “What would you know?”

“I’ve tried every time Ned and I have been together to get him to slip up, get him to admit the truth.”  Robert sighed as he looked to the statue of Lyanna, “but I should have known his loyalty would be to her first above anyone else.  That was the reason Ned claimed you as his bastard, he was shielding you from all the harpies and two-faced snakes who’d try and get their claws into you.” The King’s jaw worked as he mulled over his thoughts, “He was protecting you from me most of all.  He was the only one in that gods’ forsaken throne room that railed against the injustice brought down on poor Elia and her children.”  He focused on the wreath again, “It was in the practice yard today that sealed it.  The moment that hammer hit your chest.  I was back there, back on the Trident.”

He noticed movement behind him, another lantern approach.  Jon obviously, having the advantage of not being intoxicated as the king was, noticed it as well, “Pardon your grace, but we are not alone.”

“It is only me Jon,” Ned stepped around the corner, “I spotted Ghost in the Litchfield and came to see what you were doing here so late.”  Eddard looked to the wreath of blue winter roses, “I see, weren’t you supposed to do this earlier?”

“Pardon father,” Jon swiftly bowed his head, putting on the act of a child caught, “I was reading to Rickon this morning and forgot to tend to them.  I had hoped to see to it before you came down.”

Eddard chuckled, “As long as it was tending to your brother and not chasing skirts as Robb and Theon have been known to do now and again.”  He motioned to the entrance, “You can see to your chores in the morning, and I’ll have Sir Cassel prepare something to remind you not to shirk your duties again.”  The dismissal was evident even to Robert.  He watched as Jon only paused momentarily before his ‘father’ a silent conversation passed between them.  Ned’s face took on a stony expression as he turned to face Robert, “How?”

A snort came from the king, “We’ve known each other since we were lads.  I was the one who caroused up and down the Vale, you were the poor git who cleaned up after me.  Hells, Mya wouldn’t have even been born had you not been visiting Winterfell.  Women might not have been falling over themselves for you as they did with me, what with that long sourpuss face of yours, but you never even paid for it.  So, when you showed up in my castle with a bastard, I knew something didn’t add up, especially when you claimed that comely wench was the mother.  You married Catelyn out of duty Ned as I did with Cersei.  We both lost the women who claimed our hearts.  My Lyanna to that incest spawned Rhaegar, and your Ashara to whatever darkness drove her to jump.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Ned glared, “He was a threat to you, my actions were treasonous at the very least.”

Robert shook his head, “I talked it over with Jon, the Old Falcon was always one step ahead of either of us.  It took me sneaking into your guest chambers and holding the boy to fully grasp it.  Jon knew the moment he saw Wylla ride into the red keep.”  He sighed, “Jon knew you, knew you would never push for the lad’s claim, he wasn’t sure the boy was even legitimate.  He said if any Northern blood was spilled south of the Neck so soon after the war ended.  We’d be fighting alone against an incensed Northern host.  We waited, and watched.  Varys sent his little birds, but rarely could they send back words.  The little we got back was always the same.  Jon Snow, the much-beloved bastard son of Lord Stark, is being raised beside his legitimate siblings.  Then you came storming down to help put down the Greyjoys, and Jon said that was proof enough of your loyalties.”

Eddard snorted, “I have no desire to see any of my blood on the Iron Throne, enough of it has been spilled before it.”  He looked to the statues of his father and brother, “I promised Lyanna to protect him.  I know not how to protect him now, not with what is coming.”

The King’s brows furrowed at that, “What is coming Ned?”

“Evils that have not been seen in ages,” Eddard sighed, “I am sure you have heard of various men and women across Westeros having strange illnesses.”

“Aye,” Robert nodded, “Barristan and Jamie both came down with fevers, first Jamie and then Barristan.  Pycelle said it was just a random illness Jamie had picked up and then passed to Selmy.”

“Pycelle is a shit maester,” Ned growled out, “The fever is a symptom, not a cause of what is happening.  Those afflicted are given a warning of sorts.  I believe Lord Royce was afflicted and that is how he truly learned of the Lannisters.  I do not know the full extent of Lord Royce’s knowledge, the few others I have spoken with have had different warnings.  Some are only given a bare minimum to avert various events.  Others, like myself and Lord Tywin, were given warnings of much greater dangers.”  Ned sighed as he spoke his house words, “Winter is coming, and with it a war against death itself.”

(Courtyard)

Mance Rayder bedded down under his tarp, while it was cold, the weather at Winterfell was warm in comparison to the lands beyond the Wall.  Mance had watched Lord Stark head for the Litchfield, he had been surprised to find Direwolves within the walls of Winterfell.  He had only meant to spy on the lords of the North, to see how well they could defend against his people when they came south.  He hadn’t expected one of Lord Stark’s men to approach him with a letter.

It had taken him some time to control his reaction.  The letter had simply stated that Lord Stark knew how he snuck into Winterfell and that if he tried to leave by any means.  The guards were ordered to drag him back, and Lord Stark would instead treat with whoever succeeded Mance in leading the Free Folk.  The guard who’d handed him the letter obviously knew what it said, as he simply grinned and showed him to a place to camp for the night.

The sound of approaching feet and voices drew his attention, “Lord Stark is indisposed with a personal matter, I will handle this.”

“Milord,” the familiar voice of the Winterfell guard who’d handed him the letter was coming his way with the unknown man, whose voice sounded from a more southern dialect, “he is over here, but I don’t see how this matters to you, this is a North issue.”

“What affects the North affects the realm boy,” the lordly voice lectured, “and I would much rather see to this than the blubbering of my grandchildren.  By the time I am done, Tyrion should have them both back to sleep.”  Mance sat up and pushed the flap shielding him from the elements back, as the guard and a man dressed in crimson finery with gold embroidery and a golden lion emblazoned on his chest approached.  “Good, you are awake.”

Mance frowned, “Beg pardon milord, you require a song to put the young ones to sleep, I have a lullaby or two in my repertoire.”

The lord snorted, “I may take you up on that offer if my son fails to see to the task.” The man motioned for a stool to sit on, which was brought to him by the guard, “Pardon my manners, I am Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the West.  You would be Mance Rayder, a deserter from the Wall and self-styled King Beyond the Wall.”

As Mance’s eyes went to the guard, so did Tywin’s hand which stopped the man from drawing steel, “I know your first instinct is to apprehend our friend here, but we have need of him.”

“He’s a deserter milord, there’s no other use for them than seeing justice done,” the guard glared at Mance.

“True, in most cases, but we cannot be short-sighted here,” Tywin narrowed his gaze at Mance, “there are bigger pictures to be seen.  Unless you wish to see an army of forty thousand or more wildlings sweep across the North.”

A look of confusion crossed the guard's face, “What you are saying, milord?”

Tywin nodded to Mance, “Are my numbers accurate?”

“Close,” Mance frowned, “forty thousand fighters, we got another six thousand children and elders.  How’d you know our numbers?  We’d know if a southerner was lurking about our camps.”

Nodding Tywin leaned towards Mance, “There are far worse things lurking about your camps, am I right?”  At Mance’s surprised look Tywin chuckled, “Don’t be so surprised.  The Night’s Watch has been losing men regularly the last year or so, and I have a feeling it is not your people who’ve been killing them.”

Mance nodded, “You have the right of it, but I thought men of your ilk refused to believe in such things.”

“Given a few months ago,” Tywin agreed, “I’d have tossed anyone telling me those creatures had returned into a cell to sleep off the drink.  Now, I’d much prefer reducing the number of available corpses by around fifty thousand.  Do you know what their current strength is?”

“Who knows,” Mance snorted, “you think they’ve just returned, but they’ve never left.  The Free Folk have struggled to survive against them for years uncounted.  Over the centuries they would take the random traveler or anyone unlucky enough to cross their path.  I’d say it was about half a year ago the first villages in the furthest reaches north started going quiet.  First, I heard of it about four months ago, the Thenn came down south leading what was left of the northern tribes and giants.  We started gathering at Hardhome.  About three months ago the last villages closest to the Wall that hadn’t joined us went dark.  These were villages that worshiped the Others, gave them sacrifices to protect themselves.”

Tywin nodded, “Winter will come to the North within the year, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms by the end of the next.  Things were worse than I thought.”  He looked to the guard, “Have a horse and escort ready for our friend here first thing in the morning.”  He turned back to Mance, “I want you to take your forces to Hardhome and fortify the city to the best of your abilities.  A fleet of ships will arrive to transport your women and children south.  We will also transport your fighters under the auspices that they aid in the defense of the Wall against the Others.”

“You intend to fight the Others?” Mance shook his head, “pardon but we’ve been fighting them for centuries, there is no winning.  The best option is to head south and keep going.”

“Craven,” the guard snorted.

“Practical,” Tywin corrected, “but futile.  Where do you run to once you’ve gone as far south as you can, but the Others do not stop advancing?  What do you do when your back is against the ocean, and you are facing an entire continent of the dead?”

Mance snorted, “Take ships and head to the east.”

“Who’s to say the Others will not simply follow?” Tywin countered, “these creatures bring winter with them, who’s to say they do not freeze the sea in their mad quest to extinguish all life?  The Wall is our one hope to stop the evil that is coming.  Will your people stand with the rest of us to see an end to the Others?  Or, am I speaking to another craven whose only purpose is to paint the stones of Winterfell with your blood after Lord Stark removes your vow breaker head?”

(North – White Harbor)

Wendel escorted the two Dornish parties into the New Castle, to his father’s hall.  Prince Doran is at his side using a cane, his daughter at his elbow.  Arianne marveled at the architecture of the New Castle, “There is certainly a lot of white marble, and the frescos are enchanting.”

“Thank you, princess,” Wendel nodded to her, “we are quite proud of them.  Lady Sarah Snow, sister of Cregan Stark did those in this corridor while restoring the ones in my father’s hall.  Few knew she was a talented artist; her surviving works are coveted by the houses which hold them.  Just as she was coveted, though Lord Cregan repeated denied her hand to any man who’d ask.”

Doran sighed, “I am grateful your father made time to see us, but will it take long to arrange transport to Winterfell, I was hoping to meet with his grace and Lord Stark before they set out for the capital.”

The Manderly knight frowned, “I was not aware word of Lord Stark being named Hand had traveled as far as Dorne.”

“I have friends at court,” Doran smirked, “good friends who were swift in sending word of the king heading to Winterfell.  There are few reasons his grace would make such a journey.  Lord Stark is a dutiful sort, he would not shirk such a task as to serve as his old friend’s Hand.  A wise choice the king makes, naming a man who values his duties over his personal ambitions.”

“Quite right,” Wendel said, “you are in luck, we have been in the process of preparing the way for another group of travelers.  If you do not mind sharing the wheelhouse with them that is.”

“Surprise travel companions are always a boon; you never know whom you’ll meet.  The tale of Dunk and Egg tells us this much,” Arianne mused, “from where do our potential companions come?”

“Essos, but they are Westrosi, they have been away from home for a number of years.  They like you are restless to reach Lord Stark before he is to depart.”  Wendel sighed, “Due to a series of unforeseen events, the royal visit has been prolonged.  The King refuses to return south until Ser Jamie Lannister is apprehended.”

“What has Ser Jamie done to draw the wroth of his grace,” Doran gave a knowing look to his daughter, having explained some of what Lord Dayne had imparted to him, “I hope it is nothing too serious.”

Wendel grimaced, “Father would skin me for gossiping, but you’ll hear sooner or later.  Lord Royce of the Vale sent the king’s bastard daughter with a message.  Apparently, Lord Jon Arryn had learned the Queen had been passing her incestuous spawn off as the king’s children.  While the Lannister twins were not responsible for the death of Jon Arryn, a note left by Jamie in Winterfell admits to multiple murders he had committed to protect their secret.  The Queen and her ill-begotten children are held at Winterfell, but Ser Jamie escaped before he could be apprehended.”

Doran frowned, “Where in all the North could a hunted man go?”

“Only one place I could think of,” Wendel frowned, “the Wall accepts all, no matter their crime.  Swear your vows there and any crime from before is wiped clean, but your life belongs to the Wall from that day until your last.”

Edric Dayne frowned as he entered the merman’s hall.  The hall was arranged differently than most he’d been in.  Guests did not enter facing the merman’s seat, instead, they faced a wall of ceiling-to-floor windows of Myrish glasswork.  The windows were patterned so every other window was clear pristine glass sandwiched by colorful stained-glass windows depicting historic events.  The wall to their left was similarly styled, while to their right was the raised dais of the merman’s seat.  The room housed two large tables that ran along the walls with windows, the seats arranged so everyone faced the merman’s seat.

He'd heard of the merman’s court, a gathering of lesser lords who held holdfasts near White Harbor.  They often met to seek Lord Manderly’s aid in matters they felt too trivial to send to Winterfell.  Wyman Manderly was the holder of many honorary titles and was among the most influential lords of the North.  Like all of his predecessors, his loyalty to House Stark was unimpeachable, and to even question it was a good way to find yourself a permanent guest of the Wolf’s Den.

“My guests,” Wyman with great difficulty pulled his massive frame to his feet, “I welcome you to White Harbor and the North.  Please, be seated, and eat to your heart’s content, my tables never disappoint.  Though, please do start with the bread and salt, we must not forget courtesy.”

Doran tilted his head, “We thank you for the welcome Lord Manderly, and just by sight, I can tell the tales of your graciousness do not do you justice.”  Doran moved to a place near the merman’s seat, and motioned Edric and Arianne to follow him, while the rest of their party moved to other available seats among the various minor lords, “My lord, your son mentioned another party is preparing to set out, by chance, is my brother among their number?”

“Nay,” Wyman shook his head, “but I have heard from my dear friend Howland that your brother and an odd assortment of companions made it safely through the Neck.  They were resting at Moat Cailin but should have departed for Winterfell by now.  If you chose to depart in two days with this other party, then you should arrive within days of each other.”

Doran nodded as he partook of bread and salt, “My thanks, I have been traveling, and keeping in contact has not been possible.  I must know, who are these travelers from Essos who have business with your honorable liege?”

Wyman stroked his beard as he leaned back, “Travelers like yourself, they are currently taking in the sights of White Harbor with my granddaughters, but you’ll meet them this evening.”  Wyman focused on Edric, “This lad, he wears the sigil of House Dayne, by your age, I would guess you are Lord Edric Dayne, son of Lord Dayne.”

Edric nodded, “Aye, I’m Edric, I was unaware you knew much of my family this far north.”

“There was a time when your House would have been tied to that of my liege lord’s,” Wyman sighed sadly, “While many grumbled about the heir being betrothed to a southern fish, and the she-wolf being sold to a Storm Lord,” he looked to Ser Dondarrion, “no offense my good ser.”

Beric grimaced from where he sat with Allyria, “None taken my lord.”

Wyman looked back to Edric and Doran as he continued, “We were much more understanding of Lord Eddard taking the first steps in courting Lady Ashara.  She was of good First Men stock and not as pious as the fish.  I’m a man of the Seven, but I respect the faiths and customs of my countrymen of the North.  Many of my kin have married other northern houses, it has been customary for our daughters to convert to the Old Gods.  Even I seek the quiet of my godswood from time to time.”  Wyman chuckled, “Don’t let the most devout know, but even our dear Septon finds solace beneath the boughs of the heart tree.”

Edric smirked, “My aunt spends time in our godswood, she says it allows her to feel close to her sister.  It was said Ashara spent the night before she jumped alone in the godswood of Starfall.  No one truly knows though, one minute she was there, the next a servant was screaming for help, that she’d seen Lady Ashara falling from the Pale Sword Tower.”

“The war brought untold tragedies,” Wyman nodded, “I myself was outside the throne room of the Red Keep when the lion presented his revolting deed before Robert and the others.  The fury on Lord Stark’s face was a rarity, getting young Eddard to show any emotion was trying at the best of times, but following the murders of his father and brother, neigh impossible.  I dare say, a second hour of the wolf would have befallen the Red Keep if Lord Arryn hadn’t talked Eddard down.  We quit the city, half of us returning home, the rest going to relieve Storms End.”

Doran frowned, “I take it you were among those who return North?”

“Indeed,” Wyman sighed, “I was charged with escorting Lady Catelyn back to Winterfell.  I had to remain in Riverrun for a time until Young Robb was ready for travel.  By the time we got to Winterfell, Lord Stark had been home for at least a moon.”

Edric grimaced at the mention of the other woman, the woman his birth father had married to fulfill a duty left to him.  On the journey from Starfall, Edric had grown cold towards the memory of his various uncles, at least those who were now dead, he’d grant Benjen Stark a reprieve as he’d not been south since before Robert’s Rebellion.  Brandon Stark’s foolishness had resulted in Edric’s parents being torn apart, as his father was forced to wed another woman and abandon his mother.  Arthur Dayne participated in the events regardless of the how or why, and in the end chose death.  Then there was the man he’d called father, he had to wonder if his mother would yet live had Lord Dayne not stolen him and claimed him as his legitimate son.

His musings were ended by the door to the hall opening, a group entered led by two women Edric could easily identify as Lord Manderly’s granddaughters.  Wyman clapped his hands, “Oh, you have returned early, good.”

Besides Wyman’s granddaughters, the group was mostly nondescript people who arrayed themselves as protecting the woman and young man in the lead of their group.  Edric was just scrutinizing the newcomers when there was a clattering of utensils.  He turned to see Aunt Allyria gasping, her hand over her mouth.  Next to him, Prince Doran had also tensed, his eyes roving over the two people.

He noticed Doran’s knuckles turning white as his fists tightened, the woman suddenly stepped forward and bowed her head, “My prince.”

Doran’s jaw was working as though he was trying to come to some conclusion of what to say.  It was Arianne who broke the tension as she vaulted over the table and enveloped the older woman in a bone-crushing hug, “How is this possible?”

The woman grimaced, “My princess, you have grown into a true beauty, I cannot explain all here and now, there are too many ears.  Lord Manderly had done a commendable job at protecting us, out of his love for Lord Stark he will do all in his power to see us safely to Winterfell.”

Edric watched as Doran turned to Wyman, “You knew, how long has she been here?”

“A couple of weeks, and it was as much a surprise to me,” Wyman snorted, “she arrived on a mystery ship along with her companions.  She told me it was important she reaches Lord Stark as soon as possible, but once word of the happenings at Winterfell came, she relaxed slightly.”

The young man stepped forward and looked to Wyman, “Perhaps my lord, you could dismiss the rest of the court, they know our identities, but they could help ensure we are not overheard by those we cannot trust.”

Wyman nodded, “Good thinking my lad,” he turned to the minor nobles who’d been watching the exchange silently, “See to it no one approaches the hall we do not know and trust with our lives.”  These were not southern dandies, but hard north men and women, each giving a nod and picking up a weapon moved towards the doors.  A group of men moved to the wall beside the merman’s seat and vanished behind a hidden passage.  Wyman gave it a moment before looking to his assorted guests, “We are secure now.”

Doran’s expression darkened as he looked between the young man and Wyman, “What is going on here?  Such security is not necessary simply because Lady Ashara Dayne is standing here alive and well so many years following her reported self-inflicted death.”

“It is not her identity that is dangerous uncle,” Doran and his children turned to the young man who pulled back the hood he was wearing to hide his white, blond hair, “It could cause problems if the wrong person were to learn of my survival.”

Doran blinked, it took a moment before he saw Elia and Rhaegar in the lad’s features, “Aegon?”  The Prince of Dorne then turned to Ashara, “How?”

Ashara stepped next to the young man, “Elia secreted him out of King’s Landing with the aid of Varys and me.  Eddard aided as well though he is unaware of this fact.  My entourage was assaulted by bandits on our way to a port that would see us to Starfall.  Aegon was hidden with a nursemaid in a hidden compartment of our wheelhouse.  Eddard was leading his men through the area seeking the loyalist forces when they came upon us.  His men routed the bandits, and he was surprised to cross paths with me, I informed him Elia had dismissed me from her service.”  She pulled her Starfall pin from a pouch, “he returned my pin as he told me he’d married his brother’s betrothed to secure the alliance with the Riverlands.”

“Was that before or after the two of you were intimate,” Doran asked.

Edric watched as his mother’s eyes moved to him, he swallowed hard as he stepped forward, “Lord Dayne revealed the truth before he drew his last breath,” he paused before addressing her, “mother.”

This seemed to break Ashara who would have collapsed had Aegon and Arianne not rushed to brace the woman.  Ashara looked at the young man, “I thought you would hate me, curse me for abandoning you.”

“I am not sure of my feelings,” Edric spoke truthfully, “I do not hate either you or my sire.  How can I hate a man who was denied even the chance to know I existed?”  He looked to Aegon, “I understand you leaving, you had a duty.  If uncle had not stolen me, I doubt you’d have left me behind.”

Ashara’s eyes became damp, and Arianna pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve for the older woman, who dabbed at the tears before they could fall, “I’d dreamed of you and Aegon being like brothers, the way Elia and I had always hoped.  I feared you’d never get the chance to know your father.”

Wyman coughed, “Beg pardon, but if this boy is your and Lord Stark’s son, who is the mother of Jon Snow?”

A snort came from Doran, “The lad is not of Lord Stark, but he is of Lord Stark’s blood.”  He looked to his nephew, “Aegon, you know?”

There was a nod from Aegon, “My brother, Lady Ashara,” the name came out awkward from Aegon like he’d stopped himself from using another name, “told me about father marrying Lady Lyanna so that she might give him more legitimate children.  She implied mother was aware and had selected Lady Stark for this because her only ambitions were her own freedom.”  Aegon grimaced, “Something apparently went wrong seeing as Lord Brandon Stark and his father were murdered and the realm devolved into chaos.”

Wyman rubbed his chin, “His grace knows.”  They all looked to the Lord who leaned back, “A letter from my eldest son who was summoned to Winterfell by Lord Stark reported that King Robert had made Jon a squire to Ser Selmy.  Much to the discontent of Lady Catelyn.  Young Bran was made a page to appease her.”

Aegon grit his teeth, “He plans to have my brother as a hostage?”

“I doubt so,” Ashara countered, “Robert loved Lyanna, even if she could not return such affections for him.  I believe it is more the simple fact of his wishes to do something for the boy.  This will be the opportune time for us to make contact, not as enemies wishing to claim the throne.”

Doran nodded, “Indeed, we can claim Aegon has been secreted away in Dorne, that you went into hiding to protect him.  We must not mention Jon Connington in any way.  Just claim he has desired to meet his surviving sibling.”

Ashara frowned, “I never mentioned Connington’s involvement.”

A smirk appeared on Doran’s face, “Your brother may have told said a bit more than just the truth of Edric’s birth.  He’d had a fever a short time before his death.  A fever I believe you also recently had.”

Chapter Text

(North – Winterfell)

Margaery Tyrell knelt next to her betrothed before the heart tree of Winterfell.  Since he first introduced her to this place, she had made a point of accompanying him as often as she could.  This would be the place they wed, she’d heard from her grandfather that Lord Eddard had approved the match, and the rest of her family was already on their way.  It had surprised everyone to hear Mace wanted the wedding done and consummated before the end of the year.  She’d hoped to have some time to get to know her future husband.

Grey Wind whined from his place between her and Robb, with a smile she continued her ministrations of stroking her hand through the soft fur atop the wolf’s head, “You must be deep in thought.”

She rolled her eyes at her betrothed, “I pause but a moment and you’d think I had abandoned him.”  She waited for Robb to stand before taking his hand and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.  She brushed the few leave that had clung to her dress, Nymeria was trying to convince her to adopt leggings to her attire, as they’d be more prudent in the cold of the North.  Checking she was put together she turned to give Robb a once over pausing only as he plucked a crimson leaf from her hair.

“Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression,” Robb picked up his sword, and affixed it to his belt, “You think the rocks for brains have finished working each other over in the sparring ring?”

She sighed, “I hope there was nothing more than wounded pride.  Loras is normally much better behaved, I know he is upset over his plotting being undone.”  She’d told Robb during one of their walks through the godswood of Renly and her brother plotting to supplant Cersei with her.  Margaery’s father had upset the plot which had her grandmother’s support when he opted to offered her to House Stark.  Not that she’d have baulked at being Queen, but she’d been nervous about Renly’s claims she looked enough like Lyanna Stark to seduce the King.

Robb had laughed at the claim before taking Margaery to see the likeness of Lyanna in the crypt.  Sarella had joined them as Margaery’s escort and the Sand Snake had marveled at the statues having read about them in a book some time ago.  She’d been practically in tears over the worn and weathered state of some of the older statues, but upon seeing the likeness of Lyanna she snorted in amusement.

Robb had been offended until Sarella informed she’d met Lyanna briefly when she was very young.  The statue in the crypt was obviously been done by someone who’d never seen the woman personally, no doubt done from a portrait, and a poorly done one at that.  This had peaked Robb’s curiosity as he’d met few people who were outside his father’s influence who’d met his aunt.

Sarella had been almost three at the time and had traveled with her father to a watchtower within the Prince’s Pass.  They’d met Lyanna and some knights, her memory was fuzzy due in part to her youth, but she’d spent most the visit picking flowers for Lady Lyanna who’d seemed very sad at the time.  When they departed, her father had told them he would return after seeing Sarella safely to Sunspear.

Margaery had realized that must have been during the rebellion or shortly after it began, which meant the Martells knew where Lyanna had been during the entire war.  She’d wanted to ask so many questions, but Robb’s brother Jon had appeared with candles to replace those on the graves of their grandfather, uncle, and aunt.  She had noticed the young man had appeared cross that Robb had brought people into the crypts that were not members of their family.

Exiting the godswood they could hear the sound of fighting and cheering coming from the sparring yard.  The silent white direwolf of Jon Snow greeted his brother and led them to where Jon stood watching the fight, “Come on Theon, don’t let that southern dandy get the better of you.”

“Shove it Snow,” Theon spat back from where he was kneeling on the ground, “It was your sister he assailed.”

Loras snarled, “I did not assail her,” he charged forward only for Sandor who was overseeing the fight to hold him back, “I tripped over her, how was I supposed to know the girl was Lord Stark’s second daughter.”

Theon snapped as he stood back up, and pointed at Jon, “Because she and her bastard brother look closer related to Lord Stark than any of their siblings you damn twat.”  He moved froward raising his tourney sword and shield, “Now yield you ponce before I make that scowl on your face permanent.”

Robb took the place next to Jon as Margaery stood at his side, “Surprised, you are cheering on Greyjoy, even if he’s fighting for our sister’s honor.”  He chuckled at the glare from his brother, “Right, Arya would kick my shins for that, how is she?”

“Fine, Luwin is keeping her in the tower,” Jon looked to Margaery, “thank you my lady for taking care of her until the Maester could see to her.”

“It was only right, it’s my idiot brother who ran into her,” Margaery frowned, “do you know what she was doing in that part of the keep?”

Robb sighed, “She’s been hoping to catch either of your Sand Snake friends where mother wouldn’t see her talking to either of them.  She has forbidden our younger siblings from speaking to them.”  He frowned then turned to Jon, “Didn’t she tell you to stay away from them to?”

His brother nodded, “Something about my lack of honor doesn’t mean I can shame father by bedding guests in his house.  She still doesn’t know we only go to Winter Town and drink, it’s Theon who does all the other stuff.”  He noticed Margaery’s look, “Truth, Robb here is a maiden.  No way the brothel will supply a son of Lord Stark with anything more than a stiff drink.  They fear father far more than they value our coin.”

“Why?” Margaery looked amused as Robb was looking ill at ease over the topic of whether he’d been intimate with a woman before.

“Because they know the Quiet Wolf is the deadliest of the pack,” They turned to find Lord Tywin and his brother approaching, “Lord Robb, Lady Margaery, good day,” He looked to Jon, “I was visiting my grandson in the maester’s tower, your sister was curious what all the commotion down here was.  I am curious how your father’s ward is the one reminding young Ser Tyrell of his knightly duties.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck, “Coin toss, Theon got first go at him, I was going to go next, but Ser Selmy said that wouldn’t be very honorable.  Father and his grace agreed, so, just got to make sure Theon doesn’t muck it up.”  They turned to the fight to see Theon charge into Loras and knocking him into the mud of the sparring yard.  The Iron Born straddled the older young man using his wooden shield to pin one arm while his leg kept the other pinned to Loras’s side.  Theon raised his tourney sword and pointed it at the Reachman’s throat, “Yield, you fop.”

A grimace appeared on Loras’s face, but his body relaxed as he sighed in defeat, “Yield.”  A cheer went up around the yard as Sandor hoisted Theon off of Loras and helped him to his feet.  As Theon received congratulation by guards and other observers, Loras made his way to Margaery.  He looked to Robb, “Please inform your sister I am deeply sorry for the altercation and will seek her forgiveness for my transgressions against her and your house.”

Robb held out his hand, “Seeing Theon best you will be enough for House Stark, Arya prefers things like fighting and archery she has not been one for the womanlier pursuits as it were.  Another reason she is so often compared to our aunt.”

Loras nodded, “I will think of something in the coming days, we are to be kin soon after all.”  He looked to Jon, “Had Ser Selmy not taken both you and Bran into his service, I’d have done so.  Perhaps when Bran reaches the age to promote to a squire himself The Bold will consent to let me take over such responsibilities.”

“Which reminds me,” Jon took notice of the position of a few shadows to realize the time, “The Bold asked me to find a couple of our guards to help guard his grace, he only has two of his sworn brothers here now, and he only trusts Oakheart.”

Margaery saw the excitement in her brother’s face and rolled her eyes as he spoke up, “If Ser Barristan needs another to help guard his grace, I am willing to lend a hand.”

Robb frowned, “Should you not be focused on acting as your dear sister’s escort?”

“As I have been reminded multiple times,” Loras snorted as he indicated Grey Wind who’d settled between Robb and Margary, “An adolescent wolf is just as capable of handling such a task.”

(North – On the road to Winterfell)

Aegon rode ahead of the Wheelhouse at the side of Wendel Manderly.  Wyman had chosen to accompany them to his liege lord’s seat, his second son and granddaughters accompany them as well, leaving White Harbor in the capable hands of a castellan, a distant Manderly cousin with close ties to the main branch of the family.  Aegon pulled tight the traveling cloak one of the Manderly girls had gifted him before they departed.  It was supple leather lined with thick wool and seal fur.  The sun and spear of his mother’s house had been stitched so it rested over his heart.  The girl had whispered she had already made the crimson three headed dragon of his father’s house and would adorn it to the cloak when it was safe to do so.

“You nervous lad?” He turned to see Wendel watching him carefully.

“It shows?” Aegon looked to the older man who nodded sympathetically, “We do not know if his grace,” Aegon had been practicing not calling Robert Baratheon by the title Usurper, “actually knows Jon’s true parentage.  What if we are mistaken and Ser Barristan took my brother as a squire out of the belief, he is truly Lord Stark’s bastard.  What if this is a mistake, all we could be doing is putting both my brother and myself in harm’s way.  We could be putting both my mother’s family and the Stark’s in danger as well.”

Wendel sighed, “I had my reservations as well,” he looked to the wheelhouse before looking back to Aegon, “I asked my father, and he told me he sent a message to Lord Howland Reed.  Doing so is nearly impossible as no raven can find Greywater Watch.  Yet, the messenger returned with word that Lord Reed’s children awaited him at Moat Cailin with a response.  A response written to a message that had yet to reach him.  It’s that response that has father making the effort to journey to Winterfell.”

Aegon frowned at that, “How could this Lord Reed respond to a missive he has yet to read?”

“There are some questions in life one simply does not ask,” Wendel chuckled, “How the Reeds do half of what they have done is prime among those questions.  They have served as the North’s southern watchmen since the day their last king laid his crown at the feet of the Starks.  They appear when needed, even before that need may even be known to them.  My ancestors have kept close ties with the Reeds, more so that we are both outsides when it comes to the North in general.  Both held at arm’s length by our countrymen, us of White Harbor for our faith, and those of the Neck for their peculiar nature.”

Aegon turned to look at the riders behind them.  Quentyn and Trystane had had even less time to acclimate to the cold of the North than the members of Aegon’s party yet had both chosen to ride with their cousin.  At sixteen Quentyn was the eldest of them, while Trystane was about four years younger than Aegon.  Rolly was the only other non-Northman willing to brave the elements, he rode with the guards positioned between the wheelhouse and baggage cart.  Another band of guards brought up the rear of their small column.

“We best make camp,” Wendel spoke up, “Your cousins are due for a bit of warming up, and it’s best not to travel this route at night.  Wildlings are known to make their way this far south from time to time.”  The Manderly knight motioned to a clearing along the road.  There were significant signs of repeated use.

Aegon watched over the proceedings as men readied the clearing for their camp.  Wyman had sat upon a stool near the wheelhouse, dispensing orders as he honed the edge of his sword.  The large man made an intimidating sight for any who did not know his jovial nature.  Haldon had mixed a concoction for Doran that eased the discomfort of his condition, but Aegon’s uncle remained on the wheelhouse where it was warmer.  Lemore or Ashara as he kept reminding himself had taken to overseeing the preparations for the evening meal.

Arianne approached him, “Dearest Cousin, you seem restless.”

“My brother and his closest kin are surrounded by murderers and cutthroats within their own home,” Aegon sighed, “I am the eldest, is it not my place to watch over my remaining kin?”

“I was never allowed to know the truth,” Arianne confided, “father only assumed Jon Snow was in fact the child Lyanna Stark bore at the whim of your parents.  With Ashara’s confirmation of this truth, we must plan accordingly, tie him to us.”

Aegon snorted, “Plotting to secure Martell control over the throne?”  At his eldest cousin’s sheepish look, the exiled prince glared, “Lemore, Ashara, whatever you want to call her has seen more than it is time we return.  An evil not seen since the age of heroes is coming.  This is not a matter of prophecy or some misinterpreted legend.  This is a simple fact.”  Aegon rolled back his shoulders and made himself taller, “An endless tide of the dead is coming to consume the living and extinguish all we hold dear.  I failed to make a difference before,” His shoulders seemed to sag, “In Ashara’s vision she saw my aunt and me lose ourselves in the greed and desire for the throne.  We left Jon to fight the Others on his own, he fell alone, abandoned by his own kin to die with what was left of his mother’s house.”

Arianne paled, “You cannot be serious, the Others are just old tales the barbarians of the North use to explain the changing of the seasons.”

“He is deadly serious my princess,” both turned to see a man in a green cloak seemingly melt out of the surrounding trees.  His eyes pierced them with an uncanny shade of green.

“Howland, you old frog eater, you should have said you were coming,” Wyman called from his place by the wheelhouse, “I’d have waited for you.”

The man they now realized was Lord Howland Reed turned to the Lord of White Harbor, “Wyman, you’ve gained another chin since last we met.”

“One,” Wyman laughed, “I’d say three, come my friend, join me, it has been far too long.”

“It has,” Howland moved putting weight on his trident as he made his way to a stool a guard had swiftly placed next to Wyman, “and why make you wait my lord when our paths were meant to cross here and now.  Such illustrious company you travel in.”

Wyman chuckled, “Not that it is any surprised to you of course.  Your letter said you were not well enough to make the journey yourself, what happened to make you chance such a trip on your own.”

Aegon approached as Howland chuckled, “I’m never alone Wyman, my gods of earth and tree are always with me.  Just as your seven in one are with you.  Though, much has changed, and those of us with loyalty unshakable must be there to be the voices of reason against those who are too stubborn or prideful.”

“Karstarks and Umbers,” Wyman huffed, “you see trouble brewing there?”

Lord Reed nodded, “Karstark was hoping to bind his house to the Starks through a marriage between his daughter and Lord Robb.  He will not be happy that Ned has agreed to the betrothal between his son and the Tyrell girl.  His pride will be wounded over being passed over for such prestige.”  Howland then grimaced, “Umber though, the Great Jon is as stubborn as any among his household, and that stubbornness will rage war against his loyalty to Ned.  Winter is coming is more than just words my friend, and to survive it we must put aside old prejudices in favor for the good of all.  The Umbers will be hard pressed to agree.”

Wyman sheathed his sword with a great sigh, “I’ll deal with Karstark, the old sod is hardheaded especially when he’s in his cups, but I can usually reason with him.  I’ll leave the Umbers to you, I’m sure you can influence them by some beseeching to your gods or what not, they are practically as pious to your beliefs than your own house.”

A chuckle came from Howland, “I am sure the confusion of the survival of Prince Aegon will be a useful distraction for us to seeing to our wayward countrymen.”

(Beyond the Wall)

Brynden Rivers watched the surprise on the faces of his caretakers, he could feel the power of the very earth and trees coursing in his veins.  He no longer felt like a man over a century old, he felt the strength and vigor he had in his youth, the youth spent fighting his brothers to protect the true born lineage of their father.  He looked to the child of the forest Bran would name Leaf, “We must go south my friends.  Soon there will be nothing alive this side of the Wall.”

Leaf nodded in understanding, as she turned to her kind and began speaking orders.  He could already feel the half-wight ranger waiting in the grove, he would be their shield on the journey.  As some of the branches that enthroned him to the great heart tree cracked, his hand slipped to the ancient sword at his side.  He had transferred as much of his rejuvenation to Aemon as he could from such a distance, his nephew was needed just as he was.  Aemon held a century of wisdom and learning, while Brynden held more than that of tactical and political experience.

As the branches that held him finally splintered and fell away, he dropped to kneel on the cave floor, his legs having long forgotten how to hold him up.  He felt the tree above them begin to die, the very essence of it moving south as a beacon.  South to Winterfell, which was further south than he would go.  He may no longer be the commander of the Night’s Watch, but he still drew breath, his watch was not at an end.

One of the children forced a bowl of weirwood paste between his lips, and he could feel renewed energy course through him.  Newfound strength came to his legs, and he forced himself to stand.  Looking to his hands he realizes two things, first through his right eye his hands look as they had when he was much younger, the skin unwrinkled with age, yet through his left he still saw the withered and aged hands he knew they should be.  The fact he could see anything from his left side was surprising as he’d lost that eye to one of his brothers during the first rebellion.

Reaching up he felt what should be an empty socket was filled instead with a hard mass, moving to a pool of water he looked to his reflection.  The once empty socket was now rimmed on the lower area with roots that painlessly embedded into the skin of his cheek and attached to these roots resting in the socket a red eye with a slit pupil looked back at him.  He could now understand the surprise his friends and caretakers had been expressing.

It had taken the better part of a day to prepare for departure, many of the Children had been afield or deep in the caverns.  Not that this had mattered much to Brynden, it had given him time to further recover his strength and prepare for the long journey ahead.  He had spoken to his other self and the boy who’d take the mantel of the Three-Eyed Raven but had not expected the gods to involve themselves in the affairs of mortals.

Leaf appeared at his side, “How?  How have you become like this?”

“A good question my friend,” Brynden frowned, “I believe it to be a transference from that other world, a time that will never be for us.  The lifeforce of those few who remained living was transferred to our world to power the spread of their warning.  Those ravens needed to use me to reach out to people of our time.  In doing so they gave me the lifeforce that remained of theirs, the Old Gods used that lifeforce to restore my physical youth in a way.  I used my own powers to send some of that rejuvenation to my nephew on the Wall.”

“What do you mean by, in a way,” Leaf frowned, “you look as you did when we first found you.”

Brynden grimaced remembering his first encounter with an Other.  The White Walker had surprised him and his ranging party, having already killed the wildlings they had been tracking.  It had turned those wildlings into wights and unleashed them upon his men.  Brynden had only barely made it out of that encounter thanks in part to Blackfyre, the ancestral sword which only Egg and Duncan knew he had brought with him to the Wall.  He knew Aemon had suspected but never asked.  Blackfyre had split that Other like a hot knife through butter, and with it the wights of the wildlings and his men crumbled.  Weak and wounded from the battle, Brynden had wandered aimlessly until Leaf had appeared before him.

“I may appear to be young again, but the truth is I am still well over a century old,” Brynden sighed, “I have lived long past my time.  Another will need to take my place, a successor, one more worthy than I.  Until then, I will do my duty, I will protect the living from that which is worse than death.”

It was as the last vestiges of life left the ancient heart tree that Brynden took his first steps out of the warded cave in over forty years.  The ranger stood waiting; the caravan of Children of the Forest already headed south.  Moving to stand beside the half-wight he watched the last leaves of the great heart tree fall, “You know what you must do.”

The ranger nodded, his voice a rasp, “My men await the call, their sleep comes to an end.  We will give those at Hardhome time to flee.  The Others have not yet turned their attention to this region.”

“Your curse will come to an end,” Brynden mused, “I envy you my old friend.  When next we meet, it will be at the table the gods prepare for their servants, at the great feast of the dead.  If you happen to find my siblings in those storied halls, will you tell them I am sorry for the wait, but I will be along soon.”

“Aye,” The ranger sighed, “if I make it to those sacred halls instead of the hells, I fear I am destined for.”

Brynden’s brow raised, “Does she still come to you?”

The ranger shook his head, “I have not ventured so close to the Wall in many a year.  I remember how my men took their rage and vengeance upon us when the magics that bound them to my will were broken.  I saw the folly of broken vows.  Yet, on the darkest nights of winter, I still see her slipping between the trees, always just out of reach.”

“Your folly was her doom, just as much as it was yours,” Brynden somberly said, “had she been like the Others of her kind the Wall would not have let her pass, just as now you are forbidden like any other wight.  It was your lust and desires which corrupted her, she bore the blame for your crimes.  Men may even forgive you, claimed you were seduced, but we both know that was not the case.”

“It is for the best my name is forgotten even by me,” The ranger moved to mount his great elk, “we had best go.  I will see you all to the edge of the haunted forest, then ride to the barrows where my men slumber in wait.”

Brynden nodded as he moved to the great elk Leaf had procured for him, “We need to stop at the Fist of the First Men, there are a few items we should collect least they fall into the wrong hands.”

(Crownlands – King’s Landing)

Renly frowned at the letters sitting before him on the table.  The first had been a ranting profanity filled diatribe from Robert, which Renly pitted the poor scribe who had to record it.  Robert informed that Cersei had been having an affair with her brother the Kingslayer and said brother was now on the run somewhere in the North.  Lord Stark had his banners hunting the fugitive, but Jaime seemed oddly aware of the Northern terrain and had avoided capture as of yet.  Robert’s letter also informed that the Queen’s children were all incest spawn was not of Robert’s seed.

This letter made Renly even more irritated by one of the other letters.  It had been delayed in arriving due to it first being sent to Storm’s End before being relayed to the Red Keep.  Loras had written that their plot to supplant Cersei with Margaery had been ended as Mace decided to build bridges with the North.  Margaery was being offered as a bride to Lord Stark’s eldest son.

“It appears a new alliance is forming my lord,” Renly looked to Varys who was seated across from him.  Currently they were the only members of the small council present.  Pycell had been suddenly called away by the Citadel, his apprentices unsure of when he would return.  Stannis was still on Dragon Stone but had sent word he’d be returning to greet their brother and Lord Stark.  Varys must have read the confusion on the Master of Laws face, as he continued, “The rebellion was an alliance of The North, Riverlands, Stormlands, and Vale that brought down the dragons who ruled for over two centuries.  It appears a new alliance is forming between the North, the Westerlands, and the Reach.  All they would need is a fourth kingdom and even the vaunted Demon of the Trident would faulter.”

“Such a cheery thought Spider,” Renly looked to the third letter sitting on the table.  It was a report from spies close to the exiled Targaryen siblings.  Viserys was dead, killed by Dothraki he’d been attempting to sway to join his cause in reclaiming the throne.  Viserys sister on the other hand had apparently vanished shortly after her brother’s death, the informant only knows a Westerosi they were familiar with had escorted her from the manse where she’d been staying with her brother.  “Do we know who this Westerosi who absconded with Daenerys is?  It seems as though he’s one of ours if our informants are familiar with him.”

Varys smiled, but it seemed forced, “I have many exiles I use, but with what little information I have gleaned so far.  One of my men has not been reporting in as he should.  I learned he had been ill, and that was why he missed his standard reporting after I had sent him a task.  Yet, after he recovered, he has failed to report in, and has failed to keep me appraised of his doings.”

“The great web weaver has lost one of his pets,” they both turned to see Stannis entering the small council chamber, at his heels was an unusually confident Davos Seaworth, and a Red Priestess who looked quite subdued.  Stannis took his seat, his companions standing in flanking positions, “If your man is named Jorah Mormont, then simply look to the North.”

Varys brows raised at that, “Pardon my lord, but I had not taken Jorah for caring so little for life.  Lord Stark will not hesitate to make the poor man a head shorter.”

“That may be, but doubtful,” Stannis leaned back in his chair, “Lord Mormont travels with Princess Daenerys and plans to deliver her to the safe keeping of his liege lord.”  He then focused on Varys with a stony glare, “Though, you already knew this didn’t you.  Seeing as they made a stop here to leave a certain something in your care.”

“I haven’t a clue what you are talking about,” Varys chuckled as he glared at the Red Priestess, “whatever this charlatan tells you, my lord.  You cannot trust such creatures.”

Stannis snorted, “Indeed, but it was not Melisandre who told me these secrets.”  The middle Baratheon brother indicated Davos, “The good Ser Davos Seaworth had a more than illuminating encounter with a pair of ravens.  Upon waking he nearly ripped poor Melisandre’s throat out with his bare hands.  She has since verified all his claims, a more than mollifying experience for her.”

Renly frowned, “What do you mean brother?”

“The witch would have murdered you, dear little brother,” Stannis steepled his fingers as he leaned forward in his seat, “in the belief she was securing my place to be her god’s champion in the war to come.  Her interference did nothing but to weaken us, drive more division between what remained of our house, and hastened an end to our line.”

“Does this have anything to do with Robert’s letter?” Renly glared at the woman, “Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are not his, that mean you are next in line.”

Stannis quirked a brow, “I have no desire to sit on that blasted throne, not after hearing what it could cost me.  Neither should you, the true place for any Baratheon is Storm’s End.  Our people need to be preparing for the coming storm.  Let lesser men fight over scraps of melted steel.  Our eyes should not be turned here, but to the North.  An evil is descending upon us from beyond the Wall.”

Varys chuckled, “I dare say, you are not intending for poor little Edric Storm to be our next king.”

This seemed to spark something in Melisandre as she turned glowering eyes upon the Spider, “The Lord of Light has revealed to me what is to come.  You have played your part little spider, spinning your webs of deceit.  You have played all sides, pretended loyalty to all when in truth you held loyalty to none.”

The Red Priestess took a step towards Varys who immediately stood and backed away, “I am not afraid of you, witch, your tricks are nothing compared to the vile sorceries I have been victim to.  It is true my loyalty to the crown might be questionable, but my loyalty to the realm is not.  That is why I abandoned the Targaryen king in favor for the Baratheon.”

“Yet you secreted away Rhaegar’s first son,” Stannis narrowed his eyes, “and kept the truth of Lord Stark’s bastard.  Davos was shown many things he could not understand without my guidance.  Perhaps that was why the ravens assailed him with their warnings instead of giving the warnings to I directly.”

Varys grimaced, “I know not what you speak of.”

Stannis stood and Renly mimicked him, both settling their gaze on the Master of Whispers, “Then you are either a shit spy master or a traitor.  Which is it Lord Varys, are your fabled skills all talk, or are you destined to face the headman’s axe.”

With a frantic look Varys scanned the corners of the room, but a simpering giggle came from Melisandre, “If you are looking for your little birds, I am sorry to say they no longer work for you.”  A child dashed into the room and stood next to Davos who pulled a piece of candy from a pouch at his belt, exchanging it for a scrap of paper the young boy handed him.  Melisandre took the paper, as Davos was unable to read.  “My lords, it seems Lord Varys was attempting to destroy the items within the chest.  He failed to cause damage and instead ordered the chest dumped in the bay.”

A glare from Stannis had the woman continue, “The chest is secured my lord.  The little birds guided your men to it before Varys men could load it into a skiff.”

“What is so important about this chest,” Renly asked.

Davos grimaced, “Everything, if we are to survive the coming war.”

(North – Winterfell)

Joffrey Waters sat on the cot he’d been using since first waking in the maester’s tower.  Swiftly after the revelations of his mother’s actions had come, he’d been tossed from the chamber meant for someone of higher birth.  Shuffled into a dingy little room which obviously saw little use.  It was a cell meant for the apprentice of Winterfell’s maester, a position which was currently empty, and thus the reason for the availability of the room for Joffrey’s use.

His eyes focused on the bandaged stump of his right arm.  Part of him wished he’d not done something so stupid as picking up a snake that had literally just killed a full-grown man.  A smaller part reasoned he wished he’d used his left arm instead.  An even smaller part wished his father’s stupid bastard hadn’t killed it.

The last thought echoed in his head.  Gendry was King Robert’s bastard, but Joffrey wasn’t even that.  He’d tried to deny the accusations, called for guards to beat anyone who wouldn’t do as he said.  Lord Stark had come swiftly and informed him if he tried to command harm done to anyone else of his household, he’d cast him out the gate before dusk.  Joffrey learned from one of the Winterfell guards that the Starks’ wolves went hunting around that time.

“Arya you are not supposed to be up and about,” Joffrey turned at the voice of one of his guards, a Northerner named Jorey, “Old Luwin is going to have a fit if he catches you up and about.”

“I’m fine Jorey,” the voice of a girl responded, “I was only knocked over and scraped up my arms and knees.”

Standing Joffrey walked to the door and opened it a crack to look out at the hall beyond.  He hadn’t been kept locked up, though there was the understanding he wasn’t allowed to wander unsupervised.  His grandfather had told him they were still deciding what exactly to do with him.  Tommen would be grandfather’s heir, apparently, he’d been deemed less corrupted by their mother and would make a suitable lord paramount one day.

Outside Joffrey saw a girl a few years his junior standing imperiously before the more than intimidating form of Jorey Cassel.  It had taken all of three seconds for Joffrey to decide antagonizing the Winterfell guard captain was not something he wanted to accomplish.  Starks didn’t give people positions based on politics nominally, yeah there were certain noble families that historically served in certain roles.  Cassels while noble, had earned their positions through merits and deeds, or so the smitten maidservant who brought his meals gushed annoyingly.

“You were struck in the face by Ser Loras,” Jorey snarled, Joffrey would pity this Loras but if it was who he was thinking, he hoped Jorey found the pillow bitter in a dark corner and left him there bloody with that perfect face permanently marred.

“Listen to your protector dear one,” Joffrey’s eyes widened as a Dornish woman approached, “you have not yet learned this, but for a woman your face is your most dangerous weapon.”

Joffrey doubted this, the girl to him looked rather horse faced and that was besides the split and bruised lip and shallow cut on her cheek.  While his assessment was rather cruel, the girl seemed to agree with him as she spat back, “Then why does everyone call me Arya Horseface?”

The Dornish woman snorted, “They are petty and jealous, they fear the beauty you will wield that they could only dream of.  There are different types of beauty dear one, there is the blatant beauty your sister will one day grow into, the demure beauty of your lady mother, and even the calculated beauty of your soon to be good sister.  All of which pales in comparison to the fierce beauty you no doubt share with your late aunt.”

The girl frowned, “Mother said Aunt Lyanna was comely.  That’s why she never believed Prince Rhaegar was smitten with her, he had to have abducted her.”

The still unidentified quirked a brow, “An interesting appraisal, perhaps I will have my dear Uncle or Father discuss it with her upon their arrivals.”  This had made Jorey tense, but he relaxed as the Dornish woman knelt next to Arya, “It is true, when compared to my Aunt Elia or even the late Ashara Dayne, your Aunt Lyanna may have been seen as only plain.  Remember dear one, they were both women grown, the Lady Lyanna was merely a girl of four and ten name days at the tourney of Harrenhal.”

Arya frowned at this skeptically, and Joffrey was not really following most of it because he was fantasizing about the Dornish woman kneeling in front of him and doing something other than talking.  The fantasy abruptly ended though with the woman’s next words reached him.

“Now dear one,” the woman’s voice held a playful lit, “I will see you back to the cot the good maester had requested you rest upon.  They you will tell me all about the wonderous creature you so wisely graced with the same name that my loving father bestowed upon me.”

Maybe noisier than he’d intended Joffrey forced the door shut before rushing back to his cot.  His grandfather’s parting remarks still lingered with him.  Though the King and Lord Stark had yet to decide what to do with him, Lord Tywin had already put things into motion.  Prior to coming north he’d sent a letter to Dorne, a letter offering his daughter and eldest grandchild as offerings to appease the Martell desire for blood.  Joffrey had realize the Dornish woman he’d been fantasizing about was one of the Sand Snakes, the baseborn daughters of Oberyn Martell.

(North – Somewhere near the Dreadfort)

Osha smiled as one of her men held Ramsey.  She’d tamed the bastard’s mutts, it had taken more than a moon, and while her compatriots had desired to head south, they were too scared to cross someone touched by the gods.  They had just come over the Wall when she’d been stricken with fever, the Three-Eyed Raven had spoken to her like a long-lost friend.  He knew things about her she’d never shared with anyone before.

It was for those reasons she’d been heading her group to Winterfell.  Pledge her spear and those of her company to House Stark, kneel if they had to, but they’d just accept them without that.  There were a few things she wanted to handle before getting back to her place protecting Rickon.  She’d failed the boys once; it wouldn’t happen a second time.  First off her list was fucking Ramsey.  This time, he would be ash long before he could put an arrow through her boy or slit her throat.

“Osha,” the former leader of her group stood next to her glaring down at the pitiful piece of shit before them, “be done with it, we need to burn the bodies and be gone before the Lord of that castle gets word of us.”

She nodded, “Put him on top of the other bodies, his screams will guide them to whichever hell they belong to.”

The man grimaced as Ramsey began begging, “Osha, that’s cruel.”

“You know not what this thing is capable of,” Osha whistled and the war hounds came to her, “is the girl Anders tending to not proof enough of that fact?”

“Please,” Ramsey whined, “I can change, please don’t do this.  My father is the Lord of the Dreadfort, he’ll pay any ransome.”

Osha laughed, “You’re a bastard, he can remarry and have a true son, you are nothing but a mistake.”

“Quite right my dear,” Roose Bolton walked into the clearing, “I’ll have the girl taken to town.  Have your people off my lands before I leave for Winterfell, if that is truly your destination take a long trek there and arrive from another direction.  If asked I will say the band who killed Ramsey were led by a large man with hair as black as coal and missing his nose.”

Ramsey blanched as he looked at the scene before him, “Father?”

“Father?” Roose glowered, “You murdered your brother, my trueborn son and heir, and you did not expect to be punished for this?  It was only thanks to these wildlings I learned the true extents of your depravity.  My spy in your little band of near do wells had informed me your hunting trips had been not going as expected, your prey was seemingly escaping regardless of your unfair advantage.  I investigated and found Osha and her band of merry free folk had been rescuing them, they had built quite the cast to present to Lord Stark.  One that could have been very unfortunate for House Bolton, but we came to an understanding.”

Ramsey grimaced, “An understanding?”

“Yes,” Roose grimaced, “You forget son, I am only the last Bolton of my line.  I do have a few cousins that have daughters who only await my word to have them placed as my heir.  It so happens one who is neither betrothed or otherwise spoken for is of age with Rickon Stark.”

Shaking his head Ramsey tried to fight against the wildling restraining him, “You’d end our house.”

“Better to end it than let a beast like you tear it down,” Roose’s eye twitched, “I had ignored a summons by Lord Stark to handle this matter, now I must go to him as his most loyal banner.  He will need allies in the coming days, for the storm that is coming down from the North.  I will remind him that our houses are strongest together, Rickon Stark of the Dreadfort does have a certain ring to it.”

Osha and Roose watched as Ramsey was placed atop the pyre of bodies, the bodies of the foolish men who’d followed the mad bastard.  Osha’s companion approached her, “Why’d you never tell us the man letting you into the castle to work the dogs was the lord flayer himself?”

Osha remained silent a moment as she savored the cries of Ramsey the bastard as pitch and lantern oil was scattered and poured over the pyre.  As Roose passed her a lit torch she glared at her companion, “Because your stupidity got the rest of you killed and left me a plaything for these twats.  I told you when we left that old crow fort.  From now on, we do things my way.”  She tossed the torch onto the pyre near Ramsey, who’s cries swiftly turned to screams.

Roose smirked at the wildling woman, “Whatever he’d done to you left a scar it seems though you did not directly experience it.”

“Do you truly plan to ask Lord Stark to betroth little Rickon to one of your cousins, so he inherits your castle?”  Osha glared, even Roose could see the knife slipping from her sleeve.

A brow raised at the question, “A contingency plan, a bluff at most.  Lord Stark’s son would never inherit the Dreadfort, but his second or third son could take the name Bolton and claim the lands and titles if I die without another heir.  Though, from what you implied that is not out of the realm of possibilities.”

“True,” Osha glared, “but do not join with the southerners called Frey.”

Roose paled at the thought of joining houses with Walder Frey, “Gods forbid such a horror to come to pass.  I’d take you to wife long before I settle for such a loathsome match.”  He eyed Osha with a smirk, “There is an idea.”

The wildling woman glared murderously, “If you want a free folk bride, look elsewhere.”

Roose only chuckled as he watched the wildlings depart, his now late son’s dogs following in their wake.

Chapter Text

(North – Winterfell)

Robert Arryn sat alone in his guest room in the family wing of his uncle and aunt’s castle.  He had never met either member of his family, his father had talked about his uncle, but knew only rumors about his aunt.  Lord Jon Arryn was not a man for spreading rumors, he’d oft tell Robert that such things were unbecoming.  He was more than happy when Mya came to visit him, she’d only stayed briefly when Uncle Ned escorted her here, Aunt Catelyn had been very crossed seeing his friend.

Aunt Catelyn would not believe him that his mother favored Mya who normally escorted people to the Eyrie.  Mya would often tell him stories about King Robert who happened to be Mya’s father and his Uncle Eddard or Ned as she called him.  He’d wondered why she called his uncle that and referred to him as uncle.  She’d only say that Uncle Ned made sure she and her mother had been well taken care of.  Robert knew Mya was base born, his mother referred to her as Stone enough for him to understand that.

“Robin, you still awake?”  Robert turned to the door to find Bran standing there in a sleep shirt, Robert was wearing one of his cousin's sleep shirts, as they were warmer than the ones, he had brought with him, “I’m going to Rickon’s room.  Jon promised to read the Humbling of the Greenhand to us.”

“I’ve never heard that tale before,” Robert slid out of his borrowed bed and gingerly walked to the door.  His guards had been remarking on how much healthier he’d been doing on the trip north.  He’d walked with Princess Myrcella and her brother a few times, even rode with the help of his guards.  As soon as he exited the room behind Bran, his cousin’s unnamed dire wolf was there to help support him.

Bran smiled as he took to his cousin’s other side, “Luckily your room is closer to Rickon’s than mine is.”

“Yeah,” Robert had been fearful of the wolves when he first arrived, much as his mother had made him fearful of everything from swords to horses, things his cousins found as normal everyday activities were new experiences for him.  As they made their way down the hall to Rickon’s room, which was only about a dozen paces or so, Robert mused, “Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn were arguing again.”

Bran rolled his eyes, “Mother makes father angry like that sometimes.  Usually, it’s about Jon, but she stopped saying strange stuff about him around us after father warned her, he’d send her to Riverrun permanently if she didn’t stop.”

That was something Robert was familiar with.  Mama’s friend Peter would warn her that his father might send her back to Riverrun if she didn’t behave just right.  Though mama’s friend was also kind of weird, he’d have liked to see papa send him through the moon door.  Only mama knew Robert had watched the few executions Robert’s father had overseen during his rare visits to the Eyrie over the years.

Upon reaching Rickon’s room Bran’s wolf saw them to Rickon’s bed before joining the pile of fur that was the white wolf Ghost and the black wolf Shaggy Dog.  Rickon was excited by Robert’s arrival, “Robin, Robin,” Rickon bounced on the bed, making it hard for Robert and Bran to take their places, they were expected as extra pillows and blankets had been piled at the foot of Rickon’s bed.

“Calm down Rickon,” Jon moved from his cot by the window to help the younger boys arrange their bedding, “You are supposed to be settling down, not getting stirred back up.”

“Story Jon, story now,” the boy had a pleading expression on his face before remembering his manners, “Please Jon.”

“Okay pup,” Jon gave a final check that both Bran and Robert were properly tucked in before returning to his cot and grabbing the tome resting there.  He returned to the foot of the bed the boys laid on and leaned against the post before opening the tome, “Let us see, you wanted which story tonight?”

“Humm…Hum..ling,” Rickon sounded out a word he wasn’t familiar with.

Robert pushed himself up on one elbow, “I think he means humbling.”

“Right,” Rickon sat up, “Humbling of the green…green something.”

Bran took pity this time, “Hand, Rickon, it’s Greenhand the first king of Westeros.  One of the only houses older than ours, though they have been gone for three hundred years.”

This made Rickon huff before turning to Jon, “Humbling of the Greenhand.”

Smirking Jon made a show of flipping through pages, though he’d bookmarked the story after its request the previous night, “The tale of the Humbling of the Greenhand…”  Jon went into the telling of how Brandon the Builder and Lann the Clever grew tired of the way the Greenhand looked down on them and treated them as lesser.  This was regardless of the fact the Builder held more lands than his liege lord, and that Lann controlled more gold.  Jon deepened his voice as he emulated what he thought Greenhand would sound like, “Land holds only value if you can use it, and Brandon the Builder holds nothing but frozen wastes, and gold does not fill empty bellies what good does it do Lann the Clever if his people starve.  My lands are plentiful and can feed all the peoples of my realm, even those who live under the rule of those upstarts.”

Robert frowned, “But the Greenhand is wrong, the North isn’t a wasteland, and you can use gold to buy food.”

Jon chuckled, “I don’t write these stories My Lord Arryn, I only read them.”  Robert accepted this explanation and Jon carried on, altering his voice to sound a bit more like Lord Lannister, as Lann was supposedly the man’s distant ancestor, “Who does Greenhand think he is?  To ridicule us, a lion of the plains and a wolf of the forest.  We cannot let this insult go unanswered.”  Jon then deepened his voice to emulate his father, “Then we do not, give me five years and send me every worker you can find, pay them well and buy all the food you can from our southern neighbors.”

“What was Brandon the Builder planning to do?” Bran asked with a yawn.

Jon noticed the boys’ eyes were all starting to droop, “It was a plan that made even Lann the Clever envious.  Brandon did what he was known for the best.  He built wonders.  To guard his lands and utilize the natural defenses he built the impregnable Moat Cailin.  For Lann he could not build such a fortress as the Westerlands have few natural defenses which would benefit from such things, enemies could just avoid them.  So, at the Rock, he installed massive gates that when shut could not be opened from the outside and designed other defenses which made taking the Rock impossible.”  The boys patiently waited, too close to sleep to form a response, but too captivated to completely surrender to sleep. 

Jon continued telling the story, recounting how Lann and Brandon sent word to Greenhand that they would no longer submit to his rule.  Enraged the King marched first on the Rock but found his armies could not breach the defenses.  Instead, he tormented the land in hopes of drawing out Lann’s forces.  When that would not work, he left men to watch Lann before moving to confront Brandon.  After languishing through the Neck, Greenhand found his way barred by a massive fortress, inadequate land was available for him to properly field his army.  It was a massacre without one Northman stepping a toe beyond the gate of the Moat.

Looking up from the tome Jon saw the boys had fallen asleep, closing the book he cautiously slid off the bed.  Looking to where the three wolves were also asleep before the hearth.  Giving the room a cursory once over he noticed the door was ajar, frowning he approached reaching down for the dagger Uncle Benjen had given him for his eleventh name day.  Cautiously he listened for any sounds that would give away someone standing on the other side.  When he heard nothing, he slowly pulled it open, ready to slam it against anyone lurking there.

To his surprise the hall was empty, only the shadows made by the flickering torches made any movement.  Sticking his head out, he looked down either stretch of hall, but there was no one, he could hear the steady padding of patrolling guardsmen, but otherwise, everything seemed as it should.  Jon then closed the door and latched it, returning to his cot he checked that his long sword was leaning against the head of his cot before sliding his dagger back to its place in his boot.  He decided that Bran and Robert must not have properly closed the door when they’d come into the room.

(Down the Hall)

Catelyn was breathing heavily, Ned’s hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.  She had very nearly cried out when her husband had appeared behind her and dragged her from the door to her youngest’s room.  The moniker Quiet Wolf was not only relevant to his reserved use of words.  She had not heard either him or his wolf approach.

Speaking of said wolf, Lyanna was glaring at her with those far too intelligent eyes.  The same eyes stared at her most nights before she went to sleep and haunted her dreams.  The Direwolf had been her torment since the day it followed Ned back to Winterfell.  It gave one of its pups to a child not of her womb, giving the bastard sign of legitimacy to the barbarians she’d been surrounded by since she came here.  She had tried to breach the subject of sending the boy to the Watch since word of the King’s visit had first arrived.  Now, the boy was the squire to the Commander of the Kingsguard and even given a place of superiority over her son who was made a page.  Granted Bran is only ten and would not be able to squire for another four years.

Her thoughts returned to the here and now as Ned’s hand slipped from her mouth, the other one which had been used to press her to him and give him leverage to drag her into Robert Arryn’s empty guest room also released her, “Jon has closed their door,” He then turned to her as she recovered and looked at him with a glare, “What were you thinking?  Deciding who and who not they are allowed to associate with and now spying on them?  I have enough to deal with, without you causing more trouble because of what some Septon claimed over a century ago.”

“What would you know?” Catelyn snapped, “It is proven that bastards are ambitious and crave what is not theirs.”

“Proven?” Ned nearly laughed, “by who?  You forget Cat, I was raised in the Vale, I didn’t go to one of your septs to pray nor would I ever convert to the Faith.  I spoke with the Septon at the Eyrie on occasion, we had a few heated discussions.  I had to remind him a time or two that I was the son of the Lord Paramount of the North, or he might have tried having me turned over to your Most Devout.  Your scriptures have none of this vile bias towards bastards, claims of their evil natures.  That was added by your High Septon after the Blackfyre Rebellion, not even two centuries ago.”

Catelyn sneered, “What about your people?  They treat bastards no differently.”

“We don’t?” Her husband crossed his arms, “Jon is an example of how the North treats base-born children, Cat.  There are cases where children born on the wrong side of the sheets are not treated as well.  Most recognize every child as a gift from the gods, a blessing on the house of their father.  Your behavior towards Jon is what alienates you the most to the wives of my banners Cat.  Understandably, you do not embrace him as you would your own, but why alienate him, ostracize him, these are the things they do not understand.  Did Maege Mormont not try and explain this to you when she and her daughters first visited after you came to Winterfell?”

In truth, the matriarch of House Mormont had tried her best to befriend Catelyn.  She had appreciated the older woman’s attempt, but upon realizing that all of Maege’s daughters were in truth bastards, she’d been hesitant to continue associating with the woman.  She had maintained a respectful correspondence but fell back on her learnings and heeded Septa Mordane’s word over any other.

Ned didn’t need her to speak to know the thoughts going through her head.  The man was too perceptive once he learned enough about someone.  It was at times terrifying, and both Septon Chayle and Septa Mordane learned this swiftly when their attempts at conversions were put to an end by a visit to the heart tree.  Catelyn knew not the conversation, only that both servants of the faith had not said a word against the faith of the Old Gods again.  Chayle had even taken to serving as a librarian and assisting Maester Luwin in giving lessons to her children.

Ned sighed, “You didn’t even hear Jon moving to check the door, did you?”

“No,” She snipped, “he must get that from you.”

She knew her husband would roll his eyes at the old needling when Jon was brought into conversation with such a remark.  Instead, the Lord of Winterfell exhaled harshly, “Even in summer there is snow on the ground Cat, you know this.  For generations, we have hunted in these forests.  I have taught both Robb and Jon to walk softly, to not give away your position to your prey.”  He sighed, releasing whatever ire he held as his normally unflappable calm returned, “Now tell me Cat, what were you doing?”

She indicated the empty bed in the room, “I came to check on Robert, he is all I have left of Lysa.  When he was not there I got concerned and started checking the other rooms.  I heard Jon say his name, I only meant to look in and see everything was all right.”  She sat on the bed, “Ned, the way the boys looked at him.  I know, in my heart that Jon would never harm them, it isn’t in him.  Then I remember my lessons, I don’t know how the Tyrells allow themselves to be surrounded by bastards, let alone those of House Martell.”

Ned sighed, “Nymeria and Sarella are both perfectly nice young women, as long as you don’t insult them or endanger someone they care for.”  At Catelyn’s confused look Ned sighed, “Lady Sarella Sand caught me while I was speaking with Luwin, she had a rather lengthy list of questions.  A few I had to pass off to Luwin to answer.  I almost regret granting her permission to peruse the library.”  He continued with his point, “Jory came to me this evening.  He informed me Arya tried slipping out of the maester’s tower before he caught her.  He was trying to get her to return to her cot, but it was Lady Nymeria who achieved it in the end, leaving Jory to remain at his post watching Joffrey.  Apparently, she sat with Arya for most of the afternoon, then proceeded to take Sir Loras to task for raising a hand to a girl.”

“I thought Theon already dealt with that matter,” Catelyn frowned remembering hearing the sounds from the training yard as she prayed at her sept for her youngest daughter’s recovery.

“Lady Margaery informed that Nymeria was not satisfied with the outcome seeing as Theon did not damage Sir Loras’ face.  Do not make a deal out of the bruising the next you see him; she did refrain from doing anything permanent.”

(North – Winter Town)

Oberyn sighed as his small party reached the Smoking Log, the alehouse was not unfamiliar to him.  Years earlier he had ventured north, he intended to present himself before Lord Stark and ask forgiveness for his failures.  He would not say he’d been a coward and fled south, so much as he drank too much and slept with too many whores along the way.  He arrived to only learn Eddard had left Winterfell and was visiting his major banners, he’d be gone for two moons at least.  The brother to the Prince of Dorne could not wait around for two moons, so chose to postpone the apologies until next, he came north.

Well, that would be the here and now.  Oberyn looked to his party, the others were mostly worn out from the long trek, they’d only rested briefly at Moat Cailin before setting forth.  Due to the identities of two of their members, stopping at the main castles had been impossible.  They could hide Daenerys simply by covering her hair and shielding her eyes.  Jorah though was another matter entirely.  The loyal banners of House Reed had identified the man easily and warned that any man of the North would be able to figure out who Jorah was.  He had the looks of House Mormont, and there was only one male member of Jorah’s age.

Their party entered the alehouse, Jorah pulling his hood down to obscure his face.  The ale master looked up from work he’d been doing behind the counter, “Seat yourselves,” the man eyed Daenerys, “keep the girl close, we get all sorts in here.”

Jorah replied, they thought it best a Northern accent be heard instead of either Dornish or Essosi, “Thank you, friend,” he made a point of looking around the room, “business slow today.  Thought with the King’s party ensconced in Winterfell you’d be busier.”

“You’d think,” the master scoffed, “that damn squid Theon.  Know better than talking bad about my betters, but that shite went and stepped on the wolf’s tail he did.  Been sneaking down here for years, one day I let my boy run the alehouse and he forgets to kick the squid out before the hour of the wolf.  Lord Stark sent his boy down here to collect the Squid, then the Quiet Wolf came down wanting to know how a lad like Theon Greyjoy was permitted to stay all night in such an establishment.”

“Damn,” Jorah turned to the others, “we can at least warm ourselves by the hearth, but there’s no ale or mead to be had here.”

Oberyn blinked, “No ale in an alehouse?  Is that possible?”

“Northern custom my prince,” Jorah sighed, “no one below the age of eight and ten is to be served in such an establishment after the hour of ghosts.  Logical thinking is, the only reason for anyone younger than that being in an alehouse is to collect their father.  Similarly, no one other than guests of an inn are to be served after the hour of the wolf.”

Samwell hummed, “We have similar laws in the Reach, but the minimum age is ten and four, as knights and squires are legally adults and can be served no matter how late it is.”

Oberyn grimaced, “As interesting as this is, I must protest, where can we get a drink, we’ve been on the road for months.”

“I still got some wine, and a cask of some sort of pisswater they make in the Riverlands,” the ale master grimaced, “I’d not suggest that one, think it’s been in the backroom since the last time Lord Hoster Tully visited.  That was before young Brandon Stark was born, so well over ten years.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Oberyn spoke up, “the wine, is it a Northern vintage or something more southern?”

“Dornish Red,” the ale master sighed, “a mistake by Old Poole, anyone with any sense would know better.  Couldn’t dump it on me fast enough.  If Lord Stark had caught wind of it, he’d been right cross with Vayon.”

Oberyn chuckled, “Lord Stark have a problem with anything Dornish?”

“You are not from around these parts.”  The ale master leaned closer as he poured a pitcher of wine, “years back, the guards at Winterfell were talking about the Lord’s boy, the one who got no mother.  They had been telling tales that the boy’s mother was Lady Ashara Dayne, and gossip spread from the castle to the town and deep into the woods.  Rumor gets back to Lord Stark, and he went and had words with those guards telling tales.  All sudden like, them guards not so talkative about the boy’s parentage.”

Oberyn noticed Jorah tense as a group of men entered the alehouse, all wearing the colors and direwolf of House Stark.  The apparent leader of the group called out, “Master, round of whatever you got.  The boys are tired, and we still have to report to Lord Stark.”

“Aye,” the master called back, “be with you lot in a moment, seeing to these travelers first.”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Oberyn turned to the newcomers, “You look as road weary as my companions and I, you’ve been traveling long to return to Winterfell.”

One of the men snorted, “Where ya been, under a rock?  We been combing the Wolf’s Woof for sign of the Kingslayer.  The craven sister fucker ran instead of facing the justice of the king.”

“Is that so,” Oberyn grabbed the pitcher of wine the man placed on the counter, “I hear Tywin Lannister is visiting Winterfell, what does the Old Lion have to say about his children and these events?”

The leader of the men snorted, “Who knows, the man struts around like he owns Winterfell.  Only defers to Lord Stark but seems to be scheming like any other southerner.”

Oberyn chuckled, “I’d be offended my good man, but truths I scheme with the best of them, but where are my manners.”  Oberyn placed the pitcher on the table, “I have failed to introduce myself.  Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, of Dorne.”

The men immediately stood, the leader blanching, “Pardon your grace,” he gave a cursory bow of the head, “Harwin, of Winterfell.  We’d no word of your coming.  I’ll have a man ride up to the castle to inform of your arrival.”

“Thank you,” Oberyn motioned to his companions, “I travel with young Samwell Tarly, and Thoros of Myr, some other companions joined us in the Riverlands.  We are hopeful of a pleasant visit to Winterfell.”

Harwin seemed to notice Oberyn had not named all his companions, “You failed to mention the names of your companions your grace.  Who’s the girl and her escorts?  We cannot let unknown people enter Winterfell.”

The door swung open and a large man walked in Oberyn was surprised to see Areo Hotah, behind him with the assistance of a cane was Oberyn’s brother.  Prince Doran Nymeros Martell frowned, “It seems you beat us here brother.”

Next to enter was a rather small man using a trident as a makeshift crutch, “I vouch for these visitors Harwin, you have no need to question them.”

“Lord Reed?”  Harwin nearly fell backward, had Oberyn, and one of Harwin’s men, not steady him, “My lord, we had not heard you were coming to Winterfell.”

Oberyn noticed a mirthful smirk on Lord Reed’s face, “I caught a ride with Lord Manderly.”  Lord Reed turned to Oberyn’s companions, “We should not keep Ned waiting, he is called the Quiet Wolf, not the Patient Wolf.”  Oberyn noticed the contemplative look on Doran’s face as this northern lord seemed to easily control the situation.  Lord Reed waited for Oberyn and his party to exit the alehouse before looking to the Winterfell guards, “Come along Harwin, you and your men should not tarry here.”

“Of course Lord Reed,” Harwin and his men filed out, quickly collecting their horses and joining with the column of Manderly guards.

Oberyn noticed a distinct lack in Dornish guards, “Brother, you have no men with you.”

“They are coming along with a second column,” Doran sighed, “it is colder than I calculated, my choices were to wait for them to all acclimate to the weather or leave them to follow.  Lord Manderly assures they will be escorted here, and in fact, should have set out from White Harbor by now.”

“Uncle,” Oberyn frowned as a young man wearing a cloak with their house sigil road up to them, “How should we do this?  If Daenerys and I reveal ourselves, the King might act without giving us time to talk.”  Oberyn blinked, this was not Viserys, and the exiled prince would not refer to Doran as uncle.  The young man noticed his confusion and pushed back his hood, “She said you were the clever one, you haven’t figured it out yet uncle?”

Oberyn sent a furtive glance at the Winterfell guards, but they were busy speaking to their Manderly counterparts.  He then turned to the young man and whispered a name, “Aegon?”  The young man gave a curt nod, “How?”

Doran responded, “Spiders, Griffons, and Falling Stars.”

Aegon chipped in, “Also some assistance from a Quiet Wolf who didn’t realize he was helping.”

(North – Winterfell)

King Robert sat in the seat of House Stark, watching closely as more visitors came to present themselves.  He’d asked Ned how many more guests they could house in Winterfell, at the rate they were going, they could hold a Great Council.  All they needed now was Renly, old Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy, and every Lord Paramount would be in attendance at Winterfell.  Technically speaking they’d also need Lord Royce, he’d sent the man a letter naming him Lord Protector of the Vale until Lord Robert Arryn either came of age or passed as many thought he was too sickly to reach majority.

Baratheon was no longer one to think that way.  His young namesake was thriving at Winterfell as he’d never had in all the time he’d known the boy.  He ran with Ned’s younger boys all about the place, they were constantly underfoot, and Sandor had even had to chase them out the storage room where the training yard equipment was stored.  Sandor had taken to assisting Ser Rodrik in the training yard.  Seeing as the Hound spent most of his time training Gendry there, it was bound to happen.

The first guests to present themselves were only half surprising, many of Ned’s banners had been making their way to Winterfell since the King had taken residency, ostensibly awaiting the capture of the Kingslayer, though he’d decided to remain and be a guest for the union of House Stark and House Tyrell.  Lord Wyman Manderly hobbled in escorted by his second son and granddaughters, he made his greetings to his liege lord and Robert before moving to the table his eldest son sat at.  With Wyman had come Lord Howland Reed, Robert was surprised to see the man, whom all reports claimed had not left the Neck since the rebellion.  Similarly, Howland made his greetings before moving to where his son and daughter sat, they had arrived only a few days earlier.

Next to present themselves were basically the remaining members of House Martell who were not present already in attendance at Winterfell.  Oberyn had made a big show of thanking Lord Stark for showing his daughters' such gracious hospitality.  Robert frowned as three people in their party had not removed their hoods.  Two of them moved off with Prince Oberyn, joining the table Nymeria and Sarella had taken next to the one containing the Reach guards.  Loras and Margaery were seated with the Starks.

The remaining hooded figure, a woman by the looks of it remained with Prince Doran, and three other people.  Robert recognized the Lord of Blackhaven, Ser Berric as one of his family’s banners among the Marchers.  He vaguely remembered hearing Ser Berric was betrothed to a member of House Dayne.  A rarity seeing as the hostilities between the Dornish Houses and Marcher Houses.  Berric had also taken the son of Lord Dayne as his squire.

Prince Doran stepped forward, “Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness for bringing this matter before you, but it is quite serious, and I will need both your and Lord Stark’s assistance in rectifying it to ensure my kingdom remains stable.  As you may or may not have heard Lord Dayne became ill recently, I am sorry to report that he has since gone to walk among the Old Gods.”

Robert noticed Ned’s frown and waited for his friend to speak, “Lord Dayne returned to the Old Gods?”

“In his final days,” Doran explained, a hint of sadness, “he desired to join with his ancestors, though he told me he believed it mattered not the gods you believed in.  He hoped to see his brother there, though he feared Arthur may be lost among the hells.”

“Arthur held to his vows,” Ned responded, “he dines with his brother and sister on the bounty of earth and tree.”

A smirk appeared on the Dornishman’s face, “Ah, this brings me to my first bit of business.”  Doran held his hand out towards the hooded woman, “You are mistaken Lord Stark,” the woman pulled back her hood to reveal raven locks of hair and amethyst eyes, “Lady Ashara will not be dining with her brothers in the halls of the dead, because she still lives.”

“Ash?” Ned stood from his seat next to Robert, “How is this possible?”

Stepping forward Ashara knelt, “Lord Stark, I will explain all in private, you most of all deserve my reasons.  I wish all could be explained as such, but there are pieces that we need,” her eyes narrowed disgustedly at Robert who for the first time in his life felt true fear, “his grace to give his blessings to.”

Robert frowned, noticing the boy with Berric, whom he assumed was Lord Dayne’s son, the new Lord Dayne as it were, was tensing slightly.  Something was off with the boy, he kept sending cautious glances toward Ned, and the group of older Stark children who sat with Lady Stark.  Jon was standing next to Selmy like a good squire.  Robert’s eyes widened as he flicked between Jon, Robb, and the Dayne Boy.  All three were close in age, the Dayne boy was born about three or four years after the rebellion if memory served, not that Robert kept tabs on such things.  He remembered the Old Falcon musing that if no main branch Daynes were born they could use the belief Ashara was Jon’s mother to legitimize the boy as a Dayne and have a loyal man in Dorne.

There was another similarity between the three, one not related to age.  A similarity that Robert knew was shared by little Bran and Rickon.  Lord Dayne had the long face of a Stark and not just any Stark.  The boy’s nose and chin were a match to a face Robert strongly remembers from his years growing up in the Vale.  Robert stood from his chair, “Boy, come forward.”

Lord Dayne swallowed hard before moving to stand next to Prince Doran.  The prince put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder as Robb moved away from the table and approached the physically younger boy.  Robb suddenly turned to the raised area and glared at his father, “Father?”

Standing next to each other the similarities were startling.  Robert looked at his friend to see the man was just as confused as his son.  Robert snorted, “So you actually did have one.”

This comment drew a confused murmur from the gathered lords and nobles, and glare from Ned.  Eddard Stark stood and looked at Ashara, “How is this possible?”  He frowned as he stepped down to where the boys stood, “I received an announcement from Lord Dayne.  His son was born four years after the rebellion.”

Ashara bowed her head, “He was born early, he was so very small.  The maester did not believe he’d live to see his first name day.  My brother had forbidden me from telling you about him when you came to return Dawn.  I begged and pleaded with him to relent, but he was as headstrong as Arthur.”

Prince Doran sighed, “This is why I needed yours and his grace’s assistance.  Lord Stark, you are the true birth father of Edric Sand, formerly known as Edric Dayne.  Your son was stolen and illegally placed as the legitimate son of Lord and Lady Dayne.  I have known Edric since he was very young, he is a good lad, and his honor is without question.  I ask your leave to request he be legitimized as a member of House Dayne, the House of his mother, to claim Starfall as is his right by decree of his maternal uncle the late Lord Dayne.”

Eddard wiped a hand down his face before looking at the boy, “Edric, is this what you desire?”

“I was raised without knowledge of my uncle’s deeds,” Edric knelt, “I ask you, Lord Stark, as the man who sired me, to know you hold the fate and reputation of House Dayne in your hands.  If I am forced to step down, Starfall will be turned over to the Daynes of High Hermitage.  This will upset the politics of Dorne and could even destabilize the region resulting in a Yronwood uprising.  It is not ambition or avarice which brings me here, it is the duty to my house and my liege.”

A shout came up from the table Robert knew House Umber was seated at, “How by the Others frosty balls did Ned and Ashara have a blond whelp?”

Robert noticed Edric grimace, “This is not my hair.”

Doran sighed, “It’s a common fashion among young boys in Dorne to shave one’s hair and wear a wig.  It helps with sand fleas and other pests, especially if you travel often.”  At Edric’s look, Doran nodded.

Edric reached up and pulled his head covering off along with the wig of pale blonde hair he’d been wearing, “My hair is just starting to grow back,” and indeed there was a dusting of dark hairs just starting to appear in patches across his scalp.

(Later)

The greetings had barely ended when Edric found himself dragged away by Lord Stark’s eldest son and daughter.  They had swiftly been joined by Jon, who was looking uncomfortable as they seemed to be making a beeline for the crypts.  Within moments they began walking down aisles of tombs, down a flight of stairs and finally stopping by a nondescript-looking statue whose face had not eroded away but been smashed by a heavy object.

The daughter, Sansa he’d been informed, looked at the tomb, “This is Cregan’s uncle’s tomb.”  She promptly grabbed Edric and they moved down the aisle.  She nodded at the more detailed statue, “This will do.”  She then looked to the boys, “What in the seven hells is going on?”

Robb and Jon could only blink at Sansa’s sudden loss of decorum.  Robb looked to Jon, “So if Edric is father’s son with Lady Ashara.  That begs the question, who was your mother.”

Jon grimaced, “Father did the same thing as Edric’s uncle, but for a good reason.”

Both Robb and Sansa paled, ready to contradict their brother’s words, but were halted by Edric’s words, “It’s not the same Jon, our father had a good reason, to protect you, but he did not steal you from your parents.  Your father was already dead, and your mother put you in father’s arms.  Father told my mother about the promise, my mother knew the truth of your birth.”

Robb frowned in confusion as Sansa started looking at each of them.  She noticed that Robb and Edric looked more similar, especially if you discounted the blonde wig Edric wore for warmth and to hide his shaved head.  While not obviously dissimilar, Jon did not share certain features with their other brothers.  Jon’s nose was thinner and more angular, his chin more pointed while Robb’s was more rounded.

Robb frowned at Edric, “What truth?”

“Eddard Stark is not my father,” Jon watched the confusion on his siblings faces, “at least not the one who sired me.  He has been a father to me in all the other ways it matters, and I will always see him as such.  He found me in Dorne, in a tower, a tower he also found my mother, your aunt.  Lyanna Stark was my mother; I favor the look of her house over that of my father’s house.  Ser Barristan says he sees some of my father in me, but it’s the same behaviors people claim I inherited from Lord Stark.”

“Don’t,” Robb stopped Jon who looked uncertain, “don’t call him that.”  Robb shook his head, “As you said, he has been your father in all the ways that have mattered.  If Edric can call him that for only knowing the truth for a few turns of the moon, you have the right to call him father.”

Sansa leaned against the direwolf carved next to Cregan Stark’s statue, “What does this mean?  Did Prince Rhaegar actually rape Aunt Lyanna?  Is Jon the heir to the throne?  Are we in danger if the King finds out?”

Jon grabbed Sansa’s shoulders to calm her down, “King Robert already knows, he has for years.  He knew father would never seek to put me on the throne, figured anyone trying would bring the Quiet Wolf down to savage them and end their lines.  Why are people in the south so afraid of father he is known for being honorable and just?”

Edric snorted, “Tearing down a nearly three-hundred-year dynasty will do that.  You also realize he’s the one leader of the rebellion who never lost a battle right.”  The others looked at him blankly, “Apparently not.”  Edric sighed, “Every fight father was a part of was a victory for the rebel lords.  Battle of the Bells, Battle of the Trident, he ended the siege of Storm’s End and was given the honors of defeating my uncle, though mom says there was more to that than most know.  There’s also the confrontation in the throne room of the Red Keep.  When King Robert discounted the deaths of Princess Elia, Rhaenys, and Crown Prince Aegon, it’s said father’s anger was like an aura.  Some said it took the shape of a wolf, and that angry words were exchanged.  Lord Jon Arryn was able to calm father, but in the end, he quit the city.”

“If he hadn’t,” the group of four turned to find King Robert and their father along with the other two hooded people who’d come with the Dornish party.  It had been the king who spoke, and he continued, “I’m pretty sure Lord Tywin and I would both be long dead.  People make a big deal about my temper tantrums, Ned here, his anger makes the Reins of Castamere look like a lullaby.”

Eddard shook his head, “Don’t be so dramatic Robert.”  He focused on his sons, “Robb, we will talk about all of this soon, I have much to tell you before I leave for the capital.  Lord Kevan Lannister has agreed to remain in Winterfell and act in an advisory position along with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik.”

“What of mother?”  Robb frowned at his father’s omission.

“She will be going to the Vale with Sansa to help teach your cousin Robert,” Eddard looked to his daughter, “I have talked it over with your mother.  I would like you to look to House Royce and see if you can find an acceptable match there.  If not, look to any of the First Men houses from the Vale, I will not even entertain a proposal to an Andal House.  Lord Royce will be able to help you in that regard.”

Edric looked to the hooded figures, “Are you two just being dramatic?”

Aegon threw back his hood, “It was her idea.”

“Was not,” Daenerys pulled back her hood, “well not exactly.  Drogo said it would be amusing to see people’s reactions.”

“Drogo,” Aegon frowned, “he’s the big Dothraki with the long braid, right?”

The exiled princess nodded, “He’s sworn to protect me.  He lost to Jorah in a duel, but Jorah didn’t want Drogo’s khalasar to rule, so let him keep his braid and his life.  As long as he and his people swore to follow me.”  Daenerys seemed to remember something, “Oh yeah, we need to send ships soon.  The other khals should be gathered soon and be ready to come west.”

Robb snorted, “You want us to bring Dothraki to Westeros?”

“How else are they going to fight the Others?”  Daenerys said as though it was a simple fact that even a small child should be able to understand.

Edric noticed their father’s wince.  Lord Stark looked to the no longer exiled Targaryen, “Princess, besides Jon I haven’t exactly kept my other children up to speed on those events.”

Aegon gasped, “What?  Why not?”

“Well,” Eddard looked at the two silver blonde youths, “maybe the simple fact I keep having to deal with everyone else trying to either save my life or warn about the Others.  Is it so hard to grasp that I might also have been warned?  I am the Lord Paramount of the North, who better is there to prepare for a potential war with the ancient enemy of my house.”

(Even Later)

Robert led Jon, Aegon, and Daenerys into the room he’d been using as a solar.  The King took the seat behind the desk, his three cousins spreading out around the room.  He looked to Selmy who stood at the open door, his eyes moving between each occupant, “Barristan, go ahead and wait outside.”

“Your grace?” Selmy looked unsure if that was such a good idea.

“I’m not going to hurt them, and I walked into the crypts with the lad walking behind me, if he was going to do something he’d have tried it then.  I’m sure he thinks Lord Stark would be more lenient on him, seeing as he sheltered his brother for years.”  Robert watched the conflict in Barristan’s face, “Accursed is the kinslayer, and I’ve had my fill of that.”

Selmy seemed to relent at that and stepped outside.  Aegon waited for the door to shut before he turned to Jon, “Brother, I heard you are squiring for Ser Barristan.  Who’s idea was that?”

Jon looked to Robert, “His grace thought it the only way to give me an out to go with father.  As his bastard son, my options were limited, and Lady Stark was not mincing words when she proclaimed I would not be welcome in Winterfell when father went to the capital.”

“You refer to Lord Stark as father,” Daenerys frowned, “your father is my brother Rhaegar.”

“Rhaegar sired me, this is true,” Jon paced before the hearth that heated the room, “but he was never a father to me.  He left my mother in an abandoned watchtower in the Prince’s Pass.  Abandoned without a maester, or even a midwife, just a couple maidservants who’d tended to Princess Elia when she’d given birth to Aegon.”

This made Daenerys gasp in surprise and horror, but Aegon’s face showed only horror, “Uncle Oberyn was supposed to be there.”  Jon’s lack of surprise showed he was aware of this fact, but Robert’s frown showed he was not.  Aegon sighed, “Uncle should be meeting with Lord Stark by now, to make an apology he meant to make years ago.  He’d promised to tend to your mother, to see you safely born.  He was supposed to meet your uncle and negotiate with the Kingsguard protecting you and your mother.  He regrets his failures, he allowed grief over my mother and sister, and my supposed fate to prevent him from doing some good in this world.  Instead, good men are buried in the sand, your mother died senselessly, and we were raised ignorant of each other.”

Daenerys looked between the brothers, “At least I had Vis, even if he was not always nice.”

“When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives,” Jon quoted a saying his father often told his siblings and him, at the looks from his brother and aunt he smirked, “Stark saying, basically means as long as the family sticks together, we can survive anything.”  Jon grimaced, “Apparently that includes the return of the Long Night.”

“What exactly is the Long Night?” Daenerys asked.

Robert cleared his throat and they turned to him, “Ned told me tales about it when we were growing up in the Vale.  We both thought they were just old tales to scare small children.  Way back in the Age of Heroes, the winter to end all winters befell Westeros.  A winter so cold and dark that it was like the sun hadn’t risen in years.  Along with this seemingly endless night came the Others, no one knows what they were or are, just that they came with the cold and hated anything with a pulse.  They killed anything that moved be it human, child of the forest, giant, or animal.  The worst part was anything they killed didn’t stay dead.  The Others could raise the dead, turn them into wights, and unleash them upon the living.”

“We’re supposed to fight something like that?” Aegon grimaced, Ashara had only given him scant details, like that the Others were coming, she was trying to shield him from the true terror of the situation.  Robert didn’t seem to have that compunction, “How’d they defeat them last time?”

Jon spoke up, “There are a few accounts.  Some said it was an alliance of the various races of Westeros, that the Children of the Forest gave men weapons that could defeat the Others.  All accounts agree on one thing, there was one great battle far to the north, and the Long Night ended with the coming of the dawn.”

“A battle that no one returned from,” Robert clarified, “When winter ended, Brandon the Builder threw up that wall.  He then made the Night’s Watch, which I’m starting to think wasn’t supposed to be a penal colony.”

Jon crossed his arms, “We’re all of First Men blood here, we can thank the Andals for that.”

Daenerys frowned, “We’re Valyrian.”

“Blackwood,” Aegon chuckled, “Aegon the fifth married a Blackwood.  Thanks to him, you and I got the blood of the First Men coursing through our veins.”  Aegon looked to his brother, “Jon here got some more from the Stark bloodline.”

Robert snorted, “House Baratheon can only passingly claim any First Men heritage.  Not sure how diluted the blood is in us.”

“Same source as us,” Aegon assured, “Your grandmother was a daughter of Aegon the fifth and Betha Blackwood.”

Jon looked between the King and his older brother, “So, what’s the plan, you realize you kind of told everyone in the hall that I’m not Lord Stark’s bastard.  It’s not going to take long for people to start making assumptions, and on top of that, people are going to be questioning the sudden return of my brother to the land of the living, and that my aunt suddenly appeared in Winterfell.”

“Especially the timing,” Robert mused, “I’ve just set Cersei aside and denounced her children as not being of my seed.”  Robert looked to the three surviving members of House Targaryen, and in thought muttered, “I never claimed the throne by right of conquest.”

“What’s that,” Aegon asked.

Robert blinked, “I didn’t claim the throne by right of conquest.  I claimed it by right of my Targaryen blood, my ties through my grandmother.”  Robert looked at Daenerys regretfully, “That’s why Varys kept sending assassins after you and Viserys,” He looked to Jon, “and why Ned hid you in the first place.”

“Because by that right,” Daenerys frowned, “You are behind both Aegon and Jon in the current line of succession, potentially me as well depending on the outcome of a great council, but historically those have favored male primogeniture.”

“Exactly,” Robert chuckled, “This will probably piss off my brothers, but it may be our best bet at reunification of the realm.  We cannot have infighting when the dead are knocking at the gate.”

Daenerys grimaced, “Can we please refrain from bringing up them unless absolutely necessary.”

(Winterfell – Sept)

Cersei was looking out the window when the door to her makeshift prison was thrust open and Lady Stark dropped to her knees before the mask of the Father.  The other woman’s prayers were murmured too low for Cersei to make out.  It was not long before the barren old Septa waddled in, “Lady Stark, it is unbecoming of a Lady of a Great House to run through the halls.”

A sneer came to Cersei’s face, “Whatever has happened?”

“Mind your place harlot,” the Septa snapped, “the most devout will see to you soon enough.”

This brought a bark of laughter to the disgraced daughter of Tywin Lannister, “No, they won’t.  I have claimed the gods of earth and tree or haven’t you heard?  The faith holds no sway over my fate unless they think the Quiet Wolf will hand me over to their tender mercies.”

A minute iota of pleasure came to Cersei when the look of disquiet crossed the old woman’s face.  The Septa went back to fussing over Lady Stark who was still muttering her prayers.  Cersei had been locked in this chamber since her faithless husband’s eldest bastard had delivered the letter which doomed her and her children, the last warning of Maggie’s prophesy had also come to pass.  She’d been betrayed by her younger brother, both of them.  Jaime had seemingly vanished instead of coming to her defense, and she’d heard from gossiping guards that it had been Tyrion who’d convinced Jaime to flee.

Her only ally she could rely on was also one that could doom her.  Lord Stark had offered his hand, his protection from those who’d see her dead.  Robert’s anger was horrible to see, she had felt the brunt of it more times than she could count.  She had also seen the mess he made of her cousins whenever they drew his ire.  Eddard was not afraid of Robert’s anger, though having a wolf the size of a small horse meant there were few things to fear.  The most devout though was another matter, if she was found guilty of adultery there was the probability of public humiliation, and the incest and seduction of her brother would add a pyre at the end of the walk of atonement.  Eddard was the closest thing to an authority figure among the followers of the Old Gods, no centralized religion meant they didn’t have religious crimes outside of burning heart trees.  Eddard would shield her from the Faith of the Seven’s more brutal practices, in return for her admission of guilt.  Part of that plea also included the protection of her children, though she learned her father had already been working on that in his way.

“I wish you had never come here,” Cersei looked to Lady Stark who was still kneeling before the mask of the Father, but was no longer praying, “You brought those things into my house, your coming has brought nothing but chaos and ruin to my house.”

Cersei glared, “What drivel is this?  What ruin has befallen your house?  It is my son who is maimed, my children who’ve been denounced and cast down.  I do not see you imprisoned in this sorry excuse for a Sept.  I do not see you betrayed by your kin, left to wonder each time that door opens it isn’t the king’s justice come to escort you to the headman’s block.”

Catelyn turned to her with a glare, “You think only of yourself Lady Lannister, you think of no one else.  My sister is dead, no doubt she learned of your debauchery, and you had her silenced for it.”

“Your sister was killed by bandits,” Cersei rolled her eyes, “though even I have a hard time believing that.  She was the only one killed, the bandits were nice enough to lock everyone else in the stables and ride away.  Truly I think someone learned she’d killed her husband and opted to spare us all the drama and be done with the mad woman.  You must admit your nephew has thrived since her death, even I could see that the few times I saw him during the trip north.”

“Lannisters lie,” Catelyn snarled, “it is in your nature.  Your family is prideful, you are all vindictive and cruel.”

Cersei stood from her seat next to the window, “Funny, coming from an opportunistic trout.  I remember the way you behaved around Brandon Stark at the tourney before father ordered our early departure.  You played the part of the lovelorn betrothed, even though he could barely stand your presence.  Your dear husband though only had eyes for Ashara Dayne, and I had never seen her so enamored with any of her admirers before.  I knew Ashara well, we served as Princess Elia’s ladies together, she was a master of using womanly wiles to toy with the hearts of those who coveted her.  Before we left, I heard her talking to Elia, she spoke of how Eddard appreciated her thoughts.  One meeting and she was gushing over the man your father forced to take your hand.”

Septa Mordane was too old to move quickly enough, let alone realize Catelyn was moving.  Lady Stark crossed the room and struck Cersei across the face, “You vile, vindictive whore.”

“At least I don’t pretend to be anything less than the monster I am,” Cersei glared as she turned back to look at Lady Stark, her cheek already reddening where she’d been struck, “I do believe it is unladylike to strike a prisoner, let alone one who is still under guest rights.  I have caused no harm to you or yours, nor do I have the intent to harm.”

“I am sure Lady Stark meant no harm either,” They all turned to see Lord Lannister at the door, “you do tend to get that sort of reaction from people my dearest daughter.”  Tywin entered and stepped to the side to allow Tommen to enter, “I am sorry if I am intruding but it is half past midday, Lord Stark has arranged for my grandchildren to have supervised visits with their mother at this time.”

The Septa bowed her head, “Of course, my lord, do you need me to remain to monitor her interactions?”

“That will not be necessary,” Tywin waited as a third individual entered.

Tyrion sighed as he patted Tommen’s shoulder, “See my boy, your mother as promised.  She was even entertaining guests it seems.”

Catelyn grimaced as she moved towards the door, “Pardon my lords, there are matters I must attend to.”

“Of course,” Tywin paused Catelyn at the door, “and Lady Stark,” when she turned to him, he was glaring vehemently, “raise your hand to a member of my family again, you will learn the extent of my forgiveness.”

Once Lady Stark and her Septa had left, Tyrion snorted, “It is always enjoyable watching little fish swim away.”

Cersei had returned to her seat at the window, Tommen in her lap.  She rubbed her reddened cheek, “What has happened, she does not strike me as one to lose their composure so easily.”

Tywin pulled a chair from the corner of the room next to Cersei’s seat, “You’ll hear the gossip soon, and probably see them from the window.  Aegon Targaryen and his aunt Daenerys arrived with the Martells this morning.  Though, that is yet to become widely known as they did not present themselves openly to the entire court.  The drama that played out this morning and more than likely has upset Lady Stark was Prince Doran presenting Lord Stark’s true bastard in a ploy to maintain the boy’s claim on Starfall.”

Cersei looked to her baby brother, “Edric Dayne is Lord Stark’s bastard?”

“It was as much a surprise to Lord Stark,” Tyrion chuckled, “apparently Lord Dayne was a vindictive cunt, gods preserve him.  He forbade his sister from telling Lord Stark about the child, then stole him and claimed him as his own.  Oh, and Ashara Dayne is still alive she faked her death so she could run off to Essos to help raise and protect Princess Elia’s son Aegon.  The things you learn as Master of Coin.”

Shaking her head Cersei looked to her father, “How?”

“Gregor’s an imbecile,” Tywin deadpanned, “there was not much left of the babe’s head when the bodies were presented to me.  I saw a few tuffs of hair the right shade of pale blonde, I assumed the babe was indeed Aegon.  The other two bodies though were in better condition, their identities were confirmed.”

“Perhaps not the best time for such gruesome discussion,” Tyrion indicated Tommen, “Though, the comment from the king did intrigue me.  He remarked that Lord Stark had an actual bastard, as though the one living here the past four and ten years was not his.”

Chapter Text

(North – The Wall)

Benjen Stark rode into Castle Black with his sworn brothers and The Mountain that Rides.  Gregor Clegane had been quiet for most of the ride to the Wall, talking only when responding to a question using monosyllabic sounds.  The journey had been rather mundane with the group falling into a pattern over the course of the journey.  Benjen frowned as Alliser Thorne approached them, “Welcome back First Ranger, been ranging the wrong side of the Wall.  We expected you back weeks ago.”

Benjen indicated Gregor, “My stay at Winterfell lasted longer than anticipated, and we have a few new sworn brothers for the trouble.”

Thorne’s stern gaze fell on Gregor, “What in the seven hells, how did he end up here?”

“Rode into Winterfell, dropped on his knees, and told my brother he murdered Princess Elia and her son.”  Benjen sighed, “My brother couldn’t be rid of him fast enough.  Not that the daughters of Oberyn were helping with their overt attempts at vengeance before we left.”

“Well,” Thorne sighed, “guess that deals with one problem.  We have another Westerlander who arrived just before you, Lord Commander has him down in the ice cells until we can decide how to deal with him.”

“Westerlander?” Benjen frowned, “not Jaime Lannister?”

Thorne nodded, “One and the same, the vaunted Kingslayer himself.  Rode in claiming he needed to swear his oaths, that he was volunteering for the Night’s Watch.  It’s been a while since a White Cloak has switched for a black one, we were hoping you had an inkling about his reasoning.”

Benjen shook his head, “Damn, Ned thought there was a chance he’d come this way, thought I’d beat him here.  It is good the Lord Commander has secured him; we need to send word to Winterfell that the Kingslayer is here.  His grace wants a word with him.”

Alliser frowned, “What does Robert want with him?”

“The Kingslayer was having an affair with the King’s wife.”  Benjen grimaced with disgust, “fucked his own sister and spawned three bastards the Queen tried to pass off as the King’s.”

“Like the Strongs all over,” Alliser sighed, “I’ll see to the Mountain, any special orders?”

Gregor glowered from where he’d been observing their conversation, Benjen glared back, “Only that if he steps out of line, his head will be shipped to Dorne, the rest of him will be fed to the wolves.”  At Thorne’s snigger, Benjen turned and made his way to Jeor’s chamber, only to find them empty save for the crow cawing for corn.

Stopping a steward, he learned the Lord Commander was talking with Maester Aemon.  The First Ranger made his way to Aemon’s quarters.  Upon entering he was surprised to find the Lord Commander with a man Benjen recognized as Aemon, but he seemed far younger.  “What’s going on?”

Jeor turned as did the younger Aemon look alike, “Benjen, good you’ve returned.”

“Aye,” Benjen frowned at the man who was wearing Aemon’s chain, “who’s this?”

The Aemon look alike chuckled, “Your eyes are not failing you, First Ranger, I am still the maester of Castle Black,” Aemon sat in his cushioned chair, “how this has occurred, I know not.  Some days after you departed to request assistance from your brother, I started feeling peculiar.  Stronger than I had in years, though my eyes alas have not experienced the same rejuvenation as the rest of my body.”

Benjen frowned, “You look no older than my father the last I saw of him.  Why have your eyes not recovered if the rest of you has?”

Aemon rubbed his chin where a light dusting of silver blond hair had grown, “A man may live without sight.  Whatever magic was used to revitalize my aging body; I believe it was only meant to prolong my life.  Our young recruits who’ve been touched by the will of the gods revealed my demise was fast approaching, our shared nephew would send me south to avoid the madness of the Red God, but I would not survive the journey.”

The last part of the maester’s remark confused Benjen, “Shared nephew?”

Jeor nodded, “Received a raven from Winterfell from my sister.  Seems your brother is more cunning than some would give him credit for.  His true bastard arrived at Winterfell a few days ago with his birth mother and liege lord, seeking your brother’s approval of his legitimation as a Dayne.  This forced Ned to reveal to his banners that young Jon Snow was born of the union of Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar.”

There had been a part of Benjen who’d always questioned Eddard’s claim that Jon was his.  To an outsider, they might look like father and son, but to those within the household, more than a few whispers had reached Benjen about the similarities the boy held physically to his late sister Lyanna.  Benjen had noticed them as well and had been concerned others might start noticing, for that reason he’d been planning to lead Jon towards the Night’s Watch and away from potential danger.

Jeor must have read Benjen’s concern on his face as the Old Bear sighed, “From what my sister reports, his Grace is well aware of young Jon’s true parentage and has been for more than a few years.  King Robert knew better than to think Ned would desire to put his nephew on the throne, he’d burn the south to cinders before he’d let that occur.”

“Lord Stark is called the Quiet Wolf, is he not?” Aemon mused, “Who is to be feared more, the loud and boisterous man who acts without thought, or the quiet and composed man who has planned out his strategy and can predict the moves of his opponents.”

“The latter for sure,” Benjen looked to Jeor, “have you sent word that Jaime Lannister is here?”

“The Kingslayer?” Jeor nodded, “Yes, though it is perfunctory, he has voiced his desire to join the watch, I cannot reasonably deny him.  No matter his crimes, to surrender oneself to the watch, is an admittance to guilt and an act of penitence.  Remember Benjen, we are not beholden to the crown of men, the watch serves as the guardians of the realm of men.”

“Aye,” Benjen nodded, “for that reason, we do not get involved in the politics of the realm.”

Aemon looked towards where the Lord Commander stood, “Jeor, I think it is time you showed him.”

“Right,” Jeor motioned for Benjen to follow him into a side room, “We made a little expedition to the Night Fort while you were off begging your brother for supplies and men.”  Pushing the door open Jeor revealed what looked like an armory had been installed in the maester’s quarters, “The runes were glowing, so it seemed time we started distributing the good stocks.”

Benjen frowned, tables and racks were packed with weapons of an unknown metal.  It was dark like dragon glass, but vibrant hues coursed across the surface, “What are these made of?”

“Meteorite iron,” Jeor frowned, “similar to the metal used to create the sword Dawn wielded by House Dayne.  Though these are much, much older.  Forged in the Age of Heroes, they have been kept in trust since the Battle for the Dawn.  Awaiting their rightful wielders.”

“Rightful,” Benjen frowned, “what do you mean by that?  Can’t just anyone pick them up?”

“Try telling that to the poor idiots in the infirmary, the reason we’ve secured them here.  Had them in a room in the armory, some of the thicker-skulled recruits thought to mess around with them.  Six of them went into the room, only one of them left with a usable right hand, the rest are going to need to learn to use their left from now on.”  Jeor sighed as he walked over and picked up a mace with a bear’s head at the end of the haft, “I can wield this mace just fine, but if I were to try and unsheathe one of the other weapons or even pick up anything else.  Well, you’ll understand when you see one of those recruits.  We could only move them around by wrapping them in skins and transporting them, had a couple of accidents when an uncovered spot of metal happened to touch unprotected skin.”

Benjen’s eyes were drawn to a kite shield with a direwolf sigil identical to that of his house, a long sword was sheathed into the shield, “This belongs to my house.”

“Probably Greystark,” Jeor corrected, “at least that’s what the manifest kept by the Lord Commanders of old recorded.  Not that it matters as they are long extinct.”  The Lord Commander watched as Benjen approached and picked up the shield.  Benjen slipped his arm into the straps; they were worn and would need replacing before the shield could be used in actual combat.  Cautiously he gripped the longsword.  A hum of power went up Benjen’s arm, he felt it course into his chest.

Benjen only partially heard Jeor’s warning before he pulled the sword free of its sheath within the shield.  Immediately Benjen saw nothing but blinding white light.  From within the light, a figure approached, “Benjen of House Stark, you are worthy.  In life, I was Hoare Greystark, the last of my House.  For betraying kith and kin, for dishonoring the blood we share, I swore the remaining days of my life as the bulwark against the cold and dark.  Upon my left arm, I carried Winterbreak the kite shield of our ancestors.  In my right hand, I wielded Iceblood, the meteorite sword once held by the Red Kings.  My watch has ended, may these tools passed to me by my father and mother continue to stand against the cold and dark as you do.”

As the figure’s voice faded away with the light, Benjen blinked to clear his vision, “What was that?”

“Tried to warn you,” Jeor hefted the mace he’d picked up, “If you are deemed worthy to wield one of these weapons, you get an introduction to the previous holder.  Seems a part of them remains with the weapon, Aemon believes that is what deems someone worthy or not of wielding the weapons.”

Benjen nodded, “These weren’t always together.” He returned the sword to the sheath within the kite shield, “Hoare Greystark inherited them from his parents following their rebellion and his banishment to the Wall.”

“Must have been regulated to the vault after his death,” Jeor indicated his mace, “A Mormont from a cadet branch brought Bear’s Maw here during the early years of the watch.  When he died during a ranging beyond the wall, the mace was brought back and put in the vault instead of being returned to my House.”

Taking a look around the room, Benjen frowned, “I have a feeling few among the watch today will be deemed worthy.  We need to talk with Ned.”

“Looks like you will need to make another trip to Winterfell.”  Jeor chuckled, “While you’re at it, maybe you can deal with the two beasts that arrived not long after we got back from the Night Fort.

Benjen was curious until Jeor led him to a rarely used area of Castle Black.  Gnawing on the carcass of a deer were two dire wolves.  A fully grown male that rivaled the one following Ned around, and a pup that was probably not much older than those partnered with his nephews and nieces.  Benjen swore the look the adult wolf gave him plainly showed exasperation that he’d finally arrived.

(North – Winterfell)

Ned sat in his solar, across from him Doran sat quietly, and Ashara sat glaring at the door.  The three of them awaited Oberyn, who had requested this meeting and had been adamant it only be the four of them.  Ned had wanted to include Jon, as he had some inkling as to the contents of this meeting, and that Jon as much as anyone deserved an explanation as to Oberyn’s actions or lack thereof.

“Where is he?” Ash almost snarled, the sound made Lyanna look up from her place at the hearth, at a look from Ned the direwolf lowered her head back to her paws, “He asks us to be here now, and he makes us wait?”

“Be calm Ash,” Doran sighed, “it has been four and ten years, and he was only expecting to face Lord Stark and the boy.  My brother is a proud man, admitting his faults is no easy feat.  Admitting his mistakes has never been one of his strong suits either.”  The Prince of Dorne looked to the direwolf, “Lord Stark, would it be safer if your friend waited outside?”

Ned’s brow raised, “Actually no, it would not,” he indicated the door, “That door might withstand a battle axe, but an enraged direwolf, it will not.  It is safer for her to be where I can ensure she does not mistake my emotions as a command to attack.  We are still working out exactly how this bond works, the closest thing we have to compare it to would be the Targaryen's ability to bond with their dragons.  Though, they were not known to be able to see through the eyes of their dragons.”

Doran grimaced, “It is an unnerving ability, your legends refer to it as skinwalking correct?”

“Warging is our actual word for it,” Ned corrected, “skinwalking is what the faith refers to it as, though their depictions of the practice are acutely misleading and markedly offensive.  We do not physically become animals, nor is the practice some dark ritual.  Those who have the capability can form bonds with animals, it is easier to warg with a bonded animal than just a random creature you come across.”

Ashara noticed Ned had refrained from mentioning particularly skilled wargs could potentially influence people.  She turned at the sound of the door being opened.  Jory entered and gave a respectful nod, “My lord, Prince Oberyn Martell is here with his, um, well his paramour.”

Ned nodded, “Let them in.”

The captain of the guard exited the room and swiftly Oberyn and Ellaria entered.  Ellaria Sand simply curtsied before taking a place beside the door.  Her eyes never left the tense form of one Prince Oberyn.  Oberyn worked his jaw after giving a dignified bow, “Lord Stark, it is pleasant to see you in good health.”

“You as well Prince Oberyn,” Ned stood, “Though, I’d have greeted you properly upon your arrival had you sent word.  Though, seeing as you were traveling with a fugitive and an exiled royal, I can forgive you this.”

Oberyn chuckled, “You would not believe my surprise upon realizing I was traveling with Princess Daenerys and that she was being escorted by the recently pardoned Sir Jorah Mormont.  I am sure you received notice of his pardoning by the crown before our arrival.”

Ned motioned to the surface of his desk which was cluttered with unread missives and papers, “I am sure it is here somewhere.  I have been slightly preoccupied the last few moons hosting his grace.  I hazard to think the last time so many notables were in one place without swords drawn and blood being spilled.”

“Harrenhal,” Ashara deadpanned, “sixteen years, a few moons past.”  At the strained looks of the others in the room, she sighed, “There is little to do when pretending to be a Septa than count the days since one was last truly happy.”

Oberyn grimaced, “Aye, those were better days.”  He looked at the other two men in the room, “We were all younger men, full of ourselves we were.”

“Speak for yourself,” Doran mused, “I’m now the second eldest Lord Paramount, now that Jon Arryn, gods give him peace, is gone, and Tywin Lannister is only a few moons older than I.”

Ned did not flinch at the mention of his late father figure, there was some peace knowing the man’s killers had met their ends.  Balish might have been able to wiggle his way out of guilt, either through bribery or some other skullduggery, the man had been slippery as an eel, and Ned would not begrudge the Mountain that life.  Lysa, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely, he felt for Catelyn, he knew what it felt like to lose one’s siblings, but he also knew Catelyn would have done something impulsive, she lived by her house words.

Eddard was brought back to the room as Doran shifted in his seat, “We should get on with this before his grace grows paranoid and thinks we plot his downfall.”

Oberyn nodded at his brother before looking seriously at Lord Stark, “As you know Lord Stark, I was the one who sent the missive telling you where to find your sister in the final days of the rebellion.  Though it was Ash’s hand which wrote the words, she’d have not known what to write without my voice.”  Oberyn’s shoulders sagged, “I was the one delivering supplies to the tower, as you now know Ashara was in no state to be traipsing around the Prince’s Pass at that point.  She knew only that Lyanna was somewhere in Dorne, secreted away under the protection of my brother and me at the behest of our good brother.”

Doran cleared his throat, “I’d like to state here that I only knew your sister was within my domain, not her exact location.  We thought it best I could speak truthfully had Aerys demanded she be brought before him.  It would have at least bought us time, Dorne is second only to the North in size, I could reasonably dissuade the Mad King for a couple of moons as I sent out scouts to search.  Giving Oberyn and the Kingsguard time to move into the Marches and out of my domain.”

Ned nodded, “When I arrived at Starfall, Ashara told me you were to meet me on the road Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn sighed, “Aye, I was also supposed to be at the Tower when your sister had her child.  We could not trust maesters or midwives, anyone who might speak of where your sister was hidden.  We sent a few ladies from the Water Gardens whom we could trust, but they were young, and none had experience with childbirth either firsthand or through attending a birth.”  Oberyn’s fists tightened, “Lord Stark, as you have no doubt heard in rumors or from my kin, I am a man of many passions.  I love many things, fighting, fucking, and learning are just the most prevalently known, another, is my family.  Many look down on me for never marrying and siring so many bastards, but there was one if I had had the opportunity, I would have placed my cloak upon her shoulders.  I spied her first at Harrenhal before my sister sent me back to Dorne.  A Northern girl who picked up a tourney sword in defense of one of her father’s men, a girl who drove away three squires, and whom I’d later learned would defeat the knights of those squires on the tiltyard.”

“You speak of my sister,” Ned frowned, “though she was betrothed to another.”

“I’d have challenged Baratheon for her hand, I was contemplating it until the letter came from Elia.  The letter detailing her plan to secure her position.  She feared Aerys would have Rheagar set her aside and would even disinherit her children to destabilize Rheagar’s position as crown prince.”  Oberyn looked to Ashara, “I never learned all the particulars, only that Lyanna had been approached by Elia at the tourney, after the Knight of the Laughing Tree incident.  She would marry Rhaegar as his second wife and bare him children, but otherwise, be free to do as she pleased.  When Rhaegar ascended to the throne, Elia would be queen, while Lyanna would continue to do as she pleased under the protection of their husband.”

Ash looked to Ned, “That was as much as I was privy to, Elia knew we had become close, and did not want to burden me with too many secrets to be kept from you.  Especially after I showed her your pin, she knew it to be an old custom among the First Men.  She hoped Lyanna would be able to explain all to your family.”

“There was a letter,” Doran spoke up, “she entrusted it to Lady Lysa Tully, she was to give it to your brother when he arrived to marry Catelyn.  When we heard what had become of your father and brother, we knew something was rotten at Riverrun.  We knew not whom we could trust there, as someone had lied to your brother to incite such anger.”

“Not sure a letter would have helped explain this,” Ned sighed, “Brandon may still have charged off had he received the letter, but I doubt he’d have demanded the prince’s head.  Knowing my brother, he’d have still done something to anger the king.”

“Seeing as Aerys was right mad,” Oberyn sighed, “regardless, Doran and I witnessed Rhaegar and Lyanna marry, the Septon had been less than thrilled, but did as he was commanded.  We didn’t learn about your father and brother’s deaths until the missive from Elia telling us she had been called from Dragonstone by his grace to attend their execution, for that was no duel.  Elia feared for any Dornish in the capital, so sent her ladies and guards away.”

“That is when Ashara secreted Aegon from the capital,” Ned surmised.

Ash nodded, “Yes, Varys came to Elia and suggested we take Aegon somewhere safe until the war was over.  Starfall was deemed the safest.  He provided a child that resembled Aegon at first glance, but the child was sickly.  It provided cover to keep the child secluded in Elia's chambers.”

Doran frowned, “Why was Oberyn and I not informed of this?”

“The same reason you did not know about Lyanna’s location,” Ashara sighed, “after the war, Varys used my anger and grief to his own ends.  While he had no proof, he assumed Jon’s true parentage, especially as he knew of Edric.  He convinced me Aegon would be safest in Essos with Connington and I watching over him.”

The three men grimaced, Oberyn sneered, “I think it’s about time someone did something about our friend the Spider.  I do not think he is as altruistic as he claims.”

Ned frowned, “Sometimes it’s better to deal with the villain you know than the one you don’t.”

“True,” Oberyn’s sneer faded, “Now, where was I?  Oh, right, I was about to depart Sunspear for the tower when word reached us of the sacking of King’s Landing.  I fell into a deep pit of depression upon hearing of the loss of my dear sister and her sweet children.  By the time I’d recovered, you had already departed Starfall, and Ashara’s letter condemning me for my failures arrived just ahead of the notice of her demise.  I will admit I was not the best of people at the time, my beloved brother even carted me off to Essos for a couple of years to ensure I did nothing stupid.”

“What would you have me say, my prince,” Ned spat the title with some disgust, “You swore on your honor to Lady Ashara to be there, to help ensure no violence happened between my party and that of the kingsguard.  White Cloaks and men of the North died senseless deaths, the final casualties of a senseless war.  I am not the one you failed.  If it is as you say and you loved my sister, then it is only she who can absolve you of these failures and broken oaths.  It is only the restless spirits of those who died empty deaths that can give you peace.”

Oberyn frowned, “I do hope to live a few more years before walking with the Stranger.”

“Bah, the Stranger is nothing more than Andal superstition,” Ned stood and turned to a cabinet behind his desk.  Pulling a chest out he sat it on his desk caring nothing of the papers being made into an even worse mess.  Taking a ring of bronze keys from his pocket he deftly chose one and unlocked the chest.  The others in the room could not see what was in the chest, but Ned reached in and grabbed something, and threw it on his desk.  A bowl made of weirwood with a lid wobbled slightly as it rested on the pile of papers, “The North has long held to the old ways.  A concoction of sap and shavings from the heart tree of Winterfell.  Weirwood paste, to someone with green sight, it amplifies their powers.  To anyone else, it allows them to experience a taste of the power of the greenseers.”

Oberyn’s eyes widened, “I have read of this, but never thought it possible.  I thought only the Children of the Forest knew how to mix this paste.  If not done properly, it is potentially deadly.”

Ned nodded, “True, but House Reed has supplied my forefathers with paste since before the conquest.  I personally have only tried it once, shortly after my fever, I hoped it would give me clarity.  It led me to my wolf; my fever vision did not give me the knowledge of exactly when she and her prey would kill each other.  That knowledge came from the paste.”  Ned tapped the covered bowl, “Take only a spoonful the first time, and I suggest you have someone with you.”  Ned then took a key from the bronze ring, “This will give you access to the side gate into the godswood.”

Oberyn nodded, taking the bowl and key, “Let’s see if the Old Gods will favor me with a vision.”

“Winter is coming,” Ned intoned, “when it does, it comes for us all.”

(Crownlands – King’s Landing)

Renly watched as Varys was brought before him and Stannis, they are the only members of the Small Council present in the city.  Stannis as the elder brother sat on the throne, as Renly stood at the bottom of the steps.  His brother glared down at the Spider, “Lord Varys, what do you have to say to this court?  You dishonored your station by acting in your own self-interests.  Well?”

“What I have done, I have done for the realm.”  Varys was unchained, he had no tricks to play now, his little birds were now in the employ of Davos Seaworth and the Red Priestess Stannis had brought with him, “What would you have me say?”  Varys smirked, “I saved children from being brutally murdered for no worse crime than simply being born.  I have never lied to his grace.  I knew not where any of the surviving Targaryen were at any given time, and any news I received I passed on.”

Stannis leaned back in the throne, “Heavily edited no doubt.  Jon Connington, you reported he’d drunk himself to death years ago.  He was the one raising Rhaegar’s son Aegon, he was spotted returning to his ancestral home some weeks ago.  He was hoping to gather men to march north to,” Stannis pulled a missive from his sleeve, “and I quote.  Rescue the true king from the usurper and his rabid dogs.  Jon is currently being held by his kinfolk until his grace sends orders.”

Varys grimaced, “I was not aware of course,” he looked to Renly, “My Lord Renly, have any other strangers been seen in the Stormlands?”

“If you mean the Gold Company,” Renly smirked, “it seems they are having a bit of trouble.  The Dothraki need ships to come west, it seems their Khal of Khals has summoned them to fight the Others.  Normally I’d be loath to believe such hogwash, but Sir Davos is quite insistent.  If nothing else, Lord Stark will be the best suited to deal with them, what with them both being barbarian heathens.”

“A barbarian heathen with a very large wolf,” Varys kindly reminded, “I’d be more judicious with your words my lord.”

“Right,” Renly looked to Stannis, “so?  What do we do with him?”

Stannis steepled his fingers, “His friend in Essos has been dead for weeks, killed by the same Dothraki Khal who was spotted getting off a ship with Jorah Mormont and a young girl.  The Khal and his bloodriders accompanied them when they departed the city and the last report had them joining another company of travelers who were spotted entering the Riverlands from the Reach, headed for the Neck.  My men were not willing to enter unbidden, by now they could very well have reached Winterfell.”

(North – Winterfell)

Khal Drogo watched these western city men spar with his bloodriders, they had been challenged to what Jorah called friendly spars.  The men from the Reach and Westerlands were lucking his men understood these fights were not to the death.  The Stormlanders were more of a challenge, but still no true threat.  These Northmen though were his kind of people.  Their maester had to tend to one of his men, the first to face a Northman in a ‘friendly spar’ he had seen the amused sneer on Jorah’s face as the guard captain named Jory stood triumphantly over another bloodrider.

Jory looked at the remaining Dothraki present, “You lot are lucky I’m not an Umber, Great Jon would be taking your heads off.”

“Got that right Cassel,” A massive man that made Drogo look puny jumped into the ring, “but then they haven’t had the luxury of training with Lord Stark.  Our liege doesn’t draw steel unless he’s intending to cause a whole heap of pain or death.  The bootlickers of the mad king got a taste of that, them squids and their lot got likewise.”

“And you’re just as like to get a taste if you don’t stop flapping your gums,” Jorah called from where he stood next to Drogo.  The son of Bear Island pointed to where Lord Stark was approaching.  Training leathers on and a tourney great sword in hand, four boys following in his wake, “Seems he’s going to teach the lads a thing or two.”

Lord Stark easily cleared the fence of the training ring and surveyed those gathered around, “Gendry and Loras, gear up.”

“My lord?” Loras frowned.

“Did I stutter Tyrell?” Eddard said as he kept looking, “Theon, you as well.”

Greyjoy sighed as he leapt off the fence where he’d been watching Jory toying with the Dothraki, “Please tell me this is all of us against you, my lord.”

“Need to see how well Connington trained Aegon can’t very well see to that while taking the rest of you lot to task.”  Eddard surveyed those around the sparing ring, “The Long Night is nigh, from this day forth, every man in Winterfell who can hold steel in their hand will train as though their lives depend on it.”  He pointed the great sword at Jorah, “Mormont, you have Greyjoy.”  The sword swung to Sandor, “Clegane you know your charge.”  Sandor nodded as he looked to Gendry, and Eddard’s sword moved to Umber, “Great Jon my eldest son.”

Great Jon nodded as he moved towards Robb, “Be my honor, my lord.”

Drogo watched as the boy Edric was paired with his knight to train, and the boy Loras was paired off with Prince Oberyn who looked more than amused at the boy’s affronted look.  Drogo noticed Lord Stark seemed unsure who to pair with his remaining son.  The Khal preempted him by jumping over the fence and approaching.

Jorah began speaking in Dothraki, “You sure?  The lad isn’t used to fighting people who fight to the death like you Dothraki.”

“Then he must learn,” Drogo responded, “before they come.”

Lord Stark held no reservations, “Very well, let’s see how well this little challenge of seven goes.”  He looked to Jory, “Seven of us against the seven boys in the ring.  Jory, you’re the judge.”

Jory nodded, “As you command, just go easy on the lads.  Your all war veterans my lord.”

Drogo did not understand exactly what a challenge of seven was, but he soon learned as the melee began.  As he faced off with the boy Jon, he noticed the boys Gendry and Loras double-team Gendry’s opponent.  He’d frowned at this at first until Oberyn appeared at his side making Jon step back to take stock of his opponents.

The boy was no fool he was observing them, watching for the moment either grew impatient or distracted by the various fights happening around them.  The three of them turned in unison at the sound of Umber’s voice, “What the hells Jorah?  Thought you had the squid?”

Oberyn chuckled, “You so focused on your lord’s heir you forgot his ward was fighting as well, Umber?”

“Cheeky Dornish shite,” Umber snarled as he stood up, “Jon you wallop that prancing southerner.”

“Do my best my lord,” Jon sniped as he laid his long sword on Oberyn’s shoulder, “yield your grace?”

Drogo beat the sword away, “No, the enemy will not ask for yielding the enemy will only cease when they die.”

“Guess we’re doing this,” Jon called to Robb, “brother, a hand here.”

Robb grunted as he parried a swing from Jorah, “In a moment brother, got a bear that forgot he’s supposed to be squid hunting.”

“Hey,” Theon snapped, “I helped you with the giant, it’s only fair you give me a hand with the former fugitive.  Who just so happened to spend my father’s rebellion gleefully killing my countrymen.”

“Those were good times,” Jorah retorted, “afterward, not so great, but yeah reducing the number of Iron Born in the world is kind of a hobby of us Bear Islanders.  Fighting Starks though,” Jorah kicked Robb towards Jon and his two opponents, “rather not have aunty Maege’s mace swung in my direction for even daring to cross swords with you, my lord.  Go play with the Dornish Prince and the Khal, they’ll keep you entertained until your father is free to play.”

Oberyn chuckled as Robb regained his footing and glared at Mormont who was already focusing on a rather terrified Greyjoy, “My young lord Robb, how fitting we should meet on such an auspicious day.  Your father is putting my nephew through his paces, so it is only fair I see to it that you are properly tested.”  He looked to Drogo, “Pardon but duty calls and I have failed enough Starks for one lifetime.”

As Drogo watched the Dornishman and Lord Stark’s son move their face-off away, he raised his weapon to block the one used by the boy Jon, “Good, you’re learning.”

“Worth a shot,” Jon retreated before springing back forwards with a series of strikes that would unbalance a weaker foe, but Drogo was not a weaker foe.  He parried the blows and dodged those he couldn’t.  Jon was well trained, skilled enough that the Khal would be proud to have him among his own.  Seeing from the corner of his eye Lord Stark forcing a yield from Aegon, Drogo batted away Jon’s sword and rested the point of his at the boy’s throat.  Drogo was both amused and proud of the irritated expression on the boy’s face as he muttered, “Yield.”

Drogo smirked as he lowered his sword, “There was no dishonor in this defeat, you face a more skilled opponent without flinching.  You lasted longer than most of my bloodriders have.”

Moments later Eddard had the seven boys lined up facing their older challengers, “Well done lads,” he looked to a still simmering Great Jon, “you bested at least one of us, and nearly did in a second one had Jorah not finished Theon so swiftly and gone to relieve Sandor of his second opponent.”

Loras looked to Gendry who was sporting a bruised cheek, he’d failed to warn the younger man of the veteran coming up behind him.  Jorah had sucker punched the Crownlander before moving in to give Sandor room to swing his great sword, leaving Loras little choice than to yield the bout.  His only redemption came from outlasting the other boys, if only by a few seconds.  Edric had pushed his Marcher lord opponent into a position so that he and Robb could support each other against the older warriors.  The brothers had only yielded when Eddard Stark and Drogo had joined their group.

Eddard continued his assessment, “Some of you understood the reason for this melee, you moved to assist the others against us veterans.  Robb and Edric, you were the most successful at this, though you were also smart to yield when seriously outnumbered.  Though, the Others are unlikely to accept such concessions.”  He looked to Robb and Jon, “Round up your other brothers and the Martell boys, show this lot the springs.”

“Right father,” Robb sighed, “Jon, you know where the pups are?”

“No Robb, I am not our brother’s minder, but given their propensity for trouble, I spotted Shaggy Dog by the doors to the Great Hall.  I’d guess they’re raiding the kitchens.” Jon sighed, “I’ll head for the servants' entrance.”

“I’ll go through the Great Hall.” Theon offered, “Robb you got the back hallway from the keep.”

“Why,” at his brother’s and friend’s humored smirks the heir of Winterfell turned to the other young men, “You guys want to go ahead and find the Martells, then meet us by the broken tower.  We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

It had not taken long to locate the sons of Doran Martell, they had been observing the sparing melee and had heard Lord Stark tell his sons to invite them.  Robb and the others were quick at finding his brothers and cousin, and meeting them at the broken tower, though that was not where they went.  Loras trailed at the back of the group with Quentyn, as they were the oldest of the group, but both listened as Robb explained to Edric about the Winterfell baths.

“The hot springs that heat the keep flooded the caverns beneath us long ago, even caused a partial collapse of the floors on a lower level.  Our ancestors realized they needed to redirect some of the flow lest the whole keep collapsed into those caverns.  We’re not sure who exactly built the baths, but it’s where most people in Winterfell learn to swim.”

“It’s also used as sort of a bonding ritual for the heir and his banners,” Jon supplied, “Seems like half the northern lords who visit spend half their time down here.  Considering it’s the warmest part of Winterfell.”

Loras had begun feeling the temperature rise as they descended into the lower levels of the keep.  They approached two locked doors and Robb pulled a key from his belt and unlocked one of the doors.  Loras frowned at the second door, “Where does that door lead?”

“The women’s bath,” Theon smirked, “I’d not suggest taking a peek.  Old Nan and Septa are known to relax in there, and Septa tends to monitor Sansa and Arya and the other girls.”

“As though I’d do something so uncouth as spy upon ladies in such a state,” It was not only his chivalrous nature, he had no desire to see women in such undress.  They followed Robb through the door, most of them immediately shucking their outer layers.  Jon motioned to a series of baskets stacked beside the door, “Drop your clothes in one of those, servants will clean them and bring fresh ones from upstairs.”

It was only now Loras was taking stock of the chamber they were in, it looked like an old storeroom that had been modified.  Support columns lined a depression that slopped down towards a grate, the depression was filled with steaming water.  Beyond the grate, a torrent of boiling water rushed by, and clouds of steam hung low in the chamber.  There was also the sudden change of the walls, which where they stood appeared to be part of the old storeroom, but suddenly open into a cavern, the ceiling though was that of the cavern sharp stalactites hung perilously over their heads.

Gendry looked up nervously, “None of those have ever fallen on anyone have they?”

Robb patted the younger boy on the shoulder, “Not to any of our knowledge, and I’m sure Old Nan would have told us if it had, she doesn’t skimp on gory details.

Aegon was the first to enter the water, “There are bathhouses like this in Essos, not that I ever went to one, my guardians had us hiding among commoners.”

Trystane went to the edge where the water started to deepen, “It’s similar to the Water Gardens.”

Quentyn chuckled, “Except being underground and not heated by the sun, also the separation between men and women.  Not something typically done in Dorne, at least not with children.”

Robb snorted and looked to Jon, “Theon was messing with them.”

“Not exactly,” Jon indicated the wall behind him which was where the other door led, “Servants baths,” he then indicated the chamber they were in, “Household baths.”

“Wait,” Theon frowned, “Sansa and Arya always go in there with Old Nan and Septa when we come down here.”

“Of course, they do, Greyjoy,” Robb crossed his arms, “you think we want you looking at our sisters in their small clothes.”

Through the wall, Arya could hear her brother’s words and frown.  From the pool of water behind her, Sansa spoke, “What are they saying?”

Arya turned to her sister and the other young women who were lounging about the heated water, “Robb and Jon let Theon know why we’ve been using the servant’s baths since he was brought to Winterfell, at least when he comes down.”

Daenerys frowned, “You bathe with your brothers?”

“Normal baths are taken in our chambers,” Sansa explained, “down here is more for relaxation and the obvious to learn to swim.  Only a fool would take a dip in the rivers or lakes on the surface.”

“Twenty minutes,” Arya intoned seriously, “that’s how long you have to get dry and warm if you fall into any body of water in the North.  Even Rickon knows that.”

Arianna looked to her cousins the older of whom was monitoring their younger siblings, “If you ever travel south, you will have to come to experience the Water Gardens.  Though its beauty may be greater than this cavern, the water is never this warm.”

Sarella frowned, “Actually if this water is fed from that stream, shouldn’t it be just as hot?”

“You’ll see in a minute, happens every fifteen minutes,” Sansa pointed to some pipes hanging from the ceilings.  Suddenly each pipe spat out a stream of ice-cold water which hit the hot water in the pool causing it to cool rapidly and more steam to form, “Cold water being returned to the source, it’s all part of the system that heats Winterfell.”

They all noticed the look in Sarella’s eyes, Tyene sighed, “No little sister you cannot tear apart the walls to figure out how it works.”

Sarella fumed, “But, I’ve never seen such a thing, nothing I’ve ever read has even hypothesized such a possibility.”

“We have books,” Sansa mentioned, “like seven maester’s journals and some old tomes written in runes, only father and the boys can read those though.”

“Only Robb and Jon,” Arya amended, “Father hasn’t tried teaching the rest of us runes since Sansa had trouble with them.”

Nymeria had been bristling at Sansa’s wording, thinking Lord Stark was refusing to teach his daughters something the boys were learning, but calmed at Arya’s explanation, “Is it difficult to learn?”

“Not extremely, I can write my name in runes, and the names of my siblings,” Sansa explained, “but trying to understand a complete sentence is quite a bit harder.  Take Arya’s name, if you place the rune for her name next to the rune for Stark, it could mean loud wolf, or knife out of the dark depending on if placed horizontal or vertical.”

Mya frowned, “Does that mean the runes for Eddard Stark can mean quiet wolf?”

“No,” Sansa smirked, “the runes for father’s name can only be written vertically, so the rune that represents Stark, holds the meaning out of the dark.  The closest rune to match with father’s given name means observant one.  Put together the runes mean something like observer out of the darkness, though that’s probably more literal than the actual translation.”

Sarella moved next to Sansa, “What conventions regulate words to being written horizontally or vertically?”

Sansa frowned, “That was one of the parts I had trouble with, it has something to do with how the words are spoken in the Old Tongue.  Father can translate runes into common, but like most people, he doesn’t speak the Old Tongue.”

Meera Reed spoke from where she sat next to one of the columns, “Father can speak it, he says Lord Stark knows the language but doesn’t speak it for the simple fact it shames other northern lords that they have lost that part of their culture.  He has probably taught Lord Robb.”

Margaery smirked, “He has,” the others all turned to her, “what, I asked, and my betrothed and I have no secrets.  It is quite refreshing.  He’s also taught me a bit; we plan to say our vows before the heart tree using the Old Tongue.”

Arianne smirked, “I am surprised how enamored you are with your betrothed, the boys you have toyed with in the south have never made you swoon so.”

“Toyed with?” Sansa questioned.

Margaery grimaced, “I have never laid with a man, Lady Sansa, but I have done a bit more than chaste kissing.  My brothers always stepped in to protect my honor, and Loras was never far.  Your brother is aware of all this, as I said there are no secrets between us, like I know while he has been to the alehouse in Winter Town, he has never actually lain with one of the working girls there.”

“We know all about Robb, Theon, and Jon going to the alehouse,” Jeyne Poole said from where she sat on the ledge beside Sansa, “Roslyn informs Lady Stark whenever they go down there.  It’s how we knew Theon was soaking himself the night before the King arrived.”

“Your mother has a spy in an alehouse?” Obara frowned, “Why?”

Sending an exasperated look to her friend, Sansa sighed, “It started as one of her plans to convince our father to send Jon away.  Septa suggested father would see reason if Jon proved to be a degenerate.  Yet all it proved was Jon was the most honorable of the three.  He only drank a couple of cups of watered-down ale and made sure Theon and Robb didn’t do anything stupid.  Robb would drink a little too much and flirt with the women there.  Theon would get plastered most nights, and Roslyn would be sure to see to him personally so the other girls didn’t find out he couldn’t perform while intoxicated and do something like laugh at him.  She’s warned he has a temper.”

Back with the boys, Aegon watched his brother interact with those he’d been raised believing were his brothers.  Jon was mindful of Bran and Rickon going into the deeper section of the water, more so than Robb was.  Robb was busy trying to bolster his image with the others.  Aegon could see why this place was a sort of bonding ritual for the young lords of the north, though most of them had kept their small clothes on, not much was hidden.  The Martell brothers were the least self-conscious of them, and Aegon had the benefit of being raised mostly ignorant of his origins, Connington and Ashara only told him the truth around two years ago, once they were sure he’d be able to keep his secret, he’d often bathed with other small folk kids in the shallows of whatever port they’d docked at.

He looked to Gendry, the outcast of their group, he’d have to speak with Robert about legitimizing his cousins.  What he knew of the state of House Baratheon, Stannis had only a daughter, one looked down upon due to her scars from a bout of Greyscale.  Aegon grimaced at the memory, it had been Connington who arranged for the tainted doll to be delivered to Dragonstone.  Similar tainted toys were sent to King’s Landing but Ashara had become aware and concerned the disease would spread to the small folk who had interceded, she hadn’t been aware Shireen was also been targeted.  Beyond Shireen, and Robert’s two base-born children present in Winterfell, Aegon only knows of Edric Storm who was being raised at Storm’s End.

“Aegon,” he looked to see Jon moving to sit next to him, “what are you brooding about?”

“I am not brooding,” Aegon smirked, “though I am thinking heavily about our mutual cousins and the state of their house.  All things considered; you are the rightful lord of Dragonstone.”

Jon frowned, “Meaning pushing back the line of Baratheon, putting Stannis as the lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.  With you desiring to keep Robert on the throne until you are ready for it fully.”

“Not just me,” Aegon sighed, “the realm does not have fond memories of our House.  Grandfather was a horrible man, he committed heinous acts, the least of which were the murders of your maternal grandfather and uncle.  Father was a little better.  I understand why you continue to see Lord Stark as your father, I might have seen Ser Jon Connington in similar light at one point, but I’ve come to realize his motivations did not come from a place of love for me, but an unrequited affection he held for father, I was simply a place holder for a ghost.  Then there is the matter of father and your mother, most of the realm believe she was kidnapped and abused.”

“I’ve already said,” Jon grimaced, “we will exonerate father of those deeds when it is publicly acknowledged that I’m a Targaryen and not a Snow.  We have both your uncles who can corroborate this along with Lady Ashara and my father, or uncle.”

Aegon chuckled, “You know, I can almost imagine it, you, Edric, and me growing up in the Red Keep together.  Mother, Lady Lyanna, and Lady Ashara fuss over Rhaenys as she tells them of her first crush.  Lord Stark would probably be father’s hand or Master of Laws and still handing us our collective rears in the sparing ring.  Father would be a great king and would beam with pride at each of our accomplishments.”

“I’m sure he’d be proud of us, wherever he’s looking at us from, just as our mothers are,” Jon patted his brother’s shoulder, “though, why am I always reassuring my older brothers?”

A smirk spread on Aegon’s face, “Because you’re naturally skilled at being the better sibling.”

(North – Winterfell)

It was well past the hour of the wolf when Oberyn entered the godwoods, Lord Stark had warned him about doing this alone, so he’d sought out two individuals.  The first had been Howland Reed, the man had agreed easily upon learning what Oberyn was planning to do exactly and had conscripted his son Jojen to accompany them.  Along with the two Reeds, Oberyn sought out Jory Cassel, the captain of the Winterfell guard and son of Martyn who was among those whose deaths weighed upon Oberyn’s conscience.

Jory lit a few torches around the heart tree, “You are sure about this?”

“Do you know another way to commune with the dead?” Oberyn grimaced.

“No, but the paste is a potent thing,” Jory frowned, “I was present when Lord Stark used it.  He is at least of the blood of the First Men and has greensight in his lineage.”

Howland took a seat on a root assisted by his son, “The Martells have mixed with the Stoney Dornish, they are of the blood, if only slightly.”  The small man sighed, “Though Cassel is right, I do not know if your lineage carries the gift of greensight.”

“Lord Stark implied that it will still work,” Oberyn confirmed.

“It will, but it is not clear how much meaning you will be able to derive from the visions supplied.  You may not be given the vision you desire, especially without the greensight.”

“I can help,” Jojen claimed, “I can guide him.”

Howland looked to his son, “You are skilled, but not that skilled my son.  You have said your visions have yet to become clear since whatever upheaval had obscured the future you had seen.”

Jojen’s brows knitted together, “Future is always harder to see, but the past is far easier.”

“Yet it is not the past or the future I seek,” Oberyn crossed his arms, “I seek to speak with those who no longer walk the paths of this life.”

“That makes it even easier,” Jojen bowed his head, “I have seen my death before, or at least the death I was supposed to have.  I was to be mortally wounded by wights guiding someone to a place beyond the Wall.  That future is now gone, and I know not my destiny, but I remember the feeling of the place that came after.”

Howland grimaced, never liking the mention of his son’s brush with mortality.  He looked to a depression at the base of the heart tree flanked by large roots, “There, sit and center yourself Prince Oberyn.  We will finish preparing the paste.”

“I thought it was already done?” Oberyn frowned.

“For Lord Stark, it is ready, as for you,” Howland looked the Dornishman up and down, “You may want your first taste to be watered down.  The experience can be a bit overwhelming.”

Oberyn laughed, “I am no child my friend, I can handle anything.”

Howland sighed, “So be it,” He picked up the bowl as Oberyn sat, “We will start with a single spoonful, you might feel the effect immediately or it may take a few moments.  Once the effects start, Jojen will work to guide you.  If you feel the effects begin to wane and have yet to accomplish your goals, tell him and I will give you another spoon of the paste.  Be swift in your dealings, none but a true greenseer can handle three doses in a single sitting.”

With a nod, Oberyn took the offered spoon of paste and ingested it, “Gah, that tasted foul.”  Looking at the lord of the Neck, he blinked realizing that the man had vanished.  Jory had also vanished, only Jojen remained, sitting upon the root next to him.  “What, where are your father and Jory?”

This Jojen tilted his head awkwardly, “They are still in the godswoods.”

Standing up Oberyn looked around, “I did not think the afterlife would look so much like Winterfell.  Are we not supposed to be in some grand halls where the dead feast with the Old Gods?”

“This is but the first step in your journey,” Jojen grimaced, “and you will not find what you seek in the halls of the dead.  That is a place for those who have accepted their fates.  Those who have recognized their mistakes, their faults, and their regrets and have set all those aside.”

“Oberyn!” a voice the prince had not heard in one and a half decades called out.  Turning he saw the ghastly image of Arthur Dayne standing before him, “you betrayed us.”  Blood coated the front of Arthur’s breastplate gushing from a hole in his abdomen and the line across his throat.  “You led Eddard Stark and his men to us, to your king.”

Oberyn grimaced, “The boy was not my king Arthur, Aegon lives.”  He bowed his head, “Yet, it was I who led Lord Stark to the tower.  I was to be there, to broker peace between you my friend, and Lord Stark, I knew your Dornish blood would be too hot to see past your anger over Stark setting your sister aside for the Tully woman.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, my prince, to help you sleep at night?  The truth is you are a prideful and spiteful serpent, you led Lord Stark so that he would know your pain.  The loss of a beloved sister, to have his last memory of her be a nightmare of blood and screams.”

“That is enough Arthur,” from behind the tree Rhaegar emerged, “do not let your rage consume you once more.”

Oberyn frowned, “Prince Rhaegar?”

“It has been a while good brother,” Rhaegar indicated the bloody mess that remained of his torso where Robert’s hammer had caved it in, “Why do you tarry here, among the restless dead?  We do not make for good company.”

“I come seeking forgiveness, and understanding, I come to confront the actions of my past.”  Oberyn noticed several wraiths begin to take form among the shadows of the sentinel trees.  It was the smallest figure and the one that she clutched to that nearly brought him to his knees, “Elia?  Rhaenys?”

Elia was clothed in tattered and ripped garments, blood and gore covered her, while Rhaenys was soaked in blood with so many stab wounds it was impossible to count.  His sister and niece drifted closer, Rhaenys only releasing her mother to dash to Rhaegar who lifted the gory mess of a child to his hip.  As he looked around, he could put names to the various faces taking shape, those who fell at the Tower of Joy, even Aerys, Rhaella, and Viserys moved to stand near Rhaegar and his family.  Yet, there was one person absent from the gathering, “Where is Lyanna?”

“Not among us,” Oswell spoke, “in her final moments, Lord Stark comforted her, and absolved her of fault for the war and deaths that ensued.  She sits with her father and brother in the great hall, awaiting us all to join them.”

Aerys free of the madness he had in life glowered, “She often goes to the crypts, there to watch over her son and hear the prayers of her living kin.  We are but wraiths unable to leave until we either forgive or are forgiven.”  Rhaella touched his arm in a show of support, “not that I will ever know such peace.”

Oberyn shook his head, “I may very well join you one day, but I rather not linger here too long.  For those I have failed, I am deeply sorry.”

Martyn Cassel stepped forward, “It is not you who holds us to this place Prince Oberyn, it was only in death we learned you were behind the missive that led us to the tower.  For those of us who battled in the shadow of that auspiciously named tower, it is our regrets that hold us.  My countrymen and I failed our liege lord.  We fell in battle before knights of the seven and failed in our vow to bring Lady Lyanna home safely. 

Gerold Hightower stepped forward, “As for we three of the king's guard, we failed in our vows as well, but not our oaths to our king and prince,” Aerys and Viserys both glared at that, “in our oaths as knights.  We were in the wrong that day, we stood before men more worthy of our cloaks.  We allowed convinced ourselves we were doing what was right and just, protecting whom we believed to be the true king.  We had no knowledge that Aegon had survived, had I permitted Arthur to speak with his sister, we would have known Lord Stark was a man of honor.  Yet we allowed Arthur’s anger to blind us, and our bones now rest beneath the sands of Dorne.”

Oberyn sighed, “Yet if I had been there.”

“Had you been there, would the outcome have truly changed?” Ethan Glover spoke up from where he stood with the other northerners, he was the youngest of them, “How would one person have stopped ten from drawing steel and putting those they saw as enemies to death?  We went there to retrieve our liege’s sister from men who in our eyes had been holding her prisoner and permitting Rhaegar to assault her.  They saw us as little more than heathen barbarians in service to a man they saw as a usurper.”

“I could have made you all see reason; I could have kept whatever made you draw steel against one other from happening.  I would have been there to see Lyanna safely deliver her child and you would not have failed in returning her to the north alive and well.”  Oberyn bowed his head.

Arthur stepped forward and placed a hand on Oberyn’s shoulder, “No,” when Oberyn looked at him his countryman shook his head resolutely, “you could not have.  Had Lyanna survived, she’d have been forced to wed Baratheon, she would never be free to return to the North for good.  It was her death that made Baratheon take pause when he realized Jon’s true parentage.  The boy was the last piece of the woman he loved, all that remained of her in the living world.”

Jojen spoke up from his place on the root of the tree, “Prince Oberyn, our time is almost up.”

Oberyn turned to the boy, “Have your father give me a second dose of the paste.”

“He already has, another dose would be your third,” Jojen frowned, “We can try again tomorrow night after your mind and body have time to recover.”

He was surprised to know he’d been given another dose without realizing it, “Aye, then we should return to the waking world.”

Rhaegar paused him, “Before you go, pass on my gratitude to my other good brothers, tell Eddard that I wish we’d had the chance to meet in another place than a battlefield where we fought on opposite sides.  Tell Doran that his loyalty and trust were the greatest of honors.  Tell my sons I am proud of them and pass my love to my sister.”

“Aye,” Martyn spoke up, “tell Jory I’m proud of the man he’s become, but he needs to find himself a wife.  I’ll be disappointed if the line of Cassel ends with him.”

Oberyn blinks and he finds himself still sitting in the depression between the roots of the heart tree.  Jojen still sitting on the large root beside him.  Before him, Jory kneels with a wineskin, “Lord Stark said his mouth was foul tasting after his visions.”

“Understated,” Oberyn grabbed the wineskin and rinsed his mouth before taking a second drink.  He frowned at the taste, "Dornish Red?  It thought it was banned within the walls of Winterfell.”

Jory snorted, “Hear that from the gossip down at the alehouse?  The steward always clears space in the cellars after the harvest feast for the excess we store in case of winter.”

“That is far more logical than Lord Stark banning such a wonderful drink over a lost love,” Oberyn smirked, “though the gossip tale would make for a much better bards song.”

“So, brother, how was your vision quest,” Oberyn jumped looking to see Doran sitting on the root opposite Jojen next to Howland.  Looking around he found Eddard, Ashara, Aegon, and Jon also present though the latter four stood.  Eddard wore his family’s ancestral great sword across his back, and Aegon and Jon both wore castle-forged steel longswords at their waists.  Doran chuckled, “Ellaria informed me you had not returned to your quarters last evening.”

“What?” Oberyn finally noticed the sky was no longer covered in stars, but the blue and pink hues of early morning, “I could swear I was only there for a few minutes.”

Eddard sighed, “It is a strange thing these visions.  Mine felt like days as I followed my dire wolf through the lands beyond the Wall, all the way to the clearing I found her in.  Yet, Jory told me I had been under for only a few moments before rising and making my way to the stables.  By the time he figured out what was happening, I was already riding out the gate and he could not catch up.”

“He was like a man possessed, only he knew where he was going,” Jory said, “I tried to ride after him, but lost his trail when he left the normal paths through the wolf’s wood.”

Howland spoke up, “What of your vision Prince Oberyn?  What have you learned?”

“Much my friend, much indeed,” Oberyn looked between Howland and Eddard, “They do not hold anger towards either of you or me.  The battle at that tower was bound to happen, too much anger and too many hot tempers.  I saw the eight of them, the combatants.  As well as my sister, niece, and Prince Rhaegar.”  He focused on Eddard, “Lyanna was not among them.”

Eddard frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t go to the great halls of the dead.  The place I was looked like these godswoods, this very heart tree.  The people there were the unsettled dead.  They have regrets and grievances which prevent them from reaching the great halls.  You saved Lyanna from that fate Lord Stark; in her final moments, you gave her peace.  She is with your father and brother dining at the tables of the gods.”

Doran grimaced, “You said Elia and Rhaenys were there?”

“Aye, but Elia did not speak,” Oberyn frowned, “I do not know what could be holding poor little Rhaenys to such a place, but Aerys, Rhaella, and Viserys were there as well.  Aerys mentioned something about being forgiven for their deeds in life.  Yet what could Rhaenys need to be forgiven for.”

“Not forgiven,” Eddard looked to Aegon and Jon, “she needs justice.  Amory Lorch escaped from the Shadow Tower the night before he was to swear his oath.  The oath would have absolved him of his crimes and granted the princess justice.  I have received word he was sighted near Deepwood Motte.  I was going to send the boys out to hunt him down and bring him here, I’d normally go myself, but with the number of guests present.”

Oberyn stood, “I think I’ve had enough visions for now.  Lorch may be many things, but he is an experienced swordsman.  I will accompany the lads.  If nothing else to see they don’t do anything stupid.”  The prince smirked, “Oh, and one other thing,” Oberyn looked to Jory, “Your father may rest easier if you got a wife and fathered a couple of sons.”

Jory looked confused but glowered at Aegon, Jon, and Jojen as they tried to conceal their laughter.

Chapter Text

(North – Winterfell)

Daenerys wandered the keep, her sworn protectors at her heel. Jorah had lightened considerably since being welcomed home by his countrymen and kinsmen.  There had been a private affair where he renewed his oaths as a member of House Mormont to his liege lord, Eddard Stark had charged him with Daenerys safety, her life was now tied to his, if harm came to her, the next Northman that Jorah crossed paths with would be his executioner.  Drogo on the other hand had become far more taciturn since the melee in the training yard, pushing both his own men and any who would cross blades with him to their or his physical limit, most days one of his bloodriders would need to take his place.

Today though, he was needed at a meeting of the assembled lords.  King Robert had been secluding himself the past few days, only seeing his children and kingsguard, and meeting with Lord Stark. The King had appointed Aerys Oakheart to be Daenerys’s shadow. Entering the great hall with her three guards, she noticed she was among the first to arrive.

“Ah, princess, good you have arrived,” Winterfell’s maester moved to greet her, “we have yet to have the chance to meet.”  I am Maester Luwin, I have the distinct honor to serve House Stark.”

“Maester Luwin,” Daenerys greeted, “I hear you managed to save the former queen’s son from a snake bite no one else has ever survived.”

Luwin smiled benignly, “No one on record, but our friends in the Neck keep their secrets close. You and Prince Aegon will be sitting next to King Robert at the head table, to his left, and Lord Stark will be on his right.  As well Lord Tywin and his son Tyrion who has accepted the position of Master of Coin on behalf of House Lannister.”  The Maester looked to her shadows, “Lord Jorah, you should sit with your aunt and her daughters.  Ser Aerys, your Lord Commander wished me to inform you to take a post at the main door.”

Aerys nodded, “Thank you for passing along Ser Selmy’s command.”

They watched the kingsguard move off before the maester focused on Drogo before speaking in Dothraki, “Khal Drogo, you will be seated at the head table as well, as befits an honored guest of House Stark.”  Daenerys giggled at Drogo’s shocked expression, finding a Westrosi other than Jorah who could speak his tongue.  The maester continued, “I’ll serve as your translator, a few of my brothers from the Citadel have accompanied their lords here and have offered to see to recording the proceeding in my stead.”

Jorah frowned, “Maester Luwin, I can see you have the chain link for languages, but why would you learn Dothraki?”

“It was one of my first links, as a young man I dreamed of journeying to Essos and studying the ancient mysteries,” Luwin sighed, “but as I grew older such dreams faded.  The Dothraki language has served me well over the years, it has several similarities to the Old Tongue, at least its spoken variant.  I do believe they share a similar origin.  The Dothraki may very well be a very distant offshoot of the same people who became the First Men.”

“Begs the question then,” Jorah looked to where Eddard was speaking with Lords Karstark and Umber, “Who is higher ranked, a magnar or a khal?”

“Magnar?” Daenerys frowned at the unfamiliar word.

Luwin looked to her, “Old Tongue, there is no exact equivalent term in the common tongue, but from what the Citadel knows, the magnars of old would be equivalent to kings.  The Stark in Winterfell was once known as the Magnar of Winter.  As common became more prevalent in the North, they became known as the King of Winter, so in most histories, the various magnars of old were changed to kings.”

Daenerys looked to Jorah, “Did the Starks not give up that title upon bending the knee to the Conqueror?”

“Depend on whom you ask,” Jorah sighed, “they gave up their crown that is for certain, and swore fealty to Aegon the Conqueror.  Yet, there was no battle, Torrhen was never defeated in combat by Aegon.  He gave up his crown to save his people from suffering as other those in the south did.  To protect them from those Targaryen dragons.  No Stark has ever been defeated by a true Targaryen in honorable combat.”

Daenerys grimaced, as she thought of her father murdering Rickard and Brandon in what had been described to her by both Jorah and the Martells as a farce of a trial by combat.  Lord Stark did not hold her responsible for the crimes of her family, for even Rhaegar’s actions with Lyanna were less than honorable as he and his wife had plotted without giving the rest of House Stark the decency to speak with them.

“Princess,” Looking up she saw Lord Stark approaching, “you’ll be needing to represent your house, your nephews are preparing to depart Winterfell with Prince Oberyn and a few others to hunt a deserter recruit from the Night’s Watch.”

“A deserter recruits. Is that not something anyone else could take care of?” Daenerys frowned as she noticed the stern look on Lord Stark’s face, “Who is this deserter that demands the attention of my nephews so?”

Eddard cleared his throat before speaking, “Armory Lorch, the man who butchered their elder sister Rhaenys.  Lord Tywin had sent him to the Wall some moons ago.  He’d yet to take his vows though and was being held in a cell at the Shadow Tower until he would.  He was not sent as a criminal, but a forced volunteer of sorts, but taking the vow would have been viewed as an admission of his guilt, and absolution of his crimes.  Without the sentence of a criminal, the commander of the Shadow Tower nor the Lord Commander of the Watch could force him to take the vow, he would have to do it of his own accord.”

The memory of Viserys teaching her the fate of their dead family members went through her mind.  Poor little Rhaenys was stabbed so many times she was barely recognizable beneath all the blood.  The thought that the man who could do such a horrible thing to an innocent child still lived sickened her, “Will he still be given the chance to take his vow?”

Eddard crossed his arms, “No, he has proven himself to lack honor and to be a craven.  I have told them to bring him to me to pass the sentence upon.  I will not even give such a man the honor of my ancestral blade, I’ve asked my blacksmith to find me an old iron great sword.”

Jorah grimaced, “I’m sure he still has the sword you were planning to use on me.”

“You were a slaver Jorah,” Eddard glared, “you know our ways in that regard.”

The former exile rubbed his neck, “Aye, hanging from a heart tree, I always assumed you’d be more merciful than the old ways.”

(North – Winter Town)

Osha calmly approached the Winterfell guards patrolling the town. She recognized one from the vision, he would have been killed among others when the Bolton Bastard showed his true colors.  He and his men immediately went for their weapons upon seeing her group.  She shook her head when one of her men went for his own sword, “We mean no harm.  The magnar still here?”

“Lord Stark is at Winterfell, along with the southern king,” the guard glared, “what business do the likes of you have here?”

“My spear,” Osha beat the blunt end of her spear on the dirt path, “and their swords are his if he will have them.”

The guard relaxed, but his men remained prepared for a fight, “Why would Lord Stark have need of wildlings?  You are not even worth his time.”

Osha knew the guard was trying to provoke a fight, in that other time, he would always make snide and crude remarks.  Luckily he never did more than talk, though words could be just as dangerous as a knife.  Osha was quick to hold back her men, sending a dark glare to the guard, “You would turn away those who come to your liege lord without even speaking with him first?  What would he say when he learns of your dishonor?”

The man glared back just as darkly, and looked ready to strike, “What is going on here?”  Everyone turned, and the guard immediately identified the newcomer, “Ser Rodrik, these wildlings were brazened enough to approach us, claiming they come to swear themselves to Lord Stark.”

Cassel frowned at the group, “Is that so, the Long Night comes, we could have use for swords and spears.  I’ll see to them from here, you lot get back to patrolling.”  He then leveled a stony glare at the guards, “and next time you think to overstep yourself, I’ll have you face the gauntlet in the yard.”

The guard swallowed hard, “Pardon, I didn’t mean to.”

Rodrik waved the man off, “Lord Stark won’t hear about this from me, but any more of your mouth going off before your brains, and he’ll be the least of your worries.”  Once the guards had moved on, Rodrik motioned for the free folk to follow him, “Lord Stark figured Rayder would send some emissaries.”

Osha frowned, “We are not from Rayder, we came over the wall of our own accord.”

“Considering what’s on the other side, I would like to keep the Wall between my kinfolk and the horrors beyond as well.”  Rodrik led them through the gate, “Lord Stark is a busy man these days,” he motioned a couple of guards over, “these two will show you where you can store your belongings and get a hot meal, a bath, and a bunk.  In that order.”  Cassel then stroked his beard, “I’ll speak with Lord Stark about your requests, and he’ll meet with you when he can.”

“We thank you for your hospitality, though guest rights haven’t yet been extended,” Osha noticed the knight nod in understanding, “I’ll keep mine in line if you keep yours.”

Rodrik nodded, “We have no women guards, you and the other woman will be taken to the servants' quarters, and the men will be taken to the guard house.  No chains or locked doors, but please be mindful there are more who will view you as less for the place of your origins than recognize you as people.  Word of the Long Night is slow to spread, most are fearful of its coming and hope by ignoring it, it will go away.”

Osha watched the old knight depart before following the guards toward the keep.  As they neared the blacksmith, Mikken stepped out, “Leave your weapons with me, I’ll see them safe and give them a once over.”

Her group was hesitant, but Osha stepped forwards and handed the old man her spear, “I have nine hounds that need a kennel, they are aggressive though.”

Mikken snorted, “The Lady will see to them.”

“The Lady?” Osha frowned, “who is that?”

Mikken pointed across the yard, and she was surprised none of them had noticed the fully grown dire wolf sitting at the door she knew led to the great hall.  The blacksmith chuckled, “Lord Stark found her one night after a vision from the Old Gods.  She bore a litter of pups, one for each of true-born children and one for his nephew Jon.  She is named Lyanna, in honor of Lord Stark’s late sister, but most of us just call her The Lady.  Those hounds of yours will learn their place right quick, might one or two of them be made an example of.”

Osha nodded, placing her fingers to her lips she gave a harsh whistle.  The former hounds of Ramsay Snow came bounding into the yard, darting around people to reach Osha.  Yet they each skittered to a sudden halt.  The Lady had moved as well, and the fierce eyes of a predator glared down at the much smaller canines.  Osha was surprised when one by one the bitches lowered themselves, the younger ones even rolling to expose their bellies in a sign of submission.

Two more dire wolves appeared in the yard, one Osha recognized as Grey Wind, and the other one was white and red-eyed, and could only belong to Jon Snow.  The wolves’ humans appeared shortly, with Robb Stark calling out, “Who’s hounds are these?”

Osha stepped forward, “Beg to pardon my lord, they’re mine.  I don’t trust them to be out of sight long, was hoping your kennel master had room for them.”

Robb narrowed his eyes at her apparel, “A wildling…err sorry you are of the free folk.  I did not know your people had hunting hounds like these north of the wall.”

“We don’t,” Osha smirked, “found them on our way south.  Some lordlings must have lost them.”

Robb knelt and grabbed the jaw of one of the hounds, it growled, but the growl turned to a whimper at a harrumph from Grey Wind.  Robb examined the hound’s ears and lips, obviously looking for something, finally finding it under the fur beneath the hound’s collar, “House Bolton’s mark.”

Jon frowned, “Dread Fort is to the south of us, how’d these hounds find their way so far north.”

“I can answer that my lords,” they all turned to find Roose Bolton had ridden through the gate, “my illegitimate son Ramsay and his caretakers were afield some weeks ago.  They had not returned and my party just came from dealing with the aftermath of a horrible scene.  Ramsay was always far too ambitious for his own good.  He thought to bring down Hurlock, I forbade him such stupidity and denied him to take any of my men or hounds.  I learned my kennel master had been giving him the runts from my prized hounds.”

“Who or what is Hurlock?” one of Osha’s men asked curiously.

Jon answered, “A legend of sorts.  Hurlock is said to be a massive bear that roams the wolf’s wood.  The legend goes that Hurlock was once a man, but he blasphemed against the Old Gods so they cursed him with the form of a beast.  It is said he is unkillable, that even if his body is destroyed, he will simply rise again in a new one, and will seek his revenge on those who dared to try and strike him down.”

Robb looked to Roose, “You are saying Ramsay fought Hurlock?”

“Doubtful,” Roose grimaced, “I never put much stock in that old legend.  What is more likely is Ramsay allowed his predilections to get the better of him.  Tried having his way with some poor girl and her kinfolk met out justice in the old way.  He and his men were around a wild heart tree out in the woods, or at least what was left of them.  Wild animals had gotten to the bodies before we found them, impossible to see how they died.”

“Sorry for your loss,” Robb sighed, “do you need help recovering the remains?”

Roose shook his head, “I have men collecting what we could find and returned them to the Dread Fort.  I was delayed in responding to Lord Stark’s summons as it was.”  He looked to Osha, “I do not need these hounds, if the wildling wants them she can have them.”

Jon looked to Mikken, “Have Farlen see to them,” he then turned to Robb, “we should get going the others will have the horses saddled by now.”

A curious look came to Roose’s face, “You are leaving my young lord?”

Robb nodded, “Father can explain but there is a man who needs to be brought to Winterfell.  He is somewhere in the woods south of Deepwood Motte.  We will only be gone a few days, pardon, but our party is awaiting us.”

Osha frowned at this, much at Winterfell was different than what had occurred in her vision.

(North – Winterfell Great Hall)

Robert patted Daenerys shoulder in reassurance as he took his seat, “Well, we should not delay any longer, we have much to see to.  So, I officially call the council to order, I’ve been advised not to call it a great council, as we’re are short a few lords.”  A chuckle came from those seated around the tables, “Now, down to business, Lord Hand.”

Eddard stood, “Your grace, Winterfell is preparing for the long night, I have sent word to Lord Stannis to send as much dragon glass north as he can.  I received a reply that House Tyrell has already been gathering and preparing shipments of the material for several months.  Shadow Tower has reported delivery of dragon glass and dragon glass weapons.”

“Good,” Robert sighed, “I want every keep between the Wall and the Neck to be supplied with those weapons as well.  As for the Neck,” the King turned to Lord Howland Reed, “Lord Reed, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but the Neck is our final line of defense.  If your swamp falls to the dead, we’ll all be joining the Other’s army of walking corpses.”

Lord Reed stood, Great Jon and Jojen helping him, “I assure your grace, we are well aware of our place.  Greywater Watch and the houses sworn to me are preparing, but it will be our women and children, and any survivors who flee from the North.”

“Flee,” Great Jon scoffed, “You frog eaters just sit back and watch us true Northmen stamp out these boogiemen.”

“Great Jon,” Eddard glared, and the man was quick to silence.  The Lord of Winterfell looked to Tyrion, “Master of Coin, what say you on the state of the realm?”

Tyrion stood up and moved around to the front of the table to be seen by all, “Well Lord Hand, if the copies of my predecessor's accountings are correct,”  The imp sighed, “Well financially we’re fucked.  Several loans from the Iron Bank are past due and two of which were in all actuality loans taken out to pay towards earlier loans.  Thankfully the Night’s Watch gets paid in swords, manpower, and grain otherwise we’d have no defenses.”  He indicated Khal Drogo, “The Dothraki are volunteering their services, so we can probably pay them with food and horses.  We will not have the financial capabilities to hire sellsword companies, problematic as the Iron Bank will no doubt be hiring them to invade Westeros to recoup their losses.”

Tywin stood up, “Your grace, Lord Hand,” he looked to Tyrion, “Master of Coin, House Lannister will see to dealing with the Iron Bank.  There are several outstanding debts owed to my house from various nobles among the free cities.  I’ll call them in, that should be able to cover some of the debts.”

Eddard nodded, “I can assuage some of the pressure,” he looked to Lord Manderly, “Recall the Company of the Rose, tell them it is time to come home.”  The Lord of White Harbor nodded his understanding as Ned folded his hands together, “Lord Bolton,”

Roose stood up, “My lord.”

“Go to Bravos,” Eddard sighed, “call in all of our accounts.”

Bolton smirked, “They’re not going to appreciate that.”

“What?” Robert lowered his voice, “Ned, what in the name of the seven are you going on about?”

Maester Luwin cleared his throat, “Your grace, following the conquest, the Lords of the North collected their wealth and sent it with the Company of the Rose to Essos.  It was placed in trust to the Iron Bank.”

Robert sputtered, “Your ancestors did this right under the nose of the dragons?”

“King Aegon and his sisters were aware,” Ned responded, “but like many things, all knowledge of this was lost in the South following the Dance.  Cregan had no compunction in reminding the crown, not after seeing the mess left in the wake of Otto Hightower’s ambitions.  Aegon had warned Torrhen that a day would come when the North would have to be prepared to defend the realm.”

Tyrion sighed, “Wonder if he thought that would include saving us from the machinations of an egotistical little lord who thought himself smarter than anyone else who played the game.” Tyrion looked around at the silent faces around him, “What not even a chuckle, the irony of me of all people calling Balish little should have at the least earned a clearing of the throat.”

(North – Winterfell Godwoods)

Leyton Hightower stood before the heart tree, “The words are easy, the act itself is hard.”  The Reach lord sighed before pulling off the cloak he wore revealing he was only clothed in breeches.  He knelt before the pool of dark water before the heart tree’s carved face, “Gods of Earth and Tree, gods of sky and water, gods of fire and ice.  I Leyton Hightower, the blood of your sworn children harken you to hear my words.”  He dipped his hands into the dark water and cupping his hands lifted them fully and held them towards the tree, “I seek forgiveness for those of my blood, to atone for the blood we have spilled.  For the Children of the Forest, we slaughtered in the name of the Seven who are One.  For those who suffered in the wake of the ambitions of my kin.  For the breaking our oaths and turning our backs upon you.”

Bringing the water to his lips he drank it all.  Having drank the water he lowered his head so his brow rested upon the mossy ground, “Please gods of old, gods of the nameless multitude, please send your humble servant a sign.”

Feeling as though he was not alone, Leyton raised his head.  Standing before him was a creature he’d thought only a myth.  A Child of the Forest stood before him, looking at him quizzically.  She reached out a four-fingered hand and rested it on his cheek, her voice came in broken common, “To gain their forgiveness, takes more than words.”  The creature tilted her head and blinked slowly, “Actions speak louder than words, Leyton of the Hightower.”

(North – Winterfell’s Walls)

Ashara remained where she’d watched Oberyn depart at the head of a column of boys sent to arrest a man.  A man who was loathsome enough to butcher an innocent child, a girl who’d done nothing wrong save being born into House Targaryen.  Lorch would find no pity from her when he was brought before Ned on his knees begging for mercy.  She would relish the sight of the man’s head being departed from his body.

“My lady,” Ash turned to see Ned walking along the wall towards her, “you do not need to be concerned.  Aegon and Edric ride with Robb and Jon, they know the North as any young man who has lived here from their first steps.  They know the woods, the rills, and the barrows they have ridden them and they have camped upon the summer snows.  Like any son of the North, they have also hunted those lands.  No man can compare to the beasts they have faced.”

“Lorch is no man my lord,” Ashara corrected, “he is a beast that wears the skin of one, is he not the more dangerous quarry?”

Ned snorted, “Then it is good they travel with two dire wolves.  Lorch will also find those lads are more formidable than a scared little girl hiding under her father’s bed.”  Ned took a step closer, “We have not had time to speak of Edric, my visions did not reveal that secret.”

“What would it matter to the gods that you knew the truth of another son?” Ash bowed her head, “My vision showed you sending him and Berric after the Mountain when the Westerlands began raiding the Riverlands.  I watched as they were ambushed by the Mountain’s men.  You nearly sent your son to his death, not even realizing it.  He survived the battle, but he was changed.  He followed the reanimated Berric for a time until the being passed its gift of life after death to the corpse of your lady wife.”

“I was not given much detail in that regard,” Ned sighed, “the ravens did not feel my reanimated wife’s murderous rampage of vengeance was relevant to combatting the Others or unifying the realm against them.”

“Edric was of similar thought,” Ash smirked, “he could not stomach the butchery of women and children who had no hand in the murder of Robb or the others at the Red Wedding.  He and others like him broke from the company of Lady Stoneheart.  They wondered for a time, to do what they could for the people.  When the Long Night began he returned to Dorne to find Aegon had taken Starfall.  Edric tried to convince Aegon to focus on the approaching legion of the dead, but Aegon still refused to see the reason.  He gave Edric eight hundred men to hold the Prince’s Pass.  Edric recruited the refugees to bolster his numbers, but they were few and in poor condition.  His defensive force held for eight minutes, and when Edric’s eyes opened again in that nightmarish bright blue.  The bloodline of Starks was truly ended.”

Ned frowned, the thought that even not knowing his true heritage, Edric had tried to fulfill the duty placed upon the Starks for the past eight thousand years.  To defend mankind against the return of the true enemy.  He realized that some part of Bran must have remained with the Three-Eyed Raven, a part that was jealous and hurt on behalf of his mother that Ned had sullied their marriage vows. “Did you speak with Edric in that other world?”

Ashara resignedly bowed her head, “No, I was too craven, I feared what Aegon would do to him if he learned he was your son.  Jon Connington had corrupted Aegon’s mind concerning you and your house, I was not strong enough there to stand against him.  I believe that is why he turned his back on his brother, abandoning him to die alone against the dead.”

That Connington would cause such enmity between two siblings.  He’d seen how Aegon and Jon had swiftly opened up to each other.  He’d have to thank Great Jon for the suggestion to send the lads down to the hot spring.  There was a brotherhood forming among them all, they would need that in the dark days to come.  He’d learned from Old Nan that Lady Maege had similarly sent the young ladies down as well.  In the water of those springs, the truth wills out.  He’d long wondered if some Old God had blessed the waters to cleanse deceit from those who spent time together there.

Ned’s thoughts were broken as he noticed his lady-wife approach.  Catelyn grimaced when she noticed him but then glared at Ashara, “Lady Dayne, may I have a word.”  Ned felt something was off, he’d heard from Tywin of her losing composure and striking Cersei.  He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with her on that matter, “It will not take long, just a moment in private.”

Ashara shared a look with him before stepping towards Cat, “I can assume the subject of this talk.  Know that if you are going to accuse me or my son of having designs on the claims of your children.  I will have you remember my son is the heir of Starfall and will claim his title as lord when his father deems him ready.  As is the custom in Dorne with inheritances of this complexity.”

“Complexity?”  Cat frowned, “What is complex? Your bastard is being legitimized to inherit instead of the legitimate inheritors in High Hermitage.”

“Oh, by the Old Gods are you a dense little fish, do not try and understand the politics of Dorne.” Ashara glared, “The Darkstar is as much a bastard as my son.  My cousin had no legitimate sons and his heir is his only surviving bastard, legitimized when he was very young.  Technically Edric was legitimized first though, as my brother claimed him as a Dayne.”

“It wasn’t a legal legitimization,” Cat argued, “Ned did not agree to it, and the child is his by right.”

Ashara smirked, “That we can agree on, but that only counts to lands north of Dorne.  In my homeland, the legitimization was legal because I did not contest my brother taking my son.  The benefit of living in a land where women have equal inheritance rights to men.”  Ashara loomed over Cat, “The only reason Doran had to reveal this whole affair was to salvage the honor of my house.  My brother admitted to stealing my son and denying him the truth about his real father.  Doran did this for the love he holds for me and my kin, he did not trust Robert to not strip Edric of his titles if it came out later.”

Cat glared, “Then he does not know King Robert well.  The man would do anything to appease Ned, he even had Ser Barristan take Lyanna’s bastard as a squire.”

Ned saw red, but it was not his hand that struck Catelyn.  Ashara was glowering her hand poised to swing back to strike the other woman again.  Catelyn snarled, “How dare you?  You are a guest in my home.”

“Cat,” Ned glared, his wife remembering he was present and taking stock of exactly what she had said, “You have no room to condemn.  You have already infringed upon guest rights.  You struck Lady Cersei, a prisoner in my custody.”  He saw Ashara lower her hand and step away from his wife, “I believe it was good I was present for this less-than-pleasant conversation.”  He looked over his shoulder, “Holt, Corvis come up here.”  Two guards swiftly ran up to the top of the wall.  Once they were standing before him Ned pointed to Catelyn, “My wife is to be confined to her quarters until I say otherwise.  The children may visit her there but they are to be accompanied by one of my trusted banners or a member of the household who is a Northerner.  Anything she writes or tells to a servant is to be reported to me immediately.  Meals will be delivered to her by Hodor.  Are my orders understood?”

Corvis, an older guard who’d grown up with Ned’s elder brother nodded, “Yes Lord Stark, heard and understood.”  Holt was younger, no more than three years older than Robb and Jon, and showed his youth by hesitatingly following his elder’s example.

Catelyn sent a murderous look towards Ashara before looking to Ned, “You take the side of this, this deceitful whore.  She faked her death, who knows how many men she has lain within the years she’s been running wild across Essos.  You know how the Dornish are, just look at the number of bastards following in the wake of Prince Oberyn.”

Ned stepped forward and grabbed Cat by the upper arm, “What has gotten into you Cat?  You insult those I have given guest rights to under my roof.  You disparage the name of my late sister.  You have raised your hand against a prisoner of noble birth under my charge.  Now you have tried to manufacture some mummer’s farce to make it appear as if Lady Dayne has broken guest rights.”  As his wife opened her mouth to counter the last point, he squeezed his hold to stop her, “Do not try and deny it Cat, you instigated the conversation, Ash only guessed at your intentions and insured it occurred in a public space.”

“I would also like to say I am offended,” Ashara crossed her arms, “I am no whore.  I have only lain with one man, though it felt like two considering he was like a different person on our second encounter.” Ashara looked, “I blame the deaths of his father and brother and being forced to marry a trout.”

Cat snapped back, “You lying harlot, you seduced my betrothed at Harenhall.”

“No,” Ned glared, “she didn’t.  Brandon wanted to and claimed that he had, but the woman he laid with was a commoner named Lemore.  It was I who took Ash’s maidenhead after we promised ourselves to each other in the way of the First Men.  She still has the pins we used to signify the promise, and I can point you to three of my banners who stood in witness.”

This seemed to strike Catelyn silent, “I, but you never said.”

“What was there to say?” Ned snarled, “Aerys wanted my head on a fucking pike next to those of my father and brother.  At the time I knew not what had befallen my sister, no thanks to that slimy piece of shit you called a childhood friend.  The same one who claimed to all who’d listen that he’d taken your maidenhead.”  Cat looked aghast at this revelation; she knew Peter had been infatuated with her.  Before she could speak Ned continued, “Do you think I had much of a choice Cat, I needed your father’s loyalty to bring my army south.  Your father is so absorbed by his ambitions that he would not be swayed in having you be the Lady of Winterfell.  He could care less whether it was Brandon, me, or even Benjen.  As long as his blood joined with that of House Stark, too bad I put an end to his dreams of gaining a foothold for the Seven in the North.”

Catelyn shook her head, “What do you mean?”

“He expected you to convert Ned to the Seven,” Ashara explained, “you were to finish what Jon Arryn had begun.  Their original goal was to have Ned converted while in the Vale, he would return to the North to support your Septon, Septa, and yourself in converting your betrothed, Winterfell, and then the rest of the North.  The plan was doomed to failure from the start though, and Jon Arryn realized it early during Ned’s time with him.  To the point, Lord Arryn restored the godswood of all House Arryn seats, so that his ward had a place for his observances.  The same reason Ned gave you that sept by Winterfell’s library.”

A shocked expression came to Catelyn’s face, “I, I never knew of such a plan.”

Ned sighed, “You didn’t need to be aware of the plan, Maester Luwin’s predecessor would have informed you upon your arrival.”  Ned grimaced at the memory of Maester Walys, the man was terrified when Eddard had returned to Winterfell, and for good reason.  He’d returned without warning to find the Mad Maester whispering venomous words to Benjen, telling him that their losses had been a punishment from the gods for blasphemy of following the Old Gods.  He’d taken no pleasure in dragging every secret of the man’s into the light, not that he did much of the dragging.  Roose Bolton had his uses.

Ned was not paying attention and jumped at the soft voice of the man he’d just thought of, “It was most fortunate that Maester Luwin had accompanied you from Riverrun.”  Ned noticed the man’s glare at his wife, “Lord Stark does not often show off my work, but I heard your Septon, and Septa were given a viewing when it was still fresh.  A reminder that the North belongs to the Old Gods.”

Eddard motioned the guards to escort Catelyn away before turning to Roose, “Have you made preparations for your journey?”

“I have my lord,” Roose lowered his head, “though, I must know, what did you see in your vision my lord to erode the friendship between us?  What devilry drives you to cast me to Essos in our darkest hour, the enemy is at the gate, pounding to be let in.  I am the greatest of your commanders, but you send me like a dog to fetch.”

It had taken every ounce of control that Ned had not to strike Roose down the moment he’d entered Winterfell’s great hall.  Roose had moved to kneel before Eddard, completely disregarding Robert’s presence, and addressed him as Magnar.  The Lord of the Dreadfort was reminding his Northern brethren that they swore their oaths to Winterfell, not to the Iron Throne.  The Targaryen kings had long forgotten that little fact, that they only kept the loyalty of the North through the loyalty of House Stark.

Eddard could not punish the man standing before him for sins he might commit.  He was not Tywin Lannister and regarding Lysa and Baelish, they’d both had many sins piled upon them from years before the visions came.  He crossed his arms, as he answered Roose’s question, it was plain enough that the man knew of the visions and accepted them as such, “You betrayed and murdered my eldest son and lady wife, your bastard burnt Winterfell and murdered those loyal to my house.”

Roose nodded, “I see,” he indicated the keep, “there is a Wildling woman here, arrived just before I did, but we have crossed paths before.  I told your sons a story of Ramsy dying in the wolf’s wood, it was a lie.  Ramsy died on a pyre of his own men’s corpses.  The woman had visions as well, she comes to willingly take the place those visions showed she had been placed by the gods.  To be the spear that defends your children, she failed once in a time that is naught.”

A frown came to Eddard’s face, “She killed your bastard?”

“At my behest, the visions showed he’d be the end of myself and my line.  He murdered my legitimate son Domeric, putting an end to any hopes of uniting our houses.  I knew your southron wife would never approve of a match to Ramsy, even if he were legitimized.  I would not wish that beast on your elder daughter, and I am certain if rumors are true your younger daughter would geld him and feed him to his dogs had he tried any of his games on her.”

Eddard shook his head, “Let us not dwell on possible futures that cannot be.  I cannot hold you to blame for actions you might have taken, the one who gave me the vision was biased regarding the events.  I thought him emotionless and impartial at first, but recent revelations have shown he was still very much the child he appeared to be.”

“A child my lord?” Roose frowned, “whatever do you mean?”

Ashara reminded them she was still present, “The Three-Eyed Raven, one of the two who passed on the visions of the Long Night and the tragedies that led to the end of all things.  The true identity of the young man was unknown to me, though I had suspicions he was kin to Ned.  The Three-Eyed Raven was in truth Ned’s middle son Bran.”  She grimaced, “He was not keen to speak with me, leaving it to Bloodraven to give me the warnings.”

Ned sighed, “It will be best if I speak with the children.  Robb and Sansa have taken it all rather well, and the younger three are still wrapped up in the novelty of another sibling.”  He focused once more on Bolton, “I am expecting you to be back from Essos with good news regarding your duties.”

“Of course, my lord,” Roose turned and headed for the steps.

Ashara stepped next to Ned, “You do not trust that man?”

Ned looked at her, “Not for a moment, and he knows that.  I have already written to the Company of the Rose, they are prepared to return.  I told them to keep an eye on Roose.  If he even looks the wrong way, they will see he does not return to Westeros.”

Ashara raised a brow at that, she realized now she was not speaking to Ned, or even Lord Eddard Stark, this was the Quiet Wolf standing before her.

(The Wall -  Castle Black)

Brynden Rivers watched as the ancient gate was slowly raised to allow him to pass beneath the Wall, back into the lands of men, and to a place he thought he would never see again.  His arrival must have surprised the Watch, a group of his brothers stood at the ready, drawn bows with dragonglass-tipped arrows and weapons with sharp-edged obsidian embedded in the steel at the ready.  He nodded at the men ready to defend against the dead, “Well met brothers, but know, creatures in league with the Others cannot pass through the wall of their own accord.”

He threw back his hood revealing his face, there were many shocked expressions.  He doubted any present would recognize him at first sight, so it was no doubt the magically imbued eye the Old Gods had gifted him to replace the one his half-brother had taken several lifetimes ago.  He looked around at the gathered members of the watch, “Where is the Lord Commander, the hour is late, the shadows grow long, and the days short.”

“Here,” Jeor Mormont stepped in front of his men, “name yourself brother, I know you not.”

“Nor should you,” Brynden chuckled, “I was Lord Commander before you were even a glint in the corner of your father’s eye.  I am Brynden Rivers, but some have been known to call me Bloodraven.”

Jeor frowned at that, “Seems the Old Gods revived you as they have your great nephew.”

“Indeed,” Brynden sighed, “we have been fools, my brothers, fools have forgotten our true purpose.  The Others march upon the free folk, and where are we?  Hiding here letting them be slaughtered in the thousands.”

“No, they are not,” Benjen Stark motioned his rangers to lower their weapons, “It is a hard pill to swallow, and many are reluctant to allow the free folk to pass through the Wall.  Lord Lannister and my brother are dealing with this matter.  The lords to the south have sent ships to evacuate Hardhome.  Other ships have been sent to evacuate settlements along the coastlines.  The dead will soon find themselves alone beyond the Wall, and only true death to greet them here.”

Surprised that the warnings had been so readily heeded Brynden sighed, “I would speak with my nephew, there is much to be said.”  He was escorted to the measter’s chambers where Aemon was giving orders to various stewards, “It is good to see you so active Aemon.”

The second oldest man in Westeros turned to him, his eyes still clouded over, “I’d recognize that voice anywhere.  Brynden? How?”

“A bit of the Old Gods magic and the fire that burns in my Valerian blood.  Same as you, it would seem, though, they gave me back the eye I lost.”

Aemon chuckled, “I need not my eyes to impart sound advice and give orders.  You were always of the more tactical mind. In fact, my eyes may well have been an impediment, I have lived so long without the gift of sight.  I know the world better through sound, scent, taste, and touch.  The fifth sense is now redundant, though I do miss reading.”

Shaking his head Brynden patted his great nephew’s shoulder, “It may well have been all that reading that took your sight in the first place.  Yet as it stands, you may be right.  The power of sight often blinds men to what their other senses tell them.  We have much to do, and we cannot tarry here, the wolves howl the song of coming winter and the dragons must respond.”

Aemon nodded, “Word has come that Aegon and Daenerys have found refuge at the side of the stag.  As hard as that is to believe.”  The maester sighed, “I have learned there was another of our house who survived, Jon Snow the supposed bastard of Lord Stark is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.”

“Indeed, that is a truth I was always aware of,”  Brynden noticed the first ranger’s aggrieved expression, “do not doubt your brother’s faith in you first ranger, he knew not that the stag was aware of the truth, only the falcon knew and fell prey to the deceitful nature of his Andal blood.  Your brother did what he could to protect what remained of his family.”

“As long as the blood of the starks continues we have a fighting chance,” Aemon’s comment drew Brynden’s attention back to him, “you are waxing prophetic nephew, you were not given the warnings.”

Aemon nodded, “That is true but we have scoured the libraries here in Castle Black, and I have sent men to the other castles to examine anything left behind there.  An easy task as we are preparing them to be reinhabited when winter comes.  Many believe no one returned from the last battle at the end of the last Long Night.”

Brynden nodded, “That is the common consensus, my rangings north discovered no signs of anyone other than the Others and Wrights returning from the lands of Ever Winter.”

“It had been eight thousand years uncle, even in the frozen wastes any signs would have long been buried or destroyed.”  Aemon motioned to one of the stewards sitting at the table.  The young man must have known what the maester wanted as he picked up some parchments and handed them over, “We have had to piece the accounts together, but two centuries after the Long Night ended and the Wall was raised, a man did return.  At the very least what was left of a man.”

“A half-wright,” Brynden was surprised, “how did I never hear of this?”

Jeor huffed, “The documents were never brought to Castle Black.  At the time the Night Fort was still the seat of the Watch.  The Lord Commander at the time hid the records, and not much was taken from the Lord Commander’s chambers aside from the manifest of runic weapons after the fall of the Thirteenth Lord Commander.”

“The Night’s King,” Brynden sighed, “he must have known about half-wrights, that is how he and his followers became them.”

“You speak of the Watchman who rides a great elk,” Jeor frowned, “I’d think him a myth, a boogieman the wildlings use to scare their children and warn them of us, but I saw him at a distance on one of my first rangings.”

Brynden sighed, “Be thankful you did, if he was near then the Others were no doubt stalking you.”  He turned back to Aemon, “What did this half-wright have to say?”

The maester sighed, “Much of his testimony was lost, but what we can gather, he fought at the side of Brandon the First, the father of Brandon the Builder.  He claimed the battle was long and bloody, and losses on both sides were devastating.  They fought their way into the very heart of the Other’s domain and stood before the Great Other.  To end the fighting and save what remained of his people, the Great Other swore an oath, as long as Brandon’s blood ruled from Winterfell, the Others would not leave their domain to invade.”

“Fuck,” they all turned to Benjen, “Torrhen knelt to Aegon the Conqueror.  He broke an oath we didn’t even know existed.”

Brynden nodded, “The Great Other lives beyond the sight of the Old Gods, they would not have been able to show any Greenseer this.  It must be why the half-wright was sent to relay the message.”  He then began rubbing his temples, “This is not known either thanks to the fucking shitstorm that was the Dance of Dragons, but Aegon had a prophetic dream that led him to  the belief he needed to conquer  and unite Westeros, of a great darkness coming from beyond the Wall.”

Aemon shook his head, “The thing about prophecies, something I could never get Rhaegar to understand.  The more you fight or attempt to bring them about, the more likely they are going to happen in unexpected ways.  Aegon thought he could stop the darkness by uniting Westeros, but his actions were in fact what triggered this calamity.”

(The North – Winterfell)

Lord Leyton found Lord Stark upon exiting the godswood, “Lord Stark.” The call of the Reachman drew the attention of several others who frown at the man for only being dressed in a pair of breeches.  Lord Stark was not one of them, as he knew what Leyton was doing in the godwoods.

Eddard approached and motioned towards the archway that led back into the woods, “You need something, Lord Hightower?”

“There is a sensitive matter we need to discuss,” Leyton led Eddard back to the heart tree.  Both men stopped short at the sight that greeted them.  Leyton recovered first, “Lord Stark, may I introduce Leif, the one who speaks for the Children of the Forest.”

Eddard took a couple of steps closer before kneeling so he was more on level with the being standing before the heart tree, “Lief? You were in my vision, you helped my son.”

Lief nodded, “I did and will again Magnar.”

“He will become that thing again,” Eddard sighed.

Lief shook her head, “Maybe, maybe not, the gods have many plans in motion as many as those you humans have set.  The dragonglass flows to the Wall, the brotherhood rides, and those doomed to fall will be plucked from the jaws of death.  The one whose name was stricken bade me return this to the magnar of winter.  Use it to call upon the sleepers.”

Leyton and Eddard watched as Lief pulled a war horn from the bag on her back, “This is, it thought it lost.”

“Stolen long ago, hidden, and found again many times.”  Lief smirked, “Useless to any but the true magnar, the blood of the magnar runs in your veins.  Faith unbroken, honor unstained, loyalty unquestioned.”

The lord of the Hightower noticed Eddard frown before speaking, “I am not all those things.  I lost my faith when my father and siblings were taken from me, I besmirched my honor when I laid with Lady Dayne after marrying Catelyn, and would a loyal man have raised the son of the enemy of his king?”

Lief tilted her head, “You doubted yes, but lose your faith you did not, returned you did, the gods know this to be true, the old ways are yours.  In the eyes of the old gods, you have honor beyond any man who walks your halls you shielded a child of your blood and the words of marriage in Sept are mere words to those who follow the gods of earth and tree, you are magnar any child sired by you is true and a gift of our gods.  As for loyalty, you are the Magnar of Winter, the Wolf of the Forest, and the Blood of the Builder, you have proven your loyalty to your gods, your kin, and your people.”

Leyton knelt at Eddard’s side, “The Child of the Forest is right, you are the Magnar of Winter, the true ruler of the First Men.”

He saw Lord Stark glower at him, “You have sworn oaths to the King just as I have.”

“Words of the Seven,” Leyton said solemnly, “words of Andals, of invaders, butchers, and hypocrites.  Even the gods of my ancestors, those of Sea and Sky are among the pantheon of the old gods.  The North follows those of Earth and Tree, but we are all of the same blood, of the same faith.  As Lord of the Hightower, I am beholden to the laws of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but as the blood of the First Men, I heed the command of my magnar.”

Leyton watched as Eddard Stark hesitantly picked up the war horn from Lief’s outstretched hands.  Few knew the power of the ancient relic, a tome in the Hightower held the accumulated tales.  Some thought it would bring down the Wall. While others took the concept of sleepers literally, believing that some army slept within the Ice tunnels within the Wall.  Leyton held to a third belief, the horn was tied to their blood, it was meant to call upon them in the hour of need when the Watch would need its allies from across the kingdoms of the First Men.  It was good that nearly all the Paramount Houses still had some First Men blood coursing in their veins.

(Winterfell – Catelyn’s chambers)

Margaery followed her future good sister and Lady Mormont into Lady Stark’s chambers.  Margaery had been absent from the yard but had heard from Nymeria about the altercation on the wall above the gatehouse.  She had immediately gone to check on Sansa, learning she was planning to visit her mother and find the truth of what happened.  They’d had to seek out Lady Mormont as the guards would not let Sansa enter without a loyal household member or Northern Banner.

Dacey was the first they had found but had directed them to her mother.  Maege Mormont had agreed, the grey-haired older woman was not keen on the idea for some reason.  They entered to find the room in shambles, the guards had warned Lady Stark had been raging since they locked her in.

Sansa called out as soon as the door was shut behind the three of them, “Mother?”

A red-eyed Catelyn Stark slowly stood from the far side of the bed, “Sansa, my darling…” her eyes took in both Margaery and Mage, “Oh, you brought others, I am sorry I’m not presentable, perhaps you could give me a moment with my daughter.”

“A moment to fill her head with some venomous poison you mean,” Maege said flatly, “what in the fuck did you do to rile up my boy.  Ned can contain himself better than any of his siblings, yet you got him fuming mad in public.”

Sansa blinked curiously at the older woman’s wording, “Lady Mormont, what did you mean by your boy?”

“Humph, whom the hells did you think raised Rickard’s pups after Lyarra was taken by fever?”  Maege crossed her arms, “My brother was Lord of Bear Island, he had a wife and son and didn’t have any need for me lingering about.  Lyarra was my closest friend and I was not about to leave her last gifts to the world to suffer without a mother figure.”

Margaery frowned, there was something else in Lady Mormont’s wording that was triggering the voice of her grandmother in her mind.  There was something more to the story, but she’d wait to uncover such details later.  She moved to an overturned chair and righted it, “My Lady, perhaps we can help tidy up this mess, I am sure we can assist in finding whatever you misplaced.”

Sansa was quick to follow Margaery’s distraction, moving to help her mother pick up pillows and furs that had been thrown from the bed. It took some time but eventually, the room was put mostly back to right, or at least what Margaery assumed was right as she’d never seen the room before the hurricane.

The four of them were soon after sitting at a small table, a servant had brought a tray of tea and snacks.  The cleaning distraction had only worked so long, and Maege was as much of a mother bear as her house sigil would imply.  Catelyn hesitated to answer for as long as she could, “I infringed on guest rights and stepped beyond my station as Lord Stark’s wife.  After Lady Dayne revealed her son as Ned’s real bastard, I went to the Sept to pray.  The former queen and I had words and I ended up striking her.”

Margaery gasped, “She is under the protection of Lord Stark as a prisoner, and she was under guest rights as well.”  Maege only shook her head disappointedly while Sansa looked sadly at her mother.  “That must not have been the end of it, Lord Stark does not seem to me to lose his calm easily.”

“He isn’t,” Catelyn agreed, “I made a gross error in judgment.  Being surrounded by so many bastards, I feared for the safety of my children, and then Ashara Dayne and her bastard son walked brazenly into my home.  The way he so swiftly inserted himself with Robb, and their cousin Jon.  I thought, if Lady Dayne broke guest rights I could have at least her and Edric sent away.”

“Mother?” Sansa gasped, “you didn’t.”

Maege groaned, “What did you say?”

Bowing her head Catelyn sighed, “I tried several things to get under Lady Dayne’s skin, calling her a whore questioning her son’s claim to Starfall.  It was questioning Lyanna’s honor and calling Jon a bastard that finally set her off.  I had forgotten that Ned was standing mere feet away.

“I see,” Maege stood from her seat, “ladies, we have taken enough of Lady Stark’s time, we should take our leave.  Lady Sansa, you have duties to attend to in your mother’s stead.”

“Right,” Sansa said nervously.

Margaery was quick to support her good sister, interlocking their hands, “Come sister, we can check in with Lady Arianne Martell first, she has experience managing a great house after all.”  She noticed the younger girl calmed slightly and was quick to lead her from the room.  She’d noticed Maege had not followed immediately, sure the older woman wanted them out of hearing range before giving Lady Stark a piece of her mind.

(Eddard’s Solar)

Ned was sitting at his desk studying the war horn Lief had given him when there was a knock at the door.  He quickly hid the horn away in the cabinet behind his desk before responding, “Who is it?”

The guard on duty responded, “Lady Dacey Mormont my lord, she comes with a message from her mother.”

“She may enter, then you are dismissed,” Ned used his lordly voice to ensure the guard understood he wanted no eavesdropping.

The door opened and Ned saw Dacey enter before the guard closed the door, his direwolf then moved to the door sensing his desire for privacy.  It had been more than four years since he’d seen Dacey.  She bowed to him, “My lord.”

“Huh, is that any way to greet your elder brother, little sister?” Ned crossed his arms.

Dacey smirked, “It is when only a handful of people know that secret.”

“Secret,” He frowned as he looked at her dark hair and long face, grey eyes reflecting at him, “guess we do keep our distance at most gatherings.  How is Alysane doing?”

“Well, as you’ve no doubt heard she and her bear have had a second child, a boy.”  Dacey frowned, “Mother told me what Catelyn said.  Think she hasn’t been that furious since the trout was pushing for a betrothal between Benjen and me.”

Ned nodded, it had been hard to explain why such a match was impossible.  One of the few things both followers of the Old Gods and Seven agreed on was the wrongness of sibling incest.  The residents of Bear Island were the strongest followers of the old ways, to the point the concept of legitimacy was a blurry subject.  Daughters could inherit and almost always carried the name Mormont as did their children.

He remembered the letter from Brandon informing him of Dacey’s birth, he’d been careful to ensure it was not found by the wrong person.  Robert had read it but did not understand the meaning behind the wording.  Though anyone more cunning might have realized what the mother bear found her way into the wolf’s den and now a wolf bear roams meant.  Ned didn’t officially meet Dacey until years later when she came to Harenhall ostensibly as one of Lyanna’s attendants.  He’d almost punched Brandon when he japed about the little wolf bear looking so much like the roaming quiet wolf.

Dacey had been only ten name days old at the time, and there had been rumors swirling at the tourney that she was a bastard of Brandon’s, though the rumors were close to the truth, they were easily dissuaded when Jorah challenged a knight for speaking of such things in his presence.  He soundly beat the man to the point the knight could not compete in the tourney.  Ned had personally thanked Jorah for protecting their mutual kin.

He noticed her fidgeting, “What?”

“Your brooding,” Dacey frowned, “about the tourney no doubt.”

Ned smiled, “You know me so well, now why have you come to deliver Lady Mormont’s message.  There must be more than simply wishing to see your elder brother.  I know you’ve visited the Wall when Benjen has been near Bear Island.”

“You need someone to vent to, and who else here knows more about you than your younger sisters, Alysane would be here but some of our father’s traits that failed to grace her appeared to have taken root in her son.  She doesn’t want rumors as I’ve faced being aimed at her children, or people to get the wrong idea.”

“I’ve told Great Jon to stop with the japing,” Ned sighed, “it is the worst kept secret in the North, we don’t need the rest of the Kingdoms to know it.  Let the Southrons gossip, I grow tired of their games.”  Ned dropped into one of the chairs positioned in front of the hearth, “The enemy is at the gate and they have more concerns over legitimacy and claimant rights.”

Dacey moved to a table next to the desk and poured them each a cup of wine, before giving Ned one and sitting in the other chair, “You know Alysane and I are at your command, we are Mormont in name but we also carry the blood of House Stark.  You are our liege lord and brother, all we need is a word.”

“I know,” Ned took a deep drink of his wine, “and I have decided.  Arya will be going south to Dorne, ostensibly to train and spend time with her brother Edric in Starfall.  I want you and Alysane to accompany her, take that bear of Alysane’s along with you.  I need you to take care of something while there.  I will give you the location of the Tower of Joy.  Take a party there and retrieve the remains of our countrymen.  I will need to appease Barbrey Dustin to ensure the North is unified, she is the one problem I cannot simply remove by sending her to the Wall.”

“Agreed,” Dacey frowned, “but why send both Alysane and me, one of us would be more than enough to watch over Arya and retrieve the remains.”

Ned set his cup aside and held out his hand, which Dacey took, “I need you to do more than just watch over my children dear sister.  Prince Doran noticed the uncanny resemblance between you and Arya.  He remembered the rumors of Harenhall, and Ashara heard you call me brother the night she and I exchanged pins.  She cannot lie to her prince any more than you would lie to me.”

Dacey bowed her head, “I am to wed a boy?”

“No,” Ned shook his head, “Oberyn, his paramour will not wed him because she knew there was a chance such a political match would be needed.  She did not realize the match would be with someone who looks like the girl he pined for grown into a woman.  When asked why you have not been wed, I told them that is your secret to share.”

“I have no say?” Dacey grimaced.

Ned kept a hold of her hand as he stood moving to kneel before her and placing his other hand on the side of her face, “Your choice is not something I will take from you, there are other ways to bind Dorne to the North, but I fear Prince Doran’s younger son may be irreparably damaged if he dared to court Arya.”

“The little she-wolf is quite fearsome,” Dacey smirked, “it is no easy thing, the task you place before me.”

Ned grinned, “Have I found something that my little wolf bear cannot overcome?”  Ned placed her forehead against his own, “Remember, as long as I draw breath, anyone who dares harm my pack will not live long to regret their decision.”  The image of Dacey doubled over the axe of a Frey he knew not the name of went through Ned’s mind, her broken body laying among those slaughtered alongside his wife and son, “I will not be far, Kings Landing is much nearer to Dorne than Winterfell.”

Dacey sighed, “I will speak with the Southron but I make no promises dearest brother.”

“Good,” Ned leaned back, “Oh, and on another note I want you to avoid Robert he noticed your similar appearance to Lyanna and I got that look in his eye.  If he figures it out, not that I put much stock in his ability to make the connection, but I do not want you to suffer him if he does.  Oberyn at the least will acknowledge you are not our sister, but Robert’s obsession would not allow him to make that distinction.”

“That and I do not want to go a hundred miles near that horrid place,” Dacey grimaced, “I can bare the tower, Lyanna left us a gift in Jon.   I cannot look upon the place father and Brandon drew their last breaths.”

Chapter Text

(North – Wolf’s Wood)

Oberyn led his band of young men through the forest, though saying he was leading was an overstatement.  The dire wolves Grey Wind and Ghost were truly leading them.  It was uncanny the way the wolves reacted, as though some unseen force was leading them toward their target.  He’d checked with Robb, the heir to Winterfell had been marking their passage as they had long gone off any beaten trails, they were making better time than if they had followed the normal paths.

“Uncle,” Oberyn turned to see Quentyn riding up beside him, Trystane had remained at Winterfell having befriended the younger boys.  Quentyn frowned, “The wolves have slowed, they have switched to a hunting pattern, it is like the jackals in the dunes, they know their prey is close.”

The prince nodded, “I have noticed as well, we must be getting close to Lorch, I feel the wolves are feeding off Robb and Jon’s desire to find your cousin’s murderer and bring him before their father for judgment.”

The young man’s frown deepened, “Why do we take the man to Lord Stark, is it not we who were wronged?”

“This is the North my beloved nephew, and in the North, the will of the Stark in Winterfell is heeded above all else,” Oberyn sighed, “Technically speaking, Lord Stark has also been wanting Lorch brought to justice longer than we, it fractured his friendship with Robert when he did not see Lorch and Clegane brought to justice.”

“Yet he simply cast Clegane to the Wall, the man still draws breath,” Quentyn argued.

Oberyn chuckled, “Yes, as a member of the Night’s Watch.  It is a fitting punishment, he will spend the remainder of his days cold with no reprieve from that place that does not end in death.  Lorch is not as lucky, Stark will execute him as a craven child murderer, I have studied the old ways.  If they have a hell it reserves a special place for such fiends.”

Quentyn sighed before looking to where Aegon rode next to Jon, “Aegon was beside himself thinking Robert was going to murder his brother, now they ride to bring the last known killer of their family to justice.”

“Not the last one,” Oberyn corrected, “just the last we will be allowed to see justice done to.  Cersei had a hand in it but we cannot harm her.  She is protected under guest rights and Stark must protect her as she is a prisoner under his charge.  It is rumored she has also taken to the Old Gods.”

“Then may they show her justice,” Quentyn sneered before moving to catch up with Robb and Theon.

The prince of Dorne was alone only a moment before Loras rode up to him, “Your nephew is a wildcard.  You going to be able to keep him from doing anything regrettable?”

“Quentyn will do as he has been ordered by his father,” Oberyn assured, “and I was there when the order was given.  Lorch will arrive at Winterfell but I will not dirty such a place with the presence of such evil.  He will not cross the threshold.”

“I am sure Lord Stark will not take offense at such reimaginings of his command,” Loras smirked.  His humored expression fell as Robb’s hunting horn blew, and the dire wolves howled, “The hunt is on it would seem.”

Oberyn shot forward on his sand steed the horse not wanting to follow the scent of the wolves but heeded his rider’s command.  The trees soon parted on a clearing.  A disheveled man was scrambling to reach the far side of the clearing, but the two wolves were already moving to cut him off.  The lads were also overtaking the fleeing man from across the clearing Sandor, Gendry, and Edric emerged from the woods with the array of guards they’d brought with them.

Sandor was the only man who could positively identify Lorch, being a fellow Westerlander.  Clegane nodded as he dismounted, “Lorch, ya cunt, Lord Tywin sent you to the fucking Wall, you should have fucking stayed there.”

“Clegane, why the seven hells are you here?” Lorch fell backward as he stopped trying to run, “There was a mistake, I just need to beg forgiveness from Lord Lannister.  Your brother could back up my claims.”

“You mean my brother who by now is wearing black and probably manning the lift at Castle Black, not much other use for that piece of filth.” Clegane growled, “He followed Lord Tywin’s command, just as I am now.  You are going to get into the nice little wagon we brought, and you are going to ride with us back to Winterfell.  Once we get there, Lord Stark is going to part your craven head from your craven body.”

Lorch was practically blubbering when two guards approached and began binding his arms, “Please, I beg you, Sandor, don’t let them do this, I’m innocent, I’ve never hurt a fly.”

Oberyn dismounted and approached the man, “Oh, and was my niece less than a fly to you?”  Lorch paled at the furry in the eyes of the Dornishman, Oberyn swept his hand indicating the young men mounted around them, “Take a look, Lorch, save for two of these lads each of them would have been a worthy match to my dear sweet niece.  They ride here not to win her favor but to see justice granted to her, justice against the craven shit who stabbed her over fifty times.”  Oberyn made a point to single out Aegon and Jon, “as for those two, well you butchered their elder sister.  They have an uncle other than me who cannot wait to meet you again.”

Lorch shook his head, “Clegane killed prince Aegon, I saw the body.”

Aegon snarled, “A boy from Fleabottom, whose life was traded for mine.  My brother was hidden by his mother’s family, safe and sound here in the North.  Far from the reach of you cretins.  Uncle Eddard denied my request to be the one to take your head, you know why?”  Lorch shook his head, “The Old Ways, it’s the man who passes the sentence who should carry it out.  I was only a babe at the teat when Lord Stark passed judgment on you, Lorch.  He was merciful in agreeing to see you given to the Wall.  Had you stayed at the Wall, we’d have let you continue breathing to your last, now, you will just be fuel for the fires.”

(King’s Landing – Dragon Pit)

Melisandre walked around the open area instructing the workmen she’d recruited to handle preparations.  Davos entered with a warning glare, “What by all that is good are you doing woman?”

“We must be ready, time grows short and when the three heads arrive, they must complete the ritual to awaken the dragons from stone,” Melisandre spoke as she continued the pattern of walking between each bonfire alters were set at the top of the three large structures, “We must be ready.”

“Lord Stannis has ordered you to quit this nonsense,” Davos growled out, “I have the means for the two princes and the princess to awaken their dragons without resorting to your devilry.”

Melisandre paused and looked at him, “Then why has the Lord of Light sent me visions of this place, the calls of dragons the screams of people?   It is overwhelming at times.”

Davos snorted, “Mayhaps it is madness, considering what happened here over a century ago.”

The red woman looked at him in shock, “What?”

Davos was confused for a moment but realized the priestess truly was confused, “The Dance of Dragons, the dragon pit was attacked by a mob rallied up by a madman.  The last of the bastard sons of the queen who wasn’t queen fell to his death trying to save the dragons here.  The fool boy tried riding his mother’s dragon.  The dragons housed here were all slain due to them being trapped in their dens beneath us.”

“I am not meant to guide them,” Melisandre seemed to understand something, “I am to prepare for their coming,” She headed for the entrance to the passages beneath the pit, “Come Davos.”

“Where the hells do you think your going woman,” Davos spat as he followed Melisandre, “It’s a death trap down there, might not be dragons anymore but the place is full of half-mad men who speak only some bastard variant of Valarian.  They attack anyone who dares enter their domain, the crown never really cared to clear them out, they keep to themselves mostly.”

Melisandre frowned, “Who are they?”

“Descendants of the old dragon keepers,” both turned to find Stannis and Renly approaching, it had been Renly who responded, “Only the Targaryen could understand them.  From what I can gather, they only surface to steal young women down into their caverns when they need to have kids.  They’re all men, not that they cast out their daughters, but probably as fond of incest as our late cousin's house.”

Davos frowned, “Aye, kept my sister from being dragged off by one of them, only kept from being shanked because a couple of gold cloaks were nearby.  They chased the rest of the bloke's cronies back to the pit, but didn’t dare enter.”

“That’s standard orders for them,” Renly supplied, “stop the abduction if at all possible, but don’t be a hero.  Probably more than a few gold cloak corpses down there.”

Stannis frowned at the entrance and called for a guard to bring a torch.  He angled the torch the light reflecting in three sets of eyes and off three daggers made of dragon glass, “I had the feeling we were being watched.”  He glared at the men, “Do you speak common?”

One of the men stepped into the light, his tanned skin having a light dusting of ash and soot from spending his life in the caverns below the city, “Aye, we have learned it, though we do not speak it often.”

“I am the Master of Ships for King Robert Baratheon first of his name,” Stannis indicated his brother, “my brother Renly is Master of Laws.  You and yours know how to tend dragons?”

“We know the old ways of the dragon keepers,” the man frowned, “but dragons are gone from this world.  The men with chains upon their necks made sure of this.”

Renly stepped forward, “The maesters?  What do you mean, how could they have killed dragons?”

“It was they who sent the men to smash the eggs, they who ensured all attempts to awake new dragons failed.” The man bowed his head, “We failed to protect our charges.  The dragons fell, and magic was lost because we did not keep our secrets.”

Davos looked to Stannis, “What is he talking about?”

Stannis’s eyes widened, “The books on dragon lore, do not mention the dragon keepers.  Yet who else would know so much about dragons?  I fear we have more trouble in the Reach than the grumblings of the Most Devout over House Hightower renouncing the faith and turning to the Old Gods.”

“The Tyrells have already departed Highgarden for Winterfell,” Renly informed, “Many of their lords have traveled with them seeing as the marriage between Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell is quite historic.”

Stannis nodded, “Has Maester Pycell returned yet?”

“Indeed,” Davos informed, “arrived this morning, said he’d meet with you after he settled back in and rested from his journey.”

“Tell Varys I have a task for him,” Stannis crossed his arms, “I need to do something that no lord has ever attempted.  I need to investigate the Citadel without them knowing.”

One of the dragon keepers stepped forward, “You are the blood of the dragon?”

Renly grimaced, “Yes of a sort, our grandmother was Targaryen.”

“You are blood or Orys brother to Aegon,” the keeper explained, “your blood runs to the founding of your house.”

“So legends say,” Stannis nodded, “but we are known as Stags, our brother has taken the last of the dragons to his side to protect them.”  Two guards approached carrying a chest, “and as we protect them, I believe you can protect these.”

The keepers looked cautiously at the guards before opening the chest and staring in shock at the three eggs within.

(North – Winterfell)

Mace Tyrell rode through the gates on the back of a horse on loan from a minor northern lord whose keep they’d spent the night at.  His horse had not faired well through the neck, having become ill forcing him to ride with his wife and mother in the monstrosity of a wheelhouse his mother insisted they bring.  It had lengthened their journey time considerably and had irked more than a few of his banners traveling with them.

Tarly had even offered to see the damn thing accidentally set ablaze.  Mace had been tempted, especially after realizing the sudden illness of his horse had not been due to some terror of the neck, but his mother’s ploy to force him to speak with her.  She was still against the marriage, hoping to wed Margaery to Robert now that the king was without a wife.

The old Mace, the one who hadn’t watched the world descend into madness and be consumed by death and darkness might have been contrite to his mother’s whims.  The Mace after this experience was not to be plied by the Queen of Thorns' barbs and venomous words.  He’d already made sure none of her poisoned tools had been brought along, and Left and Right were left at Highgarden.  For the first time in years, his mother was truly forced to acknowledge he was the Lord Paramount of the Reach, and she was his mother the dowager lady of the Reach.

Mace dismounted and moved to greet his daughter who awaited their arrival, “Margaery, my dearest daughter,” he looked around but did not see Lord Stark or Loras, “I thought you betrothed or your brother at least would be here to greet us.”

“Loras and Robb are attending to a matter Lord Stark needed to be seen to,” Margaery informed, “they are expected to return soon.  Lord Stark and his Grace will greet you in the main hall, there have been so many arrivals that it is just easier to gather there.”

Mace nodded, “I see, we’ll await your mother and brothers then see to greetings and receiving guest rights.”

“I would be remiss,” a red-haired girl slightly younger than Margaery approached a servant at her side with a tray of salt and bread, “in not offering such to an honored guest such as you Lord Tyrell.”

Mace immediately recognized the girl as Lord Stark’s eldest daughter, “I take it you are Lady Sansa,” he knew not the girl’s knowledge of things and did not want to startle her by knowing her on sight, “I appreciate the welcome and receive guest rights as offered.  Though, would not be your lady mother’s task to offer them in this manner?”

Sansa looked grimly, “Mother is unwell and has been relieved of her duties by father.  As my father’s eldest daughter, it is my place to take up the duties as Lady of Winterfell, at least until Lady Margaery weds my brother.”

Mace saw his daughter take the girl’s hand and smile, “We will of course work together to fill your mother’s shoes good sister, at least till you chose a worthy husband.”

“Well, dear brother it seems we have already been cast aside,” Garlan snarked as he and his wife walked beside Willas, “our lovely sister has become so enamored with her new family she completely forgets her beloved brothers.”

Margaery turned to her brother with a scowl, “Dearest brother, if I knew you were coming I’d have prepared better.  No doubt you expected rose petals thrown to your feet.”

“I believe you're confusing me for Loras, but you know a bit of cheering would be nice,” Garlan looked at the people observing them, “Quite the serious bunch you got here.”

Willas elbowed his brother before stepping forward to take some salt and bread, “Ignore the ponce,” Willas smiled benignly to Sansa, “I’m led to believe all the wit of our family was reserved for Margaery and myself, alas there was not enough to spare for Garland and Loras.  It’s a travesty.”

Mace noticed the girl taking notice of his son’s cane, “My lord, are you injured?”

It was not hard to believe the girl had not heard of Willas being wounded in a tourney years ago.  Willas smirked, “Ah, the cane, I took a bad fall during a joust some years ago.  My family maester was able to save my leg but was unable to repair the damage fully.  Leaving me unable to ride, and I happen to find standing for prolonged periods quite taxing.”

It was surprising to Mace when the girl stepped closer to his son, “My lord if you would allow I can show you to the great hall where you can find a place to sit and have a warm drink.”

“Indeed,” Willas smirked, “I have heard of a northern drink known as mead.”

“I have never tried it personally,” the girl blushed, “but my older brothers have taken to it when father permits them to drink anything harder than watered wine.”

Mace smirked as he watched his eldest be led towards the keep, “I can see you have been teaching the young Lady Stark a thing or two.”

Margaery grinned, “Princess Arianna and I have taken her under our wings, and Arriana’s cousins have been quite helpful in teaching her to let go of her naivete.”

Seeing the servant move to offer guest rights to the rest of the party Mace looked to his daughter, “What really happened to Lady Stark?”

“She overstepped herself and struck Lady Cersei who is a prisoner in the care of Lord Stark.  She also schemed to make it seem as though Lady Ashara had broken guests' rights by inciting her to strike her.  This happened in public though in full view of the yard and with Lord Stark within earshot of what Lady Stark said to incite Lady Dayne.”

Garland spoke up, “Wait, Lady Ashara Dayne is alive?”

“Yes,” Margaery sighed, “Lady Dayne faked her death to go to Essos to protect and raise Prince Aegon.  Lord Stark was already protecting Prince Jon, the son of his sister and Prince Rhaegar, though if you call Jon a prince be forwarned he doesn’t like it.”

Garland sighed, “Great, now grandmother will be yammering to annul the marriage pact to have you marry Aegon.”

“That would not be possible,” Margaery looked toward the great hall, “Sansa doesn’t know this but Aegon has been asking a lot of questions about her.  Her likes and dislikes, her favorite flower, and he learned recently that Lord Stark had decreed that his daughters would only marry husbands who carried the blood of the First Men.  Aegon is the blood of the First Men as both his Targaryen grandparents were of it through House Blackwood.”

Mace nodded, “I’d thought if you and the young wolf did not work out, perhaps she and Willas or Loras.”

“You and I both know why Loras would be a bad match father,” Margaery frowned, “and while Willas is still able to handle all his lordly duties, he’s much closer to Princes Arianna’s age than Sansa.”

“Hmm,” Mace nodded, “then I am most fortunate you won over the young wolf.  Your grandfather reported the two of you have grown quite fond of each other.”

He spotted his mother approaching and his daughter stiffening, “We have, my betrothed is as honorable as his father and by Loras’s admission would make a fine knight.  He does not need a knighthood, of course, being the heir to Winterfell.”

The Queen of Thorns scoffed, “A waste, you could be queen.”

“Grandmother,” Margaery scolded, “there are more important things at stake than whose posterior settles in that monstrosity called the Iron Throne.  Your ambitions will earn you few friends here, and liable to make more enemies than you could dream.”

“Well-spoken Lady Tyrell,” they turned to find Lord Lannister approaching, “beg pardon but after Lady Sansa introduced Lord Willas we were wondering where the rest of your delegation had wandered off to.”

Mace grinned tightly, “Lord Tywin, been a while how do your fare?”

“Well enough,” Tywin sneered, “my eldest children nearly brought ruin to my house through their selfishness and pride.  I had thought I raised them better than that, hope to do better with Myrcella and Tommen this time around.”  Mace’s eyes widened at the wording.  Tywin motioned to the doors to the great hall, “If you would be so kind his Grace is waiting, and you know his patience is quite limited.”

(Winterfell Training Yard)

Khal Drogo watched the woman with the morning star rip apart training dummies, her older sister with the mace watching from nearby.  He knew the woman with the morning star had children, two, fathered by a man who lingered nearby.  Truly he was not interested in that woman, it was the older sister who sparked his intrigue.  They were kin to Jorah, members of House Mormont.

“I’d be cautious,” Drogo looked to the man with the unchained giant on the doublet, “you are sizing up the most deadly women in the North.”

Khal Drogo knew the Umber man was speaking truly.  One of the Wildling men had made a snide comment about the woman with the mace.  That man was now missing a hand and would be no use as a warrior, he’d slunk off to help the kennel master once he’d recovered.  Drogo frowned, “What kin are House Mormont to House Stark?”

Umber swallowed hard, “Holding my tongue on that one my friend, like keeping all my parts and pieces mind you.”

This only raised the Dothraki’s curiosity, that a simple question had drawn such fear from a man who tossed even Drogo’s best bloodriders like they were green boys who’d never seen battle before.  He quickly realized that fear was not the Umber lord’s alone.  He sought out Jorah who was speaking with his aunt, the head of his house Lady Maege Mormont.

The older woman was already grey hair but he had seen her in the yard beating whelps like it was her personal duty to whip them all into shape, even he’d felt the sting of her mace.  Jorah had noticed the expression on his face, it had been remarked that Dothraki was taciturn but their faces were easy to read, “What’s wrong Drogo?”

“I asked Umber a question and the man’s fear was nearly palpable,” Drogo frowned, “I can tell he did not wish to lie, it goes against his nature.  Yet he would not answer as he feared to speak would draw bodily harm.”

Maege chuckled, “There are few matters that would make old Great Jon tremble, what was your question?”

Drogo shrugged, “I asked what kin is your house to that of Lord Stark.  Your eldest daughter looks to be kin with Lord Stark and his second daughter.”

“Ah,” Maege snorted, “that question would make the big oaf tremble.”  The woman leaned forward, “Women in my family do not marry, at least not in the ways of the southerners.  We keep to the old ways, and as House Mormont is a ruling clan we find bears to father our children.  Children who bare the name Mormont and live and die as members of our house.”

Jorah took a drink of mead, “Just so happens my aunt found herself in an old wolf’s den instead of a bears cave some years ago.  My cousin is a Mormont, even if she may have a bit of wolf in her.”

As he assessed his friend’s words he thought of something else, “Why has she not found a bear?  Her sister has one.”

“That’s a bit personal, but,” Jorah looked to his aunt who nodded, “when she was younger, just before the Greyjoy Rebellion.  Euron Greyjoy attempted to steal her from Bear Island, to take as a salt wife.  He wasn’t able to get off the island with her but he assaulted her before abandoning her in a seaside cave.  She was in a bad way, she was barely healed when the rebellion started and I kept an eye on her through every battle.  I was the Lord of Bear Island then, I failed to protect my cousin, and I failed to get her justice.  Euron is still out there somewhere.”

“Greyjoy?”  Drogo wondered, “Like the boy Theon?”

Maege nodded, “They be kin of sorts, Euron is Theon’s uncle, but I doubt there be any love lost between the two.  Euron is a fiendish creature that will attack his kin and foe alike.  Last heard he had been banished from the Iron Islands for stealing and murdering one of his other brother’s salt wives.”

That evening Drogo noticed the looks the King Baratheon would send toward Dacey Mormont.  He’d motioned to one of his bloodriders, and spoke an order in Dothraki.  The orders swiftly moved among his men, and when the music started Dacey found herself with a line of Dothraki asking to be her partner.

(Three Days Later)

Robb rode through the gates of Winterfell alone to his father’s and the king’s confusion.  The rest of his party visibly waiting beyond the gate, “Pardon father but I drew the short straw to bear this message.  We put it to a vote and it came up unanimous.  We will not defile Winterfell with the presence of a craven child murderer.  Lorch will die but we ask that you deliver justice at one of the heart trees within the wolf’s wood.”

Eddard chuckled, “You have selected a place, my son?”

“Yes, the tree we passed on our way to the deserter’s execution, it is young and has not yet been christened.” Robb sat up tall, “Its trunk does not yet bare a face.”

With a nod, Eddard motioned to a nearby stable hand, “Saddle my horse.”  Several other lords including Mace, Tywin, Tarly, and Hightower called for their horses, and Ashara requested one for herself.  Robert was the last to call for a horse with Selmy quick to join him.

Oberyn nodded at Eddard as the group of lords approached, “I thought it best not to stain your home with the blood of this craven.  He has been begging for his innocence since we caught him.  Robb mentioned something about christening a heart tree.”

Eddard motioned to a shape on this horse that Oberyn had not taken notice of, but now realized it was a misshapen humanoid about the size of a child, but looked much older, “Prince Oberyn, I believe you will be interested in meeting Lief.  A Child of the Forest,” Eddard could only smirk at the gob-smacked look on the Dornishman’s face.

Oberyn blinked, “First the Others and now this.  Next thing you’ll tell me there are giants, snarks, and grumpkins beyond the wall.”

Lief tilted her head, “The snarks and grumpkins have never been beyond the Wall, and as for giants, their numbers dwindle but they remain.”

“I do not know if she is teasing me or serious,” Oberyn turned his horse to ride next to Eddard, “in other news, the boys' performance in this endeavor was exemplary.  They planned and worked together to bring Lorch in.  Robb and Jon knew the lay of the land and estimated where we could best lay a trap.  The dire wolves did most of the work.”

It did not take long to reach the heart tree.  Eddard looked at the white bark, no face had yet to grace its trunk, “Lief, I will be executing a murderer here.”

“His blood will nourish this tree and strengthen the power of the Old Gods,” the figure looked around, “some of my people have found their way here.  They await the offering.”

As they dismounted they found Jory already working with some men to dig a depression beneath the roots.  Sandor placed a block next to the depression, “Let’s get this done.”  He noticed Lord Lannister among the gathered lords and gave a quick nod before motioning to have Lorch brought forward.

Two guards dragged the haggard-looking Westerlander forward and forced him to his knees.  Eddard glared at the condemned man as Jory’s group continued their work, “Amory Lorch, by order of your liege you were to join the Night’s Watch.  Instead, you fled in the night.  For the past two sennights, you stole from my people as you fled south.  You have been declared a deserter.  Additionally, you stand accused of murdering Princess Rhaenys.  What have you to say?”

Lorch spat on the ground, “I was a soldier following orders.  We were to clear the way for His Grace, King Robert to claim the throne.”

“We have already had this discussion during Ser Gregor Clegane’s trial.  The orders were false,” Eddard countered, “and as such you acted without the consent of your liege lord.  You must realize by now the Night’s Watch was a mercy, you would have been absolved of your crimes by admitting your guilt and spending your remaining days serving to protect the living from a fate worse than death.”

A glare crossed Lorch’s face, “I demand trial by combat.”

Robert spoke up, “Denied,” Lorch paled at the King’s words, “trial by combat belongs to the ways of the Seven.  What was the Old Way equivalent?”

Tywin spoke up, “There isn’t one, at least not for a man of Lorch’s station.  Magnars would fight in one-on-one battles to save their people from senseless slaughter.  Lorch is not even of the First Men blood.”

Aegon approached handing Lord Stark a dragon glass-edged sword, “My lord, he who passes the sentence should swing the blade.  The day my sister’s body was laid at Robert Baratheon’s feet, you called for justice to be done on those who so brutally murdered an innocent woman and her children.  In the Old Way, as Magnar of Winterfell, you passed sentence.  May this sword be christened with the blood of the murderer of my sister.”

Eddard gave a curt nod before taking the sword and turning to Jory, “Is the pit ready?”

“Aye my lord, the taproot is exposed,” Jory climbed out of the depression along with the other two men.

Lorch struggled as Sandor forced the man down on the block using his foot to pin the man in place as he struggled.  Sandor growled as the man kept struggling, “Hold still you fucker, you don’t want Lord Stark to miss and only nick yeh.”

Before Lorch could even try and reply Eddard swung true, cleaving the man’s head from his shoulders.  The head landed and rolled into the depression vanishing beneath the heart tree, with blood trickling down after.  He then knelt before the tree, “Old Gods, gods of earth and tree, accept this offering.  May the blood of Amory Lorch nourish this symbol of your presence, and may his flesh become its bark.  May these branches serve as a sanctuary to your faithful.”

Jory and his men waited for Sandor to toss the rest of Lorch into the depression before returning the excavated earth to cover the remains.  To the surprise of those who’d yet to encounter Leif the Child of the Forest knelt upon the loose soil, “They accept the offering.”

All eyes turned to the tree, where the trunk was once unblemished a large knot had formed and seemed to be growing rapidly.  Soon features could be made out and they could recognize the face of Amory Lorch forming mouth open in a soundless scream with his eyes clenched shut.

Sandor had moved to stand next to Tywin, “Not sure whom I pity more, Lorch or the tree that has to bear his mug for the rest of its life.”

Tywin had never been a religious man, but this display whether it be simple magic or the actual will of the gods was enough to make him step forward and kneel next to Lord Stark.  He was surprised to be soon joined by several Reach lords and even a few of his own who had made the journey to Winterfell, “Lord Stark, not to question but, is this?”

Eddard glared at the face that had formed on the heart tree, “I am not sure, even we believed the Children carved the faces.  There are more than a few condemned buried in the roots of the heart tree in Winterfell.”

(North – Winterfell Godswood)

Oberyn opened his eyes expecting to once more find himself in the shadowy copy of these woods.  Yet he was not, instead, he sat in the middle of Winterfell’s training yard, a calamitous ruckus came from the door to the Great Hall, the sound of hundreds of people celebrating.  He frowned as he climbed over the fence and began approaching the great doors.

“You cannot enter my prince,” he turned to see Arthur had appeared in the training yard, still the garish nightmare of a bloodied corpse, “that place is only for those who have released their burdens.”

The realization came to him, “The great feast of the gods, the Northerners’ belief in the afterlife.”

“It fits, you are in the North and partaking in a Northern ritual,” Arthur sighed, “why have you returned?”

“Lorch is dead,” Oberyn explained, “condemned and executed for his crimes.  I come to see that my sister and niece have found peace.”

Arthur nodded, “We know of Lorch, his soul passed through on his way into the abyss.”  He indicated the gateway to the Great Hall, “Watch.”

Golden light peeked through as the doors opened, bathing the gloomy yard in an all-encompassing warmth.  To Oberyn it was as inviting as the sun glistening off the pools of the water gardens.  He looked to see Elia and Rhaenys approach.  The little girl clutched at her mother’s hands.  The pair paused at the bottom step, Oberyn noticed that Rhaenys was standing on the step, but his sister had not taken the step.

He saw Elia smiling sadly as she released the girl’s hand.  Rhaenys turned back, “Muna?”

Tears appeared on Elia’s ruined and bloodstained face, “I’m sorry my sweet little dragon, it is not my time yet.  I cannot go with you.”

“I don’t want to be alone Muna,” Rhaenys cried.

“You won’t be,” Elia smiled tightly, “look.”

Figures appeared at the door.  Two large men, one Oberyn recognized as Brandon Stark, and from the resemblance, he could judge the other as Rickard.  The old wolf and wild wolf were flanking a much smaller figure, Oberyn’s chest tightened as he saw Lyanna.  She looked as he remembered, but the spell was broken the moment she stepped beyond the gateway.  The grey dress she wore became drenched in blood from the waist down, her skin took on a waxy complexion of one consumed by fever, and her hair took on a wild appearance.  She looked ghastly compared to the other specters he’d encountered.

“Come little one,” Lyanna did not leave the steps, “your Muna will be along in time.”  Elia nodded to her daughter and the girl went to Lyanna who scooped her up.  Oberyn watched them pass back through the gateway, the wounds, and signs of their causes of death seemed to vanish as they passed into the hall.  Slowly the massive door began to swing shut, cutting the yard off from the light and warmth, casting it back into the gloom and shadows.

He saw his sister collapse with a silent keening sob, he moved towards her but the specter of Rhaegar appeared and swiftly wrapped her in his arms.  Oberyn spoke, “Why, why didn’t you go with her?”

“Lorch was not what holds Elia here,” Arthur drawled out, “her regrets, her pain is grief for another.  For the life she so callously disregarded.”

“What, speak sense, Arthur?” Oberyn growled not knowing how much time he had left here, “Who’s life did she disregard?  Elia was the most caring and giving person I have ever known.”

Arthur bowed his head, “My sister, Ashara.  Elia’s deepest regret is that she asked too much of her most faithful friend.  Rhaegar and Elia’s plans resulted in Ashara losing her betrothed, her son, and her future.  She spent years raising Elia’s son, letting her son and the man she loves think she had taken her own life.”

“Ridiculous,” Oberyn practically snarled, “Ashara’s actions were of her own doing, no one told her to fake her death and live in exile.  It was Holster Tully who demanded Lord Stark set Ash aside and honor the contract between their houses.  It was your brother who took her son and claimed him as his own.”

The world around them twisted and morphed, and they were no longer in the gloom-filled replica of Winterfell.  Oberyn recognized the place, not because he’d been there personally, but had read enough books on it.  The Isle of Faces within the God’s Eye.  From the shade of one of the numerous heart trees, he spied a group of people gathered before the oldest-looking heart tree he’d ever seen.  The face was weathered and cracked allowing for many more steams of red sap to run.

Oberyn took notice of the people.  A young Eddard and Ashara stood with others in a half circle.  Oberyn recognized the younger face of Lord Howland Reed standing between Ned and Ash and the heart tree.  The people in the half-circle surprised him.  On Ned’s side, it consisted of the Great Jon, Lord Wendell Manderly, and a girl that looked like a very young Dacey Mormont.  On Ash’s side stood Rhaegar, Elia, and Arthur.

Howland Reed began speaking, “We stand in the sight of the gods of earth and tree, the gods of sea and sky, and the gods of fire and ice.  We seek your wisdom and guidance to those old powers which have provided for us of the First Blood since our first footsteps upon the shores of Westeros.  Two souls have come to this grove to promise their union before the sight of gods and man.  Who bares witness?”

Great Jon boisterously stepped forward, “Aye I of House Umber of Last Hearth bares witness to this oath, and swear to carry word of it to my Magnar.”

“As do I,” Wendell stepped next to his countryman, “of House Manderly of White Harbor, and swear to carry word of it to my Magnar.”

Rhaegar stepped up next, “As the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms I bare witness and await the day this promise is fulfilled.” Elia as well stepped forward and swore to inform Ashara’s kin.

Howland said something more in a language Oberyn was not familiar with before the ceremony came to an end and everyone began milling about and talking.  Rhaegar and Elia approached the couple, the prince frowning, “Lord Stark I am curious, Ashara informed me she needed Arthur here to act as a witness as a member of her family, but you did not bring either of your brothers or sister.”

Eddard looked uncomfortable for a moment before motioning to Dacey who’d moved to hide behind his hip, “I have a sibling present your Grace, though you may look down on such things.  Dacey Mormont is my half-sister.”

Rhaegar looked at the girl closely, “I was not going to broach the subject of her similarity to you.  We all witnessed your father’s bannerman Jorah take offense.  If you need her legitimized you only need to send word.”

Eddard’s eyes narrowed, “In the eyes of the North she is legitimate.  She is the daughter of Maege Mormont, they practice the Old Ways.  Dacey is a legitimate daughter of House Mormont, but she has the blood of House Stark running in her veins.”

“I meant no offense Lord Stark,” Rheagar defended, “I will need to refamiliarize myself with the customs of the First Men, I want to be a king of all my people, not just those who follow the Faith.”

Oberyn felt himself being pulled away from the image, and soon found himself back in Winterfell’s godswood with Aegon and Jon standing in front of him.  The Child of the Forest crouched in front of him offering a waterskin.  Rinsing the aftertaste from his mouth he sighed, “Rhaenys is at peace.”

Aegon frowned, “What about mother?”

“That is a bit more complicated,” he looked between the two boys, “My sister is far too caring, she regrets the pain the rebellion caused, the oaths that had been broken.”

“What do you mean,” Aegon moved to sit on the root next to Oberyn, “what is holding her back?”

Jon frowned, “Father and Lady Ashara?”

Oberyn was surprised the boy had so readily guessed, “How?”

“The night your party arrived I was taking Ghost and Shaggy Dog to roam in the godswood for a bit before retiring for the evening.  I overheard voices,” Jon frowned, “I recognized Lord Umber and Lord Manderly, the third one I believe was Lord Reed.  They were speaking about an unfulfilled oath.  I didn’t know what they were talking about but they mentioned father and Lady Dayne.”

Oberyn nodded, “I just witnessed the oath they were speaking of.”

“You saw them exchanging pins,” Aegon asked surprised.

“Yes, and learned something I was not aware of,” Oberyn frowned, “Your parents were there and aware, they were Ash’s witnesses along with her brother.”

Jon was surprised, “Was my mother there as well?”

“No,” Oberyn narrowed his look at the boy, “how well do you know Lady Dacey Mormont?”

“Lady Dacey?” Jon shook his head, “I know her name, she is the heir to Bear Island.  Lady Stark often complained about her, but she’d always stop when she noticed any of us were close enough to hear.”

Oberyn snorted, “Oh, I can just imagine the things that woman has said.  So, you are not aware that Lady Dacey is your aunt?”

The prince of Dorne had to fight the urge to snicker as the boy’s jaw went slack as his brain ceased working for a moment to process the new information.  After a moment Jon seemed to return to himself, “How?”

This time Oberyn couldn’t resist, “Well, I had hoped Lord Stark or the Maester had taught you this, but when a man is attracted to a woman he may get the urge to…”

“No, gross, I know that, I meant…” Jon trailed off as Leif stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, “…what?”

“New life is a gift of the gods,” Leif intoned as she tilted her head, “to give back for those they take.  The gods give just as much as they take.  New life is a gift.”

Jon looked at his brother and Oberyn, “There is no word for bastard in the Old Tongue.  The concept of being legitimate was foreign to the First Men until first contact with the Rhoynar and Andals.  In the Old Way, any child of a great house belongs to their mother’s house unless they are claimed by their father, especially in the North, children are seen as gifts from the gods.”

(North – Lord Stark’s Solar)

Ned watched as Benjen greeted Dacey and Alysane, what remained of their pack reunited.  Benjen had been waiting for them with a small group of riders from the Wall.  He’d been thankful Jon had yet to return to his chamber and was still using the cot in Rickon’s chambers.  His younger brother finally turned to him, “We have much to talk about brother, and Maester Aemon would much appreciate a word with what’s left of his kin.  Think he’s including your friend his Grace in that grouping.”

Nodding Eddard leaned back in his chair, “Must be important you could only have just gotten back to the Wall.”

“Well, I did leave Clegane at the Wall this time.  He’s manning the lift.”  Benjen sighed, “Took a bit of convincing but we have also brought the Kingslayer with us, he is in black but hasn’t officially taken his oath of service.  The Lord Commander has ordered me to do everything in my power to ensure Lannister returns to the Wall in one piece.”

Ned grimaced at this, “Where is he?”

“Jon’s room, figured since the truth is out you hadn’t cast him back into that cell,” Benjen frowned, “why didn’t you tell us, we are your pack we had a right to know.”

“I swore to protect him,” Ned leaned on his desk, “it would only be my head, you would be able to claim ignorance.”

“All right,” Benjen motioned to their half-sisters, “but no one knew of Dacey or Alysane, you could have entrusted them with the truth.”

Ned snorted, “To what end Benjen, as you said, no one outside this room save for Jorah, Maege, and the Old Bear knows the truth.  Already had my wife fuming over bringing a bastard under our roof, didn’t need her figuring out the eldest daughters of Maege Mormont were daughters of my father.  The rumors at Harrenhal where Dacey was Brandon’s.”

Benjen sighed, “Fine, but this isn’t over,” he dropped into one of the chairs by the fire, “I heard from Harwin you locked Catelyn up.”

Alysane snorted, “The fish finally showed her true colors.”

“Catelyn, was overwhelmed,” Eddard sent his youngest sibling a glare, “one too many shocking turn of events seems to have made her lose herself.  It was safer for everyone that she takes time to reflect on her actions.”

A knock at the door drew their attention and Jory poked his head in, “Lord Stark, as you requested, your children are here.”

Ned stood up, “Thank you, Jory, for sake of how many people will be in this room tell them their wolves can wait in the hall with their mother.”  Jory gave a stiff nod before backing out, a moment later the door opened again.

Robb led the small precession.  Sansa and Arya are behind their eldest brother with Jon and Bran behind them.  Jon was the first to speak, “Father, Aegon, and Daenerys are watching Rickon.”

A bit of the nervousness in Eddard eased every time Jon called him father, “Thank you, Jon, I hope it was not too bothersome for them.”

Jon shook his head, “Rickon wanted to show Robin the godswood, Danerys decided to make a picnic of the outing.”

Eddard gave the boy who was as good as his son a nod, knowing Osha would be nearby.  The wildling woman wanted nothing more than to protect the children, especially the younger boys.  She’d been amazed to learn Bran had not been pushed from the broken tower and had use of his legs.  He noticed Robb glancing at the door, “A problem son?”

“We are short a brother, father,” Robb frowned, “Where’s Edric?”

Eddard sighed, “With his mother, I made a misstep that put Lady Dayne on edge.”

“This has something to do with the visions?” Jon spoke up, he was the only one of them who know of the visions, “something from that other time?”

Ned noted the confused looks of his other children, “Yes, I was never aware of Edric’s connection to me before Lady Dayne arrived the other day.  That is one reason I have summoned you all here to talk about what has transpired.”

Arya spoke up, “Why are Lady Dacey and Lady Alsane here?”

Benjen stood from the chair that had kept him hidden from his nieces and nephews, “Because they have the rights of kinship little she-wolf.”

“Kin?” Sansa frowned, “How?”

A glare came from Eddard to his brother before it eased to a stern look as he looked to his children, “Dacey and Alysane are your aunts.  My and Benjen’s half-sisters.”

Arya frowned, “Grandfather remarried Lady Mormont before he died?”

Alysane snorted, “They don’t know the Old Ways Ned?”

“Unfortunately, I hadn’t gotten around to teaching all of them.”  He looked at Robb and Jon who were sharing a look of understanding.

Robb spoke up, “In the Old Ways the concept of legitimacy is very vague compared to what we think of today.  The Mormonts have always been closer to the Old Ways than the rest of the North.”

“Prince Oberyn knows,” everyone looked at him, he continued, “he informed me and Aegon that Dacey is my aunt.  He took another vision quest in the godswood aided by Leif.  He saw the memory of Father and Lady Dayne exchanging house pins and swearing to get married.  He witnessed father explaining to my… to Prince Rhaegar that Dacey was his blood kin witness.”

Robb looked between Jon and their father in shock, “You had sworn an oath to marry Lady Dayne?”

“Yes, and I broke that oath when I married your mother instead,” Ned sighed, “I was in a no-win situation.  Either I broke the oath I’d made with Lady Dayne, in turn sullying my honor, or I refused to fulfill the betrothal contract to marry Catelyn and have the Riverlands turn against me.”

Bran spoke up, “Father, you and Jon were talking about a vision, if you had a vision why didn’t it show you Edric?”

Eddard could barely believe the irony of Bran being the one to bring the conversation back to the subject at hand, “That is a complicated question, Bran.  To simplify it let us just state that one of the individuals involved in explaining the visions was very young and had not come to grips with the information he was imparting, some of his biases leaked through his mask of emotionless indifference.”

Chapter Text

CH 12:

(North – Winterfell Godswood)

Daenerys watched as Rickon Stark and Robert Arryn led Aegon about the woods, explaining each plant. Rickon’s dire wolf laid nearby eyes always watching his human. The Princess of House Targaryen sat on a sturdy woven mat that had been placed by the guards at the direction of Old Nan.  Dany quickly realized the ancient-looking woman was more than a simple member of the Starks’ household.

Nearby a woman named Osha stood sentinel, leaning on her spear as she observed both the boys and their surroundings.  Daenerys was curious about the woman’s nearly paranoid behavior; she looked tense and ready to leap into action at the drop of a hat.  “Lady Osha, we are still within the walls of Winterfell, you do not need to be so tense.”

“Danger can come from anywhere,” the woman was of the Free Folk and did not bother with titles, though she did call Lord Stark Magnar.  Dany had been hearing the term more and more as the days passed.  Osha turned at the sound of small but heavy feet.  Bran Stark appeared from between the trees, “What is wrong little lord?”

It was hard for Dany to tell, as the boy was very quiet and subdued most of the time they had interacted, but having Osha point it out, drew her attention.  Bran’s shoulders were slumped, and he was looking at the ground, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Daenerys countered, she adjusted the way she was sitting so her legs were angled to her right and behind her, “Come sit and tell me.”

Bran glanced towards the heart tree but gave a huff, kicking off his muddy boots before stepping on the mat he sat next to the princess, “Father told us about his vision.”

“Ah,” Dany grimaced, “it is not a pleasant thing.  Sir Jorah had a vision as well, it was why he came to collect me and bring me to Lord Stark.  Though, by then others had begun acting upon visions as well so things had already changed greatly.  Even though somehow Khal Drogo still ended up killing my brother.”

Bran frowned, “Your friends with Drogo, aren’t you?”

A halted laugh that sounded like a snort emitted from the princess, “Hardly, he protects me because Sir Jorah defeated him in one-on-one combat.  In Dothraki tradition, Jorah by rights could have killed Drogo and claimed his khalasar for himself.  Instead, he traded Drogo’s life for the entirety of the Dothraki horde to come to Westeros to fight against the Others and their creatures.”  Dany sighed, “As for Viserys, I have grown to understand my brother was lost long before he threatened the Martells and triggered Drogo to defend them due to a blood oath.”

“Blood oath?” Bran questioned.

“The wife of Doran Martell is part of an especially important family in Essos.  They have good relations with the Dothraki, to the point Drogo’s father entered into a blood oath with that family.  Drogo is honor bound to protect the children of Prince Doran as they are the blood of the Norvosi family.  When my brother threatened to harm them, Drogo struck him down.”

Osha spoke up, “Little lord, what of your father’s vision has soured your mood?”

Bran looked to the Free Folk woman, “You know Osha, father said you came because you were given visions as well.  You know it was me, or a version of me yet to come who guided you through the visions.”

“Nay,” Osha countered, “that wasn’t you little lord, it may have had your face, but it did not have your soul.”

(Nearby)

Blood Raven stood in the shadow of the great heart tree of Winterfell.  He felt the power of the gods teaming just beneath the bark.  Even now that power both called to him and warned him away.  He looked to where his many times great niece and nephew were individually watching over one of the younger Stark sons.  The half-wild Rickon would not be settled until he’d shown his two companions every tree, plant, shrub, and bush that inhabited these sacred grounds.  The whispers of the Children of the Forest that watched all unspotted by those appreciating the beauty of this place carried Bran's words.

His alternate self had informed him of what had transpired in that other world.  Young Bran pushed too hard too soon, to save them all he did the unthinkable.  Through a memory, he had warged a young man named Walder who was now more commonly referred to by the word Hodor, the only word the damaged mind could articulate.  That Hodor remained unchanged in this world meant a similar event was bound to occur in the future.

Brynden Rivers looked to the heart tree, “Gods of fire and ice, gods of spirit and soul, please guide and protect him from what is to come.  Do not sacrifice a child’s soul, lay such burdens on one such as me.  I have lived long past my time and have more blood on my hands than any child deserves to carry.”

(Winterfell)

Robert Baratheon entered the hall of cells occupied by the Night’s Watch members visiting.  He’d heard rumors that one of the brothers looked an awful lot like a certain cuckolding lion.  He’d also heard Aemon had left the Wall for the first time in living memory, so wasn’t surprised by the additional number of rangers sent to escort the aged maester.  One man patrolling the hall took notice of him, “Your Grace?”

Robert huffed, “Where is he? Where is the craven little cunt? I’ll christen a heart tree with his damn cock.”

The Watchman grimaced, “I’ve been told by the First Ranger not to let anyone in his room without a word from him first.”

“I’m the bloody king of the Seven Kingdoms,” Robert snarled.

“This is true,” the Watchman seemed to stand straighter, “but you are not the Lord Commander of the Watch or his First Ranger.”

Their voices must have been heard in the nearby chambers as a door opened and a man stepped out, “Is there a problem here?”

Robert frowned at the man, he wore the chain of a maester, but he couldn’t be more than a decade older than Robert currently was, “Nothing more than this impudent wastrel not pointing me to the damn Kingslayer so I can teach the damn sister-fucker a lesson.  Go back to tending to Maester Aemon.”

The watchman looked to the maester in confusion before turning back to Robert, “Your Grace, that is Maester Aemon.”

Robert blinked in confusion, “What? I had heard cold temperatures are good at preserving things, but this can’t be. Maester Aemon is my grandmother’s uncle, he is ancient.”

“So ancient people forget I yet live,” the man claiming to be Aemon remarked, “my eyes may have failed me, but I am still able to hear.  Now come along Robert, I had intended to speak with you after meeting Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys, but guess I’ll start with my oldest surviving nephew.”

Robert followed the man into the chamber, which was more like a cell in how spartan it was.  His guard stayed outside, not wanting to make the already cramped space even worse. A frown crossed Robert’s face, “I know Ned is quickly running out of guest rooms but I’m sure he can spare something a little nicer than this.”

“It serves my purposes,” Aemon chuckled, “and I am no longer a prince of the realm.  I would not accept anything more than the same as my brothers of the watch.” 

Robert sat on the single chair in the room as Aemon sat on his bed, “I am surprised you want to speak with me.  Especially after what I’ve done.”

Aemon nodded, “I was not sure if I wanted to speak with you at all, but my better nature won out. I am far too old to hold grudges and far too tired to hear another sad song.  The word about Winterfell is you are planning to acknowledge Aegon as your heir.”

Robert chuckled, “The lad's idea, I was willing to chuck it all but he’s not ready for the crown, the throne, the responsibilities.  He has only just been reunited with his brother and both with their aunt.  He wants to cement what this messed up family of ours actually is.”

“That is good to hear,” Aemon wetted his lips, “what of your brothers?”

“We’ll get to the particulars when we return to King’s Landing.  Currently, Stannis seems understanding and supportive of my decision.  He seems pleased I discovered my wife’s infidelity and set the children aside.”  Robert shook his head, “I won’t be Lord of Storm’s End again, but we’ll figure things out.”

The maester nodded his head, “What of Dragon Stone?”

“By rights, it belongs to Jon,” Robert explained, “before we learned Aegon survived I was contemplating naming Jon my heir.  Claim he was my and Lya’s.”

A surprised looked came to Aemon’s face, “So you did know?”

“From the moment I held the pup for the first time in King’s Landing.” Robert sighed, “Ned was busy readying a ship to take them back North and sending word for Cat and Robb to be escorted to Winterfell. Snuck into the nursery while the milk nurse was taking a nap.  Was curious, hadn’t seen a babe since my little Mya was fresh out of her mum.  Jon was quiet, well-behaved, everything you’d expect from a Stark.  Yet there was something that told me that we were kin, we shared a loss, and more than that, we shared blood.”

“A bit of the old blood is still strong even in you,” Aemon sighed, “what you felt was Targaryen magic.  The magic that flows in your veins, in mine, and in every member of our house.  It is what binds us together as a family and it is what tears us apart when we fall victim to our baser natures.  It has grown weaker in the years since the dance.  My brother Aegon, your great-grandfather, was unusually strong.  Uncle Brynden says he saw it when he first met him, the way the world seemed to bend to ensure Egg would be the great man he became.  There was a hundred times Egg should have and probably would have been killed.  Yet his magic willed things to happen, it brought Dunk to that tavern, and kept the poor unlucky sod alive through one hardship after another.”

“Guess magic has its limits,” Robert huffed, “they both died at Summerhall after all.”

Aemon frowned, “I have long wondered about the events at Summerhall.  When I was a young man training at the Citadel, I noticed a certain aversion to letting me delve into the higher mysteries.  Regardless of that obstacle, I found a mentor willing to teach me.  From my understanding of wildfire, the ritual Aegon attempted should not have gotten so out of control.  Even so, there should not have been such a loss of life, any pyromancer who works with wildfire should carry a vial of the reagent that extinguishes the flames and breaks down the solution.”

This information was surprising to Robert, who always assumed his great-grandfather was just suffering the Targaryen madness.

(Ashara’s chambers)

Ashara sighed as her son finished recounting the apprehension of Lorch, she needed no recounting of the execution as she’d watched raptly as Ned sent the craven murderer to the gods. Edric had mostly stayed at Robb’s side though he did spend time with Oberyn and Quentyn, he’d also rode alongside Aegon during the final chase.  This apprehension had gone far better than the failed capture of Clegane shown in her vision.

“You are worried mother,” Edric knelt in front of her, “father greeted me then told me I should check on you.”

“You know of the visions some of us have experienced?” Ashara asked.

Edric nodded, “Uncle had one before he passed, it was what incited him to reveal the truth of my parentage to Prince Doran.”  In the weeks since their arrival at Winterfell Edric’s hair had grown considerably and was the dark brown of his father.  They had agreed he’d shave it before returning to Starfall and continue to wear his wig until Doran revealed the truth to an assembly of Dornish lords and upheld Edric’s claims with the consent of the crown and Ned.  The Daynes of High Hermitage would have no recourse than to accept, especially with Edric’s ties to Winterfell, they well knew the saying the North remembers are not idle words.

Ashara smiled, “Your father may be an honorable man, but he does not always think things through completely.  He heard Lorch had fled the Wall and he saw an opportunity to improve the relationships between the younger lords and heirs present.  He is also aware being stuck within the walls of Winterfell was frustrating the lot of you.  You had an energy that couldn’t be expended by simply training in the yard, and too much training is not good either.”

“So, a hunt,” Edric smirked, “with our prey being a fugitive.”

“Indeed,” Ashara fumed, “he arranged for Oberyn, Ser Beric, and Ser Sandor to chaperone the lot of you, but it was yours and your brother’s generation who truly was in charge.  The men were only there to settle any problems that come from such youths, they know how stubborn young men like you can be.”  She shook her head, “Yet it was the hunt itself that brought me concern.  In my vision, Ser Beric and you were sent by Ned to arrest Gregor Clegane who was raiding in the Riverlands.  Gregor’s men ambushed your party and Berric was killed, Thoros of Myr revived him using some form of red priesthood magic.”

Edric frowned, “You were worried something similar would happen this time?”

“I know the situations were not the same, but the idea of you being endangered because Ned was acting out of a sense of duty,” Ashara smiled sadly, “At the time, in the vision, he did not know your connection, and in the vision, he was murdered not long after dispatching your party to apprehend Clegane.”

Edric bowed his head, “Did I ever learn the truth?”

Ash shook her head in the negative, “We met, just before the end, but I was too afraid.  Aegon had a further three years of Connington degrading your father as one of Robert’s dogs, and he held no love for the Starks.  He abandoned Jon to die in the North.  You were the last of the Stark blood still living, and you fell defending the Prince’s Pass from the Others.”

“You make it sound like that is important,” Edric frowned, “my Stark blood.”

“Beyond anything, it is important,” Ashara lowered her voice, “Rhaegar was blinded by his own self-importance.  He thought the Promised Prince was meant to be a Targaryen as they were the royal family.  What he forgot is to the Others the name Targaryen means nothing.  The Others have unimaginably long memories, the name Stark is the one they fear.  A house that has ruled for eight thousand years, a house that once brought them to the brink of extinction.  In a house that was never conquered, Torrhen Stark bent the knee to save his people from the threat of dragons, but he was never defeated in combat.  He is the only magnar who was not defeated in battle, even the Lannisters were beaten at the fields of fire.”

Edric frowned, “So, the North is only loyal to the crown because the Starks are loyal?”

“Yes,” Ash snorted, “Aerys lost the rebellion the moment he turned the Starks against him and his house.  Robert won the moment he earned their loyalty.  Even the Black Queen knew this to be true, the faction that garnered the support of House Stark would win out.”

“In the end,” Edric remembered his history lessons, “she was right, her son became king with the support of Cregan Stark during the Hour of the Wolf.  Those who supported the greens or profited from the chaos also felt the bite of the wolf’s jaws.”

Ashara nodded her agreement but did not respond as there was a knock at the door.  With a frown, she turned to the door, “Enter.”

The door opened to admit Robb Stark, “Lady Dayne,” he nodded to her before looking to Edric, “father requested to speak with you, and I would have some words with your lady mother.”

Edric stood, “What about?”

“Several things, but namely a request of sorts,” Robb sighed, “I am to meet my betrothed’s family this evening and my mother is not available as father says she is still unwell.  Our sister suggested Lady Dayne could stand in for her, as this is not a task Sansa can handle.”  Robb looked to Ashara, “As for the other matter, I’d prefer to speak of it only with your mother, it is a sensitive matter.”

Edric looked to Ashara but she motioned him to go, “If Ned has called you it would be best if you do not keep him waiting.”  Reluctantly the young man departed leaving Ashara with Ned’s eldest legitimate son. 

They were alone only a moment before Robb spoke, “I feel I must apologize for my mother’s behavior, no matter her feelings on what happened in the past she should not breach guest rights.”

“You might have me mistaken for Lady Lannister, it was I who struck her,” Ashara said evenly.

Robb nodded, “It was better you struck her than father.  I was told she derided Aunt Lyanna, and father would not be lenient over that.”

“Lord Robb it is not your place to apologize for your mother,” Ashara instructed, “It is her place to set an example for you and your sibling.”  Ashara sighed, “Did your sister say why I would be an appropriate substitute for your mother at this meeting?”

Robb grimaced, “In the old way you are the rightful Lady of Winterfell.  You and my father swore an oath before the gods to be wed.”

Ashara was surprised, “Your father told you this?”

“Prince Oberyn witnessed it through a green vision under the influence of weirwood paste,” Robb sighed, “he told Jon and Aegon who were present.  Jon informed father what he’d been told during our family meeting.  Father did not deny it and Lady Dacey confirmed it.”

“I do not wish to cause your mother to have any more reason for enmity towards myself or my son,” Ashara began to refuse the offer.

Robb countered, “Do not get me wrong my lady, I love my mother and wish her well.  I do not want to see my father set her aside in favor of you.  If that comes to pass, I will understand, my father must do what is best for our house and the North.  Mother was already treading dangerously close to offending our banners and her behavior has done nothing to assuage them.  If any it has only made the situation worse, which in turn reflects poorly on my siblings and me.  I fear her concerns had long been misplaced.  Has father spoken to you of what happened to mother and me in that other time?”

Ashara shook her head, “He need not have, I was also shown those events.  Especially the aftermath and your mother’s resurrection as a revenge-obsessed revenant.”

“He explained my missteps to me,” Robb sighed, “I thought like a southron on how I treated my banners.  I expected their loyalty by virtue of my position as father’s heir.  Mother did not truly understand the North, so her guidance was flawed, and I failed to show my men I was worthy of their respect.  I executed Lord Karstark for taking vengeance for his sons after my mother released the man who killed them.  He defied my orders, but I pardoned my mother for doing the same.  It did not matter that Tywin Lannister made offers, I broke faith with my men and paid for it with my life.”

Ashara realized what he was getting to, “You understand the dangers of broken vows.”

The young man nodded, “I will not break my promise to wed Margaery, she will be Lady of Winterfell when I become lord after my father.  I will not blame my father for Edric, I am angrier at your late brother as he stole my brother from me.  To learn the brother, I had was my cousin was hard enough, but to know I have a brother who was ignorant of his heritage is painful.  The truth is my mother is wrong. Edric is not a potential threat to my claim, for it was I who stole what should have been his.  My mother stole your betrothed to replace the man she was promised to, and I was the product of that theft.”

“No,” Ashara stood and moved to Robb, placing her hands on the sides of his face, “do not ever say such things.  Your mother was no less forced into the marriage than your father.  I saw her at the tourney, she was truly enamored with your Uncle Brandon, and it hurt her when he claimed to have laid with me. She was not even given a chance to grieve when your grandfather demanded she and Ned wed in a Sept.  It is true my brothers were angered by the broken oath, but I was not.”  Ashara went to the table in the room and picked up the two pins laying on it, “Do you know what these are?”

Robb nodded, “House pins.”

Ashara smiled, “The Andals took the custom of these from the First Men. They have muddied the tradition though as they hand them out to anyone who is sworn to a great house.  To our people, they have a deeper significance.  House pins were not simply handed to someone who swore fealty to a great house.  If someone bore this, they were more than just a retainer, they were seen as a true member of the family.  They were given to wards who had become more like children and to individuals who were seen as members of the family.”

“Like Old Nan,” Robb indicated, “I’ve seen her wear a Stark pin at feasts and on special occasions.”

Ashara nodded, “When your father and I exchanged these we were symbolizing the union of our two families as one.  When your father and his men came upon my party being attacked by bandits when we fled King’s Landing, he returned my pin in shame for breaking the oath yet did not ask for the return of his pin.  Do you understand the symbolism of this act?”

Robb bowed his head, “He wanted you to know he did love you.”

“He left it to me to decide,” Ashara looked at the pins sadly, “I could have returned his pin and ended it all then and there, but I did not.  The last words I said to him before we parted ways the next day were, that my heart would be his in this life and the next.”

“You were already planning to fake your death then?” Robb asked surprised.

Ashara snorted, “No, that had not even crossed my mind then.  Your father was riding off to war and I was a loyalist secreting the crown prince’s son to Dorne right beneath his nose.  I was not naïve; I knew things were only going to get worse.  There was a real chance Ned would fall in battle or be captured and taken to the Mad King, which would have been a far worse fate.”

Robb grimaced as he well knew what had happened to his grandfather and uncle at the hands of the Mad King.  He stood up, “Lady Ashara, I humbly request you accompany my family to meet with the Tyrells to officially acknowledge the betrothal of Lady Margaery Tyrell and myself this evening.”  He added, “At the very least accompany Edric as father intends him to be present as well.”

(Kennels)

Edric had barely left his mother’s chamber when he realized Robb had not told him where he was to meet their father.  His hesitation had been noticed by one of the guards who’d accompanied Robb to the guest room inhabited by Lady Dayne.  The guard chuckled, “Lord Stark said for you to meet him in the kennels.”

Edric rubbed the back of his neck, “Thanks, umm, what’s the quickest way there?”  The guard had given him a rather complicated list of directions before the second one took pity and offered to guide him.

He found his father waiting for him along with a man he would guess is Benjen Stark.  The man who is his uncle frowned as he walked towards them, “This is him?  He’s blonde?”

“Not his hair,” Lord Stark responded, as Edric reached up and pulled the wig off briefly before putting it back on.

Benjen snorted, “Not proud of your Stark looks, lad?”

“Just kept getting funny looks,” Edric responded before looking to Lord Eddard, “Robb said you wanted to speak with me.”

Eddard nodded, “Your mother told you why she was worried?”

“Yes, her vision showed you sending Ser Beric and me on a mission that went poorly.  The similarities unnerved her,” Edric looked around, “is there a reason we’re meeting here.”

Benjen chuckled, “Well lad, I came here with a bit more than a few of my brothers.”  The First Ranger moved to the kennel door and pushed it open, “they were awaiting my return to the Wall.  The old, grizzled male was mine, gave that look animals give you when they’re second-guessing your intelligence, trying to figure out what had kept me.”  Benjen stepped aside, “This one though,” a blur of brown, red, and grey darted out and began running in laps around Edric, “wasn’t too sure whom he was meant for.”

Edric’s eyes widened at the dire wolf that was excitedly running around him, “What?  Another dire wolf?”

“Yours it would seem,” Eddard chuckled as he crossed his arms, “Benjen told me his men had to keep it on a short tether, kept trying to run off in a westerly direction.”

Edric looked to his father, “To where we were hunting Lorch?”  The two men nodded in agreement, “he could sense me.”

“He looks to be about the same age as those of Robb and the others,” Eddard frowned, “probably born around the same time.  Though, I have to question what happened to the rest of his litter, and parents.”

Edric looked to the grizzled male that had exited the kennel and stood next to Benjen, “Isn’t that the father to this one?”

“Not likely,” Benjen sighed, “don’t show much in the way of kinship in their behaviors, they snip at each other more often than not.  Think the Old Man here just tolerated the pup following him along.  Maester Aemon believes the pup was orphaned, Harwin agrees and says the pup shows similar characteristics to Ghost, probably was the runt of his litter, just not an albino.”

Edric huffed, as he placed a hand on the wolf’s head, “Guess we got that in common, but what should I call you huh?” Edric noticed the way the wolf ran and spun so full of energy, “Whirlwind, you sure are full of energy like a dust devil from Dorne.”  Whirlwind seemed to agree as he moved to sit at Edric’s side.

Eddard nodded, “Well now that is settled you should get prepared for the evening meal.  We are dining with the Tyrells this evening as we finalize your brother’s betrothal agreement.  I want you and your mother to attend, it will be a good experience for you to see how these matters are handled.”

“Are you sure father?” Edric frowned, “They must have learned by now I’m your bastard.”

“You are my blood,” Eddard corrected, “I care little for what is deemed proper by southern customs.  This is the North, and besides, you are my son.”

The silent appearance of Ghost was the first sign that Jon was approaching, “Don’t argue with him on this, I spent my life as his supposed bastard.  Blood is more important than what some silly Septon says to him.”

Eddard shook his head at the boy as they watched the dire wolves greet each other.  They laughed when Ghost and Whirlwind began a game of hide and seek, and Benjen’s dire wolf huffed in exasperation.  Benjen patted the wolf’s side, “Patience Old Man, we’ll go back to the Wall after the wedding, not more than a few days now.”

(That Evening)

Margaery had gotten fed up with her grandmother’s snipping and plotting but was thankful she had no access to poisons or other means to do anything underhanded.  The old woman had finally ceased her complaints when Mace informed her about the visions of a previous timeline, and that her ambitions for the crown had resulted in every one of their family members suffering gruesome and horrific deaths.  Olenna Tyrell had paled at the implications, and while she weakly tried to mock the idea of future-telling visions, the recent events had started making sense.

Mace revealed that Jon Arryn had not sent Lord Royce a message informing him about Lady Cersei’s action concerning her children being the product of incest with her twin brother.  That Lord Royce was instead a member of the small club of individuals who’d been tormented with things yet to come.  Things that cared nothing for the great game and saw the Iron Throne as nothing more than a poor attempt at intimidating the weak-minded.  The Others did not care for thrones and crowns, they only cared for snuffing out every last life on Westeros, and possibly beyond these shores as well.

She felt Robb’s hand entwined with hers, “Marge?”

A tight smile came to her face as she noticed his concerned look, “I’m fine, I was just thinking of them.”

“I try not to,” Robb’s hand flexed tight in a supportive way, “the world of our fathers’ vision was unprepared, we won’t let them defeat us this time.”

Margaery’s smile softened as a warmth came to her, “The kingdoms will be prepared.”  She’d asked her father about her and Robb in the vision.  He had been hesitant but revealed he’d gone along with her grandmother’s schemes to put her on the throne.  In part it had tarnished her reputation as one husband after the next died, making her seem cursed.

The plan to supplant Cersei failed when Robert was killed by a boar, and she was swiftly wed to Renly Baratheon as the Reach supported his claim over that of Stannis.  Robb was fighting for the North’s independence following the murder of his father by Prince Joffrey who was made King following his supposed father’s death.  Renly was killed, Mace was not sure how, but the Reach chose to join with House Lannister, and Margaery was wed to Joffrey.  The wedding hadn’t even been consummated when Joffrey was poisoned, Mace was reluctant to reveal the culprit but had given a hard look to his mother.  Lastly, she’d been married to Joffrey’s younger brother Tommen, but due to his age, the wedding had not been consummated, and Margaery and Tommen both died before the Others overran King’s Landing.

Their private conversation ended as Olenna spoke up, “Lady Dayne, I am surprised to find you here.”

Ashara looked up from where she had been helping Rickon portion his food, “Lord Stark and Lord Robb asked I attend as Lady Catelyn is unwell.”

Margaery noticed the way her father and Lord Stark narrowed their gaze on Olenna, the Queen of Thornes wasn’t one to be so easily cowed, “Unwell, humph, you Dornish like to beat around a bush.  The rumors going around are you silenced her before she said something that might have caused even the vaunted honorable Lord Stark to raise his hand to his Lady wife.”  Olenna gave a beatific smile, and Margaery nearly grimaced realizing her grandmother was trying to sabotage the evening.

She felt Robb tense at the slight to his father, the implications that he would strike a woman.  Yet it was not her betrothed who spoke up in defense of his father.  It was Edric, “Pardon my lady, but though I have only recently met my father in person, my uncle was never discourteous when he spoke of him.  It may have been some sense of regret after my mother staged her death and how stealing me from her was linked to her demise, but he spoke highly of Lord Stark.  I highly doubt a man of father’s nature would raise his hand against a woman or child regardless of the insults spoken.”

She felt Robb relax at the words of his half-brother, while he had the features of his siblings, he was raised in the south and had experience with the game.  Margaery watched her grandmother’s eyes narrow on Edric, “Yes, my Lord Dayne, your muddied history.  I have heard Prince Martell telling his banners that your mother was treated like an unwilling surrogate by your uncle the previous Lord Dayne.  That you were taken from her, yet you only exist because she was most likely keeping Lord Stark from discovering the deception of secreting Prince Aegon from the capital.”

“Too bad,” Jon spoke up from where he sat next to Sansa, “I’m sure it would have been hard to explain but I’m sure Aegon wouldn’t have minded shaving his head and spending the last four and ten years here.  Father would have to have claimed Lady Dayne as our mother though, what with Aegon’s eyes and all.”

Margaery had to stifle a giggle at the fake bastard’s snipe, it had put Olenna on the wrong foot more so than Edric’s defense of Lord Stark.  She had noticed Jon growing more confident in public settings, mostly because Aegon and Daenerys were both less assured around Westrosi nobles.  They’d both been raised on filtered and biased opinions of people based on which side of Robert’s Rebellion they fought.

Robb chuckled, “This is the North, Lady Olenna, we might not play your silly game of thrones, but we have our game.  Someone makes an insulting comment, you throw one right back.”  He looked at the half-filled goblet of spiced wine in front of him, “though, usually, the game doesn’t start until the mead cask is cracked open.”

Margaery noticed her father’s lips turning up as an expression of amusement appeared, “Was that what Lord Umber and Lord Ryswell were doing last night?”

Lord Stark chuckled, “Aye, while their words were inflammatory there was no true heat behind them.  In the North, if you cannot take a few insults and throw them right back, you’re not going to survive winter.  We all have to rely on each other here, there is no room for petty arguments or underhanded deceit.”  He looked to Margaery, and she smiled brightly, “Something your daughter has come to deal with remarkably well.”

“Oh,” Alerie Tyrell mused, “how so?”

A giggle and Margaery told the story, “Shortly after we arrived, Lady Barbrey Dustin showed displeasure in Lord Stark’s son taking a southerner as a wife.  She made a few remarks questioning my virtue and remarked a flower such as I would wilt under the first snows of winter.”

Loras simmered, “I was insulted by her insinuations,” Margaery smiled at her brother, it had been Nymeria who kept him from interceding on her behalf.

She continued the tale, “I was surprised by her venomous words as we had yet to be introduced.  Lady Sansa informed me later that Lady Dustin had been close to the late Lord Brandon.  When I saw Lord Stark awaiting my reaction, I realized something was going on.  I figured he was testing to see how I would defend myself, as Lady Barbrey’s feelings were not limited to her alone.  I stood and informed Lady Barbrey that I was not only a flower but a rose and that while my petals might wilt and fall during winter, my roots and stems would remain strong, and come spring new blossoms would bloom.  As for her remarks on my virtue, I reminded Lady Dustin that roses are pretty, but our beauty distracts from our thorns.”

Willas went into a coughing fit as he choked on the wine he had been drinking.  Garlan patted his brother’s back before turning to his sister with a grin, “What was the Lady’s response?”

“Nothing,” Margaery smirked, “she sat back down as Lord Umber laughed, his remark was barely intelligible, as Robb said this was after several rounds of drinks had been served.  Yet it had something to do with her being a spinster I think.”

Robb coughed but unlike Willas it was to cover a half chuckle.  At her look, he leaned in and whispered, “He claimed not even an ice spider would climb into her,” he paused, “umm, lady parts.”

Margaery’s eyes widened in surprise at the crude jest, “How crude?”

“What?” Alerie frowned at them.

Arya spoke up, “Robb was just telling her about Lord Umber’s vulgar comment about an ice spider crawling up Lady Dustin’s bum.”  At her father’s glare, the girl winced, “I heard mother complaining to our Septa the next day.”

Garlan chuckled, “Indeed, parents should be more careful about repeating such vulgarities around their children.”  He looked to his wife next to him, “At least that’s what my dear wife keeps saying.”

Leonette sighed, “When we have children do you want them to speak as you do?”

“We have to have children to find out,” Garlan chuckled, “though we do have fun trying.”

Willas shook his head, “You have just made her point for her.”  He then looked to Lord Stark, “Apologies for my brother, I think he got started early with the drinking.”

Garlan complained, “You’d have started drinking early too if you thought you saw a ghost.”

“A ghost,” Sansa smirked, “were you exploring the Broken Tower?”

“Nay,” Garland huffed, “I’d heard Prince Aegon and Princess Daenerys were in the godswood.  I went to introduce myself and invite them to meet with my father and mother, we were loyalists after all.  When I found them there was a man of the Night’s Watch with them, he kept his hood up but when I approached, he turned to face me.”

“Oh,” Lord Eddard took a drink of his wine, she had noticed that he was still on his first glass, “you met Lord Rivers.”

Margaery heard a clatter from her father’s seat, he’d dropped his utensils, “He is here?”

“Arrived with the group from the Wall,” Eddard chuckled, “I have yet to meet him, my brother says he is a peculiar one.”

“Understatement,” Garlan grimaced before taking another drink.

(Later)

As the meal progressed, Olenna saw her openings to sabotage the betrothal slipping away.  She accepted her son had some sort of vision, though she had a hard time swallowing that the Others were returning.  To her, the legends of old were just that, legends, and whatever kernel of truth had sparked those legends had died long ago. 

Her first attempt to sabotage had been batted away expertly by Lord Dayne, her apparently soon-to-be good grandson’s lordly half-brother.  She’d tried to reassert her control over the situation but had been stymied by the potential bastard prince.  Those boys had kept Robb from losing his composure and had derailed her attempt.

She’d already ruled out killing the young wolf, starting a trail of dead husbands like in Mace’s vision would only end in tragedy for her house, and make her granddaughter a target for ridicule.  It was also unwise to kill the son of the Hand of the King within the Hand’s keep while the King was in residence.  Olenna would be hung from one of these barbarians’ trees within a turn of the moon.

It was after dessert had been finished when her next opening availed itself to her.  There was a knock at the door to the private chamber they’d dined in.  The door opened to a woman with a spear, she wore the livery of a servant of House Stark but otherwise looked rugged and wild.

The pup Rickon had quickly identified the woman, “Osha!”

“Evening little wolf,” Osha then turned to Lord Stark, “I’ve escorted Lady Catelyn to your solar as requested.”

Lord Stark nodded, “Thank you Osha, see to the children, has my nephew had his supper?”

“With Aegon and Daenerys,” the woman Osha did not talk like most civilized people and did not use titles.

Olenna glared, “This woman speaks quite familiarly for a servant.”

“She isn’t a servant,” Robb growled out, “she’s a spear wife, sworn to protect my siblings.”

Olenna could see she was getting under the boy’s skin, men especially the young hot-tempered ones were the easiest to read.  She was contemplating how to insinuate something casually that could send the lad over the edge.  Yet she would be stymied again as Willas jested, “I’m guessing the name comes from that rather vicious-looking spear she lugs around.  Haven’t seen a blade head with such a design before.”

Osha gave a rather predatory smile, “I designed it specially.  It will tear the throat of any who dares to threaten my charges,” She spun it to emphasize the wicked hook shape on one side, “but first any who think to harm my Magnar’s daughters will lose the weapon between their legs.”

Olenna swiftly decided using this woman in her ploys would be more trouble than it was worth.  Osha soon left, leading the younger children off to bed.  The other younger attendees soon departed as well leaving only the adults and Margaery and Robb.  Olenna joined the group as they moved to Lord Stark’s solar.  Where lady Catelyn awaited, the woman looked pale and rather frazzled.

Olenna saw Lady Dayne enter and take a seat, she focused on the trout who sent a glare at the other woman, “Lady Stark, we missed you at dinner, it is good to see you are well enough for such an auspicious discussion.”

Catelyn bristled slightly as she looked at her lord husband.  At his nod, she turned to Olenna and replied, “My husband has permitted my inclusion in these discussions as an observer.”

“What of Lady Dayne?” Olenna probed, “how do discussions between House Stark and House Tyrell concern Starfall.”

Robb spoke up, “She is here by my request.”  There was no disguising the betrayed look of Lady Stark, the trout looked a mix of anger and sadness Olenna had not seen since Mace was told Willas would never ride again.

“Ah, do you intend to include finding a bride for your bastard brother into these discussions over your betrothal to my granddaughter?” Olenna pressed, “I’m sure we can find a whore willing to be Lady of Starfall.”

She saw the rage in Robb Stark’s eyes the mirror of that displayed on Lord Stark’s face. Yet this time it was Margaery who angled the conversation away from Olenna’s snide remarks, “Actually, I was thinking Cousin Elinor.  Cousin Alyn is her betrothed, but Aunt Alysanne recently sent word to mother that the betrothal will be annulled due to Alyn’s behavior.”

Alerie sighed, “A troublesome turn of events, I was speaking with my father this afternoon over it.  Alyn tried to rip the heart tree sapling my brothers acquired from the Isle of Faces from its place in the godswood.  Elinor was not happy when he told my brother it was to impress her, showing his devotion to the Seven.”

Lord Stark huffed, “Sure the High Septon showered him with praise and demanded he is pardoned.”

“Possibly one day,” Mace shook his head, “my good brothers were not pleased.  I am not sure how much you know of the Isle of Faces, but the trials to acquire a sapling are no simple fetes.”

Margaery spoke up, “You were planning to send Garlan for one father?”

“I did,” Mace nodded, “and he returned triumphantly.  He would not speak of the trials in great detail, he said his uncles were still working to complete theirs when he departed.  The Greenmen are no myth, and they protect their trees like a Bravosi banker with his gold.”  Mace shook his head, “What he did say was he ventured into the heart of the isle, and he thought he was there for years wandering between ancient heart trees with faces both beautiful and horrific.  He thought he heard voices and conversations, even called out to his mother and me more than a few times when he thought he’d heard us.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Margaery leaned into Robb, “how did he find his way out?”

Mace smiled, “Strangely enough you dearest one,” he chuckled, “he said every time he felt like just sitting down and giving up his quest, giving up everything, he would hear your voice.  You were urging him on, telling him he was close, he just had to keep searching.  The next thing he knew he was back at his skiff with a sapling in his arms, he could not remember picking it up or bundling its roots.”

“The Greenmen are not the only ones to call that isle home,” Eddard said, he noticed Catelyn looking disgruntled and moved to redirect the discussion, “we should get on with the business at hand.”

“Indeed,” Mace spoke swiftly, “we have much to discuss.  Margaery’s dowery is quite substantial, and I would like to include a matter of trade in this betrothal.  We know a winter like none experienced in centuries is about to befall us.  The Reach, while not as prone to the cold as the North, we do not know how cold it will get.  I propose a trade of any extra furs your hunters can spare in return for nonperishable foodstuffs, grains, dried fruits, and pickled vegetables.”

(Next Day)

Theon road out the gates of Winterfell without a chaperone for the first time in months.  Since his little stunt loitering at the alehouse for a night of drowning his sorrows in whatever was on tap, he’d been under the watchful eyes of his warden’s guards.  He’d gotten a dressing down from Lord Stark and watching Lorch’s visage appear on that weirwood tree’s trunk put a right fear of what the Lord of Winterfell was quite capable of.

His bow and quiver were at the ready, the bow at his hip the quiver lashed to the horse’s side.  He’d awoken to the keep abuzz with news that Robb and Margaery’s wedding would be held this evening in the Godswood.  The thing about Northerners, is they don’t dally with these matters.  As Robb’s closest friend, it was his duty to bring in a worthy prize from the Drowned God’s bounty.  An old Iron Born tradition, Theon had explained it to Lord Stark, not that Theon could make it to the sea and back, but the nearby river was plentiful in carp and catfish, both worthy alternatives.

With as much traffic as Winterfell had been seeing, Theon was not surprised to see travelers on his path, but the familiar visages before him did.  A small group of Iron Born, led by three riders.  In the front, an old man Theon knew well, “Hail, what brings you north Uncle Harlaw?”

Rodrik Harlaw, better known as the Reader, smirked, “Greetings nephew, we heard of a great many lords gathering and figured we better make an appearance.”  The Reader noticed how Theon was kitted out, “You not trying to escape, the wolves be chasing yeh?”

“No,” Theon patted his bow, “River fishing, Lord Robb is getting married this evening.”

“Ah,” Rodrik nodded, “showing these green landers the blessings of the Drowned God.”  The older man looked to his companions, “See Victorian, Theon has made the best out of the shit your brother buried us in.”

Theon had never heard anyone speak like that about his father, well any Iron Born that is.  The massive form of Victarion Greyjoy urged his horse forward, “You see the wolf’s pup as your friend?”

Since his arrival at Winterfell there had been few times Theon would question how the younger boys thought of him.  Jon was the easiest, he did not hide his general disdain, and he had yet to get Jon to reveal the reasons for his hatred.  Bran and Rickon both came along after his arrival and treated him no differently than one of their elder brothers.  With Robb, there had been no secrets between them from the start they had hit it off famously from the very beginning of their association.

“Aye,” Theon nodded, “we’re as close as brothers.”  At his uncle’s scoff Theon pressed, “I mean real brothers not whatever fucked up bullshit goes on between you, father, and the rest of them.”

“Is that any way to speak of our dear father,” the third member of the group, the one Theon did not recognize spoke up, “after he sent us to parlay for your release dear brother?”

Theon’s eyes narrowed, “Asha?”

“I’m hurt, the first you’ve seen me in years, and not even a hug,” Asha smirked, “but here you are playing at finding a suitable offering. At least we brought real offerings to place on the table.”

“What?” Theon snorted, “something stolen from an Essosi trader?”

Asha glared, “It was claimed with the iron price.”

Victarion sneered, “Heard a little whisper you did a little hunting of your own.”

“You heard about us tracking Lorch?” Theon paused, “What did you mean hunting?”

His uncle pointed to the men on foot, they stood in a circle around another figure.  Theon frowned, “Who is that?”

The Reader scoffed, “The former Hand of the Mad King.  The disgraced green lander lordling is known as Jon Connington.  He escaped confinement in his family’s keep some weeks ago.  He happened upon us at Lannisport.”

Another group of riders came up the road led by another man Theon was familiar with. It had been more than a couple of years since Edmure Tully had graced the halls of Winterfell with his presence.  Theon swallowed hard, “My lord, what brings you along this road?”

Edmure raised a brow, “I’d ask you the same, you are far from my good brother’s side, does he let you wander so far afield?”

“My warden gives me a long leash,” Theon countered, “but it remains, you are not coming from the King’s Road.”

“Nay,” Edmure glared, “I was in Lannisport when your uncles put in for supplies for the voyage north.  My companions and I decided to seize the opportunity to curtail the Neck.  Your uncle Victarion well earned his captaincy, he navigated the tributaries of the western Neck swamplands masterfully.” The heir to the Riverlands sent a glare toward the bound Lord Connington, “We were discussing terms when this feckless coward attempted to sneak aboard your uncle’s ship.”

Theon frowned, “What kind of idiot tries to stow away on an Iron Born ship?”

“The desperate kind,” one of Edmure’s companions said, “he fled the Stormlands and kept his head low as he passed through the Riverlands.  He knew any port along the eastern coast would be on the lookout for him; the Master of Laws had posted a most generous reward.  He thought the west would be safe, his luck was unfortunately poor to have crossed paths with us.”

The other companion chuckled, “Lord Bracken and I were blessed if you would with knowledge of the man’s current look.  He has changed much since we last saw him.”

Theon groaned, “You were given visions as well?”

“Aye,” Lord Bracken nodded toward the unidentified companion, “Lord Blackwood and I were struck at the same time, poor Edmure here had to keep our short-fused kinfolk from doing anything stupid.”

Theon noticed his kinfolk were not confused or surprised by talk of visions, “Who?”

Asha indicated Lord Harlaw, “Uncle Reader, I was visiting when he fell ill.”

“I sent warnings to your father of the folly a second rebellion would be.” Harlaw huffed, “I also sent that letter to peel the wax from your eyes and keep you from doing something stupid.”

“Aye,” Theon grimaced, “I didn’t take it too well, thought you were telling me to forget ever coming home.”

Harlaw looked at his nephew sadly, “Not my intention, but so much has already been changed.  The King should have already returned to King’s Landing by now, or at the very least be well on his way.”

“Agreed,” Lord Blackwood spoke up, “but the coming of the Long Night is fast approaching, we need to prepare the Wall.”

Asha smirked, “Come Theon, let’s go get that offering and let these old men take our friend here to face the wolves.”

(Winterfell – Great Hall)

Aegon frowned from his seat next to Robert, Eddard Stark sat on Robert’s other side as his Hand.  Edmure Tully, Lords Bracken, and Blackwood, and a party of Iron Born had arrived.  It was not these arrivals that had made Robert summon Aegon from his lessons.  He and the other lads had been witnessing a rather engrossing debate between Maester Luwin and Maester Aemon on the benefits of growing barley over rye. To say he was grateful for the summons was an understatement.

That was the case until he spotted who else had arrived with the Riverlanders and Iron Born.  Standing bound and guarded by some of the nastiest Iron Borns he’d ever seen, Jon Connington was barely recognizable under his disheveled clothes and unkempt hair.  Old Griff looked nothing like the man who pretended to be his father to protect him, nor did he look like the proud Stormlord who defied his liege lord in favor of Aegon’s actual father.

Robert leaned forward in his chair, “Greyjoy, I hear you brought someone interesting.”

The Iron Born captain chuckled darkly as he stepped forward, “Aye, a green lander tried to sneak aboard my ship to make his way here, thought I’d escort him to his final destination.  He went through so much trouble to get here, after all, be a shame if he got lost.”

Robert leaned back with a chuckle of his own, “So, whom we got here?”

“Calls himself Old Griff,” Edmure stepped forward, “claims he seeks his son, a lad of around four and ten who is known as Young Griff.  Came with a story his crew mutinied and stole his son, said they planned to pass him off as the son of the late crown prince, Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Aegon winced as Robert stood, “Those are some heavy charges.”  Robert looked to Aegon, “My late cousin’s son was recently returned to me."  He turned back and spoke to the disheveled man, “Old Griff is it, who were these mutinous crew?”

Jon shuffled forward a bit, his teeth gritting as he spoke, “Most are below the notice of such as you, your grace.  They are led by a Septa named Lemore.”

“Ah,” Robert chuckled, “we’ll be on the lookout for these conniving fiends of course.  It was a miracle Lady Dayne returned Aegon before these villains could enact their dastardly scheme.”

Aegon noticed Lord Stark rub his brow in irritation, “Robert, playing the fool was fine when we were boys, but this matter is serious.”

A grin appeared on the King’s face, “Ned, I’m simply playing along with this mummer’s farce.”

“Lord Stark?” Aegon frowned, “You both know that is Jon Connington?”

“Yes,” Eddard crossed his arms and glared at the unkempt man, “we received word he’d been apprehended by his kinsmen shortly after your arrival.  They were to hold him until we returned to King’s Landing, but a sympathetic individual released him.  The one who released him wanted him to escape back to Essos, but he told them he had to rescue you from the Usurper and his dogs.”

Aegon sighed, “I see,” he focused on Robert, “Your grace, what will you have done with him?”

Robert rubbed his chin, “Not sure, the craven shite killed a good friend of mine back during the rebellion.  Have half a mind to take him out to one of these heart trees and give him the same treatment as Lorch.”

“That was war Robert,” Eddard spoke up, “we all killed more than a few people who had friends and family.  In the eyes of the gods, Connington’s only crime is supporting a monster like Aerys.”

Robert dropped back into his chair, “Hmph, what do you suggest we do with the pillow biter, no way we can trust him.  Everyone who’s had a vision of this traitor points to him being unhinged.  Pining after a dead man who didn’t even acknowledge the man’s feelings.”

Connington grimaced, “Who are you calling a traitor, you kin slaying usurper?”

Robert nodded, “Aye, I killed Rhaegar, might have busted him up a little had I been told the whole truth.  For fucks sake even damn Oberyn Martell was willing to challenge for my Lyanna’s hand.  Got to know though, were you aware of Lyanna’s boy?”

Connington bowed his head, “Yes, Ashara was not aware I had been in contact with Viserys.  I did not let the late prince know of Aegon’s continued survival but used him for news.  I had offered to take his sister into my care, I’d hoped to wed her to Aegon to solidify his claim.  Prince Oberyn had shared his suspicions about the true identity of Lord Stark’s bastard.”

“Viserys knew,” Aegon frowned, “why did he claim he was king?”

Connington spat on the floor, “Because the babe is a bastard, he has no claim to your throne.”

Robert glared, but it was Prince Doran who stood from one of the side tables and spoke, “I hate to disagree, but as a witness, I can verify that the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark is indeed legitimate.” He looked around the room, “The boy will have the support of House Martell and our spears against any who would question that.”

(Later)

Edmure sat with the few Riverlanders present, his attempts to visit his sister had been futile.  Namely for the fact, most of those Lord Stark trusted to chaperone visits were else wise preoccupied.  He’d seen his nieces and nephews, including the orphaned Robert Arryn who looked far healthier and more energetic than he’d ever seen the boy before.  His three younger nephews had been running their poor Wildling guard woman ragged it would seem.  Ned called the woman a spear wife, she’d sworn herself to protect Ned’s children and spent most of her time trailing after the three boys.

The heir to Riverrun frowned as he saw Jon Snow and Edric Dayne enter the hall and make their way to the high table.  As Lord Stark’s good brother he should have a place there, but tonight it was dominated by King Robert, his two bastards and the surviving Targaryen, Tywin Lannister, his brother and son, and Cersei’s two younger bastards, and most of the Tyrells and their closest kin.

“Uncle,” Edmure looked up to see Sansa approach, “pardon my lords,” she curtsied to his men before taking his arm and guiding him towards the high table, “father noticed your absence and is most appalled a place had not been made ready for you.”

“Of course,” he frowned when he saw Lady Dayne sitting uncomfortably next to his good brother.  The seat she occupied would normally be that of his sister, the rightful Lady of Winterfell.  Edmure was guided to a seat next to his eldest nephew.  Robb was sitting next to his betrothed, and beyond her was her family.

“Edmure, good you could join us,” Lord Stark said from across the table, “after the meal, we’ll head for the godswood for the wedding and then return for the reception.”

He nodded, “Are only those at the high table going to attend the wedding?”

“Us, and the other lords paramount, and a few others.  My wife will be escorted by loyal retainers of mine.”  It was not long before Edmure noticed several lords standing and making their way from the Great Hall.  Robb was among those who departed, speaking briefly to his betrothed before departing.  Shortly after Robb’s departure, Margaery was bustled away by a group of girls to get ready.

Not long after, one of Lord Stark’s men appeared and spoke softly, “All is ready my lord.”

Ned nodded before standing and looking at those around the table, “Shall we.”

“Yes, let us get on with it,” Mace clapped his hands before hoisting himself up, “with the way those two have been looking at each other, we’ll be grandfathers within the year.”

“We’ll need a bigger kennel,” Ned japed as he looked at the hoard of dire wolves that lay behind the table near the wall.  Ned motioned Edmure to wait as the others began to make their way to the doors, “Lord Edmure, I will not deny you to speak with your sister in the presence of others.  Cat is unwell, I know not what has afflicted her.  She struck a highborn prisoner in my care, the daughter of another Lord Paramount no less.  Then she schemed to have another cast out for breaking guest rights by slandering my late sister right in front of me.  I do not know if it was the death of your other sister or the knowledge of her crimes that has triggered this paranoia and mania in Catelyn.”  Edmure moved to speak but Ned halted him, “I have not dishonored your sister since the conception of my son Edric, which I was only recently made aware that momentary indiscretion resulted in a child.  Yet in the span of a few days, your sister had twice brought dishonor on my house.”

Edmure grimaced, “I am deeply saddened by these turns of events good brother.  If my father were in better health I would seek his guidance, but he barely stirs now and I doubt he will see the coming winter.”  He knew this to be true, both Bracken and Blackwood had told him Old Hoster Tully was soon to walk with the Stranger.  “Have you made a decision yet, on what is to be done with Catelyn?”

“I have not,” Ned sighed, “Since there is now representation from each of the Seven Lords Paramount present.  We have decided to hold a conclave to handle certain matters before we depart for the south.”

Edmure frowned, “Who is representing the Stormlands?  King Robert would be representing the crown.”

“A raven arrived some days ago, we were aware of your arrival.  The people of the Neck are quite familiar with the ship you voyaged here on.”  Ned sighed, “Renly has given his cousin Daenerys Targaryen the authority to cast his vote with the guidance of Ser Barristan.”  Lord Stark then patted Edmure’s shoulder, “We’ll speak more on this later, for now, we have a wedding to attend.”

(Winterfell – Godswoods)

Catelyn stood rigidly before the heart tree, she’d prefer this ceremony be done in the Sept before the Septon.  Yet she had no true voice at the meeting in Ned’s solar, it had been a kindness on her husband’s part that had allowed her to attend.  Then again, permitting her to attend the wedding was another kindness.  Her teeth grit at the sight of one of Oberyn’s daughters helping Arya adjust the dress the girl wore. 

Somehow the bastard young woman had achieved in a few weeks what Catelyn had failed to do in years.  Her daughter looked uncomfortable in the gown; the stitching showed the recognizable faults evident in Arya’s needlework.  Sansa was currently kneeling next to her sister with a needle and thread fixing the dire wolf sigil on the bodice.

Further down the line of her children Osha the wildling was scrubbing at Rickon’s face with a cloth before adjusting Bran and Robert’s doublets.  The woman told the boys to be good and she’d sneak them a treat from the kitchens before bed.  Catelyn had no hostility for the woman who had sworn herself to protecting the children.  Once satisfied the boys would behave themselves the wildling moved to where Jory stood holding her spear.  While the servants were not supposed to pass her information, they often gossiped while bringing her meals or collecting the wash.  It would not be long before Osha would have a house name from what the gossip claimed.

She then turned her focus to her eldest.  He stood before the heart tree, and his ever-expanding group of friends stood in a position of honor at his side.  His half-brother Edric and his cousin Jon were positioned closer than the rest.  She glared at the two boys, in her eyes both were nothing more than illegitimate potential threats to her children.

A familiar voice broke her from her thoughts, “Dearest sister, what is with the sour look, you should be happy.  Your son had gained such an advantageous match, and it appears he and his betrothed are quite smitten with each other.”

Catelyn turned happily to her brother, “Edmure, you made it.”

“Of course, Cat,” Edmure chuckled, “couldn’t miss my nephew’s wedding.”

“It is good you have come,” Catelyn sighed, “I am in need of support.”

Edmure sighed, “Ned has told me. Cat, what were you thinking?  You struck Lord Lannister’s daughter, you schemed to get a guest thrown out of the keep, and in the process slandered your husband’s sister.  His dead sister mind you who depending on the story was kidnapped and forced to carry the boy you have been nothing but horrible to for the past decade and a half.”

Catelyn froze, “How?”

“Lords Blackwood and Bracken had visions of things that had been and things yet to come.”  Edmure bowed his head, “father might have had visions, he had a fever for a few days some months back. He has not woken though; he lays on his deathbed as he has for the past year.”

“I would love to visit him, let the children meet him and see where they come from,” Catelyn looked to her children, they had each greeted her warmly, but there was a distance that had formed in the couple weeks she’d been remanded to her chambers, “I’m not sure Ned will let me.”

Edmure frowned at her, “What has happened between the two of you, I thought you had come to love one another?”

“There had been genuine affection,” Catelyn glared at Jon and Edric once more, “but since that blasted vision, he has become distant.  It has only gotten worse since the wolves came, and then the shame of so many high lords prancing about my home, and the reappearance of Ashara Dayne.  Even my children have turned to her. Sansa requested that Lady Dayne stood in my place when discussing the terms of this marriage.  I thought I had taught them our words Family, Duty, Honor.”

Edmure’s brows knitted, “Those are our words Cat, your kids are Starks they have to live by their words.  Winter is coming. Those words have so much more behind them than you know, they are not simply a fact, they are a warning.  Winter is coming, and with the next winter, there is a greater threat than just cold and hunger.  I haven’t just come for the wedding Cat, I came to speak with your husband on matters of grave importance.  If the Wall falls, the North will be the first battleground, where do you think the Others will come once Winterfell is no more?  It will be the Riverlands that will have to hold if the North falls, and if we fall, all of Westeros will be soon to follow.”

Catelyn was unable to respond as Margaery appeared on the arm of her father Mace Tyrell and began walking towards the heart tree.

(Great Hall)

Kevan Lannister sat at one of the lower tables as Tyrion presented Lord Robb and Lady Margaery with a token gift. A book on the various tales of long-dead Kings of Winter.  His nephew had noted the copy in Winterfell’s library was worn and missing several passages that had faded over the years.  Kevan’s gift had been a bit more practical, a gilded nameplate to affix over the alcove in the kennels Greywind had claimed as his own.  While the wolves tended to remain with their human partner, they had taken to claiming a place in the kennels when they wanted peace and quiet.  The second son of Tytos Lannister could respect that.

He watched the procession of gifts being given to the couple.  This was one of the few First Men traditions the Andals had taken to merge with their wedding traditions, though, in a wedding under the Seven, the gifts would be given before the actual ceremony.  He looked to where Sandor sat with Gendry at his side, Gendry had presented Robb with new pauldrons in the shape of dire wolf heads, and Sandor gave the customary tithe appropriate for a landed knight.  Keven spoke to the boy, “Gendry when did you have time to work on those pauldrons?”

Gendry sighed, “Master Mikken did most of the work, I chose the steel ingots and started shaping.  Winterfell’s smith makes Master Mott look like a journeyman; the only difference is Master Mott can work Valarian Steel.”

“A good skill to have,” Tyrion returned to his seat, “you’ll of course be able to take up your studies with Master Mott when we return to the capital.”

Sandor snorted, “Won’t be there long.” He motioned to the table where the Stark children sat, “Lord Tywin has volunteered us to escort Lord Dayne back to his seat.  Seems the lad is short a few household guards, and the Little She-Wolf will be accompanying her half-brother to Starfall.”

Gendry frowned, “Why?”

“Obstensibly to show her father’s support in Edric claiming the lordship of Starfall, more practical for the reason the Martells are looking to have her betrothed to Trystane to tie the furthest south and furthest north realms.” Tyrion supplied, “There were rumors Prince Doran had offered an alternative match between his brother and Lady Dacey Mormont.”

Kevan snickered, “Rumors quelled upon Oberyn’s return and the row he and his brother had when the whispers reached him. There’s also the fact that Dothraki Khal has been sniffing around her, having his men hoard her time, he’s practically laid claim to her without so much as a by your leave.”

Gendry watched as the Khal presented two finely crafted horse blankets to Robb and Margaery.  Even from this distance he could see the intricately woven wolves and rose brambles on each, “Drogo didn’t bring any women with him right?”

“Nope,” Sandor said gruffly as he followed his squire’s line of sight, “guess Dothraki know how to weave.”

Kevan shook his head at them, “Dothraki are not savages, he found a weaver in Winter Town and commissioned the blankets.  I was with him and Ser Mormont when the transaction was made.”

Tyrion nodded, “Making friends for your long stay here uncle?”

“Making connections,” Kevan corrected, “I am to help advise young Robb Stark in governing in his father’s stead.  With the situations that are bound to come up with the approaching Long Night, we must ensure the North is ready to weather the storm.  This will be where the line in the sand is drawn, if the Wall should fall, this is where we tell the dead they will advance no further.”

Tyrion frowned, “Yet your vision showed the defense of Winterfell to fail, and the dead still marched unimpeded to the sands of Dorne and across the sea.”

“Truthfully,” Kevan grimaced, “my vision did not show me that, I only was shown the follies of our kin and kith.”  The older lion sighed, “Tywin was gifted the full unpleasantness of what is to come.  We have only a short handful of years left until white ravens fly and our fates will be laid before us.”

Sandor took a swig of his drink, “This wedding is turning into a fucking wake.”

“Agreed,” Tyrion looked to his uncle, “has there been any decision on what to do with Joffrey?”

“Not as of yet,” Kevan shook his head, “he has done well to keep his head down.  Heard he has been helping Maester Luwin. Well as much as he can with only one arm.  Have you not visited him?”

“Been a bit preoccupied,” Tyrion took a sip of his wine, “whatever father saw in his vision must have been truly horrendous when it came to me. I can see no other reason he would curse me with the position of Master of Coin.  It is not an honor it is bloody punishment.”

Kevan snickered, “Still dealing with your predecessor’s misdeeds?”

Tyrion snorted, “If only. Littlefinger got off easy if you ask me. There was a surplus in the treasury when Robert took the throne, and no amount of feasting, tourneys, and whoring could have depleted that.  I’m just thankful that conniving little twat from the fingers kept good accounting of his misdeeds.  The Master of Laws and I have been corresponding, it will be easier once we’re in the same castle, but we have tracked down most of the misappropriated funds.  Renly should be cleaning up the Goldcloaks by the time we get back.”

At the high table, Robb sat next to his bride as the last of the tithes and gifts had been given. There would be more feasting, drinking, and dancing now. Yet he and Margaery had little care for what was occurring beyond their table. The Lords Paramount and the King were seated with them in places of honor along with their families.  Even Catelyn had been permitted to sit with them.

Robb pitted his father as he sat uncomfortably between his wife and Lady Dayne on Robb’s side of the table.  Catelyn sat between Robb and his father. Watching his parents out of the corner of his eye he noticed the way his mother tried to ingratiate herself to his new kinfolk, while Ashara observed the others at the table, her eyes hardening every time she looked towards Lord Lannister.

Robb also noticed some other tension at the table, Prince Martell was seated next to the Queen of Thorns, a position Robb pitied the man for after her behavior the previous evening.  Tired of the strained silence that had taken the table after the tedious platitudes of thanking random lords and ladies for various gifts which served no practical purpose, Robb stood and held up his cup, “Your grace, my lords, to this auspicious occasion which sees us all gathered here.  Though a dark time looms before us, let us not be drowned by potential doom.  The people must see us as the stalwarts that will see them through the dark and into the light of a new day.”  Robb held his hand out for Margaery who readily took it, “now I have promised my bride a dance.”  He looked to his cousin and half-brother, “Jon, Edric find yourselves partners and joins us, I dare say Prince Oberyn’s daughters look rather bored with those hedge knights.”

Prince Doran chuckled, “I’d be careful lads, they are not only called Sand Snakes because their father is known as the Viper.”

Jon took a drink as he stood, “I’ll have to beg off to the next song, promised my aunt a dance.”

“You’re talking about Daenerys, right?” Edric frowned as he stood and walked to his mother.

To both Robb's and Edric’s surprise Jon shook his head and walked over to Catelyn, who accepted Jon’s assistance in standing. “Well, I promised her too, but she’s already dancing with Aegon.”

Robb was speechless for a second before looking to his sister who was being assisted up by Loras who’d asked her to dance, “Did you know of this?”

Sansa shrugged, “Lady Dacey said he visited with mother a couple of days ago, but she did not inform on the content of their discussion.”

Robert chuckled as he watched the younger lords and ladies make their way to the area cleared for dancing, “Ah, youth.  Though Robb had it right, we cannot let the worry of the approaching Others be all-consuming.  We must find and cling to these moments of joy while we can, it will be these that sustain us when the enemy comes.”

“Well said your grace,” Edmure said from his seat, “Ned, now that you are no longer hemmed in between my sister and Lady Dayne, perhaps we can discuss an urgent matter.”

“Which urgent matter would that be?” Eddard took a drink of wine as he indicated those around them, “I’m not likely to lose my head to a mad false king, and I have it on good authority Lord Tywin will not be sacking the Riverlands, and my brother brings word the Free Folk have gathered at Hardhome and several other defensible positions to await the fleet already speeding to their rescue.”

Tywin mused, “I may not be raiding the Riverlands, but I’ll be marching forces through on their way to help fortify the Wall and the North before winter arrives.”

“I must have missed the missive on that,” Edmure glared, “I was more focused on the standing of House Frey and my niece who as of this evening became the most coveted prize, now that Margaery Tyrell has been cloaked in House Stark’s sigil.”

Ned’s eyes hardened, “I’ll put every weasel to the fire before I match Sansa to one of Lord Walder’s brood.”

“Agreed,” Edmure shrunk at the dark look from his good brother, “but if the offer is made you will only incite discord from them. They are an easily offended bunch who often look to their betters with envy and anger.”  He sighed as he continued, “Under the suggestion of my advisors I am planning to take Roslin Frey as my bride.  I am concerned Walder will take such an offer as permission to approach you for the hand of your daughter.”  He motioned to Doran, “I have heard that Arya is already potentially spoken for, and that leaves Sansa.”

Robert huffed, “She’s already spoken for as well.”  The lord’s paramount all turned to the king, a gruff expression few had seen on the overweight man in years was present.  “I came North planning to offer Ned’s daughter a crown, and I can still keep that promise.  Aegon needs a bride, and the boy’s eyes have turned to a certain red-haired she-wolf.”  He looked to Ned, “I know you decreed your daughters would marry only the blood of the First Men, and Aegon’s veins course with that of Blackwood and Martell.”

Ned leaned back in his seat, “If the prince asks for permission to court her, I will not be adverse, but I will not take the choice from Sansa, I will give her the same option I gave to Robb.  With any luck, the match will be as well received as Robb and Margaery found theirs.”

Doran snorted, “Let us hope my son and your younger daughter find some commonality.”

“Arya was always going to be a hard one to find a good match for,” Ned growled, “at least in Dorne she will have more freedoms than she would anywhere else.  She does remind me of my sister in so many ways.”

“You have my word Lord Stark,” Doran grips his cup tightly, “your next visit to Dorne will be a much more pleasant affair.  One that will eclipse your last visit into nothing more than a distant memory.”

On the dance floor, Cat danced with her nephew, or the one who up till a few moons ago she thought was her husband’s bastard.  It had surprised her when he’d visited her the day, they had returned from hunting Lorch.  Jon had been the only one who thought to inform her Robb had returned safely from apprehending the fugitive.  The boy may be illegitimate and a threat to her children, but he was thoughtful.

“Lady Stark,” Jon questioned, “is everything all right?”

“Yes,” even now she could not use his name, “though I am not sure how much longer I will be Lady Stark, your uncle may very well set me aside.”

“Father,” at her confused look Jon clarified, “Lord Stark did not sire me, but he is the only father I have ever known.  Rhaegar did not know me, he thought me to be another daughter when he abandoned my mother in a remote ruin of a tower in the Prince’s Pass.  Aegon is my brother, and we have agreed Rhaegar failed as a father, we will forgive him his misdeeds towards us, but we cannot forgive his treatment of our mothers or his failure to protect our sister.”

Cat blinked at the vehemence in Jon’s voice, it echoed the strength of every Stark she had ever met, looking at the boy before her she could see the last vestiges of boyhood were swiftly vanishing.  He was a young man ready to fight for his family, but not for the Targaryen blood in his veins, there was no sign of it visible on Jon Snow.  Cat frowned, “Why do you still use the moniker Snow, you have multiple people vouching for your legitimacy.”

Jon swallowed and she once more saw the little boy who had looked at her in fear after she’d slapped him for daring to call her mother, “I’m not sure.  I’m not ready to, and even if I was.  Which name would I choose? I have been a Snow all my life, but I was raised like a Stark.”

Cat sighed, “I think you have answered your concern.”

A short distance away a small space had been cleared as two dire wolves paced around a couple.  Edric was still getting used to having a dire wolf, while his younger sister seems naturally inclined to have a large animal nearby at all times.  Arya joined Edric after Prince Oberyn had cut in to become Ashara’s partner during the dance. Arya was uncomfortable with the movements, and though they were nearly the same size, thanks to Edric’s diminutive stature he let her stand on his feet as they went through the dance.

“Why is father sending me to Dorne?” Arya suddenly asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

Edric sighed; he’d only recently learned Lord Stark was sending Arya to Starfall.  In all fairness, he thought Arya deserved the truth, that Prince Doran was insistent that Arya and Trystane be betrothed.  Edric had been assigned to watch over his younger sister and help ease her into the fact she had a responsibility to their family.  Thankfully he was not alone in this hopeless endeavor, he barely knew Arya and he could tell she would be furious when the truth came to light.  Their Mormont aunts would be accompanying them as well and taking up residence at Starfall to help cement Edric’s claim and deter any threats.

“He feels that Dorne will be good for you,” technically a bald-faced lie, Edric had a strong feeling that his Lord father would not hesitate to keep him in the North and let Starfall be taken over by the Daynes of High Hermitage if the stability of all of Dorne was not at stake.  It was clear Starks did not do well in the south, but in truth, those Starks had all been on their own, “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” Edric used one of the sayings he’d heard from Lord Stark.

“We’ll have a pack,” Arya might not be the most tactful person, but she knew better than to openly admit that Dacey and Alysane were their aunts.  Edric had only been informed of their relation before the wedding ceremony when Lord Stark informed him they’d be accompanying Arya and him to Starfall.

Edric smirked, “There is also no Septa at Starfall to make you sit and sew, my family’s Septon is also very liberal with his interpretation of the Seven-Pointed Star, his sermons have never lasted longer than a tenth of an hour.”

Arya snorted, “I follow the Old Gods.”

“Well, we don’t have an actual sept so our godswood doubles as our sept,” Edric chuckled, “I think most of our services start with our Septon thanking the Old Gods for providing a sanctuary for the Seven to tend to their followers.”

“What about your weirwood?” Arya frowned.

“Never had one,” Edric frowned, “In Dorne, the godswoods have raised stones with carvings depicting weirwood trees on four sides, with sentinel trees placed in a circle around the stone. At least that’s the case for areas inhabited by the Stoney Dornish like me.  The houses in the actual dessert don’t have trees instead they have carved wood edifices which they paint white and hang red cloths from a scaffold to imitate branches and leaves.”

“What about Sunspear and the Water Gardens?” Arya asked, “Nymeria said they have godswoods there.”

Edric nodded, “The first weirwood tree I saw was in the Water Gardens.  It’s said that Lord Stark of the time gifted it to Princess Daenerys upon the completion of the garden, and as a belated wedding gift.  There is no face carved in the trunk, though I doubt anyone thought to execute a prisoner and shove his remains under the tree.”

“Probably not,” as the music ended Arya stepped off her brother’s toes, “thank you brother for the dance and speaking with me.” She curtsied awkwardly, “I look forward to seeing Starfall and exploring Dorne.”

“I am not sure if Dorne is ready for you little sister,” Edric chuckled.

Scowling from the back of the room Joffrey Waters frowned at the people celebrating.  It was the first time he’d been allowed to leave the maester’s tower, he’d been couped up there since arriving at this horrible place.  The table he sat at was full of men in the attire of the Night’s Watch. “You know son, it is not polite to stare at people.”

Joffrey’s glare turned to the blonde man who’d sat next to him, a man he had known his whole life as Uncle Jamie.  The man who sired him and ruined his life, “Shouldn’t you be hiding in some dark corner,” his voice took a malicious tone, “father.”

Jamie snorted, “I am under the protection of the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.  His Grace will hear me out and send me back to the Wall.  I can do the most good there.”

“The most good?” Joffrey scoffed, “you cravenly fled, abandoned mother and me to whatever fate the man I thought was my father dares to pass.  If mother had not been given guest's rights, I doubt Lord Stark would have so self-righteously stepped between her and whatever that fat oaf would have done to her.”  He indicated his missing arm, “I’m a cripple, no one even cares I still draw breath.”

He noticed the way Jamie looked at the missing limb, “You are not a cripple Joffrey and trust me, there are many things you can accomplish with only one hand.  I have heard you have taken to helping the maester here.”

“I spent most the first weeks with nothing else to do than read,” Joffrey huffed, “I thought I could learn a poison to use get back at those who did this to me.”

Jamie frowned, “Joffrey, you are no longer a prince, and from what I heard my father has written you off. You have no protection if you step out of line, you don’t even have the paper shield of guest rights, though plotting harm to someone under Lord Stark’s roof violates those rights.”

Rolling his eyes Joffrey looked back to those celebrating, he saw Sansa Stark dancing with Prince Aegon.  It should be him getting the Stark girl to look at him with such adoration.  “How did everything go so wrong? Mother never makes mistakes, she said the Old Falcon never suspected anything.”

“He did,” Jamie corrected as he took a drink of mead, “he was about to expose everything, but he made a mistake.  He didn’t realize his wife was batshit crazy and planned to send his boy to ward somewhere.  Your mother offered to send him to the Rock, he’d be a hostage of sorts that way.”

Joffrey looked to where the once sickly Robert Arryn was sitting with his Stark cousins and Tommen listening to a tale being told by that wildling woman. Robert was no longer the sickly child Joffrey had often teased, he’d even seen him practicing with the younger boys in the tiltyard from a window in the maester’s tower, “Grandfather would have realized what Lady Lysa was doing to him.”

“I think we all knew, just so caught up in ourselves to care to do anything about it,” Jamie sighed, “that goes for you too.  I knew you and your siblings were mine, but I did nothing to curb the idiocy of my sister.  I should have been a better father, even Ser Strong set an example for his sons with Princess Rhaenyra.”

“What?” Joffrey looked to the older man, “I thought those were only rumors?”

Jamie chuckled, “Maesters write rumors and assumptions, but the white cloaks keep the secrets of their charges. The book chronicling the deeds of the white cloaks details much that occurred in those days.  Since only the King and his kingsguard are permitted to read the book, few outsiders know.”

“You’ve read it?” Joffrey frowned, “I thought only your Lord Commander has access to it?”

Jamie scoffed, “It’s kept in a communal chamber where the knights meet. After the Rebellion, Selmy and I had a lot of notations to make as we finalized the entries of five of our brothers.  We may have gotten a bit drunk and begun perusing past entries.  No matter animosity or which side they fought for, the kingsguard were still brothers.”

“Well said Ser Jamie,” both turned to see Selmy had approached them, “do you have a moment to speak?”

Jamie nodded, “Aye, but I’d prefer to remain here, where the chances of a knife in the back are far less likely.”

“Understood,” Selmy motioned to the man sitting next to Jamie and he made room for the kingsguard to join them, “I’m sure word of the visions has spread far enough that secrecy is no longer necessary.”

“Considering the very obvious moves my father made following his visions,” Jamie snorted, “I doubt secrecy was ever in the cards. I’m quite sure he was behind Littlefinger and Lady Lysa departing the game so early.”

“Agreed,” Selmy scoffed, “but I shed not a tear at their loss.  Too many good people died for their selfish desires.  Whatever hell the gods sent them to would not be punishment enough.”

“Well, that is something else we can agree on,” Jamie raised his cup, “to Lord Peter Baelish the worst Master of Coin the realm has ever known, and Lady Lysa Arryn nee Tully may they writhe in eternal torment together.”

Joffrey watched the two men drink to the dead, “You both had these visions?”

“Aye lad,” Selmy answered, “months before we left Kings Landing, but neither of us recovered in time to prevent Lord Arryn from being killed, though I was not given the details I would have needed to protect him.”

Jamie shook his head, “Neither was I, my visions started upon arrival to Winterfell, and I was only told Lord Arryn was dead and Robert planned Old Ned to take the Old Falcon’s place.”

“So, whoever gave you the visions did not want to save Lord Arryn?” Joffrey asked, “Wouldn’t his living have been helpful?”

“Doubt those giving the visions thought about it that way,” Jamie surmised, “Arryn was Andal through and through, not a drop of First Men blood ran in his veins.  His boy got a bit from his Tully mother, who got it from her Whent family at the very least.  Visions were from the Old Gods, they might have grudge against the Arryns, they were the most successful of the invaders at the extermination of the Children of the Forest.”

Joffrey had seen the small misshapen figures, they scurried about the keep and were only seen when they wanted to be seen.  Even now he suspected there was some hiding under tables and in the rafters observing the wedding celebrations.  As though one sensed his thoughts a four-fingered hand crept over the edge of the table and snatched a honey cake from a dish near the edge.

He noticed one of the Night’s Watchmen chuckle and take the platter from the table and hand it to the unseen figures hiding beneath them, “Just got to ask, no need to be sneak thieves.” The man’s voice hinted at that of one originating from the Reach.  A moment later the man put the emptied platter back on the table.

As the night went on Oberyn had danced with many partners, most of all his paramour, and the lovely as always Lady Dayne.  It was like having part of his family return having Ash with them alive and well, she had always been like another sister to him.  Yet the jewel of Starfall had only ever and still only had eyes for the Quiet Wolf, who for proprieties sake could not dance with Ashara with the matter with his wife yet unresolved.

Following a rather lively dance Oberyn found his seat to take a breath, “It appears we have a little she-wolf in our midst,” he chuckled as Arya was dosing on the bench along with the younger of his daughters.

Ellaria smirked, “Nymeria convinced her to dance with a few boys her age, your daughters have a way with her, even Lord Stark notices she listens to their advice better than that of her sister.”

Oberyn noticed the dire wolf looking towards them at the mention of her name, “I believe it will behoove us to use Nym’s nickname,” he picked a piece of meat from a platter and tossed it to the wolf, which sniffed the offering before gobbling it up, “or the poor wolf will overeat.”

His paramour noticed the look in his eyes as he look at the younger of the Stark daughters, “You are thinking of Lyanna again?”

“If things had gone as planned,” Oberyn shifted his focus to glare at Robert, “if there had been no war.  Lyanna would have given Rhaegar his third child, his third head for the damned dragon.  She would have been free to do as she pleased, Rhaegar told me that the day they wed.”

Ellaria smiled sadly, “You would have been at her side in that freedom, instead of mine.”

“Who knows,” Oberyn smirked, “with your wit, and my charm, there is no telling the outcome.  If you only saw the Lyanna I had seen, the fury she had shown against those squires, the skill she had on the tilt yard.  For such ferocity, she had a heart that could only rival that of my late sister.”

“You speak well of my sister Prince Oberyn,” both turned to see Benjen Stark, “I came to retrieve my niece, but could not help but overhear your words.”

Oberyn stood and clasped hands with the First Ranger, “We had just missed you upon our arrival, I hope that mountain of shit that rides did not give you much trouble.”

“No more than was to be expected,” Benjen chuckled, “he was surprisingly cooperative not that he is a great conversationalist.  Think the thought of my brother cutting pieces of him off to feed his dire wolf had quelled any resistance to his fate.”

“Oh, I am sure that he realized your dear brother keeps his promises,” Oberyn chuckled, “I am surprised your brother didn’t simply remove the beast's head and be done with him.”

Benjen shook his head, “Gregor asked for the Wall and admitted his guilt.  In the sight of our gods your sister has been given justice, even if Ned would like nothing more than to let our dire wolves tear Clegane to pieces.”

Ellaria blinked, “I thought Lord Stark seemed quite content with the outcome.”

“Trust me,” Benjen chuckled, “my brother is restraining himself from brutally murdering several people in this very room right now.  Be thankful no one from Dorne has somehow gained his ire.  Unlike Brandon and Lyanna I was very young when Ned left for the Vale.  Father told me the only thing that was important to know about Ned, he is the Quiet Wolf, the most dangerous of the pack for he is the one you don’t see coming.”

Oberyn chuckled, “I dare say most in the south are quite aware of the terror your brother can bring upon those who cross him.  His battle count speaks for itself, it is better to be with him than against him.”  His attention was drawn to the high table as the music changed and there were calls for the bedding to begin.

(Robb’s Chambers – Next Morning)

Margaery awoke to the first rays of sunlight and the mild tingle behind her eyes from drinking a little too much.  She smiled as she felt the body next to her stir, their legs still entwined from their activities the night before.  Robb’s arms were still around her possessively. A knocking on the door drew her attention, but it was Robb who spoke, “Go away.”

“Mi lord,” the voice of Old Nan called through the door, “It is mid-morning, you both need to break your fast and Lady Tyrell is requesting the sheets.”

Smirking Margaery lifted the sheet and noticed the mess, “Old Nan, are those with you, women?”

“Aye, mi lady,” Old Nan called through the door.

“You may enter, and have a bath readied, my husband and I need to make ourselves presentable.” Margaery prodded at Robb until he started to sit up with a groan.

“The bath is already prepared in the next room,” Old Nan called, a bit of amusement to her voice, “along with your morning meal.”

Margaery noticed a servant must have entered earlier in the morning as the remnants of their clothing had already been cleared away.  Instead, a pair of breeches for Robb and a slip for her were laid on the chairs next to a table.  She had just put on the slip when Robb opened the door. 

Old Nan entered with two younger servants on her heels.  The servants knew their task as they went to strip the bed and take the ruined sheets to be shown to Margaery’s grandmother, as she was certain that was the Lady Tyrell calling for proof the deed had been done.  The old woman’s eyes widened as she noticed the staining had seeped into the mattress, she looked to Robb, “You never were one to do things in half measure.  I’ll have Walder come dispose of the mattress and bring you a fresh one.”

Robb halted her, “Just have him flip it, we have too many guests to worry about finding another mattress, we’ll replace it after the royal party departs.”

“Aye mi lord,” Old Nan smiled, “you’ll make a fine lord my boy.”

Smiling Robb offered Margaery his arm, “I can only hope.”

Tywin frowned as Olena Tyrell examined the sheets coated in the bodily fluids of her granddaughter and Robb Stark.  It was a disgusting tradition, one he would rather be lost to time like so many others, like the right of the first night.  Olena grimaced as she handed the sheet back to the servant before looking at her son, “Your daughter is no longer a maiden.”

“I would hope not,” Doran snorted from his place with his Dornish banners across the table from the Reach party, “my nieces were among those who listened at the door last night.  I am told some jackalopes do not have the stamina those two demonstrated.”

Daenerys cleared her throat from where she sat at the head of the Stormland delegation, though it was smaller in number than the others.  Ser Selmy and Ser Berric flanking the young Targaryen princess who sat representing her cousin Renly.  She looked to Lord Stark who sat as both Hand of the King and representing the North as Robb was otherwise indisposed, “I have been instructed to extend an offer to ward Lord Robb and Lady Margaery’s firstborn child, though a second son or firstborn daughter would are also on offer.”

Ned chuckled, “I will extend the offer to my son but it will be up to them to decide such matters.”

Robert nodded to his younger cousin with a smile, ostensibly revealing the direction that had come from him.  Tywin could see the King wanting to maintain the close friendship between the House Baratheon and Stark.  He leaned back in his chair, “I must congratulate House Tyrell on securing such a beneficial union.  You have appeased a blood feud that has run to the very founding of our kingdoms.  I can only imagine Lann the Clever and Brandon the Builder proudly looking down as Robb claimed the daughter of the ruling house of the Reach, alas you are not of direct descent from Greenhand.”

Mace chuckled, “Aye, but what better revenge than allying with the descendants of his greatest foes.”

“I can only imagine he is rolling in his grave,” Victorian Greyjoy sat next to Lord Harlaw as the only representatives of the Iron Island, Theon, and his sister had gone with the other youths for whatever plans had been made. 

Tywin had not paid much mind to the younger residents of Winterfell, though he was surprised when Tommen and Myrcella had been given offers to join in whatever was going on.  Tywin looked to Lord Stark, “I believe we should deal with the first matter at hand, I have received word from one of my captains.  They evacuated Hardhome and three other settlements along the coast beyond the wall.  The Thenn took two ships and went further north to evacuate several settlements that could not otherwise flee.”

“The fleets sent to the Bay of Ice have reported in,” Mace grimaced, “from the Gorge to the frozen shore, they evacuated fourteen settlements.  They reported three confrontations with wrights at the last two settlements before the frozen shore.”

Edmure spoke up from where he sat with his Riverlands banners, “How many people did they rescue?”

“In total,” Mace looked to Eddard, “ten and four thousand.”

Doran swallowed, “Only fourteen thousand people? Did they wait for stragglers?”

“They did,” Mace confirmed, “the representatives from Mance’s army told them they expected fewer than that from the Bay of Ice.  Apparently, that region has been getting hit the hardest with surprise attacks from the Other's advanced forces.”

Benjen stepped up to the table, “My lords, that corroborates our suspicions of what has been happening to my rangers the past few years.”  He placed a map on the table and rolled it out, it depicted the known lands beyond the Wall, “When I reached Winterfell there was a letter from the Lord Commander, refugees from Whitetree and the other villages near Castle Black arrived along with the wives of a man we knew as Craster.”

“Knew?” Robert questioned, “he’s dead?”

“Dead and burned to ashes,” Benjen confirmed, “his youngest daughter-wife appears to have had visions, she killed him to free the rest of Craster’s wives and fled towards the Wall.  They collected the people of the other nearby villages such as Whitetree on their way; they feared an Other was tracking them.  Lord Mormont allowed them to pass through the Wall and they have started a camp in the Gift.”

“What other news is there?” Benjen pointed to the Frostfangs, “this region is now uninhabited so says former Lord Commander Rivers, he states the Children of the Forest have fled the lands of the Thenn and the Haunted Forest.  Once settlements along the Shivering Sea are cleared, there will not be anyone living in the North.”

Tywin frowned, “What of the Giants?  My captains report a handful, but report a majority of them made for the Wall.”

“They passed through Eastwatch last night,” Bloodraven moved from the corner he’d been lurking in to stand next to Benjen, “Word of them will reach the Lord Commander later today, we could expect word here in three to four days.”

Benjen grimaced at the former Lord Commander, “Our estimates would put them at around seven hundred, we’ve never seen them in this number before.”

“That is because they have not left the Thenn in over a thousand years in such a mass migration.”  Bloodraven countered, “the Others have never been a threat to them before now.”

Eddard stood and point to the map, the area of the Gift near Last Hearth, “I have spoken with Great Jon, he requests most of the free folk remain clear of his holdings, but he will consent to the Giants taking up grazing lands near his herds.”

Edmure blinked, “The Umbers herd mammoths?”

“No,” Ned snorted, “but it might explain why his family bred such wooly cattle.”  Eddard pointed the area around Karhold, “The Karstarks have agreed to shelter refugees as long as they agree to act in accordance with our laws and customs, in short, no stealing women as wives and no stealing in general.”

Benjen nodded, “I can supply a few wandering crows to help settle disputes and deal with the language problems that will no doubt erupt.  Our dialect of the Old Tongue has a couple of nuances that differ from the lower speech used by most free folk.”

“I thought everyone in the North spoke common,” Robert Arryn sat with Mya and Lord Redfort to represent the Vale.

Ned looked to his nephew and smiled slightly, “You have only been in Winterfell or around highborn, the commoners still speak the Old Tongue in private between themselves, they use common only when doing business with Southrons.”

Doran chuckled, “Much as some of my people speak in Rhoynish still, and some Stoney Dornish speaks a variant of the Old Tongue.”

“Yet their Old Tongue dialect would not be understood by those in the North, regional dialects were quite varied, that was one of the reasons the Andals overwhelmed our ancestors so easily,” Mace sighed, “and why common was adopted so readily as the main language of the highborn.”  Mace frowned, “though, that does beg the question,” he looked to Eddard, “How did the North even learn to speak it?  Your lands were not conquered by the Andals.”

Ned shared a look with his brother before looking to the curious lords, “What do you think happened to the army of peaceful Septons sent to try and convert our ancestors?”

Edmure grimaced, “Popular opinion is they were eaten by the heathen barbarians that resided in the north.”

“I can’t speak for the Boltons or Umbers, but Starks have never been known for cannibalism,” Ned looked to where Lyanna lay next to him, the dire wolf looked at him knowingly, “but that’s not to say we didn’t feed them to our wolves.”

Mace was the only one to laugh, “Very funny Lord Stark.”

“Wasn’t a joke,” Benjen deadpanned, “our last ancestor with a dire wolf, reportedly it died after choking on a misshapen bone of the last rebellious Lord Bolton of the Dreadfort.”  Every lord and lady present suddenly felt the eyes of the two dire wolves in the room on them.

Chapter Text

(North – Winterfell Guard Barracks)

Osha bit her bottom lip as she looked at the new tabard she’d been given by her now good-uncle-in-law.  The black material of a finer quality than she’d ever seen served as the border of the house coat of arms, a grey shield with ten white wolf heads.  She looked to Jory, “We only married last night.”

“I know, but uncle hedged his bets you would say yes,” the guard captain and she had spent many a night patrolling the halls together.  To the point her fellow free folk serving House Stark had been teasing her about kneeling for a southron, she’d reminded them Jory would split their heads open if he heard them talking like that.

Jory was a face she did not know from the visions, he had gone south with Lord Stark and was murdered along with most of those who had gone south.  She did not know the particulars of his death, but from seeing him in the training yard, it had to have been a craven act.  This time he would not be accompanying Lord Stark, instead remaining in Winterfell to help prepare for the coming winter.

Jory gently took the tabard and put it over her head, adjusting it so it covered her leather jerkin, “You are of my house, and think of it like this.  Those ten wolf heads, they are the heads of your charges, you carry them as a reminder of the oath you swore to our Magnar.” Jory smirked, “Now we better get to our posts, Lord Stark gave us a day, but I know you worry about what mischief Arya and the boys might be getting into.”

“Far too many dangers,” Osha worried her lip again, “and that lion is here again.”

Jory placed his hands on her shoulders, “Benjen has Lannister under watch, and I have guards assigned to him, he goes within five feet of Bran, and I’ll split him into enough pieces each of the wolves will get a bite.”

Osha smirked, “You would have done well beyond the Wall husband mine.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, wife,” Jory chuckled, “now off with you, or you’ll have to get redressed a second time this morning.”

She had not been a maiden in several years, having been stolen from her family and made a wife of a rather brutal man at a young age.  He’d only fathered one child on her, but both the child and the man had been taken by the Others.  Jory was nothing like her last husband, he did not care she was not a maiden, nor did he take anything she did not willingly give to him.  Even to the free folk women were little more than property, but her new husband treated her more like a partner, never holding back in the training yard.  Not even the first time they crossed blades.

A sly grin came to her face, “Is that a threat or a promise, husband?”

Jory grit his teeth, “Don’t tempt me.” a knock on the door drew their attention, causing Jory to grumble, “Enter.”

The door opened to admit Jory’s cousin Beth, she wore training leathers, and her curly hair was tied back, “I hope I’m not intruding, but since Cousin Osha has the day off, I thought she could help me practice.”

Jory looked to his wife, “You did say you’d teach her the spear.”

“That I did,” Osha grabbed her sword belt from next to the door before shouldering her spear, stepping next to Beth she put an arm over the girl’s shoulder in an almost mother way, “We will make a proper Spear Wife of you little cousin.” She looked back to Jory as they began walking out the door, “I’m sure a soak in the hot spring after will do us good.”

(Great Hall)

Ned frowned as Jory arrived and replaced the guard that had been at his side all morning, “I thought I gave you the day off?”

“You did my lord, but we both be creatures of habit and duty,” Jory grinned, “Osha is teaching my cousin Beth the spear, and I got nothing else to do until Uncle is done with morning drills.”

Benjen walked over to the pair as the other lords and ladies were still taking a break from the discussions, “What’s this I hear of a day off Jory?”

Ned chuckled, “I forgot to tell you, our young friend here decided to steal himself a wife.  Rodrik came to me during the celebrations last night and told me they were saying their vows.  Did it in the old way, right as the moon was at its highest point.”

“Steal?” Benjen sniggered, “That wildling woman that was standing next to you at the ceremony?”

Jory grimaced, “Aye, though they prefer free folk.”

Shaking his head Benjen looked to his brother, “What does Rodrik think of this?”

“It was his idea,” Ned said reaching to his side to scratch between the ears of his dire wolf, “said he saw something in her when he saw her in Wintertown, that made him think of his late wife.  Said if anyone could make a man out of this maiden it was her.”

An unintelligible grumble came from Jory, he’d had grown up with Lyanna and Benjen as the only Starks in Winterfell during his childhood.  Originally he was to squire for Brandon, but Lord Rickard had changed his mind and was planning to send Jory to the Vale to serve as Lord Eddard’s squire.  Then Harrenhall happened and the world went mad, Jory still served as Lord Stark’s squire during the rebellion against the Mad King but was sent to Riverrun to watch over Lady Catelyn and young Robb following the sack of King’s Landing.  That had been the last Jory saw of his father, Martyn falling in battle in Dorne.

Benjen chuckled, “The real question is did you steal her, or did she steal you?  Free folk women are not as meek as most ladies south of the Wall.”

“Speaking from experience brother?” Ned asked with a glare.

Benjen rolled his eyes, “It is not uncommon for recruits to slip over the Wall and take a tumble with some sheep farmer’s daughter.  Lord Commander has always turned a blind eye to it, we have been cracking down since the whole Mance deserting to join the free folk, found he’d been enticing the recruits to join him.”

Ned assessed his brother, “Always wondered about that part of the vows.  I can understand renouncing claims to titles and lands, but not taking a wife sounds more like an Andal custom than anything our ancestors would consider.  To have something to protect such as a wife and children would make those of the Watch more determined to stand against the Others.”

“The change was added after the thirteenth,” Lord Rivers appeared at Benjen’s side, his unnatural eye angling to look at the dire wolf, “My understanding was everyone feared a second Night’s King rising and decided the Night’s Watch needed to be a bunch of pent up warriors lacking any form of release.  No wonder they have fallen to little more than murderers and rapists.”

“That the South has seen us as little more than a penal colony on the edge of the known world doesn’t help,” Benjen quipped, “We’re a little better now with so many recruits from the Westerlands, Reach, and Vale making their way to the Wall.  The Watch has already doubled in size in the last four months.”

Bloodraven snorted, “A bunch of green boys who’ve never seen winter.  We’d be better off with the Unsullied.”

Ned looked to where Daenerys sat, by now the girl who was laughing at something Aegon said would have been married and suffering nightly couplings that any Westrosi would call spousal rape to the very Khal charged with protecting her person.  He doubted that Drogo had been informed of his actions in the world of the visions, the Khal who currently stood sentinel with Jorah was nothing like the barbaric beast of a man who bought a child bride and then used her like a whore on a nightly basis.  It had taken almost the last of Ned’s resolve not to behead the man when he first walked into Winterfell with Jorah.

Jorah had thought Ned’s simmering rage that only another Northman would recognize was meant for him and was more pensively surprised that his liege lord was angrier that he dared bring Drogo into his home or let him within a mile of the princess.  Jorah had quelled the anger, assuring him that the Dothraki would be on his best behavior.  That the Dothraki’s eyes had turned to Dacey, made Ned’s desire to wield Ice all the more prevalent, though he knew his sister was no simpering girl, and any man who treated her like that Dothraki had the princess, would find himself gelded long before Ned fed their head to a weirwood.

“I know that look,” Benjen back away from his elder brother, “you only get that look when you're contemplating introducing some poor soul to Ice.”

Robert turned from where he was talking to Selmy to examine Ned, “Aye, that’s the look, saw it the day Tywin presented Elia’s body along with Rhaenys and that babe everyone thought was Aegon.  Even Tywin avoided your gaze that day.”

Tywin cleared his throat, “Your grace, I was but the bearer of the ill tidings, you incited Lord Stark’s rage with your unfortunate choice of words.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed as he looked between Robert and Tywin, “You speak of the sacking of a city full of innocent people and the barbaric butchery of my family as though it were a tragic mistake.  You may not have ordered the deaths of my mother and sister with your hand, but you still provided the means for it to come to pass.”

“My prince,” Tywin began, “what happened was indeed a tragic mistake on my part.  I allowed my animosity toward your grandfather to overcome my reasoning.  I wanted to make a statement to incite your grandfather, to make him realize that his downfall was my doing.  He had sparked the wildfire with his hand with the deaths of Lord Rickard and Lord Brandon Stark, his madness prevented him from seeing he needed to concede defeat.  To bring both sides to the table and negotiate, we’d have learned the truth about your stepmother and found a peaceful end to the conflict.  Instead, he doubled down and sent your father to his death, thus condemning both your mother and stepmother to their fates.  It may have been Robert’s hand that ended Rhaegar’s life, but it was Aerys’ madness that killed your family.”

“Then let us ensure no more madness dooms us,” Aegon moved to stand before Robert and Eddard, “Lord Stark, Magnar of the First Men. I Prince Aegon Targaryen, as Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, cousin to his grace King Robert Baratheon, seek your permission to court your daughter Sansa Stark, in hopes that we may wed and when the day comes, she will stand beside me as my queen.”

Eddard leaned back in his chair, “I have decreed my daughters will marry only those with the blood of the First Men.”

“Though I bare the traits of my Valerian ancestors, I am of the First Men.  The blood in my veins from both my great-grandfather and great-grandmother comes from House Blackwood of the Riverlands.  A House of the First Men that have held to the traditions of their ancestors alone against the Andals and their faith of the Seven.”

Looking around the room Eddard saw Lord Blackwood among the Riverland nobles supporting Edmure, “What say you, Lord Blackwood, does this princeling share your blood?”

Stepping forward the indicated lord nodded, “Aye Magnar of where winter fell, he is a child of the fallen Magnar of the raven tree.  It is with the honor of his blood and kin he stands before you.”

“Agreed,” Brynden Rivers spoke up, “as another child of the raven tree, our honor gives him the right to stand before you.”

Eddard nodded, “The Blackwoods have joined their house with that of us, Starks, on more than a few occasions.” He looked to where Jon stood next to Selmy, “Jon, what do you say?”

“I have no objections, Father,” Jon stepped next to Aegon, “Aegon and I share blood as we were sired by the same man though neither of us sees him as our father.  As my brother by blood, I would trust Aegon with the sister I was raised with.”

With a nod, Ned motioned Jon back to his place before looking to the Dornish contingent.  He saw Edric sitting with Ashara, “Edric, what do you say?”

Standing and moving to stand at his father’s side Edric spoke, “Father, as your blood courses through my veins your decision will be mine, but I have no reservations.  Aegon is not only of Valerian and First Men but of Dorne through his Martell blood, blood that also contains the blood of the First Men.  As a fellow Dornishman, I would trust Aegon with my sweet sister but would remind him we Dornish protect what is ours.”

Eddard gave a nod and Edric returned to his seat, receiving proud acknowledgment from several Dornish lords seated around him.  Eddard leaned forward, “As my eldest is otherwise indisposed I’ll have to settle with his brothers’ assessments.  You have my blessing to court Sansa, but if she rebukes your bid for her hand you must leave her unmolested.”

“That is all I ask,” Aegon bowed his head, “My Magnar.”

Robert snorted, “Damn Ned, you have to put the poor lad through all that?”

From where the few Iron Born sat Theon sniggered, “Could have been worse your grace, Robb wanted some old ritual where he’d have to compete against a bunch of challengers in a series of contests.”

Aegon huffed, “And these are my friends.”

(Robb’s Chambers)

Robb watched as Margaery dozed next to him, after a bath and simple meal the servants had bustled them back into his chambers.  He’d heard the maids whispering about Jory taking Osha as his wife last night in the more classical fashion, a simple no-nonsense ceremony of two people and their closest kin and a tree.  What he’d give for something so simplistic, but he was born the son of a Lord Paramount, as his new wife was a daughter of a man of equal station to that of his father, a certain level of extravagance was required.

“Robb,” turning to the window one of the servants had opened to let in fresh air, the heir to Winterfell’s eyes widened as he saw his younger brother sitting perched on the ledge.

“Bran,” he was up and crossed the room in a second, pulling his brother inside, “you swore to father you would not climb the walls.”

“Technically,” Bran grimaced, “I wasn’t climbing, I just walked along the ledge from my window to yours.”

Robb shook his head, “Did anyone see you?”

“No one ever looks up,” Bran looked around his brother to where Margaery was stirring.

Sitting up the newest Stark giggled, “We have a visitor it seems.”

“Aye,” Robb huffed, “one who will be lucky not to get his hide blistered if father learns he was foolishly climbing after he promised not to.”

Margaery frowned, “Bran, I know you promised your father not to climb.”

“I know, but I was bored,” Bran huffed, “Robin has to attend the meeting because he has to represent the Vale, even though he is my age. Trystan is acting as his father’s cup bearer during the meeting, and Rickon wanted to watch Arya and Sansa dance.”

“Dance?” Robb frowned, “Why are our sisters dancing, didn’t they get enough after last night?”

Bran shrugged, “Father brought a Bravosi to teach them.”

“Bran,” Margaery smiled, “you are talking about Bravosi Water Dancing.  Syrio is a sword master, Water Dancing is a sword technique the Bravosi are well known for.”

Robb nodded, “I remember father saying he was summoning an old acquaintance to teach Arya, did not expect Sansa to want to learn.”

Margaery chuckled, “Your father was surprised as well, but I think Princess Arianne showed girls can be just as good with a blade when she bested both Jon and Aegon in the yard.”

“That was what Quentyn and Edric were teasing them about?” Robb shook his head.

“So,” Bran edged towards the window, “maybe I go watch with Rickon and we don’t tell father about this?”

Robb snatched Bran by the collar and guided him to the door, “You use the hallway like a normal human being and not act like a Child of the Forest and I might consider telling father I handled the situation, and you won’t do it again.”  Without waiting for a response he pushed his brother into the hall, to the surprise of the guards posted there before shutting the door with a sigh, “Little fool, cannot believe he was doing that after promising father.”

Margaery was instantly at his side, “He is a child, with little fear of what dangers he could face.  The best you can do is be his brother, to protect him from those dangers.”

“That will be Jon’s duty soon, it’ll be him Bran, and Sansa in the capital.  Edric and Arya in Dorne, with me and Rickon here in Winterfell.” Robb noticed her pout, “What?”

“It will not be just you and Rickon, I will be here with you,” Margaery stuck out her lower lip, “unless I have displeased my lord?”

Robb snorted, “Nay, but your lord does think you’re a tad overdressed.”

Margaery pulled at the cord holding her dressing gown closed, “Perhaps my lord husband should do something about that?”

(Hallway)

Hullan tossed Orik a silver stag as Greywinds head perked up a moment before they heard Lady Margaery call Lord Robb’s name, “I thought they’d had enough after last night.”

Orik chuckled, “Never guarded a newlyweds’ door before.”

Shaking his head Hullan looked at the graybeard face of Orik, the man was probably the oldest guardsman in Winterfell as he was older that Rodrik Cassel by at least a decade, “Guess it’s better they get it out of their systems now.”

“I was your age when Lord Rickard started his dalliance with Lady Mormont,” Orik sniggered, “they were not young but they sure acted like it.”

Hullan looked both ways down the hall, “Lady Dacey visited Lord Stark the evening Lady Stark was confined to her quarters.  Never put much credit to the rumors, but when you see them together.”

“What does it matter?” Orik huffed, “she’s a she-bear of Bear Island.  I’ll stand with her mace at my side any day.”

“Aye,” Hullan nodded, “I was with her at Pike, she bashed squids as they had personally affronted her.  Think after that display my preference will be shielding her back, let her mow down the opposition and I’ll just keep any sodding craven shite from shanking her in the back.”

“What craven shite is shanking who in the back?” both guards turned to find Sandor Clegane walking towards them.

Orik frowned, “Just idle talk Ser, you take a wrong turn?”

Sandor snorted, “Drop the Ser, I wasn’t given a choice, and no I didn’t take a fucking wrong turn.” He looked back and forth along the hall, “At least I don’t think I did.  Lady Stark’s chamber is this way, right?  All these damn halls look the same.”

“Why are you looking for Lady Stark’s rooms?” Hullen asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m a fucking dog sent to fetch,” Sandor grumbled, “at least Lady Dayne had the decency to attend the meeting with her Dornish countrymen.  That just leaves escorting Lady Stark and Lady Lannister to the Great Hall.”

Orik grimaced, “Guessed they’d be summoning her eventually.”

“You think,” Sandor growled, “she calls my squire anything than his name I’d be asking for her tongue.  Lad has been through enough having his grace as a sire.  Had to keep him away from the bitch queen as much as possible for his safety.”

Hullan nodded, “Go back the way you came and go down to the next corridor, you’ll see Allen and Kurn, they’re the ones assigned to her today.  Just be careful Kurn is one of Osha’s wildlings, he doesn’t speak common.”

“Noted,” Sandor frowned as he noticed Greywind lying next to Hullen, “Isn’t that Lord Robb’s?”  A high pitch moan from the door behind Hullan had Clegane’s good eye widen as Hullen tossed another silver stag to Orik.

(Great Hall)

Tywin watched as Sandor entered along with four guards escorting two women.  Tywin’s men had not been permitted near Cersei, and following her declaring to follow the Old Gods the Baratheon knights had also been dismissed from guarding her, so it was a pair of Stark men who flanked his daughter.  The stoic Northmen would protect Cersei, but they also ensured she did not escape.

He was only thankful this was not the trial of Cersei’s crimes.  Today it was the other woman facing the judgment of her equals.  Tywin would have let the matter between Catelyn and Cersei go, but the Tully fish had done something even more foolish.  She insulted her husband’s family, Tywin could appreciate a man who protected the image of his kin, even those who’d passed into memory.

Even without his knowledge provided by the visions he’d seen Lyanna Stark as a tragic victim.  Contrary to his daughter’s beliefs, he had not believed the girl had seduced Rhaegar.  He knew Rhaegar, he knew the young man was charming and knew how to work people to do as he wanted them to.  It would not have been hard to entice a free-spirited girl like Lyanna with honeyed words promising to help her escape an unwanted betrothal. 

During the rebellion, he had an inkling of an idea to get Robert to marry Cersei and have Jaime released from the kingsguard and wed to Lyanna.  Jaime’s refusal to leave the order and Lyanna’s death was not an actual hindrance as it made getting Cersei her crown easier.  Too bad his foolish daughter destroyed all his hard work.

Robert had the room rearranged for this, sitting highest on the dais with the lords paramount sitting in a row below him.  The other lords and ladies in attendance sat on benches.  The King stood up, “Lady Catelyn, you stand accused of infringement of guest rights within the home of your Lord husband, not once but twice.”  Robert huffed, “How do you plead?”

Catelyn held up her head, “Guilty your grace, though I am confused as to why this matter is brought before you and the lords paramount?”  Her eyes focused on Eddard who was sitting next to Tywin in the row of lords paramount, “This matter should be of a private matter of House Stark.”

“I called for this inquest,” Prince Doran called from where he sat on Stark’s other side, “One of your infringements was against a daughter of Dorne.  One that is as close to my heart as my dearly departed sister.  During your infringement, you quite publicly called into question the honor of other souls both alive and departed who hold equally deep places in my heart, and the heart of Dorne.”

Seeing that Doran was finished Tywin spoke up, “I seconded the inquest.  I had hoped my warning after you struck my daughter, whom I might remind you is under the personal protection of your lord husband as a prisoner, would stay you from any future foolishness.  I was mistaken and realize I should have informed your husband of your transgression immediately.”

Edmure stood from the seat reserved for the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, acting in his father’s stead, “Your grace, my lords.  I know as my father’s heir and only acting in his stead my voice holds little weight, but I would repeat my request this matter be held in a less public forum.”

Tywin looked at the young man; he knew from the visions Edmure was nothing like his father.  Hoster Tully was an ambitious man, but he had the martial skills and cunning to play the game.  Edmure lacked the talent of his father and overreached his ability in a sad attempt to compare to the more noteworthy members of his House.

From the chair next to Edmure’s, the young Robert Arryn spoke up, “Aunt Catelyn, why did you hit Lady Cersei and say mean things to Lady Ashara?  You and Uncle Ned said we have to think before we act.”

The Lord of the Rock could not contain his mirth at the child lord of the Vale admonishing his aunt.  The way the boy sat proudly in the seat reminded Tywin of Lord Jon Arryn and assured him his decision to cleanse the world of Lady Lysa’s madness was justified.  The boy had much development yet to do, but the Lords Declarant of the Vale would see to it he grew into a man that would honor the memory of his venerable father.

Baratheon chuckled from his seat as Catelyn gaped like the fish on her brother’s coat of arms, “Should I add hypocrisy to the charges?  Teaching our young Lord Arryn to be kind, then not practicing what you preach.”  Tywin heard the chair the king sat in creak as the large man shifted position, “I’ve heard reports Lady Stark, you had forbidden your children from interacting with certain guests, due to their circumstances of birth.  You even made rather vulgar statements regarding my natural-born son and daughter currently residing beneath your roof under the same guest’s rights all of us born on the right side of the sheets have been granted.  Each of these incidents has not just been an assault upon the honor of your husband, a man I have seen as close as a brother for more years than you even knew his name.  You have insulted the honor of House Baratheon and House Martell.”

Mace coughed, “House Tyrell takes offense as well, several daughters of Prince Oberyn Martell are close personal friends to my children.  Lady Nymeria in particular has been a close confidante of my daughter for most of Margaery’s life.  My son Willas also sees Prince Oberyn like an older brother and takes umbrage against anyone speaking poorly of the man’s daughters.”

As Doran nodded his approval at Mace’s words, Daenerys spoke up, “Cousin, I must also speak as the representative of House Targaryen.  This woman had been nothing but cruel to my nephew, Jon Targaryen of House Stark, raised as Jon Snow.  Lord Stark impugned his honor to protect Jon following the rebellion.  I do not claim that Lady Stark needed to know the truth or that she needed to treat my nephew as warranted a child of House Targaryen, but she could have shown a bit of common human decency.”

“Aye,” Robert huffed, “well, the charges keep mounting.  Ned, it’s time for you to put your house in order, by right of my authority as King of these Seven Kingdoms, of the Andals, First Men, and Rhoynar, and protector of the faith.  I hereby authorize you to deal with this situation as you see fit.  Up to setting your wife aside and annulment of your marriage, with the caveat that your children with Lady Catelyn Tully retain their rights and positions in the order of succession of House Stark.”

There was a murmuring from the assembled lords and ladies, which ended as Eddard stood, “Cat, you admitted your guilt to the charges of impugning upon the guest’s rights of those under my roof.  You assailed a prisoner, who has taken up the faith of my gods and requested my protection.  After a warning from Lord Lannister, you proceeded to plot against another guest of my house.  To handle these matters, I have asked the two injured parties to be present so that I can ask if they are willing to forgive your transgressions.”  He looked to the two women standing on either side of Cat, but keeping a large space from each other, “Lady Dayne?”

Ashara tilted her head but maintained a placid expression as she spoke, “Words may strike like knives at one’s heart, but they are only words.  Lady Catelyn’s discourteous words against my personage I am willing to forgive.  The words she aimed at our child, at the child Lady Lyanna left to you, and Lady Lyanna herself.  I will never forgive.”  A wave of grumbling came from both groups of Dornish and Northern lords in attendance settled only by motions from their respective liege lords.

Eddard nodded, “I will get to those matters in time.” He turned to Cersei, “Lady Lannister, your statement please.”

Cersei sneered at Catelyn as she stepped forward, “Lord Stark, I have long pitied your situation, to been forced to marry a woman who swooned so for your late brother.  A man I am told lived up to his nickname of the Wild Wolf.  She did not deserve your loyalty, and she has done nothing but soil the honorable reputation of House Stark.  She slapped me in the face in what constitutes a Sept in Winterfell, she has committed violence in a place of worship.  I’m sure the Faith would claim she should lose her hand.  Yet I cannot hold her solely to blame, I may have antagonized your wife in response to her less than kind words aimed at my children and father’s house.”

“Be that as it may,” Eddard glared at Catelyn, “the Lady of House Stark is expected to act accordingly.  Not lash out at prisoners.”  He motioned Cersei to return to her guards and then focused on Cat, “Princess Daenerys, can you please explain your remarks about my wife’s treatment of Jon?”

The princess stood from the Stormland’s seat she was holding in Renly’s place, “I have asked some of Winterfell’s household about my nephew’s time here.  Their remarks have been glowing concerning your treatment of Jon, my Magnar.  Yet your lady wife has acted less than courteous, apparently, as a young child Jon made the mistake of calling Lady Catelyn mother.  A simple mistake, especially for a child who does not understand these things.  Instead of either letting the episode pass until the boy was old enough to understand or kindly correcting the mistake.  Lady Catelyn preceded to physically assault my nephew and verbally abuse him.”

Eddard paled at the princess’s words before looking to where Jon stood at Selmy’s side.  The boy was doing his best to avoid eye contact, “Jon, is this true?”

Swallowing hard the boy walked over so he could speak in a lowered voice, “I am sorry Father, I did not think it a matter worth worrying you over.  It was just after Sansa was born; I didn’t want to upset Robb by causing the two of you to fight again.”

Tightening his jaw Eddard sighed, “Did she ever lay a hand on you again after that?”

“Nay father that was the only incident she had done so,” Jon blinked, “Old Nan might have said something, she was with Jory when they found me afterward.”

Eddard now knew the timing of the event, an evening a few weeks after Sansa was born Jon failed to appear at dinner.  The nursery attendant had been frantically searching for him all afternoon, too fearful of Lord Stark’s ire to report his son was missing.  Jory and Old Nan found Jon hiding in the godswood.  When asked, Jon had said he and Robb were playing hide and seek.  Robb had looked confused but quickly recovered and confirmed the story, and apologized to his brother for failing to find him.

Suddenly Jon’s wording struck him, “You said the only incident she struck you, what other incidents have there been?”

“Remarks, glares, nothing less than expected for a bastard being raised in his father’s household,” Jon said.

Working his jaw Eddard patted the boy’s shoulder, “Return to your place,” Jon nodded and jogged back over to Selmy’s side, the knight giving the boy a nod before returning his focus to his duty.  Ned turned back to Catelyn, “You struck a child for calling you mother?  You then went about your day like it never happened, didn’t even bat an eye when the boy didn’t show up by evening.”

Catelyn winced, “I did join those searching the keep for him.”

“You went to the nursery,” Ned cut her off, “you forget we had this argument years ago.  You seem to enjoy slapping people under my protection whether they have my blood or not.  Do you realize how bad that incident could have turned, he had nearly succumbed to the cold when Jory found him.”  Eddard saw Ashara from the corner of his eye, “I want you to try imagining something Cat, what if roles had been reversed, what if you were gone and another woman was the Lady of House Stark, and Robb was the motherless child?  How would you hope that woman would treat your son?”

Catelyn pursed her lips, “The way your rightful heir should be treated.”

“This is the North,” Ned snapped, “it takes more than being the first son I father to be the true Lord of Winterfell.  Something you seem to have failed to grasp.”  He motioned to the mass of Northern banners, “You think these men and women swore loyalty to me simply because my name is Stark, and I was next in line after Brandon was murdered?”  Eddard scoffed, “They could have put Benjen in my place and they’d have been fully in their right.  They knew Benjen, they had seen him grow, even though he was little more than a pup when our father and brother were killed.  I wasn’t known, I spent years in the Vale learning at the knee of a man whose House was central to the Andal invasion.  I proved my worth to them, I spilled blood side by side with them to avenge my father and brother.  I earned their respect, their trust, and eventually one by one their loyalty.  These are not things one is simply given by merit of birth; these are gifts granted by proving one’s worth.  A lesson I feel I have failed to impart on my sons, but I will not allow such failure to continue.”

Moving back to his chair Ned looked to Edmure, “Lord Tully, I am sorry to inform you for multiple offenses, I have little choice but to request an annulment of my marriage to your sister.  Be assured that your nephews and nieces are secure in their places as my children and members of House Stark.”

“Ned,” Cat gasped, “please, you cannot do this.”

“What would you have me do?” Ned turned to glare at her, “allow you to continue insulting my House?  You insulted the memory of my sister when you referred to Jon as her bastard.  You might not have said the words, but the intention was clear in your thoughts.  If you knew Lyanna you would know her feelings on having illegitimate children, she despised her betrothal to Robert not because he fathered Mya Stone, she would never hate a child, she hated that Robert let his base desires rule him, and feared he would not stay true to their vows and marital bed.  Do you believe a woman who thought as such would have one of her own?”

Catelyn swallowed, “The Faith denounces polygamy, Rhaegar’s only trueborn children are those sired on Princess Elia.  Whatever the mummer’s farce was between the late Crown Prince and your sister was blasphemy, and would not be supported by the most devout.”

Robert chuckled from his makeshift throne, “Don’t make me laugh, a few gold dragons and I can have the most devout claim my brother’s fool Patches is Cersei and my love child from a dalliance when we were teens and claim he’s the rightful heir.”  He looked to Aegon, “Hells, maybe I’ll just have them declare Rhaegar was unable to produce an heir and I’m Aegon’s true father.”

“I think they get your point, Your Grace,” Doran grimaced.  He then looked seriously at Catelyn Tully, “Lady Tully, you speak in judgment of only the facts you know.  My sister was unable to bear another child, her womb was destroyed upon delivering Aegon.  The union between Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna was only to produce a spare heir.  My sister feared her good father, a feeling many in this chamber felt in those days.  If he knew she held no further use to his House, she could very well have ended up on the next pyre.  Lady Lyanna agreed to be my sister and good brother’s surrogate, a common practice in Dorne.  Lyanna would have lived comfortably and freely in Dorne, and any child she gave Rhaegar would have been raised as his and Elia’s.”  The Prince’s dark eyes narrowed, “So, never degrade the name of Lady Lyanna in my presence again.”

Tywin felt the need to lean away from the Dornishman, as though an aura of deadly intent was emanating from him, “Lord Stark, I have on good authority your marriage to Lady Catelyn interrupted a courtship between yourself and Lady Dayne.”

Ned glared at the older man, “I’ve just annulled my marriage, why bring this up?”

“I’m just ensuring no one questions the reasoning behind your actions,” Tywin looked to Ashara, “Lady Dayne?”

Ashara glared at the Lord of the Rock, “My lords, I and Lord Stark have barely shared a handful of conversations since my arrival, and most of those have been in very public settings, and revolve around our mutual son, or handling the particulars regarding the marriage of his eldest son with the daughter of Lord Tyrell, as I was asked to stand in for Lady Catelyn by her daughter.  I know not what your goal is here.”

“You have answered exactly as I predicted,” Tywin nodded, “proof of Lord Stark’s nature.  The man has shown nothing but loyalty and respect for his wife and his vows to her.  While Lady Catelyn has kept to her vows, as I never doubted a woman as pious as she would deviate, she has failed to show her husband the same respect and trust that he has shown her.”

Robert grumbled as he leaned forward, “Lady Catelyn Tully, formerly Stark.  I hate to say this, but I agree with my former good father.  I will have to bring this to the Most Devout unless you want to follow the recent trend and return to Old Gods, but I’m sure you have nothing to fear from them, sure the High Septon will put in a good word, for a gold dragon or two.”

Standing once more Edmure turned to the King, “I’m sure that will not be necessary Your Grace, I officially take my sister back into the protection of House Tully and formally apologize to House Stark for her behavior, and ask to relinquish claim to any dowery she had so that it can be put towards supporting Lady Sansa and Lady Arya in finding good matches.”

Catelyn frowned at her brother, but when she looked at Ned he had returned to his seat.  He looked ragged and weary.  The last time she had seen him like this was the day he awoke from his fever all those moons ago.  She had been so worried, but when he awoke it was like he was a completely different person.  He had thrown himself into his duties, sending correspondence to his banners, and summoned some immediately to come to Winterfell.  He’d even sent a letter to Jon Arryn though it probably hadn’t arrived before the man drew his last breath.

She had heard about the visions people like her husband had supposedly had, men like Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell.  Even lords in service to her father had had visions.  She did not put much stock in such things, but something had happened.  It was in the way Ned looked at the children, his normal joy had been overshadowed by regret and grim determination.  Even with Jon as the first whisper of sending him to the Wall was met with the steeled-eyed expression many referred to as the look of the Quiet Wolf.

(Winterfell – Training Yard)

Rodrik Cassel watched the various young ladies around the yard.  Dacey was instructing Jeyne in the use of a mace, one of Drogo’s bloodriders acting as a living training dummy.  Rodrik decided he’d need to inform Lord Stark that the Dothraki was staking a claim on the eldest Mormont daughter, that she happened to be Lord Stark’s baby sister had nothing to do with Rodrik’s protective fatherly feelings.  The young Dothraki laughed as Jeyne hit him with the padded tourney mace and began apologizing.

Shaking his head Rodrik moved on, the three oldest Sand Snakes were in the midst of a practice session with their father.  Prince Oberyn blocked and seemingly danced around the blows sent at him from his daughters.  Rodrik saw the eldest girl Obara as the most proficient warrior and equal to her father with the spear.  The second oldest Nymeria was good with daggers, he’d introduced her to the wrist-mounted daggers the free folk used, originally they were a tool used to climb the Wall.  Tyene was far too gentle a soul for melee combat, her hands were soft and showed she had rarely trained with a weapon.  Osha had introduced the girl to the chakram, a weapon that could be both handled in a close fight or thrown at an opponent, better yet the weapon was a potential carrier for the girl’s true master weapon, poison.

“Ser Rodrik,” the old man turned at the sound of one of the younger Sand Snakes.  Ella Sand sat atop her borrowed horse, lance in hand, “I think I need a new target.”

Looking to the dummy he’d set up on the tilt yard for the girl to practice with, he chuckled as its head was hanging at an angle, “Aye, the Others send a horde of scarecrows at us, you’ll be the leader of the cavalry.”  He motioned her over, “I know you favor that lance of yours, but without a horse, it is not an infallible weapon, you sure you don’t want to attempt another choice in armament?”

Ella bit her lip, “Papa says I won’t be fighting.”

“Aye, if I have a say none of you young’uns would have to dream of picking up a sword,” Rodrik huffed, “but that not be the world we live in.  The lance is good for tourneys, but what are you going to use to protect yourself if the worse were come to pass?”

Ella looked past him to where her father deflected Tyene’s chakram throw causing Nymeria to block the redirected weapon, “The spear is like the lance.”

“In a way, and it can be used similarly when you’re on horseback,” Rodrik nodded, “how about stabling your mount for the day and running over to where Osha is teaching my Beth?  Then your father can give you some pointers once he’s done thrashing your older sisters.”

The girl nodded before urging her horse into a trot toward the stables.  Rodrik turned to see Oberyn approaching him, his three eldest daughters taking a water break, “I heard your conversation with Ella, I had thought to coax her into learning the spear.  You have my thanks, I have met few people from north of the Prince’s Pass who treat girls like mine with such kindness.”

“Your girls have been well-behaved since their arrival here, and since Lord Stark gave them permission to use the training yard, they’ve knocked some sense into some of my hardheaded recruits.”  Rodrik looked to where Arya was helping Sansa to her feet after a misstep in their lesson under the watchful gaze of Syrio, “Thinking they are the reason Lord Stark thought to send Arya down to Dorne.”

Prince Oberyn followed his line of sight, “She is a fierce little she-wolf, Dorne will tremble beneath her paws I am sure.  You have my word she will find nothing but our best hospitality.  With any luck, she will fall in love with it as much as her dear aunt had.”

Rodrik turned to Martell, “You knew Lyanna well?”

“As well as anyone could know her,” Oberyn sighed, “I spied her thrashing some squires that were harassing our dear Lord Howland Reed, you know him no doubt as he is a countryman of yours.”

“As well as anyone can know a Reed,” Rodrik chuckled.

Oberyn smirked, “I had hoped to get to know her better at the tourney, though my sister mistook my curiosity and admiration for the girl as improper and arranged for my dearest brother to summon me back to Dorne.  When Rheagar brought her to Dorne I was incensed that he would use her as little more than a broodmare.”  At Rodrik’s irate look, Oberyn continued, “Do not get me wrong, surrogates are common practice in Dorne to deal with infertility.  The difference is nominally our surrogates are the paramour of either one or sometimes both of the intended parents and rarely if ever are they from a noble house.  If they are they are like my paramour Ellaria, Sands.”

Rodrik seemed to understand, “You took afront to Lyanna being asked to fulfill a role below her station.”

“I did,” Oberyn smirked, “at least until she explained why she was willing to do it.  I had gone to her before the ceremony, offering to challenge Rhaegar, that as my bride she would be free of her betrothal to Baratheon and have freedoms she could only dream of.  She had gotten to know Obara and Nymeria by then and realized the type of man I am.  She said I was a good man, and thanked me for the offer, but she had promised Elia to help her, whatever that entailed.  I saw that she and Elia had some affection for one another, perhaps a sisterly bond.”

The old man’s eyes furrowed, “I didn’t know Lyanna was acquainted with the late princess.”

“The knight of the laughing tree, Rhaegar and Arthur came upon Lyanna removing the armor.  To protect her from Aerys’ madness, Arthur escorted her to Elia while Rhaegar delivered the shield to his father with the tale he found it with the knight’s armor hanging in a tree.”  Oberyn mused, “When asked later where she was it gave Lyanna an alibi, my sister was unwell, she was still recovering from her pregnancy with Aegon at the time.  Ser Oswell escorted Lyanna back to her brothers later after Aerys had calmed, and thanked her in their presence for sitting with Elia.  It was Elia who tasked Rhaegar and Arthur to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty.  The only recognition she could publicly get for her defeat of those knights.”

Rodrik nodded, “I humored Lyanna behind Lord Rickard’s back, as did my brother Martyn.  We trained her to joust, as we both learned when we were young squiring in the south.  We never thought she’d be daft enough to try her hand in an actual contest.”

Oberyn chuckled, “Aye,” he looked to where Ella was squaring off against Beth Cassel under the watchful eye of the wildling Osha, “Yet with these young ladies you are not merely humoring them.”

“The time for humoring is long past,” Rodrik tugged at his muttonchops, “when the cold winds blow, these ladies will not be able to rely on men like you and me to ensure their safety.  The dead do not distinguish between man and woman, they will kill every man woman, and child they cross paths with.”

(Robb’s Chambers)

Robb listened as Lady Maege Mormont informed him of his father setting his mother aside through the partially opened door.  He worked his jaw, “Thank you, my lady, is my father still in the meeting, or have they adjourned?”

“It was decided to adjourn for the day,” Maege responded, “your father has retired to his solar and asked not to be disturbed.  I volunteered to carry the news to you and Lady Sansa, your father will explain as best he can to Arya, Bran, and Rickon later.”

His knuckles whitened as his grip on the door tightened, “What were the reasons for separation?”

“There were many my lord, just to suffice there were ample grounds.  Your place and that of your siblings has been secured, not that Ned would disinherit any of you, you’re his blood,” Maege sniggered, “Any word I should carry to your siblings?”

Robb looked back towards Margaery for a moment, “I’ll not break the customary seclusion, tell them I am with them in thought if not bodily.  Remind them the pack survives, and I will see them soon.”

Maege nodded, “Well said my lord.”

Watching the woman depart Robb gave a nod to the two guards before shutting the door.  Walking to the hearth in his room he leaned against the mantel.  Within a moment Margaery was at his side, “What happened?”

Swallowing Robb sighed, “My father divorced my mother, she will be sent to return to Riverrun when father departs for the capital and Uncle Edmure returns to the Riverlands.” Margaery placed a hand on his shoulder as he continued, “I knew things between them were worsening, but I never thought it would get to the point father would dismiss her.  They fought often when Jon and I were young, mostly over Jon, but they seemed to have gotten past that.”

Margaery’s lips tightened, “Did Lady Mormont give any reason for the separation?”

“No particulars, only that there were ample reasons,” Robb grimaced, “my place is here with you, but I feel I should be out there.  My siblings need me.  Sansa, I think she knew this was bound to happen, she’s been strangely calm these past moons, even when she had to act in our lady mother’s stead.  Arya and Rickon are going to be so confused, and Bran, I don’t know, he never lets on about his feelings.  He’s like Father in that regard.”

Placing her free hand on Robb’s face she smiled at him, “You must trust in your brothers as I do mine.  Jon and Edric are not much younger than you, and they have their own experiences to pull upon to aid your mutual siblings.  As you say the pack survives, and this is not the worst that could happen, at the very least your mother lives.  You and your siblings can still correspond with her, and eventually, visits could be arranged.”

An unkind thought about his half-brother and cousin snaked its way into Robb’s mind.  In a way it was Jon’s and Edric’s fault for this state of affairs, it was their presence in Winterfell that had soured his parents’ relationship.  As easily as the thought came it was snatched between the jaws of a great wolf.  Robb looked to where Greywind lay, his dire wolf had slipped through the opened door, while still not fully grown the beast was large enough that sneaking shouldn’t be in the cards.  Greywind returned his look as though he was personally responsible for removing that dark thought from Robb’s mind.

Releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding he looked into the eyes of his bride, seeing nothing but warmth and understanding, “Your right, my brothers can handle things until tomorrow.”

“That is a welcome acknowledgment,” Margaery quipped, “Now we have something important to discuss,” at Robb’s raised Margaery huffed, “this room is meant to be large enough for two people, you and your wife, I’m not sure if they were accounting for dire wolves when they designed the room.  Once we have a child, there will be four beings living in here.”

Robb looked to Greywind, “Good thing you don’t take up much room boy.”

“Oh,” Margaery mused, “don’t’ get confused it’ll be you sleeping in the empty room across the hall.”  Margaery frowned, “Speaking of which, shouldn’t that be Bran’s room?”

Robb sighed, “It was, but he moved to the third son’s chambers, the next room on this side of the hall when he was old enough to realize he’d forced Jon out of his room.”

Margaery frowned, “The room has been vacant since Bran was born?”

“When he was two and moved out of the nursery,” Robb sighed, “mother moved Jon down to the Night’s Watch cells.  She hoped his being around them would spark a desire to join them or Uncle Benjen would suggest he go to the Wall.  Not that he was there when the Black Brothers were present.  Father would move him back up here for his safety after a wandering crow almost did something unspeakable to him.  Would have if Uncle Benjen hadn’t been here and is a notoriously light sleeper.”

Margaery huffed, “If you ever bring a bastard home, the worse place, they’ll have to sleep is next to Greywind on our bed while you take the carpet next to the fire, that’s if I’m generous, otherwise, you’re sleeping in the hallway.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever think to stray,” Robb smirked, “though I would have to be madder than Aerys Targaryen to look at another woman.”

“Good answer husband,” Margaery smirked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

(Winterfell – Maester’s Tower)

Sarella scratched down some notes as she perused the third tome she’d found in the Winterfell library covering the subject of the Others and the Long Night.  Her uncle had tasked her with searching for every piece of information she could glean from these ancient books, there were many volumes here that were missing from the Citadel library or had been purposely destroyed by various Archmaesters or by decree of ruling monarchs over the years.

Looking up she noticed Luwin and Almond enter, the two maesters were deep in discussion, “You have a Valarian steel link, you must have studied the higher mysteries.”

“I studied some of the more esoteric parts of the Higher Mysteries, yes, but only as much as any maester.” Luwin sighed, “Things at the Citadel have changed greatly since your day.  The Archmeaster of the Higher Mysteries is considered a laughing stock, that entire branch of study is rebuked and is on the very verge of being erased.”

“How far we have fallen,” Aemon sighed as he felt his way further into the room.

Movement from a worktable had Sarella’s eyes narrowing.  Joffrey Waters moved to the blind maester, “Pardon Maester Aemon, allow me to help you.”

“Thank you, lad,” Aemon glanced in the direction of Luwin, “I did not think you had any apprentices.”

Luwin snorted, “I don’t, though as busy as my tower has been the past months you would be mistaken.  The young man is Joffrey Waters, his parents are Jamie and Cersei Lannister, he has had nothing else to do since being disinherited by Robert Baratheon, so I have put him to work at a few simple tasks.”

“It’s better than staring out a window all day,” Joffrey grimaced giving his hand to help guide the blind Targaryen to a nearby chair, “Maester Luwin I have finished that ointment for Lord Umber’s, well hoping it’s for foot itch because I don’t want to think what else that ointment is used for.”

A chuckle from the maester piqued Sarella’s curiosity and she walked over to Joffrey’s workstation and checked the ingredient list the younger boy had been working with.  Her eyes widened as she recognized the ointment as one used to deal with skin chaffing, “I will not agree on many things but I would rather not know what the Great Jon needs with this.”

Shaking his head Luwin walked over and examined the ointment, “Not for Great Jon, his uncle Mors.  He has had a long-standing condition since a trip beyond the Wall in a futile attempt to retrieve his daughter.  She was abducted by wildlings almost thirty years ago.  The ointment helps relieve the symptoms though there is no cure.”

Joffrey frowned, “His daughter was taken?  Why would wildlings kidnap a lord’s daughter?”

“Many reasons,” Aemon sighed, “none of them particularly pleasant to contemplate.  I know the Lord Commander at the time mustered a punitive ranging.  Put to the sword any wildlings they found outside the villages near Castle black.  A poor decision, it was as likely our rangers killed the poor girl in their senseless butchery.  Worse yet those slain were left to rot, and unless the wildlings burnt the bodies after our men had returned to the Wall.”

“The corpses became tools of the Others,” Sarella surmised, “my readings have shown burning of the dead was still being practiced in Westeros until the arrival of the Andals, they began the practice of preserving the dead when possible.  I’ve checked, and even the oldest tombs in the Stark’s crept are meant to hold ashes.  I would guess a king or lord since the conquest would have the ashes of their entire family interred with their own.  That’s why only the kings and lords have statues, there are signs there were smaller statues added around the bases of some of the earliest crypts, but they have long since been removed.”

Luwin tapped his chin, “I was not present in Winterfell before Lord Stark, I was sent after my predecessor had a rather sudden and inglorious end.”

Joffrey frowned, “What happened?”

“He ran afoul of Lord Bolton,” Luwin supplied, “Lord Roose arrived at Winterfell along with Lord Stark.  Something that was occurring displeased Lord Stark and to get to the bottom of it Lord Bolton put a particular set of talents to use to force my predecessor to reveal his secrets.”

Sarella grimaced, “The fate of Maester Walys is still gossip at the Citadel.”

“Is it?” Aemon frowned, “My dear unless I am very much mistaken the Citadel has never admitted a woman into its ranks.”

Sarella smirked, “Oh, they are still a bunch of prudes who believe lacking a prick makes you unworthy of knowing things.”  She took a piece of paper and wrote her name before reversing the letters, “I’m fortunate they do not do a physical examination on initiates.  I was sent by my uncle under the alias of Alleras Sand of Dorne.”

Luwin smirked as Aemon chuckled.  Joffrey frowned, “Are all the Archmaester’s blind, there’s no way you could pass for a boy?”

“Oh, most of them have poor eyesight, and I have a couple of friends who help me when certain situations arise where my true gender might be revealed.  My mother is a captain from the Summer Islands, she taught me how to hide certain features.”  She shrugged so far no one has ever suspected.

“You take a risk revealing such to Luwin and myself,” Aemon remarked.

“I have a feeling among any maesters the two of you are least likely to rat me out, well next to the maesters Caleotto and Myles who both tutored me and wrote glowing recommendations to get me into the Citadel,” Sarella smirked.

Aemon looked in the general direction of Luwin, “Perhaps it is time you take an apprentice my young friend, an ambitious initiate who made his way to Winterfell while on sabbatical.”

Luwin frowned, “I doubt she has intentions of becoming a full maester.”

“True, but it would help explain my long absence,” Sarella mused.

“In for stag, in for dragon they say,” Luwin sighed, “it would be safer by far, if anyone save archmaester Marwyn learned the truth, even your father and uncle would not be enough to save you from the repercussions.”

Joffrey looked at the concerned faces of the two old men, “What would they do to her?”

“Not the Citadel,” Sarella cut in, “the worst the Seneschal would do is put me in the stocks for a few days before banishing me from the Citadel.  Old Town though is the center of power for the Most Devout, they have certain punishments for women who pose as men.  To keep the Septons from forcing their will on the Citadel certain concessions have to be made.  I would be turned over to Lord Hightower, who would most likely give me to the Most Devout for punishment.”

“Lord Hightower converted to the Old Gods,” Joffrey corrected, “it’s been the gossip since he ran out of the godswood in nothing but his breeches a couple of days ago.”

“He made the choice to return to the Old Gods, but he must still consent to the laws of the land,” Aemon sighed, “and unfortunately Sarella would not be given the chance to plead her faith with the Old Gods, she is Dornish, few remember or know the Old Gods’ touch reached so far to the south.”

Sarella nodded, “I actually wouldn’t even be given a trial, I’m a Sand so they would strip me bare and shave me on the steps of the Hightower before forcing me to make a walk of atonement.  Which would end with being caned and stoned to death by a mob of Septas.”

Joffrey’s eyes widened, “What would they have done to my mother?  If Lord Stark didn’t suggest she switch to the Old Gods.”

“About the same,” Sarella mused, “I once watched them walk a woman accused of seducing an Archmaester right onto her pyre.  Though, that’s if they think seducing her brother was her worst sin.”

Joffrey looked to the maesters, “And the King has let these people do this kind of thing?”

Luwin shook his head, “The kings outside of the North have ruled because the faith allows them to rule, sense the time of the Andal invasions.”  He looked to Aemon, “Even the Targaryen King was subject to the will of the Most Devout.”

Aemon nodded, “The most my House was able to achieve at reducing their power was ending the Faith Militant orders.”

Focusing on the empty sleeve of his amputated arm, Joffrey growled, “Mother told me when I was king everyone would have to listen and do whatever I said.”

“To some extent that was true,” Aemon nodded, “but even a king must listen to those who empower him.  Otherwise, I have little doubt my young cousin would not have murdered you, your mother, and your siblings without a second thought when he learned the truth.  Robert is many things, rational is not one of those things.”

Sarella frowned, “I have heard he has known of Jon’s parentage for years, yet he never acted rashly.”

“True,” Aemon sighed, “but in some ways he did.  It was through a different emotion of course.  When he realized Jon’s origin, he was not angry, there was no one to be angry with.  He had already slain Rheagar and Lady Lyanna’s bones were most assuredly resting in the Red Keep’s godswood awaiting transport to Winterfell.  He was swallowed by grief, and the only beings in the keep who shared the grief were Lord Stark and the babe that he’d made fatherless.”

“Mother said father, I mean His Grace and Lord Stark were not on speaking terms at the time,” Joffrey noticed them look at him, “I asked when she was fuming about grandfather being refused the position as hand.  She said the trip would be wasted because the King had soured his friendship after the Rebellion when he refused to punish grandfather and his men for slaughtering the royal children.  She didn’t think Lord Stark would agree to be Hand.”

A throat cleared and King Robert’s voice spoke, “I would say our friendship was strained, but not completely soured.”  Swallowing hard Joffrey bowed his head, as all those present save Aemon bowed to the king.  Robert huffed, “Enough of that.”  Once they were all done bowing the king approached Luwin, “Need to send a series of Ravens, first to Kings Landing to inform my brother that Lady Catelyn Stark is now Catelyn Tully once more and no long the Lady of Winterfell.”

Luwin’s eyes widened in surprise, “Your Grace?”

“Sordid affair that, but was bound to happen,” Robert looked to Sarella, “You’re one of Prince Oberyn’s right?”

“Sarella, Your Grace,” Joffrey noticed the dark-skinned woman glared the same at Robert as she did him whenever she looked his way, “how can I be of service?”

“Go find my Mya and any other young ladies you can,” Robert grimaced, “Lady Sansa and Lady Arya will have learned by now their parents have separated.  Think it better if they have womanly support, whatever it is girls do, whatever, gossip, sew, anything that helps when you are upset.”

Sarella smirked, “You do realize you are speaking to a daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell.”

“Anything within acceptable social norms,” Robert sighed, “and nothing that might get someone fed to a blasted dire wolf, there are nine of the damn things running around here.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sarella exited the room.

With her gone his focus returned to Joffrey, “I hear you’ve been making yourself useful, maybe sending you to the Citadel isn’t a bad idea.  Better than the Wall, the Others probably wouldn’t even bother with a crippled broken thing like you.”

“I’m not a cripple,” Joffrey grit through his teeth.

“Eh,” Robert snorted, “talking back to your king boy, got more spine now than you ever did when you were prancing around like you were one of mine.”

Luwin sighed, “Your Grace, you had messages you wanted sent out.”

“Right,” Robert glared at Joffrey, “perhaps we can continue this in my solar.”

Luwin looked to Joffrey sympathetically before motioning Robert to lead the way.  Once both were gone Aemon sighed, “Boy has as much fire as his ancestor and about as much sense.”

Joffrey fumed, “I’m glad that man isn’t my real father.”

“It is probably for the best to avoid his grace for the time being, at least till the matter with your actual father had been resolved,” Ameon said sternly.

(Winterfell – Rampart)

Jon sat with Edric, he’d snagged a flagon of mead from the kitchen, and the two of them were sharing it.  They had found a rather secluded section of the rampart, a patrol had passed a few minutes ago, and another would probably not come for an hour.  Not that security here was particularly important, beyond the wall were flat open spans of terrain that had little to no cover, the two watchmen positioned on the nearby roof would see any approach on a clear day.

Edric took a swig from the flagon, “You think Robb will blame us for not stopping father?”

“Doubtful,” Jon mused, “father made his decision before either of us spoke up.  It was those of equal station to father who laid grievances at Lady Catelyn’s feet.”

Edric huffed, “I never uttered a word in either way, and you only spoke when responding to father’s query.  You never told father about her striking you?”

“As I told him, I never wanted to make things worse between him and Lady Catelyn,” Jon mused before taking a swig from the flagon, “Would you have in my place?”

“I should have been me in your place,” Edric growled, “I’m father’s bastard, and for all, we knew mother was dead.”

Jon passed him back the flagon, “People assumed Lady Dayne was my mother.”

“What do you two think you’re doing?” Sansa stormed towards the pair, “give me that.” Snatching the flagon from Edric she dumped its contents over the wall before handing it to Beth Cassel who was with her along with Jenye Poole, “Hiding up here drinking this early in the afternoon.”

Edric winced as Jon bowed his head, “Trying to stay out of sight.”

“Father has barricaded himself in his solar and our brother is in isolation with his bride until the morning,” Sansa placed her fisted hands on her hips, “leaving me to deal with a castle full of guests, and three confused and upset younger siblings.  Here I find you two acting like Theon and searching for answers in the bottom of a flagon of mead.”

Edric stood, “Sorry Lady Sansa.”

“Don’t Lady Sansa me dear brother, scurry to your mother’s chamber and beg her to do something about father,” Sansa’s eyes narrowed, “You could not fail to notice the miserable state he was in.  I know their marriage was fraying over the past moons but I think he hoped there was some way to salvage things with my mother.  Lady Dayne could keep him from drowning in the bottle of Dornish Red he keeps in the cabinet behind his desk.”

Jon frowned, “Sansa, I’m not sure that is wise, propriety sake it looks bad for an unwed lady, especially the mother of his son born out of wedlock to visit him.”

Rolling her eyes Sansa sighed, “I’m sure nothing untoward will occur, and worse case we have another sibling.”

“Sansa!” they all turned to find Edmure Tully approaching, “What would your mother say?”

“I can imagine what she would say,” Sansa glared at her uncle, “but truthfully I have little care for her thoughts or words.  I am a Stark of Winterfell, and my words are Winter is Coming.  A warning to any who dare cross the pack, and mother crossed my pack the moment she raised a hand to my brother.”

“Cousin,” Edmure corrected, “and that was years ago,” at his niece’s glare joined with those of the Cassel and Poole girls, and the narrowing of Lord Dayne’s eyes he defensively raised his hands, “and I agree it was a poor decision, we cannot let it tear us apart.”  He motioned to Jon, “Jon did not dwell on it as he never used it against my sister, and trust me he could have done so.”

Edric looked to Jon, “Actually, did you tell your brother or aunt about that?”

Shaking his head in the negative Jon mused, “I’m guessing word got back to Old Nan and she told either of them, more likely just Danerys since Aegon looked rather shocked and irate over it.”

Edmure cleared his throat, “I’m actually on my way to Lord Stark’s solar,” he avoided looking at Sansa, “to make arrangements for sending my sister back to Riverrun.”

Sansa frowned, “Won’t you be accompanying her back?”

“No,” Edmure grimaced, “I’m taking an offer to Pike.  Lady Asha Greyjoy is doubtlessly not a maiden, but she is of a high enough standing to be the Lady of Riverrun and agrees as long as I grant her some liberties.  Her uncles agree a union between our houses will do much to unify the Iron Born back to the mainland, it will help to have Iron Born blood back on the throne of the Riverlands.”

“Theon’s sister,” Sansa smirked, “I saw her in the yard earlier, she is no simpering maiden like you are used to uncle.”

Edmure chuckled, “I traveled with her from Lannisport, their longships are quite swift going through the swamplands of the Neck and reaching Long Lake.  It was her uncle Harlaw who approached me with the proposition all I need to do is pay the iron price, tell her father I’m taking her and as long as she consents the Old Kraken won’t bat an eye.”

“Helps you will be returning my brother to him,” Asha and Theon came walking in the opposite direction along the wall, “in a way trading one hostage for another.” Asha smirked before placing a fist to her breast above her heart, “Daughter and sons of my Magnar, as a daughter of the Drowned One I’m honored to greet my brothers and sister of those of the earth and trees.”

“A First Man greeting,” Edric mused, “your ancestors departed for the Iron Islands long ago.”

Theon huffed, “More like fled to them more like.  Uncle Reader found some old documents, turns out our ancestors were craven.  Instead of fighting the Others with the rest of our people, we scurried away to the islands, then blamed everyone else when they wouldn’t lift a finger to help us after the Long Night ended.”

“The Drowned One was an Old God worshiped by those of us in the costal regions of the North, our priests covered the cowardly flight as we were being called to the islands by our god.  It explains why our ancestors took weirwood trees with them, and our ships traditionally christened with sap from those trees before leaving drydock.”  Asha mused, “never could get Damphair to explain that.”

Jon frowned, “I thought the Iron Born houses were chased out of the North by the Barrow Kings.”

“The Barrow Kings were in league with the Others,” Edmure explained, “Blackwood’s maester found documents that predated the Andal Invasion which explained the Magnar of Winter brought down the Barrow Kings, laid them low for betraying the living.  The houses of the Barrows today are meant to stand against the possible rise of the Barrow Kings if the Others ever returned.”

Edric huffed, “That would be why Father is concerned about Barbrey Dustin.”

Sansa tilted her head, “We welcome the return of our lost children of the Drowned One, may you find shelter within the walls of where winter fell.”

“If not I know some perfectly good islands we can hide out on,” Asha joked, “in fact might be a wise move to evacuate children to the Iron Islands if the Wall fails to hold.”

Jon shook his head, “The Iron Islands won’t be safe this time.”

“I know, but it would at least buy them a bit of time,” Asha sighed, “with any luck, we’d stop the dead here.  Let Winterfell stand up to the true meaning of its name.  The fortress where winter fell, was the place where the Others got their first true taste of defeat.  From this very spot the first Magnar of Winter made them fear, and with that fear, victory was soon to follow and the Long Night came to an end.”

Edric looked to Sansa and Jon, “As long as our blood continues, there is hope.  My mother’s vision showed her my fall, I was the last with any Stark blood.  I fell trying to hold the dead at the Prince’s Pass, against a horde comprised of the dead from all of the other kingdoms.  With my death, the Others consumed Dorne and soon after the rest of the known world.”

“Guessing that is the real meaning behind there always being a Stark in Winterfell,” Jon huffed.

Sansa frowned, “Jon, you remember when father took Robb and me to visit Lord Karstark?”

Jon nodded, “Aye, your mother was visiting her father in Riverrun, but she wanted Father to take me with you.  She must have thought a six-year-old was capable of usurping Father’s seat.”

“I always thought he didn’t want to insult Lord Karstark by bringing you,” Sansa admitted sheepishly, “at least that was what mother said about his refusal.  Yet when we arrived, Lord Karstark asked about you and father simply said there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

“It wouldn’t have insulted Lord Karstark, I’ve been there before,” Jon frowned, “it was before you were born, and before Uncle Benjen left for the Wall.  Karstark even said if things with the trout got too difficult I was always welcome at Karhold as we were kin.”

Edmure chuckled, “The Karstarks are a branch house from the main Stark line.  You never took him up on the offer?”

“I didn’t realize what he was talking about at the time,” Jon admitted, “I thought he was talking about an actual fish, I had never seen the Tully sigil, didn’t see it until I was ten and Maester Luwin started teaching us the sigils of southron houses.”

Sansa grimaced, “Mother did not include Jon when she would tell Robb and me stories about the Riverlands, or showed us her father’s sigil.”

Edmure thought back to his sporadic visits to Winterfell over the years and realized he rarely if ever saw Jon, “Jon, where were you during my visits, I just realized I have rarely if ever seen you and this is by far the most I have spoken to you.”

Jon shared a look with Sansa before answering, “When I was little, in my chambers, Father would break his fast with me before going to eat with the rest of the family, and later would eat a second dinner with me.  When I got older, he’d send me with guards to hunt and camp in the Wolf Wood or visit Cerwyn or Torrhen’s Square.  Whatever it took to appease Lady Catelyn.”

Edmure sighed before looking to Sansa, “I take it that was why Robb was never happy to see me?”

“He was happy to see you uncle,” Sansa assured, “he was just upset and worried about Jon, they have always been inseparable.  There was more than once he threw father’s lone wolf dies but the pack survives line at him.”

Edric sniggered, “Yet I survived four and ten years as a lone wolf.”

“You have the luck of a falling star,” Asha quipped, “might have balanced out the bad luck imbued by being a lone wolf.  Just to be safe, I’ll never set foot on a ship with you unless at least one of your siblings is present.  You know, just in case.”

(Winterfell – Sept)

Cersei sat and listened to Myrcella talk about her morning.  Tywin had learned many of the young ladies in residence at Winterfell had taken up learning weapons, he had allowed Myrcella to join in the hopes she would find some comradery with girls her age.  Cersei had laughed at the hypocrisy as she’d been rebuked for her desire to learn the sword.  Though, with the coming wintery apocalypse hurtling towards them every day, she could understand the loosening of perceived social norms.

Myrcella was no fighter and was not exactly athletic in any way.  She was the quintessential princess, a demure young lady who relied on knights to protect her.  So, it was to Cersei’s surprise when her daughter revealed the short, curved saber at her waist, it was basic and blunt, a training weapon.  With some training at the very least Myrcella would be able to stab her assailants, and with enough training would know to aim for the weak points in armor.

Cersei smiled, “You will be both beautiful and deadly my little lion.”

Myrcella smiled back, “Father said so.”

“Mrycella, we have spoken about this, King Robert is not your father,” Cersei frowned.

The girl sighed, “I know mother, it wasn’t the King I was speaking of.” Myrcella looked to the floor, “He arrived with the Night’s Watch, I saw him last night at Lord Robb’s wedding feast.”

“Jamie is here,” Cersei gasped, “why?”

Myrcella shrugged, “He went to the Wall after escaping Winterfell, but Lord Benjen brought him back before he said his vows.  He is apparently under orders to return father to the Wall, he volunteered to join the Watch and the Lord Commander only allowed him to be returned to Winterfell to officially admit his guilt and declare his intention of taking the Black for his crimes.”

Cersei’s mouth went dry as she tried to think of what to say.  It was hard to think Jamie had fled to the Wall, she’d half hoped he would make for Essos.  If that had been the case she could have accepted banishment and met him in Bravos.  As it stood her life was in the hands of Lord Stark, and her dear brother seemed content to freeze his cock off at the Wall.  That’s if the Others don’t kill him first and turn him into one of their undead minions.

Her musing was interrupted by the door opening and Lady Dayne entering.  Ashara sent a glare her way, “Pardon I was looking for the library.”

“Next floor up,” Cersei said easily, many wanting to get a look at the fallen queen had used that excuse, though she doubted it was an excuse in Ashara’s case.  The way she looked at Mrycella was easy to read, she’d been intending to speak with Cersei, but would not wish to be overheard by the girl, “My proud little lioness, why don’t you run along back to your grandfather, I am sure he would love to hear of your time in the yard.”

Myrcella smiled tightly, obviously able to read the tension between Cersei and Ashara, “Are you sure Mother, I can stay longer the Septa has postponed lessons because of Lord Robb and Lady Margaery’s nuptials last evening.  Though, Lady Sansa said the Septa no doubt imbibed too much wine last night.”

“Of course, she did,” Ashara huffed, “what do you expect from a pious cobweb-filled cunt.”

Myrcella’s eyes widened at the crass language, but Cersei had to fight back a laugh, it was good to know some things never changed, Ashara’s disdain for Septas had been legendary during their shared time in the Red Keep.  The Dornish woman could easily pretend to be a pious follower of the Seven-Pointed Star, but Cersei had spotted her on more than one occasion praying at the mockery of a heart tree in the Red Keep’s godswood.

Ashara sighed, “Lady Myrcella, you do not have anything to fear, I wish only to speak with your lady mother, and unlike some individuals, I have better control of my emotions.”  Ashara indicated the door, “If you still do not trust me, I will have Ned’s men step inside, I have no fear of them hearing our conversation.”

Myrcella smiled tightly, “I do trust you, my lady, you have not been unkind to either of my brothers or myself though you have cause to despise us as much as many do.”

Cersei was surprised when Ashara crossed the room and took Myrcella’s face in her hand, “Sweet child you do not deserve to be hated or mistreated, no matter the actions of those who brought you into this world.  Every child is a gift, granted by the gods of tree and earth.”

Myrcella placed her hands atop those of Lady Dayne, “Even for one who follows the Seven?”

“Even for one who follows the Seven who are One,” Ashara smirked, “you are still the blood of the First Men, the blood of their chosen.  You may not heed them, but they will never abandon you, even if you are far from their sight.  Their hands are at your shoulder guiding, their voices are whispering in your ear words of comfort, their warmth sustains you in the darkest of moments.”

“They sound so different than what the Septons say,” Myrcella smiled.

Ashara’s lips thinned, “They can be as cruel as any god, child, and their anger is as fierce as any storm.  They are the world, and we live and die as they will.”  She leaned forward and placed her forehead to Myrcella’s, “Now off with you child, the gods did not grant such a beautiful day for you to be couped up in this tower.”

Myrcella nodded and swept from the room, leaving the door ajar.  Cersei took a breath before standing, “I thank you, Lady Dayne, for speaking so kindly to my daughter.”

“She is a child, innocent, pure,” Ashara turned to Cersei, “her mother on the other hand is a deceitful bitch who only lives because my love is too kind and honorable to watch whatever brutality His Grace might do to you.”  Ashara’s eyes narrowed, “How could you do it?  She loved you like a sister, like all of us, and you sent your father’s beasts to brutally murder her and her children.  What offense did Rhaenys commit against you, what did Aegon do that was so horrible the babe in his place deserved to have its head dashed against the wall.”

Cersei shook her head, “What words could I say that would ease the pain of what I did?  I was prideful, I was jealous, and I was a foolish girl who believed everything my father said.  My earliest memories are of him promising I would be Queen, that Rhaegar would choose me to be his bride.  Do you not think there is a night I didn’t lay in that castle and regret my actions did not imagine watching them be slaughtered?  Not a day went by that miserable cat did not lurk in the corner staring at me as though it knew my hands were stained with their blood.”

“Yet you lived and they sit at the feast of the dead,” Ashara glared, “you claim to follow my gods, are those just words to garner Ned’s protection or are you truly returned to them.”

“I won’t lie,” Cersei smiled sadly, “at first I thought it a simple way to escape the clutch boney fingers of the faith.  Say some pretty words before a tree, a simple act to save my skin.  Then I spent months staring at these empty masks, what good are these effigies?  They hang there silent while the old gods gave their chosen children warnings of the doom marching down from that frozen hell to snuff the very life from every one of us regardless of being high or low born.”

Ashara mused, “Then the rumors are true, you are undergoing the ritual of renewal.  You know that ritual is normally undertaken by widows before they remarry.”

“So I’ve been told, but it is also used by women who have born a child out of wedlock, to cleanse their honor,” Cersei narrowed her gaze, “You wouldn’t happen to be thinking of doing the same.  Now that your beloved Ned is no longer bound to that insufferable fish.”

“I hold no animosity towards Lady Catelyn, nor do I claim a hold over Ned’s heart.  I do not need to cleanse myself in the eyes of my gods.” Ashara stated, but Cersei detected hesitancy in the other woman’s voice.

She crossed her arms, “Maybe not in the eyes of the gods, but what about in your own eyes?  You did nothing wrong in bringing your son into this world, and from what I have observed from my lofty prison, he is a credit to our Magnar and you, though neither of you raised him.  Yet you did abandon them both, made them think you did something both faiths frown upon.”

(Winterfell – Godswoods)

It was late in the evening, a chill to the air as Cersei passed through the iron gate into Winterfell’s godswood.  Her guards remained at the gate; no man would be allowed in the woods tonight.  There was no moon in the sky the only light was a row of torches lighting the path to the heart tree.  Cersei was clad in only a simple white dress held up by the straps knotted at the shoulders, barely a tug would have the garment falling to the mossy ground.

As she neared the clearing, she saw she was not the only one so clothed.  Ashara huffed, “Took you long enough.”

“Had trouble with the dress,” Cersei indicated the messily done knots, “I wasn’t exactly wanting to expose myself on the way here.”

Ashara reached up to her knots, “Well does not matter, first part of the ritual is to abandon pride and shame, to present yourself as the gods gifted you to the world.”

“Not like we haven’t seen each other so undressed before,” Cersei smirked.

Both women undid the knots holding up their dresses and let them fall.  Cersei noticed the way Ashara tried to cover the stretch marks on her abdomen, the only sign she’d carried Edric all those years ago.  She knew her stretch marks were fresher, Tommen was not even ten-name days old.

She cautiously reached out and forced Ashara to drop her arms, “Abandon pride and shame, not like the gods haven’t seen those marks before, they are nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ashara glared but nodded, “Right, though I forgot how cold it would be out here.”

“Better doing this here than anywhere else,” Cersei sniggered, “in the south, a Septa would have appeared by now with a cane to beat us for even talking about this ritual.”

“Do you know who waits at the heart tree?” Ashara asked.

“Women of the North,” Cersei guessed, “my guards told me no men would be present, it is forbidden, and Maege would likely take her mace to any man, even the King himself for intruding.”

Ashara nodded, “Good, let’s get moving, it is freezing out here.”

Even naked as the day they were born the two high-born ladies walked into the clearing.  A gathering of women sat at the base of the weirwood.  At the center Maege Mormont sat, legs crossed and her mace resting upon her lap, “Who comes before the gods on this night of the new moon, the night of renewal.”

Ashara held her hands out in the manner of a supplicant, “Lady Ashara Dayne, daughter of the lords of where the star fell, humble servant of the gods of earth and tree, sea and sky, fire and ice.  I come seeking to be cleansed in the eyes of my gods, to be accepted as one of their children once more.”

Following Ashara’s example Cersei took the same stance, “Lady Cersei Lannister, daughter of the former Magnars of the Rock, lost to the faith of the Andal Invaders.  I come seeking to be cleansed in the eyes of my gods, to return to their embrace and guidance as my forefathers.”

Nodding Maege indicated the dark pool where the tree’s sap mixed with water, “Bathe in the blood of the gods, then join me in the circle.”

Following the instructions Cersei went to the pool, she expected it to be as cold as the air around them but was pleasantly surprised to find it as warm as a bath.  A Splunk sound next to her saw Ash return to the surface of the pool, the red sap making her olive skin glisten like a coating of oil.  Cersei held her breath as she plunged under the dark water, returning to the surface she felt delicate fingers wipe the cloying sap from her eyes.

Opening her eyes to see it was Ashara assisting her, she nodded her thanks as they both pulled themselves out of the pool on the side closest to the weirwood.  With the sap still clinging to their bodies and in their hair, they approached the eldest Mormont woman.  Gathered around were several other women, though Cersei was not familiar with most of their names.

Sansa Stark and another girl approached motioning them to kneel before the older Mormont woman, before producing combs and walking behind them.  Sansa started combing the sap from Ashara’s hair as the other girl did the same for Cersei.  Maege began speaking.

“Lady Sansa, daughter of our honorable Magnar, Lady Meera, daughter of our honorable Lord Reed,” Maege smirked, “Children not yet flowered, children pure and innocent.  They do not need to be renewed, yet with their hands, they grace you with their innocence, their purity.”  The older woman sighed, “Speak of that which you wish the gods to forgive.”

Cersei shared a look with Ashara, so far the Dornish woman had led, but Cersei knew here was where she must go first.  As Meera Reed continued to comb out the sap from her hair Cersei spoke, “I have committed crimes against the gods.  I have taken lives to hide my misdeeds, and I have lain with my brother.  He is the father of each of my children, not my husband.”

“The gods would know these things,” Maege sighed, “incest is frowned upon, abhorred even, but is against the laws of man, not nature.  Even an animal would rut with its sibling if there were no other available.  Yet we are not animals, we are chosen, the gods will see this and forgive.”  She produced a bowl of weirwood paste, “Taste, and face those you have stolen the lives of, let them judge you as only they can.”

Cersei hesitantly took the bowl and drank the mixture.  Within a moment she felt as though a thousand hands grasped her as the godswood blurred out of existence.  She tried to scream but no sound came from her throat as the sound of a roaring wind filled her ears.  When the rushing winds died down she opened her eyes to find herself sitting on a grassy knoll overlooking Casterly Rock, she could see Lannisport in the distance.

“Your home is beautiful,” turning her eyes widened as Lyanna Stark stepped from behind a weirwood tree that should not be here, “I am partial to Winterfell though.”

Cersei found her voice, “Why?  Why are you here?  I did not kill you.”

“Didn’t you?” Lyanna smiled sadly, “I waited for Prince Oberyn to come as long as I could, but Jon was ready to be born.  I gave birth to my son in a filthy abandoned tower in the middle of nowhere.  The one person who could help me lay between the legs of his paramour too drunk to help anyone, even himself.  Do you know why he was in that state?”

The realization came to Cersei, “He’d heard of Elia’s death.”

“Not just her,” Lyanna continued, “her children, pure and innocent, butchered by men sent under false orders.  Orders that came from your hand and not that of your father.”

“Aegon lives,” Cersei corrected, “he stands with your son in the shadow of your brother.”

“My dear Ned’s shadow is long and shields any who gather beneath it,” Lyanna smiled, “he promised to keep Jon safe.  He promised I asked his oath and he would not break it, that much I knew.  I needed not to ask, Jon was his blood, and to a Stark, there is nothing more important than protecting those of our blood.”

Cersei stood finding herself clad in the same white dress she’d worn to the godswood, “I am sorry Lyanna, I did not wish your death.  I did not want the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon, I did not even want to hurt Elia.  It was stupid and impulsive; I have done so many stupid things that way.”

Suddenly they were no longer on the grassy knoll, but beside an old well, “Like that night when you were a girl?”

“Melara,” Cersei noticed the girl sitting on the edge of the well, drenched, “I shouldn’t have pushed her.”

“Yet you did,” Lyanna surmised, “a life snuffed out, for what, hearing a prophecy from a powerless woods witch.”

Cersei huffed, “Her prophecy came to pass, I married King Robert and our count of children is about right.”

“We’ll get to the children, but for now let’s focus,” Lyanna sneered, “I am told Melara cannot leave the well, she is a shade, unable to join us at the feast.  Help her, if there was ever a time your heart felt anything for her.”

Cersei approached the phantom of her long-dead friend, “Melara, is that you?”

“Cersei?” Glassy eyes in bloated skin turned to her, “Is that you Cersei, it’s dark, I can’t see.  I hear a voice calling me, he says I’ll be safe, I drowned, and I belong with him in the deep.”

Cersei looked to Lyanna, “The Drowned One claims and guides the souls of those who died beneath the surface of the water.  She died in a well, she cannot find her way to his table at the feast.”

“The Drowned One calls to you Melara, he wants to keep you safe from harm, you fell into the well near Maggie’s place.” Cersei paused as Melara turned a withering look her way, “You fell when I pushed you.  I was jealous, you kept talking about that stupid witch saying you would die and your maiden head would be food for the worms.  You said you’d get my brother to take it before the worms could have at it.  I got angry, I saw the well, and I shoved you towards it without thinking.”

“Why didn’t the Stranger come for me?” Melara asked in a confused manner.

Cersei shook her head, “I don’t know, but the Drowned One is waiting, his table has been set for you at the feast of the dead.  You will find safety there, no one will be able to harm you again.”

Melara suddenly gasped, “I see him, his skin looks like the bark of the heart tree in the Stone Garden.  He is beckoning me, he said I can see my mother again.”

Cersei stepped back as the shade of Melara suddenly turned to water, “What?” she turned to Lyanna, “What happened?”

Lyanna smiled, “You made peace with her, the Drowned One could finally reach past her pain and regrets to guide her to the feast.  I will see her when I return there.”

“But you didn’t drown,” Cersei frowned.

“I said she had a place at his table, but we are not bound to those seats,” Lyanna smiled, “we are not even bound to the feast.  I have traveled far and wide, to the very edges of the sight of my gods, but I always return to the feast, to my mother and father and brother.  To my seat with all those who came before me.”

Cersei looked at the horrible old well, “We should carry on, this will take a while.”

“Good thing time does not pass as it does in the living world,” Lyanna took Cersei’s arm, “come, we should start sorting through Robert’s poor children.”

Back in the godswood Ashara had watched Cersei take the weirwood paste and now saw the other woman looking up at the canopy of red leaves above, but her eyes were unseeing, clouded pools of white.  She looked to Maege, “Is that normal?”

“Aye,” the older woman nodded, “In a trance, no different than greenseeing or warging.  Using weirwood paste is different for everyone.”  She produced a second bowl, “Speak of which you wish forgiveness from the gods.”

Ashara licked her lips the sap from the pool a sickly sweetness, “I abandoned my child, I made him and a man I swore to be with believe I had taken my own life.  For four and ten years I let them think this, I abandoned my duties to others, all to protect and raise a child, not of my flesh.”

“These truths are yours alone,” Maege spoke slowly, and Ashara had felt Sansa’s hand pause in her combing several times, “I cannot advise on the will of the gods, but perhaps they can ease the disquiet of your soul.”

Ashara nodded before taking the bowl and downing it.  Within a moment the world swirled as though she stood amid a raging sandstorm.  As it settled she was no longer in the godswood but sitting on the Pale Sword Tower dressed in the same white dress she’d worn to the godswood.  Below her, she saw people going about their daily lives, ignorant of her sitting on the edge of the tower.

“Have you ever actually come up here?” Surprise almost caused her to fall, and she would have if strong hands hadn’t gripped her arms, “careful, wouldn’t want to fall.  It’s a long drop.”

“Arthur?” Ashara blinked, “What? How are you here?”

Arthur indicated the bloody mess of his chest, “I’m dead dearest sister, I don’t exactly have anywhere to be especially.”

“Thought men were forbidden from this ritual,” Ashara smiled at her brother, “living or dead.”

Her brother shrugged his shoulders, “Once a kingsguard always a kingsguard.”

The words confused her a moment until the knight stepped aside to reveal Elia standing back, “Elia?”

“It is good to see you again my dearest and truest friend,” Elia stepped forward, “though I do not like seeing you sitting there, can you please move away from the edge.”

Ashara nodded and began to move but the stone beneath her began to crumble, and she’d have fallen had Aurther not steadied her, “I’m afraid to move.”

“We are not actually at Starfall,” Arthur explained, “I think this is a representation of Ash’s worries and doubts, we’ve just been conjured up from our place in the shadows to help her.”

Elia glared at the knight, “Then help her by pulling her off that damn ledge.”

“I have,” Arthur glared back, “twice.”

Ashara gained an understanding, “It cannot be an order or by another’s hand.  I have to move of my own accord.”  The crumbling ledge began to restore itself, “I did not jump from the tower.”

“We know, you’d have fallen into the void if you had,” Arthur said plainly, “forever lost in the dark oblivion beyond the gods' sight.”

“I’m sure you’d have jumped in to pull her from the jaws of the Great Other,” Elia sighed before turning to Ashara, “I am sorry Ash, for everything, for asking so much of you.  You gave me your friendship and I took everything you gave and in return, I gave you nothing but pain and sorrow.  I dared not speak with Lord Stark of the plan, or his sons, I was sure Lyanna knew how best to inform her family.”

Ashara bowed her head, “She trusted the wrong person, they betrayed her trust.”

Arthur nodded, “Oh, we know.  Baelish has been my and Oswell’s favorite punching bag since his shade materialized, and our dear sweet Elia has made that mad woman Lysa Tully wish the seven hells exists.  Don’t get me started on what my friends from the North have been doing to the pair, just saying they probably wish they can die a second time.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you’d listened to me,” Ashara snapped, “there was no reason to draw Dawn against Ice, Ned had no more choice in what he did.  He did the honorable thing and released me from our promise, I chose not to release him, I declared I would be his in this life or the next, and I tied our souls together.  Let the trout have this one lifetime, he would be mine for all those to come.”

Arthur grimaced, “Kind of need to beat the Others for there to be a next life, but that’s looking on the positive side there sweet sister.”

“What do you mean?” Ashara frowned, “The cycle of life, we are reborn.”

Elia bowed her head, “Shades like Arthur and I cannot be reborn until our unfinished business has been put aside, and as for those at the feast.  It is why Lyanna journeys far and wide, her father noticed the tables keep increasing in numbers but the revelers do not move on as they should.  The feast is meant to be a place to put aside our burdens of the past and prepare for our rebirth, but every year fewer and fewer souls are departing the feast and the number of those at the tables increases.”

“It is not yet noticeable in the land of the living,” Arthur picked up, “the number of new souls would not make it evident ever, but eventually the land of the dead would become over-encumbered, the feasting hall was never meant to be a permanent place for the dead, just a way station.  The realm of shades would also become an actual hell, it’s bad enough as it is with the few thousand souls roaming about.  Imagine millions of souls mopping around about the injustice of their death, I mean so far most of those killed by the Others end up as shades.”

Ash stepped from the ledge to stand before her brother, “I cannot believe my dearest brother mopes about his death, no matter if it was Ned or Howland Reed who landed the killing blow.  You died believing why you were doing was right, even if it was not what I asked of you.  If our dear brother can sit at the feast with our ancestors awaiting our arrival so should you.”

“Who am I to argue with you sweet sister,” Arthur chuckled, “though, I’m more of a willing Shade.  As I said, once a kingsguard always a kingsguard.”

Ash turned to Elia, “Why have you not moved on?  Oberyn said Rhaenys was able to with Lorch’s death.”

“My regrets are not tied to my death Ash,” Elia smiled, “As I said, I regret I took so much from you.  You and Arthur had always been my dearest friends,” she looked sadly at Arthur, “even if there was more than that once.”  She looked back to Ashara, “You gave everything to me, and my children.  You gave up being a mother to your son to ensure mine was safe.  You made the one man you truly loved think you’d killed yourself.  You were willing to give your happiness to ensure some part of me remained in the world.  You have been suffering for four and ten years because of me.”

Ashara moved to Elia, “I do not regret my choices, Elia, I did those things because I knew it was the right thing to do.  Ned knows I was smuggling Aegon from King’s Landing when he came upon my party heading for Dorne.  He hasn’t once accused me of seducing him to keep him from finding the compartment where Aegon and his wetnurse hid.”

“What would he have done had he found Aegon?” Elia asked.

Ashara bowed her head, “I don’t know, but he would not have harmed him, nor let harm befall him.”

“The battle at the trident had yet to happen, Rhaegar yet lived,” Elia bowed her head, “The rebel lords would have had a hostage.  They would have had leverage to force Rhaegar to keep from attacking, fear of his son being harmed.  Perhaps that would have been all we needed, perhaps Rhaegar would have restrained himself long enough to treat with Lord Arryn and Lord Stark, they would have been able to bring Robert to the table.”

“Too many of the Mad King’s creatures lurked about,” Ashara shook her head, “Rhaegar’s hand was forced, to engage in battle without parlay, he had no other choice.  Aerys made sure of that.”

Arthur stepped closer to them, “When did you hear that?”

“Jon Connington, one evening when he was deep in his cups,” Ashara avoided looking at them, “He’d overheard me praying to the gods to watch over Ned and Edric.  He’d flown into a rage and struck me, told me to never speak the name of the usurper’s dog in his presence.  I had gone to his cabin to slip a knife between his ribs for daring to lay a hand on me.  I found a pitiful sight that was not worth the blood on my hands.  He was a weepy mess lamenting Rhaegar’s death.”  Ashara stroked her arm, “I realized he was pliable so I asked him questions, I asked him why Rhaegar did not inform Ned of the plan at the Trident.  Jon told me that there was no parlay, at least not one where Rhaegar and Ned met face to face, messengers traded terms before the battle was joined but nothing that would have permitted Rhaegar to keep the battle from happening.”

“My poor sweetling,” Elia placed a hand to her friend’s face, “the past is where we belong not you.  You have fulfilled any obligations you believe were owed to me or mine.  Please, from this day forward only look to your happiness, that is my truest wish, for you to be happy.”

“I will try,” Ashara curtsied, “my Princess.”

“That is all I can ask,” Elia placed a kiss on her friend’s brow, “there is another I must see to, let not the worries of the past burden you.  The new day will come and with it the next step in your journey down the path of life.”

Just as suddenly the sandstorm rose around them once more and Elia and Arthur along with Starfall were swept away, and Ashara knew nothing more.

(Winterfell – Next Morning)

Cersei awoke upon a bed of moss; a thick fur blanket covered her.  As she sat up she found she was still clad in nothing but her skin, turning she found Lady Dayne in a similar state.  The slightly older woman was seated looking at something in her hand.

The daughter of Tywin frowned at the object, “What is that?”

“Ned and my house pins, but I did not bring them with me to the godswood,” she showed Cersei the two pins, but they were now one.  The points that would have affixed the pins to a cloak or tunic were now twisted together.  Not an easy feat as the pins were made of sturdy iron plated in castle-forged steel.

Cersei frowned as she noticed something else.  Markings covered Ashara’s arms, torso, neck, and face, and she suspected more markings adorned her legs, “Ashara, you have markings all over you.”

“Oh, those,” Ashara looked at Cersei, “you have them too, they are protective lines made of weirwood ash.  Hard to wash off, if a man dared to intrude after the other women left the godswood and touched us the lines would be smudged and the ash would be on him.  Ned would be informed, and he’d send the blasphemer to the gods.”

Cersei checked but found none of the lines or patterns on her body were smudged, “It seems we have not been harmed, but why didn’t they just wake us?”

“It is part of the ritual, if we survived the night the gods have forgiven us and we are renewed, if we had not been forgiven our bodies would be in a perfect place to be given to the weirwood tree.”  Ashara went back to looking at her entwined pins, “I wish I understood the meaning of this.”

Cersei scoffed, “It’s pretty evident to me.  Gods are telling you to go find Lord Stark and tell him to finish what he started.”

Ashara frowned, “It’s not that easy, he has just divorced himself from Lady Catelyn.”

“Yes, from a shrew of a woman who harmed a child of his blood,” Cersei huffed, “you spent ten and four years protecting a child who was not your kin.  Had you been Lady of Winterfell and Jon mistakenly called you mother, you’d have wept and let the boy call you that until you couldn’t stand feeling as though you were stealing from the boy’s real mother and told the poor child the truth.  You do not have it in you to be cruel, it was what I always found most infuriating about you.  Everyone thought you toyed with the feelings of those who sought your hand, but the truth was you didn’t want to hurt them by flat-out rejecting their advances.”

Ashara smiled at the veiled complement to her character but was unable to respond as a sound drew their attention.  She blinked as she noticed Ned’s dire wolf had appeared, “What is she doing here?  She never leaves Ned’s side unless he’s in the Great Hall.”

“She was there with him yesterday,” Cersei corrected as she locked eyes with the massive wolf.

They heard movement and the sound of water being poured.  Ashara stood and walked to where she could look around to the side of the tree with the pool and face.  With a surprised sound she backed up, pressing herself to the tree, “Ned is on the other side of the tree.”

Cersei instinctively covered herself with the fur and began looking for the dresses they’d worn the night before, “They didn’t leave us any clothes.”

“Our dresses are probably laying where we left them.  We used the main gate entrance, Ned would have come from the keep entrance.  He wouldn’t have seen them.”  The wolf Lyanna looked at the pair curiously.

Cersei huffed, “Do we just hide here until he finishes his prayers and returns to the keep?”

“Um,” Ashara looked back around before ducking back, “first day of the lunar month, and he doesn’t have a shirt on, guessing he is doing the same thing we did last night.”

A frown appeared on Cersei’s face, “Wait, men get to just come in during the day and take off their shirts?”

“He’s in breeches and they’ll come off before he goes into the pool,” Ashara frowned, “and he doesn’t have to take the weirwood paste unless he wants to commune with the gods directly.  Knowing Ned he wouldn’t do that without someone else present.”

“Why?” Cersei confused, “Don’t you just go into a dream trance as we did, meet some dead people.”

Ashara shook her head, “Not always, the experience is different for each individual.  It depends on your wants and desires, it’s helpful to have someone guide your experience like Maege did for us last night.”

A louder splash than the one before had them looking back toward the front of the tree.  Cersei grumbled as she stood, “We are acting like a couple blushing maidens, we are both women grown, and you for one have great experience with the form concealed from our prying eyes by this sacred tree.”

Ashara huffed, “I’m Stoney Dornish, not Sandy Dornish, I have a certain grasp of social norms.  Do you want Ned seeing you in nothing but what the gods gave you?”

“He should be honored, the gods did fine work in both of us, we left our shame last night when we stood naked before most of the high-born ladies of the North.  Including your potential stepdaughter and Ned’s two half-sisters, if the rumors about the worst kept secret of the North are true.”

“Ned is of the North, but he was raised with Southern ideas on modesty, you might not be King Robert’s wife anymore but he’ll feel ashamed of seeing you in such a vulnerable state.”  Ashara grimaced as there were more sloshing sounds as they heard Ned emerge from the pool.  There was then the sound of him whispering to the tree.

Shaking her head Cersei motioned, “He’s naked asking the gods for a sign, we’re naked after asking the gods to forgive us for our sins.”  She indicated the entwined pins in Ashara’s hand, “I’m thinking those little trinkets are a pretty good sign from the Old Gods.  Now, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of the North, and we’re standing outside in nothing but our skin and these fur blankets.  Think we take advantage of the situation, say good morning and make for our dresses while Ned’s poor brain is still registering what exactly he saw.”

Ashara was about to stop her when they heard another voice, “Pardon father, I’m just checking on Lady Dayne and Lady Lannister.”

“Ah, morning Sansa, I was just finishing my cleansing, they’ve been awake since before I got here.” Ned spoke calmly, “They have been debating how best to get to their dresses, guess neither thought to simply ask Lyanna to retrieve them.”

Sansa and her dire wolf appeared on their side of the tree, “I’m sure it would have come to them eventually.”

Cersei frowned, “You often talk to your father when he is naked?”

“Hot springs beneath Winterfell,” Sansa stated frankly, “I have seen my father and all of my brothers fully undressed alongside Arya and my mother on more than one occasion.  Father only wore breeches into the water when he was helping us learn to swim.  When it was just family, small clothes were always optional.  Though Mother did tend to request Jon keep himself covered she couldn’t exactly ban him from family time down there.”  She failed to mention this was before the Greyjoy Rebellion when she was a small child and since Theon’s arrival, she and Arya rarely entered the baths with their brothers.

“How very Dornish,” Cersei smirked at Ashara.

Rolling her eyes Ashara took the dress offered by Sansa and was about to pull it on when the girl halted her, “Um, Lady Dayne you might want to wash the ashes off first.”

Ashara blinked at Sansa, “They wash off in a couple of days with the right oils.”

“Or immediately when bathing in the waters in the pool,” Sansa affirmed, “I was taught that on my last name day.  Alys Karstark did my markings for the ceremonial presentation to the gods since it was my last name day before I’m likely to enter womanhood.  I always tended to follow my mother’s faith, but there were a few things as the daughter of House Stark I was expected to partake in.”

Cersei huffed, “If it will get this ash off quicker, I’m all for taking another dip.”  She walked around the tree to find Lord Stark kneeling facing the tree with his ancestral sword stuck in the ground, his brow against the cross guard.  While most of him were concealed by his position she could see the muscles of his back along with his buttocks.  While her brother had flawless skin, Eddard Stark’s back was a canvas of scars, a roadmap of a life fighting on battlefields, fighting on the frontline side by side with his men.

She was soon joined by Ashara and Sansa, the girl took one look at her father and then spoke quietly, “I will wait for you at the gate and show you to the baths below the keep.”

Cersei merely nodded as the girl walked away, “Is he in a trance?”

“He is not,” Lord Stark spoke, “he is allowing you to clean yourselves off while he finishes his conversation with the gods.”

Ashara stepped forward, “We apologize if our presence makes you uncomfortable Lord Stark.”

“While this entire situation is embarrassing, to say the least,” Ned huffed, “it is the handy work of my dearest daughter and two of my sons who will soon learn the error of their ways.”

“I am guessing you speak of Edric and Jon,” Ashara probed.

Ned snorted, “Aye, they are the culprits.  Edric claimed you had already returned to your chamber, and Jon reported Lady Cersei had been returned to her confinement in the Sept.”

“What naughty little pups you have Lord Stark,” Cersei quipped as she stepped into the pool, “whatever could they have desired to have their beloved father to find himself in such a situation?”  She paused at the water’s edge, “If your children have played some trick upon us, does the water of this pool truly clean off this ash as Lady Sansa claims?”

“It does,” Ned sighed, “part of the ceremony she spoke of is for a girl’s father to wash the markings from her face.  The markings represent childhood, the washing of them away represents her father’s willingness to hear requests for her hand.”

Ashara smiled, “That sounds like a beautiful ritual, too bad it must be unique to the North.”

“It was a Riverland tradition, brought to House Stark by House Blackwood.” Ned explained as the two women dipped themselves into the pool, and the weirwood ash almost instantly began leaving their skin, “Not to sound impatient but this is not the most comfortable position to be in.”

Cersei smirked, “We are submerged, you could stand.”

“My lady that would be highly inappropriate,” Ned groused, “I’m not about to bare myself before you.”

Cersei finished washing the ash from her face then after confirmation, it was gone pulled herself from the water, “In that case as I’m done I will join Lady Sansa at the gate to away Lady Dayne.  I would question the inappropriateness of baring yourself to her as I am sure she has seen it all before.”

Ashara glared as Cersei moved to where their dresses had been hung in a tree just off the path.  Ned would not have seen them on his approach, and most likely not until he’d emerged from the water.  More than just Sansa and her dear brothers were in on this, “Lady Cersei wait, I have yet to wash my face.”

Cersei waved a hand over her head, “I’m sure our most honorable Magnar can confirm you have gotten it all.”

Glaring at the Lannister, Ashara went back to cleaning off the ashes, “If you don’t mind, I think while you deal with the boys I’ll be having words with a certain daughter of yours.”

Ned snorted, “Be gentle she is just starting to act like a proper Northern lady.”

“It is proper for a Northern Lady to plot to have her father and the mother of her half-brother cross paths in such compromising positions?”  Ashara frowned, “I thought the North was more modest.”

“Have you met Great Jon,” Ned shot back, “or better yet do you remember my brother Brandon.  He was more the epitome of a Northern Lord than I, my sensibilities were formed in the South.  It took me time to remember how to act up here.  I mean, the first time I had to oversee a pissing contest, I thought it was just a crude remark about an argument.  It was an actual pissing contest,”

Ashara snorted, “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Ned flexed his shoulders and shifted, showing his position was as uncomfortable as he claimed, “Actually had another one the other night towards the end of the feast.  I might have begged off and told the contestants that as the king, Robert was the highest authority and should judge their contest.”

Ashara smirked, “I am sure he enjoyed that.”

“Enjoy it, he fucking joined in,” Ned huffed.

With a sigh Ashara looked to Ned, “You might as well turn around, Cersei is right, it is nothing I haven’t seen before.  Besides, I do need you to tell me if I got all the ash from my face.”

“It isn’t right,” Ned insisted.

“You were married and still laid with me, you took my maidenhead the night we traded pins,” Ashara sighed, “We have both changed since then, but we are still the two bodies that joined to create a life.”  Ned sighed before standing and turning.  Ashara averted her eyes from looking anywhere below Ned’s waist, but her eyes focused on his chest.  If his back was a roadmap of scars his chest was a freaking map of the known world, “I…I never heard you were wounded so many times?”

“Most of my fighting was here in the North,” Ned sighed, “wildling incursions mostly, but an odd bandit or deserter from the Wall.”

Ashara climbed from the pool and approached Ned, “This one I remember, it was left by Dawn.”

Ned’s eyes avoided looking at Ashara’s body, “You tended to it at Starfall when I returned the sword to your family.”

“I remember,” Her fingers went to the line on Ned’s shoulder, “Howland struck Arthur in the back after you were struck here, leaving my brother open for your killing blow.”

Ned sighed, “It shouldn’t have come to that.”

“No,” Ashara shook her head, “and if Arthur wasn’t such a prideful fool it would not have happened.  He should have known only a trusted member of Rhaegar and Elia’s inner circle could have directed you to their location.  Her fingers traced to a puckered scar just above his heart, “An arrow?”

“Greyjoy’s Rebellion,” Ned said through gritted teeth, “not as bad as it looks, barely broke the skin.”

Her eyes and fingers roved down to a set of four curved white lines and a shorter opposite angled line, “What did this?”

“A lynx, and once more not as bad as it looks,” Ned smirked, “Robb and Jon happened upon its den, I drew its ire to allow them to return to our camp.  It most likely still roams the Wolf Wood, as do its cubs it was protecting.”

Ashara returned the smirk, “I do hope the beast received a scar to remember your encounter as she gave you.”

“Lady Dayne,” Ned began but she placed her fingers to his lips halting whatever he was going to say.

“My name is Ashara, Ned, I do hope you remember that much,” She looked to her hand still holding the entwined pins, “I know the time is not yet right, but when it is, I will be waiting.”  She noticed his eyes widen as he noticed the way the pins had been joined.  She stepped back from him, “Do not be too hard on your sons Lord Stark, they are but boys following the whim of their sweet sister.”

(Winterfell – Great Hall)

Robb frowned as he and Margaery joined his family in breaking their fast, but there were two glaring absences.  Sansa was not present, but he’d heard she’d been out late with the wives and daughters of many of their banners seeing to a ritual of renewal.  He knew little about the ritual as women kept their secrets of it passed from mother to daughter, just as fathers taught their sons to cleanse themselves and their weapons as needed.

The second and more glaring absence was his father, he’d hoped to speak with him about the happenings of the previous day.  Margaery took her seat next to him as Greywind moved to the pile of fur that were his siblings and Edric’s Whirlwind.

Uncle Benjen’s wolf, known simply as the Old Man was lurking at the First Ranger’s side, Robb found his uncle’s wolf to be the most disagreeable creature in the known world.  Lyanna and Lady were absent from the room, no doubt with their missing human counterparts.  Robb looked to his brothers, “Where is Father?”

Edric swallowed the eggs he was eating before looking up, “Um, father?  He’s around.”

“Said he had some business to take care of, told us to start without him,” Jon picked up.

Robb’s eyes narrowed on the pair, “Out with it, you two are acting cagier than Bran when he’s loitering near a wall.”

“No, we aren’t,” Edric defended, “we’re acting perfectly normal.”

“You do realize when you claim to be acting normal, no one believes you,” Margaery smiled as she accepted a platter of food from a servant, “So where are Lord Stark and my good sister?”

“Sansa is taking care of a personal matter,” Lord Stark said coldly as he entered from behind the table.  He scanned the table before narrowing his gaze on Jon and Edric, “Boys, once you have finished your breakfast, I would like some words with you.”  Both young men swallowed hard, and Robb swore he saw fear in their eyes, “I’ll be waiting,” Eddard paused for effect, “in the training yard.  I would not suggest keeping me waiting.”

With that Lord Stark exited the way he came, and Robb sat next to his brothers, “What did you two do?”

“It wasn’t us,” Jon winced dropping the piece of toast he suddenly had no appetite for.

“Don’t give me that, Father was furious,” Robb looked to Edric, “out with it.”

Edric took a drink of water, “Sansa came to us wanting to do something to take Father’s mind off what happened yesterday.  Her original plan was to have me tell my mother to go seduce Father again.  I had a hard time explaining that Mother never actually seduced a man in her life.  Prince Oberyn started the rumors about her skill of stringing men along as a joke and a way to get under my Uncle Arthur’s skin.”

Robb blinked, “But the time she and father made you?”

“Yeah, I tend not to ponder the greater mysteries,” Edric frowned, “You, me, and Jon were all products of that damned war.  She wasn’t sure if that was going to be the final time she ever saw Father, she didn’t know Aunt Lyanna was hidden so close to Starfall or that she was even in Dorne, for all she knew Father was riding to his death.”

“Okay,” Robb frowned, “you said that was her first plan, what in the name of Old Gods did you do?”

Jon frowned, “Last night the ladies held a renewal rite.”

Robb nodded, “I know, figured that was why Sansa hasn’t made an appearance.”

“She was up before any of us,” Edric shook his head, “she caught Jon and me when we arrived and told us when asked to report Mother returned to her chambers and Lady Cersei had returned to her confinement.”

Robb paled, “I’m guessing neither of you took the time to confirm that both those statements were factual.”

Margaery frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“Father divorced Mother the day before a new lunar month began.  He would be expected to do a cleansing rite while the sun was up to seek the gods' forgiveness for a broken oath.  It’s to be done on the day of the first new moon after the sundering of the union.  Sansa has known for a month last night would be Lady Cersei’s renewal rite, I don’t know much about it since women keep their council on their rites and ceremonies.”

A furious expression similar to the one Eddard had borne when he entered came to Jon’s face, “Sansa went to the Sept yesterday after we refused to help her with her initial plan.  I was with Bran and Arya at her behest while she was supposedly seeking council from the Seven.”

Edric similarly glared, “I saw Lady Maege talking with Mother yesterday.  It was after that and a talk with Lady Cersei that she told me she’d be taking care of a personal matter last night.”

“If you are just realizing this,” Margaery frowned, “why were you so nervous when we entered?”

Jon grimaced, “We realized something was wrong when a servant was gossiping that Lady Cersei wasn’t in the Sept when they went to deliver her breakfast.”

Margaery still looked confused, “What is wrong if they crossed paths this morning?”

Robb swallowed air before sighing, “The cleansing rite I said father would be doing this morning, well he’d want privacy for it because it entails being completely unclothed and bathing in the pool before the heart tree, and then completing one's prayers for forgiveness for the broken vows or oath before the heart tree.”

Eyes widening Margaery gasped, “So Lord Stark would be?”

“The only thing I know about the renewal rite women undergo is that men are forbidden from entering the woods before sunrise because those undergoing the ritual are similarly unclothed.”  Robb glared at his brothers, “Neither of you caught a scent of Sansa’s plotting?”

“She has spent far too much time with Princess Arianne and the Sand Snakes,” Edric huffed, “no offense good sister but your influence has not gone unnoticed either.”

A smirk came to Margaery’s face, “I know not what you speak of dear good brother.”

Chapter Text

(Winterfell – Hotsprings)

Cersei leaned back in the steamy water a servant of House Stark using oils to get the last of the sap from her second dip in the pool before the heart tree from her hair.  Across from her the spear-wielding Osha stood glaring, she was the only female guard in the keep so one of hers had called for her.  It was almost humorous seeing the other woman in only small clothes with her spear presented in a threatening posture.

“She is quite intimidating, even without the leathers,” Cersei remarked as she glanced over to where Sansa was treating Lady Dayne’s hair with the same oils, “is it common to hire wildlings to guard your family’s children?”

“Free Folk,” the Stark daughter easily corrected, “and no it is not common.  Osha came to Father of her own accord and is now the wife of our Guard Captain Jory.”  Sansa smirked and looked to Osha, “Now you really are a spear wife.”

A smug look came to the woman, “You are right little she-wolf, and if what my husband says is true, a princeling has his eyes set on you.”

Sansa reddened, “I know not what you speak of.”

Ashara smirked, “She has been too busy trying to push her father and me back together to notice Aegon’s eyes have lingered enough to draw the snarls of her three elder brothers.”

This made Sansa pause in her actions, “I have not been trying to push Father and you back together, my lady.”

“Haven’t you?” Ashara’s eyes turned to Cersei, “how very odd it was for Lady Lannister to know exactly what to say to convince me to consider participation in a renewal ceremony.  I had not even thought to undertake one, they are less common among those of us practicing the old way in Dorne.  Yet she knew the exact prodding to achieve that, yet we are no longer on friendly terms, and I highly doubt she has thought of me since word of my presumed demise.”

Cersei smiled smugly, “It was a simple kindness to an old friend.”

“Have we ever truly been friends Lady Cersei?” Ashara sighed before turning and taking Sansa’s hands in hers, “Sweetling, you cannot force two people together, even those with a history like your father and me.  Why would you think this wise, your father has not been separated from your mother for even a day.”

Sansa sucked in a breath, “Father has been miserable for months, ever since he recovered from the fever when he had the vision.  He doesn’t think we know.  We’re children but we’re not stupid.  The way he has looked at us, his eyes have been full of sadness.  There have only been a few times he truly looked happy.  The day we got our wolves, he smiled for the first time in weeks.  Then the day you and Edric arrived; it was like a great weight had lifted.  He was no longer sad all the time.”

Ashara frowned, she reached to the ledge and picked up the entwined pins, “Sansa, did you have the blacksmith do this?”

“No,” Sansa’s eyes widened as she looked at the symbol of her House bound to that of House Dayne, “I asked Lief to collect them from your chambers.  She laid them in your hand before we left the godswood last night, they were still separate pins.”

“Lief,” Ashara thought of the Child of the Forest, “was she still in the woods after you left?”

Sansa shook her head, “She escorted me back to my chambers with Lady, then climbed into the rafters of my room.  She has been guarding my chambers at night, though she would not say why.”

Osha spoke up, “You are the Magnar’s daughter, a tempting prize to many.  Lady and Lief are your shield and dagger against any who’d try and steal you.”

“Steal?” Cersei frowned, “to kidnap a Lord Paramount’s daughter would be a swift way to find one’s head removed from their shoulders.”

Biting her lip Sansa looked to the Westerlander, “Stealing isn’t just kidnapping, it would be comparable to the Iron Born concept of a salt wife.  We downplay it a bit in this region of the North, but up near Last Hearth, it is spoken of only as the horrible practice it is, especially around Mors Umber.  Free Folk, take girls and force them into being their wives.”

“I was stolen from my family,” Osha revealed, “my family lived along the Bay of Seals.  When my father passed, a man from a neighboring settlement offered my brother a trade for my hand.  I was still a child, and my brother would not consent.  So, the man returned in the night and snatched me from my bed.”

Sansa paled, “Didn’t your brother try and retrieve you?”

“He might have tried but a storm of crows came from the Wall,” Osha grimaced, “my husband’s settlement had an understanding with the crows that my home settlement didn’t.  If my brother wasn’t put to the sword with everyone else, he would have been forced to find a new settlement.  If the White Walkers didn’t find him first.”

Cersei frowned, “You were married before?”

Sansa frowned, “A forced marriage, Beth overheard Osha and Jory talking about it one evening.”

“Does my good cousin tell you all she hears little she-wolf,” Osha smirked.

“I am her friend and the daughter of her liege lord,” Sansa looked up proudly, “it is only right she brings her worries and concerns to me.”

Osha frowned, “I worried her?”

“Until only recently we were raised with the thought Aunt Lyanna was mistreated, that Prince Rhaegar kidnapped and used her.” Sansa noticed the way both Ashara and Cersei looked affronted by that, “Not from Father, he rarely if ever spoke of the Rebellion.”

Ashara sighed, “That was not a good time for Ned.”

“Not a good time for many of us,” Cersei stood and walked over to Ashara and Sansa, she placed a hand on Sansa’s cheek, “Little Dove, the world is a harsh place for women.  You have the love of your brothers to shield you.  You may have caught the eye of a handsome prince,” she stroked her thumb along Sansa’s cheek, “but it is that love from your brothers that will never waver.  Remember that.”

(Winterfell – Tywin’s Chambers)

Sitting at his borrowed desk tending to his correspondence, the Lord of the Rock frowned as his maid set his breakfast on the desk.  He looked to the young woman, “Bethaney how many times have I told you not to shy away from my sight.”

“Pardon my lord,” the girl turned to face him revealing the right side of her face was mishappen, a result of the cheekbone having been pulverized some years ago, “I was not meaning to offend, I was just in thought.”

Tywin noticed the knife in the woman’s sleeve, she worried the small lion-head pommel, “You saw him?”

“It was just in passing,” Bethany bowed her head, “he wouldn’t recognize me.”

“No, I guess he wouldn’t, would he,” Tywin’s eyes narrowed, “if you are uncomfortable being in the same place as His Grace, I will have a detail escort you home to the Rock.  There is no shame in admitting that.  The letters Jamie and Cersei sent along with you explained you were faultless, only doing your assigned tasks.  His Grace tried to force himself on you, and when you tried to de-escalate the situation, he struck you in a drunken rage.”

“I barely remember it, my lord,” Bethany began setting out his breakfast from the tray and pouring a cup of tea, “The pain from His Grace hitting me, some flashes of candlelight, and the sound of a scuffle.  I just remember waking up to Her Grace, um your daughter with the cup of moon tea.  She said it was just a precaution, then she said there was a job at the Rock waiting for me once I was well enough to travel.”

Tywin nodded; he often checked the young woman’s account to see if she remembered anything more than that.  Jamie had reported the girl had tried to dissuade Robert’s advances, she was a rarity who did not covet Cersei’s place and showed his daughter actual respect.  It was no doubt this had sparked whatever minuscule amount of kindness his daughter had to send the girl to the Rock and not just cruelly dismiss her to the streets of Kings Landing.  Where she’d have faced more cruelty and more than likely been long dead by now.

Instead, Cersei had created her most steadfast loyalist.  Even with his daughter disgraced, Bethany would not allow an unkind word to be said about Cersei in her presence.  She’d taken to caring for Myrcella and Tommen as their former maids and caretakers had been stripped from them with the revelation of their true origins.  The girl was truly a creature of House Lannister, all thanks to the drunken rage of a poor excuse for a king.

A knock at the door drew his attention and the girl was swift to her duties to see who it was.  Checking she looked back to him, “Ser Clegane and his squire.”

“They are expected,” Tywin waved her to let them in.

Sandor and Gendry entered, Sandor pausing to look at Bethaney who was trying to keep the marred side of her face from being seen, “Bah, don’t hide your face from me,” he indicated his burn scars, “think I care what people think or whisper about this?”

Bethaney bowed her head, “I’m a nobody ser.”

“A nobody,” Sandor chuckled as he indicated Gendry, “That’s what this shit thought, had to fucking tell him his old man was the fucking king.”

Tywin noticed Bethaney’s good eye widen at that, “Gendry was conceived before Robert married Cersei, Bethaney, he also protected Myrcella and Tommen from the snake that bit Joffrey.”

He noticed the way she relaxed at his words, she then turned to Gendry, “I thank you for protecting Myrcella and Tommen, I am sorry you weren’t able to intercede before it got to Joffrey.”

“So am I,” Gendry rubbed the back of his head, “I thought they were my younger siblings at the time.  Not that I wouldn’t have done the same regardless.”

Tywin sighed, “Bethaney, why don’t you see to Myrcella and Tommen?  I have business with these gentlemen that can’t wait.”

“Aye my lord,” Bethany bowed her head to Tywin before exiting and pulling the door closed behind her.

Sandor huffed, “Why she got so bothered when I mentioned Gendry was Robert’s?”

“Robert is to Bethaney as Gregor is to you, Hound,” Tywin remarked, causing the scarred man to easily make the connection, “I’d advise Gendry to keep his wits around her, she is Cersei’s creature as much as she is mine.”

“Not that it will be much trouble, what with you sending us to trail after the little she-wolf,” Sandor remarked, “any particular reasoning for that?”

“It is not yet official, but she will be betrothed to Prince Trystan Martell when she comes of age.  Lord Stark is all for giving his children a choice in these things, but the alternate proposal for his half-sister to wed Prince Oberyn was doomed to failure.” Tywin motioned for them to both sit as he began eating, “You’ll also be my eyes and ears in Dorne, at least until I can arrange something more binding.  Those Sand Snakes slither about Lord Stark’s daughters like a pit viper ready to strike any who come near.”

Gendry frowned, “They’re cousins to both Aegon and Trystan, just keeping anyone else from getting too close to their cousins’ potential brides.”

“It seems there’s more between those ears than smithy talent,” Tywin smirked at Gendry, “your sweet sister’s doing I’d wager.  I have noticed Mya keeps herself out of sight.”

“She’s fearful, afraid Lady Cersei will still send cutthroats after her,” Gendry shrugged, “never had that problem myself.”

Tywin nodded, “Your Uncle Renly handled that years ago when he and Varys took you from your mother and delivered you to Master Mott.  A dead street urchin was collected from the silent sisters and presented with your mother’s body to my daughter.  With that, any direct trail to you was erased, but Varys used his knowledge of you to point Stannis and Jon Arryn in the right direction.”

Sandor shifted uncomfortably, “What else do you need us to do?”

“From Gendry, only to continue acting as your squire until you decide to knight him, then he can seek service from his cousin Aegon or one of his uncles.  As for you Sandor,” Tywin picked up a missive, “Your good sister writes that you are an uncle.”

Sandor’s good eye widened, “Well fuck, guess the whelp gets the keep and the lands then.”

“No,” Tywin smirked as the man across from him grumbled, “I had already set aside your brother’s line, the babe is a Hill unless you petition the crown to reinstate the child to the line of succession behind any child of yours.”

Tywin noticed Gendry fighting back a laugh at Sandor’s behavior.  The burned man glared at the boy, “You think this is funny lad, do you see me being any good at all that lordly shite?”

“Of course, my lord,” Gendry sniggered.

“Don’t think I won’t take you to task in the yard just because it was the king who squirted you into your mother’s belly,” Sandor growled.

Gendry snorted, “Father isn’t exactly one to go easy on me, I’d expect nothing less from you ser.”

Tywin smirked as he acknowledged he was right to send Sandor to collect the boy.  In the vision, they died here in Winterfell along with Jamie and Tyrion and so many others.  Gendry would have actual training along with skills to prepare for the battles to come, and Sandor would hopefully be a tad less pessimistic when standing against the hordes of dead, and willing to stand in the face of dragon fire.

(Winterfell – Training Yard)

Edric hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop next to his brother/cousin Jon.  An audible wince from the assembled crowd observing the match did not equate to the amount of pain they were both in.  Jon groaned as he reached for his training sword, “He said this was over once one of us landed a blow.”

“I think he was overestimating our talents,” Edric sucked in air to his burning lungs, “remind me never to anger Father again.”

“I think your safe,” Jon coughed, “Starfall is about a four-month journey, think his anger would dissipate before he got there.”

Edric frowned, “You forget your both going to King’s Landing, that’s a five-day boat ride, a full week in bad weather.”

“Right,” Jon gripped the training sword.

Eddard huffed, “Enough whimpering pups, back on your feet.”

“Father,” Robb called from the fence, “I think they’ve had enough.”

Edric saw Eddard look to the eldest, “You want to join them, son?”

Robb paled but slipped off the fence and stalked to the rack of training swords before moving to stand between his father and brothers.  Within moments Robb was laying on his back between his brothers who had managed to get back to their knees, “Did I hit him?”

“I think you just made him angrier,” Jon mused, “I haven’t felt this overwhelmed since we were six and Ser Rodrik took us to task.”

Robb snorted, “Think Ser Rodrik was going easy on us.”

“I say we rush him,” Edric grits his teeth, “he can’t take three of us at once.”

Wincing Robb sat up, “I’ll take the lead, Jon circles to the left, Edric to the right.”

Edric followed Robb’s plan, regaining his feet, and moving to the right of his father.  Lord Stark readied the training great sword, “Finally going to act like a pack of wolves are you.”

“When the cold wind blows,” Robb began.

Jon picked up, “The lone wolf dies.”

Following the example Edric picked up the last line, “But the pack survives.”

As one they struck, but Edric immediately realized their mistake, as did his brothers.  Robb had gone for a downward vertical slash while Edric and Jon had gone for horizontal slashes aiming at Lord Stark’s chest.  They had forgotten the man they faced was a veteran of numerous battles.  In an instant, Eddard shifted his stance to catch the three blades on the flat of his great sword before binding the blades.  Then with a turn and lift he successfully threw the three of them over his shoulder.  They landed in a tangle of limbs hard on the ground.

“I’m impressed,” their father chuckled, “I wondered how long it would take you to try and work as one.”

Jon groaned again, “I yield Father.”

“That was an option?” Edric moaned.

Eddard shook his head, “Go get cleaned up.  Let this be a lesson.”  Tossing his training sword to a guard, Eddard left the yard.

“That is the last time I try helping you two like that,” Robb pushed Edric up so he could sit up himself.

Approaching footsteps revealed Sansa and Margaery.  Sansa smiled tightly to her brothers, “I’m sorry Jon, Edric, I shouldn’t have dragged you two into my foolishness.”

“What about me?” Robb looked at his sister.

It was his wife who responded, “You got yourself into this husband.”

“Did anyone catch how he did that?” Jon sighed, “I’ve never seen anyone hurl three people at once like that.”

“You weren’t around the Eyrie twenty years ago,” They all looked to see Robert approach, “Though back then it was just me and Deny getting tossed about like that.  Ole Ned didn’t like showing off in the yard, had to get him good and riled up before he’d agree to a spar.  Learned quickly he’d spend all his time not training with us but observing our techniques.  He knew how we fought, knew how we thought, he could fucking predict what either of us would do and turn the tables on us so quick we were left with our damn heads spinning.”

Sansa noticed Oberyn approaching with his head shaking, “A fine attempt lads, but in the future coordinate your moves better, you put yourselves right where your opponent wanted you.”

Robb glared at the Dornish prince, “Where?  On the ground?”

“Perhaps, but I was referring to your strikes” Oberyn crossed his arms, “You all targeted Lord Stark’s chest, you must decide without words which of you will aim there while the others aim for his legs, his back, arms or head, anywhere that makes it difficult to defend from three directions at once.”

Jon frowned, “How do you suggest we do that without words?”

“That is up to you,” Oberyn smirked, “I am a viper after all I do not fight in a pack like you wolf pups.”

A snort came from Robb, “I would like to see you face Father.”

“Never,” Oberyn chuckled, “I know two things in this world.  One is where to find the best pleasure houses in all of Essos, the second, never cross blades with your Lord Father any man who could bring Arthur Dayne to the Stranger’s door is no novice with the blade.”

Edric frowned, “But Father didn’t kill Uncle Arthur.” All eyes went to him, at the expression of the king he swallowed, “He is dead, but Fa…My uncle told me Father was wounded by Uncle Arthur, they were both badly wounded in their fight.”

Jon looked to where Lord Reed was watching them, “Lord Reed killed him?”

“Wounded him gravely,” Edric corrected, “when they returned Dawn they also brought Arthur back with them.  He died at Starfall several days later.”

Oberyn blinked, “We were told he was buried at the tower with the other combatants.”

“Uncle didn’t want anyone to know,” Edric bowed his head, “Father agreed to the story that Uncle Arthur died at the tower with the others and was buried there.  Men were sent to build another cairn in case anyone ever checked.”

Robb sighed, “What happened to Arthur’s body?”

Edric looked to the Winterfell crypt entrance, “He failed to protect both Elia and Lyanna in life, so he would protect them both in death.”

Robert huffed, “Not possible, Elia was buried next to Rhaegar at the Great Sept in King’s Landing.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Oberyn looked to Robert, “Jon Arryn informed us both Rheagar and Elia’s remains along with those of her children had been lost.  The caskets with their bones had mysteriously vanished.”

Robb leaped up with his brothers quickly at his heels and made for the crypt.  He followed the well-worn path to his grandfather, uncle, and aunt’s tombs.  Halting before the three statues, “Jon,” he looked to his brother, “Measure out the distance from Grandfather’s statue to Aunt Lyanna’s.”

Jon walked the distance, “They are the same distance as that of Cregan’s.”

“He’s buried with his sister Sarah Snow at his side along with his wife,” Robb noted to those not of their family, “These crypts are set for multiple internments.”

The taps of a walking stick drew their attention, the stick turned out to be a trident as Howland Reed made his way to the group, “Ned does not know.”

Oberyn frowned, “How is it Lord Stark does not know my sister and her family are interred with his family?”

“Because Lord Stark was grieving the losses and tending to the living,” Howland mused, “Lord Varys came to me while we were awaiting transport back to the North following Your Grace’s wedding ceremony.  He had Prince Rhaegar, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys caskets.  He said it was only right they all be together in their final resting place.”

“He didn’t give you the casket of the presumed Aegon?” Oberyn asked.

Howland shook his head, “No, he would not comment on the omission, and I was too tired to contemplate it toughly, I simply assumed he’d had what was left of the babe interred with Rhaenys or Elia.”

Robert sighed, “Why were the missing bodies never brought to my attention Selmy?”

The ever-present kingsguard bowed his head, “It was presumed you would not care what had become of them.  To appease the populace empty caskets were displayed and interned in King’s Landing.”

“Gods,” Robert looked to the three still battle-worn boys before looking to Howland, “Does he at least know Ser Dayne is down here?”

Howland nodded, “He does, we tried to leave his casket to be buried with the other kingsguard other than Prince Lewyn whose bones were sent to Sunspear as a peace offering.  Jon Arryn refused, saying Ser Arthur was attainted officially as he presumably had some hand in Lady Lyanna’s kidnapping and subsequent death.”

Jon approached the statue of his mother, “I’ll have to tell Aegon.”

“Aegon?” Oberyn grimaced, “I have to tell Doran, he’s already contemplating sending my daughters after Varys.  For this, he’ll go after him himself.”

Robert groused, “Guess I got the short straw, I’ll tell Ned.  We’ll have to decide whether we disturb the tombs and removed them or arrange proper markers for them.”  He turned back to Howland, “Why did you never tell him?”

“Tell me what?” Everyone froze when Eddard walked around the corner from another passage in the crypts, “I’m wondering why one of my men came to tell me my sons and daughter and good daughter led the King and Prince Oberyn into the crypts.”

Robert gapped like a fish, glancing towards Howland, but paled when he noticed the Crannogman had vanished.  “How the blood hells did he do that,” Robert turned back to Eddard, “it seems there was a mix-up following the rebellion.  Seems someone took it upon themselves to have more caskets sent North than necessary.”

Eddard frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It appears that,” Robert blindly reached out and caught Jon’s should and pushed the boy between him and Ned, “It seems that Lord Varys thought it best if Jon was not so far from his family.”

“Lord Varys?” Eddard stepped closer reaching out and pulling Jon away from Robert and pushing him back towards his siblings, “What exactly did the Spider do, Your Grace?”

Rolling his eyes Selmy huffed, “You two behave like children.” He took a step between his king and Lord Stark, “It seems Varys took it upon himself to send the caskets of Prince Rhaegar, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys to be interred along with Lady Lyanna and Ser Arthur here in Winterfell.”

“He did what?” Eddard roared.

(Winterfell – Doran’s chambers)

Doran glared at his brother, “That was what set the dire wolves to howling?”

“More than likely,” Obery sat with a cup of wine in his hand, “Lord Stark was quite furious, he informed Robert to start looking for a new Master of Whispers because Lord Varys will not be surviving their next meeting.”

Doran smirked, “I’ll put your name forward dear brother.”

“No need,” Obery chuckled, “Robert said the job was mine if I wanted it.”  Oberyn sighed, “Still leaves the question, what do we do about the tombs?  It is not as if we can ask Lord Stark to disturb the resting places of his father, brother, and sister just to retrieve the remains of Elia and Rhaenys.  Rhaegar at least is buried with one of his wives.”

“You said when you saw Rhaenys found peace she was greeted by Lyanna, Brandon, and Lord Rickard,” Doran mused, “perhaps that was them telling us she is accepted where she lays.  Her bones with those of Elia secured beside the other victims of Aerys madness.”

Oberyn snorted, “If that were all it took to be buried at Winterfell, they’d need a new undercroft.”

“True,” Doran nodded, “but we have caused Lord Eddard enough misery for one lifetime.”

Oberyn nodded, “You were rather harsh with Lady Catelyn, brother, even I was pitying her, and it was my daughters she insulted with her ridiculous orders to keep them from interacting with her children.”

“I agree,” Doran looked downward, “I did not mean for things to get so,” he paused looking back to his brother, “heated.  I merely wanted her to recognize the harm her actions could cause.  Have you learned who told Daenerys of her transgressions against Jon?”

A smile graced Oberyn’s face, “I would be a poor Master of Whispers if I could not figure that out.  It was the Poole girl, Jeyne is her name, daughter of the Castellion of Winterfell.  She is friends with Lady Sansa and from gossip around the keep she has long held an infatuation with Jon Snow.  She learned of the incident from a laundry maid who witnessed it firsthand.  Lady Stark realized her mistake in striking her husband’s son, especially as Lord Stark had been vocal in his stance that Jon was his blood.  She had the washerwoman dismissed, along with three other staff members who were working in that part of the keep at the time.”

Doran raised a brow, “Can any of them corroborate the stories?”

“If they were in Winterfell or the North,” Oberyn shook his head, “they were Riverlanders, Catelyn had them sent back to Riverrun.  From other gossips Lady Stark had begun dismissing many of her staff she’d brought from the Riverlands around that time save for those closest to her.  The washerwoman just happened to be from the North, but since she had no home to return to, she ended up working at the alehouse in Wintertown.”  At his brother’s look, Oberyn sighed, “As a barmaid not a lady of leisure.  She tends to guests’ laundry and such, if she weren’t so loyal to her Stark overlords, I’d coax her to Sunspear, she got this wine stain out of my pants that even I hadn’t noticed.”

The Prince of Dorne sighed, “Anything else of import you have learned?”

“I have been contemplating Tywin’s plots, he has handed us his daughter and grandson on a silver platter, though we dare not infringe on guest’s rights while here.”  Oberyn sipped his wine, “Especially after that mummer’s act you orchestrated yesterday.  Does Ashara know the reason you requested the inquest?”

“Of course not,” Doran leaned back in his seat, “I would not implicate her in such things.  Though I had hoped to clear her path to take her place at Lord Stark’s side, I did not expect it to work so swiftly.  I take it we have this Jeyne to thank for that.  I believe the physical attack on his nephew’s person was the deciding factor yesterday.”

A giggle from the side of the room drew both men’s attention.  Arianne lounged on a couch with a goblet in hand, “I’ll extend your thanks at our next sewing circle Father, though I doubt she will be as happy as you at the development.”

“Doubtless,” Doran smiled at his daughter, “how did you coax such a gem from the girl into Daenerys ear?”

“It was not easy,” Arianne sighed, “it was thankful my dear cousins have kept Arya busy, and Sansa had been so wrapped up in handling the duties of her lady mother.  Once I learned of the event, it was just a matter of using the right probing questions at the right time and place.”

Doran nodded, “What of Arya, will she be able to handle the duties of a Princess of Dorne as she matures?”

“Given time and proper tutoring, managing the lessons in such a way that she feels she decides to do so will be of utmost importance,” Arianne frowned, “are you serious about passing over Quentyn?”

Doran nodded, “Your mother tells me he is too much of a Yronwood creature, easily swayed by their ambitions.  I had high hopes for him while plotting to have you wed Viserys and become his queen.  Now that that is a moot point and your cousin Aegon is poised to reclaim his position, we have new moves to make.”

“Will you try and have Quentyn betrothed to Daenerys?” Oberyn asked, “She is quite naïve, I doubt she even realized the results of her actions yesterday.  If she’d brought the matter up in a less public location, I doubt the blow would have been as devastating as it was.”

“Give the girl credit dearest brother,” Doran chuckled, “She may look fragile and innocent, but she is still the blood of House Targaryen.  Behind those soft guileless eyes, I do believe a sharp intellect lurks.  I for one think she knew exactly what she was doing, and had Tywin not had his plots, she’d have been the one to second my request for an inquest.”

(Tyrell Chambers)

Mace sat reading reports from his minor lords who’d not made the trip to Winterfell for the union of his daughter and Lord Stark’s heir.  It would not serve if the entirety of the nobility had departed the Reach, and his plans for the coming winter had to keep pace.  Food production and processing into preserved states have tripled since last year.  He needed that rate to at least double again if they were going to maintain a steady stream of supplies to the other kingdoms.

“Father,” Mace looked to where Wilas sat staring at a cup of spiced mead, “have you given any thought to Prince Doran’s proposal?”

Mace nodded, “It is a good match, you and Arianne, you are of age with each other, and while not well known to one another you have mutual acquaintances.  You also have the benefit of cordial relations with many of her closest kin.  It would also please your grandmother as it positions you close to the crown when the time comes.”

“You are thinking about the throne?” Wilas frowned, “I thought you put those ambitions aside.”

“Aside but far from forgotten,” Mace smirked, “I am confident we will throw back the Others if not outright extinguish whatever constitutes a soul for such vile creatures.  I know many refer to me as Lord Oaf or other disparaging names, I’ll show them.”

Wilas smiled, “Assisting Prince Doran yesterday, that was all part of your plan?”

“Indeed,” Mace nodded, “ingratiate ourselves with the Martells, let them think we are eager to follow their lead.  When the war is over and the madness of these fiends has been ended, then we will be poised to make our moves.”

“A Stark, Martell, and Tyrell alliance backing the Targaryen king,” Wilas mused, “We are the three kingdoms with the largest armies, the others would not be able to pose a threat.”

“True,” Mace looked seriously at his son, “Tywin will also have expended his resources, if what my informants tell me about the Westerlands gold mines is true.  He has done well to hide the fact they are running dry, it is said the mines at the Rock have been depleted for years.  For this reason, Tywin will not be able to supplement his armies with sellswords.”

“For now, we must focus on the matters at hand,” Wilas confirmed, his Father nodded in response, “So, what shall we do?”

Mace smirked, “Give Arianne time to settle things in Dorne, she will need to ensure Lord Stark’s daughter is properly seen to and is set on the path to prepare her to be a Prince of Dorne’s wife, and mother to the future Prince of Dorne.  When all is ready, I expect you to take Arianne as your wife, bed her, and put a son in her belly.  Preferably before our foes reach the Wall.”

In the corner, Olena sat brooding with a goblet of Arbor Gold.  She had already put forward to match Wilas with Princess Daenerys, but it had been shot down.  Daenerys had been officially placed under the custodianship of Lord Eddard Stark by the decree of her eldest male relative.  Whether that was Brynden Rivers, Aemon Targaryen, or Robert Baratheon was not clear though Robert had declared it at the meeting.

Eddard had stated the princess would not be sold like chattel under his watch, and she would be treated as was expected from a person of her station.  Daenerys would be returning to King’s Landing with Lord Stark and reside in the Tower of the Hand with his household for the time being.  Aegon agreed with this arrangement, as he felt his aunt was safest with the one rebel lord who denounced the butchery of his mother and sister.

“There is another matter Father,” Wilas frowned, “what is to be done with the prisoners?  Cersei and Jamie Lannister and Jon Connington.”

Mace raised a brow, “Ser Jamie has already made his intentions clear; he will take the black and return to the Wall.  We have yet to discuss Connington, the man is a Stormlord and by rights should be left to Renly to deal with, though the king has taken some interest in the case.  I would think the Wall, but we both know Robert is a creature of passion.”

Olena huffed, “Connington killed a friend of the king and Lord Stark during the war.  Denys Arryn was Lord Arryn’s heir after his cousin Elbert was murdered along with those who accompanied Brandon Stark to the capital.”

Wilas nodded to his grandmother, “Many know of this it was why Lady Lysa Tully was wed to Lord Arryn after the battle.”

“Along with her sister wedding Lord Stark,” Olena sneered, “Holster was an ambitious man.”  She took a sip of her wine, “What only a few know is that Jon Connington should not have won his bout with young Denys.  The boy had him bested and was about to take him as a prisoner.  Supposedly Connington picked up a jagged piece of wood from the ground and slammed it into Denys groin, the boy was already going to be with the Stranger when Connington then picked up a woodsman’s axe from a nearby cart and split his head with it.”

Grimacing at the description of the death Wilas looked to his cup, “Why such violence, Denys Arryn was not even a commander?”

“Denys was already wed and had a son,” Olena took a sip of her wine, “who else might have benefited from the young man’s death?”

Mace and his son shared a look before turning back to Olena, “You are suggesting that Holster Tully had Denys Arryn murdered to open the way for his daughter to wed Lord Arryn?”

Olena smirked, “Wouldn’t you if family and duty were considered more important than one’s honor.”

“It does no good to speculate like this,” Mace snorted and went back to his reports, “The only ones who would know for sure are either unable to comment or untrustworthy.”

(Robert’s Solar)

Robert Baratheon glared at Mychel Redfort.  The young Valeman stood at attention in little more than his small clothes.  Standing beside a fuming Aegon was a teary-eyed Mya, Daenerys was at the girl’s other side a protective arm at her back and a gentle hand gripping her arm.

“What in the names of all the gods were you doing?” Robert spat out, he motioned to the guards flanking Mychel to release their hold on him, “I’m putting out fires left and right, and then Aegon comes dragging you and my daughter in with little more on than what you were born in.”

Aegon snarled, “I went to invite Mychel to hunt with some of us, with us departing in a few days I thought it wise.”  Aegon pulled a parchment from his sleeve, “I saw him reading this, he dropped it before rushing off.  When I picked it up, I noticed it was from his Lord Father.”

Robert took the parchment from his cousin and read it.  His eyes narrowed with each word, “This is the notice of a pending betrothal.”  Robert started to go red, “You sought out my Mya to try and upset a betrothal your parents had arranged?”

“When you say it like that Your Grace,” Mychel began, “you make it sound crass.”  He glanced towards Mya, but Aegon’s hand going for his sword made him return his gaze to the king, “I have loved Mya, we have been in love since I first saw her at Runestone.”

“Love is the death of duty, your grace,” Selmy said from his place beside the king.

Robert snorted, “Aye, don’t I know it.” Robert looked at the young man, “You are still a squire, correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace, to Ser Lyn Corbray,” Mychel stated, “he arrived a few days after us with other knights of the Vale.”

Robert tossed the parchment on his desk, “I want you out of Winterfell by this time tomorrow.  Tell your knight whatever you must but leave Mya’s name out of it.  Return to Runestone, inform Lord Royce about this affair, beg him for his mercy, and tell him you’ll marry his daughter as planned.”

Mychel bowed his head, “What of Mya?”

“She is no concern of yours Redfort,” Robert grits out, “and you are lucky I am in a good enough mood to listen to her claim your tryst was consensual.  Otherwise, you’d be halfway to the Wall by now.”  He pointed to the door, “Now get out of my sight.”

Once the squire was out of the room, Aegon stepped forward, “My apologies Your Grace, it took time for me to find them, even with Quentyn, Edric, and Jon helping.  Had Gendry not stumbled on them.”

Robert waved his apology off, “It was not your fault, and what is done is done.”  The King looked to Mya, “Mya, was this your first time?”

Mya nodded shortly; her tears were more of embarrassment than anything else.  Gendry had been helping at the stables when he found her and Mychel in the loft.  His shout of outrage had drawn the attention of Aegon and the others searching.  It had been a furious Aegon who had revealed that Mychel was betrothed to Ysilla Royce.

“You were too merciful, cousin,” Aegon said with his head bowed, “no matter her station, Mya is our kin, she should not have been mistreated in such a way.”

“Mya is an adult, and though she is my daughter, officially she is not acknowledged as such.” Robert sighed, “Believe me Aegon, I am furious and would take my warhammer to that little shit if I could.  Legally speaking, as long as it was consensual my hands are tied by the laws of the land.”

Aegon nodded, “I understand, but he took her maidenhead, he knew exactly what he was doing.  He hadn’t even told her his parents had arranged a betrothal.”

“My prince,” Selmy spoke up, “it might not be right, but the laws have never been fair.”

Robert frowned, “Aegon, why are you so bothered by this?  Mya is nothing to you.”

“She is your daughter,” Aegon spat, “she is my cousin, and I have precious little family left to discard one or two over a simple matter of birth.”

Robert’s eyes widened, “You were planning for me to legitimize her?”

“If not you,” Aegon straightened his tunic, “I would have.  Your house is down to your childless youngest brother Lord Renly, your second brother Lord Stannis with his daughter, and yourself with only three surviving illegitimate children.”

Robert sighed, “Mya Stone, Gendry Waters, and Edric Storm.  You would have me legitimize them to secure my house?”

“I would,” Aegon frowned, “even with my uncles confirming the legitimate status of Jon’s birth, I will be affirming it before the court.  He is my brother and had things gone to our parents' plans, we’d have never known otherwise.  Uncle Doran told me about these surrogacy practices in Dorne, he believed Mother would have taken the place of Lady Lyanna in regard to Jon, allowing her to remain in Dorne.”

Robert glared, “Where your Uncle Oberyn could charm her into his bed?”

Aegon scratched the back of his head, “I am not sure of that Your Grace, but I believe Oberyn when he says his affections for Lady Lyanna were not merely of a carnal nature.  He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.”

“Ah,” Robert nodded, “I know the feeling, she did burn brightly.  I feel those of us caught in her light were like those moths, if we had gotten any closer, we’d have burned.”

Both turned as Daenerys helped Mya to sit and was saying soothing words.  Selmy sighed, “Your Grace, there is the matter if Mya Stone gets with child.  It is best for the Vale and the Seven Kingdoms if the union of House Royce and House Redfort is not marred with this unpleasantness.”

“I’ve already called for moon tea,” Daenerys said, “If you have no further need for us, I’ll help Mya get cleaned up and see to it.”

Robert nodded, “Look after her, I will make a final decision on the matter by the time we leave.”

(Tully Chambers)

Catelyn sat before the little table with her brother’s set of the Seven.  She was just finishing her prayers when there was a knock at the door.  Frowning she looked to the door, “Enter.”

One of her brother’s men, she would have to relearn all their names, entered with a bow, “Milady, Jon Sn…Targaryen is here.”

She heard a groan from beyond the door, “It’s okay to say Snow, technically still my name.”

The guard rubbed the back of his head, “Um, the…”

Catelyn raised a hand to halt the man, “My nephew is here to speak with me.  Let him enter.”

The guard nodded before exiting the room.  A moment later Jon entered, and the door was shut behind him.   Jon stood at attention just within the door, she frowned at a shadow of a bruise along his jaw, “What happened?”

Jon’s hand went to his jaw, “Oh, nothing, a training accident.  I think Robb’s knee caught me there after Father hurled us and Edric over his shoulder.”

“You were sparring with Ned,” Catelyn frowned, “he has always used restraint when testing how well you’ve taken to your lessons.”

A grim chuckle came from Jon, “Father was not in the mood for using restraint this morning.”

“I see,” Catelyn moved to a chair in the room and sat, motioning to another, which Jon sat in, “How have Robb and the others taken the news.”

“I haven’t spoken of it with Robb, we discovered something shortly after sparring with Father and he’s spent the rest of the day seeking answers.”  Jon mused, “Sansa, she’s been as she has the past weeks, I tend to just follow directions, kind of why Father was not in a good mood this morning.  Arya, Bran, and Rickon are a bit lost and confused.”

Jon’s assessments did little to assuage Catelyn’s concerns, “What is Robb seeking answers for?”

“It seems Lord Reed was commissioned by Lord Varys to smuggle the remains of my birth father, Princess Elia, and my half-sister to Winterfell.  They were interred with Ser Arthur Dayne in the tombs of Grandfather, Uncle Brandon, and my mother.  In particular, Robb is trying to figure out who was buried in each crypt.”

Catelyn frowned, “I vaguely remember a second casket brought with the remains of Lady Lyanna.  I assumed it was the remains of the stillborn child rumors claimed she’d born.  I asked Ned about it, wondering if it were Lord Dustin or perhaps Martyn Cassel’s remains.  Ned only said it was not something for me to worry about.”

“It was Ser Arthur,” Jon confirmed, “supposedly he felt he had failed Princess Elia and my mother, as they had both died.  He wanted to be interred with them to protect them in the next life.  It was Edric revealing that, and Oberyn informing us that Elia and Rhaenys remains vanished that made Robb realize something we’d always wondered.  Why weren’t Grandfather, Uncle Brandon, and my mother interred in the same tomb with Grandmother?  Uncle Brandon was never Lord of Winterfell, but both he and my mother were given individual tombs.”

Catelyn gasped, “They were never given proper rights.”

“Not by your faith, but in Father’s they’ve been seen to, even if we didn’t know it.” Jon mused, “I’ve been the one cleaning their resting places since I was big enough to see over the pedestals for the statues.”

Shaking her head Catelyn sighed, “I doubt this is why you have come to see me.”

Jon bowed his head, “We are departing in a few days, and I do not know if our paths will cross again.  I wanted to make peace with you before then.”

“I see,” Catelyn nodded, “I know it was not you who told Daenerys about that unfortunate incident.  Had you held a grudge over that time, you’d have told Ned long ago.  There have been many chances for you to wound me with that information, but your love for Robb, Sansa, and the little ones has always stayed you from acting.”

“I was afraid of how Father would react; I remembered the look on his face when you told him to send me away when I was four.  You suggested several bannermen and even suggested I go with Uncle Benjen to the Wall when he left.”

Catelyn’s lips thinned as she remembered the morning after the Wandering Crow had almost assaulted Jon.  She’d never thought a man following the vows of the Night’s Watch would threaten a child, but she’d been present when Ned had questioned the beast of a man.  He’d apologized, stating he’d have not dreamed of doing anything if he’d realized the boy was Lord Stark’s son.  She did not fight Ned’s orders to return Jon to staying with Robb, and after that, she’d almost subconsciously taken to keeping the boy close whenever Black Brothers were within Winterfell.

Jon must have taken notice of her expression, “I’ve been asking around, but nobody has admitted to being the one to tell Daenerys about it, and she would not tell Aegon or me who it was.  Old Nan said she keeps House Stark’s secrets; she isn’t one to gossip.  Most of the servants also were unaware of it even happening, though I vaguely remember a maid being nearby.”

Catelyn smiled tightly before reaching her hand out and resting it on his cheek, mindful of the bruise, “Jon, what is done is done, do not let what has happened sour your relationship with your paternal aunt.  I doubt either she or the one who informed her knew the extent of the damage such a secret could inflict.  They were not the ones who set these things into motion.”

“I stood aside and did nothing,” Jon said sadly, “I should have spoken up when Prince Doran called for the inquest.  Father and Lord Edmure tried to dissuade it, but they were overruled by His Grace after Lord Tywin seconded the request.”

Catelyn blinked in surprise, “Ned tried to stop the inquest?”

Jon nodded, “He said it was a matter of House Stark and we would deal with it as was right.  Prince Doran insisted it was necessary, and the King agreed, he’d heard you’d wanted us to keep away from the Sands, Waters, and Mya Stone.”

Standing Catelyn stepped closer to Jon and placed her other hand on the side of his face, “I am sorry Jon, for all the hate and vitriol I have hurled at you over the years.  You have truly been an earnest young man, and I regret I could not be the mother you needed.  I have shamed myself; I have allowed my prejudices to blind me to the truth.  For every kindness to your siblings, I saw it as a scheme to take what was rightfully theirs.”

“All I ever wanted was to be their brother,” Jon’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, “to fill the emptiness I felt, to help with the gnawing feeling that something was missing.”

Catelyn felt a tear prick at the corner of her eye, “Winterfell may be where you have lived, but it was never a home, I wouldn’t allow it.  You were a child, and I could not see past my worries and doubts, I let the words of others from eras past dictate my actions.  Even if you were a Snow, it does not mean you would become liken to a Blackfyre.”  A watery smile appeared on her face, “I should have thought of my husband’s house.  Torrhen had Brandon Snow his brother and most loyal retainer who offered to try the impossible and left Westeros only because his brother knelt instead of fighting a futile battle.”

She saw in the look in Jon’s eye that told her he knew more of that tale.  Some of the details she knew were that Torrhen had sent Brandon and the others to Essos, to prepare for a day when the North could throw off the Targaryen overlords.  To await the end of the dragons, though like most things times change, and with it friends and foes change.  A generation ago it would be unheard of for a daughter of the Reach to marry into a Northern House.  Though Jorah Mormont’s marriage was a disaster from the start, she saw Robb and Margaery becoming something rarely seen, happy.

With a sigh, Catelyn tilted Jon’s head up forcing him to look her in the eye, “Watch over Sansa and Bran in the capital, Bran will be a page in service to the same knight as you.  Do as is your nature and watch over him and help him when he stumbles.  Protect your sister, let no one mistreat her, even that brother by blood of yours the Crown Prince.”

“I am sure Lady will be capable of protecting Sansa’s virtue, but I’ll have Ghost help,” Jon smiled, “I will not let any harm come to my family.”

“They may not be your words, but Family, Duty, Honor,” Catelyn bowed her head, “Some put one before the other, but they are wrong.  These three things are the most important when held together.”  Another knock at her door drew her attention and she stepped back from Jon who stood.  She wiped the unshed tears from her eyes, “Enter.”

Once more the guard she really needed to learn the name of entered, “Pardon milady, but Lord Robb is here.”

“Let him in,” Catelyn watched her eldest brush past the guard.  She noticed the frown of confusion he sent towards Jon, the brothers had one of their nonverbal conversations.  She never understood how the two of them developed such a bond that they could communicate without words.  Ned had often bemoaned the fact they had not learned to transfer the skill to the training yard.

“Mother,” Robb nodded to her before looking to Jon, “Sansa is looking for you, she has worked on a couple of designs for your personal sigil.  She wants your input so she can start working on your new tabard.”

Jon frowned, “I thought I’d just use the same as the household guard.”

Rolling her eyes Catelyn huffed, “That would have been fine if you were Ned’s bastard son.  You are not so you need your sigil, one that identifies you, one that tells other knights where you have come from.  You are the offspring of two great houses with long and storied legacies.”

Robb patted Jon’s shoulder, “Don’t put that much thought into it, little brother, from what I gather Daenerys and some of the other ladies have been helping her, so one of the designs might strike you.”

Giving his brother a nod and parting words with Catelyn the boy departed the chamber, leaving mother and son.  Catelyn noticed Robb was pensive, “You must have another reason for coming, I doubt you sought your brother here.”

“No, that was unexpected that he was here,” Robb rubbed the back of his head, “Why was Jon here?”

“Apologizing for not being able to speak up in my defense,” Catelyn shook her head, “he need not have, there was nothing he could have done when men of such stature have their machinations at work.  I let my emotions get away with my common sense.  The North is not like the Riverlands, your father, how is he?”

“Angry, furious, wrathful,” Robb rubbed his chin, “I’m not sure any of those words suitably describe his current mood.  I’m sure you noticed Jon’s face.”

“He said it was from training, something about your father hurling the two of you and Edric over his shoulder,” Catelyn frowned, “He was not holding back I take it.”

“No, and that was after an hour of him making my brothers look like green boys,” Robb frowned, “I’ve sparred with Jon since we both first picked up the sword, and I’ve crossed practice blades with Edric.  They are both skilled and have improved greatly with the number of seasoned warriors we’ve had to train with.”  Robb hesitated, “Mother, I have heard from some of those who’ve had visions.  Father was killed in the capital.  How?  Even Khal Drogo does not face father without three of his blood riders supporting him, the Dothraki still leave the yard in defeat.”

Catelyn folded her hands, and while she did not take much credence of the visions, she’d heard much the same.  “I am not completely sure, but your father is still only a man, and men are not infallible.  Had he trusted the wrong people or been unprepared for an attack?  Your father’s strength is not in his physical prowess or skill with the blade.  It is in his ability to prepare, to analyze the information he has gathered, and to plan the best course to victory.”

“That’s what they mean by the Quiet Wolf,” Robb mused, “Father observes his opponents, knows their strengths and weaknesses, he then uses that knowledge to defeat them.”  Robb paled, “Lyanna, father’s wolf spends most of her day watching the training yard.”

“What does that matter?” Catelyn frowned.

Robb sat down, “We haven’t told many this, were concerned to even say anything to you.  We know how the Faith abhors it.”  Robb looked to the window, “Greywind is with Margaery in the godswood with Bran, Rickon, and Robin.  I can smell the trees and the sweetness from the sap from the Heart Tree.” Robb held up his left hand, “If I focus, I can feel the soft dirt and moss beneath Greywind’s paws.”  He reached to the nape of his neck, “Margaery is petting him, I just felt her fingers as though they were touching my skin.”

“Skinwalkers,” Catelyn gasped in surprise, “I knew it was a mistake letting you keep those wolves.”

“Mother,” Robb frowned, “we’re Wargs, not Skinwalkers.  We are not some monsters that turn into half man half beast creatures that terrorize the small folk.  We simply have a bond with our wolves, one that allows us to see, hear, and feel what they are experiencing.  The bond also works both ways.”

Catelyn frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Yesterday,” Robb felt shame even remembering the ill thoughts aimed at his siblings.  “For a moment after hearing about Father setting you aside after the inquest.  Dark thoughts came to me, I blamed what happened on Jon and Edric, and I felt hate and resentment start to boil up.”  Robb hesitated, “Before the emotions could fester anymore or result in me doing something unthinkable.  I felt as though the dark thoughts were being ripped and torn from my mind by the teeth of a wolf.  It did not take long to realize it was Greywind, he was taking my negative feelings towards my own pack and banishing them.  He knew the thoughts were wrong and would only cause me pain once the moment had passed.”

His mother could only blink in amazement and confusion.  Since being a young girl, she’d been raised on stories of Skinwalkers, evil followers of the Old Gods who were able to take the form of beasts.  While few believed the stories to be true as magic was gone from the world, it sounded nothing like what her son described.  What Robb described was like a harmonious union between two souls, watching over and protecting each other.  Was this what the Starks meant when they spoke of a pack, not just their family, but the bond they have long had with wolves.

Catelyn smiled, “Your siblings, they have all experienced this?”

“Bran has, and we’re not sure about Rickon,” Robb chuckled, “he has always been half feral to begin with.  Jon and I had a shared dream just before His Grace arrived.  Greywind and Ghost were stalking a rat down in the larder.  Before they could pounce on it, Nymeria, Arya’s wolf that is, came along out of nowhere and snatched it.”  Robb shook his head, “Arya didn’t share the dream, but a couple days later she told us she had a wolf dream.  Nymeria was with the other pups in the kennel with their mother after she came back from her nightly hunt.”

Gripping her heart Catelyn frowned, “What of Sansa?”

Robb shrugged, “Not sure, she hasn’t said anything to the rest of us, but she and Lady tend to act the same as the rest of us.  Edric thinks it’s a matter of necessity, his wolf lost all of its pack either because they abandoned him, or they were killed.  Whirlwind follows Edric’s instructions and is as attentive as any of our wolves but is just happy to have a pack again.  Sansa and Lady have a similar relationship, they don’t need all the other stuff for now.”

Catelyn nodded, “She may, the capital is not like Winterfell, it is a dangerous place.  Starks have not done well in the south.”

“The pack survives,” Robb reminded her, “and Mother, that includes you.  I don’t know what the future holds.  What I do know is Father loved you, and what happened yesterday pained him.  He has been in a rage today I have never seen before.”

“That is the Quiet Wolf,” Catelyn mused, “it is the accounting of your father stoking the flames of his resolve.  Eddard Stark is an honorable man, he acts as an honorable man, and he expects others to act in kind.  When others fail to behave in such a way,” Catelyn bowed her head, “nothing can protect them from his wrath.  Only Jon Arryn has been able to dissuade Ned from bringing down the fury of his gods upon the heads of those who crossed him.”

Robb swallowed, “I heard a rumor, yesterday before Aegon officially requested permission to court Sansa.  The King mentioned that he’d seen what he referred to as the Quiet Wolf when Lord Tywin laid Princess Elia and the children’s bodies before him.”

Catelyn nodded, “My Father was present that day, he told me later what had happened.  Your Father, honorable and kindhearted as he is, saw the murder of Elia and her children as unjust.  He called for the heads of those who committed the act, and whomever ordered it.  Lord Tywin claimed it as a necessary evil, and Robert declared he did not see children, only dragon spawn.  Father said that had Lord Arryn not been there to calm your father, him and his men who outnumbered the others in that chamber would have slaughtered the other rebel lords where they stood.  All it would have taken was a word from your father, and the Northmen would have ripped their allies apart.”  Catelyn smirked, “They would not be alone.  Father was waiting for the word; he would have kept to our house words.  Ned was family, and knightly duties demanded justice be done, and there was no honor in brutalizing women and children.”

“Instead,” Robb looked to his mother, “Father quit the city and went to relieve the Siege of Storms End.”

“Yes, and refused to speak with Robert as friends again until years later when he went to help put down Greyjoy’s Rebellion, though even then it was not a sure thing.  Had Euron Greyjoy not assaulted Bear Island and attempted to take Lady Maege’s daughter.  I’m not sure if he’d have actually answered the call.”

Robb’s eyes widened, “Mother?  What do you mean, which daughter did Euron try and take?”

“Lady Dacey,” Catelyn informed, “she was only about your age then.  Jorah and his aunt rescued her but not before Euron had ravaged her.  Your father was already mounting a reprisal against the Iron Born when word of the burning of Lannisport reached us along with the request from His Grace for your father to call his banners.  It was this that had allowed your father to respond so swiftly.”

Bowing his head Robb’s jaw tensed, “Mother, you don’t know do you?”

Catelyn’s brow furrowed, “Know what?”

“The worse kept secret in the North,” Robb raised his head to look at his mother once more, “Lady Dacey, the Bear that fathered her, was actually an Old Wolf.”

“Old Wolf?” Catelyn looked confused, “That is what they called your grandfather.”

Robb nodded, “Lady Dacey is my aunt, she is father’s half-sister.”

Catelyn paled as she remembered Ned’s almost furious response to her plan to betroth Benjen to Lady Dacey.  He’d only said the match was not possible but had not elaborated on it.  She had simply thought that House Mormont was tied to the Starks in as similar way as the Manderly, some ancient debt.  “Lady Dacey is actually a Snow?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, “She is a Mormont, and heir to her house.  Her sister Alysane is also a daughter of my grandfather.  In the Old Way they have been claimed as legitimate daughters of their mother’s house.  Might be why no wolves have appeared for them or Alysane’s children.”

“But by law,” Catelyn started but stopped, “but this is the North.”

“Mother, you do realize that by laws of the Faith almost every lord and lady in the North would be considered a bastard, including Father.  The Faith does not recognize marriages before the Old Gods.  Even Aegon the Fifth had to have a marriage in a Sept after he’d already married Betha Blackwood in the godswood of Summerhall.”

Catelyn nodded, “I know Robb, and the Crown’s Law does recognize marriage before the heart tree.  There are more than a few in the Riverlands who follow the Old Way, especially those who reside on Lord Blackwood’s lands.  I am just surprised your father would not tell me, just another thing to add to the list he did not trust me to know.”

“I do not think he was keeping the truth about Jon out of malice or that he did not trust you to know.” Robb folded his arms, “I think he thought he was protecting all of us, not just Jon.  With you not knowing about it, if for some reason His Grace had learned the truth and was not as forgiving on the matter as he has been.  You and the rest of the family would be protected due to our ignorance, we could not be deemed collaborators if King Robert declared Father’s actions as treason.”

(Great Hall – Next Day)

Jamie Lannister stood beside Jon Connington before the gathered Lords Paramount and the King.  Robert glared down at the two men, “I’d take both your heads and be done with it, but my Lord Hand tells you have a right to trial.”

Jamie relaxed, though the near murderous look of Lord Stark was still unnerving.  The former kingsguard wore the raiment of the Night’s Watch, he was prepared to swear the oath, “Your Grace, I admit my crimes and throw myself at your mercy.  I will take the black and repent my sins on the Wall for my remaining days.”

“How few of them remain when the Others come,” Robert scoffed, “Lannister for the crimes of adultery, and conspiracy against the crown.  I find you guilty, and while I am in my rights to take your life for your treasonous actions.  I am feeling generous.  You will be the first Night’s Watch member in a couple thousand years to take the original oath of service.  Lord Rivers will explain more when he escorts you to Winterfell’s godswood to take your oath.”

Jamie frowned, “As you command.”  Stepping back, he watched as Connington was nudged forward.  The older man grimaced as he was forced down to his knees.

Robert leaned forward in his seat making it creak, “Oh, how I agonized over this decision you piece of shit.  You’re a filthy traitor first off, and you even had the audacity to try and claim my cousin was some sort of imposter.”

Connington spat on the floor, “Aegon is the rightful king.”

“Not getting an argument from me,” Robert chuckled, “but he’s only a boy, one raised far from these lands with no allies to turn to.  By the time I step aside for him, he’ll have a secure cadre of supporters.  Lords Paramount and their sons will be willing to serve at his command.  What could you have done for him?  Garnered the support of Dorne?  The Reach might have been amenable at one time.  Hells, if you got that stick pulled out of your ass you might even had swayed Ned to your cause.  Not like I’ve done much to mend our friendship the past four and ten years.  Hells, you had Ashara at your side and didn’t even think to use her to seduce Ned.”

Jon grits his teeth, “I will not have you speak such of Lady Dayne.  The woman suffered enough for the treachery of you and your dogs.”  The former lord of Griffin’s Roost sighed, “It was only out of her devotion to Lord Stark, she betrayed me and endangered Aegon by bringing him here.”

Tywin sneered, “Had you the foresight you’d have brought Aegon to the North in the first place.  The North is a vast land that few can say they have any intelligence on, even the Spider has difficulties here.  Lord Stark only allows that which he wishes to be known to the south.”

“Unfortunately, our poor Lord Connington cannot see past his own emotions,” Doran steepled his fingers as he looked over the kneeling lord, “Yet?  Where does the animosity towards Lord Stark come from?  It was His Grace who slew Rhaegar in single combat.  It was Lord Tywin who sacked the capital permitting the murders of my sister and niece.  In fact, I know none of note who were slain personally by Lord Stark, though it was him and his commanders who led the rebellious lords to victory.”

Connington swallowed hard, “Lord Stark was to receive a letter from Lady Lyanna.  It was to explain all, and he was to journey to Dorne to witness the union of Prince Rhaegar to Lyanna.”

Robert bristled, but it was Edmure who spoke up, “The letter was never sent.  Lady Lyanna entrusted my sister Lysa to send the letters to her brothers and father.  It was recently learned that Petyr Baelish learned of the letters and used the sway he had over Lysa to keep her from sending them.  For whatever reason Lysa never destroyed the letters, they were found among her personal effects.”

Jon Connington paled, “What are you saying?”

“The entire rebellion was orchestrated by one man,” Tywin sneered, “a pathetic little lord from the fingers who was mad a Lord Parmount would not set aside a betrothal for him.  Everything, even many of the horrors we who have had visions of the future undone were caused by this Littlefinger and his obsession over a single woman.”

Connington looked to Lord Stark, “Is this true?”

Ned nodded solemnly, “My former wife would have told me to trust Baelish, out of misplaced trust from their shared childhood at Riverrun.  Baelish would have instigated a feud between my House and House Lannister,” Ned’s glared at Jamie, “not that it was without cause, merely misplaced blame.”

Jamie grimaced, “My Lord Hand I regret such action I might have taken at one time.  You have my word I will never raise a hand against any of your children.”

“Words are wind Lannister, actions speak louder,” Ned focused back on Connington, “That goes for you as well Connington.  I know your hand was behind the spread of greyscale that infected the daughter of Lord Stannis.  You targeted children, innocence like Princess Rhaenys.”

“I have not words that can assuage my guilt in that plot,” Jon bowed his head, “I was mad with grief, I wanted to hurt someone.  Lady Dayne learned of it and tried to prevent it but did not realize I targeted the Lord Stannis’s daughter as well.”

Robert spoke up, “My niece, my brother had nothing to even do with the rebellion.  He and Renly were besieged at Storm’s End for most of it.”

Jon looked to where Aegon stood at Robert’s side, “I wanted to ensure your line ended.  To clear the way for Aegon to reclaim what was unjustly taken from him.”

“You’d have me step over the corpses of children,” Aegon grimaced, “just as Cousin Robert had done?  You’d continue the cycle of violence, making the innocent suffer for imagined crimes and insults.”

Tywin stood up, “Your Grace, I believe we have heard enough.  Let Connington pay for his crimes with his life, but not a quick death.  He can be put to use on the Wall.”

“I disagree,” Daenerys stood up, “Lord Connington is a loyal man to House Targaryen, he protected my nephew.  He would be put to better use helping to prepare for the coming winter.  He has contacts in Essos we can use.”

“I doubt they are sufficient to counter the extent of the man’s crimes,” Edmure said from his seat, “he has admitted to plotting to infect children with greyscale.  In one instance he was successful.  Do we forgive him for simple fact he did not manage to kill anyone?”

“No,” Daenerys grimaced, “we cannot forgive him.  He will be punished, that cannot be avoided without causing a rift with Lord Stannis and his wife.  Yet to throw him to the Wall and forget him will be a bigger mistake.  He survived in Essos for years and had the resources to provide for and protect Aegon.  That means he had support of someone with a large sum of money.”

Ned shook his head, “That man is already dead.  You were present when Drogo killed him along with your brother.  I was shown in the vision the machinations of that merchant.  He was not aware of the mistakes Varys had done, or the failure of his original plot.”

Aegon frowned, “What plot?”

“The bandits that attacked Lady Dayne,” Tywin cut in, “they were sent by Varys, they were meant to kill you.  Lord Stark’s intervention saved you in more ways than you previously knew.  No matter the outcome of the rebellion, Elia would have been killed.  Had it not been Gregor, it would have been another hired killer, the same for Rhaenys.  Varys was attempting to place Illyrio Mopatis son with lineage of House Blackfyre on the Iron Throne.  I’m unsure if Mopatis knew his son’s skull was dashed upon the wall of the Red Keep.”

Daenerys paled, “Mopatis was a Blackfyre?”

“He married one,” Ned explained, “the last daughter of the House.  He planned to supplant Aegon with his own son.  Varys thought the easiest way would be to swap the children and then silence anyone who knew of the switch.  He would be around to whisper the right words to the child, and when the time came, Mopatis would emerge to take the place as his son’s Hand.  Varys realized his mistake only when it was only too late.”

Aegon looked to Tywin, “When Lord Lannister came to sack the city.”

Tywin shook his head, “When your father fell at the Trident, he realized the Targaryen cause was lost.  He had no way to escape with the child, his plans were foiled, and the child died in your place as Varys had no doubt made Elia and Ashara believe was the purpose of the swap.”

Robert frowned at the two lords, “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“It was irrelevant,” Tywin scoffed, “from the way Mopatis had behaved in the visions he was unaware of the fate of his son.  It only served to bring suspicion to Aegon’s claims, something Lord Stark and I were aware of, but we did not know how many others were.  We agreed Varys had been playing both sides, and we’d use that to our advantage.  Once Mopatis was dead though, we agreed the Spider was of little value strategically.”

Doran looked to Ned, “Lord Stark, you were aware Aegon lived since having the vision?”

“I knew he lived, just not where he was,” Ned looked to the Prince of Dorne, “Tywin had already moved to incite a reaction from the Spider to reveal their location.  I was not aware of Ashara’s survival, due to particular elements of how the visions were presented, but I was made aware Lord Connington was with the prince.”

(Winterfell Gate – Later)

Aegon walked the walls of Winterfell, it had become a nightly routine since arriving here.  He’d learned the names of all the guards, and even knew a few facts of each of them.  Tonight, though he was too deep in thought to stop and talk idly.  He could understand Lord Stark, not wanting to reveal that he’d been saved from no one but two attempted assassinations before he was old enough to remember.

Lord Stark was a man who only dwelled on the past when nothing more pressing was before him, and the Others were a very pressing issue.  He doubted very much those with that particular information would have revealed it had Jon not attempted to keep to their disguise as father and son named Griff.  Looking down into the central area of Winterfell he saw the gibbet where Jon now resided.  He’d be there until they departed for King’s Landing in a couple days.

“Prince Aegon?” He turned to see Sansa approaching, “I was told you were walking the walls.”

He indicated the starry sky above them, “I’m always in wonder of how different the stars look from different places.  Your Northern Skies are no less wonderful, though it is rare for the weather to be such we can see the stars.”

Sansa smiled, “The Old Gods of the Sky bless us with a beautiful sight tonight.”

“Indeed, they do,” Aegon stepped to her side, “I fear in my impetuousness I acted without even seeing if you would be amenable to my courtship.”

“I was surprised, I had not thought you noticed me,” Sansa dipped her head, “I am sure there are prettier girls available.”

Aegon scoffed, “You think too lowly of yourself.  I know not who you compare yourself with, but I assure you their looks are as superficial as their personage.  If anything, Lady Dayne has long taught me to look past outward appearances, they are fleeting and even the brightest gems dull with time.”  Aegon offered his arm, “Would you honor me with a walk along the battlements of your ancestral home,” he nodded towards the guards evenly spaced along the promenade, “I dare say we are adequately chaperoned.”

Sansa indicated Lady who lurked nearby, “That we are my prince.”

They started off walking in silence, but it swiftly tired Aegon, and as they neared a corner he broke the silence, “I have seen the tabard you are working on for my brother.  I dare say your stitching is the finest work I have seen.  Lady Manderly placed the sigils of my mother and father’s houses on my cloak, and her skill pales in comparison to yours.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sansa sighed, “she mended one of Bran’s shirts the other day, you could not even tell it had been torn.”

“I knew many seamstresses in Essos who could do the same,” Aegon smirked, “but I have not seen many who can so accurately recreate with thread as you have done on Jon’s tabard.  The wolf looks like Ghost, and I dare say you are channeling the Balerion in his all his glory.”

Sansa smiled, “Princess Daenerys is fond of the stories of the Dragons.  She tells Arya to keep her entertained during our sewing circles.  Your cousins have drawn my sister to the womanly arts, but her attention is prone to wander without something to focus on.”

Aegon chuckled, “We will have to keep that in mind on the journey south, can’t have her wandering off on us.”

Nodding Sansa sighed, “I always knew I would have to leave Winterfell one day.  It is my home, but my duty to my family would always result in finding a suitable match and leaving.”

“I am sorry I cannot sympathize,” Aegon sighed, “I have never had a true home.  Our ship was the only constant in my life, that and Jon and Lemore or Lady Dayne.  They were the only ones I could rely on to always be there for me.  Everyone else was merely a hireling, someone paid to be my friend, or to provide some training Jon thought would benefit me as king.”

“Home is not always a place,” Sansa used her free hand to grip Aegon’s upper arm, “it is the people.  When we depart, most of those people who made this my home will be departing as well.  Mother has decided to go with Uncle Edmure to Pike to secure his match with Asha Greyjoy.  Only Robb and Rickon will be remaining in Winterfell.  Father, Jon, and Bran will be with us in King’s Landing.  Arya will go with Edric and your kin to Dorne.”

Aegon nodded, “You know we will not be imprisoned in King’s Landing.  I intend to visit Sunspear, and it would be horribly bad form if I didn’t pay a visit to your brother and sister in Starfall.  We will also have to attend your uncle’s wedding in Riverrun, I doubt many would pass up seeing the union of the Iron Born with the Riverlands.”

“You intend I journey with you to see the Seven Kingdoms?” Sansa smirked.

“As my intended, it would be expected,” Aegon smiled, “plus, I am sure we can get Selmy to agree Jon and Bran need more knightly training than following His Grace about from day to day.”

(Two Days Later)

Robert sat upon his horse, the massive column of those departing Winterfell was already making steady progress.  They would journey together to Cerwyn before splitting in three directions.  The Riverlanders and Iron Born would make for Torrhen’s Square where Victarion’s ship was harbored.  Doran and most of his House would be journeying to White Harbor to take their ships back to Dorne.  The vast majority would be following the King’s Road, Lord Reed had departed early to ensure the path through the Neck was ready.

The King watched as Ned spoke with his eldest and youngest sons, parting words to help guide them.  Not that they’d be gone too long, there was only a short time before winter was upon them.  There was also the unknown factor of how the Others would react once they learned the living had abandoned the lands beyond the Wall.

“Robert,” he turned to see Aegon approaching on his own horse, “the lead wheelhouses have reached Wintertown.”

“Good,” Robert sighed, “and the prisoners?”

“Lady Cersei is riding with Lady Dayne and the Starks in the royal Wheelhouse.” Aegon bowed his head, “Jamie Lannister is riding with the other Night’s Watch members, and Connington is chained in the second luggage cart.”

Robert nodded, “I know the man was like a father to you lad, but for the realm.”

“Stannis will want retribution for what Connington did,” Aegon nodded, “I understand and accept that.”  The prince shook his head, “but you are wrong.  Connington was never like a father to me.  Lady Dayne was more parental to me than that man.  I doubt the man knows how a father should treat their son, I was merely a replacement for my father in his eyes.”

A tremor of revulsion went through Robert, “Don’t need that though lad.  Not with what I know of the man and what he thought of your father.”  The King watched Ned mount his horse and join them, “Finally, we can go someplace warmer.”

Ned chuckled, “If you think this is cold Robert, just wait for winter.”

Chapter Text

(Winterfell – Great Hall)

Robb Stark sat in the seat of the Lord of Winterfell, at his side stood Ser Kevan Lannister, ostensibly the royally appointed advisor to the acting Lord of Winterfell.  In truth, Ser Lannister was aware of future events and was designated by his brother to help mitigate potential issues.  However, much of the knowledge given by the visions was currently useless.

“My young lord,” Kevan spoke softly, “I believe we are done with petitions for the day.  Maester Luwin has some letters to review in your solar, and your lady wife has asked you to make time to meet with her for a midday meal in the Godswood.”

Nodding Robb stood, “What will you be doing with the rest of your day?”

Kevan chuckled, “I need to help my wife and sons settle into the keep.  Lancel and his brothers will take postings as you see fit my young lord.  Dorna will help your lady wife with her duties of course.”

“Have Lancel report to Jory, we need a new guard captain with Ser Rodric going south with Father and Jory taking his place as a master-at-arms.  I will think about Willem and Martyn.”  Robb frowned, “Ser Kevan, what became of your family, in that other life?”

Kevan’s smile faded, “Nothing good.  Lancel lost himself to the Faith, not his fault though.  He’d been dragged down by Cersei.  Instead of treating him as kin, she used him for her own twisted desires.  Joffrey may have ordered your father’s death, but it was by Cersei’s will and my son’s unknowing hand that Robert died permitting such to come to pass.”  Kevan swallowed hard, “It is also a mistake to think the future we bore witness to was the only possibility.  I know Lancel had three possible deaths, first beside me when Cersei destroyed all those who opposed her by destroying the Sept of Baelor with wildfire, he fell to a monstrosity Cersei sent to kill the High Sparrow, and while I did not see it, Tywin told me he fell to the Others.  As for my other boys,” Kevan grimaced, “Willem’s fate never seemed to change.  Killed by Lord Karstark in the place of Jamie, in one vision Martyn died with him instead of their cousin Tion.  In all others, Martyn’s fate is that of his mother and sister, trapped within The Rock as the Others swarmed it.  Either torn to pieces or slain and raised to join the ranks of Wights.”

Robb grimaced, “I cannot say for sure they will not meet the same fate, but we will not make it easy on the Others this time.”

“Nay, that we won’t,” Kevan patted the younger man’s shoulder, “now off with you, it is not proper to keep your wife waiting.”

(Winterfell – Barracks)

Lancel knocked on the door to Jory Cassel’s quarters, the current master-at-arms of Winterfell had retired to his quarters for the midday meal.  Movement from within the chamber preceded the door being opened by a red-headed woman in a tabard with the Cassel coat of arms.  The woman glared at him, if looks could kill he’d already be walking with the Stranger.

Swallowing hard Lancel gave a quick nod in greeting, “I am Lancel Lannister, my father told me to speak with Ser Jory.”

A gruff voice called from within the room, “You can drop the Ser, not a knight like my uncle and old man.  Osha, let the poor lad in.”  Stepping back from the entryway the woman let him pass, as he entered he recognized the former Captain of the Guard sitting at the table, a bowl of stew was set before him, along with two others.

Lancel gulped, “If you are expecting a guest, I can speak with you at another time.”

“Just my cousin Beth, she should be passing Young Rickon off to Lady Marge and be along presently,” Jory motioned to the chair that didn’t have a bowl sitting in its place, “have you eaten?”

Lancel was about to politely decline as he sat, but another bowl was thrust onto the table roughly by the redhead named Osha, “Not yet, but this does look appetizing.”

“Osha knows the easiest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Jory smirked, “and that’s not just with food.”

Gulping Lancel accepted the spoon handed to him before focusing on Jory, “Father was not clear on why I was to meet with you.”

Jory nodded, “We’re short-staffed, and it might be a couple years off, but winter is coming.  We know it and we’ll feel it before those grey rats down south think to send the white ravens.  I need to focus on training our soldiers if we’re to be ready to march on the Others.  So, I need a Captain to supervise Winterfell’s guards.”

Lancel’s Lannister pride began to bubble up as he realized this was the reason for his summons.  He was the son of an unlanded knight, true Kevan was the brother of Lord Tywin, but that left Lancel’s future murky.  As a member of the paternal lineage, he’d always have a home at The Rock, unless his uncle or his uncle’s heir granted him a keep.  His income would only consist of whatever wealth his father left him, and a stipend if he remained in service to his House.  Lancel was far enough up the family tree to know the Lannisters were hiding the fact their wealth was finite.

The door to the quarters opened and a young woman with red curly hair entered wearing breeches and the tabard of house Cassel.  She placed a spear next to one already resting by the door before shucking the heavy cloak adorned with the crest of House Stark worn by most of the guards.  The young woman huffed, “Osha, I’m going to need the sewing kit,” as she turned Lancel noticed a large rip along the outer seam of her breeches, “Shaggydog led us on a right awful chase after a poor rabbit.”

“I thought you were staying within the walls,” Osha stood to collect a box from a shelf and moved to help the younger woman.  Lancel could mistake them for mother and daughter if he didn’t know Osha was Jory’s wife and a Wildling, and Beth was Jory’s cousin.

Beth had not noticed the company yet and was already moving to unclasp her belt to remove the damaged article of clothing for repair, “We were, the little pests have found a way under the walls and into the courtyard with the glass gardens.  I let Old Nan know, and she said she’ll have Hodor look for their tunnel.”

Jory grunted, “Cuz, we have company, perhaps you’d step behind the screen before changing your garb.”

Beth reddened as she took note of Lancel’s presence, “Pardon Ser, I did not see you there.”  Osha grasped the younger woman’s arm and pulled her behind a changing screen.  After a moment she emerged to grab a dress lying on a nearby trunk before disappearing behind the screen once more.

A few moments later both women appeared, Osha carrying Beth’s damaged breeches.  The women came to the table and took their seats, Osha setting the damaged clothing and sewing kit aside.  As they sat Jory made introductions, “I do not know if the two of you have been properly introduced.  Beth, this is Lord Kevan’s eldest son Lancel Lannister.  He was a squire to the King, but Baratheon purged many of the Lannister relatives from his court before departing Winterfell.”

“My cousin Tyrek remains in his grace’s service,” Lancel swallowed, “but Ser Barristan’s experiences with the visions made him uncomfortable having me remain close to Robert.  Uncle Tywin and father understood the reasoning, and I am to remain in Winterfell with my family.”

Beth smiled at him, though the embarrassment of nearly undressing before him was still evident by the blush on her face, “It is a pleasure to meet you, is there a reason you are meeting with my cousin?”

Jory chuckled, “We were just getting to that when you made your entrance,” Jory turned to Lancel, “Don’t think this will be an easy task lad, you’re young and Northmen are not keen on heeding orders from Southron followers of the Seven.”

“I understand,” Lancel nodded, “but one's faith should not be a hindrance in their ability to ensure the safety of this castle and the people within.”

With a nod Jory swallowed another bite of stew before responding, “Agreed, I had no animosity toward Lady Catelyn.  Didn’t agree with her treatment of Jon, but wasn’t my place to speak against her.  Your father is the acting steward and probably will be for the foreseeable future with Poole down south with Lord Stark.  If any of the old greybeards give you gruff, just lean into your First Men heritage, remind them Lann the Clever was right there with Brandon the Builder giving the Greenhand grief.”

(The Crossroads)

Sansa looked to the burnt remains of the old Inn where her aunt had drawn her last breaths.  While it was claimed bandits had done the deed, Sweet Robin had whispered to her the truth.  It was the Lannisters who had removed Lysa’s madness from the world.  Sansa had sworn the boy to never tell another soul, and before they had gone their separate ways a few days past, she had reminded the boy about his oath.  Robert Arryn might miss his mother, but he was old enough to realize now her treatment of him was wrong.  Kevan Lannister had saved many lives with the simple swipe of a dagger.

“My lady,” she turned to see Aegon approaching, Ser Loras at his heel as a guard, “what about these ruins disquiets you so?”

Sansa smiled sadly, “My aunt Lady Lysa Arryn died here.  Bandits attacked a few days before His Grace set out for Winterfell.  I know she was a horrible person, caused so much suffering, even murdered her own husband.”

“She was still family,” Aegon nodded, “were you close?”

“Never met,” Sansa scoffed, “I do not mourn the woman who died here, but the girl my mother spoke so fondly of.  Though, I do not know if that girl ever truly existed.  Mother’s stories seem to have been idealized recollections, she was far too naive.”

Aegon nodded, “Naivete is sometimes a blessing, to be able to ignore the harshness of the world.  Unfortunately, we were not born into stations that permit such things.”  Aegon held out his arm, “Let us leave the dead to their rest, the living are far more interesting.”

Sansa smirked as she took his arm and allowed him to guide her away from the charred remains of the old Inn and Tavern, “How so?”

“What was that you were telling me Loras, about the butcher’s boy?” Aegon looked to the knight who’d moved so he was walking just behind them.

“Ser Clegane took the boy as a page,” Loras mused, “pardon the language my lady, but the Hound’s words are lacking without his colorful vocabulary.  His exact words were that Gendry and he were shit at cooking, so he needed a page who could so they’d not starve.”

Sansa smirked, “Is that the boy Jon and Edric found Arya and Bran playing at Knights with along the riverbank yesterday?”

Loras nodded, “One and the same my lady, when they brought them to your lord father, he called the Hound.  They talked in private, probably something to do with the visions our fathers had I’d wager.  The Hound went off to talk to the Innkeepers and next, he was seen riding off and back with a young mare from one of the horse farms nearby.”

“Hope it gets use to the smell of direwolf quickly,” Aegon chuckled, “Lady Lyanna, four of her pups, and Lord Dayne’s Whirlwind are a sight to behold, but even trained warhorses have trouble when they are on the prowl.”

At Sansa’s side, Lady whined drawing her attention, she stroked the direwolf between her ears, “It’s not your fault lesser beasts tremble before you.  They are simply jealous.”

“Yes, jealous is the word,” Loras scoffed, “jealous of jaws that can crush a man’s skull and the strength to rend armor with those paws of theirs.  My lady, you have but to think it, and Lady will decimate your foes.  At this moment I am but a decorative statue.”

“A very handsome statue,” Sansa remarked, before turning to Aegon, “are we going to watch the Hound and Gendry train the poor boy?”

Aegon shook his head, “No, I was only using that as an example of something interesting that has occurred this trip.  Cousin Robert and Lord Stark rode out this morning together, a bit of hunting and talking.  Cousin Robert wishes to ensure the wounds in their friendship have been truly mended before we reach Kingslanding.”

Sansa mused, “Father is not one to hold to grudges, he has always been of a forgiving nature.  His Grace’s treatment of Jon and his plan to name you his heir would be enough to mend whatever wounds might have remained.”

“It is pleasant that we are afforded a longer courtship than your brother and Lady Margaery.  There is much that we both must learn of each other as well of the roles that we will one day take up.  Connington’s tutoring of the past year is not from a man who truly ruled, though he did lead men into battle.  His teachings were filled with his idea of what being king means, but I have witnessed a true king, though he is known as a Magnar.”  Aegon looked ahead of them seriously, “Lord Stark may not think it of himself, but he was the worthier choice among the men who took up arms against the madness of my grandfather and father to take the throne.  He puts the good of his people before his own desires.”

“He would argue that he was selfish when it comes to Jon,” Sansa rebuked, “he believed he was committing treason by raising him.  He expected the Spider to learn the truth and for His Grace to raise banners against the North.”

Aegon nodded, “I spoke with Robert about why he did not simply tell Lord Stark that he knew Jon’s parentage, or at the least suspected it.  If he had, then my brother could have lived a better life, and Uncles Doran and Oberyn would have kept quiet on the legitimacy to protect Jon.  I am sure your lady mother would have been less hostile believing him to be an illegitimate nephew.”

A frown came to Sansa’s face, “What was His Grace’s reasoning?”

“He wanted Lord Stark to tell him the truth,” Aegon sighed, “he said when he realized Jon’s true parentage, he realized he’d lost Lord Stark’s trust in him as a friend and brother.  He hoped given time he would regain that lost trust, and he would know this when Lord Stark trusted him with the truth of Jon’s actual parentage.”

Sansa smirked as she spotted her two elder brothers in attendance approach, “Perhaps it was best the secrets were revealed in this manner.  A private conversation between Father and His Grace in a place where the memories of the past clung so strongly.  I also believe our mutual brother has never been one for desiring fame or recognition.”

Jon stopped in front of them with Edric at his heel, “Aegon, good day.”

“Brother,” Aegon smirked, “if you are looking for Selmy he rode off with Cousin Robert and Lord Stark.  I believe they intend to hunt.”

Edric spoke up, “Pardon your grace, but it was our sister we sought.”  He looked to Sansa, “Mother politely requests your presence.  I believe she wants to go over what is expected of a princess of the realm with you and Princess Daenerys.”

Sansa noticed that both boys were armed, and Jon carried a second sword.  Aegon had taken note of this as well.  Sansa grimaced, “There is more to this than you are willing to say?”

“There have been a number of outriders joining the column since we passed the Twins,” Jon lowered his voice, “Your uncle warned that Walder Frey might have had designs on offering a betrothal for your hand now that Robb was wed.”

Aegon glared as he took the extra sword and affixed it to his belt, “I’ve heard the man has enough spawn to field an army, but he would not be mad enough to attack a royal party.”

“Considering the bastard butchered Robb and a whole host of Northern nobility in the visions,” Edric scowled, “I wouldn’t put anything past the weasel.”

A glare came to Sansa’s face, “Given that Uncle also set aside plans to appease Walder by taking one of his granddaughters as a wife, and instead, he intends to bridge the divide with the Iron Born."  Sansa looked back to the burned ruins, “Add that the bandits that burned the old tavern and inn have never been captured.”

Aegon turned the group towards the wheelhouses, “I will see to Lady Sansa, Jon see that Lady Arya is safe, and then quietly pass along the line that as the crown prince I request everyone be armed until we are safely in King’s Landing.”

(The Twins)

Tion Frey followed his father and brothers into what had been their grandsire’s bed chamber.  Black Walder lay on the floor, a dagger in his kneck.  A trail of blood led back to the bed where Walder Frey lay motionless and pale against the blood-drenched sheets.  The Maester of the Twins sat in the chair next to the bed, old and withered as he was.

Standing next to the bed was Sir Stevron staring blankly at his father’s body, “What is the mood downstairs brother?”

Tion’s father Emmon swallowed tightly, “There are whispers that you sent poor Walder here to speed up Father’s meeting with the stranger,” Emmon chuckled, “I don’t give much credence to such rubbish.  Mostly the Crakehall brood that is doing the whispering.”

Stevron nodded before looking to his brother, “Have my grandson’s body moved to his chamber, let it be known he was checking on his grandfather when he came upon an intruder.  The man who killed our father and my grandson has been dealt with, he leaped from the window into the river below.”

“Of course brother,” Emmon motioned for Cleos and Lyonel to move their cousin’s remains. 

Tion followed to ensure the servants did not observe.  Once in Black Walder’s quarters, they laid him on the bed before removing the dagger from his neck.  Cleos examined the dagger, “This one of grandfather’s?”

Lyonel shrugged, “Who knows, Uncle Tywin just said to make it look like an internal dispute.  It wasn’t hard, just insinuated grandfather was going to disinherit him for his behavior.  Then just had to slip that old fossil a cup of fortified wine, you know how belligerent the old bugger got when he was in his cups.”

Tion looked at the list he carried in his pocket.  Tywin had sent his nephews to the Twins carrying letters to their parents concerning certain matters.  In particular, he desired their mother to attend Cousin Cersei’s trial in the capitol.  Beyond that, he felt that House Frey could do with a bit of pruning.  Tion agreed with Uncle Tywin’s assessment when they arrived to learn their grandfather was scheming to kidnap one of Lord Stark’s daughters and put into motion events to force the girl to be wed to one of their family members.

Hours later Tion found himself at his mother’s side.  Genna Lannister spoke soothingly, “Accursed is the kinslayer, but you and your brothers have not killed anyone.”

Fighting had broken out in the great hall as different branches of the family began to assail one another.  What had started out as heated words had swiftly become thrown fists before castle-forged steel was brought out to play.  Tion and his brothers had been closest to the doors and been able to beat a hasty exit.

The door to his parents' apartments in the Twins opened to admit Emmon, “Father?”

Emmon sighed, “Stevron was wounded, but Ryman took the brunt of it.  The Maesters are still sorting through the wounded.  Ryman is the only confirmed casualty of our branch of the family.  Stevron wants us to depart first thing in the morning, I’ve already dispatched Cleos and Lyonel to recall those blasted outriders father sent to kidnap one of the Stark girls.”  The balding man shook his head, “Damn fool, all he’d accomplish is feeding those blasted wolves, and no doubt feeding the rest of us to their masters.”

Genna sighed, “He was a prideful man, he was sure Edmure would be easier to ply into a betrothal now that his father’s health forced him to step aside as Lord Paramount.  How did he learn Edmure was planning to take the daughter of Lord Greyjoy as his wife?”

“A letter from an unknown sender,” Emmon scoffed, “he apparently had been ranting about it for days.  Complaining about the Fish passing over good decent people for the squid’s whore of a daughter.  Rumor has it she…”

“Do not continue that thought Emmon,” Genna scolded, “whatever rumors have been spread about the girl, she will be the Lady of Riverrun.  It will be for our benefit if we stay close.  Cleos has two sons we can position as suitable husbands if the squid girl gives Edmure daughters.”

Emmon scoffed, “That doesn’t give us any ties to Riverrun.”

“It would bring the Frey closer to the Tullys than they have been in generations,” Genna mused, “and we would be ostensibly poised in the case the squid girl cannot produce a male heir.  Edmure’s children would come before any of the Starks.”

Tion looked to his mother, “That only matters as long as the Others don’t turn us all into soldiers in their army of walking dead.”

A humorless chuckle came from Genna, “Leave those blasted things for your uncles and Lord Stark to deal with.  Between Tywin’s military acumen and Lord Stark’s knowledge of his ancestral foes, I have little doubt what the outcome will be.”  Genna got a gleam in her eye that Tion had long learned to know meant his mother was scheming, “It is our job to ensure when the dust settles that our family is in a strong position.”

Gulping Tion knew his mother was not referring to House Frey.  She may carry the name of his father’s house, but she would always consider herself as part of House Lannister, so much so that nobody openly called her Genna Frey.  Tion sighed as he stood, “I will make sure Jeyne and the boys are ready to depart at first light.”

(The Sunset Sea)

Asha Greyjoy watched as her potential betrothed won another game of dice against her uncle’s crew.  While gambling was not forbidden on the ships of the Iron Fleet, it was discouraged especially against a green-lander.  A little-known fact about the Ironborn was their horrible luck when it came to games of chance.  When playing against another Ironborn their mutual unluckiness would counter out, and the better cheater would win.

“I have never known Edmure to do so well in games of chance,” Catelyn Tully formerly Stark said eyeing the group of gamblers, “They are not setting him up are they?”

A smirk came to Asha’s face, “No,” she pointed to her uncle Victarion sitting across from Edmure, “There is no cheating on board Uncle's ship.  Any of them try and he’ll send them straight to the drowned god.”  She noticed Harlaw the Reader speaking with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood.  Edmure had been up half the night talking with her uncles and his banners on the particulars of how to approach her father.

She then noticed Theon at the bow of the ship, her brother would be the heir again, as she would be taken to the Riverlands to wed the heir of House Tully.  She knew the welcome he would receive on Pyke, their father was a shadow of the man he once was.

“Ship on the horizon,” the lookout called down from the mast, “House Greyjoy colors, Aeron’s standard on the prow.”

“Damphair?” Asha frowned, “He never leaves Pyke.”

Victarion stood and began shouting orders.  It did not take long for Aeron’s ship to come alongside and the priest of the Drowned God easily walked from one ship to the other across a plank.  Asha noticed the crew of Aeron’s ship was solely made up of his acolytes.  A manic smile came to the man’s face when his eyes landed on Theon, “Nephew, as the Drowned God told me in a vision, you have been restored to us.”

“Brother,” Victarion stormed over to the priest, “why are you here?”

Aeron pulled a damp parchment from his robes, “Our dearest brother received this notice, we believe it was the Crow’s Eye who sent it.  How he learned of such things is unknown, but the information appears to be true.  It claimed Lord Edmure would return our nephew and in turn would take our niece.  The blood of the Iron Islands would once more rule the land of rivers.”

Harlaw took the parchment, “This is not Euron’s hand, I taught the godless cur to write.  This had to have been someone at the gathering at Winterfell, very few knew our plans.”

Asha frowned as she looked over her uncle’s shoulder, “I recognize the hand, it is Lord Bloodraven’s, he said there was a man on the God’s Eye he wished to send word to.  I have a letter I was to take there personally.”

“A greenman?” Edmure frowned, “We do not commonly see them.  Even the lords who’ve gone to retrieve saplings to restore their godswoods have not seen them.”

Asha shook her head as she pulled the unsealed letter from her jerkin, “Not a green man, but someone who retreated to the island years ago in shame.  He did not give me any other details, only that we would need his strength in the coming years.”

Theon looked to Damphair, “Uncle you said the Drowned God gave you a vision, was it like the vision The Reader had?”

“The Reader and I have not spoken of his visions,” Aeron mused, “he has never been as devout as I, but the Drown God must have had his reasons for gracing your uncle with visions.”

The Reader sighed, “Let’s not get too caught up in semantics, regardless of the distance the Drowned God is one of the Old Gods.  Hells we acknowledge the Storm God as opposition to the Drowned God.  I spoke with Hightower he believes they both were among the gods of Sea and Sky his ancestors worshiped alongside the Children of the Forest native to what is now the Reach.”

“Possible,” Damphair nodded, “it would explain why the boy had the looks of a Stark and the man wore the regalia of the Night’s Watch.  The Drowned God must have summoned them from the halls of the dead to warn of the approaching doom.”

Asha noticed Catelyn frowning at the mention of a boy with the Stark looks.  Harlaw had informed her the boy was most likely Brandon Stark, or more informally called Bran, Catelyn’s son.  Though the boy from the vision was older and far more subdued than the energetic child they saw clambering about the walls of Winterfell.  She imagined the boy would enjoy a year at sea climbing the rigging of a ship.

Later, in the quarters she shared with Lady Catelyn, the older woman questioned her, “What exactly did the letter say?”

“It was a warning, just as much as the visions had been I’d wager,” Asha smirked, “It said Theon’s return was a gift, and that squandering such a gift would lead to a horrible fall.  Only through bridging the divide and ending old hatreds may we survive the coming evils.”

Catelyn sighed, “My brother taking you as wife will bridge some of the divide.  I only wish there was some way to undo the damages I caused.”

Asha shook her head, “You cannot dwell on the past Lady Tully.  Sometimes things are irreparably broken.  I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about me.  They say I’ve slept with every man on my crew, and if they don’t please me I slit their throat and toss them overboard.”

“Yes,” Catelyn looked at her grimly, “I’ve heard such rumors.”

A snort came from the only daughter of House Greyjoy, “They are false of course, Uncle Euron started whispering them after Father banished him from the Iron Islands.  I have two men on my crew I would consider my lovers, but neither was worthy to be my husband, and neither took my virtue.”

Catelyn frowned, “I would never take you as a maiden.”

“True,” Asha sneered, “I haven’t been one since I was sixteen.  I was on this ship serving my time and learning from my uncle in commanding a crew.  We were raiding Lyseni Pirates around the Stepstones.  We struck one of their bases, a system of tunnels they’d used since the days of the Crabfeeder.  I got separated from the others.  A Lyseni sailor cornered me,” Asha picked up her axe from where it leaned against her cot, “he was big, fat, and smelly, that is the most I remember.  Other than waking up in Uncle Victarion’s lap swaddled like a newborn babe with that man trussed up like a suckling pig.  Uncle restrained himself to let it be my axe that sent that pig to whatever gods he believed in.”

She noticed the look on Catelyn’s face, the expression said much.  To a woman raised like Catelyn Tully, it was uncouth for a girl to act in ways deemed manly pursuits, and some green-lander ladies would claim Asha had been asking for such a thing. 

So it surprised her when Catelyn’s expression softened, “I am sorry such a thing happened to you.  For such a long time I thought ill of Lady Lyanna, it was my anger over what happened to my betrothed Brandon.  I was not kind, and when stories of her being abused by Rheagar and his knights began circulating, I thought it the gods' punishment for her acting so willfully.  It was only upon seeing the grief of Ned and Benjen that I remembered she did not deserve to suffer.”

“Though, now you know she was not abused,” Asha sighed, “and instead you treated her son poorly.  Would you have treated him any differently had you known he was Lord Stark’s nephew instead of his son?”

“I’m not sure,” Catelyn answered honestly, “yet the time to learn that has long passed, and as you said we must not dwell on the past.”  Catelyn shook her head, “What kind of welcome do you believe we will receive at Pyke?”

Asha shrugged, “I would not expect a warm one, but with Theon looking like a true Ironborn again instead of those fine garments he walked around Winterfell in, Father will no doubt be more welcoming of him.  Edmure needs to remain focused and firm in speaking with my Father, he cannot have you whispering in his ear.  Have Bracken and Blackwood flanking him, you need to stand behind them and remain silent unless addressed, the Ironborn look down on women, especially those from the mainland.  When Mother approaches you, follow her from the chamber, and the two of you will discuss the particulars of the union.  She will then take what you have agreed on to Father, and will announce the joining of our houses.”

Catelyn frowned, “I thought you said the Ironborn look down on women.”

Chuckling Asha smirked, “Ironborn men in the majority can neither read nor write, such things are considered cravenly endeavors.  The Reader is in the minority and nobody would ridicule a man with my uncle’s reputation at sea.  In truth, all contracts between our houses are arranged by the mothers, wives, or daughters.  Even my mother arranged her own marriage to my father through discussions with my grandmother.”

“Your father must still have some say in the matter,” Catelyn countered.

Asha shook her head, “As customs dictate, he will acknowledge Mother has arranged for the most advantageous match with the best outcomes in regards to dowery and brideprice.”  Asha smirked, “Fair warning, my mother may seem like a grief-riddled shadow of a woman, but she is still a Harlaw.  She will not back down, regardless if I’m considered damaged goods.”

(Trident)

Ned sat across from Robert at the small table set up for their midday meal.  They’d spent the morning hunting, but Robert was still out of shape and while he’d eased off drinking himself into an early grave he was a long way from becoming the Demon of the Trident again.

“What’s got your nose out of joint Ned,” Robert was looking at him suspiciously, and he gave him a questioning look, “Don’t play the fool, doesn’t suit yeh.  Besides, I know that look, something has been running more laps around that head of yours than your living breathing symbol has been this clearing.  You thinking a boar is just going to appear out of thin air and gore me?”

“No, and the only reason you failed to kill that boar was the strong wine your squire had plied you with,” Ned growled, “Considering all that was going on, it was a shite time to go hunting regardless.”

Robert chuckled, “So you and Barristan keep telling me.  However, we’ve headed off that problem, or Lord Royce did by sending Mya with that letter.  You sure it was wise to send her back to the Vale with your nephew,” Robert paused, “Er, well your former wife’s nephew.”

Ned nodded, “The Redforts will be more ashamed of their son’s actions.  I made sure the letter to Lord Royce contained the exact accounting that Aegon and Gendry said to you and it was the same when they repeated the account to me.  She is to remain at Robert Arryn's side as his attendant while Lord Royce is the head of the Lord’s Declarent and acts as Robert’s regent.”  Ned paused, “And regardless of Catelyn and my separation the boy is still my nephew.  He is the cousin to my children after all.”

A nod came from Robert, “Next time you communicate with Lord Royce, tell him he has my blessings to look for potential matches for Mya, I will be legitimizing her and her brothers as Baratheons when we reach the capital.  Aegon was quite clear that either I do it now or he would upon his ascension to the throne.”

“It will be beneficial to the stability of your house,” Ned frowned, “any word on what your brother’s plan?”

Robert sighed, “Stannis will remain lord of Dragonstone, but his daughter will not inherit that seat.  Our line of succession is a mess, but I have long been aware of my youngest brother’s proclivities.  He will not sire a child.  Shireen will inherit Storm’s End, and her firstborn son will take the Baratheon name. If she fails to have a son, Gendry or his son will be her heir, followed by Edric’s line, and then Mya’s.”

Ned sighed, “Tywin and I have spoken, and I will be fostering Tommen in the Tower of the Hand.  When he is six and ten, he will go to The Rock to learn from his grandfather what is expected of his heir.”

“What does our Master of Coin have to say about being passed over,” Robert took a drink of the watered wine they’d been served.

Ned snorted, “He is unsurprised.”

Scratching at his chin Robert hummed, “That Mormont woman, Dacey, that horse lord has been using their proximity in the column to ride at her side.  He asked Jorah for her hand yet?”

Ned grits his teeth and hopes Robert doesn’t notice his irritation at the implication.  Khal Drogo was not a simple barbarian like many Westrosi believed him to be.  The man was intelligent and used how most city dwellers viewed his people to his advantage.  That wasn’t to say the man was not violent and capable of cruelties.  Jorah had told him of the gold crown Drogo had given Viserys in the world of the visions.  Drogo had easily deduced the worst-kept secret in the North, and in fact, had approached Ned in regards to staking a claim as Dacey’s husband.

“Jorah has not said anything as of yet,” Ned forced out, “but the man’s intentions are clear.”

(Three Nights Earlier)

Ned was seated in his tent going over letters that had reached them.  The fact the column moved so slowly permitted messengers to catch up to them.  They’d just reached the crossroads and would be here for a few days to allow the horses to rest before making the final push to King’s Landing.

The sound of a spear tapping on the ground drew his attention to the entrance of the tent.  The guard on duty spoke up, “Lord Stark, Lord Jorah Mormont, and Khal Drogo to see you.”

“Let them in,” Standing Ned took a breath and focused himself as the two men entered.  Jorah gave a respectful dip of his head while Drogo knelt and set an object wrapped in sheepskin in the space between them, “What’s the matter, is something wrong with the Princess?”

“No Lord Stark,” Jorach chuckled amusedly, “Daenerys is with your daughters and some of the other young ladies admiring the night sky, the gods are putting on quite the show tonight.  Meteor shower.”

“I see,” Ned frowned at the object on the ground, the skin was fresh, and blood and pink skin revealed it had yet to be treated.  A fresh kill, “What brings you both here then?”

Jorah worked his jaw before clasping his hands in front of him, “My Lord, it has come to Khal Drogo’s attention that Lady Dacey is unwed, and it is custom among the Dothraki to approach a woman’s male kin before making their intentions known.  I am Dacey’s cousin and the only male relative in the Mormont line available as my father is otherwise occupied leading the Night’s Watch.  Drogo realized that the Mormonts are Dacey’s mother’s family, and custom dictates he must seek approval from her father’s lineage.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare.  Drogo easily realized why Eddard was angered with Jorah and stepped in between the two men, “Jorah did not reveal his cousin’s connection to you Magnar.  If one has eyes and a brain, then they should realize.”

Focusing on the Khal, Ned motioned to the object on the ground, “What is this?”

Jorah spoke as Drogo removed the fresh skin from the object, “It has been more generations than we could count since a Khal approached a Magnar to seek the hand of one of their blood.”  As the sheepskin was removed a carved wooden head was revealed.  Eddard glared at the effigy of Euron Greyjoy the Crow’s Eye.  Jorah continued, “He cannot promise you the swords of his khalasar, as they have been promised to fight the Others.  Yet he can promise you a life in exchange for Dacey’s hand.”

Ned realized the need for fresh skin, the sheep’s blood had been transferred to the carved head.  The wooden head of Euron Greyjoy looked like it was bathed in blood.  The man had eluded Ned’s blade during the Greyjoy Rebellion and smartly stayed out of Ned’s reach ever since.  Walking to his desk he picked up a steel hand axe, “If you bring me Euron’s head, you’ll have my blessing.  It’ll be Dacey’s choice, if she refuses the match you leave her alone unmolested.”

Drogo nodded, “Of course Magnar.”

As the man gripped the axe, Ned put him in a chokehold with the axe’s blade poised at his throat, “If she does agree you will not treat her as a broodmare.  Harm her and what my ancestors did to the Red Kings will pale in comparison to what I do to you.”

Unable to speak due to a lack of air and the blade of the axe, Drogo tapped Lord Stark’s arm to signal his understanding.  Upon being released the Dothraki grinned as he regained his breath, “A quiet wolf indeed.”

Jorah grimaced as Drogo checked that he wasn’t bleeding, “I warned you not to take Lord Stark lightly.”

“Aye,” Drogo nodded before looking to Ned, “whatever the visions may have told you of me.  Dacey is no mere woman.  I have faced her mace, and I have seen her shatter the weapons of my bloodriders.”  Drogo snickered, “Your threats…” At Ned’s glare, he corrected, “…your promise, would be hard to fulfill as Dacey is more than capable of sending me to the kalasar in the sky on her own.”

An image of Lyanna lying on her deathbed and Dacey’s broken body lying discarded in a pile of dead bodies flashed through Ned’s mind along with Robb’s body with Greywind’s head sewn on, “No matter one’s strength, we are still simply people.  Placing one’s trust in the wrong people can result in losing those we care for the most.”

(Present)

Robert chuckled as he put his gobble down, “Ah, I’ve missed this.  You, me, and nothing but untamed wilderness filled with ample game to hunt.  Reminds me of our days in the Vale.”

“At least here there isn’t the threat of Mountain Clans jumping out of the bushes,” Ned responded grimly.

“That was one time and those Painted Dogs practically pissed themselves with one look at your house crest when you brought your greatsword down on their chieftain’s toes.”  Robert sniggered, “Always wondered if were you aiming to maim or did you actually miss?”

Ned snorted, “Loose gravel, my old sword was a touch heavier than Ice.  Had to really put your back into it when bringing it down, didn’t want it to get stuck in bone,”

“That’s why I favor the war hammer,”  Robert nodded sagely, “can’t get stuck, and anything you hit with it turns to pulp.”  Sighing Robert looked to the sky, “Gods, Ned, what happened to us.  One moment we were lads, fit and full of vigor.  Now look at us, old and fat.”

Ned chuckled, “Think you are mistaking me for Lord Manderly, but you got the old part right.  Takes everything I have to stay one step ahead of these lads.”

Robert agreed, “You know how to handle them.  To most, it looks like you’re enjoying thrashing them in the yard, but I know you well enough.  You stop just the right side of humiliating them, and let them realize they are gaining ground.  Instead of demoralizing them, you’re giving them something to strive towards.”

“Same lesson Jon Arryn taught us when he had Lord Royce hand us our posteriors daily.  Lord Royce gave us a goal, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.  One you eventually bested through raw strength and talent, while I succeed through skill and technique.”

“Never was one for strategy,” Robert mused, “You might dislike the game Ned, but you understand it better than you think.”

Ned sighed, “I don’t dislike the game, I abhor it.  It is the playground of short-sighted fools with too much ego and greed.  Who’s ass sits on the blasted throne matters little when the white winds blow and the watchman sounds his horn thrice.”

“Funny, coming from a bloke whose family ruled the North for eight thousand years,” Robert picked up his goblet and drank deeply of the water wine.  Setting it back down he scrutinized his oldest friend, and brother by choice, “We haven’t really had a chance to talk Ned?”

“We are talking now,” Ned cooly stated as he took a sip from his own goblet.

Robert sighed, “Fuck, Ned you know what I mean.  Lyanna’s boy, Jon, we haven’t said more than a handful of words about him.”

Ned snorted, “What is there  to say, you’ve apparently known for fourteen years and not made a whisper until you drunkenly revealed your knowledge and nearly scared Jon half to death in the process.”

“I wasn’t expecting to run into him right there at her grave,” Robert mused, “your boy was quick with the denials, but he takes after you.  Couldn’t lie to save his own head.”  At Ned’s mercurial look, he chuckled, “Sorry, bad choice of words.”  Robert leaned forward in his seat making the cheap portable chair groan in protest, “What I’m trying to say is I know why you felt you couldn’t tell me back then, I was a right ass.  Should never have stepped over those bodies to take the throne.  Old Arryn even reprimanded me in private after you’d left the city to end the siege on my family home and look for Lyanna.  He said there were more diplomatic ways to have addressed it, ways that didn’t include dehumanizing and dismissing the murder of children.”

Ned nodded, “I doubt the Tywin of those days would have looked kindly on the execution of his prized lapdogs or his son being sent to the Wall.  It took seeing the end of all he cared for to get him to show any remorse, and even I doubt he is truly remorseful.  The man is still playing the game, he is just better equipped to make moves that cost less blood or make new enemies.”  Ned looked at him seriously, “Why did you never mention you realized Jon’s parentage.  I knew Jon’s legitimacy only from my sister’s journals, and the letter Rhaegar sent to me the night before the Trident.”

A frown came to Robert’s face, “He wrote to you?”

“Aye, his man passed it to me when he brought the Prince’s terms to our command tent,” Ned sighed, “I thought it an offer to trade Lyanna for my forces turning our cloaks to his side.  I did not read it until I spoke with Barristan after the battle.”  Ned looked to the Kingsguard commander standing nearby.

Robert looked at Selmy, “You knew about this?”

“Only that the letter had been sent.  I was not privy to the Prince’s words, in Rheagar’s view I was attainted as one of Aerys men for my actions in saving the Mad King at Duskendale.”  Selmy responded bitterly, “I have and will continue to regret saving Aerys’ life, but I cannot regret fulfilling my duty, even knowing what it cost in the end.”

A curt nod came from Ned, “I can only imagine the conflicted feelings you’ve had, especially since the visions.  Following my death I did not see what became of you following your dismissal from the Kingsguard.”

“Dismissal?” Robert choked, “Why would they?”

“Ostensibly,” Selmy explained, “Queen Cersei had Joffrey dismiss me because I was the one present when you were gored by the boar.  In actuality, it was to ensure I was out of the way when they denounced Lord Stark.  Cersei did not intend for Lord Stark to be killed, but she needed him removed as a threat to Joffrey’s reign and ensure no one knew the truth about her children.  I had been vocally opposed to the heavyhanded actions in killing the members of the Stark household.”

Ned grimaced, “Doubt my other self noticed the disquiet on the Cersei’s face when that little shit ordered Payne to take his head.  She knew the trouble her ill-begotten spawn’s whims would cause.”

Robert, as the only one of the three who had not had visions felt somewhat lost.  He knew the bit that he’d been killed by a boar, regardless of the variations in the visions that seemed to never change.  It was evident obvious Ned died not long after him, as so many others had rushed to warn Ned of the inherent dangers awaiting him.

Selmy sighed, “I’m sorry to say Lord Stark that in the few versions of the visions where I tried rescuing your daughters, I was always met with failure.  Arya I could never locate, and my attempts to get Sansa from the Redkeep were stymied by either Baelish or my former brothers.”

“Your former brothers I could understand,” Robert mused, “you both said she was betrothed to Joffrey.  Why would Baelish be involved.”

Ned took a drink from his goblet, “Think of my daughter and think of what my former wife looked like when we wed.”

A stricken look came to the King’s face, “Ned, please tell me you’re not serious.  He was lusting over a twelve-year-old girl because of a passing resemblance to her mother?”

“The Ravens spared me from any version of events where he acted upon his desires,” Ned’s eyes hardened, “but they assured me such versions did exist.  Had Tywin not acted so swiftly, I would have made the need for a new Master of Coin a reality in my own way.”

Robert looked to where Lyanna the direwolf lurked near the tree line, “I’m sure it would have involved much gnashing of teeth and bloodcurdling screams that would haunt the nightmares of the Crownlands long after the Long Night has passed.”

(Trident – Crossroads)

Khal Drogo rested his arakh on his shoulder as he kicked the body of a man who tried to enter the royal wheelhouse unbiddenly.  Nearby Dacey was pulling her mace from the skull of another man.  The Khal was not used to being on this side of a raid, as in Essos it would be his people doing the raiding.  Tywin Lannister appeared with some of his men, “How many were in this area?”

Jorah stood from where he was examining one of the dead men, “Seven here, Sandor said there were nine more on his side.  These were the outriders that started trickling in after stopped near the Twins.”

Tywin motioned to two young men in his company wearing the heraldry of House Frey, “My nephews arrived with men loyal to their father.  My good brother is not a bright man, so it would be wise to think it is my sister who dispatched them.”

“I’m Ser Cleos Frey,” the older of the two greeted, “Our grand-sire went a bit mad after word reached him Lord Edmure was going to wed the squid’s daughter.  He was hoping for a match with one of our girls now that Lord Hoster isn’t able to stop it.  He schemed to kidnap one of Lord Stark’s daughters, he’d pretend one of our boys saved her and would ask for her hand or another betrothal in turn.”

Jorah’s brows raised at that, “You are telling us all this why?”

“Not like it matters anymore,” the other Frey responded, “Grandfather walks with the Stranger now.  Our uncle sent us to stop these idiots one way or another.  Figured all they would accomplish is getting themselves killed.”

Drogo growled, “We should make an example of these bridgemen.”

The two Freys looked at the large Dothraki in fear, but Tywin interceded, “Lord Jorah, can you make your friend understand my nephews came to warn us, and have provided us with the reasons for the attempted abduction.”

“Oh,” Jorah chuckled, “he understands common just find Lord Lannister, he’s just more willing to verbalize what we’re all thinking.”  Jorah turned to his cousin, “Dacey, go tell your sister we’ve got this under control.  I’ll have the guards check for anyone else who joined up after the Twins and have them detained until His Grace and Lord Stark return.”

Drogo glared at the Westerlands man before following Dacey into the wheelhouse.  He motioned his two bloodriders who’d been sent inside as a precaution to stand down.  Dacey went upstairs to give the all-clear as he moved to his men, “Any trouble?”

His men responded in their native tongue, “No one got past you or the burned dog man.”

“He is competent,” Drogo smirked, there was no direct translation for names, so his men had taken to describing physical features and heraldry to keep people from knowing who they spoke of.  The only time this would not work was referring to Lord Stark, as the word Magnar was a shared word between the Dothraki language and that of the First Men, a relic and sign of their ancestry thousands of years ago.

One of the men glanced to the stairs, “Was she as good in actual combat as she is in the practice yard?”

“These bridgemen were no true test of her strength,” Drogo sneered, “She took three of the seven while Jorah and I each got two.”  He remembered the message his mother had sent from Vaes Dothrak.  She had dreamed of her son standing before a great gathering of their people, the hundred Khals kneeling and offering their braids in submission.  When he turned from them he was confronted by a great and terrible wolf.  The wolf growled and snarled, but did not bite.  At the great wolf’s side, a smaller female wolf wearing the skin of a bear walked.  The female wolf moved to his side.  As he rode across the plains with the she-wolf running beside his mare, a field of ghost grass appeared.  Even the doom of the world did not impede them as they rode forth.  The ghost grass fell like scythed wheat.

(Pyke)

Theon looked upon his childhood home with a longing he’d not felt since receiving The Reader’s letter some moons past suggesting he abandoned any thought of returning.  His uncle had apologized for the hastily sent missive, a by-product of believing he was the only man to have had the visions.  Like many, he’d made moves to save his kinsmen and people from the coming doom in whatever ways he could.  This did not take into account the actions of others.

Theon walked beside Edmure Tully as they entered the Great Keep, guests as rare as they were were rarely permitted beyond this point.  The rare times those from the mainland ventured here without the intent to kill Ironborn, they tended to find lodgings at Lordsport or stay on their own ships.  He stood before the Seastone Chair, upon it sat his father.  Surprisingly his mother stood beside him.

Balon sat slouched on his seat, weary and older than Theon remembered.  His mother looked gaunt, and there was a forlorn look about her.  Theon held his head high as he spoke, “Father, I have returned.”

“So you have,” Balon snickered, “The wolf too proud to deliver you himself, had to send his good brother and shrew of a wife?”

“Lord Stark was named Hand of the King,” Theon reported, “he makes for King’s Landing with His Grace, and the royal company.”

Edmure spoke up confidently, “My former good brother granted custody of Theon to House Tully.  He treated your son more like a ward than a hostage.  As such he did not feel right about making his son choose between duty and his childhood friend if such came to pass.”

Balon turned cold dead eyes onto the Riverman, “Don’t need to make a pretty story Trout, my good brother The Reader was more than thorough with informing me of potential follies.  Harlaw may seem a bit soft, but he is still made of the same salt and iron as the rest of us.”  Balon looked to where his daughter stood with Lady Catelyn at the back of the group, “Daughter, you are surprisingly quiet.”

Asha stepped forward, “I did not wish to infringe on your reunion with my dear brother.”

“Is that so,” Balon sneered, “I take it that since Lord Edmure referred to Lord Stark as his former good brother, that Lady Catelyn is no longer Lady Stark?”

“Indeed,” Asha informed, “Uncle Victorian sat in your stead on a Council of Lords Paramount, he can speak of what transpired.”

Balon turned to his brother, “Is this true little brother.” Balon calling his brother little was ironic as Victorian was physically much larger.

Victorian nodded, “It is, Theon was still a hostage of the Starks even if in name only, and Harlaw is not of your blood.”

“Good,” Balon shifted in his seat, “I’ll speak with you in depth on these happenings later.”  His eyes moved back to Edmure, “Lord Tully, what brings you here?  If you wished to return my son, you could have simply sent him with his uncles.”

“True,” Edmure smirked, “but I still need a guarantee to ensure that your people do not forget the results of the Rebellion.  I have no need for a ward,” Edmure glanced to Asha, “but I could use a wife.”

“So, you would give me back a son and take my daughter,” Balon mused, “even if she is no pure maiden.”

Edmure snorted, “I will not hold such against her if she forgives that I am no stranger to a woman’s bed.”

Theon registered the shocked sound coming from Lady Stark, err Lady Tully.  He did not glance at her but did side eye the Riverman.  It had been Edmure Tully who introduced Theon and Robb to the less socially acceptable aspects of the Smoking Log.  While Robb had never done more than kiss the girls, Theon had done quite a bit more.

Balon chuckled, “Aye, we can speak of your conquests while my wife and your sister hash out the details.”  The Lord Reaver turned to Harlaw, “Rodrik, you go with them, make sure my soft-headed woman doesn’t give half the islands as a dowery.”

An hour later found Theon sitting in his father’s solar in the Sea Tower.  His father and Edmure had regaled each other on some of their more lascivious exploits.  Edmure had even dragged Theon into the activity by recounting his first visit to the Smoking Log. 

It was two years past when Edmure had come to visit while Lord and Lady Stark were away, Robb was acting Lord of Winterfell in name only.  Edmure had taken the older boys down to the Smoking Log, well just Theon and Robb, Jon had gone with Lord and Lady Stark though Theon knew not why.  Edmure said it was time the boys learned how to treat ladies.  Ser Cassel was not happy when he arrived to retrieve them from the alehouse, Edmure swiftly left the next morning and did not visit again until arriving for Robb’s wedding.

Balon sighed, “Have you and spawn running around the North boy?”

“No father,” Theon grimaced, “Lord Stark apparently has experience ensuring such accident do not occur.  His Grace told us that in their youth, Lord Stark would often clean up after him.  Make sure the women he bedded got moon tea and such.  Only messed up once because he wasn’t in the Vale when Robert bedded Mya’s mother.”

Nodding Balon looked to Edmure, “My boy will need a wife.  The Tyrells have bound their daughter to the North.  From what my brother told the Stark girls are both spoken for, as is the Martell girl.  Where you suggest I point my wife to looking?”

“I’d warn against looking to the North,” Edmure grimaced, “Unless you have your one-eyed brother stashed somewhere and feel like turning him over to Ned’s merciful nature.”

“The Mormonts still want his head I take it,” Balon sighed, “Euron was foolish to poke the bear.”

Theon swallowed hard, “More than you realize father,” at his father’s hard look Theon continued, “Robb told me Lady Dacey, the woman Uncle Euron assaulted, her true father was none other than Rickard Stark, the father of Lord Eddard Stark.  Dacey is Lord Stark’s half-sister.  Euron didn’t just poke a bear, he baited a dire wolf.”

“Fuck,” Balon coughed, “Always wondered how in the seven hells those Northerners rallied so quickly.  Barely a month from the burning of Lannisport and the entire North was turning our fleets to kindling, and being none too merciful as they went.”  There was a knock at the door and Theon’s mother entered followed by Lady Catelyn and Asha.

Theon watched as his mother handed his father a contract before whispering into his ear.  From his seat he could read the document.  It was rather strait forward for a betrothal contract, save for the caveat where the Iron Islands would aid in the defenses against the Others if they tried to skirt the western end of the Wall.

“Seems all is in order here,” Balon grimaced, “if the enemy that drove my ancestors from the Stoney Shores show their icy faces again.  We’ll send them packing back to whatever frozen hell they crawled out from.”  Balon signed the contract, “When can we expect the first deliveries of goods?”

Theon watched as Edmure conversed with his sister then turned to Balon, “A moon after I return to Riverrun and send word to my lords.  Lord Harlaw said something about making a pilgrimage to the God’s Eye, he can receive the first shipment personally.”

Balon nodded, “Good, I’d just as well gotten a tree from Ten Towers, but he got no saplings there strong enough to take root on Pyke.  Been an age and a half since our weirwood died, my brother claims the kings of old must have displeased the Drowned God.”

“We had a weirwood?” Theon frowned, “I don’t remember seeing it.”

“You were birthed on part of its remains, the wood cot in the maester’s chamber was hewn from it, as was this desk,” Balon clapped his hand on the desk he sat behind, “There isn’t enough wood on our islands to leave even a sacred tree to rot or turn to stone.  That was all done before we claimed Pyke.”  Balon signed the contract then added the stamp of his signet ring.  Looking to Asha he glared, “Don’t do anything to shame us daughter, give your husband sons.”  He then looked to Edmure as the man signed the document and added his own signet stamp, “She’s yours to do with as you like good son.  We’ll do our pomp and ceremony shite tomorrow; my brother will demand you seek the Drowned God’s blessing.  Otherwise, you can wait to do your kneeling to the Seven, or not.  By our customs she is your wife the moment the ink dries on this paper.”

Theon grimaced at his father’s emotionless words.  He remembered the conversation Asha and him had had in private just before setting out from Lordsport.

(Few Hours Earlier)

Asha had pulled Theon from the group to a secluded area, “Theon, I am going to have to put on an act for father.  He is a proud man and he will think you too much a Greenlander and unfit to be his heir if you don’t act enough like an Ironborn.  I won’t be in the solar to guide you, it will be father, you and Edmure alone.”

“What do I need to do?” Theon frowned.

“I will act subdued, when father questions you,” Asha swallowed hard, “you have to tell him you put me back in my proper place if he brings this up in conversation.  When he asks why there is no evidence on my face or neck, tell him you didn’t want to mar my appearance in front of Lord Tully.”

Grimacing Theon grabbed her hand, “There is more you aren’t willing to say?”

“By our customs I will be Edmure’s wife, his property the moment he and father sign the contract.  Father will expect Lord Tully to be like any man and take his rights with me tonight, I told Edmure he must do so.”  Asha’s jaw feathered as she clinched her jaw briefly, “Brother our rooms are still right next to each other.  I am willingly becoming Edmure’s wife, but father would expect some resistance to this.  You will hear things tonight that may spurn you to act, I need you to restrain yourself.  Also, in the morning do not react as a loving brother, but as an Ironborn.”

Theon’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“Edmure and I will need to put on a good show for my crew.  They will only accept him as a worthy leader if he proves able to subdue me.  At the blessing ceremony tomorrow, I need to be bruised and beaten.”  Asha sighed, “To really sell it, you need to be as much of a dick as our dearly departed elder brothers were at their worst.”

Swallowing hard Theon nodded, “I can do that, but do we really have to do the blessing ceremony?  Not sure the Tully’s will be behind the whole voyeuristic display of Lord Edmure fucking you in the surf.”

“Damphair has already discussed it with both Edmure and Catelyn,” Asha grimaced, “and he promised we can stay mostly clothed and only he and his acolytes will be present for the main event.”  She must have seen something in his face as she patted his cheek as she’d in their youth after one of their brothers had tormented him, “Do not worry little brother, this is far less pain than either of us were subjected to in Uncle’s visions.  It will not have to be repeated, after tonight I will be the Lady of Riverrun and you will once more be the uncontested heir to the Iron Islands.”

“You are going through this for me?” Theon looked stricken.

“Theon, we are the only family either of us has.  Father is a fool, and mother is a ghost of the woman she was before the rebellion.  Our uncles would turn on us in a second, only the Reader would have our backs and he is an old man.  It is as it has always been, you and me against the world.”

Chapter Text

(King’s Landing)

It was two weeks after the attack at the crossroads before the royal party reached the capital, and for the entire two weeks Arya had been surrounded by guards.  She’d only strayed off once, she and Nymeria had barely made it a quarter of an hour before Ghost, Lady, Whirlwind, and Summer found them swiftly followed by Jon, Aegon, Edric and a dozen Stark and Baratheon guards.

Nymeria Sand had taken it upon herself to ensure the little she-wolf did not wander off again.  The daughter of Oberyn Martell had explained the worry she’d caused her family and anyone who cared for her.  The Frey nephews of Tywin Lannister could not say for sure all the men sent by their late grandfather were accounted for, and if there were any survivors there was the strong possibility, they would make another attempt out of their own volition or simply spite.

Arya grimaced at the smell of the city as the wheelhouse made its way from the city gates and up the path to the Red Keep, “The smell never goes away, but it is slightly more bearable atop Aegon’s Hill.”  She turned to see the former Queen glancing out the window.  Cersei was wearing a simple dress, her children had been riding with them, but that morning they’d been moved to the Lannister’s wheelhouse which had split off with an escort of guards to enter from another gate and head directly to the family manse in the city.

Sansa spoke up from where she sat with Lady Ashara, “That can’t be healthy for the people.”

“It isn’t,” Lady Ashara said, “but there is little that can be done.  A city of nearly a million souls crammed together.  There was a reason the Targaryen built Summerhall in the generations after the loss of the dragons.”

Arya turned back to the view of the city, just in time to dodge something unidentifiable that had been thrown at the wheelhouse.  The glob of muck missed her and struck the wall behind her, “What was that?”

“From the smell, a sampling of a bowl of brown,” Cersei’s nose rankled.  The Sand Snake Nymeria used a rag handed to her by a servant to cover the gob, “It is a rather nauseating delicacy from Flea Bottom.  Be thankful it didn’t hit anyone, it stains horribly.”

Ashara smirked, “You speak from experience?”

The wheelhouse door was opened, and Edric appeared, “Is anyone hurt, what was thrown?”

“Calm yourself dear brother,” Sansa stood and approached her half-brother, “Just a peasant showing their displeasure, no need to send the wolves after him.”

Edric nodded, “I see, then it is fortunate father had all but his own placed in the baggage cart.  Not that it would do much to hold them.”

Arya jumped from her seat, “Edric, can I ride with you or Jon the rest of the way?”

“Sorry, but father wants you to remain in the wheelhouse until we reach the keep,” Edric sighed, “this city is a pit of vipers,” he looked to the Sand Snake who was smirking at him, “No offense Lady Nym.”

“None taken Lord Dayne,” Nymeria moved to sit next to Arya, “Lady Arya, though it has been many years since my last visit to the Red Keep, I remember a few tales I could tell you to pass the time.”

As Arya was distracted by the stories Sansa moved to stand next to Edric, “What is wrong brother?  What drove you to storm in here after a bit of muck?”

Edric became serious as his mother approached to hear them, “It is Lady Lannister, her crimes were made public knowledge by the Master of Laws and Master of Ships.”

“Robert’s brothers,” Ashara sighed, “how’d they know she’d be with us?”

“Someone told them she’d be in the custody of the Lord Hand,” Edric mused, “Oberyn thinks a kid he spied at the gate was a lookout, he ran ahead and told some thugs which wheelhouse had the Cuckhold Queen.”

Ashara mused, “Did he catch them?”

“Yeah, they’re being brought to the keep for a chat with father,” Edric mused.

(Ten Towers)

Catelyn would be remiss at not thanking Lord Harlaw for the use of his keep.  The Tully’s had spent the past two weeks following the events at Pyke in the company of The Reader and his household.  Coming to the chambers that had long been used by Lady Asha Greyjoy during her visits to her uncle’s seat, the former Lady Stark was not surprised to find Theon in attendance.

“Lady Tully,” Theon stood at her approach, “come to check on my sister?  The Maester said she is improving; the fever has gone down and the redness has not spread.”

Catelyn smiled tightly as she indicated the bowl and fresh cloths in her hands, “I’ve come to relive your mother.  She must be tired.  Is it common for women to become ill like this after this blessing ceremony?”

Theon nodded, “Yeah, seawater and open wounds do not react well.  Damphair said it was a necessary risk, the people needed to see the Drown God supports their union.  There isn’t a much clearer sign than being struck ill by the sea and then recovering.  I guess this sounds barbaric to your brother and you.”

“Truly Theon, I avoided the godswood of Winterfell for the simple fact I could feel something there I had never felt at any sept I have ever been to.”  Catelyn grimaced, “I could feel something I could never name, and it frightened me that I could not feel that in the presence of my own gods.”  She looked to the door, “When your mother and I went to the beach, I was aghast when I saw your uncle’s acolytes cutting into Asha’s back, that he was carving a kraken and trout was lost on me.  I have seen the Skagosi tattoo one another, and it was far less traumatic than that.”

Theon grimaced, “You saying you felt something on that beach?”

“Yes Theon,” Catelyn huffed, “I felt a presence there, but I would not hazard to say if it were a god or demon, or its intentions.  Was it your god standing proud as his priests marred the skin of his own follower, or was he revolted in the man’s actions in his name.  I could not say.”

(Two Weeks Earlier)

Catelyn followed Lady Alannys Harlaw to the cove where the blessing ceremony had taken place.  The practice revolted Catelyn as both a woman and mother, to have one’s daughter taken by her husband as the waves of the Sunset Sea rolled over them. 

Though it was the second part of the ceremony that disgusted her the most.  After the deed was done, Edmure would join Balon and the other lords in attendance in a feast up the beach, while Aeron and his acolytes would be branding Asha with the mark of House Tully.  Damphair had tried to keep the majority of the ceremony private, as it was his niece, but Balon had overruled him and had most the lords and captains on the island present.

Alannys stopped their approach and turned to her, “You need not come further Lady Tully, it is an uncomfortable sight even for those of us who have experienced it firsthand.”

“You went through this ceremony,” Catelyn frowned, “do all Ironborn women?”

“Women, and children,” Alannys sighed, “Theon was taken before he’d received his first blessing.  To be drowned and brought back to life by one of our priests.  He’d have been marked with the kraken of his father’s house then.  Women are only marked when they are married, our father’s mark to remind us of whence we came, and our husbands to remind us of who we serve.”

Catelyn watched as Alannys turned and pulled the top of her dress down so her shoulder blades were displayed.  On the right side a mess of scars and ink made a crude image of a scythe, and on the left the scars and ink formed a kraken similar to the one on the banner of House Greyjoy.  Catelyn winced at the sight, unable to imagine going through such a thing, “The First Men do not practice such as that.”

“We are First Men,” Alannys smirked, “and this is our penance for cowardice.  Eight thousand years ago we fled before the enemy of all.  While we did not betray our brethren as the Barrow Kings did, we committed a worse sin.  We abandoned them, we hid upon these islands, and the gods of old in turn abandoned us.  The Drowned God is not our benefactor, he is the instrument of our punishment.  He takes more than he gives, and the only kindness he bestows is shielding us from the mercilessness of the Storm God who would sentence our entire people to death for the sins of our ancestors.”

“Yet your people reave up and down the coast of Westeros,” Catelyn huffed.

“Look around you,” Alannys indicated the rough terrain around them, “do you think anything of value would grow on these rocky shores?  We were not only abandoned by the gods of old, but by our brethren we’d abandoned.  They would not welcome us back to shore, we had no choice but to take what we needed to survive.  Even the Andals would not show us kindness when they came, calling us heathens and demanding we abandon the one god who showed us mercy.”

Catelyn watched as Alannys fixed her garments.  She’d heard of some fringe septons and septas that practiced self-flagellation.  While not a part of the mainstream practices, it was becoming more common place among the more radically devout members of the Faith.  Catelyn did not hesitate to follow as Alannys continued towards the cove.

When they arrived, Catelyn immediately took notice of the group of robed men gathered around the prone figure.  It was a testament to Asha’s strength that it took four acolytes to restrain her arms and legs.  Two of the men sat on her legs, and two more restrained her arms.  A fifth man sat aside her waist to keep her from moving.  Two more men sat on either side of her, they were in the process of using needles to inject squid ink to complete the kraken and trout images carved into Asha’s shoulders.

At Asha’s head Aeron sat, humming a soothing chant as he stroked his niece’s head, gently removing the wet sand that had accumulated in her hair.  As they neared the Drowned Man’s humming ended and he spoke, “Almost finished sweetling, you have been strong, the Drowned God will show you, his favor.  I know this to be true, you have faced this pain, you will not cower before any other.”

As they neared a wave washed up over the group, Aeron’s hand went over Asha’s mouth and nose.  After a moment he took a breath and held it before bending down to share it with his niece whose head was still below water.  When the water receded, Catelyn noticed the seaweed and algae clinging to the Drowned Men and Asha.  It was the way one piece of seaweed had settled on Asha’s back connecting the two markings that unnerved Catelyn, like it was a sign from some otherworldly power.

(Present)

Catelyn looked to Theon, “Your sister never lost consciousness other than resting throughout this illness and the fever has been mild.  While Ned was putting down your father’s rebellion, Jon was struck with the pox, and if a child can survive such a terrible fever, your sister is stronger than a child.”

“I know,” Theon grimaced, “have you met Tristifer and Qarl?”

“We had the pleasure on the journey from Pyke to Ten Towers,” Catelyn frowned, “What does your sister’s former bed warmers have to do with anything?”

Theon licked his lips, “They’re why she agreed to do this.  Your brother needed to seem cold and ruthless, be like most of our people are towards their women.” Theon sighed, “I’ve spoken with both of them, Tris is willing to surrender his place in his family’s line of succession, and Qarl will swear an oath of fealty if he has to.  They actually love my sister, and not just because she was my father’s heir apparent with me being raised by Lord Stark as a hostage.  Asha needed them to have reason not to try anything stupid like carrying on their past activities.  Needed them to have reason to fear what would happen to her if they were caught.”

“He’d set her aside of course,” Catelyn frowned, “send her back to your father.”

There was an avoidance of looking at her before Theon seemed to remember he was raised by Lord Stark and squared his shoulders, “If that were to happen, it would be kinder for Lord Tully to slit my sister’s throat and send her bones back.  Shaming our House, father would not be merciful.”  Theon looked to the door, “It’s one thing for them to remain close and support her, but they can never be what they once were.”  He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice, “If you ever even suspect either is trying to find their way into my sister’s bed again.  Send for me, and I will show them what a Kraken raised in the North is truly capable of.”

Catelyn smiled tightly, “I’ll have them sent to the Wall long before they endanger your sister Theon.  Do not think me unable to protect my family, you should remember that well enough from your time at WInterfell.”

(Winterfell)

Margaery Stark nee Tyrell exited the seldomly used sept.  The Septon had held a small service for those who followed the Seven, there were barely more than two dozen in the whole keep.  She’d already spent her morning in the godswood with her husband and youngest good brother, she’d taken to giving up prayers to the old gods along with the Seven.  If she was being blasphemous, the Septon here didn’t seem to mind.

It had been around two months since the royal party departed, they would be arriving back in the capital by now if they hadn’t already.  They’d received word from Robb’s mother that their stay on the Iron Islands had been prolonged due to Lady Asha Tully nee Greyjoy falling ill on the journey and needing to convalesce at Ten Towers before they could return to Riverrun.  Robb was still contemplating attending the marriage ceremony of his uncle and Asha that would recognize their union under the auspices of the Faith.

A smile came to Margaery’s face as she contemplated how to deliver the news that would most likely end the deliberation in favor of staying in Winterfell.  Luwin had a hard time keeping a straight face when giving the news to her, the Maester of Winterfell thankfully did not see it a conflict of his vows to keep the news from his young lord.

“You’ll have the entire staff gossiping with such a glow,” Dorna Lannister nee Swyft said as she stepped beside Margaery, “My husband may actually win a bet against his brother.”

Margaery stepped closer and weaved her arm with that of the older woman, as little Janei happily trotted before them, “Is it that obvious, Lady Lannister?”

“Indeed, and please I’ve told you to call me Dorna,” the older woman sighed, “My good sister may have married a Frey, but she is territorial on who may be deemed a Lady Lannister.  Half expect the old lioness to leap out of the shadows.”

“I have heard Lady Genna spends much time in the Westerlands,” Margaery mused.

Dorna grimaced, “Indeed, but she remains at The Rock, and I rather enjoy staying in Lannisport.  I am not one for travel, and that is where I would be if Kevan didn’t have his brother drag Janei and I here along with the boys,” Margaery noticed the older woman’s eyes focus on something ahead of them.

Margaery followed her line of sight to see Lancel Lannister in his House Stark guard armor, a tabard with the Lannister Lion in combat the only way to distinguish him from the rest of the household guards.  He was standing next to Beth Cassel, who was similarly attired in leather armor, but her tabard boar the ten wolf heads of her family livery.

Lancel took notice of their approach and turned to them, “Lady Margaery, Mother, I am sorry I missed the Septon’s sermon.  I am sure it was an uplifting reading of scripture.”

“He is far livelier than that old codger in Lannisport, but you can tell he is a bit out of practice lecturing a crowd larger than a half a dozen people.”  Dorna focused on Beth, “I dare say child, why are you attired as such?”

Beth blushed slightly, “Training.  I would have changed, but I was on my way to the Maester, my cuz caught me good when he got too close for me to parry his strike with my spear.”

Lancel nodded, “I was accompanying her.  I would think Jory would go easy on his cousin, but he seems to expect more from her.  Even though she has only been learning the spear for a couple of turns of the moon.”

Margaery smirked, “Jory does not want her to be unprepared.  Now, if you are accompanying her to the Maester, you should be on your way.  Is Rickon with Osha?”

“With Lord Robb and Lord Kevan in the great hall,” Beth reported, “some of the Free Folk arrived and requested an audience.”

“In that case,” Margaery turned towards the stairs that led to the quickest route to the great hall, “I should be in attendance as well.”

(Winterfell – Great Hall)

Robb felt like an imposter as he sat in his father’s seat.  It was not the first time he’d been the acting Lord of Winterfell, but it was the first time that it was his words being heeded.  Before it was either his Lady Mother or Ser Cassel speaking with the authority of Lord Stark while Robb sat quietly in his father’s seat.

He’d received word that a group of Free Folk led by Mance Rayder had arrived and wished to parlay with the Lord of Winterfell.  They had been given guest rights and were being given a chance to freshen up before being presented to him.  Robb knew he needed to show these people that he was not weak or someone to trifle with.  Grey Wind and Shaggy Dog lay before him, with Rickon sitting at Robb’s side.  Osha stood behind his brother with her spear, while Jory stood at his side hand resting on his sword.

He was just preparing to admit the envoys from the Free Folk when Margaery appeared and took her place in the seat of the Lady of Winterfell at his side opposite Rickon, “Marg, I did not send for you.”

“I know, and I will excuse the oversight,” Margaery gave him a slight smile.

Not wanting to argue, though he’d rather her safely far away from the Wildlings about to enter the hall.  Generations of distrust were too far ingrained into him.  Robb turned to the guards at the door and signaled them to admit the envoys.

Mance led the group of men and women into the hall.  He led the Free Folk to within the respectable distance before giving a courteous nod of his head, “Lord Stark, I heard we missed your father.  He’s gone south to put his heel on the necks of those southrons?”

“He was named Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” Robb affirmed, “and yes he’s gone down there to clean up the mess the realm has become.”

A man wearing bones on his leather armor and a giant’s skull helm came forward and grumbled, “He should be here with his eyes turned to the north pup.”

Robb glared at the Lord of Bones, his father’s visions had given him enough details that they were well informed on the twenty-four men and women who led the Free Folk.  It also let him know how these people treated his brother Jon in that other life, “Mance, remind your man that you are guests in my hall.”

Mance gave a look to the Lord of Bones and the man reluctantly stepped back.  A deep chuckle came from a massive man lacking ears, Styr stepped forward, “The Magnar of Winter isn’t running south, he’s getting the kneelers ready to fight.”

Before Mance could reign in the large man, Robb stood, “You are Styr, the Magnar of Thenn correct?”

“Here that, my reputation precedes me,” Styr preened.

“Actually,” Robb smirked, “in the visions my father was blessed with you were killed along with several other notables in this group when you foolishly tried storming Castle Black.  Even for as weakened as the Watch was, you decided to attack one of the castles that was actually manned.  There are a dozen others with gates large enough to have permitted passage allowing you all to sneak by.  With your wargs you could have slipped past every Northern House and been through the Neck before anyone became wise.  Yet your people charged headfirst into a battle against a structure that hasn’t fallen in eight thousand years.”

Styr deflated, “Our attack was doomed to failure?”  He turned to a blonde-haired woman in their party, “Val, that is what you saw?”

The woman who stood behind Mance and next to a pregnant woman glared, “Silence Thenn.”

Robb looked to the woman, she could not be more than a handful of years older than him at most, “My lady, you have received the Raven’s Warnings?”

With a huff Val stepped next to Mance, “Yes, but I am not alone.”  Her eyes went to Osha, “as I can tell by the spear-wife at your side.  I was with fever when my sister’s husband came to scout south of the Wall, I awoke before he returned to our camp.”

Robb focused on Styr, “Magnar of Thenn, my father has an offer for you.  Your people have stood against the ancient enemy the longest.  He will have your council if you agree to the terms the seat is yours.”

Styr worked his jaw, “I will not kneel to words.”

A grimace came to Robb’s face, “When my father returns to the North you can discuss terms in the sparring yard.”

Styr grinned, but Mance placed a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t get too excited, these kneelers have a saying about Lord Stark.  When he draws his sword, someone is going to feel pain.”

“My brothers and friends can attest to the truth behind those words,” Robb added, “So, what business has brought you here.  The lands given to you to settle are acceptable?”

“Nothing to complain about,” Mance grimaced, “a few of the Lords are a bit touchy if we step a toe across the imaginary line.  Even coming here, we were confronted by a few ill-tempered men who questioned us on the road.  It will be impossible to work together when the day comes if we are too busy fighting each other.”

Robb nodded, “Agreed, I will have missives sent to remind the lords of the North of my father’s command.  If they continue to be belligerent, they will find themselves facing my displeasure.”  At the word displeasure Grey Wind stood as an emphasis and clarification.

Varamyr chuckled, “The kneeler pup is a warg.”

“Yes Sixskins,” Robb glowered down at the man, “try any of your tricks and you’ll find how far my tolerance for you goes.”

Tormund frowned, “You know us by sight, but Val said you never crossed paths with us.”

“No, and I was not given the visions,” Robb looked to Kevan then focused on Manse and the other Free Folk leaders, “My father’s visions included the lives of each of his children that grew up here in Winterfell.  In that life Jon went to the Wall, and during a ranging he met the lot of you.  Be thankful it is me and not my father you are meeting today, because I am sure he did not relay all of your misdeeds.”

“Deeds of which most have not been committed,” Val replied sending a sharp glare to Varamyr, “The reason my good brother gathers us here is to make a request.  We have heard that Moat Cailin is being restored.  We seek permission to create a settlement nearby.  In turn those who settled there would aid in the construction work.  I am sure we can even gain the assistance of the Giants.”

Robb looked to his little brother, “The Moat will be the seat of one of my brothers when they come of age.  Lord Reed is currently in charge of the construction, and the land is governed by House Dustin to the north and House Reed to the south of the Moat.”

Kevan Lannister rubbed his chin, “My lord, it would be prudent to have the Moat garrisoned.  Though the Wall is receiving volunteers in number unheard of in living memory.  It is still receiving prisoners from across the Seven Kingdoms.  Having a force ready to retrieve any deserters would benefit us in the long run,” His eyes focused on the Free Folk, “It would also make such potential deserters reconsider when they realize those hunting them are rather enthusiastic about killing members of the Night’s Watch.”

Robb agreed with the council and focused on Mance, “Send three of your most agreeable leaders to oversee your people near the Neck.  I reserve the right to overrule your selections if I deem them unfit or too troublesome to be permitted such authority.”

“Agreed,” Mance sighed, “I do have one further request.” He motioned to his wife, “I ask that my wife and good sister be granted permission to reside at Winterfell.  Dalla is with child, and Val’s vision revealed she may not survive the birth.  I would be remiss if I did not seek out alternate possibilities.”

Robb was about to speak, but Margaery spoke first, “That can be arranged, and Maester Luwin can see to her immediately.”  Robb’s brows furrowed as he looked to his wife who was already standing up, but they raised as he noticed her hands rest on her own abdomen, “I’ll show you to him, Osha come.”

As the four women departed the hall, Tormund chuckled, “When did the young wolf steal her from beyond the Wall, she’s too ferocious to be a Southron.”

Robb looked to the large man, “She’s from the Reach.  If you think her ferocious, pray you never meet her grandmother.”

(Ten Towers)

Catelyn entered Asha’s room; her good sister lay on her side facing the door.  Alannys sat behind her daughter holding a cool rag to the marks.  Catelyn moved to the nightstand and exchanged the bowl of dirty water.  She noticed the darkened water, “The ink is coming out?”

“Yes,” Asha grimaced, “there isn’t anything to do about the scarring, but Uncle had his acolytes do the inking so it would only last long enough to appease father.”  Asha gave a pained smirk, “Knew he’d want to shame me for messing up his plans.  Aeron warned me before we reached Pyke that father was still plotting to rebel again.  He never cared what happened to Theon, the only reason he hadn’t struck again was because he needed to be careful about rebuilding the fleet.”

Catelyn took a rag and after soaking it in the cool water laid it over Asha’s brow, “With any luck your brother will be a better Lord Greyjoy than his father.”

“He’ll be more like grandfather,” Asha sighed, “as long as Uncle Euron don’t show his ugly mug, the rest will fall in line.”

Nodding Catelyn settled on the bed in front of Asha, “Your brother is worried about you, he is concerned certain members of your crew might intend to interfere with your marital duties.”

Asha groaned, “The idiots,” sighing she reached up and pressed the rag on her brow to apply pressure, “they will mind their place, if they want to stay in my good graces.  You mainlanders have a bit of a misconception about our people.  Yeah, reavers will take women by force, but it’s the concept of women being property.  Those reavers have claimed those women as salt wives.  In our culture there is no such thing as spousal abuse.”  Asha looked at her mother.

Alannys grimaced, “Our people hold unions to be sacred, even touching another man’s salt wife is grounds for a fight.  Some years ago, Euron took one of Victarion’s salt wives, he force himself upon her and then murdered her.  Victarion was enraged, but Balon would not have his brothers kill each other.  Instead, he banished Euron from the Iron Islands until Balon’s last breath.”

Catelyn mused, “So Tristifer and Qarl are willing to follow Asha to Riverrun, as what, her shields?”

“They and the rest of my crew swore to follow me into the sands of Dorne, to die far from the sea that gives us life if they must.” Asha mused, “Doesn’t matter if they can never touch me again, they will protect me with their last breaths.”

(King’s Landing)

Eddard Stark despised this city, not only for it being the place that claimed the lives of his father and brother, but that even with people like Peter Baelish gone it was still a viper’s nest.  With Rodrick at his side, he made his way to the small council chamber.  He was surprised to find Aegon already there, the young man was arranging the various beverages, “Taking your cupbearer duties seriously I see.”

Aegon turned on his heel with bowed in greeting, “Lord Hand, greetings.”

“Greetings,” Ned made his way to the hands seat.  As he sat Aegon brought him a cup of Northern Ale, “While we wait for the rest of the council, how about a quick quiz.”  Ned ran a hand across the table, “How many years has this table been used by the small council?”

“Since the previous table was destroyed during the Dance,” Aegon answered, “Northern Ironwood, gifted to the crown following the regency of Aegon the Third of his Name.  It was commissioned by House Stark, the wood was supplied by House Hornwood, it was crafted by craftsmen in service to House Tallhart, and delivered by House Manderly.”

Ned nodded, “Good, what are the key differences between this table and its predecessor?”

“The primary difference is this table lacks the holders for the station stones previously used by the small council,” Aegon mused, “They were these large marbles that had the symbol of the seats on the small council.  The council members would place them in these holders affixed to the old table to confirm they were in attendance.  Most the stones were lost during the Dance, and the regency council decreed to change to the pins worn by members of the small council ever since.”

“Anything else?” Ned probed.

Aegon frowned, “The size, in the Archmaester’s accounting the table was described as large enough the members of the small council could spread their arms to their size without their finger’s tips touching.  This table is much smaller.”

“A reminder we are men who serve the realm,” They both turned to see Stannis enter, his faithful onion knight at his heel, “Lord Hand,” the man greeted him with a nod before focusing on Aegon, “If we are testing the soon to be crown prince, why not something a bit more pressing than knowledge of a table.”  Stannis moved to his seat, “What would you have done if you learned your wife was sleeping with her brother?”

Aegon’s brows raised, “I would have them both arrested and charged for the treason they have committed against the crown.”

Stannis turned to Ned, “Lord Hand, you have only brought one of the culprits to stand trial.  Why was Jamie Lannister permitted to go to the Wall.”

“He admitted his guilt and requested the Wall be his punishment,” Ned coolly stated, “will you be constantly questioning my methods of executing His Grace’s will.  Jamie Lannister will die as all men do.”

Aegon spoke up, “Technically Jamie Lannister is dead,” both men looked at him and he continued, “His life is bound to the Wall.  Not even the King of the Seven Kingdoms can release a member of the Night’s Watch from their vows once freely given.  Ser Jamie took the Wall as his punishment of his own choice even before facing His Grace, and unless he becomes a wandering crow, he will never set foot on land further south than the Gift least he wishes to lose his head.”

Ned saw the grim smile that came to Stannis’s face, but it was Ser Davos who spoke, “Well said lad.”

“Thank you, Ser Seaworth,” Aegon moved back to the counter of refreshments and poured a goblet of water which he delivered to Stannis, “Cousin, do you not have a Red Priestess in your retinue?”

With a suffering sigh the Lord of Dragonstone accepted the goblet of water, “Indeed, but she’d heard one of her brethren arrived with the royal party and decided to meet with him.  She is a meddlesome creature; my wife has become enthralled with the teachings of the Red God.”  Stannis looked to Ned, “The Old Gods seem to have decided to meddle in the affairs of men even more directly than the god of fire and shadow.  I do wonder, does he belong to your pantheon Lord Stark as the Dothraki claim their Stallion God, and the Ironborn have started to insist their Drowned God’s placement.”

“The Old Gods have no names,” Ned took a drink of his ale, “so I am hesitant to acknowledge any god that claims an actual name such as R’hllor.  Also, there is the fact that the Old Gods existed in Westeros before the coming of my people, the Drown God was present in Westeros before the coming of my ancestors, the Children of the Forest from along the Stony Shore revered him, and they taught their beliefs to the First Men who settled there, those men who would eventually become the Ironborn.”

Aegon spoke up, “The Dothraki do not claim their god as one of the Old Gods, but a mutual ancestry with the First Men.  Both groups came from the same region of Essos thousands of years ago and have a shared root language.  The Dothraki may very well been a tribe of First Men who didn’t make it across the Arm of Dorne before its sundering.”

“It’s quite telling Lord Stark that the two offshoot cultures of the First Men practice forms of slavery,” Stannis mused, “Perhaps the greatest slavers of history, the Valerians were also an off shoot of the First Men.”

“Doubtful,” Prince Oberyn entered and bypassed his nephew and poured a goblet of Dornish Red before taking his seat next to Lord Stark, “The Valerians and Rhoynar both came from other regions of Essos, my ancestors never knew what drove the First Men to migrate across the Arm of Dorne, but it might have been large and scaly with a penchant for breathing fire.”

“Prince Oberyn,” Stannis nodded in greeting, “we were just testing your nephew, our soon to be officially acknowledged crown prince.”

Oberyn smirked, “Were we?”  Leaning back in his chair the newly acknowledged Master of Whispers examined his nephew, “Dearest nephew, what would do if I brought you rumors of your brother and aunt conspiring against you?”

Ned glared at Oberyn but looked to Aegon for a response, “I would request verifiable proof.  I’d confront them with the evidence.  I would have to weigh the severity of their crime.  If it were like the treason that led to the Dance, I would meet punishments that would remove them from being threats.  If they were doing as my father did with the tourney at Harrenhall, something for the good of the realm.  That would mean I was a threat to the ream and should be deposed.”

“A diplomatic answer,” Oberyn chuckled, “and worry not.  I was just with Jon in the practice yard, the boy doesn’t have the ablity to scheme beyond arranging the forging of swords behind our dear Lord Hand’s back for his beloved sisters and aunt.”

A chuckle came from Ned, “I merely didn’t impede him, I was aware he would commission the sword for Arya from the visions.  Though, it surprised me he’d added those for Sansa and Princess Daenerys.”

Oberyn snorted, “I stand corrected,” he looked to Stannis, “could you imagine a world where all the nobility was raised by Northmen.  The Game would be so much easier to play.”

“I doubt very much the game would exist in such a world,” Stannis mused.

The door opened once more and Renly walked in with Jonos Slynt at his heel.  At Ned’s glare the captain of the Gold Cloaks withered, “Lord Hand, if this is about the incident this morning upon your arrival.  I assure you if my men had known we’d have interceded.”

Renly chuckled, “Actually Slynt, he hates your guts because in another world you betrayed him and slaughtered his household in the capital.  So, yeah, I’d shut up and be a good little underling and remember who you serve.”  Renly turned to Ned, “Lord Hand, as you’ve apparently taken an oath to not murder people for potential crimes, I’ll let you know that Slynt is no longer taking bribes under penalty of a slow and excruciating death.”

“Yet you let him keep his position?” Oberyn asked, “Though since Baelish isn’t exactly a problem anymore.  What with him being scattered across the Street of Silk and all.”

Ned looked between Oberyn and Renly, “Any news on that?”

Renly mused, “Well, the brutality of the crime indicated someone with a personal grudge.  That makes everyone in this room and in the realm a potential suspect.  The fact that it happened on a busy street, yet there were no witnesses, means someone either paid a lot of people off, or there were a lot of people involved.”

“I for one say write it off as divine punishment,” they all turned to see Tyrion Lannister sitting in the corner of the room reading a book.  The new Master of Coin stood and moved to the table, “Even as a member of this illustrious council I can so easily go unnoticed.”  As Tyrion pulled himself into his seat, he looked across the table to Oberyn, “Perhaps we are in the wrong seats your grace.”

Oberyn chuckled, “Lord Tyrion, how long were you actually sitting there?”

“Since before our new crown prince arrived and began checking and arranging the refreshment table.”  Tyrion accepted a goblet of Arbor Gold, “The poor lad nearly panicked when he found the Northern Ale was tepid.  He instructed the servants that Ale must be chilled and not served at room temperature.  The bottle of Dornish Red also had to be replaced, it had gone sour.”

Ned took another drink of his ale, “Technically back home what you call chilled is room temperature.”

Once more the door was opened, and they all stood as Robert entered with Selmy at his heel.  Jon was behind them and took a position at the door as Robert and Selmy took their places at the table.  Robert motioned them all to sit, “Ah, we’re all here?”

“All save the Grand Maester and High Septon,” Tyrion indicated the empty seat between him and Robert, “I’m told Pycell was called to the Citadel some weeks ago and has yet to return.  The High Septon though rarely appears here.”

Stannis mused, “Renly and I are investigating the Citadel.”  He turned to his brother, “I tasked our former Master of Whispers to see to this investigation in return for sparing his life.”

Robert looked to Ned and Oberyn, “He better find something important, not sure these two will be as merciful as you little brother.”  Robert looked to the empty seat, “Who’s the acting maester?”

Stannis leaned forward, “I have called for my wife and daughter to return to the capital, I have also called Maester Cressen and his assistant Pylos to attend the Red Keep.  When they arrive, I will be having a very in-depth discussion with Pylos on his loyalties.”

“Good,” Robert turned to Tyrion, “state of the realms finances?”

“As that they are,” Tyrion looked to Ned, “we received word from the Iron Bank.  They seem to have hit a small financial problem of their own as numerous accounts that had accumulated nearly three centuries of interest had been withdrawn.  It seems they had to levy the crown’s debt to cover those expenses.  As it stands, I am still assessing who exactly the crown is in debt to.  In most kingdoms of the Seven the individual houses would hold a portion of the debt against the crown.  The North though is different as historically House Stark buys out the debt from lower houses to ensure none of their subjects suffer.  You can’t exactly use someone else’s debt to buy food to feed your people.”

Renly chuckled, “It would be an interesting economic trend.”  He turned to Ned, “So, I’m guessing you aren’t willing to just forgive the debt.”

Ned snorted, “Several million gold dragons,” he shook his head, “I’ll discuss with the Master of Coin a respectable payment plan.”

“A ninety-six percent drop in the North’s taxes,” Tyrion mused, “the debt would be recouped in twenty, maybe thirty years.  Depending on we don’t all become wights in the next five years.”

(Tower of the Hand)

Syrio Forel watched as his students completed the movements, he’d taught them.  If a year ago he’d been told he would be teaching a bunch of Westrosi girls, the Water Dance form of swordsmanship.  He’d have thought it was time that person made a visit to the House of Black and White to receive the kindly one’s gift from the Many-Faced God.

Yet here he was, in service to the Lord of Winterfell, teaching the man’s daughters the sword with the daughter of the household steward as well as a princess.  It wasn’t the fact he was teaching girls he found surprising, in Bravos he’d instructed a number of young ladies to use the sword.  It was finding his way to Westeros that surprised him, a year ago he’d not failed his prince and subsequently lost his position as the First Blade of Bravos.

“Ser Syrio,” Jeyne Poole spoke, the girl was the timidest of the small group when it came to putting the form into practice.  In fact, had Lord Stark not personally insisted the girl learn to defend herself he doubted she’d ever pick up a weapon, “should we practice with each other now?”

Syrio nodded, “Yes, you with the princess, and the sisters together.”  He smirked as Sansa and Arya moved to stand back-to-back as Daenerys and Jeyne began to circle the pair.  True mastery of the Water Dance did not come from its use in one-on-one fights.  It came from the flow of combat, being able to smoothly move among friends and foes alike.

As the girls danced, their practice blades striking and parrying, the door to the chamber he’d claimed for training opened.  Young Bran Stark entered with his elder half-brother Edric at his heel, “My young lords, you come to see your sisters practice.”

Bran nodded as Edric smirked, “Yes, and to remind them Mother wanted to have a small lesson before the evenings feast.”

Syrio chuckled, “I will ensure they do not ignore their other lessons.”  Truth was he wasn’t planning for them to train today anyway, but Lady Sansa felt Arya needed the exercise to quell her wolf’s blood.  Syrio agreed as he watched the smallest girl weave around her sister to surprise Daenerys with a low strike as Sansa moved to block Jeyne who’d taken advantage of both sisters turning to the princess.

Looking back at the boys, he noticed the same ferocity laying beneath the surface that their sisters were currently displaying.  With every strike and counter the boys seemed to restrain themselves from lunging forward.  A pack of wolves was definitely the best descriptor for the children of Lord Stark.  He’d of course trained boys in Bravos, in fact they numbered more than his female students, and included his own successor as First Blade.

These boys though would not do well as Water Dancers.  Edric was already heavier built than most Dornish he’d encountered, evidence of his Northern heritage, though he’d learned it was a common physical feature of most Stony Dornish.  He was skilled at both the long and short sword and taken to wielding both in the training yard.  On the trip south he’d also taken to practicing the great sword.

Bran, unlike his half-brother would physically be compatible with the style currently, but as he grew it would be more hindrance than beneficial.  The boy would no doubt take after his father and brothers in build and like them put on the muscle mass needed to wield swords that could cleave a horse in two.  A useful trait when dismembering reanimated corpses became a requirement for survival.

(The Hand’s Solar)

Entering what had become his solar following his first small council meeting, Ned sighed as he sat behind the desk.  Besides dealing with the situation caused by the late Walder Frey, handling the debt crisis the realm was facing, and preparing for the looming crisis presented by the Others.  The universe had decided to add problems he’d never received warnings of.

He knew Pycell was a problem they’d have to deal with, the man was a creature of Tywin’s, but acted without his master’s implicit instruction more often than not.  That the entire Citadel was a potential threat was news to him.  The Citadel being a threat was actually the worst case scenario, every noble house in the realm relied on them.  They were intrinsically tied to the very fabric of their society.  He was tempted to write to Lady Dustin to validate her mistrust of maesters as being justified.

There was also the fact Lord Stannis had already been preparing a means for Aegon, Daenerys, and Jon to hatch the three dragon eggs Jorah had recovered.  When faced with the evidence that the Citadel was somehow behind the demise of the dragons last time, Robert had decreed putting such plans on hold until they were sure the hatchlings would not wind up dead within a moon turn.  The eggs were already securely hidden away with the descendants of the former dragon keepers.

Looking around the room Ned pitied anyone who came to visit him here.  The room was a fraction of the size of his solar at Winterfell.  Lyanna had already staked her claim to the hearth where a low fire burned.  Not for heat, but for a means of destroying documents.  Upon arriving the first thing he’d done was check the fireplace.  Servants had been barred from entering the chamber after Jon Arryn’s death.  He found the remnants of three correspondents someone had tried to dispose of.

The first had been a letter from Stannis to Jon agreeing to the warding of Robert Arryn on Dragonstone.  Beyond that, the letter was unreadable as the fire had claimed the rest.  The second had been a letter Jon had begun writing to Ned, it was a summons to King’s Landing with a request to bring his heir Robb and Jon’s namesake.  There was more of this letter that survived, including mention of something important they needed to discuss in person.  The last was from Lord Royce, and while only that remained Ned assumed it was Bronze Yhon’s futile attempt to warn his liege lord of Lysa’s plot.

“What those,” Ned restrained the involuntary reaction to jump at the sudden voice of Lief.  He looked to the Child of the Forest clinging to the side of his chair and looking over his shoulder, “Why are they burnt?”

“They were correspondents of my predecessor at this posting,” Ned held the first two, “These two I knew about from the visions.  Had I not recovered them when we arrived the chambermaid would have swept them out while freshening the room.”  He held up the third that only had Lord Royce’s signature and a few unintelligible markings, “This one was sent by another who had the visions to try and save Lord Arryn.”

Lief tilted her head before reaching a long finger and guiding it along the burn edge, “Why burnt?”

Ned chuckled, “Because someone didn’t want the contents of these letters read.  Not that it matters much now, the reasons behind these letters have either passed or been dealt with.”  He then focused on the being, “Why are you here?”

“The Raven told me to follow the Quiet Wolf,” Lief moved from clinging to the chair to perching on the armrest before stepping onto his desk, “You need eyes that can see, ears that can hear, and a voice that can speak.  Any of my kind can commune with you in the Old Tongue, but only I can speak the words all men know.”

Ned realized that Lief couldn’t be everywhere, “How many of you are here now?”

Lief frowned, “The Raven said we should number a hundred and one.  I know not why, but he said you would know the reference.”

A smirk came to Ned’s face, “When the man you call the Raven sat in this seat, he had a group of men that answered to him.  There were fifty of them, so it was often claimed that Lord Bloodraven’s eyes numbered a hundred and one.”

Lief smirked, “With us you have far more than that.”  She looked to the window, “We can go anywhere, and most will not notice us.  I have found others that were hiding in plain sight in this horrid place.  I thought my people were dwindling, that we would be gone like so many others.”

“Most men will not believe something exists, some even when it is staring them right in the face.” Ned rubbed at his beard, “Lord Tyrell told me something.  Faith in the Old Gods is not as dead in the south as we thought.  The Blackwoods may have been alone among the nobility, they were not truly alone.”  Lief blinked at him, and he continued, “The small folk, the farmers and huntsmen, the villagers.  They would pay lip service to the Seven who are One, but many held to the old ways.  They would meet in secret in groves and other wild places.”

Lief smirked, “They are your people.”

Ned blinked, “They are the sleepers.”

(Red Keep – Throne Room)

The feast welcoming the king back to his throne, and welcoming the new Hand was a much more formal affair than the seemingly endless feasting that had gone on at Winterfell during the king’s visit.  Jon sat next to his aunt Dacey at the table set aside for the Northerns in attendance.  Alysane looked up from where she’d been feeding her two-year-old son, “You two are going to cause a scene if anyone notices your similar features.”

Jon looked to where his sister Sansa was dancing with his brother Aegon, “The fact I call both the crown prince and his betrothed sibling, yet they are not siblings themselves I think is the bigger scene of the night.  Besides, anyone makes a fuss,” Jon nodded to where Eddard Stark sat next to the king, “I doubt these southern flowers would want to upset father.  They are afraid of him for some reason.”

“With good reason,” the three of them looked to the bench behind Jon.  Seated there was a man with the griffins in combat of House Connington, “Ronnet, some might claim my cousin was the man you were named for.  Yet it is no secret in our family Cousin Jon had no love for your lady mother, gods preserve and keep her.”

Jon turned fully towards the man, “Jon of House Targaryen and Stark.”

“That must get tiresome to say when greeting many people,” Ronnet grimaced.

Frowning Jon noticed the man was well into his cups, “You knew about me?”

“Not in so many details, my father was in correspondence with his cousin before and during the war.  Not that much of their letters made any sense at the time.  We apprehended Jon when he returned to Griffin Roost some weeks ago, he was rather talkative in his cell.  Enough so that he swayed my sweet sister Alynne into freeing him.”  Ronnet looked to his side where a red-haired girl around Jon’s age sat with two younger boys with similar hair, “We came to show our support for the crown, not much more His Grace can do to us other than evict us from our home.”

Jon blinked, “What do you mean?”

“We were a lordly house in the Stormlands when the Targaryen ruled,” Ronnet grimaced, “When Jon supported the Mad King, my father had no choice but to side with him.  I was about the age of Lord Stark’s son over there, but I remember being dragged in front of Robert with my father and mother.  He stripped us of our titles and majority of our lands, reduced us to landed knights.”

Dacey huffed, “You are hoping Prince Aegon restores your former titles and lands?”

Ronnet chuckled, “I would be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.”  The knight sobered quickly, “Yet, I doubt we are of a high enough priority to warrant the prince’s notice.  I heard my cousin made it as far as Winterfell before being recaptured.”

“Technically, Lannisport,” They all turned to find Renly had approached, “I do hope you are not boring my dear cousin with your woes Ser Ronnet.  Jon’s days are filled with enough doldrum of squiring for the Commander of the Kingsguard.”  Renly looked to Dacey, “My lady it appears the rumors of the Dothraki hoarding your attention at such affairs are merely thus.”

Jon snorted, “You’ll find the truth of that rumor if you ask, trust me.” Dacey glared at the boy who held up his hands in a placating manner, “What it’s true, and you know why he doesn’t cut in when it’s Father, or one of my brothers.”

“He doesn’t think a Stark will sweep Lady Mormont off her feet?” Renly mused.

Alysane cleared her throat to cover up her sniggering at the idea of her older sister being swept off her feet by any man, “Know not much about Mormont women Your Grace?”

“Afraid not, unlike my dear brother I have not had the pleasure of visiting the North,” Renly grinned benignly, “Is it true your family practices shapeshifting and seeking partners with bears?”

“It’s a nice story,” Alysane motioned to the Northman sitting on the other side of her daughter, “but in the dark most Northmen can pass as bears.”

Renly blinked, “I was unaware you were wed Lady Alysane.”

“Not in the classical sense,” Jon took a drink of ale, “but in the traditional ways of the First Men.  She’s of higher social standing so her kids keep the Mormont name and are part of that line of inheritance.  Her bear is just lucky she enjoys his company enough that she lets him stick around.”

Surprised Renly took a seat next to Jon, “Aren’t unions more long lasting?”

“Not really a union, more of a partnership,” Jon explained, “The First Men believed everyone has a person the Old Gods put on the path to be yours.  In most cases you never find that person because men stray from the paths the gods put them on.  First Men were also less prudish on the idea of sex outside of wedlock but acknowledging and taking care of the results of any coupling fell to both partners,” Jon indicated the father of Alysane’s children, “If he didn’t accept responsibility for his kids, well it’s a tossup if Lady Maege or my father would geld him first.”

“Why would Lord Stark involve himself in such a matter of House Mormont?” Renly looked curiously at Jon and the two Mormont women.

Alysane snorted, “You’re telling me you haven’t guessed even with those two sitting side-by-side and across the table for this little one,” she indicated her sister, Jon, and her son on her lap, “Robert at least had an inkling since that blasted tourney at Harrenhall, only took him seeing Dacey taking care of my lad to realize.”

Jon watched as Renly scrutinized the three indicated people.  After a few minutes the Lord of Storm’s End blinked before startling, “Wait, how?”

A chuckle came from Ronnet, “My lord, you realize Prince Jon gave you two rather obvious clues during your conversation.”

“I realize that now,” Renly frowned, “Dacey is too old to be Lord Stark’s, but Lord Brandon his older brother?”

“Too easy, even though I barely knew our eldest brother,” Alysane grimaced, “Ned is our brother if that isn’t clear.  Which makes Jon here our nephew regardless of his parentage.  Good to know your brother doesn’t gossip like an old washerwoman.”

Renly chuckled, “Well that explains why he is hiding out here instead of sitting at the high table with the rest of the family.”  Renly looked to the high table, “Lord Stark is obviously very protective of what is his.  Robert told me he put Aegon through quite the ordeal before giving his blessing to let him court Lady Sansa.”

Alysane sneered as she pointed to her man, “That was no ordeal, should have seen the shite he put this one through when I showed up at Winterfell heavy with my daughter nine years ago.”  The man gave an obvious shiver at the memory, “I failed to warn him my elder brother was Lord Stark.  Ned was a bit miffed a lowly guard touched me without first seeking his consent.  The ways of our people are rather strict with protocol, and Cousin Jorah was quick to turn him over to Ned’s merciful nature.”

Renly shared a look with his bannerman before looking to Jon, “Why does when she says Lord Stark’s merciful nature, I feel there is a warning there.”

“Father is noted for his honorable nature,” Jon took another drink of ale, “have you ever heard someone claim he was merciful?”

At the high table Ned’s eyes roamed the throne room.  The tables were arranged so a modest sized area for dancing was right below their table at the bottom of the dais.  Pushing his chair back would have him bump into the left side of the stairs that led to the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne.  He’d noticed Renly speaking with Jon, Dacey, and Alysane.  He’d told them to feed the information of their true heritage to a few nobles.  The legitimacy of Maege’s daughters was not noteworthy enough for the people of the south to care for, Bear Island was far too removed.  Not that it mattered to him either, they were his sisters and Dacey would inherit Bear Island as the next Lady Mormont.

“This is quite the show,” Ned looked to Stannis who was seated next to him, “Robert acknowledging and placing Aegon as his heir, and announcing his betrothal to your daughter.  He has quickly rid himself of the Lannister taint at court and kept the kingdom stable in the process.”

“You are unnaturally unperturbed about losing your place in line for the throne,” Ned spoke calmly.

Stannis smirked, “I’m sure the me from your visions seemed a grasping ambitious younger brother looking to supplant his late brother.”  Stannis took a sip of wine, “The truth is I believe Davos has the right of it.  I took up my crown to put an end to the madness of Cersei and her spawn.  It was when Melisandre got her hooks into me that things started going wrong.  Have you had the honor of meeting my red witch?  My wife is an ardent follower, while not much of a believer myself I have kept her from burning our Sept on Dragonstone.  It is magnanimous of your son to allow us to remain even though Dragonstone has historically been the seat of the crown prince.”

Ned sipped his own wine before responding, “I’ve yet to have the pleasure of meeting this Priestess of R’hllor.  I am sure she is as troublesome as any religious fanatic.”  He took note of Stannis’s look and grumbled, “I do not twist my faith into a means for forcing those easily swayed to do as I command and claim it is the will of the gods.  I let my gods speak for themselves.”

“Lately they are not merely speaking,” Stannis downed his wine, “they are shouting for all those with ears might hear.  Direwolves once more stand at the side of the blood of House Stark.  There are whispers that people call you the Magnar of Winter, a title not heard since Torrhen Stark knelt before Aegon the Conqueror.”

“Andals tend to confuse what the term Magnar actually means,” Ned took another sip of his wine, “Comparatively, yes, a Magnar would be synonymous with a King.  Magnars ruled their clans and tribes in the fashion of such.  Yet the word itself translates more closely to the term guardian.”  Ned finished his wine, “Magnar, may have ruled their people, but they did so to protect them.  They protected them from rival clans, from beasts that feared not man, and from the horrors that come in the coldest winter storms.”

(Winterfell)

Manse followed young Robb Stark and his guardsman Jory into the Maester’s tower.  A young blonde man missing his right hand greeted them, “Lord Stark, Maester Luwin is with Lady Margaery and the, um, the Free Folk women.”

Robb nodded, “Thank you Joffrey, I take it Sarella is in with him as well.”

“Aye,” Joffrey turned back to the table where he was practicing writing with his left hand, “they have been in there since the Lady and Osha came up.”

Manse moved towards the door to the examination room, but was halted by Jory, “We don’t go in there when the Maester is with a woman.  She might not be decent.”

A moment later the door opened, and Margaery and Val exited the room, Margaery closing the door behind her, before taking notice of her husband’s presence, “Robb?”

“How long?” Robb asked suspiciously.

Margaery smiled lightly, “I have only known a couple of days, I was planning how to tell you.”

“I appreciate your accepting my wife to stay here,” Manse stepped forward, “even if it was merely a sympathetic spur of the moment decision.”

Looking at the former member of the Night’s Watch, Margaery sighed, “Even without my own condition I would have insisted Robb allow her to remain under the care of Luwin.  I would say the man is worth twenty maesters, and had he not been banished to the North for being too outspoken, he’d been an Archmaester by now.”

“Too outspoken,” Manse queried.

“Luwin doesn’t speak of it much, but he studied the higher mysteries.  Such studies have fallen out of favor among the Citadel’s higher-ranking members.  When he voiced support for his teacher’s proposal to do more research into understanding some of the mystical and mythical aspects of our world, he was censured.  To save him from being further punished or even having his chain stripped from him, he was sent to serve at Winterfell.”  Robb explained.

The door opened again and Sarella exited, “My lord, there must be something in the water,” she looked to Jory, “because the Maester will be busy delivering children within the year.”

Val smirked at the surprised guardsman, “You looked shocked, have you not been doing you husbandly duties?”

“Of course, but Osha hasn’t let on,” Jory glared, “that’s why Beth has been spending more time with Lord Rickon lately.”

“Osha had a child once,” Margaery said, Jory nodding that he knew of this, “mayhap she was nervous telling you until she was certain.”

Manse shared a look with Val before speaking, “More likely she just didn’t think to say anything.”  At the looks from those raised south of the Wall he continued, “Among the Free Folk women, especially Spear Wives don’t let on that they’re pregnant, even long after it becomes harder to hide.  They just start wearing looser furs and more layers.”

Val picked up, “It is not uncommon for a Spear Wife to disappear from camp for a day or two with a sister or trusted friend and return with a babe in arms.  Often the sister or trusted friend returns with the babe with the smell of woodsmoke and burnt flesh clinging to them.”

Margaery looked shocked, “Why do they hide they are with child?”

Sarella’s eyes narrowed, and she guessed, “The Free Folk are known to fight amongst themselves.  If it is known those charged with protecting their camp were incapacitated, they leave them vulnerable to attacks from rival clans.”  Sarella looked to Manse, “While frowned upon in most civilized society, the easiest way to destroy an enemy is to destroy their future.”

Manse swallowed and looked at Robb, “There has been times the Night’s Watch did things some would find unforgivable.  Lord Commander Mormont was never such a man, but his predecessor signed off on a number of raids where the targets were not hostile adults, but innocent children whose only crime was being born on the wrong side of the Wall.”

Robb looked physically ill at the thought, “If my father had known.”

“If he’d known he’d done nothing,” Manse growled out, “There was nothing he could do.  The Night’s Watch has always been independent of oversight by Kings and Lords.  What do you think his subjects would think if he stepped in to protect some worthless Wildlings?”  Manse spat, “Your father is a man of honor, but he rules men ruled by their passions, ambitions, and egos.”

Manse saw Val’s glare and silenced himself.  She then looked to Robb, “My young lord, you speak the tongue of the First Men, correct?”

“I know it,” Robb frowned, “so?”

“What does the title of Magnar mean?” Val questioned.

Robb sighed, “In common there is not a true exact translation for the word.  When the Andals came they assumed it meant king because Magnar led our peoples.  Yet there are no kings of the First Men, not in the way other people think.  The Magnar was the strongest, wisest, and most skilled member of a clan.  The title was not nominally inherited, but often sons or daughters took up the mantle because they were taught and trained by their parents.”

Val nodded, “Yes, the Magnar was the guardian of their clan, but as you said it was not merely physical strength that was required.”  She tapped her temple, “They must also be wise enough to use that strength and know how to best protect their people.  Great and terrible knowledge was granted to your father and many others.”

Robb grimaced, “And not all of those are men and women of honorable natures.”

(Braavos)

Qarro Volentin glared at the report in his hand, a merchant captain had found Syrio Forel, or more to the fact, the merchant had provided transport for the man to Westeros.  Qarro’s old mentor had taken to serving the Lord of House Stark, the man who’d succeeded Jon Arryn as the Hand to the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“What has you so engrossed my friend,” Qarro turned to Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord, “If it were possible, I’d swear you were trying to burn that paper just by looking at it.”

“Pardon,” Qarro sighed, “It is a missive from an old acquaintance.  He has heard rumors Syrio has taken a position in the Household of Lord Stark.”

Ferrego nodded, “I know, it is good our old friend has landed on his feet.”

“You know?” Qarro frowned.  Ferrego had fallen ill not long ago, it had been feared a Faceless Man had attacked, but a servant of the Many-Faced God had reportedly similarly fell ill.  After some time, he was brought to the Sealord’s palace where upon his recovery he had quite the tale.  The Many-Faced God was wroth, a force from Westeros and far to the North was stirring, and it defied even the god of death’s rules.

The Sealord simply smirked, unlike the Faceless Man, Ferrego was more tight-lipped about his experience.  While silent on what exactly he’d been shown by whatever god or gods had deemed him worthy of such a blessing, the man had not been idle.  Ferrego was old, and of fragile health, but following his illness he seemed to have gained an renewed strength.

Qarro turned as the door to the office opened and the Faceless Man with the old and gentle face entered, “Sealord, you sent for me.”

“Yes,” Ferrego grimaced, “I have heard much of what we were shown has shifted thanks to the actions of the Westrosi.”  The Sealord leaned on his desk, “What do you make of this?”

The Faceless Man looked to the window that overlooked the bay, a massive armada was forming.  The Dothraki were hiring every ship large enough to transport their horde across the sea.  With a sigh the Faceless Man shook his head, “It will not be enough.  The Frozen death will reach our shores if the Wolfblood falls to the doom we saw.”

The Sealord nodded, “You sent your man to the girl?”

“As the visions showed he was already in Westeros, my message will reach him, and he will place himself at her side.”  The Faceless Man grimaced, “We lose a servant of such talent, but it is for the future of all.  All men must die, but it is not for us to say when, only the Many-Faced God can say when that time is.”

Most of this confused Qarro, but as the First Sword, it was not his place to understand.  It was his place to listen and obey.  When the Faceless Man departed, Qarro watched as Ferrego got a contemplative look, “We will die if the Westrosi fall.”

“Sealord?” Qarrro frowned.

“Winter comes, a winter not seen since ages long forgotten,” Ferrego looked solemnly at him, “A winter with such coldness that even the seas will turn to ice.  Tyrosh falls first, Lys and Myr not long after.  Word of Pentos being overrun comes just as Norvos is lost.  Lorath and Volantis become graveyards on the same day.  Braavos is the last of the Free Cities to fall mere hours after Qohor.  After the Free Cities, the rest of Essos does not last long.”

Qarro’s blood feels as thought it is turning cold at the Sealord’s words, “What horror could do such a thing?”

“Demons of ice and darkness the Northmen refer to as The Others,” Ferrego grimaced, “In my visions Westeros devolved into wars over succession and petty disputes that weakened and divided them.  They were not ready for The Others, and in the end, they did much of those monsters’ work for them.  Their battles left great pits of the dead, massive graves those monsters could use to raise armies of their vile servants.  What we would face after the last of their kingdoms had fallen to the scourge of these demons.  The Free Cities were swarmed by the dead of Westeros, and in turn our dead would be added to scour living from the rest of the known world and beyond.”

“What can we do?” Qarro asked hesitantly, “How can we stop what is coming?”

The Sealord motioned to the window, “The Dothraki move to be ready, to add their strength to those who will stand against the demons at the pivotal moment.  If the North is broken, there is no hope for anyone.  If the Wolfblood falls, then our world ends in eternal ice.”

Qarro shook his head, “If the Dothraki hoard is not going to be enough, there is nothing to be done.  Even if you could unite the nine cities to common cause and rally all the sellsword companies.  I have heard that both the Company of the Rose and the Golden Company have been preparing to head for Westeros.  Is this why?”

“The Company of the Rose has always been in Essos for this reason, to prepare for a day when the North would rise up.  They intended that to be the day their countrymen were ready to become independent of the Targaryen.  Lord Eddard Stark was the second son, and was not informed at the time he had such an army to call upon during the Rebellion, though they would not have heeded the call at the time as Lord Stark did not intend to declare the North independent of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Why journey there now?” Qarro questioned.

“Because the ancient enemy is upon them,” the Sealord chuckled, “Though much of the company is more Essosi and only a few of their leaders still claim actual decent from Northern houses, they have maintained their connections to the legends and beliefs of the First Men.  It is such stories they tell new recruits, and children born of their camp followers.”  The Sealord sighed, “As for the Golden Company, the Blackfyre has been extinguished, yet they have been called to defend their ancestral lands from the coming threat.  I would hazard to guess the Wolfpack and Stormbreakers will soon follow, both companies have similar roots from Westrosi exiles.”

Qarro frowned as he thought of the four sellsword companies.  The Stormbreakers and Wolfpack were smaller companies compared to the Golden Company and Company of the Rose.  The Company of the Rose outnumbered the two smaller companies as that had the two joined forces, they’d still be facing five to one odds at least.  In turn if the Company of the Rose was joined by the Wolfpack and Stormbreakers against the Golden Company, they’d face odds nearing three to one.  That wasn’t accounting for the Golden Companies’ elephants.

Even with that the Golden Company’s ten thousand men was barely a fraction of the estimated strength of the Dothraki hoard, all the kalasars united would put the number close to two hundred thousand calvary, each man of which could act as both horseback archer and chargers.  Qarro realized what his Sealord was contemplating, “The Unsullied?”

The Sealord nodded, “In the vision the Unsullied of Astapor were liberated by Princess Daenerys, who by now sits comfortably within the walls of her ancestral home of the Red Keep.  With the breaker of chains no longer destroying the status quo of Slavers Bay, who might there be to bring them to fight.”

Qarro tilted his head, “Where were the Unsullied in your vision?”

“Among the corpses ravaging the world,” The Sealord said sternly, “Their numbers were depleted fighting the Yunkai until Daenerys gave up on Slaver’s Bay when she learned her nephew had already begun his conquest to restore Targaryen rule in Westeros.  She then wasted what was left of them in fruitless battles with her elder nephew after they abandoned Prince Aegon’s half-brother to his death at Winterfell.  Their ambitions for a crown and throne ended with their deaths, and their arrogance made the rest of us suffer the same fate.”

Qarro frowned, “The Good Masters will not be easily swayed in sending the Unsullied to defend against a threat they will not believe exists.”

“We would also need the Unsullied that Qohor employs, along with the united military might of the Free Cities and all of Slaver’s Bay.” The Sealord snorted, “That would be barely a start, but anywhere further east would be futile to send.  Any forced sent from beyond the Dothraki sea would be better spent planning for what is coming should we fail.”

“How do you plan to unite the Free Cities, let along build an alliance with Slaver’s Bay?” Qarro did not believe such a thing even remotely possible.

The Sealord gave him an emotionless look, “It has already begun.”

(Astapor)

Grey Worm stood over the bodies of the Good Masters.  The bodies lay in rows along with the freemen soldiers and other slave masters.  He looked to the man with the plague marked face, while the man’s face looked half dead already, the rest of him including his stance and baring told a much different story.  This was a Faceless Man, and he’d butchered many in Astapor in a single night, far too many to have done such a deed on his own.

Plague face closed his eyes in prayer, “May the Many-Faced God see these wicked souls to their final rest.”  The other Unsullied were dousing the bodies in oil and adding pitch.  Torches were being prepared to burn the dead as others were busy scouring the crypts of the Good Masters for bodies that had yet to decay to bone.  The Faceless Man had directed them to do these acts to impede a possible catastrophe.

Marselen appeared with his brother Mossador and their young sister Missandei.  Grey Worm turned to the three, “What is the state of the city?”

“We have collected the dead,” Marselen spoke harshly, “All were the masters save a man named Cleon, a slave of the Good Master Grazdan mo Ullhor.”

Plague face snickered, “He was marked by the Many-Faced God.”

“The Great Masters of Meereen and the Wise Masters of Yunkai will not let this pass,” Missandei looked to the Faceless Man, “They will come to punish us, then seek retribution.”

A wicked smile came to Plague face, “They too are marked, my brethren are granting them the gift of the Many-Faced God as we speak.”

Grey Worm gulped, “Are we marked as well?”

“Valar morghulis,” Plague face stated calmly, “yet it is not your time.  The Many-Faced God has other plans for the Unsullied,” his eye moved to the young Missandei, “As well as you little one.  To the west, across the Narrow Sea is Westeros and upon that distant land a foe to all who draw breath gathers strength.  This foe’s very existence is a defiance to the ethos of the Many-Faced God, and all gods worshiped by men.”

Grey Worm realized if they were going to Westeros, they would need Missandei to interpret for them as none of them spoke the Common Tongue.  Already his brethren were turning to him for leadership, but their training was ingrained deeply.  His hand tightened on the ceremonial harpy’s fingers he held.  Calmly stepping to Missandei he held the whip to the girl.  She flinched, they had all at one time or another felt the sting of the less ceremonial versions of this weapon.

He waited for her to calm and look him in the eye, “Where you lead, we will follow.”

Tentatively the girl took the whip, “We are free.”  She looked to her brothers, “Were we go, we walk together.”  Her brothers nodded to her as she dropped the whip on the closest Good Master’s body as the flames began to spread.

Chapter Text

(Qarth)

Quaithe walked along the great arcade, the columns of green and white marble where heroes of the city once stood sentinel now blackened with soot and charred from the flames.  She stopped and looked at a burnt corpse, only the rubies and opals encrusted on the body’s nose allowed her to recognize Xaro.  Behind her lacquered mask the shadowbinder smirked, “I warned you.”

Xaro Xhoan Daxos and the rest of the Thirteen would not heed the warnings of the Shadowbinder from Asshai.  The Ancient Guild of Spicers did not fare much better as their bodies hung along with those of the Thirteen.  The Pureblood and Tourmaline Brotherhood had grudgingly taken her warnings to heart and had broken the chains of their slaves.

“Shadowbinder,” turning Quaithe nodded to the man with flame tattoos on his face.  Benerro walked ahead of about two dozen of his Fiery Hand soldiers, “I know there is little you fear, but I do ask you do not walk the streets alone.”

“If it appeases your worries my Flame of Truth,” the Shadowbinder stepped to his side, “I will not stray far.”

Benerro sighed as he continued in his high voice, looking at the burnt remains of Xaro, “Was he a friend?”

“An acquaintance, nothing more,” Quaithe slipped her arm around Benerro’s, “Tell me of Volantis, the breaking of chains.”

“The Triarchs squabbled over it for a time,” Benerro sighed, “but I am no fool.  The right whispers in the ears of those opposed to the brutality of the people.  The promise of the Firey Hand at their back became a threat to those unwilling to change their ways.  The only hardship came from gaining the support to break nearly three centuries of tradition.”

Quaithe nodded knowingly, “You needed a second Tiger, and a woman no less.”

“Volantis is,” Benerro looked to a patrol of Volantene soldiers, “prepared for the coming darkness.”

As they walked, they came upon a gathering of former Qartheen slaves.  On a raised podium, Egon Emeros was speaking to the gathered people.  In typical Qartheen fashion the man’s words were accordingly polite and caring regardless of his personal feelings about the rabble gathered before him.  “People of Qarth, the Pureborn weep over the mistreatment of those we serve.  Had we known the vileness of the Thirteen and Ancient Guild of Spicer we’d have acted accordingly.”

As the man continued to pontificate, swinging the details to make him and the Pureborn out to be the heroes of the tale, Benerro leaned his head close to Quaithe, “Do you think they actually buy this?”

“Qartheen politeness is a mask as impenetrable as my own,” Quaithe sighed, “they will buy it and they will love this man who can weep on cue.  In the tales told to children at every hearth will be the legend of Egon Emeros the Exquisite.  The Pureborn who threw down the evil merchant princes of the Thirteen and Ancient Guild of Spicers.  The man who forced the Tourmaline Brotherhood to bow to the rule of the Pureborn and shattered the chains of slavery in the city of Qarth.”

“An end of slavery you say,” both turned to see the pale face and blue lips of Pyat Pree.  The warlock smirked, “Are not all those who serve R’hllor slaves to their god.”

Benerro scoffed, “It is one thing to be enslaved to one’s gods, it is another to be the thrall of a man of flesh and blood.  What draws a lap dog of the Undying from your House of Dust.”

“The Undying weep at the loss of their chance to gain the power of the Dragonlords.” Pree spoke sorrowfully, “They accept that such a plan would most likely have ended horribly.  The warlocks of Qarth are at your service.”

“Not that we need you,” Quaithe mused, “those of any true talent in Asshai are preparing to head west.  The magics of the Wall are ancient and supported by the power of the Old Gods of the First Men and Children of the Forest.”

“The Five Forts,” Pree whispered, “you fear the Lion of Night will strike again.”

Benerro frowned, “If the Maiden-Made-of-Light turns her back upon the world again, it will not be her husband and his demons that come for us.”  The High Priest of R’hllor looked to both the Shadowbinder and the warlock, “I have seen in the flames the enemy of all, the ancient foe.”

Quaithe spoke up, “The Great Magnar of Winter knelt unknowing this selfless act signaled more than the loss of a crown.  Unbeaten in combat the Wolf stands alone.  When the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“You know,” Pree sneered, “if you Shadowbinders would simply speak plainly more would heed your warnings.”  He indicated the great arcade, “There would been fewer burnings as well.”

Benerro smirked, “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

(King’s Landing – Fleabottom)

Thoros of Myr grimaced at the shabby old manse.  He looked to the little creature perched behind him on the horse, “This your idea of a joke my friend.”  The Child of the Forest simply tipped its head and blinked slowly.  Thoros knew the creature understood him, just lacked either the ability or willingness to answer.  He was sure more than one of these little shits could speak the Common Tongue.

Melisandre brought her own horse up alongside him, “You asked for a place we could set a temple.”

“Aye,” Thoros barked, “I’d at least thought Lord Stark would put us somewhere a bit nicer.  Maybe down the street from the Sept of Baelor so we could belittle the pants off that crystal-loving hypocrite the High Septon.”

“My dear Thoros,” the Asshai’I smirked, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you pious.”

The drunkard red priest scoffed, “Don’t start you devil in red; Lord of Light never much spoke to me before a few months ago.  Then bam, the barmy blighter starts burning images into my head.  Wouldn’t stop until I got off my damn arse and headed north.”

Melisandre fumed, “Do not blaspheme.”

“Don’t talk to me about blaspheme,” Thoros glared, “Thinking yourself some guide to Azor Ahai.  You realize you are on the wrong freaking continent.  R’hllor guide my hand if I should strike the stupidity and arrogance from my fellow servant.”

An involuntary flinch came to Melisandre as Thoros raised a threatening palm.  He was halted by a gloved hand with shortened fingers.  Davos Seaworth glared at the priest, “The red woman might not be among my favorite people in the world, but I draw the line at striking women.  Even a manipulative harpy such as her.”

Sighing Melisandre looked to the Onion Knight, “Thank you Ser Davos.”

“Don’t be thanking me,” Davos glared, “be thanking the Ravens who granted me visions.  They let me watch a few differing ends you could possibly face.  Got my fill of watching you being torn apart by wights, or watching myself either take your damn fire-addled head or strangle the breath out of you.”

The red woman grimaced, “You nearly tore my throat out when you awoke.”

“What would you expect, I woke with your face so close I thought you were trying to give me the last kiss.” Davos huffed.  He looked to where a weirwood sapling was sitting in a cart, the small folk looking at the tree with mixed expressions of awe and curiosity, “Not planning to burn that to christen your new temple.”

“By R’hllor’s heart no,” Thoros chuckled, “I’m sure our little friend here would be giving Melisandre and me new smiles if we did something so foolish.”  The red priest frowned and looked at the rundown manse, “The vision I had on the way from Winterfell was perfectly clear.  A weirwood standing within a ring of fire.  A face stern yet kind, from its mouth, ran the blood of the gods of old.  In front of the tree an altar to R’hllor, with space for all others who come from far and wide.”

Davos’ brow twitched, “I thought your faith accepted only R’hllor as the true god.”

“Please,” Thoros scoffed, “R’hllor is at best a baby god.  Don’t get me wrong, he’s powerful and not to be trifled with, but even he knows when to stop and listen to his elders.”  The priest narrowed his gaze at Melisandre, “As his servants it is our place to not piss off the other gods by committing sacrilege.”

Melisandre glared, “I have not yet burned any effigies of the Westrosi gods.”

“It’s that you would even consider it,” both priests turned as did the knight.  Thoros snickered as a man approached.  A man near as tall as they astride their horses, with skin the color of jet.  His flame tattoos stood out boldly as did his mane of white hair.

Thoros dipped his head, “Moqorro, pleasure as always.  Don’t tell me Benerro doubted Melisandre and I could establish ourselves.”

Moqorro’s eyes narrowed, “A drunkard priest with no real talent, and a self-righteous priestess that believes herself R’hllor’s favored.  No, the Flame of Truth had absolute faith in your failure.”

A chuckle came from Thoros, “When did you arrive, I mean not easy for a man like yourself to go unnoticed.”

“Today,” Moqorro smirked, “those of us with talent and clarity of vision are never early or late, we are always exactly where we are meant to be.”

Davos snorted, “Now this is a red priest I can respect.”

“I am here to serve,” Moqorro looked to the Child of the Forest perched behind Thoros, “Little tree tender, you can tell the Magnar of Winter, that I am his to command.”

“Hey,” Thoros huffed, “I’ve been working my arse off getting these nobles to respect me and here you are sweeping in just telling the Hand of the King to turn to you for all his Lord of Light needs.  That’s a low blow poaching my benefactors.”

Moqorro rolled his eyes, “I am sure there will be plenty of work for the both of us Thoros.”  He looked to Melisandre, “Even our Shadowbinder might be found to provide some use.”

Thoros noticed Davos giving the three of them curious looks, “Something the matter Seaworth?”

“Um,” Davos looked hesitant to broach the subject, “In one of the visions shown to me Melisandre was revealed to be an old crone using a glamour to look as she does now.”

“Ah,” Thoros nodded, “you’re wondering if that is the truth of this world, and in that case which of us is the eldest.”  Thoros chuckled, “Melisandre is as old as she looks, glamours of the type you describe are forbidden in our faith as they are a form of deception.  The glamour she wears is used to hide her scars from her former life as a slave.  Besides, glamours do not change the shape of an object or body, nothing drastic like reverting a withered old crone to her youthful appearance.”

Davos nodded then spoke, “So which of you will be in charge here?”

Thoros looked behind Moqorro to a handful of other priests and members of the Fiery Hand, “Guess I better dust off my armor.  Moqorro you brought your acolytes but no captain for your soldiers.”

“Why would I need a captain when a warrior priest of your caliber was at hand,” Moqorro boomed, “I will lead at the Temple of the Fiery Tree, you will be our envoy to court and captain of our guards.”

Melisandre huffed, “What does that make me?”

Moqorro tilted his head, “Spend some time in reflection before the flames, but this time ask a senior priest before taking action.”

(King’s Landing – Lannister Manse)

Tywin read the missives from his cousin in Lannisport.  At his request they’d paid close attention to the happenings on Pyke, even getting one of their captains there in time for the announcement of Edmure Tully taking the squid’s daughter as his wife.  Other reports showed the Tully’s were now on their way back to Riverrun and ravens were already flying with notifications and invitations of the union between Tully and Greyjoy.

Standing in front of Tywin’s desk was his nephew Daven Lannister, “What else had happened while I was busy cleaning up Cersei and Jaime’s mess?”

“The Spider has not been seen in the city since the day of his public dressing down by Lords Stannis and Renly.  The eunuch is notoriously hard to track and currently, it seems that has not changed.  My men have made the rounds of the ports and a man possibly fitting his description was seen boarding a ship to Old Town.  This can’t be confirmed, and the witness’s reliability is questionable.”

Tywin snorted, “So in other words the Spider has been loosed upon Westeros without a means to restrain the mummer from whatever plots he might hatch.”

“Word has it that Lord Stannis’ man Seaworth and the red witch that follows them like a lost puppy has usurped control of the Spider’s network of informants.  How this was done is unknown.”

Remembering how Lord Stark had wrested control of the little birds sent to Winterfell through acts of kindness.  The Old Lion smirked, “I have an inkling of how it was done, and it will not be duplicatable here, not now that it has been put to use.”  Tywin’s brows furrowed, “How is Tommen settling into the Tower of the Hand?”

“Well, my lord,” Daven shrugged, “He has taken to playing with Lord Stark’s son when they are not otherwise engaged in the duties put before them.  The young Stark is a dutiful page to the Bold.  I even put my name forward to squire the lad.  The list is growing in length, with the Blackfish and Loras Tyrell both having already made similar offers.”

Tywin nodded in agreement with his nephew’s actions, “I can remove the Blackfish from the listing by requesting he take Tommen as his squire.”

“Then it's true,” Daven smirked, “Brynden Tully is taking the White.”

A droll expression came to Tywin’s face, “There will be a drastic change in the Kingsguard.”

(Red Keep – White Sword Tower)

Barristan Selmy frowned as he finished updating the white book noting Meryn Trant’s death by snakebite on the way to Winterfell and the dismissal of Jaime Lannister.  Barristan was seated at the head of the table, his seat at the top of the shield, and seats for his six brothers arched around the table.

The door to the common room opened and in walked what remained of his order.  Ser Arys Oakheart, the youngest and most recent member.  Ser Boros Blunt, a creature of the former queen.  Ser Mandon Moore, a dangerous Vale Man whose true loyalties were questionable regardless of the fate of a certain Littlefinger.  The last was Ser Preston Greenfield, while he did not hold to the vows of celibacy, he was to some extent a loyal and honorable man.

“Lord Commander,” Arys spoke up, “you summoned us?  The King and the royal family are unguarded.”

Barristan snorted, “Lord Stark and his Grace are meeting in the King’s solar, meaning there is a fully grown direwolf present.  You were with us in Winterfell, you know she is not one to mess with.”

Arys smirked, “I would hazard to guess the Stark children and their protectors are strategically placed with the other royals.”

“You would be correct,” Barristan nodded.

“Are we cloaking overgrown wolves to replace us,” Boros sneered.

Barristan glared, “They are more effective than the mangy pack of curs I’m looking at right now.”  He saw all but Arys bristles at his words.  He and Oakheart had a long discussion on their return trip from the North, they had been the only Kingsguard present who returned.  Blunt, Moore, and Greenfield had been left to hold the capital and ostensibly to protect Renly.  In truth, Selmy did not trust these three, Meryn either but the king needed at least four of them present.

Moore was not one to speak out often, “This about the visions Lord Commander, you and Ser Jaime had ‘em.  Rumor has it those that got ‘em came down with had a strange fever.”

“Aye, it is in that regard,” Barristan glared at the four men, “Tell me if the king ordered you to strip a maiden not yet flowered and beat her with the flats of your swords.  What would be your response?”

The four knights shared a look before each bowed their heads.  It was Arys who responded, already knowing the source of this detailed question.  Barristan could see the younger man had still not come to grips with his possible actions, “It is not the place of the Kingsguard to question the orders of the king.”

“Ser Boros,” Barristan glared at the knight from House Blunt, “Who do we serve, the King or the Queen?”

Boros swallowed hard, “His Grace the King.  We protect the Queen and follow her orders as long as they do not conflict with those of the King.”

“Another question,” Selmy sneered, “Who guarded the Queen’s door while she fucked her brother?”

Boros paled, “I…I swear I didn’t know they were doing that.”  Ser Preston looked revolted from his seat next to the man.

Selmy looked to Moore, “Ser Mandon, who do we serve?”

“The King, Lord Commander,” the younger knight bowed his head, “I swear, whatever you saw in your visions.  I am loyal to my vows, and I will not stray from upholding my duties as a member of the Kingsguard.”

“Was it Lysa or Baelish that held your leash?” Barristan asked.

“Littlefinger,” Mandon swallowed, “he learned my sister who served as one of Lady Lysa Arryn’s ladies was slipping her moontea and causing her miscarriages.  I only learned after Littlefinger’s death that it was him who was urging her to do so as a means to conceal his dalliances with Lady Arryn.”

Blunt coughed, “Does that mean Robert Arryn is really a Stone?”

Moore shook his head, “Robert Arryn was Lord Jon’s son.  He was conceived here in King’s Landing before Littlefinger was called to the capitol to take the position of Master of Coin.”

Preston sighed, “Lord Commander, can we swear on our brotherhood to keep this secret among us?”

Barristan nodded, “That we can, but I am not sure that others who have had visions know these truths or not.”  The others nodded and Selmy stood and walking to Mandon placed a hand on his shoulder, “We are brothers, and your burden is ours.  I wish you’d brought this to my attention when Petyr Baelish first began coercing you.”

“I am sorry Lord Commander,” Moore sighed, and Barristan could feel a tension in the man’s shoulders abate.  The knight looked to Preston and Arys, “Guessing you are going to ream those two next.”

“Arys and I had a rather fruitful conversation on our way back from the North,” Barristan moved back to his seat, “Queen Visenya Targaryen was not wrong to admire the dedication of the Night’s Watch when she founded our order.  I believe Brynden Rivers said it best, we are an order of pent-up warriors lacking a means of release.”  He looked to Greenfield, “Most of us at least.”

Preston swallowed, “I would not think that would be worthy to be told in a vision of the gods.”

“We may pay homage to the Seven, but we are an order founded in recognition of an order founded by those who serve the Old Gods.”  Barristan said, “I’d be less wroth if you’d chosen a woman who is not wed.  Adultery is a sin in both faiths of Westeros.”

The knight sighed, “We can’t all be as strong in our vows as you Lord Commander.”

“I am not as strong as you think brother,” Selmy mused, “It is only the words of men who came before me in this role that have sustained me.  You all joined in the age of the Baratheon King, these past years have been like an entirely different world than the one ruled by the Targaryen.  I served the last two Targaryen kings, one was a sickly man, the other a madman.  There was a maiden at court during the time of Aerys that I would have been willing to forsake my vows for.  I regretted such thoughts, as I remember the words of Lord Commander Hightower, words passed from his predecessors.  Love is the death of duty.”

Moore frowned, “What are you saying, Lord Commander?”

“My predecessors were wrong,” Barristan sighed, “Love is not the death of duty, it is central to it.  I ask you each this question,” Barristan drew his sword and lay it so its point was aiming at the center of the table, “Do you love our king, our crown prince, and all whose lives we are sworn to protect.”

Moore drew his sword and laid it so it crossed Selmy’s and pointed at the empty chair once belonging to Jaime, “King might be on the rough side, but Arys here can’t stop gushing about the new princes and princess.” He gave the younger man next to him a friendly shove.

Smirking Arys drew his blade and laid it across the other two, “Robert has my sword and when the time comes it will pass to Aegon.”

Selmy nodded before letting his eyes pass over the empty chair once held by Meryn Trant to land on Boros Blunt.  Instead of drawing his sword the former creature of the queen hesitantly reached up to unfasten his white cloak, “Label me craven or dishonorable, but I cannot stand with you.  I will swear with my last breath I knew not the deeds of the Queen and Kingslayer.”  Boros walked to a cabinet in the corner and hung the cloak over the door before pulling a black one from within, “I’ll be up North with Jaime when you are ready to face the terrors in the dark.”

With a sigh, Selmy waited for their former brother to reach the door to the chamber, “Safe travels, and we will stand with you again on the appointed day against the ancient foe.”  Once Boros had left the chamber Selmy looked to Preston.

The Knight drew his sword and laid it to mirror that of Arys, “I hold my vows sacred and am a man of the Seven.  I stand with you, Lord Commander.”

Selmy gave a solemn look to Jaime’s empty chair before sitting, “We are now lacking three, names.”

Arys spoke first, “The Maid of Tarth.”  Barristan had prompted the younger man to put forward Brienne of Tarth.  As Lord Commander, it was improper for him to directly nominate people.

“The Maid of Tarth,” Preston frowned, “I know not that moniker.  Who is he?”

“He is a she,” Arys corrected, “and if rumors are to be believed she may be the blood of Duncan the Tall.  While not the most homily of maidens, her swordsmanship is more than adequate.  When confronted by the betrothed who said as his wife, she’d have to give up the sword, she said he’d have to defeat her first.  She came out of that fight the victor, breaking three of the man’s bones along with the betrothal.”

Preston frowned as he sat, “There is the problem that she is not a knight.”

“That can be resolved,” Sitting Mandon leaned back in his chair crossing his arms, “She’s the only heir of House Tarth though if I’m not mistaken.”

“Of the current lord's line yes,” Selmy as a Stormlander knew the status of the Tarth lineage, “He has a cousin on the Wall.  His vows were not freely given so the King could request he be released.”

Preston looked confused, “Not freely given?”

“Endrew Tarth allied himself with Jon Connington and the other Stormlords who turned their cloaks for the Targaryen during the Rebellion.”  Selmy clarified, “He was among those Robert sent to the Wall following the war.”

“Wasn’t that his choice?” Preston asked.

Mandon snorted, “When it came to the Stormlanders that sided with Aerys, let’s just say Robert wasn’t in what you’d call a merciful mood.  He embodied the words ours is the fury.”

Agreeing Selmy looked at the knight, “You are not hesitant to add a woman to our order?”

“Not to speak ill of our recently departed brother, but,” Mandon sneered, “Boros was shit as a knight.  If she can hold her own in a fight.  Seven hells, our princess wields a sword better than Blunt ever has.”

Selmy smirked, the other day he’d had to chase Preston from the common room as he was late for his rounds.  The man was recounting watching Daenerys training with the Stark girls to an enraptured Mandon and Boros.  When seeing no other challenge from Preston he nodded, “That is one name I will present to the King.”  He indicated there were still two empty seats.

“The Blackfish,” Mandon Moore drawled out, “If we are to fight a war against the dead, we need leadership.  I’m all for fighting, but I’m the first to admit I’m shit at leading soldiers.”  He indicated Arys and Preston, “These two aren’t much better.  Arys is a tourney knight, and hasn’t seen more than a brothel house scuffle when escorting His Grace.”

“Agreed,” Preston nodded, “he’s been guarding the Gates of the Moon in the Vale since the Rebellion.  Guy has to have some insight into these wildling cunts as well.”

Mandon as the only one from the Vale spat, “Wildlings got nothing on the Mountain Clans.”

Arys without a complaint on the suggested appointment began counting, “I’m from the Reach, Mandon from the Vale, Preston is Westlander, Lord Commander is from the Stormlands.  Lady Tarth would also be from the Stormlands and Ser Tully is from the Riverlands though he has been in service to the Vale.”

“Means the final seat should be a Dornish or Northman,” Preston looked to Selmy.

Barristan nodded, “Suggestions?”

“Prince Quentyn Martell,” they looked to the door to see Oberyn sternly observing them, “Pardon the intrusion, but I grew curious when I saw Ser Boros Blunt was waiting to speak with His Grace wearing a black cloak.”

“Master of Whispers,” Barristan glared, “our nominations are open secrets.  Boros believed his place was elsewhere.”

“By elsewhere you mean the Wall, as that is the one choice for one who willingly gives up his white cloak,” Oberyn smirked, “As for my suggestion, it’s more a forceful request.  I’d rather my nephew not know it was I who suggested his name, neither my brother for that matter.  I know Doran well enough, he wants Quentyn out of the way and he is not above arranging an accident.”

Arys gulped, “Should you be telling us that your brother intends to commit kinslaying?”

“Did I say kinslaying, I said arrange an accident,” Oberyn smirked, “Accidents do not necessarily need to be fatal to remove someone from a succession line.  Father, please give me strength to deal with these Andals.”

Barristan stood, “Why would your brother wish his heir removed?”

“Dorn remember.  His heir is my beautiful niece,” Oberyn charmingly grinned, “At least till she weds Willas and leaves for the Reach.  As for why he wishes Qyentyn out of the way.  That unfortunately is partially my fault.  The former lord Yornwood’s paramour and I had a bit of a tryst, we got caught in the Lord’s bed and he challenged me to a duel of honor.  It was to first blood, I won while Lord Yornwood’s wound got infected due to inadequate care.”  He glared at the Kingsguard around the table, “I did not poison my spear,” he paused, “well that time.”

Barristan nodded, “I remember hearing about that, your brother exiled you to Essos for a time.  He also had to send his son Quentyn to ward with Yornwood.”

Oberyn nodded, “Exactly, as well as the problem.  Yornwood has twisted the boy into his creature.  With him as the Prince of Dorne, it would be a calamity for our people.  His younger brother has been raised to rule.  Not that it matters much now, but Arianne was to marry Viserys and be queen.  Slight change of plans now that he’s dead and our nephew made a miraculous return.”  Oberyn noticed the unsurprised look on Barristan’s face and sighed, “Not that any of that surprises one who has been given visions of future possibilities.”

(Tower of the Hand)

Ned sat at the table in the main living area of the tower.  It was late in the evening, and he arrived to find most of the youths of the keep gathered here, along with four direwolves.  Well, five now that his own had entered.  While Aegon had chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast, he’d taken to sharing his brother Jon’s chamber in the Hand’s Tower.  Bran and Tommen were already sharing, and currently, they were watching as Lief showed Sansa, Daenerys, and Jeyne to weave using strips of tree bark.  Loras had unbiddenly taken up the post as Aegon’s sworn shield.

His only saving grace was Oberyn and his family kept a manse a short distance from the city.  On principle, they limited time in the Red Keep to only what was unavoidably necessary.  Oberyn’s argument was that as Master of Whispers, it was good to have a place away from prying eyes to manage the secrets of the realm.

“Father,” Bran ran over to him, “is it true there is going to be a tourney?”

Sighing Ned forced a smile to not dampen his son’s enthusiasm, “Yes, against my wishes, but Robert made rather infallible argument.  To celebrate my installation as the Hand of the King, as well as to introduce the new heir to the crown to the people.”

Aegon looked to Lord Stark, “Can we also just include Sansa and my betrothal to the mix and save time.  Otherwise, Cousin Robert is going to undo all of your and Lord Tyrion’s hard work at resolving the realm's financial problems.”

Glaring at the young prince something occurred to Ned, “Wait a minute,” he recounted the direwolves, “Where is Arya?”

Edric looked up from the game of cyvasse he was trying to teach Jon, “Think she and Nymeria, both of them went exploring after dinner.”

Ned frowned, “Nymeria was here, I thought she and her sisters were staying at their manse.”

“Uncle Oberyn had business with the Lord Commander, she wouldn’t say what exactly,” Aegon answered regarding his uncle and cousin.

Edric picked up with a knowing look, “She wanted to take the opportunity to check on Arya.  After spending this much time with my little sister, even I think the quicker we leave this city the happier she’ll be.”

Truthfully Ned did not wish to see his children leave, but they would be departing sooner rather than later.  There would be the tourney, followed by Edmure and Asha Greyjoy's wedding at the Sept of Riverrun.  Ned had promised Cat he’d send the children to attend.  Events in the North were preventing Robb from making the journey, but he’d assured that he’d assembled a guard to escort Rickon to Riverrun.

After the wedding Aegon, Sansa, Jon, and Bran,  guarded by Barristan and at least one other kingsguard would continue on to visit the Eyrie.  From there they would travel to Dorne, the Reach, and the Stormlands before returning to King’s Landing.  Only the Iron Islands and Westerlands would be missed on this impromptu royal progress.  Both were intentional by the order of Robert.

Arya would return to King’s Landing after the wedding, but only briefly.  Edric was already long overdue to return to Starfall.  They were to depart by ship a few days after Arya returned from Riverrun, with any luck she and her company would be settled by the time her other siblings reached Dorne.

A firm feminine hand landed on his shoulder, he looked to see Dacy smirking at him, “Brooding as much as you do brother dearest is not healthy.”

“I don’t seem to get much of it when you’re around little wolf-bear,” Ned japed.

Daenerys looked to where Alysane sat with her ‘bear’ their children having been put to bed already, “Has Lord Stark always been closer to Lady Dacey?”

“Aye, but I’m the sister that didn’t nearly lose her life,” Alysane quipped, “also helped I was born with the Mormont looks.  Pretty sure if the Squids hadn’t pissed off the rest of Westeros, the Southrons would be making a song about how the Quiet Wolf turned the Iron Islands into the Silent Islands.”

“Would father have gone that far?” Sansa asked.

Alysane nodded, “For the pack, my brother would build the pyres high enough to beseech the gods of sky and storms.”

“That’s a new combination,” Aegon frowned, “I thought the gods of the sky were usually paired with the gods of the sea.”

“Reachers use that combo,” Dacey explained, “Stoney Coast of the North including Bear Island we’re mostly tree and earth people but some of our fisherfolk are known to pray to the gods of sky and storms to ensure good weather.  Others add the gods of sea to ensure a good haul of fish.”

Aegon grumbled, “Why hasn’t a maester written this all down?”

“They did,” Edric mused, “the Citadel is a First Men institution, but it was taken over by the Andals.  All tomes related to the study of the Old Gods were declared heresy by the Most Devout and all copies were burnt.  Since there isn’t a secular system of faith with the Old Gods, most followers pass things down parent to child.”

Lief pipped up, “We guided.”

“She means they were our living texts,” Ned chuckled, “all the ways our people paid homage to the Old Gods were learned from our interactions with the Children of the Forest from the end of the first Long Night to the start of the Andal invasion.”

Sansa frowned, “Why’d they leave the North though, the Andals didn’t succeed in converting us.”

“You grew up following your mother’s faith Sansa,” Alysane reminded, “you did the rites and rituals you knew would insult the other houses if you didn’t do them.  As for why the Children of the Forest left, they never did.”

Lief puffed up proud of her kinfolk that had survived south of the wall, “We are good hiders.  Big people are just bad seekers.  Giants even worse seekers.”

“So, there were Children of the Forest in Winterfell before you and the others showed up?” Jeyne asked from next to Sansa.

“In the godswood,” Lief smiled, “listening to prayers.”

Jeyne reddened, “They were spying on our prayers?”

“Don’t tease her Lief,” Ned scolded, before looking to the daughter of his steward, “Do not worry Jeyne, they treat prayers to the gods as sacred.  They do not speak them to another human ear unless they feel it’s the gods will.”

Aegon frowned, “How would they know it’s the gods will?”

Jon chuckled, “Our gods are not silent gods, they might not speak like we are now, but when they want to be heard you know it.”  Aegon looked skeptical so Jon continued, “When Father went to fight the Greyjoys, Robb and I would go to the godswood and pray for his return every day.  As we finished our prayers, we’d feel a calm breeze but the limbs of the weirwood and sentinels were untouched.”

Edric nodded, “At Starfall, I would pray in our godswood, but I would have to do so at night to avoid being seen by our Septon.  Sometimes, when I would ask something of the gods, I would feel warmth like the rays of the sun on my back.”

Ned felt his hackles rise at hearing a child of his had to sneak about to connect with their gods.  Dacey’s hand, which was still on his shoulder tightened its grip.  Her voice came out with a threatening edge, “Dearest nephew does that Septon remains in Starfall?”

Edric gulped, “No, that particular Septon walks with the Stranger now.  His replacement is a much more tolerant man of faith.  He often sits with me during my prayers, and says we should get all the help we can in our world.”

“Smart man,” Ned took a drink of ale.  Setting his goblet down he reached over and mussed Bran’s hair, “Not that I mind discussing matters of faith, but we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Tommen looked up sadly, “Mama’s trial.”  Jeyne reached to the boy and squeezed his shoulder.

“Aye,” Ned grimaced, “not that there will be much in the way of one as your mother has confessed her guilt.  I have been racking my brain over what to do with her.”

Aegon frowned, “Not to be harsh, but her crimes are many, including arranging the deaths of my mother,” he indicated to Jon, “and our sister.”

“It’s not so simple,” Alysane said, “If the gods wanted her dead, she’d have not waken from the renewal ceremony in Winterfell.”  Ned glared at his blunt sibling; tact had never been an element of his youngest sister’s character.

Aegon glared, “What, she survives a ritual and so she is forgiven?”

“Forgiven,” Dacey snorted, “forgiveness would have been death and a chance at a new life.  That is the point of a renewal rite.  It cleanses the soul of one’s sins.  Broken vows and affronts to the gods are confronted and the grievances are laid bare.”

Edric frowned, “But my mother also woke from the ritual.”

“Different case, Desert Wolf,” Alysane said gruffly, “your mother was confronting personal demons.  By our faith she hadn’t actually done anything wrong, so to speak.  She was confronting her own guilt over abandoning you and Ned…err…your father.”

Sansa frowned, “Should we be speaking of what was said during a renewal ceremony?”

“Mother already told me about hers,” Edric confirmed, “I’d hazard to guess she might have told Father after you schemed to have them meet in the godswood the morning after.”

Jon winced, “Let’s not give Father a reason to remember it's been two months since last he tested us in the training yard.”

The door to the common space opened admitting Lady Dayne carrying Arya with Nymeria the direwolf and Nymeria the Sand Snake following.  Ashara glared at the room at large, “First I find this little wolf wandering the halls half asleep, and now I find the rest of the menagerie awake when you should have all been to bed hours ago.”

Ned grimaced, “I was just sending them off.”

“I bet,” Ashara Dayne turned to the boys first, “Edric, Egg, Jon, you have four minutes to have Bran and Tommen in their beds as well as yourselves.  If even one of you isn’t under your covers when I come to check, I’ll have Ser Barristan make you run the gauntlet.”

Aegon frowned as his brother and Edric leaped up and moved to get Bran and Tommen headed for their rooms, “What’s the gauntlet?”

“Consecutive sparing matches with the Kingsguard until you defeat one of them or they accept your yield,” Ned explained, “be thankful they're short a few members currently.”  Aegon didn’t hesitate to follow his brothers.

Loras chuckled, “I’m lucky to be knighted.”

“Tyrell,” Ashara deadpanned, “I’m sure Barristan wouldn’t mind testing your skills either.”  Gulping the young knight followed the prince.  Once the boys were dealt with Ashara passed Arya to Sansa, “Girls, get ready for bed, I’ll be in to check on you after a bit.”  As the girls went, she turned to Nymeria, “Nym, go with them, I will send a messenger to your father in the morning with a strongly written letter addressing the fact that he left the Red Keep forgetting he brought someone with him.”  Nymeria nodded her thanks to Ashara and Lord Stark before following the girls to their rooms. 

With that taken care of Ashara glared at the four adults in the room, sharing a suffering look with the father of Alysane’s children.  The poor man people never seemed to refer to by name, she wondered if he even remembered his own name, or just answered to Alysane’s Bear.

Ned had let Ashara scatter the children, “How did you find Arya?  Edric said you were retiring for the evening.”

“I was,” Ashara sighed, “Then a sleepy-eyed little she-wolf, her larger direwolf companion, and her Sand Snake escort who forgot she rarely spent much time outside of the maiden vault on the two visits she made to the Red Keep when she was a small child remembered where Edric and my quest quarters are.  Not that Edric spends much time there unofficially.”

Ned could understand Ashara’s upset, but she would be traveling with Edric and Arya to Starfall.  Officially Edric’s actual parentage had not been publicly revealed.  Though almost all the Lords in the North knew, and a majority of the Dornish Lords with strong loyalty to Doran knew at this point.  Edric wanted to spend more time with Ned, which was one of the reasons he wasn’t journeying with his siblings to Riverrun.

This along with the impropriety of Ned housing an unmarried woman of no relation to him in the Tower of the Hand so soon after the end of his marriage to Catelyn.  That had been one reason he’d had Alysane and Dacey reveal their relation to him.  It had worked as expected, Renly had gossiped, including to Loras.  The Reacher though was already aware, referring to the gossip as the worst-kept secret in the North.  This had gotten back to Ned during a small council meeting, with Robert, Tyrion, and Oberyn all chuckling at Renly’s disappointment about the evidently not-so-shocking gossip.

Dacey patted his shoulder, “I’ll help Lady Dayne see to the menagerie.  A decent night's sleep might help you figure out what to do with the Cuckolding Queen.”

Ashara frowned, “He still hasn’t figured out a punishment?”

“If not for the fact she turned to my gods, I’d send her to the silent sisters,” Ned growled, “but they are under the auspices of the Most Devout.  A man I could send to the Wall.”

Alysane spoke up, “How about a tending of nine?”

“She’s highborn and we’d need a newly pregnant woman,” Ashara shook her head, “that punishment is for less serious crimes.”

Dacey frowned, “How about matronage?”

“You met Joffrey, you actually want that woman raising orphans?” Ned snorted.

Ashara grimaced, “Realize our ancestors were rather light on the punishments for women.”

“Not really,” Ned frowned, “just most punishments resulted in giving the condemned to the gods.”

Alysane’s Bear snorted, “Sure His Grace would be agreeable.”

“Unfortunately, the renewal ceremony negates that as a feasible solution,” Dacey mused, “Ned, what about banishment to the Isle of Faces?”

Ashara smirked, “She’d throw herself into the God’s Eye within the week.”

Ned rubbed his chin in thought before looking to Lief, “Lief, would your people take her?”

“Broken things come to the Isle of the Faces,” Lief mused, “Some never leave, rarely they leave.”

(Next Morning)

Aegon rose from his cot in the chambers claimed by his younger brother.  Jon had tried to pass the bed off to the elder of the brothers, but Aegon didn’t feel right about taking one of the few luxuries his brother allowed himself.  He’d seen Jon’s old room in Winterfell, and Lord Stark had done what he could to make the spartan cell meant for a visiting Night’s Watch member comfortable.

Looking across the room he saw Jon was already awake and attempting to run a straight razor across the stubble along his jaw.  Grimacing when his brother nearly nicked himself with the razor he got up and crossed the room, “Give me that before you make me an only child again.”

Jon relinquished the razor with an eye roll, “Don’t be dramatic.”

Snorting Aegon tilted Jon’s head and expertly swiped the razor across the stubble, “Dramatic, you’re four and ten and can’t even shave.”

“You’re barely a year older than me.  In the North, we only shaved for special occasions, and we had Hullen, Farlen, or Mikken to turn to when Lady Stark wanted us looking presentable.” Jon rubbed his chin once his brother released his hold, “How do you know how to shave?”

“Used to dye my hair blue, as did Connington to pose as my father.  His beard though was red, so I could avoid shaving for a couple days.  Father’s coloring means my stubble isn’t as obvious as yours.  Though, if I let it go too long people might have noticed the hair was silver blond.  Connington was always a bit paranoid we’d be discovered.”  Aegon rinsed the razor in the basin bowl as he examined his own face in the reflecting mirror, “His paranoia meant I couldn’t get help from most those around us, even Duck.  Lady Dayne taught me how to hold the razor so I wouldn’t cut myself.”

A quick lesson in personal grooming later and Aegon folded the razor and laid it next to the basin bowl, “I am surprised Lord Stark never taught you and Robb.”

“Really,” Jon scoffed, “Father’s face hasn’t been seen lacking a beard since the reign of our grandfather.”  The mention of Aerys made both of them grimace.  Jon moved to his wardrobe, “You going to the holdfast to change?”

“To the right, I hid a couple tunics in there the other day.”  Aegon picked up his breeches from the day before, they were still in decent condition, with no stains and only the slightest odor from the previous day's training, “These will do for today.”

Jon frowned as he tossed a tunic with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen at him, “You know if you’re not ready to stay in the holdfast, Father could arrange an actual room here in the tower.”

Aegon grimaced, he’d tried staying in the holdfast the first few nights upon their arrival.  The first night had seen him awaken from a nightmare and driven him to seek Lady Dayne.  He’d stayed in the spare room in her and Edric’s guest suite the remainder of that night.  Few of the small council had believed his story that he’d been visiting with the Daynes and was just too tired to make the journey back to the holdfast.

The second night Stannis had caught him before he even left the holdfast.  The middle Baratheon brother had made the realization the chambers Aegon had been given were those of the Crown Prince, in other words, the rooms where his sister was butchered.  That evening he stayed in a guestroom of the Lord of Dragonstone’s apartments.  The following evening a cot appeared in Jon’s room to accommodate Aegon’s extended visits with his brother and aunt in the Tower of the Hand that tended to prevent him from returning to the holdfast.  He and Jon had also spent a few evenings as the Martell Manse outside the city.

Sighing Aegon shook his head, “I will have to get over this, what kind of king lets nightmares chase him from his own chambers.”

“The kind of king whose sister was brutally murdered, whose mother was brutally killed, whose stepmother was left unattended to die in childbirth, and whose father died in a battle that could have been prevented.”  Jon huffed as he pulled on a tunic with the white direwolf blazoned on the chest and three-headed dragons on his shoulders.  His younger brother looked to where his direwolf lay watching them, “The night I found out the truth, Father didn’t know you were alive.  Well, I guess he probably did from the visions, but he didn’t say anything to me.  Lord Tywin was already at Winterfell; Ghost was still small enough that I could carry him around.  I confronted him, it was just him and me in a room, and all I wanted to do was rip his throat out and watch him bleed out.  Let him suffer like he’d made Elia and Rhaenys.  Bash his skull in like was supposedly done to you.  Father hadn’t gone into details about my mother, even the visions hadn’t revealed more than what he already knew in that regard.”

Aegon gripped his brother’s shoulders, “Jon, today is not about vengeance or making someone pay for what happened to our family and Houses.  Today we see justice done.  Lord Stark has no doubt devised a truly suitable punishment for Cersei Lannister.  It will not bring our lost back to us, but one more of those responsible will be removed.”  Jon nodded and Aegon moved to the door.

They emerged to minor chaos as Sansa was busy checking that Arya, Bran, and Tommen were suitably presentable.  Already Syrio and Ser Cassel were waiting for them as well.  As Edric exited his room Sansa’s gaze swept to them, “At least you three are presentable.  Jon, I’m taking Arya, Bran and Tommen down to the castle’s sept for the morning sermon.  The High Septon sent word he was planning the service to ask The Father to give our Father guidance in his deliberations.”

Edric grimaced, “More like give him the nudge to just toss her to the Faith’s tender mercies.”

Sansa covered Tommen’s ears, “Edric, please, it is hard enough on him, and think of poor Mrycella, she has nobody but her boorish grandfather.”

“What about Lord Tyrion?” Jon asked.

Aegon shook his head, “He took up residence in the Master of Coin’s suite in the holdfast.  After having a Septon purify it of the stench of its previous inhabitant.”  He looked to his brother, “How do First Men purify a room after something bad or it housed a revolting person.”

“Fire,” Jon deadpanned, “copious amounts.”

Edric nodded, “The runic combination for purification or purity is the vertical combination of fire and birth.”

Sansa glared as Ser Cassel snorted.  Aegon looked at them curiously before asking, “What’s the matter.”

“Presented horizontally,” Jon looked at the three younger children, “the runes mean something normally only husbands and wives do in their private chambers.”  Jon snickered as he looked at Sansa who was starting to turn red, “A few years ago Lord Royce and his family visited Winterfell.  Sansa was about six and father was trying to teach her runes.  The Royce tradition is to place runes on their armor.  Lord Yohn has the runes for purity engraved over his heart on his armor.  I wasn’t present of course, but Robb told me later that Sansa asked Father quite loudly why Lord Royce had something vulgar adorning his chest plate.”

Snorts came from Arya and Bran, but Tommen fought to hide his mirth.  Fuming Sansa made it to Jon in two steps and swatted his shoulder, “I was six, and Father hadn’t told me exactly what those runes meant like that just not to write them together.”

Smirking Aegon felt no compunction to save his little brother from Sansa Stark’s wrath.  He noticed though that Ser Cassel and Syrio were the only others in the tower, “Where are Lord Stark and the others?”

“Mormonts are seeing to their own affairs, said they’d be back in time for the main event.”  Rodrick Cassel explained, “Lord Stark himself went to the godswood.”

Jon nodded, “Think I’ll join him.  Edric you good to help Lady Sansa with the pups.”

“Yes, the story will be I was taking a morning walk and happened upon Lady Sansa struggling to wrangle her two wildling siblings and a stray lion cub.”  Edric looked around, “Where is Daenerys and Jeyne?”

Sansa sighed, “Jeyne was summoned by her father to run some errands.  Loras received word that Shereen sent Dany an invitation to break their fast together.  Sorry Prince Aegon but your aunt borrowed your sworn shield for the morning.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do,” Aegon looked to Jon, “Mind if I tag along to the godswood little brother.  I rather avoid the High Septon today.”

Sansa frowned, “What’s wrong with the High Septon?”

“Nothing,” Aegon sighed, “He’s a decent upstanding member of the Faith.”

Jon shook his head, “He attended the small council meeting yesterday.  He was trying to sway Father into censuring Cersei’s declaration of being a follower of the Old Gods and surrendering her to be tried by the Most Devout.”  Jon looked to Aegon, “But that isn’t what’s got Egg disquieted about the man.  I was at my post at the door, and when the High Septon realized my identity.  He called me Blackfyre spawn.”

Arya growled, “You’re not a Blackfyre.”

“Definitely,” Edric agreed, “though I’m guessing he wasn’t implying you are actually related to the Blackfyres just that in his eyes you’re still illegitimate.”

Jon nodded and Sansa huffed, “Father must have been furious.”

“I didn’t give him a chance to react,” Aegon growled, “I told the High Septon if he ever called my brother that again I’d shove that ridiculous crystal crown of his so far up his bum he’d taste it.”

Arya let out a laugh along with the two boys.  Sansa made a decision and pushed her sister towards Jon, “Take Arya with you, after that, she’s not going to be able to sit through a sermon with a straight face.”

“Can I go too?” Bran asked.

Edric moved to stand next to Bran, “Sorry little brother, but we can’t have Sansa facing the big bad High Septon alone.  She broods over the man’s disrespect of Jon long enough, and she might send Lady to eat him.  We can’t have that now can we?”

As Bran shook his head in agreement with Edric’s explanation, Tommen gulped, “The wolves eat people?”

“Only bad people,” Edric assured, “Good little lion cubs who follow directions and eat all their vegetables have nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t scare him Edric,” Sansa scolded.

Aegon chuckled as he headed for the door leading out of the tower with Jon and Arya.  All three of them dawned sword belts as they exited.  Arya’s belt held a practice sword modeled after her sword Needle.  Aegon and Jon though carried live steel.

The halls of the Red Keep were mostly empty save for servants going about their morning routines.  A few courtiers were already out and about, the whispers from passing conversations centered around the trial that would be held after midday.  Aegon noticed a few courtiers move to greet him, but most halted at the presence of Jon and Arya.  Many in the court did not know how to react to Jon, or the closeness of the half-brothers.

“Your Graces,” Arys Oakheart appeared around the corner, “I was on my way to report to you.”  He looked to Jon, “Barristan said he was giving you the day off.  Mandon will be along after he finishes breaking his fast to be your shadow.”

“Why?” Jon frowned, “Shouldn’t he be with the King or someone from the main family.”

“You’re my brother, Jon,” Aegon reminded, “I’m the Crown Prince which means if something happens to me the next in line is you then Daenerys.  Stannis and Renly are supporting the Targaryen restoration by relinquishing their claims as Robert’s heirs, but they are still in line for the throne after the three of us.”

“Right,” Jon nodded, “Still getting used to that.”

Arys chuckled, “No problem my prince, so where are we headed.”

“Godswood,” Jon said, “father…Lord Stark is there praying.”

Arys fell into step behind them, “Right, been a bit since I’ve been there.  Was one of Princess…er Lady Myrcella’s favorite places.  Tommen and she would go there to escape Joffrey.  He was terrible to them, but he never bothered them out there.”

It was not Aegon’s first trip to the godswood, he’d gone with the others after their arrival to examine the space.  Renly had informed them a Riverlands Knight of House Blackwood had arrived with several weirwood saplings a moon before they reached King’s Landing.  One had been planted in the godswood to replace the mockery that had been in place since the weirwood planted by Aegon’s ancestors was destroyed during the Dance.

As they entered the gardens that served as the godswood a sound he wasn’t expecting was heard.  His hand went to the sword at his waist as he realized it was the sound of steel crossing steel.  Jon spoke first as they and the kingsguard drew their swords, “Oakheart watch Arya.”

Arys made to retort, but Aegon and Jon were already moving.  They arrived at the weirwood to see Lord Stark engaging with a large man wearing a black cloak.  It was obvious Stark was not having trouble with his opponent but had to split focus as he and the four Northmen guards with him were also engaged by ten cutthroats.

It didn’t take long to figure out how the men made it into the castle as Aegon recognized the man Lord Stark was engaging, “That’s Boros Blunt.”

A growl ripped from Jon’s throat, Aegon noticed Lyanna was guarding Lady Cersei, keeping the cutthroats back but also preventing the direwolf from aiding Lord Stark.  Jon’s growl seemed like a signal as Ghost and Nymeria erupted from the tree line.  While neither direwolf had yet to reach the terrifying proportions of their mother, they were large enough to each remove one of the cutthroats.

The sudden appearance of the wolves threw the ranks of the cutthroats into a panic.

(Earlier)

Cersei entered the godswood with her two guards.  The men waited patiently as she knelt before the sapling.  She felt rather ridiculous praying to such an unimpressive tree, not even a face to focus on.  It was expected of her to spend the morning here in communion with her gods until she faced her former husband and his small council.  She’d admit her guilt before the small council and Lord Stark as the highest authority of the followers of the Old Gods would hand down her punishment.

Her death was not in the cards.  It had irked Robert that both Jaime and she had escaped immediate execution.  Truthfully had the Wall not been an option Jaime would have lost his head at Winterfell.  Instead, he’d garnered a reprieve and would now die of either frostbite or fall fighting the Others. 

Of what Cersei knew of First Men's punishments for women, there were not many that would apply to her crimes.  There wasn’t a rune for adultery, Tywin had permitted branding, and Ned informed her the range of her crimes would warrant several.  Murderer, seductress, and bad faith.  The last one alone was three separate runes unless he requisitioned a single branding iron made with both runes.

Sounds of footsteps behind her signaled people approaching, the identity of which was answered by her guards’ greetings, “Good morrow Lord Stark.”

“Morning lads,” Ned approached the tree and knelt a respectful distance from her.  He’d drawn Ice and had the sword standing before him as he bowed his head, pressing his brow to the cross guard.  The was no greeting for her, nor would she expect one.

A few minutes later the sound of more people approaching drew her attention when they caused the direwolf pacing nearby to snarl, “Damn it Blunt, you said it just be her and a couple guards.  Not a fucking mutant wolf.”

“That ain’t a mutant Lemy, that’s one of those direwolves that follow them Starks all about,” Another man informed his comrade.

Standing Lord Stark looked to the intruders, “What is the meaning of this Ser Blunt, why have you brought these men here?”

“No business of your Stark,” Ser Boros Blunt grunted, “hand over the bitch queen and we all walk away peaceful like.”

The four Stark guards present drew an assortment of swords, axes, maces, and hammers.  Ned stepped to block them from her, “Who sent you?  Tywin, the Faith?”

“Does it matter,” one of the cutthroats following Blunt barked, “we got you outnumbered.”  Cersei could see ten men had accompanied Ser Blunt.

Boros glared the man to silence, “Do you think I actually want to go to the Wall?  I never wanted to join the kingsguard, my brother put my name forward after the damned Rebellion to make nice with Robert.  He wanted to save face after I got dressed down by that stupid mystery knight at Harrenhall.”

Ned’s voice went cold, “You were one of the knights defeated by the Knight of the Laughing Tree?”

Boros scoffed, “Damn sod telling me to teach my feckless squire honor.  The only reason I took the little shit on was to appease my father.  Shit was my cousin, my uncle’s bastard he got on his wife’s handmaid.”

“You should have taken the lesson my late sister gave you to heart Ser,” Ned brought Ice into a defensive position, “This godswood has yet to be christened, I thank you for offering yourselves.”

“Is he barmy?” one of the cutthroats snorted, “There are five of them, a wolf, and a woman.”

Cersei watched as Ned engaged Ser Boros as his direwolf moved to shield her, the former kingsguard may have been the least skilled of his brothers, but he wasn’t completely useless with the sword.  His hired goons though were only armed with a mix of daggers, clubs, and a couple maces.  Their skills were also nothing compared to the hardened training of the Northmen.

While not well versed in martial tactics, she’d spent several turns of the moon with little more than watching the training yard of Winterfell.  Numbers did not matter when men moved as one against a force of uncoordinated ruffians.  To her surprise, mere moments after Ned and Boros crossed swords, two more of the Stark direwolves appeared, each tearing into one of the hired cutthroats.

Shortly after the two wolves, Prince Aegon and Jon appeared.  The new wolves had caused panic in the ruffians, so they were not ready.  Aegon engaged one thug who barely had time to block castle forged steal with a rusty dirk, his shoddy parry left him open and Aegon’s second strike split the mercenary across the stomach.

Jon was not to be outdone by his brother dodging a wild swing of a mace.  The thug had overextended and Jon’s sword took the man’s arm at the elbow joint, the resulting scream was cut short by the pommel of Jon’s sword making contact with the man’s temple.

The princelings had not come alone, as Arys Oakheart emerged from the trees.  His sword blocked a mercenary’s swing at one of the Northmen that would have been fatal.  He pushed the attack back giving an opening for his longsword to open the man from sternum to navel.

With the tables so obviously turned the remaining cutthroats made to run, but another felt the bite of the two younger direwolves.  The remaining four thugs were swiftly disposed of by their Northern opponents.  Cersei returned her focus to Ned and Ser Boros to see the Crownlands knight realize he’d lost.

Changing the angle of his strike, Ned brought Ice’s Valerian Steel blade down on Boros’s sword cleaving it in half.  The point of Ice’s blade opened a gash in the Crownlander’s face.  Backpedaling the knight fell, landing before the weirwood tree.  Ned’s ancestral sword pointed at the man’s throat, “Who sent you?”

Boros spat, “No one, I was going to sell her to Lord Tywin.  Figured he would pay enough for me to live comfortably in Essos, if not him the Faith has a hard-on for her.  They’d pay a ransom to have her turned over to them.”

“You didn’t do this alone,” Ned’s eyes narrowed as the others started gathering around after checking their opponents were no longer a threat, “How did you get these men into the castle?”

Bowing his head Boros began speaking, “There’s an old man, fishes just below the castle.  He’s one of Varys’ guys.  He doesn’t speak but he knows his way through Old Maegor’s hidden passages.”  He looked to Cersei, “She found out about him a couple years ago.  Had me make contact, just in case she and the kids needed a quick escape.”

“A man speaks truthfully,” Cersei turned towards the unfamiliar voice with a Lorathi accent.  A man stood shielding Arya Stark.  The hair on his head was red on one side and white on the other.  While the man appeared unarmed, there was air about him that spoke of danger.

Lord Stark glared at the man, “You.”

“While this man is unfamiliar with the Magnar of Winter,” the man bowed, “he has been warned you would know him by this face.  This face’s name is Jaquen H’ghar, this man’s life is tied to the girl.  The Many-Faced god demands it so.”

“A Faceless Man?” Arys huffed, “Lord Stark if I’d known.”

Ned shook his head, “He just said his life is bound to Arya, he means her no harm.”  Lord Stark turned back to Boros, “As for you, I think your friends have provided enough blood to attract the gods’ attention to this place.  Let’s see how merciful Robert is feeling this morning.”

As Ned motioned to two of the guards to grab Boros, Cersei noticed Jaquen turn to Arya, “A man believes it would be kinder for a girl to give him the foolish knight’s name.”

Chapter Text

(Riverrun)

Edmure Tully was glad to finally see his home after months of travel, he’d not returned since setting out to prevent Blackwood and Bracken from igniting their simmering blood feud into a full-blown war.  He’d kept in touch through messages, though those had been limited during the last few weeks as Riverrun lacked ravens trained to reach the Iron Islands.  They had docked at Seaguard where House Mallister would keep watch over Asha’s longship and barracks a few of her crew who’d be stationed to watch over and prep the ship as needed.

Tristifer and Qarl had drawn the lots to be part of the first watch over the longship.  Edmure had a feeling Cat was the one to arrange that.  Looking back to his eldest sister, his mind fogged over as he corrected himself, his surviving sister.  She was riding next to Asha instructing the young woman on parts of Riverland trivia she’d need as the new Lady of Riverrun.

Jason Mallister had offered the ladies a wheelhouse, but both had politely declined.  Uncommon for a daughter of Lord Paramount, Asha had no servants beyond her crew.  It was not a custom of the Iron Born to send loyal retainers to serve their lady in her new husband’s household.  Asha had reminded him that their servants were thralls, and while not exactly the same as a slave, the difference was lost on the rest of Westeros.

“Edmure,” Catelyn motioned towards the castle, “there is a welcoming committee it seems.”

Centering himself Edmure looked back to see four men approaching on horseback.  In the lead was Uncle Brynden, flanked by Maester Vyman, Utherydes the steward, and Ser Desmond the master-at-arms bringing up the rear.  The four riders halted before them, “Nephew,” Bryden greeted Edmure.

“Uncle,” Edmure returned, “I had not heard word you’d left the Vale.”

“Lord Royce’s suggestion,” Brynden grimaced, “he said it was best I was with my family now, I am needed here it seems.”

“Aye, it is good to see you uncle,” Edmure looked to Vyman, “Maester, how is father?”

Vyman gripped his chain, “Unchanged my lord.  He rallied for a time, but has not woken since your departure.”

Exhaling sharply Edmure looked to Cat who’d urged her horse beside his own, “We should postpone the wedding, it is just words.”

“Father would not want his end to besmirch the future of our house,” Catelyn stated sharply, “We will discuss what is proper in the shelter of the solar.”  She then turned to their uncle, “Uncle Brynden, as Edmure said, it is good to see you.”

“Cat,” Brynden nodded, “When I’d heard what happened in Winterfell I was tempted to ride out and knock some sense into Eddard.  Setting you aside for a Dornish wench he’d bedded just days after the two of you said your vows here.”

“Vows that were empty,” Catelyn grimaced, “Ned and Ashara had already spoken their own vows of intent to their shared gods.”  Edmure frowned as Catelyn sent a heated look at their uncle, “Did Father know of that when he demanded Ned marry me in place of Brandon?”

Brynden grimaced, “Aye, I was in the solar when your father spoke with Eddard and Jon.  Eddard revealed he could not take you as his wife as he’d already sworn to take another.  Jon offered to wed Lysa instead, but your father wanted more.  He was dead set on having you become Lady of Winterfell.  Even insulted Eddard by saying a vow to a tree was worth as much as the leaves one uses to wipe their arse on a campaign.”

“Surprised the Magnar didn’t strike the man down where he stood,” Asha Greyjoy moved her horse to Edmure’s other side, “Even on the Iron Islands we don’t insult the gods of Earth and Tree and expect a clean death.”

Vyman chuckled, “Iron Born don’t do well so far inland.”

“Aye, but we do not fear man nor beast, it be the gods who have a grudge against us,” Asha smirked, “I made it to where Winter Fell and back to Pyke without being struck down, think I’m winning them over.”

“Vyman,” Edmure narrowed his gaze at the man, “Asha is my lady wife, I will not allow you to speak to her in such a manner.”

Vyman gulped, “Pardon my lord.  I’m from the Reach originally, there has never been but bad blood between us and those of the Iron Islands.”

Edmure huffed, “Do I need to summon a new maester, or will you be able to see past your own prejudice to do your duty.”

“I am here to serve,” Vyman bowed his head.

Utherydes coughed, “My lord, you called Lady Asha your wife, I thought the ceremony was to be held here.  We have already dispatched invitations to your lords and kinfolk.”

“We are wed as the custom of the Iron Born,” Edmure clarified, “but such ceremonies are not recognized by the Faith.  As such we will have to have a second ceremony following the will of the Seven.”

“Understood,” Utherydes frowned, “does that mean the Lady will be staying with you, or the chambers of the Lady of Riverrun.”

Asha grimaced and Edmure looked to Catelyn.  His sister spoke authoritatively, “Lady Asha will remain in her own quarters.”  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Edmure, “Lord Tully will refrain from his husbandly duties until after the wedding.”

“Understood my lady,” Utherydes swallowed, “I have made ready your rooms Lady Catelyn, it is good to have you home.  Even if the reasons behind such are less than ideal.”

Edmure squeezed Catelyn’s hand as she quietly thanked the steward.  He knew from the council at Winterfell there would be no way for Catelyn and Eddard to reconcile.  There was just too much plotting in motion.  The old lion, while wounded by the actions of his children was not toothless and was stalking about even placing agents close to the heir of Winterfell.  The sun vipers of Dorn had also coiled around the wolves, even claiming both of Edmure’s nieces in a way.  Sansa to the Crown Prince and plotting to match Arya with Doran’s youngest son.  The roses had Robb and Winterfell within their thorny grip.

Upon reaching Riverrun, Catelyn immediately went to visit their father.  Edmure showed Asha the castle, including the lock system used to defend the side not naturally protected by the rivers.  Showing her the godswood he was surprised to find one of Lord Blackwood's sons in a standoff with Riverrun’s Septon.  The old man was berating him about bringing a symbol of a heathen religion into Riverrun.

Behind the Blackwood knight, a sapling with white bark and red leaves had been planted in the mound of soil where a weirwood tree had stood before the coming of the Andals.  Riverrun was built on this land after the Andal invasion, the tree had been felled before House Tully started construction.  Legend stated the mound was also the grave of many Children of the Forest who’d been slaughtered when the Rivermen knelt to Andal rule and faith.

Asha gripped Edmure’s arm tightly as the Septon continued berating the knight and demanding the tree be ripped out and burned.  Stepping forward Edmure spoke evenly, “Ser Blackwood is completing a task I requested of him.”  The man of the Faith looked flabbergasted as Edmure looked at the younger knight, “Was your other task as successful?”

“Yes, my lord,” the knight looked to Asha, “my lady the message was received and understood by the intended recipient.  He rode from the God’s Eye with me, we parted on the road, he goes to complete the last order he received from The Unlikely, then he will return to his sworn duty.”

Asha nodded before releasing Edmure’s arm and moving toward the sapling, “Thank you, Ser Blackwood, you completed a task I had intended to do myself.  Had I not become ill.”

“The God’s Eye is wrought with dangers,” the knight bowed his head, “few who set foot there are ever seen again.  Though I was there mere hours, I heard many voices, the sources of which I could not see.  The content of what the voices said made no sense.  I heard two men arguing over whether Rhaenyra or Aegon were the rightful heir of Viserys.  I heard a man and woman saying vows in the tongue of the First Men, then speaking with others unseen in the common tongue.”

“The island remembers all that occurs on its shores,” Asha placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, they were closer in age, “For the service you rendered House Tully, you will always find shelter under our roof.”

Edmure nodded his agreement, “Seek the steward and tell him I requested a chamber be made ready for your use.  I will have Maester Vyman send word to Raventree Hall that you arrived safely at Riverrun and remain as our guest.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the knight calmly walked back towards the castle interior.

Once the man was out of earshot the Septon regained himself, “My lord, you should not shelter that man.  He has set foot on a wicked accursed place.  Who knows what evils cling to him.”

“That man,” Edmure snarled, “swallowed his own fears to set foot on land held so sacred by the faith of his forefathers that even the thought of tainting it with one's footprints is deemed a sacrilege.  He did not fear demons, he feared offending his gods.  Gods that permitted him to pass through their most sacred lands, to bring forth a living symbol of their power.”

Asha knelt before the sapling, “Many have set foot on the God’s Eye, but few have been given the honor of leaving those shores.”

The Septon scoffed, “It has become a trend it seems.  Many Reacher knights have sought out saplings for their Houses, even Lord Tyrell’s son is said to have made the trip.  One of Lord Blackwood’s other sons made the trek and delivered multiple saplings to King’s Landing.”

“You hear that Asha,” Edmure chuckled, “the gods are smiling upon the blood of the First Men once more.  Mayhap they will forgive your people their cowardice of the last Long Night.”

“I’ll believe that the day I win a round of dice against you, my lord,” Asha turned to face the tree and bowed her head in prayer.

(King’s Landing)

Robert Baratheon was furious, at least that was the general consensus of his small council and the courtiers that had gathered when word came Ser Boros Blount was dragged to the throneroom by his former sworn brother, with an escort that included the King’s Hand, recently instated Crown Prince, said Crown Prince’s brother, the Hand’s younger daughter, and the recently dethroned queen.

Robert sat fuming on the throne, had his war hammer been in reach there would definitely be at least one fewer breathing person in the throne room.  His glare went from his former wife to his former kingsguard.  Blount was a Crownslander so it was a stretch to say he’d done this under the orders of Tywin Lannister.

The only man probably angrier than Robert was Barristan the Bold, Selmy stood with his three remaining brothers facing their fallen brother.  Robert had given Blount permission to turn his cloak to black just the previous day, and here he was the sole survivor of a group that had snuck into the castle to spirit away the disgraced queen.

As Robert fumed, Ned and Renly were doing their duties as Hand and Master of Laws respectively.  Most questions from Renly would receive little more than a grunt in affirmative or negative.  In all truth, Robert wasn’t mad that this occurred, just mad that the idiot Boros got caught.  Even Ned didn’t buy that Boros was intending to ransom Cersei to Tywin or even to the Faith.  Tywin had all but disowned his daughter publically, but if any harm were to befall her the perpetrators would find a new understanding of suffering at the whim of the Old Lion.  The Faith on the other hand wouldn’t pay for Cersei, they’d expect her to be turned over to them as an act of faithful devotion and a desire to see true justice done.

Robert watched as Boros kept his mouth shut on who was supporting his actions during the interrogation in front of the small council and gathered nobles.  It was as Boros was spinning a tale about planning to bribe the Stark guards to turn Cersei over to him that Robert’s eyes met Neds, and he knew.  Eddard had spent far too long cleaning up Robert’s messes not to see the signs.  Ned’s eyes narrowed in exasperation before he turned to Boros and spoke, “I take it whomever you were working for promised you a fate other than your remaining days on the Wall?”

Boros nodded, “Aye, I’d be on the next ship to Essos.”

“I see,” Ned whistled and Lyanna stalked out of the shadows to stand at his side, “I cannot fault a man that fears his fate.”  He motioned to the blackened stones where decades ago his own father had been murdered, “I am sure when my father was cooked in his own armor that he had feared.  Fears for my brother who soon joined him in death, fear for me, my younger brother, and my sister whose fate was at the time unknown.”  Ned’s eyes hardened, “The one thing I know he did not fear was his own death.  He lived a good life, was honorable, and remained loyal to the oaths he swore.  He knew the reward waiting for him in the next life.  It sickens me, that a man such as you can call yourself a knight.”

Boros gulped as Lyanna stalked closer, the upper part of her muzzle curling back as a low growl began, “Please, Lord Hand, call it off.”

“What would you have done if my men chose not to accept your bribes?”  Ned’s growl echoed that of his dire wolf, “What would have been their fate had they proven themselves better men than you?  Men who kept to their oaths and duties, men that did not fear death because they know their reward does not come in this life.”

“We’d have just knocked them out,” Boros pleaded, “I’m not stupid, we kill your men you’d have your wolves dining on our innards with by the next moon.”

Robert gulped as the wolf bearing the name of his lost love bared down on the disgraced knight, “Lord Stark, we don’t execute prisoners in the throne room, or by the wolf, at least in the Crownlands.”

“As you command,” Ned exhaled, “Lyanna, here.”

The dire wolf made a false lunge, snapping her jaws inches from Ser Blount’s face.  As the wolf stalked back to stand behind Lord Stark she continued to send Blount a hungry look.  Robert could almost see the wolf feeding off Ned’s desire to send poor Boros to whatever counted as hell for the followers of the Old Gods.

Standing Robert sighed, “Ser Boros Blunt for your actions in attempting to free the former queen and the assault on those in the godswood this morning including my cousins the crown prince, and his brother.  I’d offer you the Wall, but seeing as you did all this to escape that fate, you’ll be remanded to the black cells until we figure out an execution that appeases all parties involved.”  As Boros was escorted away, Ned and Renly took their places with the rest of the small council.  Robert looked to where Cersei stood under guard, “Since we’re all here.  Let’s be done with this farce.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion stepped forward, “my father and niece are still at the manse if you’d permit me the time to send a message.”

Robert grumbled, but a look from Ned made him exhale, “Fine,” exasperatedly he looked around the room, seeing Arya’s new shadow, “Ned, who is that Lorathi with your daughter.”

Ned was about to speak but Syrio quickly cut in, “Pardon my lord, your grace.  I should have informed you sooner.  Jarquen H’ghar is an old student of mine.  I summoned him when I realized I’d not be able to be in two places at once to train both Lord Stark’s daughters as well as the Princess.  He will be accompanying the girl when she travels south.”

Robert noticed the appreciative look the Lorathi gave the Braavosi.  Board already he stepped down to where Aegon and Jon stood, “So lads, your first real taste of fighting.  What’d you think?”

“If we always have the advantage of surprise we’ll never lose,” Aegon rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “To be honest though, I’ve fought before.  I grew up on ships, pirates are always looking for people to sell into slavery.”

Jon nodded, “Nothing like fighting pirates, but Robb and I have gotten dragged into a bar brawl or two caused by Theon.”

Robert snorted as Ned groaned, “Guessing your thrice-damned visions didn’t show your boys getting into the same scrapes we did back in the day.”

“No,” Ned sighed, “and those scrapes were your and Denys's fault mind you.”

“Can’t argue that,” Robert looked back to the two young men, he couldn’t call them boys anymore.  They’d drawn live steel and ended the lives of men.  The cutthroats they’d killed may not have been the best warriors in the land, but they were still men and men who would have killed Aegon and Jon had they not done them first. 

Robert looked to where Gendry stood with the Hound, while Sandor served Tywin, he was currently working for Lord Stark.  Sandor and Gendry would be escorting Arya and Edric Dayne to Starfall before returning to King’s Landing.  Robert was already considering who would take on Gendry as a squire, he couldn’t very well let the boy go to the Westerlands, only a fool hands over a potential hostage so easily.  As Aegon had said, House Baratheon was in a perilous position, no thanks to Robert’s own foolishness.

“Gendry,” Robert motioned to a door behind the throne, “Cabinet in the small council chambers, two oil cloth wrappings, bring them here.”

Gendry gave a curt nod before following the directions.  Quickly he returned with the two items in question.  Robert had been surprised when the barmy old raven dragon had presented them.  He’d been less surprised by one than the other.  Making sure which was which he handed one sword to each young man, “Next time you two get into a scuffle, let these remind people where your blood comes from.”

Sharing a look Aegon and Jon removed the oil cloths protecting the swords.  Not that the cloths were necessary.  Aegon’s eyes widened as he uncovered then unsheathed Blackfyre.  Jon’s jaw widened as he pulled Dark Sister.  Aegon gulped, “How?”

“Bloodraven,” Robert explained, “He’d always had Dark Sister with him, figured it was time it passed on to another wielder.  As for Blackfyre, that’s a bit of a tale.  Apparently, Aenys Blackfyre brought the sword back to Westeros when he was invited to present his claim to the throne at the Great Council.”

Robert looked sternly at the blade, “Regardless of the shite the Maesters write in their books.  Bloodraven did not intend to murder Aenys.  He meant for the Great Council to finally end the Blackfyre question, just as the previous ones upheld sons and their lines inherited before the lines of daughters.”

Jon looked at the sword in his hand, “If he meant for him to speak, why did he murder him and present his head?”

Sighing Robert rested his hand on Jon’s shoulder, “Love my boy, it makes fools of us all.  Everyone speaks of the Black Dragon, Bittersteel, and Bloodrave.  Some forget not all of Aegon the Fourth’s bastards were sons.  Brynden’s full sisters died in the Great Spring Sickness, leaving only him and his paramour loyal to their father’s house.  Their half-sister the Seastar vanished in two-eleven, most believed she had died only the Targaryen and Baratheons knew the truth.  She’d been taken by Bittersteel.”

Aegon’s jaw fluttered as it clenched, “Aenys told Bloodraven her fate?”

“In great detail,” Robert shook his head, “the dumb shit abused the rite of safe conduct to stab him with words harsher than any knife.  To reveal the woman he loved had been beaten, tortured, and abused in ways too horrible to even think.  Any man would have done as Brynden Rivers had.  Aegon the Fifth agreed.  Grandfather could not pardon the murder but he could show lenience.”

Aegon swallowed, “He sent Bloodraven to the Wall, and he took both swords.”

“Had Blackfyre remained in King’s Landing it could have incited the rest of Aenys kin.  They were already upset that the murderer was permitted to keep his head.  Reclaiming the ancestral sword would only make it seem like The Fifth supported the act.”  Robert nodded to the sword, “Brynden felt no good came from these swords back then.  Now as weapons that can defeat the Others, it’s time these blades redeem some of the honor they once held.  In the hands of those who respect the power they grant, the power to deem who lives and dies.”

Aegon’s brows rose, “They’re swords, I get how they can take life, but how do they deem who lives?”

A chuckle came from Robert, “The same way, you grant someone their life by protecting them from whatever tries to kill them.”

(Winterfell)

“Wow,” Rickon charged ahead of his brother and good sister as the massive forms entered by ducking beneath the gatehouse of the outer wall.  Margaery gasped and reached to stop the boy, but Osha shook her head.

The older woman smirked, “They will not harm him.”

Robb could only blink as the shorter of the two giants lowered his arm to allow Rickon to clamber up using the being’s shaggy hair.  A boisterous laugh came from behind the giants as Lord Umber and his son rode into the gate, “See the pup of Winterfell has achieved something his brothers have never done.”

Small Jon Umber chuckled, “I’m sure Lord Bran will still have enough of the North in him to try.”

“Aye,” Great Jon dismounted and approached Robb, “My lord, it feels like yesterday I was here last.  A bit quieter than last time.”

Robb smirked, “A couple months, it has been quiet around here, but it is good to see you again Great Jon.”  Robb motioned to the Giants, “Who are your friends here?”

“The greybeard is Mag the Might, sort of a Magnar in his own right.  The bigger one is Wun Wun, it is best to use their brief names full names would get yeh tongue tied in knots and one wrong pronunciation, and you're likely propositioning to bed their sister.”  Great Jon chuckled, “Oh, and how’s your Old Tounge, they don’t know common.”

“Decent,” Robb mused, “you attended my wedding.”

A snort came from Great Jon, “My youngest can recite the wedding vows.  You’re talking to them, not marrying them.”

Margaery smirked as Rickon settled on Mag the Mighty’s shoulder, “Little Wolf, what have we told you about riding?”

“He’s a giant, not a dire wolf,” Rickon called back down.

Placing her hands on her hips Margaery sighed with feigned exasperation, “That is even worse, would you jump on Great Jon and expect him to carry you all over Winterfell?”

Rickon hesitated before looking at Mag and speaking in the Old Tounge, “Is it okay?”  At the giant’s nod, the boy smiled and yelled down, “He doesn’t mind.”

Tormund exited the keep, “Ah, Mag and Wun  Wun,” he frowned, “Hey what you doing up there pup?”

“He says it's okay,” Rickon called down.

Tormund sulked, “Whenever I asked to scout from your shoulder all I get is a snarl.”

“You are also a fully grown man,” Robb patted the Free Folk leader’s shoulder, “speaking of where is Styr.”

“Inside,” Tormund pointed a the door as Styr exited laiden with bags.

The Thenn leader glared, “You volunteered us, why am I carrying all this?”

“I didn’t mean to volunteer us in particular,” Tormund growled back, “I just said to Mance it would look like a nice gesture if a couple of us went with the pup to visit his mum for this wedding thing.  I was thinking he’d send Val and one of the others, maybe your son.”

Osha shook her head at the pair, “If a hair on the Little Lord’s or Beth’s heads is out of place neither of you will have any more sons or daughters.”  Both men paled as the spear wife narrowed her eyes at them, “One hair, understood.”

Styr gulped as Jory approached followed by Lancel and Beth.  His eyes went to the man, “You are a braver man than most.  You willingly stay as your wife gets heavy with child.”

“I’d be more worried about what happens to me when I got back,” Jory looked to the younger pair behind him, “Lancel if my cousin does not return in the manner she left.”

Lancel gulped, “I assure you, she will be well and unharmed.  You have my word.”

Great Jon laughed, “Don’t be so skittish boy, you touch her unwantedly and there are places in the Neck where no one will find you.”

Beth rolled her eyes, “Just because Father is in King’s Landing doesn’t mean you need to act like brutish barbarians Southerners think we are.”

“It’s not an act Beth,” Robb walked over to her and guided her towards the giants, “but the truth is you’re the only daughter House Cassel has.  As the acting Lord of Winterfell, it is my responsibility to ensure your safety.”  Robb called over his shoulder, “One hair Lannister, one hair out of place and you will understand the meaning of Winter is Coming.”

Another gulp came from Lancel.  Kevan appeared at his shoulder, “Do not worry son, I know you won’t do anything foolish.”  Lancel nodded, “Now as for why you are getting the stinkeye from everyone born North of the Neck.  It’s been noted that you and Beth have been seen around the keep.”

“Father,” Lancel started but his father halted him.

“I am not opposed to the match, but you will need the blessing of Tywin.  Your uncle is a difficult man, even when we do not live directly under his thumb.  I cannot give you details, but he does not always react well when he is opposed to a match.”  Kevan looked to where Beth was coaxing her young charge from the giant’s shoulder, “We need the North, and with Lord Stark’s daughters all but spoken for.  A House so closely tied to House Stark would be beneficial.”

Lancel nodded, “I understand Father, but Uncle should know I serve House Stark now.  I will always be a Lannister, but my duty is to guard those under my charge, even if that means defying the Lord of the Rock.”

“Braver men than you have said those words son,” Kevan smirked, “but none of them were lions.  I know not if Tywin intends to attend Lord Edmure’s wedding, he should be returning to the Rock by then.  Send word once your party makes it south of the Neck.  With the giants and their mammoths, you should be able to avoid the Twins, my sister wrote that she and her husband have journeyed to King’s Landing, they will no doubt make an appearance at the heir of Riverrun’s wedding to mend the ties between House Frey and their liege lord’s House.”

A few hours later Lancel sat at a campfire as Beth prepared the evening meal humming a song in the Old Tongue.  Lancel was the only one at the site who couldn’t understand the words.  The melody was slow and the tone of words carried a deep sadness.

When she finished he asked, “What was that song?”

“No actual name, but it’s a lament for days and things gone,” Beth looked to the two Umbers and the two Free Folk that made up the rest of Rickon’s guard along with the two giants, “The First Men came to Westeros, and we made war with the Giants and Children of the Forest.  Only making peace when the Long Night fell upon us and the Others came.  After that, we lived in peace, side by side like this.”

Styr sighed, “Until the kneelers came.”

Lancel frowned, “What?”

Tormund snorted, “You think we Free Folk have always been North of the wall?  Do you think we saw the Builder putting it up and said, oh that land up there looks nice we’ll go live there with the murderous ice people and wights?”

“The Andals came,” Small Jon said plainly, “with their Seven, torches, and steel axes.  They cut down the weirwoods wherever they were found.  They persecuted our people.  It was either convert or die.  Those who could, fled to the North, the one place the Andals could not follow.”

Great Jon grumbled, “Most were small folk, but life in the North is harsh.  Our ancestors could not care for all those who came seeking shelter.  The gates in the Wall have always been as there were a few settlements beyond the wall.  At the time they were outposts of the Night’s Watch most likely to observe the activity of the Others and provide supplies for the Watch.”

“Being forced to live beyond the Wall created animosity between those who lived beyond and those who lived on this side.”  Beth explained, “Even then most people began second-guessing the Others’ continued survival.”

“Have the people of the North always known the Free Folk were refugees of the Andal invasion?” Lancel asked.

Great Jon shook his head, “No, but the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is an old friend.  His people have been scouring the castles along the Wall for all the information they can find.  In one fort he found documents detailing the resettlement of refugees into the Haunted Forest.  In another keep, there was a journal with entries detailing the former refugees denouncing the laws and customs of those hiding behind the Wall.  Probably the first recorded usage of the terms Wildling and Free Folk.”

Rickon pipped up from where he sat leaning against Shaggy Dog, “Why did the Andals hurt and chase our people  Septon Chayle is nice?”

“One tolerant Septon doesn’t change what less scrupulous men of his order did,” Great Jon huffed, “Had the Andals not come, or had come in peace.  We’d have been much better off.”

Styr grumbled, “We take back what we lost.”

A snort came from Tormund, “You Thenn are always thick-headed.”  He indicated to Beth, “You forget the meaning of that song.  It laments the passing of time, that what once was is not likely to return.  Too much time has passed, too much blood on the stones.  You know as well as I, the giants' numbers have been dwindling for centuries.  Regardless of how the fight with the Others goes, the giants will vanish from this world eventually.”

Rickon looked to where Mag and Wun Wun sat near their mammoths, “Why are they going to vanish?”

“Giants aren’t like us, and because of that, normally when they come into contact with men.”  Tormund grimaced, “Normally it doesn’t end well for them.  To be honest even for those of us from beyond the Wall.  We harass them as bad as anyone else.”

Styr leaned towards Rickon and smirked, “Not all of us have the wolf’s blood little lord.  The blood of the First, the pact maker, the chosen son of the Old Gods.”

Lancel looked at the Thenn leader seriously, “The Starks have wared with your people as often as anyone else, and even some kings and lords of Winterfell were slain by Free Folk.  Yet you speak of them as being important.”

“Death comes for all, little lion.” Tormund chuckled, “Even the great men of the Age of Heroes succumbed to that truth.”

(King’s Landing)

Tywin found his place among the courtier’s gallery.  Knowing that what was to come would be hardest for his grandchildren he’d made sure to find Tommen and reunite him with Mrycella.  Which put him near the Starks and their plethora of guards and wolves.  Tyrion’s message had included the incident in the godswood, that Boros Blount had brought his name into that sordid affair would not be forgotten.

“Lord Lannister,” plastering a benevolent smile on his face the Lord of Casterly Rock turned to Lady Sansa, “Lady Sansa, how fair you this morn.”

“It was better before my betrothed and brother happened upon father being accosted in the godswood.”  Lady Sansa's tone was edged.  The girl was still young and while recent events had shredded some of her naivete, she was not the tortured girl turned into a hardened Queen of the North the visions showed.  Tywin did not need her to become that type of Queen, the Seven Kingdoms would need a queen the like Rhaella could have been had Aerys not become the broken thing he became.  A mother to the people, one who they could feel would both love and protect them from the horrors to come.  “I wish I could warn you father’s decision, but he has not shared it with any of us.”

Tywin’s smile tightened, it was saying something that Cersei still drew breath after the morning’s altercation.  Lord Stark was a man of his word, Cersei would leave King’s Landing with her head, but her fate after that was unsure.

Murmuring from the gallery quieted as Lord Stark moved to stand before the throne.  Robert sat on the high seat uncomfortably, at the base of the stairs leading to the throne Aegon and Jon stood on either side.  In front of them, all the four remaining members of the kingsguard stood in a line.  Ned motioned for the remainder of the gallery to quiet, “Bring forth Lady Cersei Lannister.”

Seeing his daughter being escorted forward like a common criminal irked him.  He did not know if it was the simple sight of his daughter being treated so, or if it was the fact that she’d done this to herself.  Cersei just so happened to stop on the charred stones where the fire that killed Rickard Stark had been set.  Tywin grimaced as that was the same spot he’d had his men lay Elia and the children's bodies.

A moment of pause and Ned continued speaking, “Lady Cersei, you have been accused of multiple offenses to the crown.  How do you answer these accusations?”

“Guilty,” Cersei answered smoothly, “I have confessed my sins and penance from my gods for my crime.  The gods have condemned me to life and the whim of men.”

Ned nodded, “You claim the Old Gods as your own.”

“I do,” Cersei responded, “I am the blood of the First Men through the union of the last daughter of the Magnar of the Rock who married the Andal Joffrey Lydden.  Their descendants kept the name Lannister and proclaimed themselves Kings of the Rock.  The gods of Earth and Tree trace my path, I have erred.”

Looking to the throne Eddard spoke to Robert, “Your Grace.”

“By the laws of the Conciliator, those who profess the Old Gods and are true may request the Lord of Winterfell to hear their plea.” Robert grumbled, “Just so happens he and the Lord Hand are one and the same today.  The Crown will accept the decision of your ruling Lord Stark.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lord Stark’s eyes hardened, if the man’s eyes could harden anymore then he’d actually freeze people.  Tywin gulped as the Hand turned back to Cersei, “Lady Cersei Lannister, you have lain with your brother a sworn member of the kingsguard.  You have passed your incestual offspring as the trueborn children of the king.  You have plotted and enacted the murders of numerous women and children, not the least of which included the late Princess Elia and her daughter Princess Rhaenys.”

Cersei knelt and bowed her head, “I will accept your judgment.”

“You have broken your vows as a wife.  You have taken in malice and unjust cause that which the gods gifted.”  Ned growled, “For these crimes, I would see you hung from the branches of a weirwood, but the gods have spoken.  You sought their judgment in Winterfell, and they condemned you to live in your guilt for your remaining days.  The laws of man must also be appeased.  For that reason, I exile you to the Isle of Faces within the God’s Eye.”

Tywin’s teeth clinched, it was not as bad as it could have been, but it wasn’t good.  Exile meant Cersei would live, but the Isle of Faces wasn’t Essos.  At least there he could support her, and arrange an advantageous match that both benefited him and ensured his daughter was comfortable in her banishment.

He looked at his grandchildren, Mrycella’s eyes were misty and she was tightly holding Lady Sansa’s hand as the older girl tried to console her.  Tommen was trying to keep his composure, Bran Stark next to him coaxing him to keep his head up and not allow the tears briming in his eyes to fall.  Tywin sighed as it was time for him to play his part.

Stepping forward Tywin loomed over his daughter, “Your Grace, as the disgraced Lady Cersei’s father, I apologize for the dishonor she has shown yourself and your House.  I request my daughter’s two younger children be legitimized as Lannisters and placed in the line of succession for my house as the children of their true father Jaime Lannister who is now a member of the Night’s Watch.”

Robert stood from the throne, “Granted, Mrycella Baratheon, who in truth is Myrcella Waters will henceforth be Myrcella Lannister.  Tommen Baratheon, who in truth is Tommen Waters will henceforth be Tommen Lannister.  Tommen as the legitimized son of his father,” Robert spat the name, “Jaime Lannister formerly of the kingsguard and now a Brother of the Night’s Watch, is the acknowledged heir of House Lannister of Casterly Rock.  Following him is Mrycella Lannister, who in turn is followed by their uncle, Tyrion Lannister the current Master of Coin.”

Tywin bowed to the king, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aegon spoke up, “What of Joffrey Waters?  He remains in Winterfell.”

“I have no need for a mad and crippled heir,” Tywin stated coldly, “it is well known the things that boy has done while flaunting his supposed position as the Crown Prince.  Butchering a pregnant cat, tormenting his younger siblings, and treating those loyal to him as less than human.  The Starks treat their wolves better than Joffrey did his own sworn shield.”

Robert huffed, “Joffrey Waters will remain at Winterfell until such time as he is deemed capable of something of benefit to the Night’s Watch.  At such time it is deemed so he will take his vows at Winterfell and be sent to join his father at the Wall.”  Robert glared at Tywin, “For the continued care for the boy, House Lannister will pay House Stark recompense until such time as Joffrey Water’s is sent to the Wall.”

Ned spoke up, “In lieu of recompense House Stark will foster Tommen Lannister.”

“Agreed,” Tywin nodded to Ned, he then looked to Robert, “If there is nothing else I request my daughter be transferred to my custody to see that her punishment be enacted.”

Robert scoffed, “You expect me to trust you will see your beloved daughter marooned on the Isle of Faces?”

“It is not only your House she has dishonored, Your Grace,” Tywin sent a glare at Cersei, “I mean to see she is prepared to live out her days in seclusion.”

Shaking his head Robert sat back on his throne, “She remains in the maiden vault until the day you depart the city.  I will send men to ensure it is she who is dumped on the Isle of Face and not someone else.  I will permit the continued visitation of her children as they were in Winterfell until you depart.  All other visitors must be approved by myself or the small council.”

“Understood,” Tywin paused, “In regards to this morning’s incident, would you permit me to add House Lannister men to her guard.”

“Aye, but I’ll be adding House Baratheon guards, men she hasn’t known from my brother Stannis’ retinue.”  Robert declared, “I’ll also have the Master of Whispers lend a couple Martell guards.  Let the former queen have one last honor guard.”

(Riverrun)

Catelyn sat sewing in her father’s chambers, the light from the hearth flickering across the room creating harsh shadows.  A knock at the door drew her attention, “Come.”

Asha entered carrying a tray, “You didn’t come down for dinner.”  She crossed to a table and sat the tray down.

Sighing Catelyn set her sewing aside, “You could have just sent a servant.”

“Still a little strange bossing people here around,” Asha glanced to the bed, “That’s him, Hoster Tully?”

A sad smile came to her face as Catelyn looked at her prone father, “Yes, it’s hard to imagine.  To me, Father always seemed so strong.”

Asha swallowed, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Vyman is not completely sure,” Catelyn grimaced, “He fell ill two years ago, I had hoped to visit with the children before his condition deteriorated so.  The situation in the North did not permit me to journey far often.”

“You mean Jon,” Asha stated.

Catelyn sighed, “To my shame yes, had I shown the boy the modicum of faith he showed me in respect.  My nephew did everything to prove his loyalty to my children, and every attempt I viewed as part of a plot to take what was theirs.”  Catelyn looked to Asha, “Your father has bastards does he not.”

“Perhaps,” Asha shrugged, “He’d had a salt wife or two in his youth.  Any Pykes that claim him as a father wouldn’t have any dreams of inheriting the Iron Islands.  The best they could hope for is a captaincy if they were a boy.  Girls would find themselves the salt wives of the Lord Reaver’s favored captains.”

Catelyn snorted, “Send word to your brother that if he comes across any girls with the surname Pyke secret them to the Riverlands.  We will find appropriate Houses for them to find employment with.  Anything would be better than being a reaver’s mistress.”

“I might have made it sound more sordid,” Asha mused, “Children of salt wives may be viewed as bastards, but they and their mothers are still treated with respect.  Like I told you before Uncle Victarion was incensed when Crow Eye murdered his salt wife.  For women in the Iron Islands, there are few ways to protect yourself.  If you are not the wife or daughter of a respected captain or a ruling family, your lot is little better than a girl born to Thralls.”  Asha mused, “Boys with the name Pyke that know their father have their kinfolk to fall back on.  If they got trueborn brothers they know there will always be a ship to serve on, and if their father has no trueborn son.  Well, the contest to prove one’s worth to be given the family name can be heated.”

“At least on the mainland we know the paths of succession,” Catelyn looked to her motionless father, “I know it will be some weeks, but I hope he can hold on long enough so his grandchildren can meet him.”

Asha sighed, “Speaking of,” when Catelyn looked at her she continued, “You can stop giving your brother the stink eye, I am not with child.  Just late.”

A relieved sigh came from Catelyn, “Thank the Mother,” she looked sternly at the girl, “I know you needed to dance that mummer’s farce to appease your father.  I would not wish Edmure and your first child to be born of such deplorable acts.  You are not just a broodmare for my brother, you are his wife and Lady of Riverrun.”

“I know good sister,” Asha smirked, “now eat, I will sit with my good father while you do.”

(King’s Landing)

Robert sat in his solar with Lord Stark pacing like the wolf on his heraldry.  By the hearth, Lyanna lay, but her head was poised watching the King.  Sighing, Robert finally grew tired of the silence, “Speak damn it.”

“You were behind Ser Blount’s actions this morning,” Ned snarled, “how could you?”

Robert grimaced, “A moment of weakness.” The King rubbed his brow, “After you left my solar when Ser Blount was informing he was departing the kingsguard for the watch.  I started thinking about Jaime, about how many times the smarmy shit and his sister were doing each other behind my back.  Boros admitted he was more often than not the one guarding Cersei the nights they were together.  He swore he didn’t know what they were doing, the damn idiot.”

“So you hired him to abduct Cersei?” Ned sighed, “To what end?”

“Honestly,” Robert shrugged, “I don’t know.  I knew Boros wasn’t going to the Wall by choice.  It’s the only option for knights who willingly leave the kingsguard.  I was angry, was really looking forward to seeing that bitch’s head parted from her body.”

Exhaling sharply Ned sat across from Robert, “Can’t say I don’t know how you feel.  The moment I awoke after the visions.  There was a list of people I wanted to kill.  People who harmed my kin, people whose very existence caused nothing but chaos, and those whose arrogance led to the death of everything.”

“What stayed your hand?” Robert leaned forward, “Not just your vaunted honor.”

“We both know honor is for children Robert,” Ned growled, “it's an ideal to live and strive for, but when dealing with people like the Lannisters and Baelish, it’s a paper shield at best.”  Ned looked to Lyanna, “What truly stayed my hand was Lord Tywin.  He walked into Winterfell knowing full well he’d baited the wolf by informing me he knew Jon’s heritage.  Even before realizing I too had been granted the visions he knew to protect my sister’s son, I would make the Reins of Castemere equate to a nursery rhyme in comparison to what I’d to the Lannisters.  After realizing I had the visions he fully expected he'd walked into an early grave.”

Robert snorted, “What did he do to prevent that?”

“He proved to me to be a man who could put his personal feelings aside for the betterment of the realm,” Ned said coldly, “True he was grasping at Mrycella and Tommen to salvage his House and keep it from passing the Tyrion.  This same man started a war because Catelyn arrested Tyrion falsely believing he’d hired a catspaw to kill Bran.”

Robert blinked, “Why would anyone send someone to kill your boy?”

Ned frowned, “Events at Winterfell went much differently in the worlds of the vision.  Jon did not encounter you in the crypts for one, you paid your respects immediately upon arrival.  Catelyn’s prejudice kept the boy out of your sight the rest of your stay which was much shorter.  One day we went on a hunt, and while we were afield, the kingslayer and your wife satiated their carnal desires in the Broken Tower.  While they were doing so Bran was climbing the exterior of the tower.   When he reached the window to the chamber they were using he saw them.  Before he could flee the kingslayer caught him, and threw him from the tower.”

Robert paled, “Ned.”

“Bran survived but even before he woke the Maester told us it was not likely he’d ever walk again.”  Ned’s eyes hardened, “While telling this to your wife you made a comment about it being better that Bran did not wake to a life as a cripple.”

“I swear Ned,” Robert shook his head.

“I know it wasn’t you,” Ned sighed, “It was Joffrey, he overheard you and in his own demented way he thought he was doing Bran a favor and impressing you.  He gave the catspaw a Valarian steel dagger you won gambling with Baelish.”

“The dagger,” Robert grimaced, “How did it lead you to know Joffrey was behind the attempt.”

Ned shook his head, “It was through Baelish that our suspicions were aimed at the Lannisters.  The prat knew exactly what Catelyn would do, he named Tyrion as the owner of the dagger, claiming the imp bet against his brother at a tourney.  We’d also been led to believe the Lannisters were behind Jon Arryn’s death.  We were all dancing to Littelfinger’s tune.”

“A tune that has been permanently silenced,” Robert sighed, “What are we going to do about Blount?”

“Regardless of who put him up to it,” Ned frowned, “he attacked my men and me.  Had Aegon, Jon, Arys, and the wolves not happened upon us, things would not have turned out in our favor.”

Swallowing Robert nodded, “I’m sorry Ned, I wasn’t thinking.  I warned him no harm was to be done to the men guarding her.  Didn’t think they’d attack in a freaking godswood.”

“Why not,” Ned sighed, “to men of the Faith, a godswood is little more than a garden.”

(Next Morning)

Stannis stood with his wife and Renly among other nobles gathered in the godswood.  He noticed Melisandre and her fellow Red Priests were in attendance, along with the Mormonts sisters and the younger one’s man.  Closer to the tree Aegon, Jon, Bran, and Tommen stood.  Tywin, Tyrion, and another man from House Lannister he recognized as Ser Daven Lannister of Lannisport.

Beyond Selyse and Melisandre there were few women present.  Not without just cause, Stannis was one of the few who knew what would be occurring today.  Ser Boros Blount had attacked the Hand of the King, this could not go unpunished.  Since the Hand followed the Old Gods, it was prudent to follow their traditions.

Stannis was also one of the few who understood the reality that more small folk followed the Old Gods than the Faith would ever admit.  Commoners were not the dullards most highborns believed them to be.  More than once he’d overheard men on Dragonstone whispering in the tongue of the First Men.  Without the Faith Militant to enforce their will, the Faith had lost their stranglehold.  The Mountain Clans of the Vale may be a poor reflection of their ancestors and little more than bandits, the hidden enclaves of Old God worshipers in the other regions could topple kingdoms.

Robert and Eddard finally arrived with the four loyal kingsguard escorting their fallen brother.  Stannis grimaced at the runes branded into the poor man’s brow.  The way Jon and the other Northerners spat at the man as he drew near gave him some idea of what the runes meant.  Not that he’d have to wait long to find out.

“Attention all,” Eddard spoke from beside the sapling, “we are gathered to send this man to the gods.  He has broken his oaths as a knight and member of the kingsguard.  He defiled the sanctity of this keep by leading men of ill repute to commit crimes against the crown.  He attack my men and myself in this very godswood.”

The High Septon spoke up, “He is of noble blood and a man of the faith, he has the right to trial beneath the Father’s auspices.”

“He has admitted his guilt and been sentenced to death by the King,” Eddard glared at the High Septon, “Unless you wish to stand as this man’s champion in a trial by combat?”

“I…I,” the High Septon looked about, but no man present seemed willing to step forward to his aide.

Eddard nodded, “That’s what I thought.”  He then looked to Robert, “He who passes the sentence swings the blade.”

“Knew you’d say that,” Robert grumbled, “bring him here.”  He looked to the tree, “Umm, do we need to dig the pit like your men did with Lorch?”

“No, I condemned Lorch for much worse crimes, it was not his broken vows that earned him his fate, Your Grace,” Eddard grimaced, “Regardless of his intent, Blount didn’t kill anyone let alone brutally butcher a young girl.  His blood will be enough to appease them, they need not his flesh.”

Swallowing heavily Robert looked to the tree, “Vicious trees you lot worship.”

“We don’t worship the trees Robert, they’re just a conduit,” Eddard looked to a small figure that appeared at his side.  Stannis blinked, he’d yet to see one of the Children of the Forest himself, though there had been murmuring of them being glimpsed, even the Little Birds brought reports of them.  They served Lord Stark, but Oberyn had also been seen conversing with them.  The Lord Hand must have supplied the Master of Whispers with a means to commune with them.

Eddard nodded to the creature and looked to Robert, “It’s time.”

Blount was forced down before the tree.  As Robert accepted Selmy’s sword, the High Septon surged forth again, “You are denying him his final words as well as participating in this barbaric heathen practice.”

Eddard stopped the High Seption with a hand on his shoulder, “He was of the kingsguard, his final words were taken by Ser Barristan.”  Eddard’s eyes hardened, “Do you see me coming to your Sept and calling you a blathering hypocrite serving empty statues?  I would appreciate the same courtesy of you not degrading my people’s faith and practices in our own place of worship.”

The High Septon gulped, “Lord Stark, I meant no disrespect, I simply fear for this poor man’s soul.”

“I don’t,” Eddard coolly said, “I prayed for his soul, my gods will judge him fairly.  A better chance he has with them than a man who preaches of charity and celibacy in the morning and spends his nights with prostitutes.”

“How?” The High Septon’s voice was but a whisper but Stannis was close enough to barely hear and stood at the right angle to read both men’s lips as they spoke.

“Does it matter,” Eddard growled, “Just know that from now on, your every action will be known to me.  The people of flea bottom are destitute and starving while you, a man whose duty is to care for them gorge on fine foods and use offerings to pay your hoares.  You and I know you are not empowered by divine right, you are merely the man who had enough coin to sway the so-called Most Devout to select you as High Septon.  I am Hand of the King now, and I doubt I need to remind you what happened to the Most Devout and their High Septon the last time a Stark held this position.”

Stannis smirked as the three wolves present perked up, but a moment later even the monstrous mother wolf made a whine of disgust.

“Lord Stark,” the Master of Ships sneered, “I do believe the poor High Septon has had an accident of the bowels and bladder.  Perhaps he should visit the acting Grand Maester.”

“Indeed,” Eddard stepped away from the man, revulsion evident on his face.

Melisandre seemingly glided forward, “Your lordships, I and Lady Selyse can see him to the Maester’s chambers, we have seen enough.”

Stannis nodded to his wife who went with Melisandre and the High Septon.  He then looked to his brother who was watching the whole encounter amusedly, “Brother, if you’d get on with it we can all get on with our day.  I’m sure cousin Aegon would much prefer planning his next attempt to win the heart of a girl so obviously already enraptured with him.”

Renly chuckled, “It never hurts to give reminders of why she has feelings for him.”

“You both remember that’s my daughter you speak of,” Ned growled out, but the tone was much more jovial than what he’d used with the High Septon.

Robert cleared his throat, “If you three are done,” he indicated the headless corpse at his feet, “you might have noticed I already got it over with while Ned was scaring the poor High Septon to the point of complete incontinence.”

Melisandre’s words of her and Selyse having seen enough suddenly made sense.  Stannis grumbled realizing he’d been so focused on Stark’s interaction with the High Septon he’d not noticed Robert swing the sword and remove Blount’s head.  A frown came to his face as he noticed the surprise on several other attendee’s faces, they too had been observing Eddard and the High Septon instead of the actual execution.

Stepping to his brother’s side he lowered his voice, “You wanted Eddard to distract everyone, why?”

Robert nodded his head towards the tree, his back was to it meaning Stannis was facing it, “How’s the likeness?”

The middle Baratheon brother felt led in his stomach as his eyes found what his brother was referring to.  Low on the sapling’s trunk a piece of bark had fallen away to reveal something surprising.  Boros Blount’s face looked back at him with empty eyesockets and a resigned expression.  The first drips of sap had just started to seep from the eyes.

Stannis felt a weakness in his legs, “When?”

“Saw it happen in the North,” Robert was speaking unusually quiet for the normally boisterous man, “Ned took Lorch’s head.  Buried it and the man’s body beneath the tree where he was executed.  Lorch’s face appeared on that tree.”  Robert looked over his shoulder, “Just thankful poor Boros isn’t screaming like that craven Lorch.”

Tearing his eyes from the face now adorning the tree, Stannis looked to Lord Stark.  The other man simply nodded his head before turning to speak with his sons.  Stannis swallowed, “What does this mean?”

“We’re First Men as well Stannis, I knew this of course, but didn’t really understand,” Robert grimaced, “Our blood is that of the Durrandon, the Storm Kings that ruled before the coming of the Andals.  Seven hells, we still use their sigil and words as ours.  Lord Hightower went all the way to Winterfell to renew his oaths to the Old Gods.  He told me what Lief the Child of the Forest told him.  Words are simply air, actions speak louder.”

Stannis nodded, “Then when winter comes, we shall show these Others that Ours is the Fury is more than simply words.”

Chapter Text

(Sunspear)

Doran glared at the letter from King’s Landing, in neatly written words Quentyn was being invited to compete in the Hand’s Tourney.  His name had been put forward to represent Dorn among the kingsguard, and all those nominated for the vacant positions were asked to compete in the tourney to display their ability. 

Arianne was reading over his shoulder and placed her hands there, “This smells of Uncle Oberyn’s doing.  He knows you plan to remove Quentyn from the line.”

“Agreed daughter,” Doran dropped the letter on his desk, “While surprising it is not unexpected of my dearest brother.  He is a creature of passion and he would feel guilt if I had to resort to less than pleasant means to deal with your brother.”

He could hear the mirth in his daughter’s voice as she spoke to another in the room, “Hear that Quentyn, Uncle Obi loves you enough to make you protect Robert until he finally gives Aegon what is rightfully his.”

Quentyn pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, “Father, I don’t know what I have done to displease you so.”

“You don’t,” Doran picked up a pile of missives, “you attempted to undermine me numerous times while we were in Winterfell.  These were the letters Maester Myles received from Winterfell’s rookery.  Son, did you truly think Winterfell would have a raven trained to fly to Yornwood?”

“Lord Yornwood merely wanted to know how things in the North were,” Quentyn bowed his head, “I said nothing that would have undermined our family’s position.”

Doran pulled one of the opened missives, “You tried to tell him of Edric’s parentage.  You nearly sabotaged the entire reason I made the journey to Winterfell in person.  Do you understand what would happen if Yornwood brought that mess to the other Lords of Dorne?  They need to hear it from me, with an explanation and the line of inheritance that keeps Starfall in the hands of Daynes loyal to this House.”

“Sorry Father,” Quentyn shook his head, “I didn’t think the matter through.”

“No, you didn’t,” Doran huffed, “Your mother was right, I never should have fostered you with Yornwood.”

Quentyn gulped, “I will compete in the tourney.”

“Yes, you will,” Doran growled, “You will make a grand showing of yourself.  Then as either the tourney’s champion or whenever your arse makes contact with the dirt.  You will kneel, say your vows to Ser Barristan, dawn the white cloak, and proudly take your place as your cousin Aegon’s protector.”

“What if I’m assigned to Jon?” Quentyn gulped.

Doran snorted, “Then prove you are at least adequate enough to compare to a mute albino dire wolf.  In fact, take a lesson from the beast, silence and observation might serve you well.”

Quentyn took that as a dismissal and departed the solar.  From a seat next to an open-air window, Mellario spoke, “You need not be so harsh to the boy.  It was your decision to foster him with Yornwood, even though I begged you not to.”

“Must we have this argument again?” Doran’s countenance sagged, “You know I hate it when we fight.”

“I have been in Novos for years and only aided you in these matters as you deemed it fit to send our sons to beg for my help.”  Mellario smirked, “Then trick me into ruling while you and the children ran off to the North.  You couldn’t even leave Ellaria or one of Oberyn’s daughters to keep me company.”

Doran sighed, “There are so few I could trust dearest wife.  Besides, I doubt you’d have appreciated the chill of the North.  It was only the generosity of Lord Stark seating me closest to one of the hearths that helped warm the great hall that kept from exacerbating my condition.”

“You have always spoken highly of this Lord Stark,” Mellario sighed, “It is a pity I missed the opportunity to meet him.”

“Hmpf,” Doran scoffed, “remain in Dorne and you will have your chance.  I plan to have my nieces coaching our youngest to be ready to win the affection of Lord Stark’s youngest.  She is her aunt incarnate, if she is much the free spirit Lyanna was, then she will fall in love with this land as well.”

Mellario smirked, “Is this your way of asking me to return to your side.”

“This is where I go do my duties and leave you to make moon eyes at each other,” Arianne grimaced as she made for the door.

(Highgarden)

Willas leaned back in his favorite seat situated on a terrace that overlooked the garden maze that surrounded and protected his ancestral home.  Currently, a servant was applying a linament Tyene Sand had prepared for him.  It produced a soothing warmth on his weakened leg that kept the muscles and tendons from tightening up.  The results kept the pain to a level where he could at the very least walk aided only by his cane.

Before him, Obara Sand leaned on the railing overlooking the gardens, “You know Obara you can relax, I doubt anyone is planning to attack.  The Florents have even been rather quiet as of late.”

“They are only contemplating the fact your House is now tied to House Stark,” Obara huffed, “They still covet Highgarden, they believe their claim is stronger after all.”

“If you’re worried Arianne will be marrying into a deposed Great House, I’d remind you we’re tied to House Stark through marriage.  Besides grandfather has his current Florent wife to keep them from doing anything stupid.”

The double doors inlaid with Myrish glass leading from the terrace were opened by Left and Right, the twin bodyguards of his grandmother.  They shared a nod with Obara as their mistress hobbled out to sit in the lounge chair next to her grandson, “Willas, what is that odor?”

“A side effect of a medicinal ointment,” Willas indicated to the servant who was just finishing and putting the cover back on the container, “Helps with aches and pains, would you care to try it?”

“Perhaps another time,” Olenna looked down her nose at the servant girl, “A homely girl, would it not be more proper to have the maester apply it.”

Willas grimaced, “I’ll keep her, soft hands with fewer callouses.”  Motioning the girl to leave Willas focused on his grandmother, “What do I owe the honor of this visit grandmother?”

The Queen of Thornes held out a parchment, “From your sister in her icy den in the North.  She is with child, and has taken a couple of those wildling women into her confidences.”

A smile came to Willas’ face, “Mother must be ecstatic, a grandchild, and so quickly.”

“Aye, not even married half a year,” Olenna snorted, “Your brother and that apple bride of his could take some pointers.”  Olenna looked to Obara, “Or do we need to find them a surrogate from Dorne.”

Obara sneered, “My dearest sister would agree if they were to ask, but I am not sure how your Northern sensibilities would handle such an arrangement.”

Olenna scoffed, “Is that not the story your beloved uncle is spinning to cover Lord Dayne’s inheritance of Starfall?”

“Indeed,” Obara grimaced, “but to a certain extent it can be seen as the truth.  Even if Lady Ashara was not truly willing to give Edric to her brother and good sister, few know that to be the truth.  Even whispered it would sound empty with the fact Lady Dayne ran away to Essos to protect and raise Aegon.”

Olenna nodded, “Better head on your shoulders than many give you credit.” She looked to her grandson, “Once the Stark girl arrives in Dorne I want you to make your way there.  The betrothal of you and Arianne will be made public following Quentyn Martell joining the kingsguard.”

Willas looked confused, “Quentyn is next in line as the Prince of Dorne.”

“He displeased his father,” Olenna pulled another parchment from her sleeve, “Oberyn sent this to me as the Master of Whispers.  I want you to help sway the Stark girl to do what is right and agree to marry Trystan.  Take your hawks, act like a wise older brother, do whatever it takes to get that wild little she-wolf to do her duty.”

Willas caught Obara’s glare, he knew the Sand Snakes had become protective of the girl.  Obara out of all of them was old enough to remember meeting Lyanna Stark in Sunspear.  “I’m sure it will not be as difficult as you think.  The girl, Arya, no matter how wild is a Stark, and if anything they are known for doing their duty.  Even if it may differ than what others deem so.”

(King’s Landing)

Arya looked at the letter Nymeria handed her along with a gift.  The letter was written in Trystan’s handwriting, ‘Arya, my mother has introduced me to a new game from Essos I hope you find it interesting as well.  The rules are rather complicated, Mother says Nymeria and Tyene are skilled players.  If what my sister says is true your brother Edric is somewhat skilled as well.  Cyvasse is a game of strategy, Father is having  a much larger board and pieces made at the water gardens.’

Turning to the gift Arya saw the board and pieces, “Edric has been teaching Jon and Aegon how to play.”

“I know,” Nymeria smirked, “I saw a board in your father’s solar in Winterfell, most likely a gift from one of his Essosi contacts.  Father learned the game during his time in Essos.”

“You think Danaerys knows how to play, she grew up in Essos?” Arya asked.

Nymeria frowned, doubtful the Targaryen girl had time to learn the game while fleeing assassins and eeking out a living, “I am not sure.  Let me teach you, and then we can seek her and your sister.”

It took several tries for Arya to get the hang of the game.  The rules were complicated with various pieces moving in particular ways depending on the layout of the pieces on the board.  Nymeria soundly beat her the first couple of games, but Arya soon learned to place her pieces in a way to counter her teacher’s opening moves.  After nearly beating the older girl in the fourth game, Nymeria changed her opening placement and soundly beat the younger girl again.

Arya huffed, “You placed your pieces differently.”

“I did,” Nymeria smiled gently, “you were getting used to my original placement but you must be ready for different formations.  Just as our fathers would have to anticipate the placement of enemy troops on a battlefield.  Father once told me that rarely does a plan of battle meet success, you have to be prepared to change your attack based on where your forces are and how the enemy is deployed.  It is much the same here, the screen prevents you from seeing how the pieces have been arrayed, you can only place yours to anticipate.”

“Then plan my moves to adjust to your formation,” Arya nodded examining her pieces, “Can we play another round?”

“Pardon,” both turned to see Jaquen standing at the door of the room with a Stark guard, “A girl and her friend are late for a midday meal with a girl’s sister.  A man was sent to ascertain their whereabouts.”

Arya looked to the window and saw the sun was high in the sky, “Sansa is going to be mad.”

“A girl’s sister is displeased, yes.” Jaquen smirked, “but a man assured her a girl had no doubt lost track of time.”

Nymeria smirked, “An assassin, sword instructor, and valet all in one.  The Faceless Men have definitely missed their true calling.”

“A man knows not what you speak of,” Jaquen bowed, “He is but a lowly Lorathi sellsword, employed to attend a girl.”

Cleaning up the board and pieces Arya stood, “We better go.  Before Sansa sends the rest of the household out to find me.”

“A girl speaks the truth,” Jaquen stepped aside to allow Arya to lead the way out of the room.

It did not take long to arrive at the dining area of the Tower of the Hand.  Arya sat her cyvasse set on a table as she made to join her siblings and the other highborn residents of the Tower.  All who’d been patiently awaiting her arrival.

As she took her seat next to Sansa her sister passed her a damp cloth, obviously expecting her to be dirty.  The seat at the head of the table was empty, “Where’s father?”

Bran answered, “King Robert went to view the preparations for the tourney.  Father went with him.”

“Speaking of,” Jon looked sternly to Arya, “where were you, some of us have schedules to keep to.”

“Sorry,” Nymeria spoke up, “time got away from us, I was teaching Arya how to play Cyvasse.  Prince Trystan sent her a set, the game is rather popular in Dorne.”

“Margaery was speaking of it,” Sansa spoke up, “she’d yet to play it herself but desired to learn it.”

Edric took a sip of his drink, “Doubt she has much time to play as the Lady of Winterfell.  Preparing the North for winter is no small feat.”

“Most of that is Robb’s responsibility,” Jon corrected, “Lady Margaery will mostly have to focus on Winterfell itself and ensure Winter Town is ready for those who reside there during winter.  It is a large task, but I’m sure Lady Catelyn and Sansa ensured she was well informed on the duties.”

“She was helping me while mother was unwell,” Sansa sipped her drink, “I have no doubt our good sister will acquit herself admirably.  Did father not inform you yet,  Robb sent word, she is with child.”

Alysane snorted, “Not a surprise the way those two were acting after the wedding.  Ned made a good match for his boy,” She was seated next to Jon and nudged his shoulder, “Now if we can just find someone to make a man out of this maiden.”

“Sister,” Dacey warned, “there are children present.” She indicated Arya, Bran, and Tommen.  Alysane’s own children while younger were well accustomed to their mother’s blunt and crass behaviors.  Dacey looked to Jon, “While crude my dear sister is right, have any ladies at court struck you fancy, nephew.  Your brother is already circling our dear niece.”

Jon gulped, “I’m not sure.”  He looked over Bran’s head to Aegon who was seated on the younger boy’s other side, “Until recently I wasn’t thinking about that kind of thing.  I mean, I always thought any child of mine would have to bear the name Snow.”

“Considering you opted to join a celibate order in the visions,” Aegon mused, “I don’t doubt you’d have done so again had things not been so irrevocably changed.  However, seeing as we are the only ones capable of carrying the Targaryen name, we both are needed to stabilize our House.  It has not been uncommon for inheritance to fall back on a younger brother of a previous king.”

Daenerys spoke up, “We should also take into consideration you are marrying the North, Aegon.  Jon should look to one of the other realms for a wife.”

“True,” Aegon mused, “And I believe Lord Stark’s declaration of his children marrying the First Men's blood stands true for Jon as well.”  Aegon looked to his cousin Nymeria, “Cuz, are there any noble Houses in Dorne with a daughter that fits the parameters?”

“Parameters?” Nymeria frowned, “Decent of the First Men, being living and capable of bearing children.  That’s not a lot to go on, and I’m guessing you’d like to look outside the family, that narrows it down a little bit, but not much.”

Jon glared at the pair, “Maybe I look elsewhere seeing as we have Dorne through you brother.”

“Right,” Aegon rubbed his chin, “We have the Vale through Robert Arryn’s kinship with Sansa, the same with the Riverlands with Edmure being her uncle.  With Theon as heir of the Iron Islands, we have them, plus the contract of Edmure’s marriage to Asha.  The Stormlands are ruled by the Baratheons and they are our kin as well.  Through Margaery being wed to Robb we have the Reach.  That leaves the Crownlands and Westerlands,” Aegon grimaced, “No offense to Lady Myrcella, she is a sweet girl regardless of all the horrendous things her mother has done.”

Tommen pipped up, “Grandfather plans to marry her to a Westerland house.”  The boy frowned, “He wants me to marry Lady Shireen.”

“He may want, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get it,” Dacey stated, “What’s with the frown, Shireen is a pleasant girl.”

Tommen sighed, “She was my cousin until a few months ago.”

“Right,” the others noticed the heir of Bear Island grimace, when she noticed the look she sighed, “Lady Catelyn didn’t know my parentage either remember.  She tried arranging a betrothal between Benjen and me.  Let’s just say Alysane’s language is tame compared to Mother’s when she is provoked.”

“If bear baiting is anything like baiting a wolf,” Aegon mused, “I am surprised Lady Catelyn survived.”

“Probably the benefit Father put his foot down,” Jon gulped, “I was five, Uncle Benjen left for the Wall just after.”

Alysane downed her drink, “So, what are we looking at in the Crownlands, got any House here that aren’t pure Andal?”

“Probably,” Aegon mused, “The Andals killed a lot of the First Men, but they converted just as many.  In fact, save for the Martells and Arryns, every Lord Paramount House south of the Neck was a converted family.”

“Can’t say much for the Conqueror, but the guy sure chose his Lords Paramounts well,” Alysane mused, “How’d the Valyrian get a lucky draw like that?”

The clatter of silverware drew attention to Daenerys.  She looked to Aegon and Jon, “He knew.”

Aegon frowned at his aunt, “What?”

“Aegon the First,” Daenerys swallowed, “He knew the Others would come, that’s why he chose Houses with ties to the First Men.  The destroyed Houses of Gardner and Hoare were both likewise First Men, but they refused to bend their knee.  Why do you think he chose the Tullys, to replace House Hoare in the Riverlands, besides the fact they turned against Harren and allied with Aegon, they had the oldest clear lineage to the First Men.  The Blackwoods were the only other family with a clear lineage but they follow the Old Gods so they wouldn’t have been accepted by the other Rivermen.  The Tyrells were the steward House to the Gardners, why uplift a lower House when the Gardners had kinfolk in other Houses.”

“The Tyrells lineage can be traced back,” Sansa answered, “There is a book in Winterfell’s library with the names of those who attended the last kingsmoot among the First Men.  When the Kingdom of the First Men first splintered into what eventually became the Seven.  The Tyrells are named in the book, that event took place over a century before the Andals came.”

“History is written by the victors,” Jon looked to Aegon, “When did our ancestor appoint the Tyrells to govern the Reach?  Before or after Torrhen knelt?”

Aegon frowned, “The Maesters claim the Tyrells were immediately rewarded with their position and titles for securing High Garden in Aegon’s name.”  He shook his head, “I have my doubts though, and even more so with what I’ve been hearing in the small council.  Unfortunately, there is not much written from that time that isn’t moderated by the Citadel.  Any personal writings of Aegon or his sisters are long lost, especially with the turmoil of the Dance.  What of King or Lord Torrhen Stark?”

Jon and Sansa shared a look before shaking their heads, Sansa answered, “Torrhen left no writing, or if he did they were likewise lost.  Even when teaching us about our ancestors, Father could only speculate on Torrhen’s thoughts.  It wasn’t common for Lords of Winterfell to keep personal journals, most of what we know of Cregan Stark comes from the journals of his half-sister Sarah Snow.  She wrote detailed accounts of her talks with her brother.  We know Cregan took the position as Hand for only a day because he felt his place was in the North.”

“As Lord Stark does,” Aegon nodded, “but he knows the realm needs someone to guide them through the coming crisis.  Who better than a man whose ancestors defeated these monsters in ages past.”

(Tourney Grounds Near King’s Landing)

Robert took a deep breath of the clean air, half a mile from the city walls the flat span of ground used for tournies the last three centuries.  During his reign, he’d made a few modifications, like a more permanent set of stands including the royal box.  The Dragons would just have the stands raised and torn down after each tourney.  Petyr had made one smart suggestion, a permanent setup would cut on the overall costs.

The initial cost hadn’t been cheap, and one of the loans from Tywin had gone to pay for the stands.  Robert looked to where Ned was talking with a carpenter.  A group had been employed to check the permanent structures and build the portions of the grounds that would be set up for the archery.  The melee would be held on the tilt yard, the dividing post between the jousters was designed to be removed.

“Good day Your Grace, Lord Hand,” Robert turned to see Tyrion strutting toward him, “Come to see how the Crown’s coin is being spent.”

“Aye Lannister,” Robert grumbled, “What’s the damage?”

Tyrion snorted as he looked to the boy flanking him, “Pod, what was it our good friend the Master Carpenter said?”

The boy stuttered, “He said he wasn’t…wasn’t running a charity…my lord.”

“Right,” Tyrion smirked, “I might have implied the Lord Hand would enjoy employing the man to help refurbish the castles along the Wall.  I do think he is rethinking his costs.”

Ned walked over to them, “You threatened a man with the Wall because he was overcharging the Crown?”

Tyrion shrugged, “I’m the Master of Coin, overcharging me should be a crime against the Crown.”

“Are you talking about the Master Carpenter of Lady Chataya,” Ned growled, “Being the Master of Coin does not mean you can arrange whores to be sent to my tower.”

Tyrion grinned impishly, “I know not what you mean Lord Hand, I am insulted you would think I would…”

Pod spoke up, “My lord you said to Madame Chataya the Crown Prince would find his room more comfortable with some company.”

The dwarf of Lannister sent a betrayed look to his squire, “Pod, what have we said about time and place.”

Podric gulped, “Sorry my lord, but it’s not like I said you told her the Lord Hand would be less prickly if he…”

“Pod,” Tyrion threw his hands up, “please, I rather get through the day not being chased by a pack of wolves.  Thank you, now go see that the competitor tents are being properly anchored.”  Robert could not resist chuckling as the shorter man grimaced at Ned, “Pardon Lord Hand, I am still working with Pod on realizing when it’s best not to repeat everything I’ve said.”

Eddard smirked, “Just know Tyrion, dire wolves don’t chase, they stalk.”

“Right,” Tyrion indicated the grounds, “we will be ready by the end of the week, that is if the High Septon has regained control of his bowels whenever he sees Lord Stark.”  Tyrion frowned, “Speaking of which,” he began looking around, “Where is she?”

“Who?” Ned frowned.

There was a sudden shriek and several men came running from the tilt yard, “Wolf, monster wolf.”

“Ah,” Tyrion nodded, “found her.”

Shanking his head Ned turned to the tilt yard, “Lyannna, you're as bad as your namesake.”  The dire wolf loped to his side and gave him a look of excitement.  “Yes, I know there are a bunch of new places for you and your pups to lurk about scaring poor innocent bystanders.”

Robert snorted, “You scold her like you used to scold Lyanna.”

“It’s about the only thing that works,” Ned grumbled, “She’s not her pups, and I’m not my children.  Our bond is not as strong.”

Tyrion rubbed his chin, “But you can see through her eyes as they can see through those of their wolves.”  At Ned and Robert’s look the dwarf smirked, “What?  I read about wargs when I was ten, and not from the scripture of the Seven.  The library at the Rock is second only to that of Winterfell, though I am hard-pressed to admit anything of House Lannister is second to anything.”

Ned sighed, “I can, but it is not a matter of choice.  Lyanna can sense my feelings.  She permits me to see through her eyes that which she feels I need to see and hear.  It was unsettling, the first time she did so was that first feast after you all arrived at Winterfell, it was why I agreed to Robb and Margaery’s match.  She found them outside the great hall.”

Tyrion nodded, “I was taking a piss, and saw them interacting with her from a distance.  Decided to give my congratulations at a later time.”

Ned rolled his eyes at the shorter man’s quip, “I saw in Margaery what it takes to be the Lady of Winterfell, to be the maternal hand guiding the people when her Lord Husband is focused on protecting them from the terrors in the dark.”  Eddard shook his head, “I never understood what my father meant by that until I saw through her eyes a Southron flower brave enough to lay her hand upon the head of one of the most deadly animals in the known world.”

Robert indicated to the wolf at his side, “I tend to forget she is that dangerous when she acts like a loyal hound.  You think it best we kennel them during the tourney?”

“You’d have a rebellion from my children at such a suggestion,” Eddard snorted, “I have thought Catelyn was going to be chased from Winterfell had Jon not suggested they send them out to hunt with their mother while we awaited your arrival.”

“Instead she was chased out by a cadre of overzealous noblemen,” Tyrion remarked, “Not sure what my father was hoping to gain from doing as such.”

Robert scratched at the back of his head, “Not sure what the mangy old lion expected, I just wanted her to stop making Mya and Gendry out as horrible people.  I’d take the scorn aimed at me, but they aren’t to blame for my weakness.  I mean, Mya and Gendry were both conceived before I was even married, not to mention grieving.”

“What about poor little Edric Storm?” Tyrion mused, “Was your brother’s wedding such a grim affair your grief put you in his wife’s cousin in the bed meant for the bedding.  I mean, from all reports that vein on the side of Stannis’ brow was bulging dangerously close to exploding.”

A grumble came from Robert, “Aye, but thanks to your damned sister I’ve spent less time with the boy than with Gendry, and I’ve only known of him for a few moons.”  Robert looked to Ned, “Catelyn might have been a prideful woman who couldn’t see past her own faith to look at the boy’s worth regardless of the truth.  At least she never tried to have him offed.  Only three of my gits yet draw breath, and none of those who passed died of natural causes.”

“Four, technically five,” Ned frowned.

Robert blinked, “What?”

“Lady Chataya didn’t visit just to inform of Lord Tyrion’s little game of hiring girls for the young men under my charge and myself,” Ned looked to Tyrion, “Be thankful I chose to keep from Ashara you hired one for Edric as well.”  Ned focused back on Robert, “One of her girls recently birthed a daughter.  The child has your eyes.”

“Mhaegan,” Robert nodded, “red hair, the girl has my hair color as well?”

Ned frowned, “She’s a newborn, but what little hair she has is darker than that of her mother.  Chataya informed me that the mother had not been seeing clients other than your Royal personage.  I didn’t need further details.  I’ve made arrangements for Barra and her mother.”

A snort came from Robert, “Back to the business of cleaning up after me.”

“If I were paid for such services I’d have afforded the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, the Broken Tower, and still had enough left over to buy both my daughters Mryish glass mirrors.”  Ned mused.

Robert gulped, “You said five, um did I leave another one in the North?”

“Gods no thankfully,” Ned glared, “but think back to a time you spent in a brothel while Jon and I didn’t have time to clean up after you.”

There was a pause and Robert frowned, “Stoney Sept, way back in the Rebellion?”  Robert shook his head, “Damn, why’d you not say something sooner?”

“The girl is nearly six and ten,” Ned frowned, “living in the brothel she was born in.  I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out.”

Robert turned to the kingsguard at his side.  Preston Greenfield, “Preston, send some men to retrieve her.”

Tyrion frowned, “Stoney Sept, that would be the Peach,” the half-man looked to the kingguard, “The girl’s name is Bella, she was named for the battle.  She’s the only girl with black hair and blue eyes there.”  He pulled a coin pouch from his belt and tossed it to the man, “That should cover the cost of getting her released from whatever debt Tansy has over her.”

Ned looked to Tyrion, “You know the place well?”

“I missed out on the Rebellion, too young and,” Tyrion indicated his height, “being the Queen’s brother had its perks.  I went traveling to see the places the Maesters wrote about the Rebellion.  Of course, the Peach was only mentioned in passing, but Tansy speaks highly of His Grace.  I was surprised to see a girl with hair the color of coal and eyes that blue.  Especially in the Riverlands where Andal red is the far more common color of hair.”

Robert growled, “Did you?”

“By the Old and New, I swear I did not touch her,” Tyrion stepped back, “this was around ten years ago, she was only six or seven.  If I’d even a whisper they were turning out girls that young I’d have gone to Renly immediately.  We don’t have much in the way of regulations or protections, but any proper Westrosi establishment does not deal in children.”

Robert nodded, “That reminds me, Ned, that Red Priest, the big one.  He said a slaver he recognized from Essos was spotted talking to some people on the Street of Silk.”  The king would swear the temperature dropped as Eddard’s face hardened.

The Lord of Winterfell growled, “Did he now.”  Ned looked to Lyanna, “Find him.”  The dire wolf snarled before turning and loping off.

“Did you send her after the priest or the slaver?” Tyrion gulped.

Ned glared at him, “Seeing as I know not what the slaver looks like.  I think that question answers itself.”

(Flea Bottom)

The Temple of the Fiery Tree was coming together better than expected.  Moqorro stood overlooking the central area of worship.  The manse the temple had been given was old, not officially inhabited since the time Westrosi referred to as the Dance of the Dragons.  The decades of neglect had caused the roof to cave in.  It had taken some prodding to get carpenters willing to work for them.

The weirwood sapling now stood center within an indoor garden, the new roof sheltered the other worshiping spaces.  The altar to R’hllor sat before the tree.  Fourteen braziers representing the Fourteen Flames of Valyria took the place of sentinel trees.  Other Essosi had found their way here, an altar to the Black Goat was installed in an unused room off the main area.  The Dothraki had paid a stonemason to create their Great Stallion, it stood proudly near the weirwood, one day to be shaded by the heart tree’s branches.

“Quite the setup we got going here,” Thoros leaned against the railing next to Moqorro, “what’s the tally?”

Moqorro glared, “We are not here to convert.”

“Of course,” Thoros smirked, “but you’ve been keeping count anyways.”

“Fifteen, to R’hllor, five and thirty to the Old Gods,” Moqorro spoke evenly, “Though, I feel most of those thirty were simply taking the safety of your Fiery Hand protecting them as an opportunity to openly worship the Old Gods.”

“What can I say,” Thoros chuckled, “I am a sucker for blokes who get things done.  The Lord of Light gives us signs and potents.  The Old Gods make effigies out of condemned men on their sacred trees.  I’ve seen it twice now and it still unnerves me.  Lest poor Blount is not screaming his head off for all eternity.”

Moqorro frowned as a group of men in brown robes entered the sanctuary, “Who are they?”

“Beats me,” Thoros whistled and members of the Fiery Hand made themselves known, “They looking for trouble they’ll regret having found it.”

“Agreed,” Moqorro followed his fellow priest down the stairs.  They met the group just as Melisandre greeted them coolly.

The man in the lead spoke pleasantly, “Pardon our intrusion, but word reached us that a sanctuary of faith had been built in Flea Bottom.  To which god do you serve?”

Melisandre frowned, “We are servants of R’hllor, in his infinite wisdom and love he has opened his heart to all men of any faith.  From here we serve to help the poor of this city, to remember those forgotten.  To give succor to those abandoned.”

The leader of the group nodded, “I see, you saw a way to sway the hearts and minds of these poor people to steal their souls for your god of fire.”

A sneer appeared on Melisandre’s face, “Oh, my dear Sparrow, you are mistaken.”  The group of Sparrows drew clubs, but hesitated as the soldiers of the Fiery Hand drew swords that ignited with flames, “We are their salvation from the hypocrisy and abuse of the Seven.”

“Enough,” Moqorro commanded, his voice shocking both, and even the Fiery Hand soldiers looked visibly shaken, “What is the meaning of this?”

Melisandre bowed her head, “These men are Sparrows, poor Septons from the countryside.  Though the name has not come to much renown in this world Ser Davos spoke of them.  They wish the return of the Faith Militant orders, they are probably riled that we tend to the sick and needy of King’s Landing.”

The leading Sparrow looked to the Fiery Fist members, “The king permits you a standing army?”

“I wouldn’t call it an army,” Thoros huffed, “more a guard detail.  The Gold Cloaks are stretched a bit thin, what with the Master of Laws culling corruptive influences in their ranks.  Besides, my men don’t enforce religious laws, we protect this temple and all who seek shelter within.  Cause harm to those who worship here and then you might be getting a taste of R’hllor’s wrath.”

The Sparrow smiled benignly, “Do you turn those who follow the Seven from your doors?”

“We would not,” Moqorro rumbled, “but no Septon has yet approached us.  Our envoys to the High Septon have been turned away unheard.”

“You have sent envoys,” the Sparrow frowned, a murmuring came from his followers, their crude weapons lowering, “his letter claimed that you denounced the Seven.  Declared them false and demand all who enter here to convert to your god.”  He pointed at the heart tree, “That you even use that as a means to lure in those who still cling to the heathen practices of the First Men.”

The Fiery Hand bristled but stood down at Thoros’s gesture, “Pardon friend but watch the language.  No heathens here, though we may be followers of different gods we’re all bound for the same fate.  None of us know the day, but eventually, we meet our end.  I’d also warn you that currently the Magnar of Winter’s messenger of swift and assured death just entered through the door you lot left open.”

All eyes turned to the open door where the largest wolf any of them had seen stood.  Everyone froze as she stalked into the room.  Thoros having the most experience being in the dire wolf’s presence looked around, “No Lord Stark, so guessing she isn’t just here for a visit.”  He motioned to his men and they doused the flames of their swords and sheathed them, “I’d suggest you Sparrows  either put away or drop those crudles quick like.”

The lead Sparrow looked to Thoros, “Lord Stark lets that monster roam the streets?”

“Who’d be stupid enough to attack her?” Thoros huffed, “Besides, most of the small folk around here are followers of the Old Gods, they just pay your lot lip service to keep from getting flogged or stoned.  They see her walking down the street they claim their Magnar is watching over them.”

The Sparrow frowned, “Magnar are kings, how is that connected to Robert?”

“Magnar actually refers to something like a guardian in the Old Tongue,” Melisandre corrected, “Andals assumed it was king because they led their people.  The First Men just never bothered correcting assumptions.  The Magnar of Winter is Lord Stark, the Hand of the King and our benefactor.”

The dire wolf looked about the room, her eyes focusing on the lead Sparrow for a moment before turning to Moqorro.  She gave a huff before turning back towards the door.

Moqorro looked to his fellow priests, “I have been summoned.”

“You got that from that?” Thoros indicated the wolf.

“It was rather clear,” the lead Sparrow said, “if you do not mind, may I accompany you.  I would like to meet the Lord Hand.”

Thoros snorted, “You’d be second-guessing that decision after meeting the man.  The High Septon has been avoiding Lord Stark for days, few times they crossed paths he’s needed fresh robes.”

Melisandre rolled her eyes, “See to these men Thoros, I’m sure there is a room that permits a minuscule view of the Great Sept.”

Quickly following the dire wolf Moqorro, Melisandre, and the Sparrow arrived at the stables just within the gatehouse leading to the tourney grounds.  The Red priest noticed Lord Stark with a large cluster of men including the Master of Law and Master of Whispers, “My Lord Hand, you summoned me.”

Lord Stark turned to him, “Moqorro, yes.  You recognized a slaver within the city.  Is he still here?”

“Indeed,” Moqorro nodded, “I felt you of all people would know such men walking amongst free men is a danger.  I had my people keep tabs on him, the poor of Flea Bottom have done their part as well.  The man had dealings with the previous Master of Coin, he arrived with product unawares the man is no longer among the living.”

“Product,” Lord Stark snarled, “Lord Martell take a detachment to the docks and have every Essosi ship torn apart if you have to.  Then search the warehouses.”

Oberyn nodded, “I have an idea of where they are being kept.  I’ll report our findings.”

“A slavery ring in King’s Landing,” Renly Baratheon hissed, “right under our noses.”  The youngest Baratheon brother looked to the Gold Cloak at his side, “If any of you were covering this up you can forget the Wall, your heads will be decorating the Red Keep.”

The Gold Cloak gulped, “No my lord, at least, I don’t think any of us were…Baelish might have bribed some of us to stay away from certain areas.”  Renly glared at the man and he shut up.

Moqorro noticed when Lord Stark noticed the Sparrow.  Lord Stark’s arms crossed as he glared at the man, “You’re early.”

“Pardon My Lord,” the Sparrow looked confused.

“Nothing,” Lord Stark mused, “what brings you here?”

“Our friend here was sent by the High Septon to harras the Temple of the Fiery Tree,” Melisandre explained, “he was led to believe that we stole the heart tree to lure those of your faith to R’hllor.  The timely arrival of your living sigil defused a tense moment.”

Lord Stark frowned, “I see, believe it is about time me and the High Septon had another talk.”

“The last time you and he had a talk he defecated in the middle of the Red Keep’s godswood,” Renly reminded, “Maybe let someone a bit less terrifying speak with him.  Sansa is a sweet girl, I’m sure nothing is frightening about her.”

“He insulted her brother, Jon,” Ned noted.

Renly nodded, “Arya, she’s a bit wild, but she’s only ten.”

“She’s even closer to Jon than Sansa,” Ned reminded.

“Right,” Renly mused, “Bran, the kid wouldn’t hurt a fly, and Summer is like an oversized puppy.  Next to Lady the sweetest dire wolf in the world.”

Ned raised a brow at his friend’s youngest brother, “You set up the meeting, either you or Tyrion present.  Remind the man that everything he does gets back to me, and my tolerance for his intolerance is reaching an end.”

Renly nodded, “I’ll arrange everything, including a clean set of robes just in case the High Septon has another accident.”

“Well, that solved,” Eddard focused on Moqorro again, “Who is this slaver?”

“A Lyseni merchant prince,” Moqorro explained, “Tregar Ormollen.”

“Tregar,” Jorah Mormont stepped forward from the gathered men, “You’re sure?”

The Red Priest bowed his head, “The reason I felt the Northmen would have cause to seek him.  He and his household fled Lys when my brothers and sisters in R’hllor’s light burned the chains about the necks of those unfortunate souls bound into servitude.”

Ned looked to Jorah, “Who is this man to you Jorah?”

“He charmed Lynesse from me, took her as his concubine, heard she’d taken the place as his chief concubine.  In Lyseni culture puts her even ahead of the man’s wife.”  Jorah frowned, “My Lord, my pardon agreement didn’t include Lynesse.  If he brought her here.”

“She wasn’t guilty of your crimes, though she profited from them,” Lord Stark sighed, “I am not a heartless man Jorah.”

Jorah nodded, “Nay, but I might take a bit of pleasure in scaring her.  Might of loved her once, but should have learned more about her before making the proposal.”

“Truer words,” Ned snorted before looking to the Red Priest, “Where are they?”

“Tregar and his household are ensconced in a manse on Visenya’s Hill not far from the Great Sept.”  Moqorro began leading the party down the street.

(Later)

The sun was setting as their company reached the manse.  They approached with weapons sheathed and Jorah pulled up his hood before any who could recognize him saw.  There was minimal activity at the manse, a few children one a girl shared Lynesse’s features compared to the others.

Moqorro had informed that Tregar’s wife had been left behind with most of the man’s other concubines.  They had faced the slave uprising with few if any guards.  Jorah grimaced at the thought that Lysenne had participated in abandoning women to an angry mob.

Guards posted at the door stepped to block them, “This is the manse of Tregar Ormollen, what business do you have?”

“I am the Hand of the King,” Lord Stark’s voice was the cold even tone of the Quiet Wolf.  If these men knew the beast that stood before them, they’d have turned tail and run.  The obvious trembling they showed as Lyanna moved to stand next to Eddard was a clue they might be realizing their fate, “I demand an audience with Tregar, he set himself up in this manse without notice to the crown.”

Jorah smirked as the guards looked uneasily at each other.  Renly stepped next to Ned, “My friends, I know not how things are done in Lys, but you don’t just move into a manse in this city.  These buildings are owned by the crown and lent to our nobles as needed.  We have a tourney coming up and our friend the Master of Coin checked the accounts, no one is supposed to be living here, especially not rent-free.”

“Show us to your employer,” Ned’s words were emphasized by Lyanna growling, “now.”

Following his liege lord into the manse Jorah motioned to their men to quietly scour the building.  The guards remaining at the door were swiftly disarmed and secured as a mix of Gold Cloaks, Stark and Mormont guards, and Baratheon guards entered.

The man guiding them led them to a sitting room, “Master Ormollen, the Hand of the King to see you.”

“What,” Tregar jolted from his seat, knocking Lynesse who’d been on his lap to the floor, “why wasn’t I told.”  The man was hastily adjusting himself, “Lord Hand, what a surprise, for what do we owe this unexpected honor.”

“I have been informed of your flight from Lys,” Ned grinned tightly as his eyes fell on Lynesse who paled upon realizing who stood before her, “Lynesse Mormont nee Hightower, what a surprise.  Is your husband in service to this man as well?”

Lynesse swallowed visibly, “Lord Stark, I…I know not where my husband is.  We parted ways in Lys.”

“Parted ways,” Ned looked to Jorah who pulled down his hood, “Not exactly how I would put it.”

A surprised gasp came from his former wife, “Jorah, how?”

“Royal pardon,” Jorah grimaced, “I did a couple jobs for Robert and got one of his cousins safely to Lord Stark.  Still disinherited and all, but I can walk about Westeros without fear of losing my head.  The problem here, is I have a pardon, but my accomplice wife wasn’t included with the pardon.”

Lysenne grimaced and turned to Lord Stark, “My Lord, please, my father, he will pay whatever you ask I swear.”

“I doubt that,” Ned glared, “you abandoned your marital vows, and took up with a slaver.”

Tregar paled, “I swear.”

“Save it,” Renly sneered, “I have friends on the Street of Silk, they tell tales of you offering deals on Lyseni pillow slaves.  See, if they bought them, then they are involved in slavery.  Which is a sort of big deal with both the Seven and Old Gods making the practice punishable by death.  So, your options are the headman’s axe or the rope.”  Renly looked to the Northmen, “I’d highly recommend the axe, the rope is Northman custom and they don’t do it the quick way.”

Tregar glared at Jorah, “He sold men into slavery, yet he lives.”

“I was a coward,” Jorah snapped back, “I fully expected Lord Stark to string me up from the nearest heart tree.  What I did, I did out of desperation and stupidity.  What you do is out of greed and self-indulgence.”

Ned growled out, “Arrest them, throw Tregar in the black cells.  Take Lysenne to the maiden vault, she is to be kept comfortable until His Grace decides what to do with her.  I’d say write to your father, but hope he cares enough about you to save you from the Most Devout.”

Lysenne looked faint, “Lord Stark please, anything but that.”

Outside Jorah watched as the girl he’d assumed was Lysenne’s daughter cried for her as she was escorted away.  Most of the children would be taken to a nearby orphanage.  A few would be going to the temple in flea bottom, they were not Tregar’s but slaves from the man’s breeding pins.  The thought sickened him.

“Lord Jorah,” he turned to see one of his men approach, “Lord Stark wants to know what you want done with Lady Lysenne’s daughter.  She is still legally your wife, so…”

“I’ll take her in for now,” Jorah grimaced, “What was she thinking coming back here?”

The guard frowned, “Probably thought hiding here would keep her safe.  If not for the Red Priest we’d never known she was here.  They’d have probably moved on once they realized they couldn’t sell any slaves here.”

Jorah nodded, “Good timing then, any word on Lord Oberyn’s task?”

“One warehouse on the waterfront.  Had a private pier that allowed them to transport people to and from the ships in the harbor.  Lord Stannis is already raiding the slaver ships at harbor.”

Sighing Jorah clapped the man on the shoulder, “Get with the Gold Cloaks and start patrolling the streets.  Anyone suspicious is to be questioned.  Lyseni in particular, if anyone escaped the warehouse or was watching the ships they’d be on their way here to warn Tregar.”

“Understood sir,” the guard moved off to complete his orders.

Renly approached Jorah, “Ser Jorah, thanks for getting that started.”  He sighed, “Slynt is being removed from his office.  Your liege lord will be pleased no doubt, but that means I need a man to lead this rabble.”

“I’m a man of the North and a former criminal.” Jorah tried to argue.

“Which means I have more faith in you even with your sordid past than half these idiots.”  Renly grimaced, “I’ll make an official request from Lord Stark if I have to, but please, don’t make it come to that.”

Jorah grumbled, “Fine, just until you find someone else.”  Jorah glared at the cloak worn by one of the Gold Cloaks nearby, “Also, I’m not wearing one of those getups.”

Renly chuckled, “Agreed, I’ll inform the small council of the arrangement tomorrow.”

“What about Slynt?” Jorah asked.

Renly blinked, “Oh, you haven’t heard.  During Blount’s interrogation, he admitted to knowing Slynt had some guardsmen who’d planned to speak out against him murdered.  Even gave us the names of those who did the actual deed.  In agreement for being sent to the Wall instead of hung, they agreed to speak out against Janos.”

(Near the Neck)

Lancel stood sentry near Wun Wun as Beth told a story to Rickon.  It was one from a book the boy had brought with him.  Full of text in strange markings the Umbers called runes, even though she couldn’t read the text Beth knew the stories by heart.  The two Free Folk men seemed engaged too, the massive Styr hanging on to the girl’s every word as she told of some ancient Stark ancestor.

Small Jon chuckled as he moved next to him, “The point of being the lookout is looking away from camp, especially as the fire light will dim your vision lad.”

“Lad?” Lancel frowned, “You might be the spawn of a giant, but you aren’t that much older than me.”

Small Jon snorted, “I got my first taste of battle was hunting squids, where were you?”

Lancel huffed, “Lannisport, not yet old enough to join the fighting.”

“That’s what I thought,” Small Jon looked to the swamp barely visible at the edge of the firelight, “We got a month slogging through there.  All manner of nastiness lurking in that water and muck.  One step off the causeway and your journey ends mighty quick.”

Taking a look at where the two Mammoths stood resting beside their horses Lancel frowned, “Will those fit on the causeway?”

“No wider than one of those wheelhouses you Southron like to ride around in, and likely half as heavy.”  Small Jon, “Well it is what it is.”

“There’s no alternative path?” Lancel frowned, “You know, one that is less likely to result in our deaths.”

The tall man slapped his shoulder, “Don’t fret, the worst that is likely to happen is you get eaten by a lizard lion.”

Lancel glared, “Thanks.”

(Next Morning)

Waking to the GreatJon’s deep belly laugh was becoming too routine for the young Lannister’s liking.  Sitting up from his bedroll he blinked as their party had somehow more than doubled during the night.  Surrounding their encampment were thirty men and women, all shorter than average.  Lancel recognized the man standing next to their smoldering campfire being greeted by Lord Umber.

Getting to his feet Lancel righted his clothes, “Lord Reed, good day, we were not expecting you.”

“Is it not more enjoyable being greeted by the unexpected,” The Lord of the Neck grinned.

“As long as the unexpected is good friends and not a knife in the back,” the GreatJon laughed, “Near six and ten years of you hiding away in your swamp, now you emerge twice in one year.”

Lord Reed tilted his head, “Technically speaking GreatJon, we are still in my swamp, but I get your meaning.  Though I rarely attend visitors personally, it has been an age or more since a giant has passed through the Neck.  Other than an Umber or two.”

“Ha,” Great Jon patted the smaller man’s back.  Lancel was surprised Lord Reed could take such a blow, one of the GreatJon’s affectionate jabs had sent him stumbling.  The GreatJon looked at Lord Reed’s people, “Quite the little welcome you arranged.”

Lord Reed’s eyes hardened, “Your path means going through the Twins.  My people have long known ways to pass into the Riverlands that avoid the Frey and their vaunted bridge.”  He looked to the giants, “These two just make the options more numerous.”

Chapter Text

(Red Keep; Maiden Vault)

Cersei had little to keep her entertained in the Maiden Vault.  There was sewing, something she had not done since she was a young girl.  Her father suggested it was a skill she refreshed as there would not likely be servants to see to her needs on the Isle of Faces.  Her only company the few days since Lord Stark had decreed her fate, had been her younger children and her aunt.  Tyrion had stopped by briefly, and while she expected him to crow about her fall from grace, he’d given her a book on the collected knowledge of the Isle where her final days would be spent.

Last night though a new form of entertainment had arrived.  Lynesse of House Hightower, the wife of Jorah Mormont was tossed into the vault.  She had wept by the hearth for most of the evening, their only words shared being Cersei directing her to one of the uninhabited chambers.

“Lady Cersei,” a calm voice called from the door.

Cersei smiled as Sansa entered the vault, “Little Dove, how pleasantly surprising to see you.”

“I’d have visited sooner, but preparations for the tourney are hectic.” Sansa sighed, “Not only preparing garments for myself but my siblings, Myrcella, and Tommen as well.”

“Myrcella?” Cersei frowned, “I thought she and Aunt Genna were staying with father.”

Sansa nodded, “Oh, they are, there are barely any rooms left in the Tower of the Hand.  Even with most of us doubling up.  Prince Oberyn asked Father to room his family during the tourney, with all the feasts and other events the added ride to their manse outside the city would be ridiculous.”

“Indeed,” Cersei smirked, “So you are helping Myrcella, thank you Little Dove.”

Sansa smiled, “It’s no trouble, between Jeyne, Nymeria, and Tyene.  I have all the help I could ask for.  I do wish Beth could have come as well, she’s a bit younger but she was keen at helping when asked.”

Cersei saw the door open, and Jorah Mormont entered, she stood, but the man shook his head as a small figure entered behind him, “Lady Sansa, are you going to be here for a while?”

“For a bit,” Sansa smiled gently, “Lady Genna and Myrcella should be by for their daily visit.”

Jorah nodded, “I see, before you leave can you see Doreah here gets back to the Tower.”  Jorah grimaced, “I have business for Robert in the city.”

“Business,” Sansa frowned.

“There are some things not even the Wall will except,” Jorah smiled tightly.

“Oh,” Sansa looked at the girl, “I’ll take her to Alysane.”

Jorah thanked her before turning and departing.  The girl frowned, “Lady Stark, he said my mother would be here.”

“She is Doreah,” Sansa looked to Cersei, “She is Lynesse’s daughter.”

“I see,” Cersei indicated one of the doors, “I have yet to see her this morning, but she took the bed down that hall I believe.”  Once the girl darted down the hall Cersei looked to Sansa, “That is a rather Northern name for a girl born in Essos.”

Sansa nodded, “Doreah was the name of Sir Jorah’s mother, Jeor Mormont’s late wife.  I don’t know much about her, no one ever speaks of her much, but there were claims she was a Free Folk woman Jeor found hiding in the stables on Bear Island.”

Cersei’s brow quirked at that, “Why would Lady Lynesse name her daughter after the mother of the man she abandoned in Lys for a slaver no less.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “You do know why Sir Jorah fled to Essos.”

“To be honest I never really paid attention to the reasons why,” Cersei smirked, “Anyone who made your father mad enough to make them tuck tail and flee across the sea.”  Cersei looked seriously at Sansa, “How did they flee?  If I’m not mistaken Bear Island is off the west coast of the North, they’d had to get to White Harbor to get to Essos.”

“I was only a child, but Jorah and father were close.  He often would visit Winterfell with his cousins Dacey and Alysane, though knowing their connection to my family it makes sense why.”  Sansa mused, “The last time I remember seeing Sir Jorah and Lady Lynesse they had visited, but I remember them leaving before the rest of the Mormont party.”

Cersei sighed, “Your father gave them a head start.”

“Not quite,” Lynesse emerged with her daughter on her hip, “Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure seeing you again, you have truly grown into the very image of your Lady Mother.  Is she in attendance as well or is she advising your brother in Winterfell?”

Sansa bit her lip, “Neither I’m afraid.  Father was forced to set mother aside, and she returned to her family in Riverrun.”

Lynesse looked surprised, “Whatever could have happened to make your father dishonor her by doing that.”

“My father,” Cersei snorted, “and a cabal of other High Lords playing the game.  Poor Catelyn was a casualty of whatever schemes such men have come to.  I do believe Prince Doran to be the ringleader though, clearing the way for Lady Dayne.  The man and his brother always saw her as another sister.  The Tully’s transgressed dangerous grounds when they forced Lord Stark to take up his brother’s betrothal.”

“Lady Dayne,” Lynesse looked confused, “I would not think Lord Stark to be attracted to a girl barely a handful of years older than his eldest sons.  I doubt they have ever met.”

Cersei mused, “She was in attendance at Winterfell with the rest of us, but her dear sister does cast such a shadow, it is so hard to make oneself known when she’s in the room.”

This surprised Lynesse, who last heard Lady Ashara Dayne had taken her own life.  Sansa took pity on the woman and brought her up to speed on recent events in Westeros.

Lynesse looked shocked, “You are betrothed to the Crown Prince, Aegon Targaryen.  The boy’s father dishonored your aunt.”

“He didn’t,” Sansa shook her head, “It is a complicated mess, but Prince Rhaegar promised Aunt Lyanna her freedom from her betrothal to Robert.  In return, she would carry a child in place of Princess Elia who was unable to bear another child.  They wed in Dorne, and unlike the various rumors there was no knife at the Septon’s throat nor was he drunk.  The product of that union was my brother by choice Jon, though we are cousins by birth.”

Lynesse sighed, “That’s how they targeted Catelyn, the way she treated Jon.  Regardless that she did not know the truth.”

Sansa blinked in surprise, “You knew about Dacey and Alysane.”

“Of course I did dear,” Lynesse smirked, “I was Lady of Bear Island, there were few secrets I did not know.  Daughters of a House such as the Mormonts do not draw much attention from one’s liege lord.  Normally this is the case unless said liege intended to wed their son or daughter into that House.”  Lynesse looked to her daughter, “When your father would visit on his errands in the area, he and his sisters would go off hunting.  Then when Alysane met her partner, well, Jorah couldn’t make me unhear his shout referencing Lord Stark as her brother.”

Cersei smirked, “How did you and your beloved husband escape Lord Stark’s wrath if he did not give you a head start.”

“Distraction,” Lynesse mused, “it was only five years ago, we were visiting Winterfell when Wendel Manderly arrived with an account from a slaver he’d captured at White Harbor.  Attempting to save his own life the man claimed to know the name of a Northern lord who had sold a group of poachers to one of his associates.  In a ploy no doubt hoping to buy time for his colleagues to mount some attempt at a rescue, he said he’d only say the name to the Lord Paramount of the North.”

Sansa nodded, “Father departed not long after you and Ser Jorah.”

“We barely reached Bear Island ahead of the notice to arrest Jorah,” Lynesse shook her head, “Narrowly escaping Maege and her men, we took what we could and fled on the fastest ship Bear Island had.  By the time we reached Old Town the word had already spread, Father refused to let us dock, sending one of my brothers to warn us that if we set foot on Westeros we’d be arrested and executed.”

“Why would you name your daughter after Ser Jorah’s mother?” Cersei narrowed her eyes at the girl, “Your lover must not have cared.”

“Tregar is not Doreah’s father,” Both Sansa and Cersei looked shocked, “I got with child just before we arrived in Lys, Jorah was never around enough to notice.  What meager funds Jorah scrounged up was barely enough to feed one mouth let alone two.”

Sansa frowned, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Tell him?” Lynesse scoffed, “How, in the three years before Tregar took me I only saw my husband a handful of times.  He arrived at our hovel drunk as a sailor on leave and was gone the next morning.  Off to fight as a freelance sellsword.  I never knew where he was, only that he sent regular letters with his pay to keep the rent on that horrid little hole in the wall, and enough to keep me fed until the next letter.”

Cersei mused, “That’s how this Tregar swooned you away.  Promises to give you and your daughter a better life.  All the dresses you could ever ask for, all the fine foods you’d missed since going to the icy little island.  All you had to do was spread your legs for him whenever he asked.”

Lynesse’s face reddened as she looked away in shame, “It was worse than you think.  The merchant princes of Lys covet their concubines.  Wives are little more than trophies, a means to garner more wealth and political clout.  The more concubines one of these merchant princes has, the more prestige in wealth he can appear to have.  I didn’t start out as Tregar’s favorite, but I avoided the horrors the other concubines were forced to endure.  When a merchant prince held a feast, he was expected to provide a table companion for any unwed, widowed, or unattended guests.  Thanks to Doreah, I was saved from such, as part of their duties was to do anything the man, they were attending asked of them.”

Sansa gasped as Cersei grimaced, “In other words becoming a merchant prince’s concubine just made you an unpaid pillow slave.” Cersei noticed the way the girl clung tightly to her mother, “Does she know Ser Jorah is her father?”

“They have never met,” Lynesse grimaced, “I could not properly care for her when she was born.  It is how I first met Tregar.  His wife had miscarried late in her last pregnancy.  Tregar was looking for a child of a highborn to present to his ailing wife as a stand-in.  I spent my days with Tregar’s wife and other children, allowing her to treat Doreah as her own.  At night I would return to my hovel, and she would be kept at Tregar’s estate with the other children.  I didn’t know about the slave pins until I became his concubine.”

There was a knock at the door and one of the guards opened it to Genna Lannister leading a group of young ladies, “Ah, Lady Sansa we were looking for you.  See ladies, I told you that such a dutiful daughter of the Hand of the King would be sure to see to the wellbeing of those who have fallen as far as my poor niece and Lady Lynesse.”

Daenerys brow rose as she entered and moved to Sansa’s side.  Conspiratorially she whispered though Cersei could hear her plainly, “We tried our best to hide, but she found Arya first.  Your sister was not about to suffer the Old Lioness’s claws alone.”

“That was the real reason for your visit Little Dove, hiding from my beloved aunt,” Cersei smirked.

“Posh,” Genna Lannister bustled over to Cersei, “unseemly claiming ladies were hiding.  Poor Ashara needed a break and to see to her own matters.  I took the liberty of checking her wardrobe, nothing fitting a potential match for the Lord Hand.  I told her I’d go with her to the markets to pick out some new fabrics, but she graciously bade me to look after her charges while she worked on her own gowns.”

As Genna moved to orchestrate the footmen in bringing in the work the girls had been doing, Cersei patted Sansa’s arm, “I’m sorry Little Dove, Ashara knows well how to escape my aunt’s claws.  The easiest way is to throw someone else into them.”

Sansa grimaced as she looked to see Genna examining the stitching Arya had done the day before.  Her sister was improving but was still not as clean-lined as Sansa’s own work.  Arya’s dress was to be a more reserved imagining of the one Sansa was making herself, it was easier to guide her sister if all she needed to do was copy her movements.

(Red Keep; Training Yard)

Bran and Tommen spared under the watchful eye of Ser Cassel, though many other knights were getting some last-minute training in before the tourney started in a couple days.  Rodrik kept an eye on those in attendance, there had been a rather large number of offerings to squire Bran when he came of age.  Even Daven Lannister of Lannisport had approached Lord Stark with an offer.

Seeing the boys getting sluggish in their swings he called them to stop, “Good work today lads, get some water.  Today’s meeting should be over by now, Bran go find Jon and see if Ser Barristan has any tasks for you.  Tommen, your Uncle Tyrion asked you to come have lunch with him today.”

“I was going to go visit Mother,” Tommen countered.

“Aye,” Rodrik snorted, “apparently your Great Aunt has turned the Maiden’s Vault into a sewing circle and your uncle was giving you an out.  Your Frey cousins will be having lunch with him as well.”

Tommen nodded, “Okay, Aunt Genna gets a little much when there’s a tourney.”

“That’s a nice way to say my dear sister goes crazy,” Tywin walked towards them, “I’d heard tales of great warriors training on this field.”  Tywin looked around before looking to Rodrik, “I do believe the only warriors of note would be you Ser Cassel, and myself.”

“Perhaps they meant future great warriors, Lord Lannister,” Rodrik smirked, “Come to see how your grandson fairs.”

Tywin nodded, “Indeed, and that he and young Bran went so long without scoring tells me they have found a masterful instructor.”

“Mayhap,” Rodrik snorted, “or they have been paying attention when my liege lord puts the older pups on their arses.”

“Fear is a great motivator,” Tywin nodded, before looking at the boys, “I do believe your instructor dismissed you both.”  Nodding the boys dashed off to put away their training gear.

Rodrik crossed his arms, “Is there something you need Lord Lannister?”

“Perhaps,” Tywin mused, “I received the most interesting of letters from my dear brother in Winterfell.”

Rodrik’s brows rose, “Aye, I’d heard from my nephew he took on your nephew as a captain of the guard.  Problem?”

“No, I am actually proud Lancel has found himself a place, the boy was ever dutiful to his cousin Cersei.”  At Rodrik’s look, Tywin grimaced, “Not like that, at least not in this world of events.  Thank the Old and New.  Though it seems he has found himself a northern flower.”

Rodrik could only nod, “Jory wrote about that as well.  Said Lord Robb, Osha, and he put the fear of the Others in the boy before they set out for Riverrun with little Rickon.”

Tywin chuckled, “I can assure you Lancel would have no impure intentions with your daughter, at least until he seeks her hand.  Kevan didn’t want it to shock me when I inevitably noticed their budding feelings.  I dare say I will be too close to Riverrun at the time of the wedding, that not attending could be seen as discourteous.”

“I’ll be in attendance as well,” Rodrik nodded, “been asked to accompany the prince’s retinue.  I’ll be bringing Lady Arya back to King’s Landing while the others continue visiting a few other kingdoms.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tywin nodded, “as the head of my House and you are the head of your own, let us dispense with the games of younger men.  Your daughter is young and yet to flower, but she is a prize few outside the North or the circle of Lords Paramount would understand.  House Cassel may only be seen as a knightly house, but your family has stood at the shoulder of the Stark in Winterfell far longer than the Citadel has records.  Not many houses other than branch houses are permitted to wear the sigil of their liege lord.”

Rodrik tilted his head, “You gunning to match Poole’s daughter to one of your nephews as well?”

“A steward’s daughter,” Tywin shook his head, “The Pooles only trace their ancestry back a few centuries at best.  You Cassel have a much deeper-rooted connection to your liege lords, and it has nothing to do with the blood in your veins.”

“Beth is my pride Lannister,” Rodrik mused, “The only one of the daughters any of my wives gave me to survive past her first year.  My brother Martyn had four sons, and Jory is all that remains.  Do you know what Lord Stark told me of his visions, oh he said nothing until Prince Oberyn passed a message from my dearly departed brother for Jory to find a wife.  My nephew was fated to die in this shit stain of a city, a knife plunged into his eye socket by the hand of your own son.”

Tywin nodded, “I was gifted with such knowledge as well.  Jaime acted foolishly and out of fear.  His love for Tyrion is selfless.  Out of all of us, he was the only one to truly care for his younger brother.  Had Lady Catelyn also not acted rashly such an occurrence would not have happened.  By arresting my son, she set into motion the series of events that brought about the ends of many great houses and plunged the realm into a war that weakened us.”

Rodrik nodded, “Aye, the fates did not favor anyone that day.”

“Then let us pave the way for a better future,” Tywin sighed, “With Lancel and your daughter wed, the Westerlands will have ties to a House with closest ties to the Lord Paramount of the North, and the North will have binding ties to the Westerlands, you know enough that I will act to protect my kin.  I would do no less for Lancel than I would for Tyrion.  Lord Robb’s sister will be wed to Aegon, tying the North to the Crown.  With this alliance, Aegon will have no reason for continued distrust of my family.”

“Should he,” Rodrik frowned, “you know I must inform Lord Stark of this discussion.”

Tywin nodded, “I would expect nothing less.  I’d have approached him myself first on this matter, but lately, he’s been rather preoccupied extinguishing slavery rings and making Septons flee his presence while leaving trails of yellow and brown in their wake.”

“That business with Ser Borus Blount set him off,” Rodrik grimaced, “Been more mercurial than normal.”

Tywin sighed, “The timing was not grand, it would been about now that the altercation that claimed your nephew would have transpired.  We lingered in Winterfell far longer than the King did in other confluences of events.”

“Be bad form not to recognize the happenings of the past,” Rodrik mused, “but we live in our own world now.”  His eyes narrowed as he noticed a group of men enter the field fully armed with no House livery, “Wonder what that is about.”

Tywin glared at the men, “Sellswords, I believe they are officers of the Wolfpack and Stormbreakers.  Come to offer their arms and services for the battle in the North, of course, even this will cost the crown something.  Tyrion informed me they were making their opening bids today; the crown was preparing a counteroffer.”

“Sad state of affairs, when we must rely on Sellswords,” Rodrik snarled.

“Excuse me,” both men turned to a young girl leading a group of three men, “My brothers and Grey Worm were wondering if they may use this area to train.”

Rodrik frowned, “Are you guests of the crown?”

The girl nodded, “We are here to negotiate means of transport and housing for our brethren.”

“Brethren?” Rodrik frowns, “Where are you from child?”

The girl looked embarrassed, “Pardon my lords I forgot to introduce myself.  I am Missandei of…formerly from Naath, but we come by way of Astapor.  I am the speaker of the Unsullied, free men no longer bound by the yoke of the Good Masters.”

“By speaker, I take it to mean you’re the only one who speaks common,” Rodrik looked to the three young men standing protectively behind her.

“Yes,” Missandei frowned, “that has led to a minor difficulty in our endeavors as no one will arrange a meeting between me and the Lord Hand or another member of the King’s council.”

Tywin smiled kindly, “Then you are in luck young miss,” he indicated to Rodrik, “You happen to be speaking with the head of the Lord Hand’s household guard.”

Missandei's posture slacked with relief, “Truly.”

“Aye,” Rodrik smirked, “I will speak with the Lord Hand and arrange a meeting.  Do you have accommodations to which I can send a messenger?”

The girl shook her head, “We do not have much in the way of funds and most of that was spent paying a fisherman to see us across the Narrow Sea.  We have a camp on a sandy beach not far from the city.”

Rodrik shook his head, “We can’t have that, wait here, I’ll get ahold of Ser Barristan, and we’ll figure out something more comfortable than a bedroll under the stars.”

“Thank you,” Missandei smiled brightly, “Even a pile of hay in a stable stall would be an improvement over the place we came from.”

(Great Sept of Baelor)

The Sparrow watched as the Most Devout shouted over each other as the parchment he’d delivered made its rounds.  The Septons and Septas that made up the Most Devout had been summoned to officially recognize Prince Aegon as King Robert’s rightful heir.  Not that this bickering pack of nitwits was really going to change that fact.

“The Lord Hand cannot do this,” One of the Septas shouted, “He cannot demand the Faith forgive the loans we have paid to help the crown during their financial troubles of recent years.”

Smirking the Sparrow held his hand out in a benign gesture, “As the merciful Lord Stark discussed with me yesterday, the money the Faith lent the crown was not ours to give in the first place.  When the late Master of Coin came before this august body to ask for support, the support given deprived the funds that should have gone to tending to the poor, to providing medicine to the sick, and giving shelter to those who have none.”

“You, brown-robe-wearing country bumpkin,” one of the Septons snarled at him, “What has he got on you to make you do his bidding?”

“Far less than he has on any one of you,” The Sparrow muttered under his breath before avoiding the topic, “The Lord Hand’s son should be meeting with the High Septon tomorrow.”

Another Septa squawked, “The bastard or the pup, both are heathens, I have heard they go to the godswood far more than the sept.”

The Sparrow’s smile tightened, “Lord Brandon is in his rights as a son of the North to seek his father’s gods.  Yet, I have taken to see to the Lord Hand’s children’s spiritual needs.  I do find the godswood a calming place.  Lord Stark even acquiesced to permit me a set of carvings of the Seven to be kept in the godswood.”

“What of the girls,” another Septa called out, “not even a proper Septa.  Mordane was dismissed from her duties and remains at Winterfell.”

The Sparrow chuckled, “Lady Sansa is far more knowledgeable in both her parents’ faiths than some members of this august body.  If not for her destiny to bear a crown I would place her name to be first among the sisterhood of Septas.  Lady Arya could use a touch more decorum as a girl of her status, but I am led to believe she is far better behaved now than when under the thumb of this Mordane.”

The High Septon stood from his crystal-encrusted seat between the Septons and Septas, “My friends, we must remember.  We are the guiding hand of the Faith, not the Lord Hand.”

“You do realize the man is a descendant of Cregan Stark,” One of the less pompous Septons chuckled, “That man who with a word cut the number of Septons and Septas in this chamber in half.  Some of whom ended up cut in half themselves.”

“That was different,” Another moderate Septon scoffed, “The Most Devout of that day didn’t have the spine to defy a crazed woman grasping at the shreds of power slipping through her bony fingertips.”

The less pompous Septon glared at his fellow, “Regardless if Stark’s warning to our current High Septon is anything to go on.  The man knows enough if he suggests the King have a review of us done.  How many of you are so assured you won’t be taking a walk of atonement right to the block.”

(Winterfell)

Jory watched Osha pace before the hearth of their quarters, “You will wear a divot into the floor before long.”

“I should have stayed with Rickon, my one duty,” Osha snarled, “what if he gets hurt?”

Snorting Jory stood and moved to physically impede his wife’s pacing, “He has Beth, two giants among men, and two actual giants.  There is not much between here and Riverrun that would look at such a party and not reconsider their life choices before turning tale and fleeing to part unknown.”

“Not all creatures on the gods’ paths are as reasoned as you husband,” Osha smirked before pushing him backward towards the door to their bedroom.

“A reasoned man would remember his maester’s warnings about pregnant wives and stormy emotions,” Jory chuckled.

Osha’s smirk widened, “Did Luwin inform you of increased needs as well.”

“Aye,” he was working on the handle when incessant pounding came to the outer door, “Damn fools.”  He yelled to the door, “Better be bloody important or you’ll regret it.”

“Sorry Jory,” the voice of one of the younger guardsmen came through the door, “Lord Stark sent me, Lord Bolton approaches.”

Grumbling Jory and Osha broke apart, “Why couldn’t the damn flayer do the decent thing and fall off the prow of his ship?”

“He is Lord Eddard’s man,” Osha pressed herself to Jory’s back, “he felt Lord Robb betrayed the memory of his father.  Letting his Southron mother distract him from what he should have been doing.  Defending the North, rescuing his sisters.  Not pandering to those below the Neck.”

“How?” Jory looked at her over his shoulder.

Osha swallowed hard, “In one version of events Rickon and I were captured.  Roose’s bastard gave me to his father as a prize.  To protect Rickon I did whatever Bolton asked of me.  Roose came to trust me, he told me more than he’d ever tell anyone.  It is how I knew what to say to convince the man to turn against his son and permit me to do what I needed to do.”

“How do we neutralize Bolton as a threat now?” Jory asked.

Osha hugged herself to her husband, “I have already taken steps husband.  We need not even open the flayer’s veins to do so.”

In the yard Roose Bolton road into Winterfell ahead of his personal guard and the captains and commander of the Company of the Rose.  In a swift movement he dismounted and moved to stand before Robb, then hesitated before kneeling, “Lord Robb, I am sorry I missed your father our beloved Magnar.  May he return to guide us soon in our darkest hour.”

“Rise my lord,” Robb waited for Roose to stand, “You bring friends.”

Roose snorted, “I bring an army.  It will take time for the entirety of the Company of the Rose to arrive.  I took the liberty of sending word to the Night’s Watch, they’ve asked to be permitted to take over one of the abandoned keeps along the Wall.”

“Prudent,” Robb acknowledged, “I am sure my father will be gladdened to hear of your safe return and the success of your tasks.  I’ll have your men given rooms to freshen up while we share a draft of ale, you’ve been surviving on whatever swill passes as such in Essos no doubt.”

Roose smirked, “Indeed.  Speaking of preparing rooms, is that not the duty of your lady wife?”

“She will see to it, but Maester Luwin was checking on her when word of your approach reached me,” Robb smirked.

“I hope she is well,” Roose plied.

Robb chuckled, “You haven’t heard, my wife is expecting.”

“Good,” Roose clapped Robb’s shoulder, “Now we have something truly joyous to drink to.”

Robb escorted Roose to his father’s solar.  As the men sat there was a knock at the door.  Robb frowned as Val entered carrying a tray with a flagon of ale and two cups, “Val, I told you as a guest you need not act as a servant.”

The blonde Free Folk woman smiled, “It is my sister who is your guest Lord Stark, I am merely her unwed sister who has nothing else to do in this hall of kneelers.”

Robb frowned at the way Val emphasized her status of being unwed, “Still, I thank you.”

Roose held up his hand, “She is one of the Free Folk?”

“Yes, her sister Dalla married the deserter Mance Rayder.  Apparently one of those who had the visions informed Dalla would not survive childbirth, he asked me to lend the aid of Maester Luwin,” Robb frowned, “Margaery had just learned of her own pregnancy, she could not imagine a woman suffering through such without some help.”

“It is a dangerous endeavor women are tasked by the gods to undertake,” Roose filled his cup and handed it to Val, “Let us drink to the health of those baring the future within these halls.  Lady Margaery Stark and Lady Dalla wife of Mance.  May their children look upon a world free of the shadow of the Others.”

Val took the cup and drank from it, “May they grow strong as their fathers, and be as comely as their mothers.”

As he took the cup back Roose chuckled in his low voice, “I have met Lady Margaery, and if your sister is half the vision of you comely would be an understatement.”

“You are most gracious with your compliments,” Val smiled at the Leech Lord.

Once Val left Robb looked suspiciously at Lord Bolton, “What was that?”

Roose chuckled, “I sometimes forget your youth my lord.  That and you did not have to do much in the way of courting.  Your Lord Father saw an advantageous match and took it, you were just lucky the girl was both smart and easy to love.  Some of us have a harder time finding beneficial matches.”

“She is of the Free Folk,” Robb frowned, “what benefit is there?”

“You do not see it?  I take the sacrifice of marrying a woman of the Free Folk with some notoriety and clout among her people.  Someone respected.  I tie them to us; I show we are willing to let the bad blood of past ages go for the betterment of all who reside within the North.”  Roose nodded, “If your father were here, he would understand this is the best course of action for the North.”

Robb worked his jaw, “It doesn’t hurt she is of childbearing age and you are in need of an heir.”

“There is that as well.” Roose took a drink of his ale, “So where is that Lannister dog left to whisper in your ear?”

“Lord Kevan?” Robb frowned, “I sent him to Torrhen’s Square to oversee the market day.  It was a task Rodrik would normally undertake, and Jory was going to see to it, but Kevan volunteered to give Jory and Osha the day.  Regardless of what you think Lord Kevan has not been whispering in my ear, he has given sound advice when asked, but does not overstep himself.”

“Good, as long as the Southron knows his place,” Roose set his cup down, “Now what you just said, when did the Cassel pup steal himself your family’s pet wildling.”

“The night of my wedding,” Robb took a drink of his ale, “though they got to do things the easy way.  Just them and their closest family, namely Jory’s uncle and cousin.  No frivolities that come with our stations.”

“We all must make sacrifices my lord,” Roose sighed, “yours was to play the part expected of you.  A part you are doing exceptionally well my lord.  You have the leader of the Free Folk’s wife and unborn child under your roof.  You have an heir on the way to stabilize your line.  You are readying the North for the promised winter to come.”

Robb frowned, “Do you still practice the tradition of the first night?”

He saw Roose swallow hard, “Did your father tell you?”

“He knows?” Robb glared.

Roose looked to the door before pulling up his sleeve to reveal long jagged scars, “Your father caught me in the act.  Not long after the Rebellion, he was making the customary rounds, making nice with us.  We had chosen him as our liege lord after all.  I was not expecting him so soon, a huntsman was marrying a tanner’s daughter in a hamlet just north of Dreadfort.  My lands, the huntsman crossed me, so I chose to enact my rights of the first night.  Your father’s journey brought him from further north and through that hamlet.”

“It is deemed as rape,” Robb pointed out.

“Lord Eddard caught me before I had actually done anything,” Roose frowned, “The most he could accuse me of is terrorizing them.  Yet, your father is a shrewd man.  He knew the first night was not the only practice outlawed that I am knowledgeable in.  I flayed and made a blood eagle of Maester Luwin’s predecessor.”  Roose indicated the scars, “Instead of the Wall or taking my head.  We went to the godswood of Dreadfort.  Your father had me kneel before our shared gods and flay my own arm.  A strip for each woman I had dishonored.”  He pointed to one of the scars, “This one was for Ramsay’s mother.  Two years ago, I knelt before that heart tree once again and made it longer after that misbegotten cur became a kinslayer.”

Robb frowned as he pulled a yellowed parchment from his father’s desk, “Father truly trusted you?”

Roose grimaced, “It is not a matter of trust my lord.  Your father is not only my liege lord.  He punished me for my wrongs in a manner befitting the Magnar of Winter.  You know the meaning of that title?”

“A guardian of the people, not simply a king as the Andals assumed,” Robb stated.

“Assumptions make asses of us all my lord,” Roose smirked, “My Magnar taught me a hard lesson that day before the heart tree.  I may play games with lesser men, but not with your father.  Lord Eddard is a man of two very opposite natures.  There is the face he shows to most, the honorable man most knows him as.”

“And the Quiet Wolf,” Robb intoned.

Roose nodded, “I have seen both faces my lord, and I never wish the eyes of the Quiet Wolf to fall upon myself again.  I am your father’s most loyal man; others may claim such but those are just words.  As Torrhen Stark’s bastard brother once offered to slay sleeping dragons, I would brave any danger your father asks of me.”

Robb frowned, “But that loyalty does not extend to me, does it.”

“We are First Men, my lord,” Roose frowned, “Loyalty is not inherited it is earned.  Prove to me as your father did that you are worthy of the title.  Show me that you are not simply a pup sitting in a chair too big for him.”

“Do you have any idea what this parchment is,” Robb showed him the yellowed missive.

The muscle in Roose’s jaw feathered as he recognized the emblem of his house, the seal broken, “I am not sure, but I would hazard it is the letter I sent your father offering Domeric for your sister Sansa.  Your father replied that he would not make the mistake of his father and betroth his children before seeing that the match would be agreeable by those involved.”

Robb’s brows furrowed, “That response did not anger you?”

“I believed Domeric would be able to show your father that such a match would be agreeable,” Roose snorted, “It was your Lady Mother’s response that I found irksome.  She was sure your father’s friendship with the King would make him look to the North for a wife for his son.  A simple bannerman’s son was not good enough for her daughter.”

“Mother wrote to you on this matter,” Robb glared.

Roose shook his head, “Not to me, to my late wife.  The letter upset her so she could not hide it from me.  She wanted to ride to Winterfell and show it to Lord Eddard.  Her sister was furious as well, she loved her nephew deeply.”

“I am sorry I did not get to meet Domeric,” Robb nodded, “All I’ve heard of him was good.”

“I am sure he would have befriended you and Jon had the opportunity arose,” Roose smiled at the memory of his trueborn son, “It was his wish to have a relationship with his own brother as he saw at the Redfort and heard of you and your brother.  Unfortunately, there was just something broken in Ramsay.”

A knock at the door preceded Margaery entering the solar, “My Lord Bolton, I am sorry I was not present to greet you to our home.”

Roose stood at the Lady of Winterfell’s entrance, “Apologies are not needed Lady Stark, your husband tells me you were preoccupied by a most joyous tiding.”

Margaery smiled brightly, “It is truly a blessing.  However, it did mean we could not attend Lord Edmure’s wedding.  There must be a Stark in Winterfell after all.”

“Indeed,” Roose looked between the young Lord and his Lady, “Lord Robb told me you invited Manse Rayder’s wife to convalesce within Winterfell for her own pregnancy as well.  Prudent maneuvering.”

Margaery mused, “True, but I was also honest about helping a woman in the same condition as I.”

Roose nodded, “Of course, and no doubt the Free Folk looks favorably on House Stark.”

“Actually,” Robb smirked, “They are a bit fearful of my wife.”

(King’s Landing)

Jorah stood with Tregar on the steps of the Red Keep.  A crowd was forming around the base of Aegon’s Hill near the hastily built gallows.  The slaver sneered, “You are enjoying this.”

“Not going to lie,” Jorah smirked, “but in my dreams, it was my hands strangling the life out of you, not a rope.”  Jorah listened as the criers began speaking to the crowd, “You’re lucky, Lord Stark was willing to hand you and your friends off to the Faith for a livelier execution.  The King wanted this sordid mess done with before the start of the Tourney.”

“Lucky me,” Tregar looked over the gathering crowds, “least I will be remembered.  All you will be is the lapdog that kicks the stool from beneath my feet.”

Jorah snorted, “Oh, you will be remembered.  We’re doing it my people’s way, just not with a heart tree.  Won’t be a stool.  The noose goes around your neck, and then me and a couple of my boys will hoist you off your feet with the rope hanging over the scaffold.  Your own weight tightens the noose.  The last these people will see of your face is your fear and panic.”  Jorah tightened his grip on the man’s arm, “They will remember the smell as your body loses control and your bowels and bladder are emptied, adding to the stench of this city.”

Tregar struggled the rest of the way to the gallows.  Pleaded and begged as the Septon overseeing the execution asked for his last words.  The man wept as the rope was cinched around his neck, his hands and feet bound.  Jorah pulled on the rope until Tregar’s toes could no longer relieve his weight from the rope, then ordered it tied off.

Jorah watched as Tregar's struggles came to an end.  As the current captain of the Gold Cloaks, it was his responsibility to address the crowd.  As the last of Tregar’s associates ceased twitching and simply swung, he stepped to the edge of the gallows, “The King’s justice has been done, these men deprived others of their lives and freedom.  For this, we consign them to the judgment of the gods Old and New.  May their gods have mercy on their souls, for there is none to be found here.  Any man who would deprive another of their freedom is deserving of the same fate.”  Jorah’s throat burned with bile at the hypocrisy hidden in being the one to condemn these men.

There were cheers from the crowd, as rotten food stuff was hurled over Jorah’s head to pelt the swinging bodies behind him.  Jorah was quick to jump down from the gallows as his men made space for him.  One of them chuckled in a thick Crownlander accent, “Northerners not accustomed to pelting the condemned with rotten turnips?”

“It’s the North, we never have rotten turnips to throw,” Jorah chuckled, “usually the pelting is with stones, and occurs on the march to the gallows, not after.”

The Septon calmly removed a lettuce leaf that had landed on his shoulder, “The crowd is riled up, no doubt.”  He looked to where Ser Ilyn Payne was checking admiring their work, “The King’s Justice is in a rather pleasant mood.”

Jorah grimaced, “First execution the man has gotten to participate in since the King returned from the North.  Though how do you know he’s in a good mood, he still looks rather dour.”

“That’s Ser Ilyn for yeah,” the Crownlander Gold Cloak joked, “Can’t say a word on account the Mad King took his tongue.  The only thing that makes him happy is doing the King’s dirty work.”

Grimacing Jorah called to the man, “Payne,” when he looked at him he continued, “Let the crowd tire themselves out, then give the bodies to the Silent Sisters and have this mess cleaned up.”  Payne nodded then looked back to the gallows.  Shaking his head Jorah looked to the other two, “I need a drink, but first I have to report to Renly that the deed is done.”

The Crownlander grinned, “I’ll get the boys to round a cask of ale from the tavern.  Think we all could use a round after this.”  He looked to the Septon, “Want to join us, your holiness?”

“I took a vow to abstain,” the Septon glanced back at the gallows, “but even the Seven Who Are One could not fault me after this.”

Jorah gripped the Septon’s shoulder, “It helps to imagine the pain and suffering these men caused.  I don’t have to imagine; I’ve seen the slave pins of Lys.  Men, women, and children are stripped bare and paraded before potential buyers.  Babes are being ripped from their mother’s arms and sold to the highest bidder.  Breeding pins where women were tied to a post and a man selected based on looks forced to rape her.  That is the kind of thing these men did.  I for one do not pity their fate.”

Both the Crownlander and Septon looked ill, and the Septon spoke, “May the Stranger take them through all seven hells.”  The Crownlander nodded in agreement.

“If my gods got them then those seven hells would be a paradise in comparison,” Jorah glared at Tregar’s lifeless face.

(Tower of the Hand)

Quentyn Martell sat in the seat across from the empty chair behind the Hand’s desk.  Next to the hearth the dire wolf Lyanna lay watching him.  Hearing the door latch, Quentyn stood, “Lord Hand.”

Surprised, Ned Stark glared at the younger man, “Prince Quentyn, is there something I can do for you.  I hope you are not troubled sharing a room with your brother.”

“No,” Quentyn smiled slightly, “It also isn’t uncomfortable, actually Trystan more often than not comes to me when he has night terrors.  Father would just scold him, and Arianne is not what you’d consider maternal.”

“I have heard your mother has returned to Dorne,” Eddard frowned.

“True, but Trys was rather young when she left, he barely knows her.”  Quentyn smiled tightly, “I’m actually here to speak with you on another matter.  I know my uncle put my name forward to fill a vacancy in the Kingsguard.  I am sure you know the reasons for this arrangement.”

Ned nodded, “To remove you from the line of succession and pave the way for your brother to become the next Prince of Dorne with my youngest daughter at his side.  I am not a fan of political maneuvering, but that doesn't mean I am unable to read the actions of my fellow lords.”  Ned snorted, “It is also rather evident when your mother had your brother gift Arya a cyvasse board and the way your cousins hover around her as they do.”

Quentyn smirked, “How has she taken to the game?”

“Rather astutely,” Ned grimaced, “her opening strategy could use some work, but she is quick to pick up her opponent’s tactics.  She and your brother were actually playing doubles with Edric and Nymeria when I returned to the tower.”

“Who was her partner?” Quentyn asked.

“Trystan,” Ned informed, “apparently your bother has a strong opening gambit but struggles at responding to his opponent’s counter-offensive.”

Quentyn smiled, “Seems they complement each other well.”

“I still do not hold much hope of your father’s desire to be fulfilled,” Ned sighed, “Arya is a rather strong-willed being.  Working together well in a board game does not mean they will make a good match.”

“My father is rather determined to get what he wants,” Quentyn mused, “he is also a master at playing the long game.  He has the patience to wait years to see his plans come to fruition.  He plotted his revenge against Houses Baratheon and Lannister the day news of my aunt’s death reached Sunspear.  He even thought of approaching you when he heard of your sister’s fate, but he knew it would be hard to turn your back on a brother after having lost more than half your family to war.  He planned to strike in such a way that it would not raise your ire and could very well bring you to our side.”

Ned frowned, “Had your father approached me at the end of Robert’s Rebellion I could not say how things would have turned out.  Seeing Elia and the children lay upon the blackened stones where my father drew his last breath.  To hear Robert discount the horrors that had been done to them, to dehumanize them as dragon spawn.  Such callousness was not what I had been fighting for, not what I had broken my vows to Ashara to achieve.”

Quentyn looked surprised, “What changed?”

“Greyjoy’s Rebellion,” Ned explained, “I did not bring the North because Robert called, just happened to be a coincidence.  Euron Greyjoy attacked Bear Island several months before the burning of Lannisport, he harmed someone dear to me, and I was going to bring winter down upon all the Iron Born for his actions.”

“Rather extreme, my lord,” Quentyn gulped.

Ned’s eyes hardened, “Watching one’s sister die before your eyes pleading for you to promise to protect her only child.  Then I saw another sister battered and dishonored.  I am sure your uncle would agree my plans were quite agreeable.”

“Uncle Obi would have been at your side egging you on if he’d heard of this,” Quentyn confirmed, “I’m sure father would have lent you a legion of our best spears as well.”  Quentyn frowned, “No one ever wondered how the North arrived so swiftly?  It has long been known the North is normally the last to arrive, you do have to march through a swamp that takes men on horse a month to cross.”

Ned smirked, “A month on the causeway.  It’s shorter if you know who to ask for directions.”  Ned looked seriously at the young Dornishman, “When I met Robert again, we put the events in King’s Landing behind us.  Once more we fought for a common cause.  In a way, Robert saved me from becoming the same callous creature he had been the day he stepped over Elia and the children to ascend the throne.  He kept me from unleashing the full wrath of the North upon the Iron Islands.  My men are loyal to me, and had I asked them to raise those islands and salt the ruins, they’d have done it without a second thought.  That is the true power of a Magnar, the unquestioned loyalty of those who chose to follow where they lead.”

Quentyn nodded, “I think I understand.  You and father may approach things in different ways, but you are still men who would burn the world for those you love.”  He looked to the dire wolf by the hearth, “I love my family Lord Stark, my parents, my siblings, my cousins, even my foolishly reckless uncle.  My punishment for forgetting that lies within the Pale Sword Tower, is to spend my days protecting Aegon and Jon, even Robert until he steps down.”

“Whatever drove your father to disinherit you is between you and him,” Ned emphasized, “but do not look at the kingsguard as a punishment.  Barristan is looking to alter some of the traditions.  That is why Berrien of Tarth and my former good uncle Brynden Tully have also been named.  While membership in their ranks will still require forsaking claims to lands and titles.  We must look to ways to ensure another Jaime Lannister or Cristian Cole cannot taint the orders ranks.”

Quentyn frowned, “You don’t mean?”

“Visenya modeled the Kingsguard upon a corrupted version of the Night’s Watch.  Many generations ago, long before the Targaryen even started their Freehold, there was a man of the Watch we only know as the Thirteenth Lord Commander,”  Ned looked at the young man seriously, “Before the Thirteenth the vows of the Night’s Watch did not include mention of celibacy, in fact, there was no such inclusion until the coming of the Andals and their translation of the vows.  They mistook the terms of taking no wife to mean the Night’s Watch was to be celebrated.”

“Does that not mean the same thing?” Quentyn looked confused.

Ned frowned, “Not when one sees the original runes the vows were written in.  The actual translation would be I swear to claim no partner not bound to the Wall.  The original Night’s Watch included men and women.  First Men much as the Rhoynar did not limit the roles of women.  From what we have uncovered in the Nightfort, the order of stewards within the Watch was formed after the Sisters of the Watch were disbanded.  The vows of the Sisters of the Watch included wording that their children were born of the Watch and would live for the Watch.”

Quentyn blinked, “It was a hereditary order?”

“Yes, and they would recruit as well to bolster their numbers as they do to this day.  It would also explain the Watch’s long-standing internal dealings with matters such as rape and abuse, and unwanted attention.  Even my late father found some of the wording on their codes of conduct did not make sense.  That there were once women bound to the Wall does make the actual wording of the codes make sense now.”  Ned frowned, “It was the actions of the Thirteenth Commander that instigated the initial changes.  Women were immune to the power he used to bind the Watch.  To keep them from interfering in his plans to turn the Wall into his personal kingdom, he had the members of the Sisters of the Watch murdered by their own brethren.  After his defeat no woman willingly volunteered to restart their order, and no man was willing to force the issue after what was done to the previous order.”

Quentyn sighed, “So when the Andals arrived and saw the Wall guarded only by men.  They took what they saw and their mistranslation to mean the Night’s Watch was meant to be a celibate order.”  He frowned, “Why’d no one correct them?”

Ned shook his head, “Knowledge is power Quentyn, and the First Men lost much of their advantage when the Citadel fell to the Andal Invaders when the Hightower turned their cloaks to submit to the Faith.  It was Gardner Greenhands greatest accomplishment and his greatest folly.  The Andal had all they needed to crush the First Men in one place.”

“It didn’t help them against the North,” Quentyn reminded.

“To some extent it did,” Ned frowned, “We were still reliant on the Citadel’s maesters for many reasons, more so their ability to understand common after the invasion ended.  It became common practice among the First Men to not share our knowledge willingly.  If the Andals came up with an assumed understanding of something, we let them keep to their belief in ignorance rather than correcting them.  This became a double-edged blade as to keep things from the Citadel and Maesters, knowledge was passed verbally from parent to child, father to son, mother to daughter.  What happens if a parent passes before they pass their knowledge, what happens when an heir and their father both die without properly preparing the spare heir?”

Quentyn noticed a document he had not seen during his wait for the Lord Hand, “Lord Stark, what is that?”

Eddard Stark mused, “An agreement between your father and me.  As Princess Daenerys’ guardian, I have to look after her well-being and ensure her interests are seen.  As a member of the Kingsguard, you will hold no titles and claim no lands.”  Quentyn looked shocked, “As I said there will be a few modifications of the vows.  No one will confuse you as Ser Cole or Ser Lannister.”

(Two Days Later)

Aegon was disappointed there would be no squires’ rounds, but the delays due to the planned swearing-ins and other announcements would mean to keep the people’s attention they would need to keep things concise.  A week of events was scheduled, the first day would be mounted challenge duels on the jousting field, day two would be the start of the archery competition, day three would be the melee, and day four would be the first round of jousting.  Day five would see the champion’s round of the archery competition, while day six would be one-on-one duels on the melee pitch, and finally, day seven would hold the remainder of the jousting competition.

Of his friends, only Loras and Quentyn would be competing in the jousting portion of the tourney.  Jon had tried to talk Lord Stark into permitting their admission, even trying to remind him the North should be represented in the tourney honoring the Hand that originated from that kingdom.  Lord Stark had coolly remarked that the North would be represented by Jorah Mormont and the two knights of House Manderly.

Lord Stark had acquiesced to Jon putting his name forward in the archery competition alongside Edric, but his brother and their friends had seen Jalabha Xho practicing.  The Summer Islander had a good eye and impressive skill, and even Robert was betting on the man to take the laurels from the archery competition.

Aegon was tempted to likewise bet on the man, but Edric Dayne had slyly directed him to put his dragons on another contestant.  Edric did not enter the competition with aspirations to win, like Jon he felt a need to show his respects to the man they both called father.  Edric expected full well to be beaten by a common Marcher named Anguy, a man who rode in the company of Edric’s knight Lord Beric Dondarrion.

Anguy had been with them in the North but had not made the journey to Winterfell.  He’d remained in White Harbor and apparently occurred a sizable debt that Lord Beric had to bail the man out of.  While a spendthrift the man had skills as an archer and was a close friend of Edric’s.  Such as that the young man had sworn himself to Edric so he could compete under the banner of House Dayne.  This would also keep Edric and Anguy at opposite ends of the lists as competitors from the same House were never entered in the same batch of competitors.

The melee would also be an interesting contest as Gendry would be fighting under both House Baratheon and House Targaryen’s banners.  As would the kingsguard members Ser Arys and Ser Preston.  Ser Mandon would be riding in the lists of the joust, and Arys would also be competing in the archery competition.  For the first time in well over a decade, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen would be seen at a tourney in Westeros.  Of course, Aegon would have to put money on his champions.

“My Prince,” Aegon smiled as Sansa entered the royal box, they had discussed waiting until the criers could announce their betrothal.  Yet Robert had vetoed it and said let the courtiers wag their tongues.

Aegon stood, “My Lady,” he waited for her to take the seat next to him, “You think anyone has noticed yet?”

“If not, Lady Genna will be sure to start the gossip.  The Old She-Lion is adamant that I have a Westerland girl among my ladies.”  Sansa sighed, “I suggested Myrcella was already in attendance, but even though they are blood, Genna Lannister admits the girl’s origins make it improper.”

“Did you remind her your closest lady in waiting is a dire wolf,” Aegon smirked, “I’d think next to that an incestually conceived daughter of a disgraced queen would be almost pedestrian?”  He looked to where his cousin Trystan and Sansa’s sister Arya were seated, “How is it going with them?”

“They are children,” Sansa ignored the fact that she and Aegon were barely a few years older than the younger pair, “To Arya, he is just a boy who has a few interesting hobbies and likes the same things she does.  It would be no different than playing with Bran and Rickon in the godswood.  She doesn’t have dreams of a dashing knight sweeping her off her feet.”

“I’ll make sure cousin Robert knights me,” Aegon teased.

Sansa shook her head, “Has Trystan said anything about Arya?”

“Like you said they are children,” Aegon mused, “He thinks she is fun to be with, especially as Bran is too busy with his duties to play games in the godswood often.  Uncle Doran is thankfully a patient man, but I do not doubt he has plotted.”

“We could always lock them in a room until they either fall in love or kill each other,” Both turned to see Quentyn and Jon had joined them, “I mean, I am pretty sure the little she-wolf can take my baby brother with her hands tied.”

Jon snorted, “Thanks to the dire wolf that follows her everywhere.”

“There is that.” Quentyn nodded, “But yours and Lady Sansa’s baby sister, well she has that fire.  Trystan is rather mellow in comparison.  Not saying he’s not capable or anything, just father is putting a crushing amount of pressure on his thin shoulders.”

While contemplating his cousin’s words he noticed his aunt arrive with Shireen, “Aunt, cousin, welcome.”

Quentyn and Jon moved down the bench allowing Daenerys and Shireen to sit beside Sansa.  He noticed his young cousin smiling brightly, “Why Lady Baratheon what has brought such a smile to your lovely face.” He made sure his voice held no hint of sarcasm, Shireen was very conscious of her scars.

Shireen looked to Daenerys who smiled conspiratorially, “Ser Arys accepted a challenge, he asked Lady Shireen for her favor to see him victorious.”

“Who is he facing?” Jon asked.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth,” Quentyn remarked.

“Lady?” Sansa frowned, “He is facing a woman?”

“Aye, though I would hesitate to call that woman a lady.” Quentyn mused, “If she beats Arys at the joust and Ser Mandon in a one-on-one duel during the challenges in a few days.  Ser Barristan will knight her, and she’ll be given the White Cloak.”

Daenerys looked to the Dornishman, “You don’t approve?”

“I’m taking the White Cloak regardless of the outcome of my placement in the tourney,” Quentyn mused, “The only nomination not competing is Ser Brynden Tully.”  He looked to Sansa, “Your granduncle was given leave due to your uncle’s nuptials.  Hear Ser Barristan plans to give him his cloak after Edmure makes an honest woman of the Kraken’s daughter.”

The conversation died down as Robert and Lord Eddard arrived with the rest of the small council.  Aegon looked to Jon, “Where’s Bran?”

“With Arys, he asked Ser Barristan if he could borrow him for today.  I offered to squire for him, but he said Bran needed some practice seeing to a squire’s duties without me hovering.  Chance is Bran will be squiring for another knight when he comes of age.”  Jon nodded to where Arys had ridden onto the field with Bran carrying the kingsguard’s banner.  Other knights who would be competing in the challenge matches had similarly ridden out.  Aegon noticed Gendry holding Sandor Clegane’s banner.

The royal Herald stood on the podium below the royal box, “Ladies and gentle folk of the Seven Kingdoms.  Today marks the opening events of the Hand’s Tourney.  Over the next seven days, our finest warriors will honor our beloved King’s newly appointed Hand with displays of skill and daring.  We also mark this day,” Around the stands black banners with the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen unfurled beside the crowned stag of House Baratheon, “As the restoration of House Targaryen, and the crowning of a new Crown Prince.  Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Princess Elia of Dorne.  Believed slain during the sacking of our fair city.  Aegon was spirited from King’s Landing by those loyal to Princess Elia before the fall of House Targaryen.”  At Robert’s nudging Aegon stood, and much to his surprise, a cheer went up among the crowd.

The Herald continued, “In his infinite wisdom, upon the discovery of the former Queen’s duplicitous actions, including fornication and producing children with her brother a sworn member of the Kingsguard.  His Grace Robert of House Baratheon has taken under his custodianship Prince Aegon and has named him his heir.”  Another cheer went through the crowd.

Signaling for quiet the Herald started again, “To further stabilize the realm, His Grace did not only find Prince Aegon.  Known only to a few, another son of House Targaryen yet lived.  Princess Elia, as beloved as she was, lost the ability to bear Rhaegar another child.  Yet the Princess was not without other means.  At Harrenhall she found a means, in the form of Lady Lyanna Stark.  The fair sister of our King’s Hand.  In her infinite kindness, Lady Lyanna gave the ultimate gift, a child.  A child who was hidden within her own brother’s household as the Hand’s bastard son.  King Robert was aware of his oldest and dearest friend protecting the last precious gift his sister gave.  That child is now recognized as Jon of Houses Targaryen and Stark.”  Jon glowered at the man as Aegon motioned him to stand as well.  Another cheer erupted.

Lord Eddard snorted as the Herald took a pause to let the cheering die down naturally, “Lord Tyrion, where’d you find this mummer.”

“He comes highly recommended from Lord Tyrell, and Lord Oberyn vetted him.”  Tyrion supplied, “I reviewed his proclamation.  You know the standard, make Robert look like a hero.  Make Princess Elia and your sister out as tragic victims.  The boys as gallant scions restored to their birthright.  He’s even got a nice posthumous antidote for Viserys.”

Below them, the Herald motioned to settle the crowd, “Allas not all news is happy.  Prince Viserys, mere moments before agents of our good king could reach him was cut down in the home of an Essosi merchant who’d promised him and his dear sweet sister sanctuary.  Our king’s man, our newly appointed commander of the Gold Cloaks Ser Jorah Mormont rescued Princess Daenerys Stormborn.  Without regard for his own personal well-being, he returned the princess to Westeros, and to the shelter of his liege lord, our Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.”

As another cheer went up as Daenerys stood, Aegon looked to Tyrion, “How much information have you fed the man?”

Tyrion chuckled, “I decided to hold off on the whole ice demon led army of the dead marching upon the Wall for another day.”

Again, the Herald motioned for quiet, “Why might you ask did our King linger in the North for so long.  While we awaited his return.  The King was ensuring the future, arranging a match between Prince Aegon and the daughter of the Hand, Lady Sansa Stark.”

Aegon distinctly heard a growl from the area of the small council.  Eddard’s voice was a snarl, “Tyrion.”

The Master of Coin yelped, “It wasn’t me; I swear.  He asked about the rumors, and I told him nothing was set in stone yet.  I warned him that even hinting at it would be detrimental to both his and my well-being.”  Tyrion continued, “You know me, Lord Stark, I am many things, but when it comes to my own safety, little else matters.”

Robert chuckled, “Give it a rest Ned, so the cat’s out of the bag.  Not like we weren’t going to announce it before they set out for Riverrun anyway.”

The antics of the small council caused Aegon to miss the announcement of the identities of the first challengers.  Their banners revealed a Frey Knight was facing another Frey Knight.  There was still internal strife within that House since the death of Old Walder Frey.  His eldest son was doing an admirable job at trying to restore order without the involvement of his liege lord or the crown.

Their match ended in a draw; each having broken seven lances.  Next up was Clegane, who quickly unhorsed an unlanded hedge knight.  After Clegane, a Bracken knight challenged a Blackwood knight.  That match ended with Bracken regretting his choices as when he was unhorsed his foot caught in his stirrup.  Luckily for the man, Sandor had not left the field yet, and his horse Stranger blocked the horse and slowed him to a canter.  The Blackwood knight was quick to aid his countrymen regardless of their families’ ancient rivalries.

Once that excitement had been dealt with.  Aegon noticed Sansa and Jon tense as Ser Beric took to the field on foot, and on his horse, Edric Dayne sat in armor.  Jon’s jaw clenched as he muttered, “Father is going to kill him.”

“Not if I get him first,” Sansa hissed.

Across from Edric a mystery knight appeared in cobbled together armor.  Aegon frowned, “Who is he being challenged by?”  His eyes swept the stands, and all his inner circle was accounted for.

Quentyn gave his cousin a knowing look, “Look behind us, who’s missing.”

Aegon realized one member of the small council was missing, “Uncle Oberyn, but that armor.”

“You really think Uncle would openly declare challenging a squire?”  Quentyn mused, “He said Ned needed some clout before taking up his duties as Lord of Starfall.  Facing the Red Viper of Dorne in a tourney would be a great story.”

Sansa glared, “What happens to Edric, is what happens to your uncle.”

Quentyn gulped, “I’m sure it will be fine.”  The young dornishman grimaced, “Nothing like what happened to Willas Tyrell has happened in years.”

“What are you going on about?” Oberyn walked into the box with a bottle of Dornish Red, “Ah, I was worried I’d be late and miss the show.”

“Uncle,” Aegon blinked, “If you are here?”  He noticed unlike his children Lord Stark wasn’t snarling or making death threats, “Who’s Edric facing?”

Lord Stark chuckled, “His mother, did she never tell you of her time growing up in the Water Gardens.”  He indicated to Oberyn, “Her favorite pastime was unhorsing your uncle.”

Oberyn hummed, “Yes, Lady Ashara was always a vision, the Dornish sun wreathing her head in ethereal beauty as I looked up at her from whatever patch of ground, she decided would bear the honor of receiving my posterior.”

It took eleven lances in total before Edric was unseated from his horse.  The young man stood up as his opponent took a victory lap.  He winced as Beric reached him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, “You learn anything from this, my young friend?”

“Yes, never doubt mother’s horsemanship,” Edric grimaced, “Think father is mad.”

Beric looked to the stands, “I believe you have more to fear from your siblings if the looks they were sending your way were anything to go by.”

Edric glanced up and could see Sansa restraining herself from coming to see that he was all right.  It would not make sense for any member of House Stark to show more concern over him than anyone else.  He saw Bran similarly hesitating until Ser Arys leaned down and spoke to him.  He handed the banner pole he was holding to the knight before running forward, “Lord Dayne, do you need assistance to the Maester’s tent.”

“Thank you, Lord Brandon, but I’m fine just winded a little.  That last lance caught me harder than I was expecting.”  Edric assured his brother before heading for the indicated Maester’s tent.  Bran nodded before running back to Arys and retaking the banner.

After several more challenge matches, it was finally time for Arys to face Brienne of Tarth.  Bran struggled with the lance, so Gendry showed up to help hand them to the knight.  Bran watched as Arys and Brienne squared off.  During the first pass, both lances shattered on impact.  As he cantered back over to them Arys winced, “Damn, that woman hits harder than Mandon during a bar brawl.”

Gendry grimaced, “She’s aiming to end it fast.”

“You’re telling me,” Arys took the offered lance, “Selmy said she had to win or draw.”  He indicated the favor in his bracer, “I ride with the honor of Princess Shireen at stake, so we’re going to draw.”

Bran frowned as the knight rode again, both lances broke again.  Arys was knocked backward by the blow but kept his seat.  Upon returning he dropped his shattered lance and waited for another, “That’s four, are you going to make it another five tilts?”

Gendry looked at Bran, “That’s only if they keep breaking lances at this rate.  Each has to break seven to make it a draw.”

“I’ll get my seven in the next five that’s for sure,” Arys smirked at them, “She’s built like a stone wall, and hasn’t budged an inch when we meet.”  He chuckled as Gendry gave him a new lance, “Should have put you in my place Gendry, think another born of Stormlander stock would have done better.”

“I’ve never jousted,” Gendry admitted.

Arys moved to put his visor back down, “This isn’t jousting Gendry, this is riding into a wall while staying on this horse.”

The next tilt Brienne’s strike was not as clean, and at first appeared to have survived the impact with Ary's shield.  Bran watched as she looked at the lance before riding over to the field judge.  The judge nodded and raised a flag.

Arys sighed in relief, “Thank the Seven she noticed that.”

“What?” Bran looked at the two Southrons.

Gendry explained, “Lance was cracked but not broken.  Often times the knights don’t notice.  Lady Tarth’s squire is just a kid from Flea Bottom getting some coins to hand her lances.  If she didn’t notice the lance could shatter in the next tilt.  Most injuries happen when lances shatter.”

Arys nodded, “When I was a squire one of my brothers rode in a tourney where a lance shattered.  Both knights were hit by debris.  One lost an eye from a piece that made it through his visor, and the other died from a larger piece that impaled their chest.  A field judge was also struck in the leg.”

Bran gulped as Arys grabbed another lance from Gendry and prepared for the next tilt.  This time it was Ary's lance that didn’t break, but the field judge on their end of the pitch raised a flag.  Arys discarded the lance as he returned to their end, “Who made these lances, barely tapping the shield and they go to pieces.”

Gendry looked to Bran before replying, “We can find out.”

Arys shook his head, “Later, three more to go and we’ll have ourselves a nice little draw.”

“What if she calls for a challenge of first blood to declare a victor?” Gendry asked.

“What’s that?” Bran asked.

Arys grimaced, “She won’t, Selmy told her win or draw.  She’s to fight Mandon in the one-on-one duels.  No need to take this further than it has to go.”

With Arys barely holding on through the next two tilts, Bran noticed Ser Preston Greenfield had appeared.  The Kingsguard glowered at his sworn brother, “Arys, the Knight Commander told you not to overdo it.  Just take the fall.”

“Can’t,” he showed the other kingsguard the favor in his bracer, “Princess Shireen has given me her favor, I cannot in good conscience do less than see this through.”

Preston grumbled, “Damn fool, the Princess would much rather you be still breathing.”  Sighing he stepped closer, “There’s nothing in the rules about switching shields, give me the beat-up slab of iron and take mine.”  He pulled his shield from his back, “Aim to catch her lance in the middle of the symbol of our order.  It’ll hurt like hell but her lance will break.  Don’t think it matters where you aim your lance, that woman is harder than the Mountains of Arryn.”

The crowd was silent as the contestants lined up for what would likely be the final tilt of the day.  Bran watched as the horses charged down their lanes.  Each rider’s lance aimed at the opponent’s shield.  At the moment of impact, there were not two cracks but three.  Ser Arys let out a resounding cry of pain but remained on his horse, his shield arm hung limply at his side.

The Herald was already announcing the draw as Arys’ horse dutifully carried his rider to his end of the yard.  Preston and Gendry were quick to help the knight down as Bran grabbed the horse’s reigns.  Greenfield was the first to speak, “How bad?”

“I can still feel my fingers, that’s a good sign right?” Arys grits his teeth as a maester rushes over.

Chapter Text

(Red Keep; Throne Room)

A feast for those who’d fought in the opening day challenges was held that evening.  Brienne of Tarth was among the guests of honor, having managed a draw against Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard.  Barristan Selmy the Knight Commander of the Order had congratulated her on completing one half of the tasks he’d posed.

Across the room, Mandon Moore glowered at her.  He was her next task, though it would not be as simple as jousting Arys.  She would need to force the Valeman to yield.  While no knight of legend, Ser Mandon was not undeserving of his post.  The late Meryn Trant and Borus Blount had soured the name of the Kingsguard.  She was one of the three Lord Commander Selmy hoped would restore honor to them.

It had been the Lord Commander’s letter to her father that had made the man relent.  Her mother’s grandsire was none other than Ser Duncan the Tall.  The fabled Hedge Knight rose from obscurity to being one of the most revered knights to ever wear the white.

“Lady Brienne,” She turned at her name to see Arys motioning to her with his good arm, “Cease your brooding in the corner you’re not wearing white yet.”  Though technically neither was he currently, wearing finery in various shades of white, cream, and grey.  You almost didn’t notice the sling that held his injured arm, “Come join us, you earned your place among our valiant number.”

As Brienne moved to sit next to the Hound, Clegane pushed a platter containing a roasted pheasant her way, “Nothing better than the nosh they ply us with for beating the shit out of one another for their amusement.”

“Come now Clegane,” Ser Blackwood chuckled, “any way to behave when speaking to our battle sister.”

Brienne grinned, “How is Ser Bracken?”

“He’ll be fine,” The Blackwood knight snickered, “Luckily, he’s so short his head only hit the ground when I cut him free.  Not that there is much between a Bracken’s ears mind you.”

This drew a row of laughter.  Brienne frowned, “What was that you called me?  A battle sister?”

“Sorry,” Blackwood smirked, “It’s a First Men term, well one of the terms for female warriors.  At least that’s about the closest it comes out in Common.  Battle sisters were those who fought beside us against the ancient foe.  Shieldmaidens were those who defended hearth and home while others were out fighting.”

Clegane spoke around a mouth full of food, “What about them Free Folk women, spear wives.”

Blackwood shook his head, “They aren’t part of our oral tradition, but probably existed.  As Lord Stark says, much has been lost.”

“If your ancestors allowed women to fight,” Brienne looked seriously at the man, “Why did you stop?”

Blackwood sneered, “Who ever said we did?  My own sister is a right terror with a bow and arrow.  Took a poacher down at fifty paces on the run last year.  Of course, I had to claim it, the Seven would have been beating down our door.”

“You don’t fear them now?” Brienne grimaced; she’d had her own run-ins with the Faith over the years, even though she was faithful herself.  Her father kept the local Septons well paid.

At the other end of the table, Edric Dayne raised his goblet, “To the Lord Hand, may he continue to send Septons fleeing in terror.”

Brienne was surprised to see a dire wolf resting its head on the table next to the Lord of Starfall, “Lord Dayne, is that what I think it is?”

“Ah,” Edric chuckled, “Whirlwind, it is well documented that House Dayne and House Stark have married in the past.  The blood of Brandon the Builder flows in my veins just as it does in Lord Stark and his kin.”

Ser Arys chuckled, “No Dornish around here my lord, besides she’ll be wearing a white cloak within the week.”

“Ser Arys,” Brienne corrected, “I still have to defeat Ser Mandon.”

“Blimey,” Arys indicated his sling, “Please go easy on him my lady if you do to him as you did me.  We’re shorthanded as is.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, “You’re not that bad, Ser Selmy told me you’ll be well enough to enter the melee.”

A chuckle came from Clegane, “Don’t worry Oakheart, my squire and I will cover your weak side.”

“Thank you Hound, but I think one of you would be able,” Arys paused, “Wait you’re implying both sides are weak.”

Across the room, Selmy moved to Mandon’s side, “You’ve been watching her all evening.”

“She really his grandchild?” Mandon looked to Selmy, “You actually met the man.”

Barristan nodded solemnly, “Aye, but she is a great-grandchild.  Duncan the Tall had one child before joining the Kingsguard.  One of my first acts was journeying with Ser Hightower to deliver Duncan’s shield to his last surviving kin.  The wife of Lord Tarth of Evenfall Hall.”

Mandon squinted, “That the truth, or are you just covering for your visions?”

“Truth,” Barristan smiled tightly, “Lady Brienne and I never crossed paths in those other worlds.  The Ravens told me of her, and that she is a worthy soul to have at one’s side.”

“What them Ravens tell about me?” Mandon frowned.

Selmy grimaced, “One wanted me to feed you to a heart tree, while the other told me to toss you on the spikes outside Maegor’s Holdfast.”

Mandon gulped, “Why haven’t yeh?”

“I’m not in the business of blindly following orders.  Especially from beings that are not my king,” Barristan remarked.  He looked across the room and those reveling at the feast, “The you that is standing before me has yet to do those things that angered the Ravens to give such suggestion.  If Lord Stark is not condemning men for things that might occur, why should I.”

“Trant?” Mandon frowned, “Was he doomed to his fate?”

Barristan shook his head, “I know not what led to that snake being in Joffrey’s luggage.  That did not occur, but I had not accompanied the King to the North either.  Boros, Meryn, and Jamie were all that survived until the end in all iterations of events I was shown.”

Mandon frowned, “So you switched places with Boros and took Arys.”

“I did not know if I could trust you or Preston.  Arys is the youngest and is the only one not tainted by either Cersei or Petyr.  Not that Baelish mattered by the time we departed.  I had a feeling Jaime had experienced the same as I, he’d been distancing himself from his sister.  I’d also taken the time to randomly check in while he was assigned to her.  He was always at his post.”

“I noticed that as well,” Mandon frowned, “Not that I ever suspected.  Occasionally when I’d go on my rounds, I’d notice he wasn’t at the door.  The one time I thought to check, it was before Tommen was born, Cersei was just starting to show.  I approached, and could hear voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.  Jaime stepped out and saw me, told me his sister was emotional and he was just calming her down.”

Barristan nodded, “You have a sister of your own Mandon, I doubt you have lustful feelings towards her, you would not have reason to suspect.  There is no telling what Jaime would have done had he thought you knew the truth.  He would do anything to protect his family, even take the Black.”

The younger knight could only nod in agreement, “If I have to get bested by a woman, at least she isn’t a dainty whisp of a thing.”

“Have to?” Barristan narrowed his eyes at the man, “If you go easy on her I’ll have you run the gauntlet until you beg me to send you to the Wall.”

Mandon chuckled, “Understood Lord Commander.”

At another table, Missandei sat with her brothers and Grey Worm.  Her brothers took their turns watching the crowds for threats.  Their training was just as impossible to break as it was to undo what the Good Masters had done to them.  Grey Worm huffed at the commotion, “If this is how they prepare for war, no wonder the pox-marked man sent us to them.”

“This is not preparation for war,” They all tensed as a Dothraki with a long braid approached them, “This is to give the people a moment of peace before telling them their lives are threatened by something they thought only a legend.”

Missandei tilted her head, “Khal?”

“Drogo,” the large Dothraki gave his name, “You’re the party of Unsullied the Bold man gave shelter in the kingsguard tower.”

“You mean Ser Barristan,” Missandei smiled, “Yes, he was quite kind and surprisingly surprised to see us.”

Drogo snorted, “Visions, the old knight got a head full of them from the Old Gods.  Must have seen you lot in them.”  He rubbed his throat, “Pray if you were in any of those of the Lord Hand’s visions you did nothing to displease him.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t take your head out of principle,” Missandei smiled brightly, “You Dothraki are slavers after all.”

“Reformed,” Drogo took a drink from his flagon, “Our First Men cousins have made it very clear that continuing such activities would not end well for us.”

Grey Worm snorted, “There are a people that even the mighty horde of the Dothraki cowers before?”

Drogo glared, “We do not cower.  First Men are not like other city men, they face death in battle like a true warrior.  You anger one of them, you will understand.”

“Come now Khal Drogo,” Daenerys appeared with Quentyn at her shoulder, “All the First Men I know are very friendly, including my Magnar Lord Stark.”

“Princess,” Quentyn smirked, “You also have the blood of the First Men remember.”

Daenerys smiled, “That’s true, do you find me terrifying Ser Martell?”

The young man hesitated, “That is a very dangerous question, your grace.  My cousin, your nephew is the Crown Prince.  His half-brother has his own dire wolf and is part of a House where a majority of the members have such beautifully terrifying creatures at their side.  Said creatures which I just saw you petting the largest and most terrifying one of all like she was a normal hound.  I might add that while I personally have not yet had the honor to see it, rumor has it your Water Dance skills are impeccable.  King Robert has even been heard to compare you with Queen Visenya.”

Daenerys snorted, “Whatever Tyrion is paying that Herald better be coming out of his own pocket.”  She looked to the three Unsullied and then Missandei, “You are Missandei.  Lord Commander Barristan suggested I take you into my service.”

Missandei froze, “He did?”

“Your brothers and the other Unsullied will find employment with the Crown once we can arrange their passage.  We will have to send most of them to the Wall, we cannot support the numbers you gave Lord Eddard here in King’s Landing I’m afraid.”  Daenerys explained.

The girl frowned, “We knew we’d need to go help fight there, but,” she hesitated, “We were worried about being split up.”

Daenerys smiled, “Do not misunderstand me, we do not mean to make them take the Black.  We do not have the space or resources to support so many people.  Lord Stark will be arranging with the Master of Ships to set up a rotation.  House Targaryen will accept this last generation of Unsullied as our household guards.  Our cousins in House Baratheon will employ some of your brethren in Storm’s End, and the bulk will be stationed at Dragon Stone.”

Missandei translated for Grey Worm and her brothers.  Grey Worm frowned, “Employ?”

Daenerys smiled when Missandei questioned her, “You will each receive a stipend.  As household guards your lodgings, armor, weapons, and food will of course be handled as an expense of the seat you are stationed at.  Your stipend is for your personal use, or to cover expenses when you are away from your post.”

Grey Worm frowned deepened when Missandei translated the explanation, “Unsullied do not leave their posts.”

Drogo snorted, “You have much to learn about being a free man eunach.”

(The Neck)

Lancel sat at the fire tended by one of Lord Reed’s people.  They’d landed a lion lizard that afternoon.  Chewing the rubbery meat Lance looked to Tormund, “Taste isn’t bad once you get past the texture.”

“Ha,” the Free Folk leader cheered as he smacked Lancel’s back, “We’ll make a real man out of this pampered lion cub yet.”

Great Jon looked across the fire, “Howland, tell this cub about the time you challenged Roose and Me to a hunting competition.”

“What is there to tell?” Lord Reed smiled slightly, “I won and you two could only present Lord Stark with empty hands.”

Rickon spoke up from his seat in Beth’s lap, “Please Lord Reed?”

Howland chuckled, “I am not one to disappoint.  It was back in the Rebellion, well the start of it.  Benjen had to remain at Winterfell as custom dictates a Stark must always be present.  We were trying to decide who would remain to stand watch over Moat Cailin.  Ned had just made it back to the North having secured passage with his marriage to Catelyn Tully.”

“Mamma,” Rickon smiled.

“Yes, my little lord,” Howland smirked, “your mother.  Ned was deciding who should stay to guard the causeway.  Lord Roose and our friend the Great Jon suggested it be me.  As my people are the most familiar with the land.”

Lancel frowned, “Wouldn’t winning such a hunting challenge merely prove their point?”

“True,” Howland looked to a bashful Great Jon, “but what does an army march on?”

Rickon pipped up, “Their tummy.”

Small Jon chuckled, “Even the pup knows that.”

Howland indicated their surroundings, “I argued that Lord Stark would need my people to ensure the meager supplies that had so hastily been gathered were not strained during the passage through the Neck.  Roose and Great Jon countered that any man could hunt in the Neck and feed their men.”  He indicated to the lion lizard, “To end the debate, Lord Stark gave us a task.  The three of us would hunt in the Neck.  Each man would only eat that which he caught with his own hands that evening.”

Great Jon snorted, “Me and Roose fumbled around for hours.  Found nothing but frogs and snakes.  Got back to camp to this little shit standing next to the biggest lion lizard you’d ever seen.”

Lancel looked to what remained of their meal, “Seeing as this is the first I’ve actually seen, and it is monstrous.  I cannot imagine.”  He looked to Lord Reed, “How’d you catch it?”

“The same as I took this one,” Howland said calmly, “Took three steps off the causeway and poked my trident into the water.  They’re as thick as eels in the early evening.”  Howland looked seriously at the young Lannister, “The trick is to be quiet.  Sure, a lion lizard is dangerous, but they do not go out of their way to attack men.  They hear you coming or feel the vibrations of your steps, they will be long gone without you even knowing they were there.”

‘Would have been a good tip back then,” Great Jon barked, “It was embarrassing sitting there with Bolton.  Then this little shit has to go and do the decent thing and bring us each a portion of his catch.”

“Didn’t Papa say you could only eat what you caught,” Rickon asked.

Great Jon nodded, “Aye he did, but didn’t say we couldn’t sample the catch of the others.  Just so happened the samples Howland offered were quite filling.”

“It’s all about perspective,” Howland said, “Now little lord you should take Shaggy Dog’s example.  It is late and we have many more miles to journey before we reach the south.”

Styr scoffed, “I thought we were already in the south.”

(King’s Landing)

Jon grumbled as he followed his brothers through the market that had gathered on the tourney grounds.  The day before he’d drawn a bad placement in the lists for the archery competition. Jalabha Xho had been in the same batch, and it had come down to the two of them in the end.  The Summer Islander had offered to bow out of the competition, but Jon had warned the man that his father would frown on such a deed.

He knew Lord Stark’s feelings on favoritism towards those of royal lineage.  When discussing such topics as Duncan the Tall, he would not speak kindly of Daeron Targaryen.  Lord Stark would spit the man’s name like a curse, calling him a disgrace.  Daeron the Drunken had dishonored himself twice at Ashford.  First when he lied and accused Duncan of kidnapping Prince Aegon, and again when he took part in the challenge of seven and feigned defeat.  His actions in the challenge were merely a means of assuaging his guilt.  Any true man would have admitted his fault to his father regardless of the punishment.

Aegon looked back at him before motioning to Bran, “Bran, see the vendor over there selling sweets.  See if there is something we can use to appease Lady Sansa’s ire.  It’s been two days, and Edric is still avoiding her, but our poor friend can only stay so many steps ahead of her.”  Bran nodded and took off to the stall still in both Aegon and Jon’s view, “You still upset over your defeat, I told you Jon I only bet a dragon when I saw who you were up against.”

“Thanks, I think,” Jon mused, “no just thinking about other Targaryen.  In particular a certain drunken great-great-great-uncle of ours.”

Aegon began counting back on his fingers muttering the names of past Targaryen, “Doubt you're talking about Aemon or Brightfyre.  So that leaves Daeron, obviously since he was called the Drunken.”  Aegon frowned, “You have dragon dreams?”

“No, just the regular wolf dreams,” Jon winced, “which reminds me,” He looked to Ghost, “I know it is you.  Stop leaving dead rabbits outside the High Septon’s door.  I don’t know how nobody sees you stalking through the Great Sept every night.”

“Dead rabbits?” Aegon looked at the dire wolf, “why is he doing that?”

Jon sighed, “Rabbits are a symbol of innocence.  First Men custom, if you suspect someone of harming children you nail a dead rabbit to their house as a warning to others.  The idea is that the guilty person will be shamed into admitting their guilt and throwing themselves at their Magnar’s mercy.”

Aegon gave his brother a confused look, “Jon, doesn’t that imply you suspect the High Septon and Ghost are just fulfilling something you feel should be done.”  Aegon frowned, “Why do you suspect him of something, did something happen during his meeting with Bran the other day?”

“No, Prince Oberyn or I would have acted, but Lord Tyrion mentioned the man has always made him feel like he needed to bathe, multiple times after every time they spoke.  Even Father gets a look of disgust when he sees him.”  Jon frowned, “I’m not sure how much the visions showed him regarding the man.”

“Probably not enough,” Aegon looked pensive, “You must have more to go on than that.”

Nodding Jon lowered his voice, “Ser Barristan had me assist Lord Jorah in examining Tregar’s personal effects.  Not that I could do much help, the ledgers were written in High Valyrian.  Jorah knew enough, he said someone at the Great Sept and in Old Town was buying girls and boys from Tregar.  Aegon, there is only one thing Lys slaves are purchased for.”

His brother looked ill at the realization, “Have you told Lord Stark?”

“Of course,” Jon grimaced, “but the purchase details were rather vague.  Father can’t storm the Great Sept and arrest every Septon and Septa.  Also, there’s a chance we are mistaken.  The Red Priest told me their religion has a tradition of purchasing slave children.  They raise them within their order, and when they come of age, they are given the choice to become a priest, join the Fiery Hand, or seek another life path.  Melisandre was such a child, raised in the Red Temple of Asshai.”

Aegon looked unconvinced, “I would ask what your gut is telling you, brother.”

“My gut is telling me the Faith is lucky we don’t have dragons yet,” Jon snarled lightly, “I’m pretty sure mine would be doing worse than leaving dead rabbits.”

Chuckling Aegon looked to Ghost, “Don’t worry my silent friend, you’ll always be the aspect of stealthy vengeance when my dear brother becomes displeased.”

(Old Town – The Citadel)

It had taken far too long for Varys to infiltrate the Citadel.  His old contacts had all since passed away or been dispatched to fill vacancies in various noble houses.  It had spread his web further but had left him rather blind when it came to the central hub of all things Westrosi.

Luckily, he had a little bird here who was one of the few that could read and write.  He had him slip a revision into the rosters of Maesters.  Cromwell, a man of little note who’d completed his chain and taken off to Essos some fifteen years ago.  Like any good identity, the basics were based on facts.  Cromwell did exist, and fifteen years ago he left the Citadel intending to do research in Essos.  Though, in truth the man never made it.  It was the last year of King Aerys’ reign of terror.  The ship had put into dock at King’s Landing to take on provisions.  Aerys accused the captain and his crew of being rebel sympathizers, leading to a plot to assassinate him.  The crew and passengers were all consigned to the flames, and Cromwell’s chain found its way into Varys’ hands.

Cromwell was of course noted as having died, but he wasn’t a noteworthy member of the citadel.  In fact, all of Varys’ sources had responded the man was barely remembered by those who instructed or learned beside him.  So, a minor change in the registry, and nobody would bat an eye at a supposedly dead man walking about the place.

“Maester Cromwell,” Varys turned to the novice that had been assisting him, “I looked for Grand Maester Pycelle as you requested, but nobody seems to know his whereabouts.”

“Truly,” Varys mused, “He has been here for some weeks.”

The novice grimaced, “I’m sorry, but Maester Gormon said it's best to stop asking.  I think he was being interviewed by the Conclave on some matters.  Maester Walgrave was muttering something the other evening about strange occurrences.”

Varys glared at the shelf he was perusing under the pretense of searching for some esoteric tome, “I see.”  He knew well the Conclave was held behind closed doors and admittance was rarely boded well for the one called into that chamber while a Grand Maester yet drew breath.

“Pate was it,” Varys mused, “what do you know of architecture?”

The young Westerlander looked confused, “Not much, it’s a subject that lies across different disciplines.  Some study the history of how things are built and why, they fall under the subject of history.  Some study the process of building structures, and they split their time in Warcraft and several other subjects.  I’ve never had much of a head for it, a house is a house.  Alleras would know a bit, but he’s gone North to apprentice to Maester Luwin of Winterfell.”

Varys frowned, “A novice like you?”

“An acolyte, he was close to Marwyn.  Could tell the writing on the wall.  The Sphinx was always too bright, smarter than half the so-called Archmaesters here.  Marwyn probably told him to seek someone as smart as himself to few as smart as Maester Luwin they say.  He’d be an Archmaester or candidate for Grand Maester for sure if the Conclave didn’t dislike him so.”  Pate mused.

“What does the Conclave have against the Maester of Winterfell,” Varys asked.

Pate shrugged, “Maester Walgrave, before he got so forgetful would complain that Luwin was too idealistic.  Wanted to dig into things better left buried.”  Pate lowered his voice, “Said if he wasn’t careful, he’d bring the whole Citadel down around our ears.”

Varys chuckled, “He must been pulling your leg, how could one man bring down the whole Citadel.”

“Don’t know, but these talks of visions got them Archmaesters all bothered about something horrible happening.”  Pate frowned.

About to ask another question Varys was halted as Leo Tyrell came running towards them, “Pate, thank the Old and New I found you.  Archmaester Marwyn sent me to find you, get the other novices, and make for the Ravenry.”  He looked to him, “I’d say you should head there as well Maester.”

Pate frowned, “What’s happened?”

“I was accompanying Maester Marwyn to the Conclave chambers,” Leo looked pale, “When we arrived the doors had been kicked in.  Maester Gormon was standing there as pale as fresh snow.  On the door a writ of execution was posted, signed by Aegon the Fifth.”  Leo swallowed, “The only Archmaesters still alive are Maesters Marwyn and Walgrave.”

Varys grimaced, “I see why you need everyone to report to the ravens, to send word of this horrible travesty of events.”

A snort came from behind Varys, “The only travesty is your heart still beating Blackfyre.”

Varys froze as a large hand rested on his shoulder, “How?”

Being forcefully turned around he came face to face with a towering man.  It would be a hard contest to compare who was taller this man or the Mountain.  Varys swallowed hard as he noticed strange roots and vines seemed to cling to the man’s armor, the tattered remains of a white cloak stained with age and scorch marks, “A man does not spend thirty-nine years upon the Isle of Faces without learning to see through masks.”

Varys’ eyes widened, “Thirty-nine years, that would mean.”  Varys gasped as the man reached for the sword on his back, “Ser Duncan the Tall.  How in the name of the gods?”

The giant of a man chuckled darkly, “The Maesters shouldn’t have been so sure of themselves.  Egg and I were never easy to kill, your ancestors found that out firsthand.”

Varys grimaced, “Is His Grace?”

“No,” Duncan’s voice held decades' worth of anger and grief, “I pulled him from the fire,” Duncan’s grip tightened, “but my wounds were too great.  We fell into a river; I know not how we reached the Isle of Faces.  I awoke to voices I could not understand.  Small hands that held me, a bowl was pressed to my lips, and I knew nothing more.”  Duncan snarled, “I awoke to find Egg, or what was left of him bound to a heart tree.  It was the only means the Children of the Forest had to save him, to keep him alive.  I stood sentinel over him, listening through the heart trees as the realm descended into madness.  I heard every whispered poisonous word you leaked into Aerys’ ears, I heard every lie and deceit you pandered to Robert.”

“Ser Duncan, I assure you my loyalty is to the realm,” Varys whimpered trying to back away from Ser Duncan, but for a man over a century old his grip was as strong as a man a quarter of his age.  Varys grimaced, “I’m sure after a nice hot bath, a shave, and perhaps a woman or two you’ll be in a much better mood.”

He noticed the novice and acolyte had both barely budged having realized the impossibility standing before them.  The sound of hurried feet clad in armor gave Varys reason to take a breath.  Lord Leyton Hightower and his household guard came into the room swiftly.  Leyton froze as he recognized the figure holding who he thought was a maester, “Gods preserve us, how?”

“We’ve been over that already,” Leo Tully turned to Lord Hightower, “Think everyone going to the Isle of Faces disturbed his slumber.  Also, that maester is apparently a Blackfyre, and somehow was telling lies to King Aerys and King Robert.”

“Whispers,” Pate muttered, “Old and New, that’s Lord Varys the former Master of Whispers.”

Walking past the two young men Leyton looked to Duncan, “Ser Duncan, I was but a lad when we met.  I am Lord Leyton Hightower; I have seen your writ.  Is it true, was the Citadel responsible for Summerhall?”

Duncan turned his head towards Leyton, “Ask those who still draw breath.  Their spoken regrets before the heart tree are the only reason I have shown them mercy.”

“You are a brother of the kingsguard even to this day,” Leyton swallowed, “but you need not have done this in such a horrific manner.  Had you come to me?”

“You have had thirty-nine years to act,” Duncan scolded, “I have waited nearly four decades for the Father’s judgment to be done.  Let them face the Old Gods for their sins.”

Leyton motioned to Varys, “I’m not against the extermination of spiders, but the books here are rather delicate.  Mind if my men take him to our dungeons and we can deliver him to King Robert together.”

Varys felt the grip on him relax just before he was shoved into the waiting arms of a pair of Hightower guards.  Duncan sighed, “I must return to a godswood.”

“Come, I will show you to the Hightower, a fine place for your repose.”  Leyton motioned towards the door.

Duncan was no doubt expecting Leyton to trick him into a dungeon cell but was pleasantly surprised when they arrived before a heart tree sapling, “Your sons had difficulties on the Isle.”

“None more or less than any of the others who’ve made the pilgrimage,” Leyton chuckled, “Tarly’s youngest spent well on a month on the Isle.  Said he kept hearing his older brother, even saw him standing next to the sapling when he found it.”

Duncan chuckled, “I took pity on the boy.  His heart was hesitant, uncertain, but he did not wish to fail in his first task given by his father.”

“You have lived nearly forty years alone on the Isle of Faces,” Leyton shook his head, “how are you even sane?”

“I was not alone,” Duncan walked to the tree, the vegetation clinging to his armor began to fall away, “The Children of the Forest were there, the little tree shepherds.  The green men are lost in their dreams.  Egg was in and out of reality until the dreams took him six years ago.  There are others like me, men bound to their bones.”

Leyton froze as Duncan removed his helm.  His face was pale as the grave as he sat the helm on the ground beneath the sapling’s branches.  The Lord of the Hightower gulped, “Are you some sort of wight?”

“The Children say there is a man the Watch calls Coldhands, a man long dead and bound to his bones.  I am similar but different.  He is cursed to walk the cold North forgotten and condemned for his deeds long ago.”  Duncan looked to the ground, “I am not dead, my heart still beats.  It will continue to beat as long as the realm of the living needs a champion.  When the gods deem it so, they will welcome me to their hall.  Until that day, my sword is theirs to command.”

Leyton moved to kneel beside the warrior, “You said there are others like you on the Isle of Faces?”

“Two,” Duncan mused, “Though I doubt they will budge from their endless quarrel.  They have been locked in combat upon the Isle longer than even I have lived.  The Children find their quarrelsome behavior amusing.  Perhaps Lady Cersei will find it as amusing in her exile there.”

Leyton blinked, “How are you?”

Duncan chuckled, “All said before the gods are known.  I look forward to meeting Lord Stark in person.  If born in another time, I am sure he and Egg would have been fast friends.”

(King’s Landing)

Robert watched the melee intensely, he wished he could be down there with his boy.  Ned was right though; it wasn’t a king’s place to fight in a tourney.  Not to mention Robert had put on more than a few stones since the last time he’d fought outside of minor sparring matches.  His chosen brother had not softened the blow when he pointed out the kingsguard or others he challenged in such matches would throw said matches.

He tensed as Gendry leaned back to avoid the reach of a Dornish warrior’s spear.  The blade may be blunted but a whack from that would still hurt.  “The little Baratheon bull is sure on the ropes,” Tyrion chuckled, “Master of Ships, want to wager?”

Stannis’ lip curled, “I do not gamble.”

“I’d never guess,” Tyrion leaned forward to speak to Renly, “What about you Master of Laws?  Want to put some money down on how long your nephew keeps his feet against that Dornishman?”  Tyrion asked.

“It’s a woman,” Ned stated cooly, as Oberyn was gripping the railing tightly.

Oberyn grits his teeth, “Tyene what have I told you about overextending.  Footwork, footwork.  Your little sister is better at the spear and she’s a child.”

“Well,” Tyrion snorted, “Guess there is no mystery to that warrior’s identity.”  Tyrion frowned at Ned, “Lord Stark, if I’m not mistaken is Tyene not the one who likes playing with daggers and has a fondness for poisonous things.”

Lord Stark looked at him, “Yes, but daggers are not permitted in the melee, and I had Sansa and Nymeria personally check she was not carrying her pouch of poisons.”

Oberyn growled, “What good would it do, the girl can’t hit the broadside of a stag.”

They all watched as Tyene spun around Gendry and hooked her spear between the legs of a man who was sword-locked with Sandor.  The man tripped breaking the lock, and soon found himself at the business end of Sandor’s great sword.

“What was that?” Oberyn shouted.

Ned smirked as he took a drink of ale, “That my prince, was the queen shielding the knight.”

“Cyvasse?” Oberyn looked at the other man, “Seriously, they are working together.”

“It makes sense,” Stannis leaned forward, “She and Gendry pretend to be locked in combat, the other contestants leave them be.  Look at the way Ser Manderly and his brother are positioned.  They are covering the flanks.  Sandor is covering the rear.  Ser Dondarrion and the two Kingsguard are the front line.”

Renly chuckled, “If they make it to the end and drop their weapons they can split the pot, has always been a custom just nobody acts on it.  Usually, someone gets greedy and such alliances break down.”

“Most alliances are pairs,” Robert grunted, “and usually shook on to last until they’re the final two.  Brandon and I shook on during the combat melee at Harrenhall, but he was bested by Ser Arthur.”

Oberyn shared a look with Ned, and Tyrion mused, “Was someone else in Ser Dayne’s armor by chance?”

The Red Viper chuckled, “I’d already been sent home, but my dearest sister wrote to me.  Arthur was to fight in the melee, but he had a mild bout with a sour stomach.  Since Dawn would not be allowed to be used in such a melee anyway, Rhaegar suggested they find someone who could fit in Ser Arthur’s armor.”

Tyrion looked to Eddard, “Lord Stark?”

“I don’t know what you are implying,” The Lord Hand became focused on the battle below.

Robert looked astonished, “Arthur won the melee at Harrenhall, he gave the laurels to…” Robert looked below where Ashara sat with the younger children, “…his sister.  He didn’t compete in the seven-sided melee the next day.”

Stannis frowned, “In fact, the Prince and Princess did not observe the seven-sided melee.  Since Robert was competing Rhaegar asked me to take his place as his cousin and observe the festivities with the King.  I doubt I ever prayed for Robert to win quicker than that hour I was stuck listening to Aerys muttering about plots and burnings.”

“Sorry, I saw you stuck there and tried to unhorse my opponents as quickly as I could,” Robert looked to Ned, “Brandon wasn’t going down without a fight.  We usually got along but something had him riled up.”

Ned looked morosely across the field, “We fought, I asked him to witness Ashara and me saying our vows and exchanging our House pins.  He refused and threatened to enact the right of the first night if we went through with it.  Lyanna slapped him and told him she’d geld him if he ever said such again.”

“He found out you were in Arthur’s armor the previous day,” Stannis realized, “The melee isn’t an Andal custom, just something they took from our First Men ancestors.”

Tyrion realized, “Brandon felt shamed by you besting him.”

“Not only that,” Ned grimaced, “Lord Manderly arrived at the tourney with a message from my father.  I was to find a wife for myself with Brandon’s assistance, and I was allowed to choose my match.  It angered Brandon that I was given a choice he was denied.  He stated as such after Lyanna had struck him,” Ned gulped, “She refused to witness as well, more out of a sense of betrayal than anger.”

“That still left Benjen,” Tyrion pointed out, “but you went with Dacey, your half-sister.”

“Benjen was acting as Brandon’s squire, so he forbade him from doing so.  Dacey overheard our argument and volunteered to witness.  We had barely met.”  Ned mused.

Oberyn smirked, “Little wonder why you would consider turning the Iron Islands into a monument your ancestor Cregan would be proud of to avenge her honor.”

“So, Quentyn told you,” Ned did not sound surprised.

Oberyn mused, “What can I say, my nephew was rather shocked.  He did not think you capable of such.”

Later, Gendry was drinking from the water bucket as the Herald spewed forth some rubbish on the honor of Gendry the Gallant Bull of House Baratheon, the Spear Maiden Tyene Sand daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, Ser Sandor Clegane, Lord Beric Dondarrion, the brother knights of House Manderly, and two Kingsguard brothers joining forces to win the tourney melee.  The Herald was commenting that when it came down to the eight of them their battle bond had grown such, that they could not turn blade upon each other.  So as one laid down their weapons and split the prize.

“See dear sister,” Tyene spoke as she and Nymeria approached, “one bull unblemished.”

Nymeria smirked, “Obara would be proud dearest sister, though you did enter to ensure he remained in one piece.”  He saw her take out a dragon but held it out of reach of her sister’s hands, “But the wager is not complete.  The bet was you could seduce him to your bed.”

Tyene glared, “I need the dragon to pay for a room.  Ellaria realized what we were planning and told Father.”

Gendry blinked, “What?  You were planning?”

“Well, cousin,” Nymeria smirked, they always referred to anyone base-born as cousin, “Tyene here is still a maiden, at least that pompous Herald got that bit right, as no doubt you heard father shouting that her spear work leaves much to be desired.  I have paramours and our elder sister Obara has sworn off men.  Behind Princess Shireen, you are next in line for House Baratheon due to the way kingdoms other than Dorne manage inheritance.  Your father is not opposed to our scheme, but Uncle Doran and Lord Eddard might be annoyed by the order in which we do things.  Tyene gets with your child, then no one can argue when you take her as a wife.”

“Ah,” Gendry’s brain went blank for a minute, “what?  Why, you hate my father.”

Tyene nodded, “We can’t argue that, but you are not Robert.  By the Seven, you only found out Robert was your father a handful of moons ago.  Outside of giving you your looks, and affinity with that war hammer, not much of him is in you.  Thankfully all his more disagreeable traits did not get passed down to you.”

“Still doesn’t answer why?” Gendry growled out.

“I told you this plan was rubbish,” Jon and Aegon rounded another corner, “Like Tyene said he isn’t Robert.  He doesn’t paw at every pretty girl that passes in arms reach.”

Aegon huffed, “Well, then we’ll just have to go to Flea Bottom and get them hitched at the Temple of the Fiery Hand, they have a Sept, and one of the Sparrows would do it without any questions.”

“Maybe,” Jon nodded, “but only after sending a message to father.  You do realize all the priests in the temple have a healthy fearful respect of Lord Stark.”

“Truthfully, I have nothing to say about this,” They all turned to see Lord Stark flanking Gendry’s father along with Prince Oberyn.  The Master of Whispers was smirking at his daughters, who both looked sheepishly at him.

Robert huffed, “Not like the lad is untried, heard Sandor paid for one of Chataya’s prettier girls for him when he took him on as his squire.”

A shocked look came to Oberyn’s face, “When I squired the first thing my knight bought for me was a new tabard.”

“Yeah, Jon didn’t get either of us a girl,” Robert snorted, “think his first gift to the both of us was a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star.”  He looked to Ned, “Did you actually ever read that?”

Lord Stark sneered, “Yes, and my copy is still in an almost pristine condition beyond some notations I made, it is in Winterfell’s library.  Unlike yours.”

“Hey that fire was not my fault, and it only scorched a few pages.  They were mostly still readable,” Robert grimaced, “and you failed to warn me lizard lions are attracted to parchment to use as lining for their nests.”

Oberyn cleared his throat as he approached his daughters, “Now, as my lovely paramour tells me the two of you along with your cousin Aegon schemed to get my beloved Tyene, regardless of her lackluster and frankly shamefully inadequate spear skill impregnated by poor confused Gendry.  The boy would then feel obligated to take Tyene as his wife so their child would be legitimate.”

A chuckle came from Robert, “I told them we could discuss this after the tourney.”

“Oh, I’m sure our friend the Herald will love to spin this tale,” Oberyn mused.

Robert nodded, “Bride price?”

“She’s my third daughter and she is untouched,” Oberyn hummed, “Thirty dragons and their first-born squires for Jon regardless of gender.”

Jon froze, “How am I getting dragged into this?”

Oberyn chuckled, “Shush, we’re negotiating here.”

“Arys instead of Jon,” Robert countered, “and fifteen dragons, I haven’t signed the notices of legitimacy for Gendry or your daughter yet.”

“Yet,” Oberyn remarked, “Fifteen now, fifteen after the legitimacy is recognized.  Firstborn squires with a kingsguard, and their second born is Shireen’s cupbearer when she becomes Lady Baratheon.”

Aegon frowned, “Lord Stark, exactly how much wine have my uncle and cousin imbibed today?”

Ned snorted, “I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m pretty sure Tyrion brought out some strong wine towards the end of the melee.”

Ignoring them Robert was musing over the current offer, “Gendry, you've only been with the one girl at Chataya’s right?”

“Um,” Gendry frowned, “technically we didn’t do anything but talk.”

Sandor snorted from where he was watching nearby, “I can confirm, the girl was happy as a lark the next morning.  Easiest three dragons she’d ever made.”

Robert looked shocked, “Ned, you sure he isn’t one of yours?”

“Sorry, but I have only slept with two women in my life, you know all mine,” Ned reminded him.

“Right,” Robert glowered at Oberyn, “Ten dragons before the bedding, another ten after the legitimacy documents, and another ten after the bedding.  You get your squiring, and your cupbearer.”  Robert’s speech slurred slightly, “Oh, someone needs to write this down and tell Stannis.”

Barristan spoke up from near Sandor, “I’ll give an accounting to a scribe once we reach the castle, your grace.  I’ll also notify Lord Stannis, and have the appropriate payments arranged by the Master of Coin.”

“Good,” Robert looked to Ned, “Come on Ned, there is a bottle of Arbor Gold in my solar.  We should toast to my boy getting hitched.”

As the king, his hand, and master of whispers headed for the castle.  Gendry looked to Aegon, “What just happened?”

“I do believe King Robert just negotiated for you to marry Tyene,” Aegon nodded, “but I am thinking I see why the kingdom was in such financial peril.  Robert couldn’t negotiate to save his life.”

Nymeria smirked, “Well, my dearest sister is worth every dragon.  It is the least the King can do.”

As Ghost stepped into the light and yawned silently, Jon nodded to the wolf, “I agree, Southron’s are tiresome.”

(Next Morning)

Oberyn’s voice echoed through the Tower of the Hand, “What do you mean I pawned my daughter off to Robert’s whelp?”  Ellaria sat in the main gathering room as Oberyn paced, “I would remember if I did something so foolish.  No offense to the boy, the lad is a fine upstanding young man.  Yet does that make him worthy of my Tyene?”

Ellaria looked to Lord Stark, “Lord Hand, you were there, and unlike my love far more sober.”

“True,” Ned nodded, “but I’m not getting involved.  This is between him and Robert.”  Oberyn looked at him blankly, “Don’t give me that look, I warned you both about getting into drinking games with Tyrion.”

Tyene stood off to the side, “Does this mean I’m not marrying Gendry?”

“You,” Oberyn grumbled, “You and your sister are in so much trouble.  If I didn’t know you’d just run away I’d ship you off to your mothers for a year.”

Tyene looked to Lord Stark, “He knows we wouldn’t have to run away.  He’s tried that with me and Sarella before, he held out half a moon before he sent word he was coming back for us.”

“Gah,” Oberyn moved to stand before her, “Impudent little girl,” she looked at him calmly without fear of his anger, “Oh, my dearest, sweetest, gentlest of my daughters, I didn’t mean that, forgive me for raising my voice.”

Ned looked to Ellaria, “I take it you are in charge of discipline in this household.”

“You would be correct Lord Hand,” Ellaria sighed, “Tyene, go to your room.  We will not attend the tourney today while your father figures a way to untangle the mess you had a hand in causing.”

Oberyn dramatically threw his hands up, “A way out, the ink is dried.  There were witnesses, it would be one thing if we were in a solar.  We were in public, who knows how many people overheard our discussion.”  He looked to Ned, “You were sober, why didn’t you put a stop to this foolishness.”

Ned snorted, “As I said I am not getting involved in a purely Baratheon and Martell matter.”

As the words washed through his hungover mind, Oberyn froze, “You approve of this?”

“How do you come to that conclusion?” Ned frowned, “All I said is I’m remaining neutral.”

“Why though?” Oberyn questioned, “What have your visions shown you that made it that you did not voice an opinion on this matter?”

Ned grimaced, “In some iterations of events Arya has crossed paths with Gendry.  If your brother is so set on her being wed to your youngest nephew, I would think it best we ensure certain possibilities are removed from consideration.”

Oberyn grimaced as he double-checked the numbers on his fingers, “Gendry is nearly a man-grown now, she is only a child.  Do not tell me he.”

“No, and Arya instigates the encounter,” Ned sighed, “The night of the final stand at Winterfell.  There is no passion or feelings on Arya’s part, it is simply her wanting to experience such a thing at least once in her life before her potential death.  The path she walked in that world was one of suffering and pain I would never want her to experience again.”

“Potential death,” Oberyn catches the wording, “there is a chance the battle would have been won?”

“In a world where the Others are not as they are in ours,” Ned scoffed, “The Ravens spoke of a world where the Children of the Forest created the Others during their war with the First Men.  In that world, Arya would slay a being called the Night’s King and break the magic that gave life to the Others.  Such a being does not exist in our world, and the Others are a race that existed long before man set foot on this continent.”

Ellaria frowned, “Why would they tell you of a world so different from ours?”

“In our world there is the Great Other, the supposedly immortal god-king of the Others,” Ned informed them, “It is he who drives the Others to war.  If we defeat him, his people will lose their will to fight, and they will return to their lands of Always Winter.  In the series of events shown to Lord Tywin, Arya nearly succeeded, but was prevented by the wight of Jon.  I have tried not to focus on the ends my children faced, but that one is the hardest.  Arya had become hardened by the events in her life, but to see the fear, sorrow, and pain as her brother’s corpse was used to end her life.”  Eddard’s jaw tensed as he recalled the images from the vision.

Tyene moved to pour Lord Stark a drink, as Oberyn dropped into a nearby seat, “That is the one part of this situation I do not regret.”  The Dornish Prince swallowed back rising bile, “Do not think I have not been tempted to seek answers to the question.  To know my daughters’ fates in hopes of saving them.  I tell myself that it does not do to dwell on events that will not come to pass.”

Ned nodded as he accepted the drink from Tyene, “I try telling myself that, but it is not an easy thing.”  He looked seriously at Oberyn, “I’d also not be much of a source in that area.  There was not much contact between my children and yours.  Sansa crossed paths with you and Ellaria briefly here in King’s Landing, but Baelish abducted her for his own twisted schemes.  The Ravens did not think much of what happened here when my kin no longer were present would matter to me.”

Oberyn snorted, “Those Ravens were quite high on themselves thinking they knew what was best for everyone.”  He looked to his daughter, “Tyene, you are not opposed to this match.”

Tyene gave her father a demure smile, “I would not have agreed with Aegon’s plan if I was opposed.  Father, I am the third oldest, Obara has made her choice to not marry, and Nymeria has already chosen her path.”  She looked to Lord Stark, “Is not the greatest revenge making your enemies realize that you survive regardless of what they have done to you.  Is that not the way the First Men have avenged themselves against the Andals and their Faith?”

“It has long been our custom,” Ned acknowledged, “Also,” he pulled a vial out of his desk, “See what you can do to create more of this.  Lief tells me it is what her people use on their arrows to defend against Others.  I know this may be more in your sister’s abilities, but…”

Eyes widening in wonder Tyene took the little vial, “True, but if it is poison-based, I should be able to figure it out.”  She took the vial and frowned at it, “Though, is there any way to get another sample?”

Ned nodded, “Lief has a few vials left, but even her people have lost the secret of its manufacture.  It was created by the First Men during the first Long Night.  The man who made it is unknown and if he left any notes would similarly be unknown.”

Tyene bit her lip as she looked seriously at the vial, “Hmm, I’ll need access to a maester’s lab.  Sarella might be able to do some research from her perch next to Maester Luwin in Winterfell.”  She looked to Lord Stark, “Is there an account of its reaction with the Other’s.  What symptoms does it cause?”

“I’ll have Lief come speak with you,” Ned frowned, “She is the only one who openly speaks common.”

Tyene nodded, “I’ll get to work right away.”

As the young woman darted out of the room Oberyn chuckled, “You have made her day, my Lord Hand.”  Oberyn leaned forward, “So, any bets on today’s preliminary jousts?”

“I’d hate to make you bet against your nephew,” Ned mused.

Chapter Text

(Winterfell)

Roose Bolton slept fitfully as images and dreams flooded his mind.  Ramsay’s voice pleading with him to spare him from the wildling’s wrath.  Domeric wasting from what the maester called a bad belly, but anyone with half a brain would recognize the signs of poison.  His late wife looked at him sadly before fading into the ether.

Bolting up Roose gasped for air, the ghosts of his past fading into memory.  Wiping the sweat from his brow he looked to the window in his guest chambers, it was late or early, depending on one’s perception.  Light from the braziers in the castle yard drew his attention.  He spotted Robb Stark and several men crossing to the gate leading to the godswood.

Quickly getting up Roose made his way from the chamber, motioning his guards to stay at their posts.  He made his way to the godswood and followed the path to the heart tree.  He found Lord Robb knelt before a small figure the Lord of the Dreadfort had only seen in pictures of old tomes.

A Child of the Forest spoke lowly in the words of the Old Tounge.  Robb responded in kind before accepting a parcel from the four-fingered creature.  The creature tilted its head as though listening to something they could not hear before turning its head.  Its large eyes swept over where Roose stood before turning back to Robb and speaking again.  This made Robb turn to his position, “Lord Bolton?”

Bolton stepped into the torchlight of a nearby man-at-arms, “My Lord, I noticed you crossing the yard.”

“So you followed,” Robb’s brow raised as the creature whispered something else, “Unarmed?”

Revealing a flaying knife hidden in his sleeve, Roose smirked, “Hardly, even under guest rights one must not be complacent.  I am surprised to find you conversing with a being out of myth and legend.”

Looking at the Child of the Forest, Robb smirked, “Father’s messengers are far more subtle than ravens and far less likely to be intercepted.”

“Indeed,” Roose frowned, “What has he sent that needs such secrecy?”

“Let us see,” Robb opened the parcel and pulled out a letter.  He turned it to the light of the torches.  Roose’s eyes widened as he recognized the runes written in Lord Stark’s hand.  He was among the few lords who could read them, and Eddard had a distinctive slant to his characters that few would notice at first glance.

There were the customary greetings and well-wishing for Robb, his wife, and the unborn baby.  There was a note that word of Rickon reaching Riverrun had not yet been received, but he was not expected for several more days.  There was also mention that the tourney was about to begin.  The most interesting note was that Jorah Mormont’s wife had been found in the company of a slaver.  Jorah had been named the interim captain of the Gold Cloaks and in his capacity as such had dealt with the slaver.

Roose snorted, “The gods’ irony knows no bounds.”

“Agreed,” Robb frowned at the missive, “I don’t recognize these runes here.”

Nodding Roose pointed at the small grouping of characters, “I would be more surprised if you did, they are rather esoteric, especially in this arrangement.  No doubt your father would expect you to seek out one of the tomes to help translate.  He is requesting weirwood paste be sent to him, it is a rather rare commodity south of the Neck and I doubt even Lord Reed would be capable of anticipating its need.”

Robb nodded, “There’s a chest in father’s,” Robb halted, “in my solar.  He showed it to me before he departed, and gave me the key.”

The following morning found Roose sitting with the other highborn in attendance, breaking their fast on a rather mundane spread of food.  The Starks had never been a family of extravagance and ate only a little better than those who served them.  With the threat of winter looming upon them, this was more evident as the food on the table was only the most basic of fares and in just the right amounts to feed those in attendance.

Roose glared across the table at Kevan Lannister, “I doubt you are so accustomed to such a subdued meal.”

“I am no stranger to rationing my dear Lord Bolton,” Kevan returned his icy continence, “We may not get as harsh of winters as you see this far north, but the Westerlands are no stranger to snows and ice that make fields unfit for growing.  Our only saving grace is passable roads and ports such as Lannisport that permit continued trade once the white ravens fly.”

A grim smile came to Roose’s face, “Last winter I spent six moons in Last Hearth, I had gone to speak with Lord Umber on some ridiculous matter of trade.  Spent another here as the guest of Lord Eddard before I could finally get home just in time to turn around and call my banners.  Greyjoy’s Rebellion.”

Robb frowned from where he sat at the end of the table, “I don’t remember your visit, my lord.”

“You were young, my lord, and your mother kept you and Lady Sansa sequestered in your rooms, she was heavy with Lady Arya at the time.  The only child I saw during that month was young Jon, I offered to ward him, but your father wouldn’t hear of it.  I could see it in his eyes that your brother was not simply a responsibility, he was something much more important to your father.  I could not be offended by the refusal after gaining such an understanding.  Word of Lady Ashara reportedly taking her own life had reached the North of course, and I like many assumed her to be Jon’s mother.  I was present on the evening your father spent with her after we relieved her party of the bandits.”

A snort came from Robb, “Right assumption, but the wrong brother.”

“Indeed,” Roose looked to Kevan, “If memory serves, one of your brothers sired an illegitimate daughter.”

“Aye,” Kevan looked to his wife who gave her husband a sad look, “Joy Hill, my foolish brother ran off and died on a half-cocked idea to visit Valyria.  Tywin sent word to have her sent to the Rock.  She’d been cared for in Lannisport by one of our cousins, but Tywin has said he would have her legitimized and arrange a proper marriage when she comes of age.”

Roose looked down the table to where Val and her sister were in hushed conversation with Lady Margaery, “Speaking of marriages, has anyone voiced intention towards Lady Val?”

“No,” Robb coughed, “and from my investigations, Rattleshirt claims any man who might have such intentions with her has been readily rebuked.  Seems she was close to someone, but he didn’t make it to Hardhome.  He was taken by the Others when Mance had them turn to Hardhome to await transport south.”

“I can understand the pain of a lost love,” Roose mused, “my first wife and I never got the chance to truly know one another.  My Bethany though was a devoted wife and mother, we lost several sons, and Domeric was the only one to survive the cradle.  I am not sure if what Bethany and I had could be called love, but we were greatly fond of one another.”

Dorna smiled tightly, “I cannot say for certain her feelings, as we never met, but if she spoke and looked as you do when speaking of her.  I believe you were far more in love than you know, Lord Bolton.”

“Thank you, Lady Lannister,” Roose looked to Robb, “I will speak with Val, and should she agree, may we have permission for the use of Winterfell’s godswood.”

Robb nodded, “We would be honored, Lord Bolton.”

Roose nodded his thanks.  While using his own godswood would be more traditional, there would be no one other than his household servants to attend as witnesses.  His various cousins would not want to acknowledge such a wedding or the offspring it would hopefully produce.  Currently, Roose is childless and the next in line for the Dreadfort is a young girl, the daughter of a cousin who married a branch of the Dustins.  Their elder son was in line to inherit Barrowton from his good sister Barbrey.  After the girl, there was a six-month-old boy, the grandson of Lord Karstark’s uncle.  There were others, but none bore the Bolton name, though that could be remedied, he hated failing his ancestors by allowing their patrilineal line to end with him.

(Riverlands)

Catelyn sat upon her mare beside her brother and good sister.  It had surprised her the day before when a Crannogman appeared at the gates and informed them her youngest son would be arriving today.  They had only recently received Robb’s message detailing Rickon’s departure from Winterfell some weeks past.  With such timing, she would think they only now reaching the southern stretch of the causeway.  Yet no word of them having passed the Twins or any other keep had reached them.

Standing beside her the Crannogman messenger leaned on his trident-tipped spear.  She knew that if one of the inhabitants of the Neck had been sent to tell them, then Lord Reed had arranged Rickon’s passage through the Neck.

“My Lady,” the Crannogman pointed to the tree line, “They be coming through them trees any minute now.”

Catelyn glanced at the man then frowned at the trees, “I don’t understand, there is nothing in that direction other than wilderness for miles.”

“Lord Reed thought it best to avoid being seen too soon,” the Crannogman smiled like he had a secret he really wanted to tell, but couldn’t.

Confusion crossed Catelyn’s face, “Lord Reed travels with him.”

“Aye,” the short hooded man chuckled, “He figured you’d realize when it was one of his who delivered notice of our arrival.”

A flush came to Catelyn’s face, “Pardon, I thought he just arranged guides to lead Rickon’s party through the Neck safely, not that he would come himself.  It is almost unheard for him to leave the Neck.”

“Lord Howland is crafty, been many places without being seen,” The Crannogman nodded to the trees, “Here they come.”

Turning back to the trees, Catelyn noticed the row of hooded men riding the mulish-looking horses most commonly used by those residing in the Neck.  They were in a narrow V-formation, behind them four riders on the heavier Northern destriers, even from this distance she could tell two of the riders were Umbers, but couldn’t make out the other two.

Her eyes widened as the last group of the party exited the trees.  Asha’s curse verbally accentuated her thoughts, “By the Drowned God’s bloated sack, are those what I think they are?”

Edmure rubbed at his eyes, “If I were not sober I’d think my eyes playing tricks.  Those are mammoths, and the ones on them are giants.  I mean there was talk at the meetings, but, but I never thought.”

As the party neared them the V-formation broke and the Crannogmen on either side save for the man in the center moved to flank the main group.  As they neared Catelyn recognized Great Jon, his son Small Jon, and Lord Reed easily enough.  It took her a minute to recognize Beth as her hair was pulled back into a bushy bun and she’d never seen the girl in anything other than a dress.  The last rider had the looks of a Lannister and it took everything in her not to glare at the poor boy, he wore the regalia of House Stark’s guards but with a personalized heraldry of House Lannister.

She noticed Shaggy Dog running alongside Beth’s horse, but Rickon did not ride with her.  Her frown must have been noticed as Beth turned to the mammoth behind her, “Lord Rickon, I told you it would have been best to ride with me.”

Rickon appeared on the head of the Mammoth, “But I see more up here.”

“Please wait for Wun Wun to dismount before you start climbing down,” the Lannister called up, “We need not terrify your poor mother than she no doubt already is.”

Rickon huffed, “Fine.”

Catelyn knew not who or what Wun Wun was, though she was leaning towards the Giant riding the mammoth as the creature slid off the back.  The giant was nearly as tall as the beast he rode upon, and Rickon was quick to clamber from the mammoth’s head to the giant’s shoulder.  Wun Wun then knelt and raised his hand so Rickon could climb into his palm, he then passed the boy to Beth.

The girl had become a proficient rider in the moons since last they’d seen each other as once she had settled Rickon in front of her, she guided her horse at a trot to meet with Catelyn’s own, “My Lady.”  As soon as they were close enough Rickon quickly launched himself from Beth’s horse to his mother’s and buried his head into her neck as he hugged her with all the strength of his little body.

Catelyn smiled, “Beth, I thank you for escorting Rickon to Riverrun, rooms have been prepared for your, um,” She glanced at the two giants, “um, your party.”

Beth nodded, “Thank you, um actually we are short a few members.  Tormund and Styr are trailing behind erasing all sign of our passage with a few of Lord Reed’s people.”

The names were unfamiliar to Catelyn, “I am not familiar with those guards.”

“Not guards, my lady,” The Lannister rode up to them and gave a respectful bow of his head, “Lady Beth and I are the only ones sworn to House Stark directly in our company.  I am Lancel Lannister, and I am a guard captain of Winterfell, we met briefly at the welcoming feast.  I was the one sporting the bruise the approximate size and shape of His Grace’s fist seated with my Uncle Tywin.”

Cately nodded as she vaguely remembered the young man seated with the rest of the Lannister household after the commotion of the Queen’s crimes had come to light.  He had been one of the King’s squires along with his cousin, Robert had questioned the boys rather aggressively to ascertain how aware they were of their cousins' deceptions.  Ned and Ser Barristan had to step in to ensure the poor boys weren’t battered into a bloody pulp by the incensed King.

She noticed the way Beth looked at the Lannister.  Catelyn forced the best benevolent smile on her face, “I thank you Ser Lancel.”

Lancel shook his head, “Pardon, but I am not a knight.  His Grace dismissed me, and not like a knighthood is a requirement to be a household guard captain in the North.”

“True,” Catelyn mused as she looked to the two lords in the company, “Lord Reed, we were not expecting you, my son gave not notice you would be accompanying Rikon on this journey.”

“Pardon for the surprise, my lady,” Howland chuckled, “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part.  I will beg young Lord Robb’s forgiveness for leaving my position in the most capable hands of my son and daughter upon my return.”

“Ha,” Great Jon laughed loudly, “The young wolf has his nose turned North, where it should be.  He has no time to worry about absent lords.  Has himself a winter breathing down his neck to fret over, people to see tended to.  We never worry about the Neck, your people never seem to need anything from the rest of us and turn up with what we need before we even get the gumption to start drawing straws to see who’s going to wander into that fetid swamp to find one of your towns.”

Lord Reed gave the larger man a smirk before turning at the sound of approaching horses.  To men led another small group of Crannogmen.  Behind their mounts, they dragged branches that were heavy enough to obscure tracks but left grass and other plants mostly unharmed.  It did not cover their passage, but it would obscure the footprints of the mammoths.

The red-haired man reached back to cut the straps that held the branches to his horse, “There, at this point won’t matter, not like we can hide Mag and Wun Wun out here in the open.”

Howland sighed, “Lady Catelyn, might I introduce the last two of our little company.  Styr, the magnar of the Thenn, and Tormund Giantsbane.  Two leaders under the command of Mance Rayder, the former King Beyond-the-Wall.”

Catelyn glared at the two wildlings, “Why have they come?”

“Protecting the little lord,” Styr huffed, “and the little spear maiden.  Anything happens to either of them, might as well let Mag’s mammoth step on us, be less painful than what Osha will do to us.”

This made Catelyn look to Beth, who sighed, “My cousin’s wife is with child and threatened to unman them both if either Rickon or I returned to Winterfell with even a hair out of place.”

Asha began laughing as Edmure winced along with the other men present.

(King’s Landing)

Ser Barristan watched the challenge duel between Jalabha Xho of the Summer Islands and the Marcher Anguy.  The day before Anguy had won the archery competition, beating out Jalabha in the final round.  Today's challenge though did not come from the outcome of the tourney, but resultant of an altercation at Chataya’s brothel.

Barristan wasn’t clear on all the details, only that early this morning Chataya visited Jalabha, and the man made a very public challenge against the Marcher.  Whatever had occurred must have been below the level of criminality as Renly had spoken with both Jalabha and Chataya after the challenge was made.  Jorah hadn’t been sent to investigate further so whatever the cause of the duel did not matter to the crown.

Anguy had even turned down Lord Berric’s offer to take up the challenge in his place.  The young man might be a master with the bow, but other weapons were a mystery to him.  He’d opted for a short sword and buckler, common armaments for archers to use to defend themselves on battlefields once opposing forces were too close to use their preferred weapon.

Jalabha was wielding a quarter-staff, that Barristan recognized as the remnants of the deposed prince’s former bow.  He had very dramatically cut the string after being outshot at a hundred paces the day before.  He must consider this as a handicap to match his skills to that of the commoner he faced.

As they traded blows, Arys appeared at Barristan’s side, “Ser.”

Without looking away from the fight he responded, “What have you learned?”

“This Anguy paid for the services of three of Chataya’s best girls.  Her daughter Alayaya, Jayde, and Dancy.  Ate and drank enough for some of the finest offerings from their kitchens.”  Arys scoffed, “Then comes the morning, he told Chataya the food was lousy and the girls weren’t as good as promised and she owed him a discount and refund.”

It was a common enough ploy, and not illegal.  There was also no protection for the brothel or the girls within, as the laws of the land frowned on such establishments and those employed by them.  The sad fact was the lad could bring his complaints to the crown, and regardless of the veracity of the claims Renly would be legally bound to side with him.  Since Anguy was close to Edric Dayne this could also have further fallout.  Anguy must have realized this as well and thus refused to involve them further in his mistakes.

As Barristan remained silent, Arys continued, “Alayaya told me Jalabha Xho is fighting for Chataya’s honor because such claims would reflect poorly on her.  She made some references to Summer Island tradition that she only has a passing understanding of.”

“Explains why he made the challenge,” Barristan finally looked to Arys as Anguy took a blow from the quarter stave that sent him sprawling across the ground with his short sword sliding out of his reach, “To the people of the Summer Islands, Chataya would be considered a type of priestess.  Why else do you think she runs such an upstanding establishment.  Even here where our people spit upon those in her profession she is shown respect by even those who do not frequent such places.”

Arys nodded, “Should we do something?”

“Hmm,” Barristan turned back to the duel to see Jalabha Xho striking the downed Anguy repeatedly, “I think our friend has things well in hand.”

Moments later a beaten Anguy was kneeling facing the royal box, “I take back what I said to Chataya this morning.  I did not mean to offend her or her reputation.  I was upset with myself for spending so much.  I blew through my winnings and didn’t even save enough to repay Lord Berric for helping to get me out of the Wolf’s Den.”

“Is that the cusp of it,” Robert leaned over the railing, “Lord Berric, where you at?”

The man stepped out on the field, “I am here Your Grace.”

Robert nodded to Anguy, “This little shit one of your men?”

“He lives on my lands Your Grace,” Berric sighed, “And has been in my service since he was a young lad.  A good hand at the bow as he proved yesterday, but not the best at minding his coin.  Got into a bit of a bother during our trip up north.  Made a bet he couldn’t cover, then got himself arrested in White Harbor.  The thing about them Northmen is they aren’t lax when it comes to someone trying to skip out on a debt.”

A chuckle came from Robert as he looked to Eddard, “There are more than a few Valemen who learned that lesson the hard way back in the day.”  He focused on Anguy, “So what shall we do with you lad, think Jalabha Xho here taught you a lesson, but you still owe your liege lord.”

Lord Berric sighed, “I am not concerned about what the lad owes me, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright,” Robert looked to the Herald, “Who’s next?”

Barristan watched as more challengers faced off.  A few had been to redress grievances from the first round of the jousts two days earlier.  Two men claimed Loras Tyrell had knowingly ridden a mare in heat.  Sandor had similarly made the claim, after his loss to the younger knight, but did not challenge to boy over it.  Not worth his time.

Loras easily defeated the two challengers, they were skilled men, but no match for him.  Barristan had contemplated adding Loras to the kingsguard, but such would need to wait until the reforms he and Lord Stark had been discussing could be implemented.

While not fighting Loras, Sandor himself had several challenges as well.  A series of knights he’d crossed paths with over the years and insulted in one way or another.  Sandor was more than willing to put such men in their place.

A tense moment occurred when a rather bold Westerlands hedge knight appeared and challenged Aegon for Lady Sansa’s hand.  The impertinent knight was rather full of himself and didn’t even know Sansa from any other girl, only thinking she was a pretty girl who would garner him lands and titles.  Barristan swiftly realized why Lord Stark wanted to keep the betrothal quiet.  Barristan had been tempted to step in as Aegon’s champion but was not as swift as his own squire.

Jon armed only in his leather jerkin and with Dark Sister in hand had stood as his brother’s champion as well as the champion of his chosen sister.  It had only taken a nod from Lord Stark for the boy to make his way to the field.  The hedge knight had scoffed when Jon didn’t so much as pick up a shield.  As these were first-blood matches, live steel was permitted.  Not that it did the hedge knight much good as Dark Sister turned his bargain price sword into scrap and he yielded faster than the piss running down his thighs.

As whispers of the Dragonknight come again were spreading, Barristan wondered if someone had put the hapless hedge knight up to this.  Not that he could ask, the man fled the grounds with a pack of dire wolves hot on his heels.  The wolves had returned in mere minutes, but he was certain that the hedge knight was halfway to the Golden Tooth by now.

“Ser,” Arys got Barristan’s attention as Brienne and Mandon entered the field, “So, how long do you think he’ll last?”

Barristan raised a brow, “What makes you think she’ll succeed?”

Arys snorted, “You wouldn’t have wasted her time or ours with these ridiculous trials if you didn’t think she could win.”  Arys frowned, “Also, I’m pretty sure she realized I was aiming to draw after I knew that continuing our tilts would be futile.  I just lack the strength to unhorse someone that sturdy.”

“You think she was holding back?” Barristan frowned.

With a nod, Arys indicated his arm, “Preston’s shield buckled on that last tilt, nearly snapped my forearm.  Had I been using what was left of mine, I’m not sure we’d be having this conversation.  She wanted that last pass to be a good showing and saw us switch out shields.  Not her fault Preston is shit at maintaining his gear.”

Barristan frowned, “His normal arms include a kite shield, not the heater shield more commonly used in jousts.  Doubt he’d had that heater looked over since the last tourney.”

“Agreed,” Arys said as they both turned to the fight.  Mandon was wielding his own heater shield and had opted to use a long sword.  Brienne was carrying her family’s hand-and-a-half sword with its distinctive flame-edge design, though it was not Valyrian steel, just a finely crafted blade.  Barristan blinked as she raised her shield.  Sunset with a green shooting star above an elm tree.  Arys whispered, “That’s not the heraldry of House Tarth.”

Barristan nodded, “Aye that is the first heraldry used by Ser Duncan the Tall.”

As Brienne met Mandon blow for blow, a hush fell over the crowd.  Even the loudmouth Herald that Tyrion had hired was too engrossed in the fight.  Mandon had taken Barristan’s warning about going easy to heart as he was pressing his advantage.  No one could claim Ser Mandon Moore was a shite fighter.  It was other deficiencies in his character that made him a poor kingsguard.  Those deficiencies faded with the death of Baelish and Cersei being dethroned.

The fight came to a dramatic conclusion as Mandon brought his sword down, but it was caught by Brienne’s shield with a push she pinned the blade between their shields.  This left an opening for her to thrust her blade forward, the blade slicing Mandon’s side, his blood vividly evident as it leaked over his white armor.

Blinking the Herald called the fight in favor of Brienne as they parted.  Arys was the first one onto the field rushing to check on Mandon as Barriston walked out.  Preston appeared carrying another white cloak.  As he neared and prepared to start the knighting ceremony, Mandon patted Arys’ shoulder, “I’m fine, just a flesh wound.”  He reached up to pull off his helm, “Ser, Lord Commander, she bled me, only fair I knight her.”

Barristan nodded, “Get on with it.”

He watched as Mandon knighted Brienne.  Barristan then stepped forward, taking Mandon’s place before her as he and the other two kingsguards made the customary circle around their initiate.  “Lady Brienne of Tarth, knight of Evenhall.  You have been named by His Grace, King Robert Baratheon First of His Name, to his kingsguard.  Do you accept this calling?”

Brienne bowed her head, “I accept.”

“Do you swear to serve the crown loyally and forsake any claim on lands and titles?”  Mandon asked for his part of the reworked vows.  It had taken them a few days to get the wording such that it was similar to what came before but held a different meaning.

A crease came to Brienne’s brow.  Barristan had little doubt she had studied the original set of vows, many people of noble birth knew the vows of the kingsguard.  She nodded, “I forsake any claims on lands and titles, my loyalty is to the crown.”

Preston spoke up, “Do you swear to protect the blood of the royal family from all threats within and without?”

“I swear to protect,” Brienne paused as she realized the change, “from all threats within and without.”

Arys then continued, “Do you swear to stand with your brethren from this day to your last.”

Brienne nodded, “I swear to stand with my brothers from this day to my last.”

Barristan gave a nod and Preston draped the cloak over her shoulders, “Rise Brienne of Tarth, Kight of the Kingsguard.”

A few hours later Barristan found Brienne in the Pale Sword Tower, she was reviewing the White Book.  As he approached he saw she was in the section covering Ser Duncan, “I find Ser Duncan to be a rather compelling read.”

Brienne started as she turned to him, “Lord Commander, I’m sorry I was just.”

“Just reading up on your great-grandfather,” At her look, Barristan chuckled, “I was with Lord Commander Hightower when he delivered Lord Commander Duncan’s shield to your father’s hall.  Along with his other personal effects, not that he had many.”

She looked back to the book, “It is not common for a kingsguard to have children, let alone grand, or great-grandchildren.”

Barriston sighed, “It is probably more common than that book would ever reveal.  Lord Commanders don’t tend to record things they don’t know about or anything that might paint their brothers or the order in a bad light.”

“True,” Brienne frowned, “Lord Commander, I noticed the changes to the vows.  I know it is hardly needed to state I won’t take a wife, but.”

“But why didn’t we just say not take a husband,” Barristan nodded, “It is one of the reforms we are undertaking.  Celibacy will no longer be enforced as part of our vows, that will fully be an individual choice.  While not stated in the vows it will be agreed upon that any child sired by a kingsguard will be expected to be revealed and turned over to our expanded order.”  He indicated the shield-shaped table, “We seven will be the core of the kingsguard, but our order will expand.  In such a short time we lost three members, which weakened us by half.”

“Has the Faith agreed with this,” Brienne asked.

Barristan snorted, “I haven’t asked, not that it matters.  We serve the crown and the royal family, not the Faith.  In fact, Queen Visenya modeled our order after the Night’s Watch an order founded by the First Men in ages before the coming of the Andals and their Faith.  As they have discovered certain inaccuracies in their own vows which they intend to correct, it is only fitting we modify our own in kind.”

Brienne frowned, “So my inclusion?”

“Mandon has a daughter,” The Lord Commander’s response surprised the Maid of Tarth, “He only learned of her recently.  Before my trip North, it was common for him and Blount to accompany the King to Chataya’s.  One evening he got friendly with a young serving girl, not one of the regular whores.  After we discussed the revisions to the vows he went to check on her just in case.  By our new customs, the girl must be given to the order upon her tenth name day.”

Brienne nodded, “Are there any others?”

“Three that we know the locations of,” Barristan grimaced, “all boys, and sons of Meryn Trant.  Not that he’d have ever acknowledged them.  We debated their standing, as Trant died before the revision of our order’s vows.  We chose to include them.  I am also in talks with Prince Oberyn to locate the sons of Prince Lewyn, my late sworn brother had several base-born sons during his time as a kingsguard.  I am afraid I lost track of his paramour and sons following Robert’s Rebellion.”

“So, if I were to have a child,” Brienne asked, “It would not have to be with a brother of the kingsguard.”

Barristan nodded, “It would simplify things, but no we are not following the knight’s watch that closely.  Our vows were always a bit skewed from the original source after all, but they will be maintaining their strict keeping it on the Wall dogma.  At least once they have their sisterly order restored.”

(The Wall)

Jeor Mormont stood watching as another batch of recruits said their vows.  They differed from those he’d once said, and he’d spoken the new words before the same heart tree he’d spoken the first set.  Not that at his age he was looking to father any more Night’s Watch brothers.  He turned as Jaime Lannister and Benjen Stark approached, “Reports.”

“First Ranger first,” Jaime smirked at Benjen.

“Not that there is much ranging going on,” Benjen sighed, “Some of my rangers did have to ride out of Queensgate, they had some stragglers making their way to the Wall.  Small party, three giants, twelve Free Folk, and a couple Children of the Forest.”

Nodding Joer sighed, “Anything following them?”

“Nothing immediately evident, but my men saw some figures with bright blue eyes staring at them from the tree line as they entered the passage.”  Benjen grimaced, “Took them a bit to get the giants through there, that castle was never meant for them to pass through comfortably.”

Jeor looked to Jaime, “What about you?”

“Training is going great,” Jaime looked to where Alistor Thorne was drilling men, “Not that Ser Alistor isn’t great at motivating the troops, just, thinking it best we not have him training girls.”

“Right,” Jeor mused, “Think I’ll summon my sister, at least until we have a Battle Matron to lead the Sisters of the Night’s Watch.”

Jaime looked to Benjen, “Battle Matron?”

“It’s the title for the head of the Sisters of the Watch, more intimidating than simply calling her the Lady Commander.  Also, more accurate as she still answers to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”  Benjen informed, “Traditionally the position went to the oldest woman on the Wall that was beyond childbearing age.”

Jaime frowned, “Still trying to wrap my head around the idea whole families served in the watch together.”

“Weren’t together,” Bloodraven walked up the stairs leading to their platform, “customary for children to be split from their parents around age ten.  Also, the castles they were sent to were not those occupied by a sibling.  Most could spend the remainder of their lives never seeing a blood relative again.”

“They at least wrote?” Jaime frowned.

Brynden Rivers nodded, “Yes, and that is where much of our information comes from.”  He frowned, “Well, as long as we are translating the runes properly.”  Bloodraven looked to their resident Stark.

Benjen shook his head, “Hey, I was a third son, the spare’s spare.  The runes I learned were the ones Lyanna learned from Brandon, and he was notoriously horrible at them.”  He looked to Jeor, “Probably why Auntie Maege sent Ned the tomes to study in the Vale.”

Jeor chuckled, “We are translating them correctly Lord Rivers, my runic might be a tad rusty, but I know my verticals and horizontal arrangements.”

“Just as long as someone here can read them,” Jaime sighed, “I have enough trouble with the Common Tounge alphabet.”

Brynden shook his head, “Maesters still refuse the treat nobles with that condition, there are techniques even the First Men know of that could help with your troubles.”

“The maester at the Rock just told Father it was a common defect I’d never be able to read.  Not much of a problem when you got maesters scurrying about all over the place like a pack of grey rats.”  Jaime mused.

Jeor looked at him seriously, “I take it some letters of the Common Alphabet would invert on you, you couldn’t tell them apart.”

Jaime nodded, “You know about this?”

A snort came from the old bear, “Know about it, Jorah was no different.  Our maester said there was nothing to be done.  I told him hogwash sat my boy down and started teaching him runes.  Once he got comfortable reading those, we started working on his Common.  The poor maester was so flabbergasted when Jorah was able to read.  I warned him next time he told me there was nothing to be done without trying, I’d make him eat his chain link by link.”

Jaime looked to Benjen, “I don’t believe that to have been an idle threat.”

“Some day I’ll have to tell you what Ned had Lord Bolton do with the maester that preceded Luwin at Winterfell.  It’s not a tale to be told so close to mealtime.”  Benjen grimaced.

(King’s Landing)

Oberyn watched as the finalist riders lined up across from the royal box.  His nephew had made it this far, but he was now up against some strong opposition.  Barristan Selmy had chosen to ride in the tourney, unhorsing his remaining sworn brothers as well as his newly anointed sworn sister showing The Bold hadn’t dulled with age yet.  Sandor Clegane might not be the hulking monstrosity like his brother, but he was a monster all the same as he’d proven by unhorsing all his opponents during the preliminaries save for Loras, another finalist had dropped out due to injury so Sandor was given his place.  Loras was under close scrutiny after being challenged over the condition of his mare, not that it was a problem anymore as Sandor let Stranger into the coral housing Loras’s horse.

The Herald cleared his throat, “Welcome my friends to the final day of this illustrious tourney.  Before we begin our final rounds of the jousting, there is joyous news to relay.  As many may have heard through whispered words, following the melee, the Gallant Bull of House Baratheon was so smitten with the Spear Maiden, that he requested her hand from her father.  As many know both were born upon the wrong side of the sheets, as does our illustrious King.  In his great kindness and love for his son, he signed the papers of legitimacy that very night.  The crown is proud to announce the betrothal of Gendry Baratheon to Tyene Martell, may their union prove both joyous and fruitful.”

Oberyn glared at the wineskin Tyrion was using to pour himself a drink, “Do you need a top off, your grace?”  The dwarf smirked.

The Red Viper placed his hand over his goblet, “I’m observing a period of abstinence.  Religious observance and all that.”

Tyrion frowned, “I’ve never heard of such an observance.”

“It’s unique to the Northmen, Lord Stark introduced me to it.”  Oberyn looked to where Ned was seated next to Robert.

“Truly,” Tyrion frowned, “That looks like the same mead horn he has used the past week.”

Oberyn sneered, “He is not abstaining from drink, but another of life’s pleasures.”

“Really,” Tyrion snorted, “It must be horrible to abstain from women when you are unmarried and have neigh impeachable honor.”  Tyrion frowned, “Technically speaking it is impeachable, as he and Lady Dayne were promised to one another and one set of vows away from marriage before the whole realm went mad.”

Stannis rolled his eyes, “Actually they were for all intents and purposes wed upon the exchanging of their pins.  The only thing that needed to be done to finalize the union was to gain the blessing of their individual head of house, and possibly their liege lords as they were from different kingdoms.”

“Not a problem for Lord Stark,” Renly mused, “Also guessing that considering what happened in Winterfell, Prince Doran wouldn’t have been opposed.”

Tyrion mused, “As they both admitted to laying with each other at Harrenhal, guessing they thought it was a done deal as well.”

“Certainly,” Oberyn growled, happy for the distraction from his lack of drink and that he’d pawned one of his daughters off while in his cups, “Elia was one of their witnesses.  All she needed do was say so and Doran would have agreed, though he might have asked for a second ceremony in Dorne so he could personally congratulate them.”

Down below Barristan looked to Quentyn, “Loras is more talented than that pour choice in tactics leads on.  He is hoping I’ll relent and give him one of the vacant positions.  He’s younger than you and very ambitious, needs a bit more maturing before I’d feel right about letting him join.”

Quentyn frowned, “We could appoint him to the expanded order once it is finalized, and then he could earn his place at the table when the next opening presents itself.”

“An agreeable idea,” Barristan chuckled, “But for now I would like you to plant the young Kight of Flowers on this tiltyard.”

“As you wish Lord Commander,” Quentyn flicked down his visor as he rode to his end of the pitch.  His squire for the day was Edric Dayne.  As Edric handed him a lance he frowned, “Loras is pompous and enjoys the adulation of the crowd.  He’ll go for a big spectacle, and might even fain losing his balance.”

Quentyn smirked behind his visor, “Don’t fret Ned, I was at Winterfell as well remember.  Think I’ll go for a Red Viper special.”

“Really?” Edric frowned, “Even Prince Oberyn can’t pull that off on a whim, and he was the one to coin it.  Plus if you mess it up, I mean Willas Tyrell still uses a cane.”

“Willas was far too young to be jousting when that happened and was in ill-fitting armor for a boy his size at the time.”  Quentyn assured, “Uncle would have never tried it if he knew he was going up against a child.”

Edric gave a resigned sigh as he stepped back.  Quentyn focused, regardless of what he told Ned, it was still a dangerous technique.  The root of it was to strike the shield with a glancing blow that would redirect without breaking the end of the lance.  The added difficulty came with angling the lance so that when it glanced off the shield it struck the saddle right in front of the knight.  It would then wedge between the knight and saddle.  Quentyn would then release the lance before it snapped the pressure on the lance would make it swing up and hit the other knight in the visor.  This would all happen in a matter of seconds of course and startle the knight, and make them fall.

What happened to Willas was indeed a freak accident, his inappropriately sized armor got him stuck to the horse after he fell, wrenching his leg in ways that nature never intended.  Quentyn knew his uncle felt horrible, and thus was born one of the rarest of things.  A friendship between a Martell and a Tyrell.

When signaled he charged down the pitch.  His mind would replay the following events many times throughout his life.  Just as his lance deflected off of Loras’ shield, so did Loras’ lance deflect off his own.  Their movements mirrored as their lances found purchase at nearly the same moment, and they both released their holds.  After that Quentyn was unsure who was hit first or who hit the ground first.

His awareness returned to seeing his uncle’s worried expression, “Foolish boy, so full of yourself.  Not for a moment you didn’t think a Tyrell would not think to use that same move against one of us.”

Wincing, Quentyn struggled to sit up, “Ow, who won?”

“Double elimination,” Ned (Edric) answered from where he crouched next to his uncle, “Nobody could tell which of you hit first.”

Grimacing he looked across the pitch to where Loras was being checked on, “How is he?”

“Just coming around,” Oberyn sighed, “Thankfully you both came away clear of your horses.  I know my brother wished you to make an impression, but I doubt he meant this.”

Edric smirked, “I am sure it will be talked about for some time.”

In the stands above Robert was still chortling over the sight of two young knights having apparently been flung from their horses by the spring back of their lances.  He looked to Ned, “Well, we’ll get this done and dusted swiftly enough.”

“Finally,” Ned looked more irritable than usual, “Then we can get back to the business of preparing the realm for winter, and all that will come with it.”

“Right, right,” Robert mused, “but we needed this Ned, a bit of frivolity before the serious work begins.  We’re not built like you Northerners, hard as the lands that birthed you.”

Ned nodded in agreement as they both turned to the final match-up, now that Quentyn and Loras were eliminated.  Barristan and Sandor met at the mid-pitch and shook hands before returning to their designated ends.  Barristan looked to Jon who was waiting with a lance, “Well lad, how many should we break or do just put the Hound down and we call it a day?”

Jon looked across to where Gendry was helping Sandor, “He took a bad fall when Stranger got excited by Loras’ mare.  I’d say do the merciful thing and end it quick, for both him and Father’s peace of mind.”

Barristan nodded, “Aye, these frivolities would grate on Lord Stark’s nerves.  Let’s see if we can’t get this done quickly.”

Three lances later Sandor returned to his end and gave Gendry a look, “The old bugger has no right to have a constitution like this.  Think he might have cracked my ribs again on that last pass.”

“Should we call it?” Gendry frowned, “He decimated his own order in the preliminaries.”

Sandor grimaced, “Half of them are little better than tourney knights.  Mandon has decent skills with sword and shield, and if I didn’t know better I’d think Brienne was sired by the Warrior himself.  I’m not about to bow out over a couple good shots.”

On the next tilt, Gendry could only wince as Sandor tumbled off Stranger’s back.  With a sigh, he went to check on him, “Well, at least you didn’t give up without a fight.”

“Shut up,” Sandor groaned, “and get me a damn maester.”

(Riverrun)

Catelyn entered the guest room being used by Beth Cassel.  When she didn’t immediately see the girl she called her name, “Beth?”

“Pardon my lady,” She heard her voice from beyond the screen that provided privacy for a bath, “I needed to bathe, it felt like half the Neck was still clinging to places too embarrassing to mention.”

“Do you need assistance with your hair,” Catelyn asked as she neared the screen.

Beth grimaced, “I’m still picking leaves and twigs out of it.”

“I am sure it is not that bad,” She came around the screen.  It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Beth like this, the girl was Lady Cassel’s youngest and last child.  Beth was too young to even remember her mother when she passed from a fever.  Old Nan had taken charge of the motherless Cassel pup, but it was Catelyn who did much of day to day tasks like bathing and feeding.  It was not much trouble as Arya had just been born before the loss.  Catelyn smirked at the frizzy mess of hair, “A few shades darker and you’d look like Arya after a day running through the godswood.”

Beth grinned, “Are they on their way from the capital?”

“Not yet, the tourney should be completed today.  They’ll have a few matters to get settled, then they will set out.  It’s about a week on the road if they don’t use a wheelhouse, about two if they do.”  Catelyn pushed up the sleeves of her dress and motioned Beth to turn around, “No one tried anything untoward on your journey?”  Catelyn was unaccustomed to being so blunt, but Beth was her father’s child, a Northerner through and through.

Beth shook her head, “No, Tormund and Styr are right terrified of Osha.  To tell the truth, sometimes I am as well.  Anything that reminds her of her visions can set her off.  I was helping the Free Folk with their tents just outside Winterfell, and a rope ended up around my neck, not sure how but it just did.  She kind of went feral, like she did when Bran tripped a few days before everyone left.”

Catelyn hadn’t witnessed the incident but had heard about it.  Bran had been playing with Rickon and Robert Arryn near the broken tower.  He tripped and fell.  When Osha saw him on the ground, she sort of snapped.  Wanted to know who pushed him, and how far he fell.  She checked him over and would not let him move until Luwin had arrived to see him.  She had then scoured the broken tower, and gods help anyone who crossed her path within.

Running her fingers through the girl’s hair she found a few small leaves and bits of twigs, but thankfully nothing living.  Catelyn grabbed a container of oils used to clean hair, “Do you wish to braid your hair or leave it down?”

“Down will be fine today, I’ll just have to redo it in the morning anyway,” Beth worked on cleaning the rest of her body as Catelyn worked on her hair.  She had missed this, tending to her daughters, and the two girls that resided in Winterfell with no mothers of their own.  Jeyne Poole was older when her mother passed, but still in need of a strong maternal figure to set her on the right path.  The only real difference between the girls was Beth followed her father’s gods and only attended services at the Sept to stay close to Sansa and Jeyne, while the Pooles had both more or less converted to the Seven after Jeyne’s mother passed.  Catelyn bit her lip before asking, “Have you continued attending services at the Sept?”

“Occasionally I’ll go with Lady Margaery,” Beth hummed, “But it’s different now.  Everyone who is there is so serious.  It’s too quiet without Arya making obscene sounds to frustrate the Septon, or making faces to get a laugh out of Sansa.”

Catelyn smiled, “It would be nice if Arya did not do such a thing during her uncle’s wedding.”

A giggle came from Beth, “I wouldn’t wager she wouldn’t if the ceremony is very long.”  Beth returned the soap to the tray next to the tub, “Done.”

“Stand up and I’ll get the rinsing bucket,” Catelyn directed as she moved to collect the bucket of warm water.  She waited for Beth to close her eyes and take a breath before dumping the water over her head slowly, making sure all the soap ran back into the tub.  She then assisted her out of the tub and brought her a towel.

As Beth dried off Catelyn perused the clothing she had brought with her, an obviously partially finished dress was meant to be her attire for the wedding feast.  She noticed several sets of leggings that would not be socially acceptable to be worn in public this far south.  Asha could get away with it, as she was the heir’s betrothed, and of a paramount house.  Beth was simply a girl from a knightly house.

Rumors of Ned’s confrontations with the High Speton had already reached Riverrun, she’d hate to think what her former husband would do if the daughter of one of his most loyal retainers were to be subjected to punishment for wearing boys' garments.  There would be no saving the High Septon or the Most Devout.  She remembered the look in Ned’s eyes when word of what happened to Dacey Mormont had reached Winterfell, she felt the Stranger was already stirring before Ned even sent word to call the banners.  Though, back then she wasn’t aware of Dacey’s relation to Ned.

Beth had brought a few dresses, and half skirts meant to be worn in conjunction with the leggings.  There was also her travel garb which needed extensive cleaning and mending.  A month and a half on the road, traveling with mostly grown men did not permit her much time to tend to her clothes.

Beth stepped out from behind the screen in fresh small clothes.  Catelyn had already sent the ones she arrived in to be burned as they were far beyond saving.  She frowned, “Beth you did not bring anything to sleep in other than your small clothes?”

“It’s too warm here, we are already getting the autumn chill back home,” Beth sighed, “I think I have a slip I was using on the trip here.”  She pulled a night shift from her saddle bag, “Might be a bit worn though.”

Sighing, Catelyn shook her head, “I have some material left over from making more appropriate garb for this weather, we can work on making you a few items tomorrow.”  Catelyn pulled back the covers on the bed, and Beth obediently climbed in, “Now, I must know, what is going on between you and that Lannister boy?”

Beth flushed, “Um, nothing, we just sometimes watch Rickon together.”

“Yes, and Jeyne’s first kiss wasn’t a blindfolded Jon Snow at last year's harvest festival,” Catelyn mused, the teens were all supposed to be blindfolded in the harvest dance, but Jeyne had peeked and slipped ahead of Sansa to try and be across from Robb when the music stopped.  Theon had also peeked, intending to Sansa.  Ned had chuckled as he motioned for the music to stop.  Jeyne was paired with Jon, not a horrible outcome, and Theon was paired with Alys Karstark.

“He’s nice, and there aren’t many others our age among Winterfell’s guards,” Beth stated plainly.

Catelyn blinked, “Guards?  Beth why are you calling yourself a guard, you are a young lady of a knightly house.”

“I’m a spear maiden, we don’t need ladies.  Someone will have to protect Winterfell when Robb takes the men to fight the Others at the Wall.” Beth gave her a look Catelyn felt held the same steel as her father, “Who else will do it?”

Catelyn placed her palm on the girl’s cheek, “You are right, I just forgot you and Arya aren’t the little girls that crawled around my feet as I taught Sansa and Jeyne to sew their House Emblems anymore.”

After making sure Beth was comfortable and on her way to sleep, she exited the room.  Not surprised to see Asha present with one of her crew, “Guard the door, if anyone tries entering without good reason, you have my okay to make their insides their outsides.”

Catelyn gave her good sister a look, “That’s a tad overzealous.”

“Mind telling my good sister what you and Taven overheard this evening?” Asha asked the Iron Born.

He nodded, “Septon was whining to some Greenlanders that it was unseemly another girl who spits in the face of the natural order the gods set in place was allowed to rest beneath Lord Hoster’s roof.”

Sighing Catelyn rubbed her brow, “I’ll have words with him in the morning.  Please refrain from killing anyone.  Just knock them out and have one of the patrolling guards take them to the dungeon until we can deal with them.”

Chapter Text

(The Vale of Arryn – Eyrie)

Robert sat on his father’s seat, Bronze Yohn stood at his side, and before him stood the assembled lords of the Vale.  It had taken moons for them to all make the trek, even though a few had made the journey to Winterfell when they’d learned their liege lord’s heir was in attendance at the keep of his aunt and uncle.  He looked to Yohn who gave him an encouraging nod.

Standing he stepped forward and looked over the assemblage, “Cousin Harrold, approach.”

Harrold Hardyng stepped forward and knelt, “I am at your service, My Lord.”

It was hard to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that sounded eerily like his mother.  Lysa never liked Harrold, and much of her resentment came from the fact he was healthy while Robert was sickly.  Her feelings had become Robert’s as that was all he knew.  Robert’s fist clenched at that thought, he was sickly because of his mother.  No one wanted to speak ill of her in his presence, but he’d heard the whispers.

Mere weeks after her death, he’d begun to put on weight.  He’d not had a shaking fit since before his father’s passing.  He’d needed lessons from Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat to realize some of his behaviors were not socially acceptable, even if his mother had told him it was fine to do such as it was his right.  It had been Measter Coleman who discovered the truth.  Lysa Arryn had been dosing her beloved Sweet Robin with a dangerous mixture of herbs to keep him dependent on her.  The symptoms of the herbs were his watery eyes, blotchy skin, and thinness.

Wetting his lips he looked to his older cousin, “I am going to attend my uncle Edmure’s wedding.  Bronze Yohn will be accompanying me, as will you and Mya.”

Harrold looked surprised, “Of course my lord, but I have not heard of them hosting any tourney with the wedding, why do you need me?”

Robert had overheard Bronze Yohn and Colemon talking.  Not that he really understood most of it.  Apparently, the herbs had another potential side effect that would not be evident for several more years.  There was a probability that Robert would not be capable of fathering his own heir.  Which would require Harrold or one of his children to be officially named Robert’s heir.  Though there was still a chance Robert could have children of his own, Colemon wasn’t particularly of high hopes seeing as Lysa had been dosing Robert since he was in the cradle.

Stepping down to stand in front of his kneeling cousin Robert smiled, “We’re cousins, we should do more stuff together.”  Robert looked to where Harrold’s bow hung across his back, “Bronze said Father and you would go hunting when he’d visit.”

“I was very young,” Harrold nodded, “My aunt never told me why great-uncle Jon would come and spend time with me.  I always thought it strange a man of his station would even give the son of a landed knight the time.”

Robert nodded to the bow, “Can you show me, I learned a bit at Winterfell but wasn’t strong enough yet to pull the string without Cousin Robb or Jon or Edric helping me.”

“I’d be honored to assist you cousin,” Harrold motioned to the direction of the Eyrie’s archery range.

Bronze Yohn easily slipped into his place as the regent as Robert and Harrold left the chamber.  Sighing he turned to Mya, “You do not have to be here for this.”

Swallowing tightly she nodded her understanding but did not move from her place.  He’d much rather she follow Robert, and be far from this.  Even his cousin Nestor had volunteered to make the trip back to the Gates of the Moon and drag Mya along so she would be preoccupied.  He motioned to Mychel and Ysilla to approach, once they had Yohn glared at the young man, “Mychel Redfort, word of your actions in Winterfell came on dark wings.”

Mychel’s eyes flicked to Mya for only a moment before he bowed his head, “Lord Royce, I cannot excuse my actions.  I dishonored a young woman, I knew her feelings for me were true and I used that in a foolish act hoping to end the betrothal to your daughter.”

Yohn looked to his daughter, “Ysilla, what do you have to say on this matter?”

“Nothing Father,” Ysilla sent a glare at her betrothed, “I will do my duty.”  She sent a less harsh look towards Mya before focusing on her father, “Mychel’s brothers are all betrothed as well, we are the only two who can complete the contract between our two families.”

Sighing Yohn looked to Mychel, “Lad, I’ll tell you this once.  You do right by my daughter, or start thinking real warm thoughts because the only other option will be the Wall.”

“I understand, My Lord,” Mychel grimaced, “I’ll speak with the Septon about arranging the ceremony.”

Yohn didn’t need to look to know where the muffled sob and hurried feet came from, or who had rushed through the servant’s door with such haste the hinges screamed.  Mychel paled as he openly watched his former lover rush from the room.  Ysilla gave an aggravated huff, “You insensitive prick, you didn’t have to say that in public within earshot of the girl you deflowered after making empty promises.”

While he was still angry with the youngest Redfort, the Lord of Runestone could still pity him.  Ysilla was his most fiery-tempered daughter.  Like many old families of the First Men, his daughters were taught in secret to defend themselves, if they so chose to pick up a weapon.  Ysilla had not, but like her late mother could eviscerate anyone with words.  She’d also been his child who was closest with Mya while she lived at Runestone before he’d sent her to serve as a mule guide at the Gates of the Moon, at Lord Arryn’s insistence.

Ysilla was across the room and through the servant’s door before Mychel had regained enough faculties to stutter a reply.  Shaking his head Yohn raised his voice, “Think that’s enough for today.  We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

It took Yohn a few minutes to escape his fellow lords, many of whom had questions.  Colemon approached with a missive from King’s Landing.  It was a notice about the Hand’s Tourney, sent by the Master of Coin to be distributed among the Valemen to invite to the festivities.  There was a burning in Yohn’s heart to simply chuck it all, tell his sons to mount up and ride for the capital and compete.  Unfortunately, duty kept him here, he’d send his sons along with a few others.

Slipping out was easier when you had a letter with the king’s seal on it.  While curious, most would assume it was something important that needed to be handled by the Lord Regent.  It didn’t take long for Yohn and Colemon to find Ysilla and Mya.  They were sitting on a bench used by servants to await being called to serve lords during a fete.

Ysilla was doing her best to calm the other girl, “He is not worth your tears Mya, he is a fool.  Once your father finalizes the legitimacy documents, I am sure he will find you a match far better than the fourth son.”

Mya looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, “But I loved him.”

“Love is for storybooks and songs,” Ysilla dabbed at the few rebellious tears that leaked from the dark-haired girl’s eyes, “We are both far too old and experienced in the truths of this world to let such notions cloud our heads.”

“But you don’t even like him,” Mya remarked.

Ysilla sighed, “I know, and if it weren’t for the contract between our families.  This was arranged when we were both babes freshly placed in our mothers’ arms.  If I don’t go through with it, I am just passing the responsibility to one of my younger sisters.  What right do I have taking their choice for my own selfish desires?”

He could only watch as Mya broke down into another sob.  Colemon though was less inept in this matter as he pulled a vial of sweet sleep from the pouch at his waist.  He approached the two, “Come now child, you do not want to upset Robin when he seeks you after his time with young Harrold Hardyng.  Take a sip of this and I will see you to your chambers, a good rest will help you resettle the humors.”

Yohn and his daughter watch the Maester escort Mya away.  Then his daughter turned to him, “Father, I’m coming with you to Riverrun, but Mychel will not.”

“I’m rather certain a particular Prince and his half-brother will be in attendance,” Yohn nodded, “It would be best your betrothed did not make an appearance.  Why are you suddenly desiring to attend Lord Edmure’s wedding?”

Ysilla sighed, “Prince Aegon has his cousin’s ear.  Mya needs a suitable match, and it might be easier for her if she didn’t return to the Vale.  I know this is her home, and Lord Robert is very attached to her, but this place only holds memories of her time with Mychel.  He knew about our betrothal the entire time he was making promises to Mya.  The number of times he asked his father to annul it, even wrote to me to convince you to break the contract.”

“You doubt he was ever sincere with Mya?” Yohn gave his daughter a serious look.

“I have asked around,” Ysilla grimaced, “Mychel’s womanizing makes King Robert’s own reputation pale in comparison.  He made bets with other boys on whether or not he could bed various servants.  Harrold Hardyng had even rebuked him on more than one occasion over this behavior, they had a duel just a few moons before Lord Jon Arryn’s passing over this conduct.  That is saying something as Harrold has a bastard of his own.”

(Few Moons Later)

Harrold Hardyng rode next to Robert as they made the final push to Riverrun.  He didn’t mind missing out on the Hand’s Tourney.  The past few moons helping his young cousin improve on things that should have been commonplace to him had opened his eyes to the world of responsibility.  He’d written to Cissy to get an update on Alys, he’d not even visited the girl or paid her any mind after his aunt married Cissy off to one of her men-at-arms.

He noticed Robert smiling, “What is that look for cuz?”

“Just thinking about yesterday,” Robert replied.

They’d gone hunting after Bronze Yohn had issued the command to set camp.  This area was relatively safe, with few reports of bandits and obviously no mountain clans or similar groups.  The area was very sparse with game, and a couple rabbits would make a nice stew to fill their bellies as they would reach Riverrun by midday. 

They’d found two rabbits munching on flowers not far from camp.  They’d have to match their timing with their bows if one of them fired too soon they’d only get one of the rabbits.  Everything was going to plan, they drew and were aimed, and released within half a breath of each other.  Yet Robert’s arrow sailed over his mark and vanished into the bushes.

As they were approaching the downed rabbit, Robert was upset he missed.  Harrold heard something in the bushes and could only laugh when he pushed the growth aside.  Robert might have missed the rabbit, but his arrow found something a tad bigger.

Harrold chuckled again, “You weren’t smiling when we dragged that deer back to camp and Lord Royce made you clean it.”

“Yeah, that part wasn’t so fun,” Robert smirked, “Thanks for helping me with that.”

“Well,” Harrold looked ahead sagely, “we haven’t gotten to that particular subject in your studies.  Around the Eyrie we only have birds and small animals to hunt.  One day we’ll have to visit your cousin Robb and see what game there’s to be had up north.”

Robert smirked, “Considering the size of the wolves, they’re probably massive.”

“Speaking of massive,” Lord Royce spoke with a tone of disbelief.  As they each moved to flank the older man they saw what he was looking at.  They’d just reached the area where they’d get their first look at Riverrun.  Standing before the gates were two massive forms, “Those are mammoths, I’ve seen pictures in old tomes but never dreamed I’d see one in person.”

Harrold blinked his eyes rapidly, but the creatures didn’t vanish, “Why are they here?”

“They are here with the little lord,” A man without ears spoke as he and a red-headed man stepped onto the road.  Harrold gripped the hilt of his sword but halted when another figure, much smaller rode out of the bushes.

Robert identified the newcomer immediately, “Rickon.”

The boy on the horse smiled, “Mama said you’d be coming this way, Robin.”

Bronze Yohn started, “Young Lord Rickon, it has been a couple years.  My, have you grown, riding on your own and everything.”

The red-haired man coughed, “Mind keeping this between us, you, and the gods.  Kind of fond of keeping all my bits and pieces where they belong.”

The earless man scoffed, “It’s not like we were more than three feet from him the entire ride up here.”

“Osha will have my ears and fingers for jewelry and your skull for a new bowl,” the man frantically said.

Harrold frowned, “Are they mountain clan?”

“Worse,” Mya stepped out of the wheelhouse, “If they are fearful of Osha they be wildlings.”

“Free Folk,” Rickon, Tormund, and Styr corrected out of habit.

It took a few minutes to get moving forward again.  Mya had joined Rickon on his horse, much to the relief of his two guards.  As they neared the gates and got a better look at the mammoths, Harrold noticed they were simply grazing, “While their size is intimidating, they seem rather docile.”

“They’re warm and got plenty to eat,” The earless Free Folk man named Styr started, “Get between them and their next meal, and you’ll rethink them being docile.”

“They’re nice, Wun Wun and Mag are their riders,” Rickon spoke up.

Harrold looked to the two Free Folk, “Your people ride those?”

“Well, not that we haven’t tried, but their actual riders are a bit territorial unless it’s the little lord,” Tormund responded.  A smile graced his face  as two massive forms exited the gate, “Those are Mag and Wun Wun.”

Harrold gulped at the massive man-shaped beings, “Are those what I think they are?”

“Giants,” Rickon said as though it was the most common thing.  He frowned when Mya pulled the reins and stopped them from getting any closer, “It’s alright, they won’t hurt anyone.”  Rickon turned back to the giants and spoke words Harrold didn’t understand.  One of the giants grunted a reply before both giants took a wider step away from the gate, “See they’re friendly.”

Bronze Yohn chuckled, “Perhaps with you lad, but not everyone can speak their language.”

“Why not,” Rickon frowned.

“Old Tongue,” Tormund looked to the youngest Stark, “Mance told me it is rarely spoken down here.  Not bad, let us talk about these southern flowers behind their backs.”

Harrold glared, “You know you’re speaking Common currently.”

Tormund was halted from responding by a shout as they passed through the gate, “Tormund Giantsbane.”  A girl barely eleven or twelve, but could possibly be three and ten by her height wearing a half skirt over leggings and carrying a spear appropriate to her size, “You left with Rickon, without telling Lady Catelyn.”

“The little lord wanted to go,” Tormund started but stopped as the spear was pointed at him, “Sorry, he isn’t hurt see, all fingers and toes, and not a hair out of place.”

Rickon chuckled, “Beth isn’t happy.”

“Rickon,” Beth turned to the boy, “Lady Catelyn is waiting for you in the great hall.”

Harrold noticed the boy looking back to the gates, which slowly closed, cutting off escape.

(King’s Landing – Red Keep)

Aegon escorted Danaerys into the Queen’s banquet hall.  The smaller dining area in Maegor’s Holdfast where most often the queen holds small gatherings.  As there currently wasn’t a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the King was utilizing the space to hold family meals with his brothers and their various relatives.  Bella still looked uncomfortable, she was the third oldest, Gendry having been conceived shortly before the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal, Robert had come to King’s Landing to swear his oaths to King Aerys when he came of age and was officially the Lord of Storm’s End.  It was his tone and obvious disdain for Aerys during his visit that would lead to him including Robert’s head when he requested the same of Eddard Stark after the murders of Rickard and Brandon.

Aegon walked with his aunt to the two seats that had regularly been left vacant for them.  They both tended to dine with the Starks in the Tower of the Hand, but tonight would be their last evening here for some time.  Tomorrow Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Bran would set off for Riverrun with him as well as Barristan and Quentyn acting as his and Jon’s designated guards.

Robert looked up from where he was chatting with Stannis over something that had the stern man’s normal frown deepened into a glower, “Ah, cousins, good thought you might have lost your way.”

“We have eaten with the family Robert,” Aegon smirked, “It is more amazing to see you here, and sober.”

Robert chuckled, “Ah, yes, after the whole Gendry and Tyene thing, Stannis thought it might be prudent to cut back on the wine.”  He indicated his goblet, “A rather mild spiced wine from the Riverlands, they’re teetotalers you know, can’t handle the stronger drinks of the Stormlands or that mead or ale Ned drinks that puts most men born south of the next on their arse.”

Bella turned a defiant look at her father, obviously not going to sit and have her homeland ridiculed, “Your Grace, the Riverlands has drinks just as strong as anything found in the Stormlands or the North.”

“Seven, Bella I told you to drop that damn Your Grace shite,” Robert huffed, “I get enough of that from your brother.  Why is it my oldest and my youngest have no trouble calling me father or papa, but the middle two act like I’m not the git who sired them.”

“They are being respectful Robert,” Stannis sighed tiredly, “There is also the rather poignant matter that more than a few moons ago neither of them knew you.  You visited Mya in the Vale while you were there and you at least wrote to Edric.”

Renly chuckled from his seat beside Daenerys, “There is also the fact I’d tell Edric all sorts of stories about you whenever I was back home.”  He glanced to where Loras stood guard, “Loras you told him a tale or two as well.”

Loras nodded, “Yes,” he looked nervously at the King, “Um, just a couple things I heard about the rebellion.  Hiding in a brothel, having to be rescued by Lord Stark.”

“Haha,” Robert mirthfully laughed, “good painting the man he’s named for in such a positive.”

Bella looked to the knight, “Hiding in a brothel, that’s the battle of the bells.”

“Aye,” Robert chuckled, “the day I met your mum.”  He groused, “Also the day I lost a good friend.”

Renly cleared his throat, “Speaking of which,” he shot Aegon a sympathetic look, “House Connington has asked for clarification on what’s to befall the former Lord Jon Connington.  He has spent several weeks in the Black Cells, the goalers say he is doing about as well as can be expected for the length of time he’s been down there.”

“I’d say find a weirwood tree missing a face,” Robert took a sip of his drink as servants began serving the meal, “Hear there’s one down in Flea Bottom that still smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

Aegon took a sip of his own drink, “Think Lord Stark is reserving that one for the High Septon.”  Sighing he set down his goblet, “Can we exile him, or send him to the Wall.”

Stannis nodded, “Robert, you have to admit the man can serve some use to the realm.”

“Not you too Stannis,” Robert grumbled, “I get the lad, the blighter raised him, might have been less paternal than Ned was with Jon, but you don’t spend that long without gaining some form of attachment.  What do we tell the Vale?  We’re just giving him another chance after he murdered Jon’s heir?”

“That happened over fourteen years ago,” Stannis growled, “Regardless of the rumors, we were at war.  I haven’t forgotten Mace Tyrell feasting his men in plain view of Storm’s End while our household starved.”  This got an uncomfortable shift from Loras, which was abundantly clear Stannis’s intention, “But I’m not about to go seek revenge over that sadistic behavior.  We have more important matters, such as the army of the dead steadily making its way towards the Wall.”

Selyse grimaced, “I thought we agreed not to mention them at the table.”

“Pardon,” Stannis appeased his wife before looking back to Robert, “By all means have a trial.  Drag Jon Connington through the streets as a disgrace.  Let the Seven have their pound of flesh.  At the end of the day, send him to the Wall, and be done with him.”

Aegon looked at them, “What if he requests a trial by combat?”

“He can’t,” Renly sternly looked at him, “I looked over his original banishment.  Aerys was rather cruel even when he was being merciful.  Lord Jon Connington was stripped of all rights and titles as a highborn of Westeros.  For all intents and purposes, we’re speaking of a man whose station is so far down the social hierarchy, that even the beggars on the street have a higher standing.  Even granting him an actual trial is far beyond what he is officially due.”

Nodding Aegon looked to Robert once again, “I am sure if I speak with him, he will agree to submit to the Wall.  We need men to command the castles when the Others reach them.  It is unlikely the fiends will be so accommodating as focusing on just one or two defended gates.”

Robert shook his head, “Nah, you have less miserable matters to see to.  I’ll deal with this, you just focus on cleaning up any bad blood lingering between us and House Tully after the whole getting Catelyn booted from Winterfell.  Seeing as Daenerys was the one to push that final nail.  I spoke with Ned after the whole mess was over, it’s a rare thing to see him deep in his cups.  Probably one of the few living to have ever seen as such.  It might not have been her intent, and it wasn’t the actual slap or harsh words that finalized Lady Catelyn being set aside.  It was the unintended repercussions.”

Selyse frowned, “Repercussions, Your Grace?”

“Jon was a child, upset, he ran out of the keep and into the godswood.  The incident happened around midday, if not earlier.  It was when the lad didn’t show up for evening meal that the servants meant to watch the children admitted to not seeing him all day, or being able to find him.  Had Jory and Old Nan not found him when they did.”  Robert paused, “The North is a harsh place, even to those who call it home.”

Renly grimaced, “I’ve been reading into First Men laws, what little the Citadel had recorded.  Had Jon died, by their customs Lady Tully would been responsible for the death.  In fact, they have punishments to administer to those who cause harm out of callous acts.  Out of all the recorded forms of law, they have the most protections covering children.”

Stannis snorted, “Little brother, you have actually taken an interest in your position these past few moons.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve always been dutiful when it comes to being the Master of Laws,” Renly glowered at his brother, “Just so happens Lord Arryn was more than happy to lend his considerable knowledge.  I also can’t exactly be blamed that the captain of my gold cloaks was being subverted by the Master of Coin.”

“I’d beg to argue the second part,” Stannis mused, “but that, man had his hands in many pockets.”  He turned to Gendry, “Nephew, exactly how long have you been courting Lady Tyene?”

Gendry was taking a drink nearly choked, swallowing painfully he looked to the stern man, “Um, we weren’t courting.  I’m not sure if I said more than a handful of words to her.  We danced a couple times at Winterfell, but I’m pretty sure I danced with all her sisters.  Well, after Mya taught me how to dance that is.”

Bella looked shocked at her brother, “You didn’t know how to dance?”

“Not exactly a skill common to a smith’s apprentice,” Shireen supplied, “Papa said you made your own helm.”

Gendry nodded, “Aye, and I made my chest plate and gauntlets at Winterfell.  Master Mikken is quite skilled, I’m sure he could open a shop anywhere and make a fortune.”

“He’s a Man of Winterfell,” Robert chuckled, “Loyalty is in their blood.”

(Winterfell – Godswood)

Jory stood in attendance with the rest of Wintefell as his young lord officiated his first wedding ceremony.  Not that there was much to do other than ask a few questions, not a classical First Man wedding, as those needed no real officiating.  Yet, for the Highborn they had to do a few things to appease those of the Faith to acknowledge such marriages.  Thus, Winterfell’s Septon was in attendance so he could bless the couple in their name and report the fidelity of the union to his masters in Old Town.

He turned as the man next to him muttered, “At least the wildling is well mannered and easy to look at.”  The man wore the heraldry of House Bolton, the head of Roose’s guards.  The man noticed his glare, “Hey Cassel, you started a trend.  Civilizing these whores.”

Snorting Jory motioned to his other side where Osha was expertily ignoring the bigot, “I’d like to hear you say that again after facing her in the yard.”

“If you can’t keep her in line,” the man sneered, “I’m sure I can show you how.”

Another Bolton guard elbowed the man, “Cut it out, Lord Bolton will have your tongue if you cause shit like what you pulled in Essos.”

The man paled, “Hey, how was I supposed to know that wench was a priestess.  Looked like a prostitute to me.”

The Bolton guard looked embarrassed, “You are a walking example of why first cousins shouldn’t marry repeatedly.  Your family tree is a column.”

“Hey, you’re my cousin,” The obnoxious guard argued.

Shaking his head the other guard smirked, “I’m thankful we were both only children.  Meant our parents had to actually look outside the bloodline for wives.”

Jory glared, “Your family practiced incest?”

“Technically no,” the guard countered, “but it was kept first cousin to first cousin for as far back as we can track.  Anyone who married outside the family was disinherited.  Apparently our seven times great grandfather wanted to ensure the position of Guard Captain of the Dreadfort remained in the family.  This fine example of humanity is the last of that line, my dah got disinherited by marrying my mother.  Uncle was hoping I’d have a sister to wed to this buffoon.  Dah didn’t come back from Robert’s Rebellion.”

Osha glared at the Bolton guards, “Will he be a problem for Val?”

The Bolton guard glared at his cousin, “Nah, he’s mostly just hot air.  Useful trait during the winter, but otherwise useless.  He’ll follow orders like a good little guard, otherwise there’s a room in the basement Lord Roose will invite him to see the interior of, normally we only see the outside of the door.”

Jory rather not think of such a room, though was thankful the Starks were far more benevolent rulers to live and serve.  As the ceremony ended, the guards moved to  flank their charges as they made their way to the great hall.  While not as extravagant as Robb’s own wedding feast, it was still a respectable affair.

The next morning Jory awoke to the sound of weapons clashing in the yard.  Exiting his quarters he found Roose standing not far from Robb and Margaery.  Osha was at their lady’s side.  Down below Val stood in the practice yard with House Bolton’s detachment of guards sprawled out around her.  She did not look as though she’d even broken a sweat as she rested her spear on her shoulder.  She looked up at Roose, “Husband, these men need better training.”

“I’m sure those you haven’t fully concussed would be wise enough not to take you so lightly in regard to your sex,” Roose spoke lowly.  He looked to Robb, “Did your own guard have such difficulties with Jory’s wife?”

“She was handing them their posteriors before her and Jory decided to become husband and wife,” Robb chuckled, “Also, Dacey was in attendance before Osha arrived here, so they were used to women making fools of them if they let down their guard.”

Roose nodded, “Your aunt has always been a fearsome creature.  Even after what evils befell her, she waded into the thick of it during the Greyjoy’s Rebellion.”  Roose gave a slight smile, “I had half a mind to ask for her hand, but then Sir Jorah had to do something foolish.  It would not be right to ask her to surrender her place as heir of Bear Island.”

Margaery frowned, “She has sisters, would it have been a problem?”

“Politically no,” Roose’s tone turned instructional, “culturally yes.  Not only is she the heir to Bear Island.  She is my Magnar’s favored sister.  You do not ask for her hand, it is granted.  Few realize why Cregan Stark did not grant his sister Sarah Snow’s hand.  She lived and died in these very walls, supposedly a maiden to her final days.  He loved her, and did not recognize any of his banners as worthy of her.”

Robb grimaced, “She wasn’t a maiden, and probably why Cregan didn’t view anyone worthy of her.”

Roose nodded, “True, very few know what Cregan’s uncle did to her.  We of the Dreadfort being among those, as Lord Cregan needed someone to claim the pound of flesh.”

“I thought the Starks and Boltons were hostile, it seems there was often times your House was called upon to do dark deeds,” Margaery looked curiously at the Bolton lord.

“Yes,” Roose smirked, “There is a long and bitter rivalry between our Houses.  It stems from when my House held the title the Red Kings, or its proper translation the Blood Magnar.  After our defeat and subjugation by the Magnar of Winter, we often rebelled.  You would expect our line to have been extinguished by now for the number of rebellions we’ve participated in.  Yet, the Magnars of Winter have long been men of shrewdness.  They know when compared to us Boltons, they can appear to be very image of heroes of old.  They utilize us for our skills, and willingness to do those dark deeds our House is notorious for.”  Roose looked down as his men struggled to get up, “It is as I told Lord Robb.  I am not loyal to House Stark.  I am loyal to my Magnar, Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf.”

(King’s Landing – Tower of the Hand)

Ned Stark watched as his children broke their fast.  The Tower would be far quieter in a matter of hours.  Its only reisdents other than himself would be Edric and Danaerys.  Sansa had approached him after dinner and told him it was about time, he knew what she was referring to.  It had been several moons since he’d separated from Catelyn, the Most Devout had even acknowledged the severing of their union.

The proclamation had be relatively concise.  A Septon had read it during a service some weeks ago.  Without giving any details it had proclaimed them divested of each other in the eyes of the Father and Mother, while upholding his children’s rights to their inheritances.  Rumors of course had already spread. 

Some had painted him in a poor light, while others had savaged Catelyn.  There were claims of her being a poor mother, or abusive towards members of Ned’s household.  Jeyne had taken both rumors badly, even drawing her dagger on one courtier who’d spoken said rumors in the girl’s presence.  He’d worried the girl had forgotten her true lineage being coddled and smothered in Catelyn’s southern ideas and customs.  That had been one of their customs Catelyn had taken to, being a maternal figure to the motherless children of his household.  Well, as long as they were born on the right side of the sheets.

“Father,” Ned looked to Jon, “You were brooding again.”

“Kettle, meet pot,” Sansa humored as she passed her brother a plate of rolls, “You two both had that scrunched up brow.”

Ned smirked, “What had you so deep in thought, son.”

Jon ducked his head, “I’ve been rethinking going to Riverrun.  I know Lady Catelyn and I have made peace, but I’m still responsible for your separation.”

“You were a child, Jon,” Ned corrected, “It wasn’t the words or her striking you that made that act the final straw.”  Ned noted the way even Bran and Arya were focused on him, “Catelyn knew why you were missing.  We argued that evening, you were asleep in Luwin’s tower and it would been just as easy to force Robb from your side then as it would be to remove Ghost today.  Sansa was only a few weeks old.”  Ned sighed, “Jon, at the time it was spring in the south.  In the North, spring is comparable to the worst weather the south experiences in winter.  When you recovered you told me you and Robb had been playing, and Robb supported the tale.  You both unknowingly protected Catelyn.”

Sansa gasped, “If Jon had died?”

“You mother’s actions would have been the cause,” Ned nodded, “First Men did not hold nature or the gods accountable for a child’s death.  Only children, well human children are deemed incapable of causing malicious intent resulting in the death of a child.  The truth is had the Children of the Forest not already been in our godswood, Jon very well could have died before he was found.”

Bran frowned, “Why didn’t they tell Jon to go back inside?”

“They shielded him from the cold, but they did not make themselves known,” Ned explained, “They were still hiding, even from those who honored the pact, they feared we could not protect them.”

Jon nodded, “It would have been difficult for them to tell me anyways.  I only knew the Common Tongue at the time.”

Ned looked to his middle son.  Bran had taken the changes to their family the hardest.  Rickon was too young to fully understand, while Arya had been appropriately distracted at the time and had since then been speaking with her sister.  Sansa had apparently taken things in stride, but appearances could be deceiving, his eldest daughter had other young ladies to turn to at the time.  Robb had not hidden his displeasure at the turn of events, but was far too immersed in his duties at Winterfell and managing his own marriage to linger on the dissolution of his parents union.

“Father,” He turned to Arya, “What will you be doing while we’re in Riverrun?”

“What I have been doing since we arrived,” Ned smiled at his daughter, “Preparing the realm for the Long Night.  Though, I may take advantage of not having the tower quite so heavily occupied.”

Arya mused, “It will be harder for Edric to make excuses for spending time here.”

“I’m sure there will be means to create excuses to visit father,” Sansa assured her younger sister, “and no, you have to come.  Mother would be very disappointed if you didn’t come to uncle’s wedding.”

The look Arya sent her sister was of obvious disbelief, “You really think that?”

“Of course,” Sansa smiled brightly, “besides, I would look ridiculous demonstrating all we have learned from Syrio without an adequate partner.”

“You have Jeyne,” Arya countered.

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Do not get me wrong, I love Jeyne.  Give her a dagger or a mace she’s decent.  Yet give her a sword and she stumbles through the stances, it’s like she has two left feet.  I’m sure Jon knows this from dancing with here since we were little.”

“I’m lucky to still have toes,” Jon grimaced, “But I always thought it was because she spent more time watching Robb.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Don’t remind us.”

Sansa nodded, “She was upset when father agreed to the match with Margaery.”

“What?” Ned frowned, his children must have forgotten he was actually present as they slightly jumped.

Jon was the first to realize what might have crept into their father’s thoughts, “Nothing untowards, Robb didn’t do anything intentionally to make her infatuation grow deeper.  Doubt Robb even noticed, he is kind of dense when it comes to that kind of thing.  Theon instigated a few things, like when we put on mock tourneys on the tiltyard and we’d crown one of the girls.”

“You did what?” Ned looked surprised, “Why was I never aware of this?”

Sansa smirked, “You were rather busy running the North, and mother would hush us if we started into telling you whatever games we’d played.  She said proper lords and ladies know what is important and what isn’t.  Silly games were not important enough to bother our father with.”

“For my part,” Jon cut in, “I was to be seen and not heard, though not being seen either was also preferred.”

Ned grimaced at the reminder of what his son/nephew had to put up with for years.  Through, if Robert or Lord Arryn had simply told him they knew the truth, all that mummery would have been unnecessary.  They could have worked together to ensure Jon’s heritage was not known, and perhaps he could have told Catelyn the truth.

(Later)

Tyrion watched from a balcony as the younger Starks loaded into the wheelhouse.  Footsteps drew his attention, “Ser Moore, you need something?”

Mandon Moore nodded, “A message from your Lord Father, he asked me to pass it on when I left your sister in his care.”

“Not accompanying her to her place of exile, my good sir?” Tyrion smirked, “I hear it is quite an adventure.”

Mandon snorted, “She ain’t my problem anymore.  Your Lord Father wanted me to inform you he’s left you a present under the care of Chataya.  Said not to let it interfere with your duties more than necessary.”

A scowl came to Tyrion’s face, “The way you make it sound my father has paid Chataya to watch over a puppy for me.  Though it take it this is no dog we speak of.”

“Don’t know much about that, my lord,” Mandon chuckled, “Now if you’ll excuse me, got some Unsullied to drill into proper guardsmen.”

Tyrion’s brow raised, “You do know they have been drilling as soldiers since the day they were cut.  We really need to come up with a name for the expanded order of the kingsguard.”

“That’s for smarter men than me to worry about,” Mandon huffed, “Ser Barristan wants them in place before he returns from his little outing with the prince.  Doesn’t want to see a gold cloak doing more than giving Lord Renly a report inside the keep.”

“Being what remains of them is fewer than a hundred, the gold cloaks aren’t exactly feeling numerically superior anymore.  Ser Jorah has had to supplement them with the house guards of the small council members and anyone he can drag off the street who is decent with a sword and has enough integrity to not take bribes.” Tyrion shook his head, “We cannot afford to pay men in the quantities that would make bribery unpalatable.  I’m sure you know as well as any how easy men can be swayed by a few stags.”

Moore nodded, “Aye, but I wasn’t bought with coin, my lord.”

Tyrion frowned, “I thought my father had you in his pocket.”

“Lord Baelish, he had my sister.  Threatened worse than death if I didn’t do as he said,” Mandon grimaced, “The day he died I sent a letter to her to get out of the Fingers.  Got a message from my brother before you all arrived from the North saying she’d been escorted to him by Ser Corbray.”

“Well, at least there was some good from Little Finger going to pieces,” Tyrion smirked, “At least with Eddard’s pups gone to visit the Riverlands, there will be fewer dire wolves lurking about.”

Mandon snorted, “Aye, just the biggest and the meanest, and I’m not talking about the mother wolf or the one following Lord Dayne.”

Chapter Text

(Sunset Sea)

Euron Greyjoy sat in his cabin surrounded by the various trinkets he’d gathered over the years of his exile. Books written in long-dead languages, magic artifacts that had been silent for centuries, and a mirror of never-melting ice from his foray into the lands of Always Winter. A gift from his cold benefactors, a gift he’d paid the iron price for in spades.

One of his thralls entered uneasily, no words were spoken. Not that the man could speak, his tongue had been cut from his mouth years ago. Without a word the exiled Greyjoy dragged the man to the mirror before drawing a dagger and slashing his throat, the arterial spray bathed the white mirror in red, the heat of the blood creating steam upon contact with the unnatural coldness of the icy mirror.

Greyjoy dropped the body as he focused on the mirror. His reflection twisted as the face became void of life, his near-perpetual sneer fading to icy indifference. A hissing voice came from the mouth of the body lying before the mirror, the sound of breaking ice that somehow formed words, ‘Child of the Drowned God, why do you seek our audience?’

“My spies tell me my fool brother sold his daughter to the heir of the Riverlands.”  Euron sneered, “The crown has restored my nephew to my brother’s side. The Iron Isles are not going to rise in rebellion. The Stag yet lives, and nothing has gone as you predicted. The Westerlands sit idle, and the North readies itself for war, but all eyes are turned to the Wall.”

The crackling of breaking ice continued, ‘There has been meddling of the sort not seen in ages. The Gods have been stirred from their slumber. They have moved south swifter than we predicted, their champions have been roused.’

Euron glared, “I want what you promised me. The Iron Isles will be mine.”

‘You have failed us far too often,’ The icy voice scolded, ‘You were to end the wolf’s blood on the Isle of Bears. Yet both still draw breath, and worse one has spread her blood further. We gave you the means to survive the doom, yet you did not deliver us the eggs.’

“That wasn’t my fault,” Euron snarled, “Had I not sold them my crew would have mutinied. What does it matter, they rot on some rich green-lander’s shelf in Asshai.”

‘Fool,’ The voice snapped dangerously like an autumn freeze, ‘From Asshai they made their way to the hands of a merchant and were collected by one claimed by those of Sea and Tree. They are now guarded and await their riders. If allowed to grow their flames will spell our doom.’

Euron sneered back at his twisted reflection, “I’ve acquired something that will deal with them.”

The icy voice settled to its earlier cold calmness, ‘If you survive long enough to make use of it. Our ability to foresee events has been hampered. The flow of time has been muddled. Not since the wolf’s blood laid our god low eons ago have, we been this blind.’  The voice became sharp like icicles forming at the base of his skull, ‘Do not seek an audience with us again. We will contact you when we need your usefulness.’

His reflection returned to normal as the blood on the mirror seemed to be absorbed into it. Euron glared down at the empty eyes of his dead thrall before turning and storming from the cabin. Two more thralls awaited him on deck, he indicated his cabin “Clean up that mess.”

Mute like most of the crew the thralls nodded before moving to follow their orders. Euron moved to the helm where the quartermaster, one of the few members of the crew still having their tongue stood, “What’s the course captain?”

“Find me something to kill,” Euron growled.

The quartermaster chuckled darkly, “You’re in a mood. Lookouts spotted a merchantman a couple of hours ago, won’t take long to find her again.”

“Good,” Euron leaned against the railing next to his quartermaster, “What have you heard from back home? Is my nephew a pansy green-lander or does he still have some Iron in him?”

“Word has it he’s all Iron,” The quartermaster snorted, “He made sport of his sister getting put in her place by her husband. Word is he even struck her when she spoke out of turn.”

Euron mulled this over, not seeing the boy behaving this way after years under the tutelage of the honorable Eddard Stark. Was it some mummer’s farse to gain the favor of Balon. He stroked his chin in thought, “He forgot his beloved sister was always willful. Strange a tap from him would put her straight after years of acting more than she’s worth.”

“Might have shocked some sense into her, getting walloped by her little brother,” the quartermaster chuckled, “said her husband has a bit of Iron in him. She got uppity with him when he took his rights. During the Drowned God’s blessing ceremony, she was covered in marks of her husband putting her in her place.”

This made Euron frown more, “Edmure Tully is many things, but a violent man he isn’t. He’d more like to laugh off any of Asha’s lip than bust her mouth for it.”  He chuckled as the realization hit him, “Ah, my darling niece, what a mummer you can be.”

“Huh,” the quartermaster looked confused, “What you are going on about captain?”

Laughing Euron crossed his arms, “My darling niece and lunkheaded nephew danced my idiot brother to a tune of their own making. Knowing the pair, Asha was to mastermind, Theon wouldn’t have the brains to set such a series of events in motion.”  He noticed the sails of the merchantman coming into view on the horizon, “Well, nothing to be done now than pay the iron price for a couple gifts for my darling squidlings. A proper wedding gift for Asha and a welcome home gift for Theon.”

(Crownlands – King’s Road)

Trystan rode beside his brother just behind Aegon and Ser Barristan. Jon was on Quentyn’s other side; the wheelhouse and baggage cart were just behind them. Their company also consisted of several dozen guards, the Mormont sisters, and Sandor and Gendry. Cousin Tyene was also in attendance as her betrothal with Gendry was already making the rounds.

Speaking of which Gendry rode up the column, “We got outriders joining up between us and the Westerlanders.”

Aegon frowned, “We have Cersei riding in the forward wheelhouse, right?”

“Yeah, Lord Tywin thought it best to keep a decoy wheelhouse with his group just in case someone wanted to gain Father’s favor.” Gendry grimaced.

“Right,” Aegon turned to Trystan, “Cuz, go check on the wheelhouse and inform the Ladies Mormont that we have unexpected outriders joining the column. Have our men be on the ready, we don’t need a repeat of the Crossroads.”

Trystan nodded before wheeling his horse around and riding back to the wheelhouse. Hitching his horse to the railing that provided security entering the mobile living space, he dismounted onto the lowest step before climbing to the door. This was the royal wheelhouse, a monstrous double-decker abomination that took three times the horse a normal one used just to keep a steady pace.

The first floor was occupied by servants and ladies of lower social class. Lady Jeyne Poole was helping Cousin Tyene with some sewing. They looked up from their work on his entrance, “Prince Trystan.”  Lady Poole nodded, “Is there trouble?”

“Probably not, but Prince Aegon wishes us to be prepared,” He looked around, but Arya wasn’t present.

Tyene giggled, “Lady Arya is upstairs with Lady Sansa. They are working on their gift for their uncle and aunt.”

Nodding Trystan moved to the stairs leading to the second level. It was only a third the size of the main floor, normally meant to be a bedroom for the king and queen during journeys. It had been rearranged to be a more communal resting area.

A rather severe-looking servant approached him, “What business do you have here?”

Trystan could barely restrain himself from gawking at the drooping eye. Before he could respond the voice of Genna Frey called out, “Father’s mercy, Bethaney stand down, the poor lad means no harm.”

Trystan swallowed hard as the servant moved back to where she’d been sitting with Lady Cersei Myrcella and Tommen. Dacey Mormont then approached, “Don’t mind her, she is protective of the lion cubs.”

“Right,” Trystan sighed, “Aegon wanted me to report we have outriders joining up. Probably just lickspittles hoping to get close to the new crown prince, but they’re aiming to separate us and the Lannister column.”

Dacey nodded, “We’ll keep our guard up.”

Nodding Trystan noticed Arya and Sansa sitting with Alysane and her children, they were working on something. Trystan approached, “Lady Sansa, Lady Arya.”

“Trys,” Arya looked to him, “You get tired of riding?”

Trystan smirked, “Never, but my cousin sent me to make a report to Lady Dacey. Are you enjoying the accommodations?”

Arya’s nose twisted, “I didn’t enjoy them the last time.”

Trystan noticed the figures lying between Sansa and Arya, “What are those?”

Picking up the closest one Arya showed it to him, “They’re sentinel men. You place them in the cradle with a baby. That way, if a snark or grumpkin tries to steal the baby, they’ll take the sentinel instead. Sansa says grumpkins and snarks don’t like noise, so they take the quiet sentinel mistaking it for a well-behaved baby.”

Trystan looked to Sansa, “I thought grumpkins and snarks were just stories.”

“They may be nothing more than legends now, but with how beings of legend have been showing up lately. It would be better to be on guard, don’t you think?”  Sansa mused, “Besides, once the baby gets older, they can use them as dolls.”

Trystan nodded, “Did you both have sentinel men?”

“I gave mine to Arya when she was born,” Sansa mused, “I am not sure what became of it after that.”

Trystan noticed the way Arya’s eyes flicked to a nearby trunk. He smirked, “I’m sure it is still protecting children from snarks and grumpkins.”  He looked to Arya, “I’m going to rejoin the vanguard, I know you’d rather ride on your own, but…”

Arya sent a hopeful look to her sister. Sansa sighed, “Change into your training breeches. With four dire wolves lurking along the edges of the column I doubt there is much bandit activity at the moment.”

It took a few minutes for Arya to get ready before she and Trystan exited the wheelhouse. Once they were gone Dacey sat across from Sansa, “You didn’t tell your sister the real purpose of those dolls?”

“That mothers would substitute them for their children when sacrificing them to the Others?” Sansa grimaced, “No, I like Mother’s stories better than the actual First Men reasoning. I’m still surprised Old Nan never told Arya and Bran that story, she’s always been one for the scary ones.”

“Most like to forget anyone ever worshiped the Others like gods,” Dacey grimaced.

Genna cleared her throat, “Let’s speak of something more pleasant.”

Cersei snorted, “Like what, my soon-to-be home of the Isle of Faces?”

“It could be worse,” Alysane snorted, “My dearest brother was wracking his brains trying to figure out what to do with you. Couldn’t take your head, the gods gave you a chance at redemption. Cleansed you of your sins. Our culture doesn’t exactly have a plethora of punishments.”

A wince came to Cersei’s face as she remembered the branding irons. The runes burned on her back were still healing. She was saved from the humiliation of her branding being a public spectacle with only Robert, her father, and Lord Stark having been present. Ser Ilyn Payne had done the deed with Jorah Mormont acting as the leash holder of the king’s justice.

Sansa seemed to know where the disgraced queen’s thoughts had drifted, “Father says the Children of the Forest will ensure that you are taken care of. It may not be as you are used to, but you will be safe and alive.”

“Which was all that he promised me,” Cersei grimaced, “I upheld my end, and he has upheld his own.”  Her grimace turned into a soft smile, “Little dove, I cannot fathom how your mother squandered what the gods had granted her. Few are lucky enough to have a husband such as your father. What was a single bastard sired during the chaos of war, seven hells she wasn’t even angry about the right child for most of their marriage.”

Sansa frowned, “Were you ever in love with the king?”

“Once,” Cersei frowned, “When we first met, but truthfully, I was more in love with the idea of him. More the fact that through him I would be queen and have all I ever wanted. I had always dismissed Rhaella as weak and unable to effectively use her power as queen. I did not realize how trivial difference there is between being queen and any other lady of a noble house.”

Genna snorted, “Foolish girl. The Queen’s power is only as great as is allowed by her husband the king. Of course, Rhaella appeared weak, her brother-husband was so paranoid he jumped at the sight of his own shadow. Was willing to disinherit his own son because he feared he was going to usurp him. Barmy fool forgot that his son had no need to usurp him, he’d have gotten the throne eventually.”

“There was more than that,” Cersei grimaced, “On my wedding night, during the bedding. Robert was so drunk he couldn’t perform, and to make matters worse.”  She avoided looking at Sansa, “He said another woman’s name.”

Sansa had a feeling she knew whose name the king had said.

(King’s Landing – Tower of the Hand)

Edric sat halfway between his parents at the unusually empty table in the tower’s dining chamber. While it wasn’t the first time he’d dined with his birth parents, it was the three of them alone that was by far a new experience.

There had been the customary greetings, followed by updates on training and preparations for the journey back to Starfall. Edric was still coming to terms with the fact the man he’d once called father was dead. The late Lord Dayne had been gone for over half a year, though only a select few Dornish lords were aware of this fact, it was more commonly known in the North and Crownlands, and possibly in other regions.

Few people outside of Dorne knew of the tight grip Prince Doran had on the flow of information among his lords. It was rumored that once two neighboring families that were hostile to the Martells and whose keeps were within plain view of each other. Thought each other childless. Doran had arranged for both family's heirs to marry into loyal families. That was the power of Prince Doran Martell.

As the silence continued Edric looked to his father, “Do you think you will be able to visit Starfall before the onset of Winter?”

Eddard mulled over the question, “Perhaps once you have settled in as Lord and Arya has had time to accustom herself to Dorne. I fear her learning the real reason she is being sent to Dorne.”

Ashara chuckled, “She and Prince Trystan have gotten relatively close. She was the one to ask him to attend her uncle’s wedding.”

“Really,” Eddard smirked, “I didn’t think she’d take to him so well.”

“Um,” Edric grimaced, “I wouldn’t read too much into it yet Father. I’m fairly sure she only thinks of him in terms of a friend who happens to be a boy. I’d hold off on the betrothal announcement for a bit.”

“True,” Eddard leaned on his elbows, “but that leads to another important matter. I received word from Lord Tyrell. His niece’s betrothal has been officially dissolved; her former betrothed has chosen to join the Night’s Watch.”

Edric gulped, “I thought that offer was merely a jape.”

“It may have been put forward as such, but it is a worthy match. You are the lord of Starfall, and the son of the Warden of the North and current Hand of the King. You are also the younger brother of the current acting Lord of Winterfell and elder brother of the betrothed to the Crown Prince.” Eddard snorted “I believe House Tyrell gets more out of this union than we do.”

Ashara mused, “Are you going to at least let them meet before you and Mace set a date for the wedding?”

“Of course,” Edric noticed his father’s frown, “She will be here within the week.”

Taking a drink of his watered wine, Edric looked between his parents, “Will Prince Doran approve the match?”

Rolling her eyes Ashara took a sip of her wine, “Doran’s fingers are probably deeper into this proposal than even your father suspects. He knows Mace is making powerful ploys to position his house in the best possible position when dawn comes following the Long Night.”

Edric frowned, “He is rather presumptive that we will be victorious this time. Should his sight not be focused on the matter of the coming winter?”

“Multitasking is the skill of an able lord.” Eddard began, “You must be able to deal with your own lands, while also predicting the actions of those around you. Especially in the South with its ridiculous games.”

Edric nodded, “It is Cavasse played on a much larger scale.”

“Correct,” Eddard sighed, “Ellinor Tyrell isn’t your only choice son, but it is strategically sound. She is the cousin of your brother’s wife, further tying their House to ours. Beyond that, there is a long history of animosity between Reach and Dorne. Such a union will help stabilize the situation, and as Doran has limited possibility in creating marriage ties, having the House tied so close to his own such as the Daynes would be no different than Tywin’s intent to have his nephew wed Beth Cassel.”

“The Cassels are honor bound to the Starks similarly to the way House Dayne of Starfall has been honor bound to the Martells.” Ashara explained to her son, “The Martells may have only trace amounts of First Men blood, but they have never betrayed our ancestors' trust since the founding and unification of the Dornish.”

Edric nodded, “Hopefully she doesn’t mind my origins.”

(Roseroad – Near Bitterbridge)

Ellinor Tyrell reread the letter sent by Margaery, it had been sent before the official annulment of her betrothal to Alyn. Her cousin had detailed the kind of man Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall was beyond the various rumors that had swiftly begun swirling. Her mother only on the arrival of her cousin’s grandfather at Highgarden had informed her of Alyn being disinherited and sent to the Wall, so the letter had been quite confusing at first.

Her eyes skimmed to the final words of the letter, ‘Wolves are more attentive than ants.’ Only now, knowing her cousin Mace was arranging a more lucrative betrothal did that line have some meaning. Margaery’s Grandfather Leyton Hightower had told her Edric was in truth the son of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Ashara Dayne, that he had been taken by his uncle the previous Lord Dayne as his son and heir to cover up his own inability to produce one of his own.

In the Old Way of the First Men, Edric was a legitimate Dayne and the heir to Starfall. Lord Stark was not a man to be toyed with and disparaging his children was a dangerous affair. Even Aunt Olenna was not immune to that fact. Rumor among the family was that she’d made some rather unkind remarks and found the fire in her guest rooms lacking fuel to keep the room comfortable. Upon apologizing to Lord Stark, the fire was restored to a more comfortable strength.

“You are very engrossed in your letter,” She looked to the armored knight seated across from her in the simple wheelhouse. She knew he’d rather ride, but no horse in the Reach that could survive a man of his stature was readily available, thus he rode with her mother and her, “It must be of great importance.”

“Not really,” Elinor folded the letter and returned it to the pocket stitched into her billowing sleeve, “Just the words of my dearest cousin, she has met my potential betrothed. He is the younger brother to her husband.”

The knight’s helmet tipped showing some confusion, “Your cousin’s husband has many brothers.”

“True,” Elinor smirked, “but only one who is part Dornish. Edric Dayne, the current Lord of Starfall. My cousin Mace was quick to act once he realized my betrothal to Alyn was to be broken. Alyn has no brothers, and his only cousin is already betrothed. I might not bring much compared to warrant a union with a son of a Lord Paramount, as I am from a cadet branch, but I will do my duty for my House.”

“Love is the death of duty,” the knight intoned, “I witnessed that when my king’s children abandoned their duty one after the other to chase their desires. Aerys and Rhaella were the product of such.”

Elinor blinked, “The mad king and the late queen? How old are you Ser?”

A deep chuckle came from the knight, “Old enough to remember when your grandsire was no taller than my hip.”

This surprised Elinor, her grandfather Luthor had passed years ago during the Greyjoy Rebellion, though not from battle. Her great-grandsire had remarried by then and fathered her uncle Leo, who was barely a few years older than her. Her father was young, her brother hadn’t been born yet, and her uncle Medwick had already taken his maester vows.

“You look surprised,” the knight crossed his arms, “Luthor was an energetic young lad, whenever Egg visited Old Town, he’d be underfoot even after Gerrold would scold him and try chasing him off. Reminded Egg of himself when he was that age.”

Elinor swallowed, “Ser, you mean Gerrold Hightower, the White Bull?”

“Yes, one and the same,” the knight sighed, “He always hated that moniker. Fit though, as bullheaded as he was. Overly serious, Egg and I would take bets on who’d get the sourpuss to crack a smile first. Neither of us it seems.”

“Egg?” Elinor gasped, “You mean Aegon the Fifth?”

“Yes, I guess you’ve heard of him.” The knight looked out the window of the wheelhouse, “He knew his house needed to end their ridiculous notion of keeping their Valyrian blood pure. Yet he did not enforce his own desire, let his sons marry for love over their duty. Resulting in four broken betrothals.”

Elinor frowned, she had not heard of a knight of such grandiose stature coming to the Reach, though there were whispers of a man traveling with Lord Leyton. One who kept his face concealed behind his helm. During the length of their journey the knight had not removed his helm in her presence, nor did he eat with them. He did accept plates of food from the servants at the cookfire, but he tended to find a quiet spot away from the rest of their party to partake of his meals.

Her curiosity got the best of her, “Who are you Ser?”

“I’m sure you have an inkling of who I might be,” the knight coaxed.

“I do,” Elinor shook her head, “but it is impossible. It is known Ser Duncan the Tall fell with King Aegon at Summerhall. After saving many lives he rushed back into the inferno to try and save the king. Neither were seen, the wildfire was hot enough to turn even bones to ash.”

The knight nodded, “It was quite hot, even hot enough to turn even a member of House Targaryen to little more than husks of charred meat. I saw Prince Duncan’s body curled protectively around the ashes of his mother.

Elinor blinked, “Then you really are him? How by the Seven?”

“Seven have nothing to do with it,” Duncan grumbled, “Queen Betha Blackwood perhaps, begging her gods to act. I found the strength to pull myself and Egg from the flames, but I was a man in my sixties at the time, and my strength failed. I awoke on the Isle of Face. My body restored to its prime and bound to it.”

“What about the King?” Elinor asked, “Did he survive as you did?”

Duncan shook his head, “No, his body was too damaged for even the Children of the Forest to heal. The best they could do for him was place him in the Green Dream, let him live, and act within the memories of those close to him. I fear in his state he did more harm than good.”

Not understanding much of this Elinor could not formulate an adequate response. She thought about the other rumor she’d heard, the one her great grandsire had whispered to her cousin Lord Mace. The citadel was in chaos following the deaths of almost the entire conclave, only two Archmaesters survived.

“The Citadel,” Elinor swallowed, “that was you?”

“I had a final edict to enforce from King Aegon,” Duncan’s voice became hollow, “I brought the King’s Justice to those responsible for Summerhall.”

Elinor had grown up with tales of Kingsguard like Ser Barristan Selmy and the late Arthur Dayne. She could only wonder if they were as stalwart as the knight before her was, he defied even death to see his king’s final decree was done.

(God’s Eye – Some Days Later)

Tywin looked to the skiff with the supplies the king had allowed them to leave with Cersei. A couple crates of dried and preserved perishables. He had to remind Bethaney her duties were to Myrcella; the servant had begged him to request she be sent to the Isle with Cersei. He’d halfheartedly passed this over with Eddard, but Lord Stark had bluntly refused, Bethaney was solidly a follower of the Faith.

Eddard had explained the Children of the Forest would not tolerate her presence. Apparently, he’d been informed by his little spies that she would do anything Cersei asked. That could even include her swapping places and allowing Cersei to escape the Isle.

The Lord of the Rock turned as Aegon stepped forward from the royal party, “By decree of his Grace, King Robert Baratheon First of His Name, King of The Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Lady Cersei Lannister, for your acts of treason and the numerous and horrific crimes you have committed, from this day forth you are to live in exile and seclusion upon the Isle of Faces. If you are ever found beyond the shores of the Isle, you will be taken to the nearest heart tree and given to the gods.”

Cersei smiled tightly, “I see Robert is still hoping to have me killed.”

“I’d say don’t take it personally,” Aegon glared, “but he is not alone in that feeling. You live only by the kindness and mercy of Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King. Had he not grown disgusted at the sight of murdered women and children after your father laid my mother and sister at Robert’s feet.”

Aegon was halted by Sansa’s hand slipping into his and his brother Jon stepping forward, “Brother, let us be done with this.”

With a nod of his head, Aegon continued, “A guard of men loyal to House Baratheon, Martell, and Stark will be in place. They will not speak with you, but they will see that your needs are met. Cousin Robert has reluctantly agreed to allow correspondence with your daughter Mrycella, and your Aunt Genna Frey.”

Cersei frowned, “What about Joff and Tommen?”

“Joffrey will eventually be sent to the Wall,” Tywin answered, “There will be no way to maintain a line of communication with him or Jaime, and it is customary for members of the Watch to sever contact with their kin.”

Jon spoke up, “There is also the decree that you won’t have contact with any of your male kin. That includes your father, brothers, uncles, and cousins be they of House Lannister or any family tied through marriage.”

“What of my other aunts?” Cersei mused.

“Don’t push your luck, daughter,” Tywin sighed, “It was hard enough for Tyrion to get permission for you to be allowed to write to Myrcella and Genna.”

Cersei could not hide the surprise that it was her youngest brother who had requested leniency to communicate with her daughter and aunt. Tywin noticed Jon remove a sealed missive. The young man stepped forward and handed it to Cersei, “Open this when you reach the shore. Insite is a map that will lead you to the Green Man’s Hall. Follow the instructions closely if you step off the indicated path. You might never find your way.”

Cersei frowned, “What of my jailors?”

“There’s a small circle fort on the northern edge of the Isle. They will reside there. When you wish to send a letter, simply leave it on the windowsill of the Hall. It will find its way to the fort; they have been instructed on how to send messages to you.” Jon grimaced, “I know not if the Children of the Forest will reveal themselves to you, or if you will encounter any Green Men. This island holds its mysteries close, and there are reasons it is the most sacred of places to the First Men.”

(Few Hours Later)

Cersei stood on the shore watching the skiff growing smaller as it hurriedly made its way back to shore. Looking at the pile of crates and trunks, she glared at the missive in her hand. The thought that she would have to find her way to the dilapidated Hall and somehow drag what little she’d been allowed to bring with her.

Breaking the seal on the missive she was surprised to find not a map but a short letter from Lord Stark, ‘Leave your things where they are, they will find their own way to the Hall. Follow the faces of those who went to the gods without fear and with joy in their hearts.’

With a frown Cersei looked to the nearest heart tree, the face on the trunk was rather sullen. Looking to the next she was surprised to find a feminine face with a demure smile. Unlike the sullen face, the sap did not run from the eyes. It seeped from the mouth, painting the lower lip red with a single drip running down the center of the chin.

Walking toward that tree she noticed another just beyond with the face of a man grinning ear to ear, sap poured forth like overflowing wine. The next shocked her as the features were youthful, she couldn’t tell if they were a boy or girl, but there was mirth etched into the expression. The sap leaked from this one’s eyes, but the tears looked more of joy than sorrow.

Her path continued like this for some time, she was unsure how long it took or how many faces she’d seen before she stumbled into a clearing dominated by a peculiar structure. The legends of the Great Hall of the Green Men did not give it justice. The building wasn’t a building, at least not in the normal way. Massive weirwoods with horrible faces stood side by side in two rows. Their branches twisted and turned around each other to create a solid roof of red leaves. Planks and beams had been added to create walls and framing.

“Welcome,” Cersei jumped at the greeting, “We’ve been expecting you. Good to see you didn’t lose your way. It’s a bit confusing out there, what with all the eyes staring at you judgingly.”

Looking at the man who greeted her, Cersei frowned. He was handsome with classical Targaryen looks. A smirk on his face, “I volunteered to come guide you, but granny vetoed that idea.”

“You know we are forbidden from leaving the Hall unless bidden, you especially.” A woman with Targaryen looks emerged from the Hall, “It is the sacrifice we make for remaining in this life.”

The man glared, “Then why was that brutish oaf Duncan permitted to storm out of here like the fourteen flames were at his heel.”

Cersei frowned, “Are you, Green Men?”

“Not quite,” the woman smiled kindly, “You might be more familiar with my grandson here, Daemon Targaryen, younger brother to Viserys the First. Should have done the world a favor and died with his nephew.”

“Truthfully, that was the plan,” The man turned to the woman, “How was I to know the little squirrely people were going to fish me out of the water. I knew Nettles was a dragon seed, I didn’t know she was blood of the First Men as well.”

The woman snorted, “I doubt you thought to ask as you had your way with her nightly. My brother would have been disgusted with you. Laena, Rhaenyra, Nettles. You did like them young didn’t you.”

“How,” Cersei blinked, “Even if you survived the fall, you’d be ancient.”

Daemon Targaryen sighed, “More a punishment than anything else. My last paramour was not exactly what you’d classify as consensual. Nettles was loyal to my wife, but I might have implied what happened to my first wife might not have been as much of an accident as people of the time believed.”

“More bluntly put he terrified her into sharing his bed,” the still unidentified Targaryen woman glared, “Had I not been sleeping I’d have told the Children of the Forest to throw you back into the God’s Eye to rot.”

Cersei focused on the woman, “You are not Rhaenyra?”

“No,” the woman sighed, “I am the younger daughter of Aerion Targaryen, sister-wife of Aegon the First, and mother of Aenys the First.”

“Queen Rhaenys,” Cersei grimaced, “How? You were killed in Dorne.”

Rhaenys smiled tightly, “Torrhen Stark. I thought I was doing something good to unite the realm, so I arranged the marriage of his daughter to the Lord Arryn of my time. I would not listen to his protests; I thought I knew best. I ignored the signs, the history.”

“It is one thing for a warding between Stark and Arryn,” Daemon chuckled, “but uniting those two houses in marriage. It would be like uniting the Old Gods and the Seven.”

Cersei grimaced, “What happened?”

Rhaenys swallowed grimly, “Lord Stark’s daughter would not conform to Andal custom, would not step foot in a Sept following her marriage. She would go to the empty godswood of the Eyrie and pray before the stump of the long-dead weirwood. She was punished by the Septons and Septa. Whipped, beaten, and eventually stoned to death. When word reached us, Aegon rushed north alone to intercede before Lord Stark’s sons could bring winter upon the Vale.”

“There’s a reason you don’t rile up the Northmen,” Daemon chuckled, “They never forget, trust me. If his ancestors were anything like Cregan, the Arryn should have realized baiting the wolf is a fool’s game.”

Glaring at her descendant Rhaenys turned back to Cersei, “The last time I received a missive from Torrhen, he told me his daughter’s blood was on my hands. That he prayed to his gods that I would know the suffering she endured.”

Cersei frowned, “Aegon never retrieved your body from Dorne.”

“There was none to be found,” Rhaenys indicated the trees, “One night I closed my eyes in the dungeon of Hellholt after Lord Uller had tired of his games. The next morning, I awoke here, as I am now.”

Cersei remembered something Lord Stark had told her before she’d left King’s Landing, “Broken things find their way here, and some never leave.”

“That sums it up quite nicely,” Daemon mused, “Now if you’ll excuse me, Aemond jabbering that it is his turn, the little shit does realize this is my body. He’s a parasite, and it’s not like Luke will ever wake from the Green Dream.”

The long-thought-dead prince stormed off, leaving Cersei with the even longer-thought-dead queen, “What does he mean?”

“Daemon and Aemond, even the Children are unsure of how that came to be. Aemond died, even the magic that sustains us could not undo that. Yet when Daemon awoke, Aemond appeared to have possessed Daemon’s body in some way. Perhaps it is a curse due to their mutual kinslaying I cannot fathom another reason.” Rhaenys motioned Cersei to follow, “Come, your things have been placed in your room, and it is not wise to linger out in the open.”

Confused Cersei followed the long-dead queen into the Great Hall. Upon entering she marveled at the chamber. While everything looked rather disused and abandoned, there was an echo of splendor from an era gone. Long tables and benches dominated the area, a massive firepit in the center with still smoldering coals. Her eyes swept across the walls. Each panel was carved depicting momentous events in Westeros. There was one of the First Men arriving having departed Essos via the Arm of Dorne. The next panel showed the beginning of the war between them and the Children of the Forest, and the sundering of the Arm of Dorne. There was the coming of the first Long Night and the Others, then the pact between the First Men and the Children.

“You will have time enough to look over the carvings,” Rhaenys chided as she motioned to the stairs leading into the branches that formed a second floor, “I’ll show you to your apartments then leave you to settle in.”

Cersei was led to a suite of rooms that would serve her needs, “I’m guessing there is a kitchen somewhere?”

“The firepit never goes out,” Rhaenys stated as she motioned to garments laid out on the bed, “I suggest you get used to breeches; they are more suitable when walking about the isle. Also, the Children of the Forest of mistake dresses as hiding places. If you hear noises like rodents skittering about, it is most likely one of them. I have been here centuries and have never seen a mouse within the Hall.”

Cersei looked to the Targaryen, “You mentioned to Daemon that you cannot leave the Hall.”

“The Hall is much larger than you might think, it extends as far as the roots of these trees. Daemon and I are both here as a punishment from the gods, exiled to live in this half-life state. There was another, but he was bound differently, not as a curse, but through the death prayers of numerous people who willed him and another to live. When the gods could only partially save one, they named the other their champion.” Rhaenys smiled, “The Green Men and Children of the Forest understand these things better than me. I will leave you now to settle in, mind you Lord Stark has sent you here to find a way to redeem yourself. I would recommend that you contemplate how to achieve such a thing.”

With that Cersei was once more alone, though she had a feeling there were more eyes upon her than she knew.

(River Run – A few days later)

Catelyn Tully watched as the royal procession entered the courtyard. Prince Aegon was in the lead with Barristan Selmy and Quentyn Martell flanking him. The wheelhouse was behind them followed by more riders, including Jon and Bran. She could barely restrain herself as the greeting commenced.

She noticed the way Aegon had forced Gendry to join him and Jon leading the greetings, and the emphasis he put in reminding the young man that he was Gendry Baratheon now. Catelyn noticed the way Tyene had lingered in the back of the group, but the word of her legitimation had already reached River Run, and the girl was equally unsure of her status now.

Catelyn smiled tightly as she spoke to her, “Lady Martell, I’m sure you are aware River Run is not as grandiose as Winterfell or the Red Keep, with so many guests we’ve had to beg pardon as we’ve been forced to have some share. As your betrothed is in attendance but you lack proper chaperoning, you can share a room with Beth Cassel.”

Tyene nodded, “I assume you are placing most of the young ladies that are not wed close to allow the septa an easier time keeping tabs on us.”

“Unfortunately,” Catelyn couldn’t supply enough fake remorse to make that sound convincing, “River Run no longer has a septa in attendance, the previous one was dismissed rather forcefully after attempting to take a ridding crop to Beth.”

“Forcefully?” Sansa questioned as she approached and overheard the comment.

Catelyn smiled at her daughter, “Shaggy Dog.”

“Rickon is here,” Arya interrupted as she rushed forward to hug her mother, completely ignoring her uncle and his betrothed, “Where?”

Edmure chuckled, “He and Robin are out with the Giants and a small hunting party. We thought it best the giants and their mammoths weren’t right at the gate with such a large party arriving.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “They brought Giants?” She looked to her mother, “Where is Beth?”

“With Rickon,” Catelyn sighed, “She is here in place of Osha who could not make the journey due to being with a child. She has gotten rather good with that spear of hers, and had a couple Blackwood knights giving her looks, but that lion cub is about as obvious as that Dothraki is with Dacey.”

As the greetings continued, and guests’ rights were granted, Catelyn stepped away with her children. Arya had run back into the milling crowd to drag Jon along with them. She had sent Jeyen Poole to settle into Sansa’s room, the girl had never been one for travel.

Entering the room, she’d taken over as her personal sitting room she waited for her three children to get seated, and for Jon to tell Quentyn Martell to post up outside the room to give them privacy, “You have your own kingsguard?”

“I thought I stepped away without being noticed, Ser Barristan must have spotted me,” Jon sighed, “I’m a better sword than half the kingsguard. Well, until your uncle takes his vow in a couple of days, then I might be better than at least three of them.”

Sansa giggled, “Loras can still beat you half the time brother dearest.”

“Thankfully he isn’t an actual kingsguard,” Jon sighed, “Yet.”

Catelyn looked between the eldest two, “Loras Tyrell is still in King’s Landing?”

“He kind of made himself Aegon’s sworn shield after we left Winterfell,” Sansa explained, “He’d have come as well, but it was decided unwise as his father was one of the leaders in the plot to separate you and father.” Sansa gave a sideways glance to Arya before continuing, “In truth, Trystan Martell and Tyene were not originally going to come for the same reason, but Arya invited Trystan and with their betrothal announced it would be unseemly for Tyene not to accompany Gendry.”

Rolling her eyes Catelyn snorted, “I am not Cersei Lannister, I will not strike out at children for the wrongs committed against me by their parents.” She glanced at Arya and Bran before speaking, “Your half-brother did not accompany you for similar reasons?”

“Actually,” Bran spoke up, “Edric wanted to spend time with father, not like they’ve had much time. He’ll be leaving for Starfall as soon as Arya gets back to King’s Landing.”

Arya shoved her younger brother, “We’re actually going to Sunspear first. Edric has to officially swear his oaths to Prince Doran at a conclave of Dornish lords. Then we’re going to spend a few days at the Watergardens to acclimate, and then we’ll go to Starfall.”

Catelyn grimaced, “You must be careful in Dorne Arya. Regardless of what they say, we cannot trust they do not hide some grudge over what happened during the Rebellion. Can we really believe the story Prince Doran concocted about your aunt? What if he were just pandering to your father? Ned is honorable, and far too trusting at times.”

Jon sighed, “Pardon Lady Catelyn, but I think we can trust Prince Doran. He has some schemes at work, but I don’t see any malice in them. If you are thinking about the sudden nature of Gendry and Tyene, well, that would be my half-brother’s scheming at play. Tyene was just the only one available of the proper age. It also better served to quell some of the animosity between House Baratheon and House Martell.”

A mirthful chuckle came from Catelyn, “I’m half surprised Robert didn’t try wedding the boy to Arya, he was set with uniting his House with Ned’s.”

“Oh, he hasn’t abandoned that dream,” Sansa mused, “He’s just accepted it might be in the next generation. He wants to have Robb’s child ward at Storm’s End. Hopes there will be a grandchild he can betroth to them.”

Catelyn nodded, “A child from Gendry and Tyene, as they are the only ones of age.”

There was a knock at the door, at Catelyn’s admittance it opened, and Rickon charged in with Robert Arryn walking in behind him. Rickon paused at seeing his siblings, eyes widening. He hesitated on who to approach first, but Catelyn had little doubt as a moment later the boy was latched to Jon’s side.

“Hey pup,” Jon lifted the squirming boy up and hugged him, “Missed you too, keeping Robb in line back home?”

“Yep,” the boy grinned wolfishly, “but he’s too busy to tell stories. Marg tells stories, but they’re not our stories.”

Jon chuckled, “Well, she doesn’t know our stories, you have to tell them to her.”

Smiling Sansa stood and approached the two, “Our stories are the best of course,” She held out her arms and Rickon easily switched to her wrapping his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist, “My, you have gotten big pup.”

“Mama said that when I got here,” Rickon nuzzled into her neck like he was remembering his sister’s scent, “I’m going to be as big as a giant and ride a mammoth when I grow up.”

“Oh,” Sansa mused, “but how will I hug you if you’re that big?”

“Hmm,” Rickon looked deep in thought, “Okay, I won’t grow that big, but can I still ride a mammoth?”

Catelyn smirked, “I believe you already accomplished that goal.”

Bran looked shocked, “Rickon got to ride a mammoth?”

(Later)

Asha sat in her husband’s solar as she read the letter carrying the seal of the Crow’s Eye. Her uncle had heard of her marriage and had sent a gift. Edmure grimaced at the wooden chest, “What are those?”

“Baby Kraken,” The maester answered as he worked his chain link that stood for his study of wildlife, “They spawn this time of year, but it is rare to see them this young. Krakens are cannibalistic and will eat their own young. To avoid adults the recent hatchlings will dive into deep undersea caves.”

Standing Asha closed the lid to the chest, pushing the writhing creatures’ tentacles back so they wouldn’t get caught in the lid, “They’ll die here, kraken cannot survive in freshwater. It’s a message, a warning.”

“I’ll have men take them to Seaguard, they can be released there,” Edmure frowned, “What is he warning you about?”

“Euron is mad, and thinks the Iron Islands should be his,” Asha grimaced, “I’m rather sure he planned to kill Theon and then force me to be his wife. Now that I sabotaged that idea by becoming your wife, I’m nothing more than an obstacle. He plans to kill me and my brother, probably our father as well.”

The maester grimaced, “Accursed is the kinslayer.”

“If rumors are to be believed,” Asha grimaced, “Euron is already a kinslayer several times over. Some believe he cleared the path for Baleon to become the Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands, what if he hadn’t gotten around to my father before grandfather left this world.”

Edmure nodded, “As the maester said, Kraken are known to eat their own.”

Trigger Warning

(Sunset Sea)

Euron stood at the window of his cabin, but now his presents would have reached Asha and Theon. His niece and nephew would understand the message well enough. Baleon would raise the guard at Pyke, and Edmure would likewise double Asha’s guards. He chuckled at the thought of two great houses panicking over the mere thought of him.

A moan from his bed drew his attention. He had to give his quartermaster praise; the man knew how to pick targets. The merchantman was a slave ship searching for a friendly port to do trade. The crew was now food for the Drowned God’s legions, and the slaves had been pressed into service on the ship.

The men and boys had been divided into two lots. Those of no remarkable talent were gelded and made mute before being taught how to crew the ship. There were a handful who would make suitable officers. As for the womenfolk, well they were now salt wives to Euron and his officers.

The woman on his bed was listless and hadn’t been as responsive to his touch the last time he took her. Walking to the bed he unlashed her wrists from his bedposts, then pushed her off the side, “Well,” he looked to the corner where the other women he’d chosen were huddled together, “who’s next?”

One of the younger ones who’d been giving him the stink eye since he claimed her stood, “Let my sister go unmolested at the next port, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Let her go?” Euron laughed, “I’m the rightful king of the fucking Iron Islands, she should be honored if I put a whelp in her belly.” He motioned to the woman he’d pushed off the bed, “I mean unless she’s as worthless as that one. Then she’s shark bait.”

“Please,” the young woman begged, “We just want to go home.”

“Home?” Euron chuckled as he stepped closer to her, “Let me tell you something missy, wherever home was for you, you’re better off on this heap. Something is coming, and there aren’t going to be many places for folk to call home. Just a lot of cold and death.” Gripping her by the neck he tossed her onto the small table in his cabin scattering a few charts, storming over to her he flipped her over, so she was face down, he was getting ready to take her when hurried knocking came to his door. Snarling he shouted, “What in the bloated ball sack of the Drowned God is it?”

The door opened and one of his officers rushed in, he paused at the scene before him, “Pardon Captain, sorry for interrupting, but we got a situation you going to want to see.”

Grumbling, Euron fixed his breeches, “Fine,” he looked to the woman on the table, “Move a fucking inch and I’ll cut out your sister’s heart and make you eat it.” Storming up to the helm he saw his quartermaster looking at the horizon with a spyglass, “What the fuck is so important you interrupted my time with my wives?”

The quartermaster gulped as he handed him the spyglass, “Something’s not right, even the sea life knows it. Whole schools of fish came hurtling past us like the Storm God was bearing down on them.” The man licked his lips, “There’s also the sky, it's midday, not a cloud in sight. Yet it’s as dark as twilight.”

Euron looked to the sky and realized something was blocking the sun, “For fuck’s sake he found us?” He yelled down to the crew, “Off your asses you pack of daft idiots. Full sail, bring down my flag and raise the colors of that merchantman we reeved. Hurry, before the bloody bastard above us decides to send us all to the Drowned God.”

The quartermaster gulped, “How is he above us?”

“The Black Dread might have been the last Dragon to be born in the old freehold,” Euron glared at the sky above, but couldn’t make anything out, “but something kept one of his kin alive all this time. When I collected those damn eggs, I nearly woke the damn beast up.”

“A Dragon?” the quartermaster paled, “You never said you saw a living dragon.”

Euron scoffed, “It was encased in obsidian, didn’t exactly think it was alive until its eye opened when one of the men accompanying me slipped on some gravel. The dragon is one thing, but the man who is probably riding him is far worse. You never asked why I was the only one to make it back to the ship.”

“It was Valyria, most people who enter don’t come out alive,” the quartermaster shrugged, “Had you been a minute or two later we’d have left without you.”

Euron chuckled, “I’d have killed you once I caught back up with you.”

“That would imply you did the even more unlikely thing of walking out of the ruins of the freehold.” The quartermaster chuckled.

Noticing the eerie darkness had passed Euron chuckled, “Guess he didn’t notice us.” Euron turned back to his cabin, “Keep an eye on the sky, and keep the merchantman’s flags up until we go reeving again.”

“Right captain,” the quartermaster called back, “Enjoy breaking in your salt wives.”

Euron laughed, “Thinking I found a keeper in this lot.” Entering his cabin, he found the young woman was still lying across the table, her legs were shaking from bracing her weight. A younger woman had moved to clasp hands with the one on the table, “Ah, the sister,” she moved to return to the corner, but he motioned her to stay, “I want you to watch, maybe knowing you’re next if she displeases me will give her the fortitude to be worth my attention.”

Chapter Text

(The Wall – Castle Black)

Jaime stood at the head of a circle surrounding The Mountain, swords drawn. As one he and his sworn brother charged the behemoth of a man. Ser Gregor blocked every strike, and surprisingly for a man of his size dodged those he couldn’t. After a few moments, the beast in human form went on the offensive. Within moments everyone including Jaime was on the ground panting from exertion.

Thorne’s voice called over their heads, “Enough, if you lot can’t even manage Clegane, what are you going to do when the Others send a wight made from a giant or some other monstrosity from their frozen wasteland.”

“I vote we send the Mountain,” Jaime snarked as his father’s former lapdog moved to help him to his feet, “There is also the pleasant fact we have giants of our own now.” He indicated the massive form lounging by the lift, even Jaime had an idea that giants may have once been employed as lift operators. While a man like Gregor could operate it by himself, normally it took a team of three to four average-sized men.

“Aye,” Thorne sneered, “but we have a few hundred, they might have up to a thousand or more. We won’t know until they’re at the gate.”

Jaime glared at the former lickspittle of the Mad King, “You have been in a pissy mood ever since the Lord Commander ordered no more ranging into the Haunted Forest. Benjen is still on bed rest since our little sortie with that pack of wights. Had our sworn sister with the bow not put an arrow between their master’s eyes. I’m not sure we’d be having this discussion.”

Ygritte chuckled from the crate she sat upon watching the training, “He’s just sour none of my sisters will give him the time of day.”

The remark got a laugh from Jaime and a chuckle from the Mountain. Jaime had been shocked when he saw one of the newly anointed Sisters of the Watch willingly enter Gregor’s quarters, more so that she left in the morning in relatively good health. Currently, most of the sisters were Free Folk, spearwives sent by Mance to bolster their ranks, but Maege had reported more Northern small folk were making their way to join the restored order. Gregor’s bedmate was one of those, a girl from the Umber holdings, and by the size of her more than likely a bastard from that House.

Ygritte though was Benjen’s, or rather Benjen was hers. The redhead was a force to be reckoned with since she arrived at Castle Black. Maege trained the girls at Bear Island, before sending them onto the Wall. As a spearwife, Ygritte was already battle-tested against the wights, and now armed with weapons meant for killing Others, she was the Captain of the Sisters at Castle Black.

She had swiped an apple from the kitchen which she was cutting. Walking over to her he asked, “How is our First Ranger fairing?”

“Going a bit stir crazy,” Ygritte smirked as she offered him a slice, “Lord Commander locked the Old Wolf up when he realized Stark was warging instead of resting as the maester ordered.”

Jaime chuckled as he took the offered slice, “Well, you could be upstairs alleviating his boredom.”

“That would be shirking meh duties and highly inappropriate,” Ygritte snarked, but a mischievous grin slipped onto her face, “Besides, where do you think I was when I missed our captain's meeting this morning.”

“Ah,” Jaime chewed the slice of apple, “Then it was good I opted not to look in on Stark before the meeting.”

“Seeing as his quarters are flanked by Lord Commander’s and my own,” they both turned to see Lord Rivers approaching, “We knew where she was. While the new vows allow such things, you need not announce to the entire castle your activities, this isn’t an ice cave.”

Jaime snorted, “Maybe that was the intended purpose of the Ice Cells, pretty quiet down there, and not like anyone is going to hear.”

“I’m sure we use the cells for their intended purpose,” Lord Commander Mormont joined them, “Though I agree with Lord Rivers, some of us would appreciate a less jarring wake up.”

Ygritte glared at the three men, “It is your choice to remain celibate,” she motioned to Jaime, “The lion is pretty enough, but he chooses to enjoy the company of his left hand and a memory over any real woman standing in front of him.”

Jaime grimaced, “I thought we were teasing you, not my emotional baggage.”

“That is an easy target,” Bloodraven remarked, “You know, I find it humorous you found your way into a Stark’s bed. In another life, you laid with a different member of House Stark.”

“Wait,” Jaime pointed at Ygritte, “She’s the wildling Lord Commander Snow had an intimate encounter in an ice cave with?”

Bloodraven frowned, “The visions made you aware of that?”

“Aye, the night we all died,” Jamie sighed, “The Watch was gone, so was the Wall. We were holding the line at Winterfell. We’d sent the women down to the crypts for safety. Tyrion, Jon, myself, and half a dozen other notables were sitting in the Great Hall having a final drink. We sang some sad songs and told each other about our first time. Surprised, my other self had the gall to openly admit Cersei was my first. Jon never gave a name; just said a red-haired wildling he met north of the Wall. Could tell from the tone of his voice that there was more to the story.”

Ygritte frowned, “I was probably dead.” They all looked at her blankly, “What? The Wall was gone, if I was still breathing, I’d been there to fight. The whole point of Mance rallying us up was to get beyond the Wall, not destroy it. If there was no Wall, there would be nowhere left to escape. Like any cornered animal, which means the only hope for survival is to fight.”

Jeor nodded, “Well said. Is that why you joined the sisters?”

“Val told me that running would do no good,” Ygritte grimaced, “If we fall, the world falls with us. I might not survive the battle here, but I will be sure to put as many arrows into those damned blue-eyed monsters as I can before I fall.”

“Save the motivational speeches for when the Others actually get here,” Jaime smirked, “Speaking of, besides a few scouting parties we haven’t seen any sign of a larger horde. You’d think they are marching this way with no one left up there to convert to their army.”

Bloodraven frowned, “I believe our actions have brought them pause. They believed they had time to slowly cull the Free Folk and bolster their ranks. True there is probably a horde lurking out there that shadows even our worst fears. A vast majority of those wights would be severely decayed. Any wight older than two hundred years would be little more than a husk of dehydrated skin and bone. Only a half-wight can last centuries without succumbing to the ravages of decay.”

Ygritte nodded, “The more decayed wights are more feral, they can still hold weapons but they’re little better than berserkers. Fresh wights still cling to some of their former memories, they can use the knowledge of their life. Depending on the amount of damage to the body, some have even passed as living as long as they keep their hands and feet covered and conceal their eyes. More than a few settlements have fallen victim to that ploy when taking in a lost child.”

“That’s going to be the hardest part,” Jaime grimaced, “Most of us born in the South are going to hesitate when faced with the wight of a child.”

“It is the Other’s most damnable ploy,” Bloodraven snarled, “The Free Folk are not immune to the effects of that depravity either. It is proof that the Others have no morals and are not worth the mercy granted to them at the end of the last Long Night.”

Jeor glared, “So you would have us ride into their lands to exterminate them root and stem?”

“No,” Bloodraven shook his head, “such a journey would be folly. Yet this time the Great Other will not be allowed to flee; it will face the justice it so rightly deserves. Be it a dragon’s breath of fire, or the icy claws of a wolf. These demons will learn what true fear is.”

Jaime frowned, “If the Great Other dies, what happens to the rest of them?”

“They will return to being whatever they were before the Great Other appeared,” Bloodraven frowned, “They have long lived beyond the eyes of the Old Gods, so even they are unsure of what they were. Of the few memories I have experienced of encounters with the few Others who do not worship the Great Other, they were beautiful people. All magic has a price, and necromancy has one of the steepest costs.”

Jaime could only think of the tales he’d heard of the Thirteenth Lord Commander. He and his little band of half-wights were still terrorizing the Others throughout the lands beyond the Wall. Many straggling groups that had reached the Wall told of the efforts of the half-wights in securing their safe passage. How long Cold Hand and his brothers could keep this up was unknown, but eventually, the Others would tire of them and there would be no escape for them. Their curse does not allow them to pass through the Wall.

Ygritte grimaced, “Whatever they were, they have much to pay for.”

“I’ll be sure to instruct them on the values of paying one’s debts,” Jaime chuckled, “It is something we Lannisters are known for after all.”

(River Run)

Sansa took her seat at the high table, as Edmure’s niece it was her due. Aegon as the Crown Prince and her betrothed sat at her side. The wedding had been a rather quiet affair, she was surprised to see the brown robes of a Sparrow in place of River Run’s former Septon. Her mother had told her that shortly after the Septa had been dismissed, the Septon had retired to Old Town. The Sparrow appeared not long after.

Aegon lowered his voice, “The Septon at the ceremony, he was one of those loyal to your Lord Father is he not?”

Not that she was familiar with all the Sparrows, only the leader of their movement within the Faith. They had taken to calling themselves Sparrows for their tendency to preach within the godswood, abandoning the ostentatious septs for the simplicity of the natural setting. The High Sparrow as some jokingly called their leader had told her he and his followers were likened to sparrows because they sang the gods' praises among the branches of trees. Not that she’d ever seen the man climb into the branches when administering a sermon at the Red Keep’s godswood.

Aegon was half right though, Sparrows tended to acknowledge her father as their staunchest supporter among the nobility, though King Robert had taken to supporting them as well. The Temple of the Fiery Tree was the home of the Sparrows in King’s Landing as they viewed the Sept of Baelor the Blessed as a temple of inequity. Her father did not hate the Faith or its followers, but the current High Septon was dangerously close to waking the Quiet Wolf.

“I’m sure Father did not send him,” Sansa remarked, “but I am thankful he kept the ceremony concise. It would not do for Arya to grow bored at our uncle’s wedding.”

Aegon chuckled as he glanced to where Arya sat on his other side, “No one fairs well when your sister becomes bored.” He looked to where Jon stood at position beside Barristan, “I wish Jon had not chosen to act in his duties as a squire to Ser Barristan. He should join in the festivities.”

“Mother tried, but the moment she began listing off the daughters of various Riverland nobles who’d be in attendance he fled to hide behind Selmy’s cloak.” Arya piped up from her seat on Aegon’s other side.

Sansa smirked, “You ran off to check how Trystan and Tyene were settling in when she began listing off young men.”

Arya motioned to the Martell sitting at her side, “It’s why I invited him, to keep Mother from trying to pair me off with some Riverlander.”

The irony was hard not to chortle at, that Arya had invited the young man whose father wanted her betrothed to as a shield to keep their mother from getting any ideas she’d be able to tie one of her children to the Riverlands. Sansa looked to where Jeyne Poole was dancing with one of Lord Bracken’s nephews. A Blackwood knight was dancing with Mya Stone, who’d be Mya Baratheon on the morrow, Aegon had the signed documents in his luggage. Not far away from them, Beth was dancing with Lancel Lannister.

She noticed that from the table granted him Lord Tywin Lannister was observing the last couple closely. His nephew had sworn himself to House Stark, but he was still Tywin’s blood while rather distant was also still in the patrilineal line of succession.

“My lady,” Sansa turned to young Robert Arryn was standing next to her, “would you like to dance cousin?”

Sansa smiled at her young cousin, “When did you learn to dance?”

“Cousin Harrold said it was an important skill, just as important as archery and the sword,” Robert said like he was remembering a repeated lecture.

Sansa had been introduced to Ser Harrold Hardyng at the ceremony. He currently stood as Robin’s heir apparent as the next in line to inherit the lordship of House Arryn and all that entailed. When speaking with Lord Royce’s daughter, she learned Harrold had become somewhat of a tutor for Robin. Ser Hardyng had a rather colorful past, but he was making amends and was ensuring his young cousin did not repeat his mistakes.

Standing, Sansa accepted Robin’s hand, “It would be my honor to dance with you Lord Arryn.” They joined the others already dancing, “How have things been in the Vale cousin?”

“We are preparing for winter,” Robin said with all the seriousness a boy of his age could muster, “The Knights of the Vale will not be forgotten, Lord Royce said the full might of our army will be ready when the appointed day comes.”

“I had little doubt of that with a regent of such integrity as Lord Royce at your side,” Sansa smirked, “I meant, how have you settled in. Mother and I were supposed to come help you, but things got complicated.”

Robin nodded, “I’m okay. I have Mya, and Harrold has moved his household to the Eyrie. I still miss Papa and Mama, especially at night. Mama used to stay with me at night, especially after one of my fits. I know she wasn’t well, but she did love me. I hope.”

“I’m sure in her own way she did,” Sansa grimaced, “but her love came with too many conditions. A mother’s love is meant to be unconditional. She pointed out Jeyne and Beth who’d both managed to move closer to her and Robin, “You remember Jeyne and Beth from Winterfell, right?” Robin nodded, “They lost their mothers when they were younger than you. Beth was only a baby. Mother took them in, she couldn’t replace their mothers, but she could fill the void their passings left. She gave them the love their mothers could no longer give. That is the truest expression of a mother’s love, to accept even those that are not their own.”

Robin frowned, “But she refused to take in Jon?”

“Mother is not perfect, and everyone has their flaws. If my husband returned home with a bastard in his arms, I am not sure of my reaction. There is little doubt I would be angry and disappointed in my husband. The child though,” Sansa frowned, “I was raised in the North with Jon as my half-brother, with his believed status as my father’s bastard. Personally, I could not let a child go through what Jon did growing up in Winterfell. Saying that, I cannot hold my mother to my standard, we are not the same person, and we were raised differently. Can I forgive her for the treatment of my brother by choice, no. Will I love her any less, probably not.”

A look of understanding came to Robin’s face, “I cannot forgive Mama for what she did to me, but I can still love her.” A sly smirk crossed the boy’s face as the music ended and they parted, “Though, if Aegon dishonors you like that he’s going to have a very angry pack of wolves and a falcon chasing him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, my Lord Arryn,” Aegon chuckled from behind Sansa, “Now if I may have the next dance with my betrothed?”

Robin gave a quick nod before moving to request a dance from Mya. Sansa smirked at the prince, “You took that well.”

“Our mutual brother has implied if I dishonor you, he’d gladly ask Lord Eddard to head the regency council for our firstborn before dragging me to the Wall to join the Watch. If there is one way to tell Jon is not joking is when he invokes the Night’s Watch.” Aegon offered his hand to Sansa as the music started up again.

Across the room, Lancel and Beth had taken seats at the Lannister table. Lancel should have known better as he’d barely poured them each a goblet before his aunt Genna was upon them, “Lancel, my favorite nephew.”

He wasn’t sure how honest that was, the rosy tint of her cheeks was evident she’d already indulged in the stronger wine, “Aunt Genna, how lovely to see you.”

“You must have known we’d cross paths,” Genna patted his cheek, “Edmure is my dullard husband’s liege lord after all.”

Beth frowned, “Lord Holster still draws breath.”

A giggle came from Genna as she turned to the northern girl, “That he does, but little else. For all intents and purposes, Edmure is the acting lord. He is wise to bring Bracken and Blackwood to his side as advisors, keeping them close. Last time a Tully was incapacitated they kicked off the first bloody battle of the Dance of the Bloody Dragons.”

Lancel sighed, “Beth, may I introduce my aunt, Genna Frey nee Lannister.” He looked sternly at his aunt, “This is Lady Beth Cassel, daughter of Lord Rodrik Cassel.”

“Cassel,” Genna mused, “A knightly house in service to the Starks of Winterfell. I believe I met your father once, at a tourney in Lannisport, or was it his brother might have been both of them. Lord Ricard Stark was meeting with Father about something, Ricard had just become Lord of Winterfell, and the king was visiting. Just before the Ninepenny Kings made their move.”

“Father would be the one with mutton chops, I’m told he let them grow out so he could hide that he couldn’t grow a full beard.” Beth replied, “It is nice to make your acquaintance.”

Genna smirked, “Likewise, though I have heard some about you from Lady Sansa. She missed having you as part of her party in King’s Landing.”

“She mentioned me,” Lancel noticed the way Beth’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of being remarked on by Lady Stark, “I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything noteworthy to be mentioned by Lady Sansa. I’ve heard Jeyne call me the little tag along.”

“Hmph, that girl has some manners to learn,” Genna huffed, “No, Lady Sansa’s remarks were of a positive nature. She claimed you were swift at learning and always eager to lend a hand when needed, striving at things beyond most young ladies your age. Quite commendable.”

Lancel chuckled, “Lady Sansa was right about the swiftness of learning. You never make the same mistake twice when training with your spear.”

“Spear?” Genna looked surprised, “I know Lord Stark’s daughters have taken to swords, you chose to take up the spear?”

“My cousin’s wife is one of the Free Folk, she’s what they call a spearwife.” Beth explained, “I wanted to get over my nervousness around her, so I asked her to teach me the spear. It feels good when even men as big as Styr and Tormund become wary when I’m carrying my spear.”

Snorting Lancel drew their attention, “Beth, Mikken made your spear as a replica of Osha’s own. Including the extra bit meant for turning men into eunuchs. Any man would quake if they knew the intended purpose of that hook bit.”

“A potent warning even if never put into practice,” Tywin’s voice cut in, “Nephew, I hear you have been equating yourself at Winterfell. A lad of your years named captain of the household guard of a Paramount House.”

“Uncle,” Lancel gulped, “it’s perfunctory at best, Jory does most of the work as a master at arms.”

Tywin smirked, “Do not sell yourself short nephew, Northmen do not play the games of the South. Lord Robb would not have allowed your appointment if he thought you incapable of performing your duties. Your father did well in putting your name forward, after your dismissal by the king, I was unsure we’d find anyone to take up your squiring.”

Lancel’s jaw tensed at the reminder. It had been Tywin who insisted he squire for the fat oaf of a king, to be in a position to better serve his cousin Cersei. Where were Cersei and Jaime when the king hurled goblets or tankards at him and Cousin Tyrek? Where were they when Robert rage would send one or both of them to the maester’s quarters?

“I know uncle,” Lancel frowned, “How is Tyrek fairing?”

Tywin grimaced, “Well enough, while he is still as Robert’s squire, in truth he is a hostage. Robert’s rages seem to have quelled, and Lord Stark and Tyrion keep him distracted enough that Tyrek has been able to avoid any repeats of what happened after Cersei’s foolishness was uncovered.”

Genna mused, “Oh, it is helpful he can escape to Tyrion’s quarters. Your cousin is quick with his words and can redirect the king’s ire, Tyrek is well aware of what might set His Grace off.”

This was something Lancel was keenly aware of as well, with Cersei having been the cause of most of His Grace’s outlashes towards Tyrek and himself. Lancel motioned to Beth, “Uncle, you remember Lady Cassel from Winterfell.”

“We never spoke, but I do remember her,” Tywin gave the girl a nod, “I had the honor of speaking with your father at King’s Landing. A man of impeccably rational thinking.” Lancel noticed the way his uncle’s eyes lingered on the ten dire wolf heads in a circle on Beth’s bodice. The way his lips upturned into a grin only another Lannister would recognize on the Lord of the Rock’s face, he knew his uncle was imagining a lion’s head added to the arrangement. No doubt prominently placed in the center.

(King’s Landing – Temple of the Fiery Tree)

Melisandre knelt before the flame of R’hllor, her eyes sweeping around the main chamber of the temple. The Sparrows were starting an evening sermon in the chamber beyond the weirwood tree, she could barely hear their drowning on about the Father, Mother, and the rest of the faces of their god or gods. She’d never understood much of the Faith of the Seven. The Andals had a peculiar habit of having no singular interpretation of their scripture.

R'hllor had no scripture, just tenets that were to be adhered to. The primary one was the Sanctity of Truth, R’hllor’s light burns away all deception. Reaching to her neck she unclasped the stone which maintained her glamor enchantment. Placing it upon the altar she looked at her wrists. The scars of her former enslavement were now evident, anyone who entered would see the crisscross of scars on her back thanks to the low cut of her vestments.

A cloak was gently rested on her shoulders. Looking up she found Davos and his wife had entered, “Ser Davos.”

“I doubt you’d want any random person to see you in such a state,” Davos grimaced, “The visions never showed the extent.”

Melisandre grimaced, “I thank you for your kindness, but I gave up feeling shame over my scars long ago.”

Lady Marya grimaced no doubt seeing the scars on Melisandre’s face, “Why would someone?”

“The woman who owned me,” Melisandre smiled tightly, “She was a rather repugnant creature in both character and appearance. I was young, but she knew I would grow to be beautiful, unlike the fate the gods granted her. She was wealthy and attracted men who were more interested in that wealth than in her. If they gave me any attention, well she would become enraged. At first, she would keep the cutting to places others would not see, she liked being surrounded by pretty things. I believe I was eight when a man who’d agreed to marry her told me he’d take my maidenhead when I flowered. That was the final straw, she murdered him, and slashed my face before selling me back to the slavers for a copper.”

Marya could not hide her disquiet, “She got away with that?”

Melisandre giggled, “This was Asshai, and long ago, a time when there were still children.”

Davos frowned, “Thoros said you are as old as you look.”

“He is right,” Melisandre mused, “I am as old as I appear, but I have been this age for years uncounted. I experience time differently than most. Whether it is a blessing of my lord R’hllor or a result of my shadowbinding, I know not. There is a reason the Asshai not sworn to R’hllor’s service wear masks. Age or sickness will not claim me, so I know my end will be of a violent nature. That is the one assurance all Asshi have come to accept.”

A snort came from Davos, “You're ancient as the stones yet you act like a daft girl playing at being a grown-up.”

A smirk appeared on Melisandre’s face, “Age does not equate to wisdom, my good Onion Knight. Wisdom comes from experience. I may have learned and practiced my art over uncounted years, but for a vast majority of that time, I was sequestered in R’hllor’s temple in Asshi. As I said, I experience time differently.”

Before she could clarify that to the confused Seaworths, the temple door was thrown open by a young woman wearing the garb of a postulant of the Faith. She stumbled into the sanctuary breathlessly calling out, “Help.”

Davos moved swiftly as Thoros, and a pair of his fiery hand guards appeared. The woman fell into Davos who easily passed her over to Melisandre and his wife before joining Thoros at the door. A pair of septons hesitated in the entryway. The Onion Knight gruffly addressed the pair, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Ser Seaworth,” one of the septons recognized his heraldry, “order these men aside, we need to return the girl to Baelor’s Sept. She is a postulant who broke her vows and committed sins against the Faith.”

Thoros sniggered, “Is that so?”

“This does not concern you Red Priest,” the other septon snapped, “It is only by the grace of the Lord Hand that this affront to the true faith is allowed. You abuse the privileges of the recognition of the Old Gods by the Conciliator’s decree. You placed their symbol here and then opened your doors to shelter every heathen belief beneath the branches of their sacred tree.”

A chuckle came from Thoros, “Well, maybe one day, once our little sapling is big and strong with a proper face. Right now, it’s us heathens that are keeping you crystal-loving fanatics at bay.”

“Peace brothers,” the Sparrow walked from behind the tree, “This temple is a place of peace, not an arena for conflict. Now, if my brethren of the Faith have come to attend our evening sermon, they are welcome. Otherwise, they will leave in peace. As a member of the clergy of the Faith, I will question the girl of her wrongs and if they are true, she will be returned to face the Most Devout.”

The septons shared a look before storming off. The moment they were out of their sight the Sparrow’s continence dropped, “Ser Seaworth, would you please summon the Lord Hand and Master of Laws.”

Davos frowned at the man, “What for?”

Marya spoke up, “The septon’s were lying.” She was helping Melisandre calm the young woman, she raised the woman’s wrist to reveal scarring similar to the ones visible on Melisandre’s wrist, “These are slave brandings. The Goldcloaks have been making the small folk aware and paying for information.”

Thoros glared, “Could she be a postulant they freed? It is a customary practice with R’hllor temples to buy and free slaves.” He nodded to Melisandre, “She was one such child of R’hllor, as was the current Flame of Truth.”

“Not likely,” the Sparrow knelt in front of the young woman, “besides, I have seen her at the Sept when I’ve gone to speak with the High Septon. She was not dressed in these garments of a postulant but as a servant.”

Tears fell from the young woman’s eyes, “He made me put these on.”

“Who did?” Melisandre coaxed, “Who hurt you?”

The girl swallowed, “The High Septon, he said he used these to sneak girls into his chambers, but he was nervous because someone had been leaving dead rabbits outside the doors to his quarters. He said I’m older than he likes, but I’d have to do.”

Davos pried, “You said someone has been leaving rabbits at his door?”

The Sparrow smirked, “I doubt they’ve been appearing the last few weeks; the culprit is currently at his master’s side in the Riverlands.”

“Master’s side,” Thoros looked confused before he realized, “How does a bloody dire wolf sneak into the Sept of Baelor without being seen?”

Melisandre realized the reason for the Sparrow’s smirk, “When he has a flock of sparrows guiding his path no doubt.”

“The gods do work in mysterious ways,” the Sparrow mused, “wouldn’t you agree Lady Melisandre?”

“Indeed,” Melisandre sighed, before looking to Davos, “Your sons Davos, send for them. If the girl speaks truly then I would have every sword at the ready. King’s Landing is still a nest of vipers, with cutthroats lurking at every alleyway waiting for coin.”

(Next Morning – Red Keep)

Ned entered the small council ahead of Renly and Jorah, taking their places with Jorah flanking Renly. Robert complained from his seat, “The sun has barely breasted the horizon and you three look like shit, where in all the Seven Hells have you been?”

“Pardon Your Grace,” Ned took his seat and motioned for Tyrek to bring him a drink. The king’s squire rushed to pour a tankard of Ale, “Sordid bit of business at the temple in Flea Bottom.”

Stannis frowned, “What happened?”

“Well, if our dear Lord Hand were not the epitome of honor and patience that he is the Sept of Baelor would be a smoldering ruin by now, or an equally chaotic place as the Citadel since the death of most the Archmaesters.”

Preston Greenfield, who was sitting in for Barristan leaned forward, “What? Why?”

“Let the man speak,” Tyrion chided, “I’m sure he was getting to it.”

“Thank you,” Renly continued, “A young woman entered the Temple of the Fiery Tree last evening just as their sermon for the Faith was wrapping up. Upon close examination, it was found the unfortunate thing was an escaped slave. The thing was she was garbed as a postulant and pursued by two septons.” Renly looked to Stannis, “Your man Davos was there with his wife, they witnessed the whole affair. By the time Lord Stark and I arrived, Seaworth’s older boys had arrived as well ready for war if necessary.”

Grimacing Stannis looked to Lord Stark, “What of this young woman?”

“Girl,” Eddard corrected, “she doesn’t know numbers but when questioned she remembers her mother talking about the sack of King’s Landing at the end of the Rebellion. She’s a product of Tywin’s actions.”

Clearing his throat Tyrion answered, “I’m sure my father regrets that among many other things.”

“True,” Eddard focused on Robert, “The girl claimed the man she called father sold her to a brothel shortly after a tourney celebrating a royal’s birthday.”

Renly mused, “That’s not the worst part,” he looked to Tyrion, “Seems she was familiar with your predecessor. The brothel was one of those owned by Littlefinger.”

“Didn’t we shut those down months ago,” Tyrion frowned, “Chataya took in most the girls, and said she’d find homes for the rest.”

Jorah snarled, “Seems the managers got spooked and started selling any girl branded. Took a look, the girl was marked by Tregar, who probably intended to move her to Lys. Young, healthy, and pretty. She’d have ended up in his breeding pins.”

“Luckily we ended that miserable wretches’ life,” Stannis looked to the Master of Whispers who’d remained rather quiet, “You’ve been rather quiet Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn swirled the wine in his goblet, “I’m waiting for our Lord Hand to give me leeway to start investigating this matter. I’m sure he only wishes to bring the truly guilty to justice.”

Eddard nodded, “You can start with the High Septon, he is awaiting you in the cells.”

Downing his wine Oberyn forcefully slammed his goblet on the table, “Finally we are going to remove that fat sack of shit.” Oberyn stood picking imaginary lint from his cuffs, “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I shouldn’t keep his holiness waiting.”

Robert noticed the uneasy look on Greenfield’s face. The man was probably the most pious in the room. Ned was a close second, but the Old Gods were lax in their devotion requirements. “Be quick about it, and I know it’s asking a lot, try and restrain yourself. The last thing I need is the Most Devout breathing down my neck about letting my small council execute the High Septon without cause or trial.”

“Of course,” Oberyn sneered, “I have learned ways of making men talk without the need for such crude methods as physical torture. My mentor at the Citadel once told me torture was not beneficial to the truth, most men will tell you what you want to hear in the hopes of ending the pain.”

(Red Keep’s Sept)

Preston Green knelt before the altar of the Father, his head bowed in prayer he’d only noticed he was not alone by the steady march of armored feet, “Pardon good Ser, but I would prefer privacy for my words are for the Father alone.”

“The Father does not heed the wailing of petulant children,” Angered Preston turned, ready to lash out at the insult. Yet he froze at the sight of the man before him. Clad in full armor with his visor blocking all view of his face. The armor was the same white worn by Preston, but the cloak pinned across his shoulders showed age, tattered and stained with soot. The man was massive, taller than most he’d met, and he’d known Gregor Clegane since boyhood.

Preston gulped, “Ser, pardon, but who are you.”

“I was Lord Commander of this order when your current Lord Commander was a wet behind the ears squire.” The knight crossed his arms, “Does your fear so readily override your anger?”

Realizing that his fist was still hovering in the air where he’d stopped upon seeing the stature of the man before him, he lowered it. Swallowing he stood at his full height but was still dwarfed by the improbability that stood before him, “Have you spoken with Brienne.”

“I will speak with her later, but you are the first I have come across.” Preston spotted Leyton Hightower entering the Sept.

“Ser Duncan, I have arranged a meeting with Lord Stark and his Grace, I am sorry we did not arrive before the princes departed for their progress,” Leyton spoke as he approached the pair.

Ser Duncan turned to the Lord of the Hightower, “They have Barristan at their side, I am not concerned about their safety. It is the ones left here that I question the worth of.”

Straightening his stance, Preston grits his teeth, “Lord Commander Barristan has already addressed our faults. We who remain strive to be worthy of our station.”

The helm of Ser Duncan turned to him, “Then why are four of you here?”

“The King is still here, it is customary that four stay with him, depending on the size of the royal family three is acceptable. Princess Daenerys and Princess Shireen are still in attendance as well.” Just as Preston finished speaking a side door opened and said Princesses entered followed by Brienne and Arys.

Preston’s sworn brother and sister moved to shield their charges upon seeing him confronted by an unknown man. He motioned them to stand down, but they kept their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Brienne was the first to speak, “Ser Preston, I thought the mountain was sent to the Wall, who is this?”

“Trust me,” Arys snorted, “That’s not Clegane. Tall enough, but the brute is nearly as wide as he is tall, this guy is more of an ancient ironwood tree than a mountain.”

Lord Leyton made himself known, “Pardon, my companion here was not wanting to make a scene when we arrived, so remained with my household.”

Arys frowned, “Why does he wear the armor of our order?”

“That’s simple,” Tyrion Lannister stood up from where he’d been lying on one of the pews, “He’s Ser Duncan, some would call him Duncan the Tall.” Everyone looked to the Master of Coin, “What, with the Sparrows preaching in the godswood barely anyone bothers coming in here. The light this time of the morning is also perfect for a little post-breakfast nap.”

Ser Preston glowered, “You were spying on me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Tyrion mused, “More conscientious observation, we all noticed your expression when Lord Stark revealed the High Septon was under inquiry for crimes that carried nothing less than a death sentence if he is found culpable.”

Shireen gasped, while Daenerys’ brow quirked, “What has the man done to garner the ire of my foster father?”

“I’m sure Lord Stark is enthused at least one of his wards thinks of him as such,” Tyrion smirked, “As for the High Septon, well the death sentence would be for participation in the slave trade. I’m not the Master of Laws, but if I remember what Renly said about the law from Tregar’s trial, the High Septon could be called to stand in accused of buying an involuntary indentured servant without the intention of release.”

Shireen tugged on Daenerys’ arm, “What’s an indentured servant?”

Looking at the younger girl Daenerys smiled gently, “They are someone paying off a debt. If someone incurs a debt, they are unable to pay off through coin or trade, they can choose to work off the debt through a form of manual labor.”

“That’s at least true between the Neck and the Prince’s Pass,” Duncan intoned, “The North doesn’t view indenture as any different than slavery. You garner a debt there, you had better have a friend with the coin to pay.”

Arys chuckled, “Speaking from experience?”

“Lord Stark’s grandfather Edwyle was a shrewd man, also a daft hand at dice.” Duncan shook his head, “Should have listened to Nan and conceded defeat before the Crafty Wolf won the shirt off my back. Took four moons for the messenger with the letter Egg sent his father to return with the coin to cover buying back our horses and gear. Lord Edwyle was a most hospitable host during our prolonged stay.”

“You said Dorne doesn’t practice indentured servitude either,” Tyrion frowned, “how do they deal with debts?”

Duncan turned to the dwarf, “Unless things have changed in the last forty years, they have lenders who buy off debt. They then keep records of what is owed, and if payments are not regularly made, they can go to their liege lord with their accounts. The nobles will then see to the collection of delinquent payments, and ensure future payments are made regularly.”

Tyrion frowned, “Not as experienced with that one?”

“Maekar kept tabs on our travels,” Duncan explained, “At the first signs of the plague known as the Great Spring Sickness, he had his agents deliver suitable funds to keep us comfortable in Dorne for the duration. The Prince of Dorne had sent word he was closing his ports and roads to protect his people.”

Daenerys looked to Tyrion, “Lord Tyrion, you do not seem as shocked as the rest of us to be speaking with a man thought dead for nearly four decades.”

“Oh, believe me, Your Grace, I am just as surprised,” Tyrion looked to Lord Hightower, “Were perchance did you dig him up?”

“Think he did the digging himself for the most part, I just happened to be one of the few men in Old Town who could name the man. As for how he stands before us, well that’s not a talk to be told in the open.” Leyton mused, “We’d better go, his grace is not known for his patience, and Lord Stark is a busy man.”

(Riverrun)

Tyene awoke to a cold wet nose prodding her cheek, she pushed at the large furry head, “Five more minutes Nymeria,” when the prodding became more insistent, she pulled the blanket over her head, “Beth, let Arya’s dire wolf out.”

A light laugh came from the other side of the room, “Wrong Stark’s wolf.” Sitting up Tyene noticed Sansa and Jeyne were seated with Beth around the room’s small table. Fruits and cakes common for breaking one’s fast were arrayed between them.

Tyene blinked, “Pardon, did we make plans to break our fast this morning?”

“Yes, but you imbibed in the strong wine last night,” Sansa informed, “Gendry and Jon had to escort you to bed under mother’s watchful eye.”

Tyene grimaced, “I’m so embarrassed, I’ve never overindulged like that.”

“Might be because Lady Ellaria keeps careful tabs on your consumption,” Jeyne guessed, “I noticed she’d take your sister’s goblets and move the tankard from your table. She also made requests of father to ensure wine supplied to your family’s table was watered. Prince Oberyn tended to carry his own flask.”

“Guess I’m not used to being out from under Ellaria’s thumb,” Tyene turned to Lady, “Pardon most regal of dire wolves, I am sorry I confused you for your wild and willful sister.”

Sansa snorted, “I’m sure she will forgive you for a treat. As for Arya and Nymeria, they are with mother. She wanted to spend time with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. When Jon and I are present they tend to get overlooked.”

Beth frowned, “Was that wise? Did Lord Stark say it was okay for Lady Catelyn to be alone with them unaccompanied?”

Jeyne hissed at the younger girl, but Sansa seemed unaffected, “Father has not, but they are accompanied. Dacey is with them, as is Khal Drogo, while he is supposed to be protecting Princess Daenerys, his infatuation with my aunt seems to override his common sense.”

(Riverrun – Lady Catelyn’s chambers)

Catelyn smiled as Arya showed manners that she’d tried to instill in the girl for the majority of her short life. She’d even placed her napkin across her lap unbidden before politely requesting a pastry. There was still the playful shoving with Bran, but they were quick to apologize much to Rickon’s amusement. Her littlest wolf was still wilder, and too full of energy to keep contained for long.

As servants cleared away their dishes, and the uneaten remnants, Catelyn looked to Bran and Arya, “Now tell me, what have the two of you been doing to keep out of trouble in the capital?”

The pair shared a look before Bran answered first, “I spend most my days with Ser Barristan and Jon, except for an hour in the morning when we’re all in the godswood. The Sparrow helps us with our observances of the Seven, then sits with us while we pray to the Old Gods. Then Tommen and I spend an hour with Ser Cassel in the training yard. Lord Stannis’s maester has been the acting Grand Maester since shortly after we arrived, his assistant sees to our lessons.”

Catelyn was happy her children were still learning the Faith, even if she wasn’t sure about these Sparrows. They were a new movement, but she could see how their opposition to ostentatious displays and focus on serving the welfare of the people would garner Ned’s support. Her former husband was a man of the Old Gods, and while they might have rites and rituals she did not understand, when it came down to it all their faith needed was a weirwood tree to accept their prayers.

Arya eagerly spoke up following her brother, “After our morning observances, Sansa and I go with Jeyne and Princess Daenerys to dancing lessons with Syrio.” Catelyn knew she meant their sword master; they’d started training at Winterfell after all. Arya continued, “Then we have sewing lessons. There is not a septa at the Red Keep, so Lady Dayne usually watched us, but there’s also Lady Genna Lannister and Aunt Dacey. Aunt Alysane came once but she has trouble with vulgar words, so Aunt Dacey excused her from further sewing circles.”

Catelyn looked to where Dacey stood, the Dothraki leaning on the wall not far from the heir of Bear Island, “I always wondered how you turned out so well-mannered.”

Smirking Dacey dusted imaginary dust from her sleeves, “Mum says I’ve always been more like the Old Wolf who sired me than a bear. Though, I’ve been known to let loose when the situation called for it.”

“Surprisingly you behave more like Ned than Brandon or Lyanna, who you more than likely had more association with as he was in the Vale.” Catelyn remarked, “Though, Benjen was well-behaved as a boy.”

Dacey shook her head, “I wrote to Ned, we didn’t actually meet until Harrenhall, but Father would let me include short messages with his letters. None of my Stark siblings knew. Ned would reply in his letters to Father. We used runes so even the maesters wouldn’t be able to figure out what was being written.”

Bran pipped up, “They’d think they were drawings of some sort, probably confused them.”

“That was the plan,” Dacey smiled at the boy.

Catelyn looked to where Rickon had smuggled into the pile of dire wolves, “Summer and Nymeria are growing, but they seem smaller than Shaggy Dog.”

Arya smirked at the three wolves who all popped up at the sound of their names, “Well, when they stand up, they all look about the same size. Might be because Summer and Nymeria get groomed more than once a moon.”

Rickon sat up, “Mama had me bathe and brush Shaggy Dog before the wedding. It’s not his fault he’s fluffier than his siblings.”

“Fluffy,” Bran frowned, “is that a nice way to say Shaggy looks like he’s eaten a whole mammoth on his own?”

Seeing Rickon getting disgruntled with the prodding Catelyn interceded, “I’m sure the others will be just as big and fluffy in time. Probably just a difference in what they’ve eaten.”

Dacey nodded, “You’re probably right, Ghost was the runt and of the five pups in King’s Landing he is now the largest, only dwarfed by their mother.”

(King’s Landing – Robert’s Solar)

Robert watched as Ned sat with his Dire Wolve’s head resting on his lap. It was the first time he’d seen such a thing; the beast’s head was massive. She was most often aloof and roaming wherever she pleased, ninety-nine percent of the population were smart or terrified enough to leave her be the other one percent tended to regret their life choices or were never seen or heard from again. The last few weeks she’d been clingier to Ned than usual.

Robert nodded to the wolf, “What’s up with here?”

Scratching behind the wolf’s ear Ned sighed, “She’s just in a mood, all her pups are out of sight. It was hard for her to leave Grey Wind and Shaggy Dog, but she still had the others on the journey south. Now they’re all on their own journeys.”

“They’ll be back in a few moons,” Robert frowned, “Doesn’t your boy Edric have a wolf?”

Ned snorted, “She tolerates Whirlwind, but he isn’t her pup.”

A knock at the door preceded Ser Mandon Moore sticking his head into the room, “Your Grace, Lord Hightower and his umm,” the man glanced back over his shoulder before looking at Robert and continuing, “His guest is here.”

“Finally,” Robert motioned the knight to let them enter. Robert remained seated, but Eddard eased Lyanna’s head from his lap as he stood. A king may not need to stand when a lower noble entered a room, but Lord Hightower and Ned were of near equal standing.

Lord Leyton entered ahead of a group. Along with a knight wearing the armor of the kingsguard, Princess Daenerys entered with Brianne at her heel. Robert motioned to seats, but only Daenerys and Leyton moved to the seat. Robert frowned at the massive knight, “Ser, we aren’t at a Tourney, no need to play mystery knight. No need for the helm.”

“Pardon your Grace,” Leyton grimaced, “The good ser has taken a vow, his helm only comes off in the sanctity of the godswood. He has mastered the arts of eating and sleeping with it one.”

“Godswood?” Ned frowned, “No kingsguard has ever been a follower of my gods, even the occasional Blackwood who’s been named had converted to the Faith before taking their vows.”

“True my Magnar,” the knight spoke, “I renounced the Seven some years ago when the Old Gods restored me to health and sustained my life. For these gifts, I have sworn to be their champion until the day they call me to their hall.”

Robert leaned on his desk, “Too articulate to be the Mountain, even caught a hint of Crownlander accent to your voice.”

“Being articulate was never something I’ve been accused of Your Grace.” The knight chuckled, “Your great grandsire normally spoke enough for the both of us. Besides, he was the smart one, I just followed orders.”

“Great?” Robert blinked, “Lord Hightower, is this man?”

Leyton nodded, “The Knight Commander of King Aegon the Fifths kingsguard, Ser Duncan. I have seen his face, Your Grace, it is him.”

Robert gapped like a fish before turning to Lord Stark, “Ned, what in the Seven Hells, your gods can raise the dead?”

Ned frowned, “Ser, you vowed not to remove your helm, but what of your gauntlets?”

“I understand,” the knight removed his right gauntlet revealing pale and scarred skin, “pardon the scarring but even gods have a limit on what they can restore. I’m lucky to still have arms after pulling Egg from those flames.”

Robert grimaced, “Ned, why’d you want him to remove his gauntlets?”

“If he were a wight, his blood would have pooled and congealed in his hands and feet. This would make them look like black pudding.” Ned nodded to the knight giving him permission to put his gauntlets back on, “That his blood is still flowing, his heart beats.”

Leyton nodded, “As I said, I’ve seen his face, his eyes are not the eerily glowing blue of those thrice-damned monsters either.”

“So, what is he?” Robert looked between Ned and Leyton, the two followers of the Old Gods currently in the room, “It’s your gods who’ve apparently done it?”

Leyton gave Ned a look and he nodded, “He’s what he said. A Champion, it was a ritual during the Long Night, but not widely known.” Leyton mused, “The Others had their wights and other dark creatures to command. Humankind needed warriors who could stand against these monsters. The Children of the Forest could bind a man’s soul to his body so that even if he was struck a mortal blow, he would rise to fight again.”

Robert looked to Ser Duncan, “If they made these Champions back then, where are they now?”

“Most have surrendered to the Green Dream,” Ser Duncan spoke grimly, “I intended to surrender to it as well, but Egg roused me before I could lose myself. Said I still had battles to fight, and people to protect.”

“Green Dream?” Daenerys asked.

“The collective memory of the world,” Ned supplied, “It is the source of the Greenmen’s power. It is the sum of all knowledge in the world, or at least the parts of it within the sight of the Old Gods.”

Leyton mused, “It was how the Ravens imparted the visions to those of us who experienced them. It is also something the Others covet more than anything. Control over the Green Dream can permit one to influence events in the past, even change our present.”

“Not that doing so is easy, nor is it acceptable,” Ned glared at Lord Hightower, “The Greenmen are sworn to only observe, never interfere.”

Robert looked to Leyton, “So, it’s true he took out the Archmaesters?”

Leyton pulled out a yellowed with age parchment, “He was fulfilling King Aegon’s final writ.”

Accepting the document Robert frowned, “Aegon the Fifth was declared dead nearly forty years ago, would this still be valid? Were these even the same men that this document was referring to?”

“Many did not yet hold the title of Archmaester at the time,” Duncan acknowledged, “but they were either complicit or had a hand in the events at Summerhall.” He shifted in his armor, “I am unable to strike down the innocent or repentant, regardless of my personal feelings.”

Robert set the paper on his desk before uncovering a pot of ink, he scrawled his signature beneath that of his great grandsire, “Just for good measure. If anyone asks, I condoned the implementation of this writ before it was carried out.” Robert looked to Leyton, “I need loyal men to fill the vacancies among the Archmaesters, those who aren’t connected to those recently removed.”

Leyton nodded, “While my control over such things is limited, the void left by so many Archmaesters departing at once will no doubt offer many opportunities. There is the added benefit of the two surviving Archmaesters being men of more open-mindedness without the desire to use their positions to manipulate the realm to their beliefs.”

Giving a nod Robert looked to Duncan, “Now what about you?”

“While I have forsaken the Seven, I have not forsaken my vows as a kingsguard,” Duncan drew his sword and knelt, “My sword is yours, your command is my will, and your secrets are mine to keep.”

“I got plenty of sworn swords,” Robert stood and walked around the desk, “Lord Commander Duncan, you shall accept a new duty. The kingsguard has seven swords but their order is expanding to create a larger royal guard. The newly recruited white cloaks will need to be trained. I charge you with that duty, and to ensure they know their duty is not only to protect the king and royal family. They will be the shield against any future Maegor the Cruel or Aerys the Mad. The king does not only rule the people, but he is also their protector. The realm must never suffer another such tyrant.”

“I understand Your Grace,” Duncan stood sheathing his sword, “I will ensure the new kingsguard does not fail in the duties you have charged them.”

(Red Keep – Godswood)

Ellinor Tyrell calmly entered the godswood, she’d missed the morning sermons as she’d been resting after the long journey from Old Town via Highgarden. Her cousin Loras walked at her side, her chaperone for the day, “Thank you for coming Loras.”

A smirk crossed his face, “My pleasure Ellinor, though like with Margaery and Sansa I am little more than decoration.” He indicated the large wolf that had emerged from the trees, “He’s no Grey Wind, but Whirlwind is not to be trifled with.”

Ellinor smirked as Loras guided her along the path in the wake of the wolf. They stepped off the path just before reaching the heart tree. A small gathering of benches had been placed before an altar with carvings of the Seven prominently placed. Only three people were currently present. A woman sat reading a copy of the Seven-Pointed Star, the holy text of the Faith. Before the altar, a young man knelt in prayer she watched as he lit candles before the Warrior and the Smith. At the young man’s side, a Septon in rough spun brown robes stood.

The Septon took notice as Whirlwind approached the young man, “Lord Dayne, it appears we have company.”

Edric turned, and stood in one movement, his eyes glancing at her before taking in Lora, “Ser Loras, well met.”

“Indeed,” Loras chuckled, “I thought you would be at the tree.”

Edric raised a brow, “Father and I saw to our observances at the Temple of the Fiery Fist after a rather unpleasant evening. Sordid business, hopefully we’ll put it to rest before Aegon and Jon return to the city.”

The Septon in brown robes seemed to bristle, “I am sure the Lord Hand will have it dealt with before your sister returns from Riverrun. Your Lord Father may follow the Old Gods, but even if he does not acknowledge it, he is an instrument of the Seven.”

The noblewoman reading on the bench chuckled, “I’d be careful my good Sparrow, Ned may favor your order, but he is still a Magnar of the First Men.”

“Of course, Lady Dayne, I mean no offense.” The Septon smiled, “I only meant that Lord Stark’s actions draw the gaze of the Seven upon him and his house in a favorable light.”

Lady Dayne closed her copy of the Seven-Pointed Star, setting it down as she stood brushing a few leaves that had clung to her dress away, “Now Loras, who is this lovely girl?”

Stepping aside and guiding Ellinor forward Loras began the introduction, “My apologies, may I introduce my cousin. The Lady Ellinor Tyrell of the Old Town branch of House Tyrell.” He focused on Ellinor as he waved his hand towards Lady Dayne, “Ellinor, this is Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall,” his hand swept towards Lord Dayne, “and her son Lord Edric Dayne the Lord of Starfall and Head of House Dayne.”

Ellinor nodded to them, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is ours of course,” Ashara smiled as she stepped closer, “Lady Ellinor, I do hope your journey was pleasant, the Rose Road is not unaccustomed to men of ill repute.”

Ellinor giggled, “The journey was pleasant, and I trust that had any such men of ill repute accosted us, the knight who accompanied us would have been more than an ample deterrent.”

“Good,” She motioned to Edric, “Now you two should spend a bit of time getting to know one another. Edric, my love, you’d best warn her about your sisters. I doubt Sansa will have any disagreements with Lady Ellinor, but Arya. Well, it would behoove all involved that their first meeting goes well, if Arya dislikes Ellinor, well the repercussions need not be considered.”

Loras snorted, “I can attest to that, it has been moons and she still hasn’t forgiven me for that misunderstanding at Winterfell.”

Ellinor was confused, “Misunderstanding?”

Edric cleared his throat, “It happened before Mother and I arrived, but apparently Arya was lurking about the rooms assigned to the Tyrells as Lady Nymeria and Sarella were in attendance as your cousin’s companions. Lady Catelyn had told my siblings to stay clear of them. Arya wants to be a warrior so whenever she hears of women who’ve been taught martial skills she is drawn to meet them.”

A redness of embarrassment crept up the side of Loras’ neck, “I was upset over a few things and was returning to our chambers when I happened upon Lady Arya. She was dressed in clothes more fitting a servant, and I had not paid enough attention during our welcome to recognize her at a glance. It was only when the dire wolf appeared that I realized I’d knocked down one of Lord Stark’s daughters.”

Ellinor sighed as she shook her head, “Loras, I take it Margaery smoothed things over?”

“Not exactly,” Edric smirked, “Father’s ward Theon Greyjoy smacked your cousin around the training yard in front of about half of those in attendance. People were still talking about it when Mother and I arrived.”

(Sunset Sea)

Being the Quartermaster of the Silence was a thankless job. Had he known that fact earlier, he’d probably not have killed the previous quartermaster. Being the right hand of Euron Greyjoy was another thankless job, but at least he got to keep all his bits and pieces. A mute crewmember walked over passing him a canteen of fresh water. Stores were getting tight, they’d either have to make for port or raid another ship.

Eerie silence aboard the ship lingered, he hated it, but Euron hated noise more. Most of the crew was forcibly made mute, as quartermaster it was his job to see to that. Only the officers could talk, but unless important they didn’t speak. Most people thought everyone besides Euron had lost their tongues. Seeing the hatch to Euron’s cabin open he frowned, the captain wasn’t one to mill about his crew.

From the doorway a slip of a woman, more of a girl appeared. She wore nothing more than one of Euron’s tabards with his personalized heraldry. It was all the shield the woman would need with this crew, no one would dare touch her with that on. She made her way to where he held the rutter, “He not going to be pleased you slipped out again.”

She glanced his way, “He doesn’t care as long as my sister keeps him satisfied.”

“The two of you are the only ones left from that merchantman, well of the ones the captain selected,” The quartermaster chuckled, “Were you Lysine pillow slaves?”

The girl glared, “We were household servants to a Pentosi cheese merchant. He wound up on the wrong side of an angry Dothraki. After he died the Dothraki gave us a bit of coin and let us flee. We didn’t know those men were slavers we used the coin to buy passage back to our family in Bravos. Once we were on the ship they dragged us down to the cages. Who knows where we’d have ended up, it would have been better than this.”

“Trust me girly there are worse places you could have ended up,” the quartermaster snorted, “you keep Euron happy he will make sure your belly stays full of food and no one will hurt cha.” He worked his jaw, “Make him mad and we’ll be using bits of you to fish up our next meal.”

“Are all Iron Born as depraved as this crew, or are you the worst they have to offer?” The woman spat.

“Don’t exactly know, not Iron Born myself,” the quartermaster revealed a slave brand on his wrist, “Captain pulled me off a ship like yours just off the Stepstones. Not long after he’d been exiled from his home. Said if we didn’t want our tongues cut out, we’d have to challenge one of his crew for a spot. I challenged the previous quartermaster and since I’m here you can guess how that fight ended up.”

She looked at him in shock, “You stay here willingly?”

“Why not,” the quartermaster shrugged, “Always got food to eat, the rest of this lot to kick around and first choice on the spoils after the captain. Besides, even as strong as he is, Euron is still just a man. Someday he’ll be dead, and I’ll get this ship.” The young woman noticed the way the quartermaster’s look had become a lecherous sneer.

Disgusted, she made her way back to Euron’s cabin. Upon entering she spotted the captain was redressing. He glanced at her, “Have fun walking the deck wifey.”

“Your crew are degenerates,” She snapped as she made her way to her cot. It was placed in the same corner where only days ago she and the other women had been huddled together as they saw Euron’s cruelties, “Considering what their captain is like, it should be surprising.”

Euron snickered, “Don’t be hard on them, not every day a woman walks about this ship advertising herself like that.” He looked to his own bed where her sister lay unconscious, “Be grateful your sister’s concern for you seems to keep her willingness coming back.” He threw a blanket over her sister to give her a modicum of modesty, “Though, once her belly has my squidling growing within, well we wouldn’t want just one squidling running about the ship now would we.”

(Iron Islands – Pyke)

Theon watched as his father and uncles used their extensive sea charts to predict the location of the Silence. Euron’s ship hadn’t been spotted but with word that he’d sent baby krakens to Asha and the dead adolescent kraken he’d sent to Theon; the warnings were clear. Theon read the most recent report, “Around the time we received those gifts from Uncle, a merchant ship went missing in the Sunset Sea,” Theon picked up two marker stones, “It was supposed to arrive at Lannisport,” he placed one of the stones, then placed a second in the middle of the known Sunset Sea, “She was spotted by another merchant ship somewhere north and west of us.”

Balon scrutinized the map, “Have the flags of the missing ships been spotted elsewhere? Euron has a habit of keeping such things. He’s crafty and will disguise his ship as another, even murders half his crew and replaces them with prisoners taken in raids.”

“I’ll have the captains ask around, what flags were the merchantman flying?” Victarion asked.

Theon looked at the reports, “Essosi flags, looks like one of the Slaver’s Bay cities, but not familiar with this one.”

Aerion looked over his shoulder, “You wouldn’t be, that is the Old Ghis Harpy, the crew must not have wanted their place of origin known. Common when those of Slaver’s Bay come to do business with Westorsi. The only place they don’t have to be overly careful with who they let on their ships is one of our ports.”

“We do not abide slavery in the manner of Essos,” Theon scowled.

Balon chuckled, “Correct son, we do not buy slaves, but we do not persecute those who practice slavery as our ‘friends’ on the mainland do either.” He looked to Victarion, “Brother, if Euron took a ship in that region where would it wash up?”

Victarion ran a finger along the chart depicting the tides, “Here, just north of the Reach, anything not claimed by the Drowned God will wash up from there and places south along the coast. We could send scouts, but it could be weeks before the wreckage starts washing ashore.”

Balon shook his head, “I’ll send word to that fat oaf Tyrell, let his people deal with that discarded by the Drowned God. Euron is lingering nearby.”

“He is trying to draw us out,” Theon glared, “He must be plotting something.”

“I’m not a fool boy,” Balon sneered, “We’ll set a trap of our own. Your warden has wanted Euron’s head longer than any man alive. I will not abide a Greyjoy killing a Greyjoy. Your uncle avoided Stark’s blade only because he abandoned your brother to the wolf’s fangs and fled. The craven only returned once he was sure the wolf had gotten his fill of Iron Born blood.”

Theon was confused, “What are you talking about?”

Aerion sighed, “Euron attacked Bear Island a few months before your father started his rebellion. He tried to take the eldest daughter of Lady Maege Mormont as a salt wife, he failed but left the young woman in a poor state. We never condoned the attack, and your father’s plans hedged on the North’s tendency to be late arrivals to wars.”

A snort came from Victarion, “Instead the North came roaring down on us like a winter storm rouge wave. No captain who crossed blades with a Northman saw the Iron Isles again. I remember when Lord Stark marched into this castle at the side of the King. He dropped your brother’s axe at Balon’s feet, and said Maron was not the Greyjoy he sought.”

Theon frowned, “Maron was crushed under the tower.”

“He was dead before the tower landed on him,” Balon sighed, “Lord Stark and a band of his men climbed the cliffs in an attempt to capture us unawares. Robert has never been known for his patience and began the assault before Lord Stark’s men were barely over the wall.” Balon grimaced, “I should have gift-wrapped my cur of a brother to Lord Stark.”

Victarion frowned, “While at Winterfell Theon and I learned why Euron’s attack on the Mormonts drew him to such rage.”

Aerion looked at them with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Theon sighed, “Lady Dacey is Lord Stark’s half-sister. In the old way, she is a Mormont, but she is Blood of the Wolf.”

As he said this Aerion’s eyes widened, “Drowned God’s mercy, how are we still alive? The North remembers they do not forgive.”

Balon’s fist tightened as he slammed it on the table. Theon remembered how much drink his father had imbibed the evening of his return. His father must not have fully considered the implication of the revelation about Lady Dacey. After a moment his father began fuming, “Euron you traitorous bastard. I don’t know how he knew that information, but the one-eyed craven piece of sea scum knew. He wanted the North to come here craving blood, he expected Lord Stark to slaughter us root and stem.”

Theon blinked, “Lord Stark would never, his honor wouldn’t abide that.”

“Don’t kid yourself, nephew,” Lord Harlaw entered the room with more charts, “When it comes to one’s kin. Honor has little value, especially to a man who has lost as much as Lord Stark. He might not have done the deed himself, but he has men who will do horrific things in his stead.”

Theon at once thought of Lord Bolton, “He’d never let harm come to Asha and me, we were children.”

“Would he?” Harlaw mused, “Perhaps he’d have spared you, and your mother. It does not mean his men would not see to it. A second or third son who was already destined for the Wall. Trust me Theon, the Quiet Wolf would have turned the Iron Islands into graveyards so vast they’d be a new wonder of the world. People would only speak of us as a cautionary tale, a reason one does not bait the wolf.”

Theon swallowed, “I always felt that had Robert called for my head, that Lord Stark would have refused. He treated me more like a ward than a hostage, the only time I had more freedom than a hostage would normally expect.”

Balon sighed, “It is in the words he used when he returned Maron’s axe. Maron was not the Greyjoy he sought, and so Maron need not have died had he simply stepped aside. Instead, he barred Lord Stark’s path and permitted Euron to flee.”

Victarion placed a hand on Theon’s shoulder, “Euron has been plotting to take the Iron Islands far longer than many have thought.”

Chapter Text

(Red Keep – White Sword Tower)

Brienne opened the door to the chamber across from her own, ducking her head slightly to avoid hitting the stonework at the top, “They may not be the Lord Commander’s chambers, but I hope they suit your needs.”

Ser Duncan entered behind her having to duck his head more than she’d had to, “Forgot how small they made these doorways.” Duncan snorted, “When I was Lord Commander, I’d remove my helmet just to avoid the embarrassment of clipping the top of entryways.”

“Evenfall is similarly constructed, Andals are on average shorter than First Men or Valyrians.” Brienne frowned, “Were you born of First Men?”

“It is nearly impossible to consider someone Andal or First Men in this region. First Men outnumbered Andals seven to one when the invasion occurred. The Andals only succeeded because of their cunning and the advantage of steel armor, weapons, and shields against leather armor, bronze weapons, and wooden shields.”

Brienne nodded, “You could have just said you didn’t know.”

A chuckle came from Duncan, “I was born in Flea Bottom, but didn’t know my own parents. My earliest memories were of being a right terror. Probably would have come to a messy end had a knight not taken an interest in me and made me his squire.”

“Then you became entangled with the Targaryen and a legend was born,” Brienne smirked.

Duncan sighed, “Legends are hard to live up to, especially for a dumb kid out of Flea Bottom. I just had dumb luck, and in spades considering how often Egg and I should have ended up on the wrong side of a sword.” Duncan’s helmet tilted, “How did you find out about our relationship? Your grandmother would not have known, I was kingsguard by the time she was born.”

“Ser Gerrard and Ser Barristan brought your shield and other personal effects to Evenfall sometime after Summerhall. Mother and grandmother were already living there under the protection of my father’s family.” Brienne grimaced, “I discovered the shield when I was young. When Ser Barristan sent the notice that I had been nominated to the kingsguard, Father agreed, he then told me the whole story as he knew it.”

Walking to the armor stand in the room Duncan gently removed his helmet before setting it atop the stand. He turned to her revealing his pale face, all color long since washed away by years concealed by his helmet, “In my travels, I knew many women, and am not sure how many children I left in my wake. Your grandmother was the only one I knew for certain was mine, the one I could not deny or feign ignorance.”

“What do you mean,” Brienne gave him a confused look as she recovered from the shock of seeing his face.

Ser Duncan chuckled, “It was after I had knighted Egg, and we had parted ways. He returned to Summerhall to see to his duties as a prince of the realm. I continued on my path as a hedge knight, for a time. Maekar sent word he gave my name to his brother to fill a vacancy within the kingsguard. It was only right as his eldest brother died defending me, I should spend what time I had left protecting what was left of his family.”

Brienne frowned, “How did my grandmother come about?”

“Your great-grandmother is not who you believe her to be,” Duncan looked sadly at his helm, “There was a woman I met at the Tourney at Ashford. For many years I sought her afterward, even met with her companions from the tourney. She had parted with them shortly after, and she never returned to Dorne following Ashford, too fearful Aerion the Monstrous would find her. Egg and I sought her wherever we journeyed to no avail. It was only when I was in the Stormlands after parting from Aegon did I find her again, serving in the household of Lord Lyonel Baratheon.”

This surprised Brienne, “Why was she there?”

“She and her company of puppeteers fled before the Challenge of Seven,” Duncan mused, “Her uncle led the company and did not want her to see me slain. I was facing three princes, three kingsguard, and a red apple Fossoway. It wasn’t even assured I’d rally a full six to stand at my side.” Shaking his head Duncan huffed, “It turned out after word of the resolution of the events at Ashford, she sought me out. When she eventually crossed paths with Lord Lyonel, he bade her take refuge in his household. Aerion would not seek her there, and he believed I would remember his offer of employment once Egg had been knighted.”

Brienne smirked, “If the stories are true, he gave you more credit than most.”

A snort came from Duncan, “Don’t be giving me cheek lass, I’m still your great grandfather.” Shaking his head he moved to sit on the cot, “We spent three years together under Lord Baratheon’s roof. The Blackfyres started stirring again and I went to fight by Prince Maekar and Aegon’s side. I was named to the kingsguard at the rebellion’s conclusion.”

“If it’s too painful?” Brienne tried to halt him, but Duncan motioned her to silence.

“If I do not say it now it is a disservice to her memory,” Duncan grimaced, “I returned to Storm’s End to end things clean. Only for Lord Lyonel and his wife to meet me at the gate. Your grandmother was held in Lady Baratheon’s arms. Lady Baratheon told me Tanselle realized she was with child a fortnight after Lord Lyonel, and I had left to join the royal host. She asked not to send word to me, I needed to focus on my duty and stopping the Blackfyres.”

“She passed of childbed fever?” Brienne asked.

Duncan swallowed, “No, the birth went fine, she was well. Until the catspaw Aerion sent attacked her in the night. Though there was no proof it was Aerion’s doing, Lyonel and I agreed there were too few other suspects, as Tanselle was the only person targeted or harmed. There was also the fact that during the campaign against the Blackfyres, Aerion had been far too jovial and friendly.”

“What became of my grandmother,” Brienne frowned, “How did her daughter end up married to my father?”

“Lord Lyonel’s wife had a cousin, whose wife had trouble conceiving a child. They were a kind couple; I knew them well during my time in the Stormlands. Other than height, they could pass as my daughter’s parents. Your grandmother never knew I was her actual father, something I am keenly aware of as we crossed paths many times at court.” Duncan sighed, “Yet she had a good life, and married a good man from what I’ve heard.”

“I never knew her, as for my mother I could scarcely remember her as she passed when I was very young.” Brienne frowned, “Father did tell me that grandmother resided at Evenfall in her later years.”

“Her husband died against the Ninepenny Kings,” Duncan looked at the floor, “She had only a daughter, her husband’s brother was a lickspittle for Aerys the second. He convinced Aerys and his Hand Tywin Lannister to support his claim of the family’s holding as the rightful male heir. He forced your grandmother and mother out of the castle, they moved to Tarth as your mother was betrothed to your father by then.”

Brienne blinked, “How do you know this?”

“The Green Dream,” Duncan said smoothly, “As it was explained to Robert, it is the culmination of the memories of all humanity. Whether that be major events that shape the world or the schemes of greedy little men.”

(Riverrun – Edmure’s chambers)

Asha was sitting at the mirror preparing for the day, she’d never been one for dresses. Two nights earlier she was probably of the small minority of women who appreciated the bedding ritual of men tearing away the woman’s gown. While her leathers currently rested on a mannequin in the corner next to Edmure’s armor stand, she currently wore a doublet with her newly fashioned personal heraldry. A Kraken with trout circling it in Tully colors.

Movement from the bed drew her attention, “Husband, you’re awake?”

“Yes, you have been awake long?” Edmure sat up reaching for the tankard of water on the stand next to the bed.

“Just enough to see to my observances,” She motioned to the small idol of the Drowned God and a bowl of seawater Edmure had arranged for her, “We still have a bit of time before we’d be expected in the hall to break our fast.”

Edmure nodded as he drank before standing from the bed, “Your people don’t share the Northern custom of seclusion after the wedding?”

“You experienced what counts for a marriage ceremony for my people,” Asha scowled, “Wives in the Iron Islands are fortunate their husbands tend to go to sea within days of their union. Give them time to recover from the experience.”

“Right,” Edmure snorted, “I’ll admit I kept myself rightly sloshed through the whole thing. Your Uncle Victarion got me the strongest stuff Pyke had, knew it would be hard to focus with your father, brother, and uncles watching us. The only good thing was that cove was rather isolated, no passing ships spying on us.”

Asha mused, “Just be thankful Euron wasn’t in attendance.”

“Well, there’s the added bonus of if he were Ned would probably be angry I didn’t kill him and deliver the wretch’s head,” Edmure sighed, “Heard the Dothraki are out hunting him, visiting all ports, Khal Drogo seems to want to earn favor with his Magnar.”

“Our Magnar,” Asha corrected, “I’m First Men, and you are as well. It’s a culture, not a religion. Earning a Magnar’s favor is nothing to scoff at. Had Euron not drawn Lord Stark’s ire, perhaps Father could have paid the iron price and garnered it. Not saying he’d supported the Rebellion, but Father could have sent Theon and me to him and placed us under his protection. We’d have been wards and Lord Stark would not have allowed us to be used as hostages.”

Edmure frowned, “What would that have meant at the Rebellion’s end?”

“Father would have lost his head and my uncles would rule the Iron Islands as regents until Theon came of age,” Asha said plainly, “The difference being Theon would not have grown up with the knife hanging over his head that was held only by our father’s good behavior.”

Understanding crossed Edmure’s face, “You’d have preferred that?”

“Well, I’d have also not been on my uncle’s ship, or gotten separated and attacked by a smelly fat Essosi pirate. So, there is that” Asha mused, “Now husband, not that I’m displeased with the view, but we are expected in the great hall and your sister might take affront at your current appearance.”

Edmure chuckled as he moved to the wardrobe to collect clothing for the day, “It’s not like it's anything she hasn’t seen before, she raised and cared for me from the time I was born until she and Robb departed for Winterfell after Robert’s Rebellion.”

“Speaking of your nephew, has Lord Robb sent any messages?” Asha asked.

Edmure shook his head, “Nothing since his congratulations on our union and notice of his wife being with child. I sent him word that Rickon arrived safely with his party intact and all well. Catelyn warned me I shouldn’t mention the Septon and Septa’s actions against Lady Cassel.”

“Wise,” Asha snorted, “Lord Robb has to earn his banners' respect, letting the daughter of one of them be threatened would not aid in that endeavor. He’d be expected to demand recompense from those involved, and the best way to earn their respect would be handing those members of the Faith to his current Lord Bolton to extract the pound of flesh.”

Edmure frowned, “They threatened her, we stepped in before any harm befell her.”

“For those in the North,” Asha frowned, “any act of hostility from the Faith will be met with extreme retribution. You know the history of the Andal invasion, there is a truth behind the phrase the North remembers. In the Iron Islands, we add to that, we say the North remembers and never forgives.”

She noticed a thought come to Edmure, she appreciated how easy it was to read his expressions on his face, “Lord Bracken told me in his vision the Iron Born invaded the North, even sacked Winterfell.”

“He must not have gotten all the information,” Asha mused, “Uncle Harlaw told me about that. We attacked the Stoney Shore, which was once our ancestral lands when we lived in the North eight thousand years ago before the last Long Night. Theon felt he needed to prove himself to Father, so he took Winterfell. He captured Bran and Rickon as hostages, but they escaped. To cover up their escape one of his crew killed and burned two miller’s boys that were about the same age. It was Bolton’s bastard who sacked and burned Winterfell.”

“So, Theon did not harm anyone at Winterfell?” Edmure frowned.

“Can’t say for sure, I only know what Uncle Reader told me,” Asha frowned, “but my brother grew up there, and seeing the concern he had for me who he barely remembers from his earliest memories. I do not believe he’d have intentionally caused any harm once the castle was taken. His crew, on the other hand, he wasn’t exactly given the best of the best.”

Edmure finished dressing then moved to stand behind her, “Well, ready to face the River Lords?”

“I’m a Kraken,” Asha smirked, “The only things I fear are dragons and wolves, dire wolves specifically.”

Edmure snorted, “Well, we got a few of those in attendance as well, be grateful they are either kin or soon-to-be kin.”

(Iron Islands – Pyke)

Theon sat up as his door flew open, a dagger already in his hand. Standing in the doorway was the massive form of his smirking uncle. Victarion Greyjoy was not looking at Theon, but at the other form in his bed, “Nephew, nice choice in bedwarmers, looks Dornish.”

Theon looked to the woman next to him in bed, a thrall who normally worked as a maid. Her family worked in the first keep, but she’d been moved to the third at his request. Theon looked back to his uncle, “Is there a purpose for this rather rude wake-up?”

“The tides are calling Nephew, your father wants you to prove you got salt and iron,” Victarion walking into the room and tossing Theon his leathers, “Get dressed, and bring the bedwarmer, she’d make due as a salt wife, at least until your mother finds you a rock wife.”

Glowering at his uncle Theon motioned to the door, “Can I have a minute of privacy to get dressed?”

“Take your time lad,” Victarion sneered at the stirring woman on the bed, “we’ll be staying in Lordsport until tomorrow, the ship needs to finish preparation to depart.”

As his uncle left the room, closing the door behind him Theon sighed, “You heard all that?”

The woman sat up, keeping the sheet covering her, “Yes, I am fine with it, as I was born as a thrall in your father’s household, being claimed as a salt wife is more than I could hope for. It is better than just being your bedwarmer, currently if I got with child, I’d most likely be given to the tides.”

“That’s the purpose of the moon tea,” Theon reminded her as he motioned to the pot on the stand on her side of the bed, “Thankfully Uncle Reader knows how to make it. I have been getting a few looks from Father, guess my brothers weren’t the type to keep to a single bedwarmer.”

“I was too young to know your brothers, my lord,” the woman grimaced, “but Mother did mention they were notorious for changing with the tide.”

“Aye, their moods could change with the tide,” Theon snorted as he thought of his departed brothers, “As poorly as they treated Asha and me, couldn’t even fathom how bad the thralls got it.”

The woman’s hand rested on Theon’s bicep, “You are not them Lord Theon, you are a good man. You asked me to serve you, not command it of me. You needed not, I am only a thrall.”

“You are a person,” Theon growled, “If Father didn’t question why I wasn’t using a bedwarmer. The look on Mother’s face said all, she hated it but knew I was walking a dangerous line by not behaving as Father expects.”

“The keep is cold, it is only expected that you ensure your own comfort,” the woman smiled tightly, “We are born to serve House Greyjoy.”

“Had you been born a boy you might have been thrown in the mines,” Theon groused, “How many generations have your family lived as Thralls?”

The woman frowned, “Mother’s parents were thralls, I know this. My father was a Dornishman who came to treat with your grandfather at the start of Robert’s Rebellion.”

“That would mean he was a noble,” Theon frowned, “Do you know from which house he came from?”

The woman shook her head, “I doubt Mother would know, we aren’t taught about the mainland houses, and she’s a thrall. Lord Quellon bade her to warm the man’s bed, Mother said Lord Balon was amused when she became pregnant and allowed me to be born.”

Theon realized that meant his father knew her birth father’s house, “An interesting mystery for us to solve then, but now we have more pressing concerns. I’ll have to tell Father I intend to make you my salt wife, which shouldn’t be too problematic, he had no interest in you. That’s also uplift your mother from thralldom to being a free servant.”

The woman was surprised, “What about my brother and sister?”

Rubbing his chin Theon contemplated, “I’ll discuss it with Father, who sired them?”

“Your cousin the younger son of the Reader,” The woman said, “They were twins born after he fell during your Father’s rebellion.”

Theon nodded, “That’s why she was permitted to live when they were conceived.” He snorted in amusement, “Your mother was born with more luck than any true Iron Born in thousands of years.”

Sometime later Theon was making his way to the first keep when he happened upon his uncle Harlaw, “Reader.”

Rodrik turned at his moniker, “Nephew, shouldn’t you be getting ready to join Victarion in Lordsport?”

“My salt wife is finishing packing,” Theon sighed, at his uncle’s surprised look he shook his head, “She’s not pregnant, the moon tea has been working. Uncle Victarion suggested I make her my salt wife and bring her with us.”

Rodrik nodded, “Prudent, the crews gossip. Taking a salt wife with you, well it shows you follow the old ways. Most of them will have to pay for a roll in the sheets at port, something most find disagreeable.”

“Port,” Theon frowned, “we’re leaving the Iron Islands?”

“Aye,” Rodrik sneered, “That missing merchantman was headed for Lannisport. Your Father wants to know what business a slaver had in the biggest town in Tywin’s holdings. He wants to know if the Old Lion has a slavery ring happening right under his nose, or if he is tied to it in any way. We might not persecute slavers here, but we aren’t above selling them out to our ‘friends’ on the mainland.”

Theon frowned, “Father is hoping to garner Lord Stark’s favor?”

“More like restore our Magnar’s benevolence upon us,” Rodrik sighed, “Euron’s actions have forever shattered any chance at gaining favor with the current Magnar of Winter, but if we play our cards right, we might garner the favor of his heir. You are friends with Lord Robb, which goes a long way in smoothing the pathway to a future seat at his table. A place in his inner circle.”

“His inner circle?” Theon asked.

“Aye, the Lords and Ladies whose council he heeds the most,” Rodrik sighed, “From our time in Winterfell I have deduced that Lord Stark’s inner circle consists of mostly Northern Lords, such as Lord Reed, Lord Manderly, Lord Umber, and even to some extent Lord Bolton. Lady Dacey may be included, but as his sisters, she and Lady Alysane hold much higher positions of influence over the Magnar, as would his brother Lord Benjen. King Robert might have held such influence at one time, but the fate of Princess Ellia and her daughter and Robert’s reaction might have put a blemish on their friendship that may never fully recover.”

“Father wants to be in Robb’s inner circle,” Theon frowned, “He’s a Lord Paramount, does that not make them equals?”

Rodrik chuckled, “In the standings of the Seven Kingdoms, yes, but when it comes to the ways of the First Men, it is a pittance. With Lord Robb’s favor, we could garner support to restore our ancient rights to the Stoney Shore. True we could use the old way and try by force, but all that will result in is the Magnar making the Iron Born an extinct people. In the vision your father rose against Lord Robb's offer of alliance only because he saw what others did, he’d made missteps and would soon find himself on the wrong side of his bannermen.”

“Robb isn’t making those mistakes again?” Theon asked.

Rodrik sighed, “As of yet no, and my informants have told me Lord Bolton has all but ensconced himself in Winterfell at Robb’s side. He is making his moves to position himself as Lord Robb’s most trusted and most valuable vassal and advisor. A cunning move for a man who lacks a direct heir.”

Theon nodded, “I will see what I can do, but does Father actually expect Robb will concede land to us?”

“No, but even if we can at least gain rights to a part of harvests originating from the area and rights to hunting and fishing. It would give us a pathway to survive without our reliance on reaving.” Rodrik sighed, “Now off with you, and Theon,” His eyes hardened, “Make sure your salt wife is always wearing a doublet with your person heraldry. She’ll most likely be the only woman on the ship and your authority is her only shield.”

Theon nodded, “Understood uncle.”

(Riverrun – Great Hall)

Bran sat at the head table, his siblings sitting with him, including Jon who’d tried to sit at a lower table before mother caught him and dragged him to the high table. It amused Bran how his mother’s behavior with Jon had changed, even though now there was no connection between them as she wasn’t even legally his aunt anymore.

Next to him, Rickon was playing in his porridge, “What’s wrong pup?” Sansa had noticed as well and moved to address the youngest disquiet.

Rickon frowned, “I wish Papa had come, I miss him.”

A sigh came from Sansa, their little brother was too young to understand the political reasons their father couldn’t come. So, it was easiest to bend the truth, while not lying, “Father is quite busy in King’s Landing. I do not know how the city ever functioned without him; it keeps him so busy we barely see him for more than a few minutes a day.”

Rickon looked curiously at Sansa, “Could I come to King’s Landing and visit him?”

Sansa grimaced, “We aren’t going right back Rickon, we are going to visit the other kingdoms, it will take several moons before we return to King’s Landing.”

Bran pipped up, “Well accept Arya, she’s going back to King’s Landing before heading to Dorne with Edric.”

Rickon brightened up, “I could go with Arya.”

Movement behind Rickon drew their attention to Tormund, “Ah, little wolf, not sure Mag and Wun Wun would like it any further south, and we’re expected back in Winterfell within a certain amount of time. Osha would not be happy with us if we’re late, not to mention your older brother and his wife might worry.”

“We could write,” Rickon smiled with the innocence of a child his age, “Tell them we going to see Papa, and then we will come home.”

Sansa and Bran shared a look, not sure how two giants appearing at the gates of King’s Landing would be received. Their dire wolves were one thing, the people believed the Starks had them bound to their wills and they functioned as extensions as such. Few knew how little control they actually had and that the wolves obeyed only because it was the animal’s choice to follow the will of their partners.

Catelyn walked over and knelt next to her son, “Arya is not due to leave for a couple of days, let me write to your father. I am sure he can arrange a ship to take you back to the North, one large enough for Mag, Wun Wun, and their mammoths.”

“Not sure putting mammoths on a boat is a smart idea,” Tormund grimaced, “The amount of fodder just to keep them fed would fill the hold of any of the ships used to evacuate my people.”

Catelyn rolled her eyes, “Those ships were meant for speed, they were smaller and lighter than most. The Redwynes have war galleys that make those ships look like fishing cogs. I am sure Ned can use the pull of kinship through Robb’s marriage to arrange the use of one.”

After a moment Sansa’s brow raised, “Lord Paxter’s daughter is of age with Jon?”

A look came to Catelyn’s face that seemed to acknowledge her daughter’s thinking, “You are scheming again, daughter.”

Bran snorted, “Sansa and Aegon have been discussing potential matches for Jon for weeks.”

“Robb already brings ties to the Reach with Margaery,” Catelyn responded.

Sansa sighed, “That is true for the North, but not the Crown directly. Currently, Aegon is highly reliant on the support our betrothal will bring. He can only personally guarantee the support of Dorne through his mother’s House and his kinship with the Baratheons brings him the Stormlands with King Robert naming him his ward and heir.”

Catelyn frowned, “Desmera is not well known to me. She is of age with Robb and Jon, but I did not bother inquiring about matches for Robb in the Reach, my eyes focused on the Riverlands and the possibilities in the Vale where it would be prudent to secure the preexisting bounds of alliance.”

Rolling her eyes Sansa sighed, “Robb should have married a Northern girl, but I am not displeased with Margaery. The few letters I’ve received from the Alys Karstark and the Manderly sisters have been exceedingly glowing on her handling of current events in the North.”

“That is good to hear,” Catelyn sighed, “Your brother’s letters to me have been rather vague and brief.”

Bran frowned, “He doesn’t write to Father much either, he sends letters to the rest of us whenever we send him one.”

“It’s to be expected,” Sansa mused, “He is busy ruling the North in Father’s stead, and it would look poorly on him if he constantly wrote to Father for advice.”

“I only wish he had more family with him,” Catelyn sighed, “Even if one of your aunts had remained would make me feel better about it.”

Bran frowned, “I overheard Father and Dacey talking one evening, we’d all gone to bed, but Tommen was having a night terror, and I was going to get Sansa to help calm him. He said no matter what Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn said, he could only trust another member of the pack to ensure Arya was kept safe.”

Sansa blinked, “He didn’t include Edric?”

“Dacey asked that, and he said he knew Edric could protect them, but he didn’t want to add more responsibility as he needs to focus on stabilizing his place as Lord Dayne.” Bran frowned, “Is it hard being a lord of a keep?”

“It’s not that bad Nephew,” Edmure said as he and Asha arrived, “plus you get the benefits that come with it.”

Asha huffed, “You’re only the acting lord of Riverrun and you haven’t even started dealing with the headaches associated with being a Lord Paramount.”

“Have you forgotten Winterfell,” Edmure sighed, “I sat in my Father’s stead and all I accomplished was keeping my sister out of the hands of the Most Devout.”

“Why them de vote want mama?” Rickon asked confused, “Papa wouldn’t let them take her.”

Edmure’s mouth mimicked the sigil of his House as Asha smirked at him, “Yes husband dearest, why would the de vote want your sister?”

“Um,” Edmure looked at the glares his sister and niece sent him smartly closed his mouth.

Catelyn looked to her youngest, “Mama did something the Faith looks down on and would want me to answer for it, but don’t worry. Papa and Mama dealt with it, so they won’t bother me about it.”

“Okay,” Rickon went back to his porridge.

(Red Keep – Several Days Later)

Ned sat reading missives, and was surprised as Lief dropped one on his desk with the sigil of House Tully, “What’s this?”

“Magnar’s daughter gave it to one of my kin to bring to you,” Lief tilted her head with a smirk like she was in on some jape, “She told them it was most important it reached you swiftly.”

Frowning Ned broke the seal. He at once recognized Catelyn’s script, ‘Ned, the youngest of your children misses you and will by the time this reaches you be accompanying your youngest daughter on her return to you. His party of guards will be accompanying him, and I would ask you to arrange a ship to see them swiftly back to the North.’

Blinking, Ned remembered the missive from Robb detailing who the members of Rickon’s escort were. Standing slowly, he looked to Lief, “His entire guard?” Lief did not respond other than smiling wide enough that her incisors showed.

Sighing he moved around his desk towards the door, “Find Leyton and tell him I need to send word to the Arbor for a ship, tell them it must be large and sturdy. The cargo will include bests that make the Golden Company’s elephants look small.” Lief nodded before dashing out the window to fulfill his command.

Making his way to the communal area of the tower, he found Ashara with Danerys, Edric, and Tommen. Brianne was standing off to the side as the princess’s guard. He frowned, “Were Loras and Ellinor not joining us for the midday meal?”

“They will be here shortly,” Ashara was helping Vayon arrange the table settings. She must have noticed something was off, “What’s the matter?”

Making his way to the head of the table he slumped into his seat, “Lief just delivered a letter from Catelyn, it seems Rickon decided to follow Arya.”

Ashara frowned, “I’m sure we can arrange a room, Bran is still with the Royal Progress, correct?”

“Yes, rooms actually are the least of my concerns,” Ned sighed, “Along with Rickon will be those who escorted him to Riverrun.”

All eyes shifted to him; he’d shared Robb’s missive about the giants accompanying Rickon. Edric cleared his throat before speaking, “Everyone who journeyed with him?”

“I’m already arranging passage on a Redwyne ship for them to take back to White Harbor,” Ned leaned on the table, “Now I just have to warn Robert that two beings are about to walk through the city gates and we will have to find a way to keep the populace from panicking.”

“Guess it will be a good practice for once my nephews and I hatch our dragons,” Daenerys grinned, “We could have the Herald from the tourney make some announcements, he was rather skilled at twisting the truth to make things more agreeable to the small folk.”

Edric nodded, “Seeing as Great Jon and his son are coming as well, we could just say as the Stark’s sigil has returned, so has the Umbers.”

“I’m not sure a raging giant breaking chains is the image we want the small folk focused on,” Ashara bit her lip, “Do giants accept the Magnar of Winter as a voice of authority?”

Ned shook his head, “No, they are not part of the pact, they agreed to help fight the Others and build the Wall. Dealing with them would be no different than negotiating with another Lord Paramount.”

“Yet two of them are protecting Lord Rickon,” Vayon stated, “They must have some reverence for House Stark.”

“The Starks are the blood of the builder,” Edric mused, “Maybe they remember the fairness he treated them with and return such.”

Ned sighed, “Perhaps, whatever the case I’ll figure it out once they arrive, thankfully they speak a variant of the Old Tongue I’m familiar with.”

(The Wall – Castle Black)

Yigritte slipped into the First Ranger’s quarter, Benjen sat propped up reading a book, “You look well for a man skewered by a four-hundred-year-old rusty dagger.”

“Funny,” Benjen set the book aside, “Maester Amon believes that dagger was only two centuries old, and probably carried by some southerner who died of frostbite before the Others even got to him.”

“There are worse ways to go,” Yigritte shucked her outer furs as she crossed to the bed and sat next to him, “You can return to your watch tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Benjen looked to the ceiling of his chamber, “I’m not going to miss this room, other than when I come back to sleep after remembering how fucking cold it is out there.” Yigrette handed him a piece of paper, “What’s this?”

Yigrette sighed, “Orders, we’re to make for Winterfell tomorrow. You, me, and the lion. Lord Commander said word came that the lion’s son is as ready as he can be to come, what with him missing an arm.”

Benjen nodded, “Why the three of us?”

“The boy is to remain in the custody of a Stark until he arrives at the Wall,” Yigrette rolled her eyes, “I could have dragged the cub here by myself, but these are orders from the kneeler’s king.” Yigrette turned so she was leaning against Benjen’s chest, “The lion asked permission to tag along, said he wanted to make sure the boy at least arrived with what parts he has left, figured he might anger one or both of us enough to make him disappear somewhere between Winterfell and Castle Black.”

Benjen chuckled, “You’re just upset Lannister is coming with us.”

(Winterfell – Lord’s Solar)

Robb watched as Joffrey read the order from King’s Landing. The boy’s jaw clenched as he looked up, “When am I being sent to the Wall?”

“My Uncle will be here in a couple weeks,” Robb sighed, “You will take your vows here, either at the sept or godswood, your choice. Then you will go with him to the Wall.” Robb glanced at the stump where Joffrey’s arm ended, “You’ll be a steward, maybe after a time they’ll send you to the Citadel to forge a few links and become a maester or find yourself a way to be useful.”

Joffrey nodded, “I’ll ask to be assigned to Maester Amon, he was kind to me during his visit.”

“Good,” Robb pushed himself out of his chair, “Winter is coming Joffrey, and sooner or later death will march on the Wall. Find ways to make yourself useful, as you did here these past moons.”

“Is that all Lord Stark,” Joffrey grimaced.

“Aye, you’re dismissed,” Robb watched the boy leave before turning to Kevan, “You were silent.”

Kevan grimaced, “It’s kinder than what Tywin intended when we woke from the visions. Even knowing what Joffrey did to your sister, his part in your father’s death.”

Robb turned to fully face Lannister, “My father lives, and my sister is betrothed to Prince Aegon. Those things you and others saw in the visions never came to pass, and that boy is not the self-entitled little shit he was before the serpent took his arm.” Robb indicated the missive that Joffrey had left on his desk, “My father would have left Joffrey to his devices here, but Robert wanted his pound of flesh. Who are we to defy the king?”

“True,” Kevan chuckled, “I am merely amazed at how recent events and your wife of this timeline have made you more mature. You are behaving like a man, not a boy playing at being one.”

Snorting Robb picked up another missive, “Seems Rickon is the one being rash this time. My little brother is dragging his entourage to the capital. Mother says he missed Father and wished to visit.”

Kevan chuckled again, “I can only imagine the people of King’s Landing reacting to a pair of Giants entering the city. I believe the city gates are big enough to accommodate them, but accessing the Red Keep’s yard might be a tight fit.”

There was a knock on the door and Margaery entered with Osha at her heel, “Robb, we have a problem.”

“Add it to the list,” he passed the missive from his mother to her, “What can I do to ease my wife’s troubles?”

Margaery rolled her eyes, “That we will discuss in our chambers this evening, but” she looked at the missive, “Well, I will have to speak with my little good brother about impulsive decision-making. I pity your father the trouble Rickon is bringing to him.” Margaery smirked, “but there is nothing we can do about that.” Margaery grimaced, “I wasn’t sure at first, I was sure it arrived last week.”

“What?” Robb frowned, “What didn’t arrive?”

Margaery grimaced, “The building materials for Winter Town, I remember seeing the delivery documents, even had them copied into my ledger.” She motioned to Osha, “Osha can confirm.”

The spear wife nodded, “I was with her when the workmen delivered the documents and while she copied them into the ledger.”

Robb’s brows knitted, “You saying the materials never arrived?”

“They arrived,” Kevan spoke up, “I oversaw their unloading personally.”

Margaery huffed, “This morning the foreman came to me saying they were short, they only have enough materials to cover a third of the refurbishments.”

“Someone has been pilfering from our storehouses?” Robb growled, “Who’d dare this?”

Through the open door, Lord Bolton came with Jory and one of Roose’s own men, “Lord Robb, if you are discussing the missing materials. Do not fret, Cassel and I uncovered the culprits.”

Robb sighed, “Please tell me it wasn’t Free Folk.”

“The ruffians tried making it look like them,” Roose snorted, “Val and I were riding in the Wolf’s Wood when one of her clansmen approached us and told us some men had come to their camp offering to sell them materials for building houses. Mance is away and Dalla is here, so they were hoping Val would negotiate for them.”

Margaery frowned, “How does this connect to the missing materials?”

“When we reached the encampment, the men trying to sell the materials panicked when they saw my house crest.” Roose sneered, “They are known to me, I’ve had trouble with them stealing from one hamlet on my lands then turning around and selling the good to a neighboring community.”

Kevan snorted, “Why haven’t you dealt with them before now?”

“While they are an irksome lot, they have never done anything malicious. Steal a few bags of grain from one village, trade it to another, then go to a third and buy more grain to then trade to the village they stole from originally. No one was ever endangered, and they made right whatever harm they might have caused.”

Robb frowned, “They never profited?”

“Nay,” Roose mused, “It was more a game to them, but this time, this time they were intentionally trying to implicate the Free Folk.”

Jory nodded, “Lord Bolton speaks true. I was leading a group following a trail left from the storehouse in Winter Town. They were not covered in any way. The way they were left made it pretty obvious they wanted to be followed.”

Osha hissed, “Why would they steal? Lord Robb has already agreed to shelter those not going to the Wall?”

“You aren’t getting any arguments from me, wife,” Jory snorted, “Plus we all were saying the same things as we neared the encampment. Got there just after Roose, the culprits were probably hoping to sell the materials quickly before we caught up.”

Robb sighed, “Where are the materials now?”

“My wife is overseeing their return to the storehouse as we speak,” Roose smirked, “As for the culprits, well Winterfell has a lack of dungeons so might I volunteer the Dreadfort?”

Robb nodded, “Fine, but keep them in one piece until I decide their punishment.”

“Of course,” Roose nodded before leaving the room with his guard on his heels.

After Robb was sure the men were out of earshot, he looked to Kevan, “I’m not the only one smelling something rotten about this?”

“While I couldn’t discount your wolf might have caught a whiff of something decayed while out hunting,” Keven smirked, “I agree with your assessment, my lord.”

Jory nodded, “Timing was a bit too perfect.”

“Thinking Jory wasn’t supposed to arrive quite that quickly,” Kevan assessed, “Roose wanted to make himself look the part of the savior on multiple fronts. Protect Val’s kin from being suspected of theft, recover the materials, and in the process help Lady Margaery from any embarrassment over supplies for Winter Town.”

“In the process gaining my goodwill,” Robb mused, “he was quick to offer the Dreadfort’s dungeons to house the men accused of this.”

Margaery frowned, “For what purpose would he go to these lengths, we have given him guest rights and extended all manner of hospitality.”

“He is testing me,” Robb frowned, “he wants to see the kind of wolf I am.”

Kevan snorted, “Wolf baiting is not a game one plays expecting a pleasant outcome. Anyone who has faced your father on the field of battle would know this.”

Robb looked at the man seriously, “You have fought with him?”

“The taking of Pyke,” Kevan nodded, “I was among the volunteers who joined him in climbing the cliffs. It was an arduous climb, several who attempted it did not make it. I was third over the wall behind your father. When I gained my feet, he was already engaged with Maron Greyjoy, the foolish boy didn’t stand a chance. I was engaged with another Iron Born but saw the conclusion of their fight. Ice split Maron down the middle just before the tower collapsed crushing his corpse.”

Robb grimaced, “I never knew Father slew one of Theon’s brothers.”

“I doubt your friend ever knew, very few actually saw the conclusion of their fight,” Kevan shook his head, “I saw your father’s expression as he picked up Maron’s axe, he regretted taking the boy’s life. Even though he was an Iron Born and a reaver at that, Maron was only a boy. Lord Stark said the boy’s death was a waste.”

“So, my choices are either let things be and pretend I do not know Lord Bolton set this whole scheme up, or I confront him and potentially humiliate him. Neither seems a particularly good choice.” Robb huffed.

Movement at the door revealed Roose had not gone as far as Robb thought, “Or there is the third option, we see this for what it was.” Roose smirked, “A test that you passed as I assured your lord father you would.”

“What?” Robb frowned in confusion, “Father put you up to this?”

“Do not forget our first conversation, my young lord,” Roose’s smirk turned into a sneer, “I am the Quite Wolf’s most faithful servant, and will do whatever he commands of me.” Roose stepped fully into the room, “He wanted to know how you would react to a situation such as this. Mostly the part of the Free Folk being accused of theft.” Roose sent Jory a look, “I unfortunately underestimated the tenacity of your master-at-arms. It was also unexpected that Val and I would be sought to deal with the negotiation of the purchase.”

Kevan frowned, “So, you had to improvise. The culprits, are they actual criminals or members of your household guard?”

“Oh, the tale I spun about the irksome near do wells was quite factual,” Roose’s chuckle in his faint voice was unnerving, “Though I did not give you the full reason I do not deal with this group. They are indeed members of my household, led by my nephew Erik Snow.”

“Snow,” Robb frowned, “You don’t have any brothers.”

“I had a sister, well a half-sister, she was herself a Snow,” Roose sighed, “She died bringing Erik into the world while I was serving your father’s will by culling the stink of the Iron Born from our world.”

Kevan chuckled, “I’m guessing it would be best not to send Lord Bolton to any dealings with our ‘friends’ on the Iron Islands.”

“Agreed,” Robb frowned, “You kept Erik in your household?”

Roose shook his head, “Erik is employed in my household but has never set foot in the Dreadfort since the day I returned from Pyke. I know my sister would be displeased, but I could not look upon the boy without feeling rage at the loss of his mother. It is another reason I have profound respect for Lord Stark, he showed a greater strength concerning Jon than I could ever muster for my own nephew.”

“If he was born during Greyjoy’s Rebellion,” Margaery frowned, “He’s no older than Arya.”

Roose sighed, “True, but avoiding his cousin Ramsay day and night meant he is mature for his age. He knew well what would befall him if he were ever caught by Ramsay. My ill-gotten son’s mother got it in her head that Erik was a threat to Ramsay becoming my heir.”

Robb frowned, “He’s the son of an illegitimate daughter of House Bolton, he has no claim.”

“Aye, but only a few know the identity of Erik’s father,” Roose sighed, “and many on my lands who don’t know have assumed by my closeness with my sister that I might have been the boy’s father.”

Margaery looked disgusted, “Who is the father?”

“No one of import, nor is the man still among the living,” Roose’s eyes narrowed, “He was a household guard who thought too highly of himself and thought I would not defend the honor of my baseboard sister. He learned the error of that thinking piece by piece.”

The sounds of rapid footsteps approached the solar preceding a young boy rushing in, “Uncle, you sent for me.”

Roose chuckled, “I did, have you returned everything to its proper place?”

“Yes uncle, we returned everything just as you said,” the boy bowed his head, “You’re not angry we messed up?”

Roose motioned the boy to his side, “You did as I commanded, plans rarely work as intended.” He patted the boy’s shoulder before directing him towards Robb, “Now, you should probably introduce yourself to Lord Robb, as it was his storehouse I had you pilfering.”

The boy gulped as he bowed his head toward Robb, “Lord Stark, I’m sorry, my friends and I were just following orders. Uncle said it would be okay, we were going to return everything I swear on the Gods of Earth and Tree.”

Robb chuckled, “Well, I can’t exactly punish you for a harmless prank, and everything has been returned.” Robb sighed, “Though, I can’t exactly let you go scot-free either, your prank set back our workmen.”

“I’m sorry my lord,” Erik grimaced.

Pausing Robb thought it over, “Boy, your uncle said you work for the household of the Dreadfort, what exactly do you do?”

“I’m a huntsman,” the boy puffed up his chest, “uncle said I’m one of the best.”

Roose chuckled, “I may have exaggerated that a bit to boost the boy’s confidence.”

Robb nodded, “To make up for the delay, you’ll spend the next moon ensuring the workmen have ample rabbit and venison for their stew.”

The boy sighed in relief, “I won’t disappoint.”

“One more thing,” Robb frowned, “Your uncle said you and your cousin Ramsay didn’t get along.”

Erik’s expression darkened, “Ramsay was no cousin of mine. He murdered Domeric, accursed is the kinslayer. Ramsay would have killed me too, but I’m smarter than he was. He’d send his hounds after me, and I would use meat from my hunts to distract them and escape.”

Robb dismissed Erik and he ran off promising he’d have a feast for the workmen by sundown. Once the boy was gone Robb looked to Kevan and Osha, “Did your visions tell either of you about that boy?”

Kevan shook his head, “Mine were focused on my kin, Tywin never made mention of him.”

“Nye,” Osha gripped her spear, “but he may not have drawn breath to now.”

All but Roose sent her confused looks, the Lord of the Dreadfort spoke up, “Your guard speaks true, when she was working her plans against Ramsay she crossed paths with Erik. It was that encounter that led me to her, she and hers got him out of a rather tight spot that I’m not sure even his craftiness would have seen him escape his cousin’s games.”

Grimacing Robb sent Lord Bolton a serious look, “So, my Lord Bolton, have I garnered a modicum of your respect?”

“You have been fair and evenhanded in this matter,” Roose smirked, “but this test was never a matter of impressing me. I can say your father will be more than proud of your handling of it.”

Robb’s jaw clenched, “Shall I expect further tests from my father?”

“Life is but a test, my lord,” Roose mused, “you equated yourself admirably and I will impress upon your father that further need of these concocted scenarios is no longer needed. Yet, be prepared as I will be keeping my ears to the pulse of the North, and when events in which you may prove yourself arise, as I’m sure they will. I will bring them to your attention.”

Once more Roose left the solar, but this time Robb had Jory ensure the man had departed. Robb focused on the only other long-term resident of Winterfell in the room, “Jory, are such tests customary?”

“Aye,” Jory stood at attention, “Your grandfather would do the same with Lord Brandon. Never saw the Old Wolf as riled up as when Dacey came back from Harrenhall and reported she had to stand at Lord Stark’s side while exchanging House Pins with Lady Dayne.”

Margaery frowned, “Why didn’t Lord Brandon, or Lady Lyana stand with him, not discounting Lady Dayne’s attendance, but should not all of Lord Stark’s siblings have been present for such an important event.”

Jory shrugged, “Never knew all the particulars, but my father and uncle mentioned a few things. Lord Ricard had tasked one of the Manderly’s with passing a duty onto Brandon. Father said that Lord Brandon let his wolf’s blood rule him and failed at the duty assigned to him. What’s worse he wounded a member of the pack, his own brother.”

Robb sighed, “Uncle Brandon claimed to have lain with Lady Dayne, it was not her but a small folk woman who shared a passing resemblance. At least that’s how Lady Dayne explained it to me. Aunt Dacey had to bear witness as Father’s only sibling who could defy Uncle Brandon.”

“Was Lord Brandon truly so petty and cruel,” Margaery balked, “why would he attack Lady Dayne’s honor, tarnish the reputation of the woman his brother had vowed to take as his wife?”

Kevan sighed, “I do not think Lord Brandon truly intended to be so callous, I remained at Harrenhall to watch the events after my brother quit the place following Jaime being named to the kingsguard. I met your uncle in the great hall during the grey hours before dawn. It was the day of departures, after the fiasco in which Prince Rhaegar crowned your Aunt Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty instead of his wife as would been proper.”

“What did you discuss?” Robb frowned.

“Several things, the crowning for one, the rumors that were swirling that he’d slept with Lady Dayne the night before.” Kevan shook his head, “Your uncle was a man of passion and a short temper. He was not a fool as many accuse. Show me a man who would not defend his sister over his own life, and I will tell you that is no man. Even the Mountain, as vile and brutish as he is known to be, could not stand his sister to come to harm. He became a kinslayer to avenge his sister’s mistreatment and murder.”

Robb noticed the way Margaery shifted at the mention of the Mountain, she’d been present in the great hall the day his father sentenced the beast in human form to the Wall. It had surprised him that such a man could actually show fear when confronted by the living symbol of House Stark. Though anyone who saw his father’s wolf would be insane not to fear her, the wolf with his aunt’s name was a force of nature.

Osha leaned on her spear, “So, what are we doing about the little wolf who forgot which way is north?”

“Oh, Rickon will just find his helpings of greens will be a bit greater and his sweets be lessened,” Margaery huffed, “Though, the adults who are with him.”

Jory cleared his throat, “I think Beth and Lancel shouldn’t be included with that group.”

“Agreed,” Kevan stated.

Margaery huffed, “Fine, Lord Great Jon, his son, and Tormund and Styr. They should know better than concede to the whims of a child.”

Robb chuckled, “What about Lord Reed? He might have taken initiative, but he’s the wisest of the bunch.”

“I saw the way Lord Reed was with Bran and Rickon here, the man has so much love for your House he couldn’t say no if it meant his life,” Margaery sighed, “Osha, I think Tormund and Styr need to remember what you promised them before they departed.”

“If you don’t mind, I might deal with Great Jon and his son myself,” Robb mused, “I kind of need my Lord Umber and his heir in one piece.”

(Crownlands – King’s Road)

Drogo watched as the little she-wolf and the little spear maiden practiced. Dacey and her sister were supervising the pair of younger warriors. From his place, he could observe their entire camp along the waterway. Sandor was giving orders to his squire and page, and the younger boy had the task of preparing meals for the entire group. Tyene and Trystane were tending to the horses, especially the poor beasts who had to drag the ridiculous wheelhouse.

Further away the little wolf was playing with the two dire wolves that were accompanying them. His guards were scattered about. Not that anyone with half a brain would attack them with the beings out of myth and legend who stood sentinel.

“Been awhile Drogo, still sniffing after Lady Dacey I see,” the Khal could only smirk as the Lord of Umber moved to stand next to him, “Got to give you Dothraki credit, persistent buggers.”

Drogo looked to Dacey, “I have a pact with our Magnar, I bring him the head of a certain man, and I have his blessing.”

“Well,” Great Jon chuckled, “the list of men who Lord Stark would make that kind of pact for is rather short. Wouldn’t happen to be a certain Greyjoy perchance?”

“The one named Euron,” Drogo confirmed, “I have sent my men to seek where his ship might find port.”

Great Jon snarled, “When you remove his head, make your way to Last Hearth, we’ll share a drink over the tale of how you make the wretch beg for his misbegotten life.”

Drogo chuckled, “People say we Dothraki are vicious.”

“I’m an Umber, we have served House Stark faithfully for generations dating back to the last Long Night. Even before we bent our knees and declared for the Magnar of Winter. That I have permitted Euron to continue breathing this long would anger my ancestors. We Umbers are the embodiment of House Stark’s rage. They are the mountain upon which the North rest, we are the avalanche that buries those who think they can master the summit.”

Drogo mused, “Then the Dothraki must become the blizzard that blocks the mountain pass.”

Snorting Great Jon indicated Lord Reed, “You could try challenging the crannogmen for that post, but I wouldn’t give you high chances of succeeding. They did turn an invading army of Andals into a cautionary tale, and historically anyone who enters their swamp with hostile intentions has never been heard from again. The little shites are unnerving, to say the least. I live in the furthest north hold; nothing is past Last Hearth other than the Wall. Yet they live in the most dangerous region of the North. Not even sure how the Starks brought them to heel.”

Later, as everyone was fed, Arya sat with Rickon curled up next to her. The little boy yawned, “Story.”

Arya frowned, “Which story?”

Rickon shrugged, “One I haven’t heard.”

Lancel chuckled, “How about one from the Rock?”

“The Rock?” Rickon shifted to look at the Lannister, “That’s where you came from right?”

Lancel nodded, “Casterly Rock, home of the Lions of Lannister, descendants of Lann the Clever.”

A look of recognition came to the boy’s face, “He helped Bran the Builder.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Lancel smirked, “As our stories go, they were thought to be brothers. They were also thought to be the sons of the Greenhand, but no one is really sure about that. What is known is they shared a deep dislike of Greenhand. Embarrassing him was a full-time job though. Not something Bran the Builder had time for, considering he was busy building all the wonders like the Hightower in Old Town, helping the Storm King build Storm’s End, and most importantly the Wall.”

Tormund snorted, “Rather important that last one.”

Beth shushed the Free Folk man as Lancel continued, “Lann knew Bran needed to focus on his work and couldn’t be distracted by the odious Greenhand and his lickspittles.” Lancel frowned, “It’s been a few years since Cousin Tyrion told me this tale, and he’s well-versed in such things with all the reading he does. If memory serves Lann learned Greenhand was planning to attack Brann by avoiding the swamps and Moat Cailan altogether. He meant to sail up the coast and land on the Stoney Shore, which at that time was empty of habitation as those who became the Iron Born had fled to the Iron Islands.”

Rickon’s eyes widened, “How’d he stop him?”

“It was quite clever actually,” Lancel mused, “He built Lannisport, well more like a fishing village which would become Lannisport.” Lancel chuckled, “Greenhand was very confused when his fleet came upon a fishing village that he’d never heard of. The people in the village had been told to speak in the dialect of the Northmen.” Lancel leaned forward, “Now, the Rock is in view of Lannisport, but the Greenhand had never seen it from that direction. The villagers informed him that it was the backside of Moat Cailan, which he’d only ever seen from the direction facing south.”

Arya snorted, “Was the Greenhand an idiot?”

“You’re a Stark and I’m a Lannister, I’m pretty sure most of our family stories paint the Greenhand as a tyrant and a fool,” Lancel assured before focusing on Rickon, “Now Greenhand was confused because he was sure they hadn’t reached the Neck yet and didn’t see the swamps. Yet the villagers assured him it was indeed Moat Cailan. To be sure he sent a squad of men to investigate, but they didn’t return.”

Lord Reed smirked, “Which was normal for the Greenhands men when they approached Moat Cailan.” A chuckle rose from the crannogmen who were standing guard around the camp.

Nodding Lancel continued, “The Greenhand wasn’t completely convinced, and he was checking his maps. Yet he couldn’t find the village on any of them. He sent another group to investigate the structure the villagers claimed was Moat Cailan, yet once more they didn’t return. This infuriated the Greenhand, so he sent a larger group to investigate, and once again they didn’t return.”

“Greenhand wasn’t a very good strategist,” Trystane remarked.

“Not like the guy had a lot of people lining up to fight him,” Lancel remarked before continuing, “For days Greenhand trying to figure out what was happening to his scout. Finally, after untold numbers of his men vanished against the unknown structure, his forces were spent, and he had to retreat. Days later Bran arrived with an army of greybeards, and Lann road out to meet him. As they greeted, Bran told him he’d heard Greenhand was besieging the Rock. Lann corrected the Builder, saying Greenhand was besieging Moat Cailan, but for some reason, his men kept ending up in the dungeons of the Rock.”

Tyene frowned from her place next to Gendry, “I believe tales like those are why so many Westerlanders and Northerners have such a poor opinion of those from the Reach.”

“Partially,” Small Jon groused, “but our hostility comes from the betrayal of the Lord of the Hightower more than anything.”

Arya looked at the Umber heir, “What was their betrayal?”

“I’ll take this one,” Dacey glowered at the Umber, “Small Jon would forget to gloss over the more gruesome aspects.” Seeing all the younger members of their group were focused on her Dacey sighed, “It stems from the Andal invasion, which wasn’t actually an invasion at first. When the first refugees from Andalos arrived in Westeros, our ancestors welcomed them. We gave them the rules, you know don’t touch our sacred groves, don’t hurt our friends the Children of the Forest, and don’t go beyond the Wall and expect anyone to come save you.”

“Again, the last one is pretty important,” Tormund remarked.

Dacey rolled her eyes, “Not that they ever got further than the Neck for a couple thousand years.”

Lord Reed nodded, “You’re welcome.”

Continuing Dacey leaned on her knees, “So, back then the Children of the Forest were everywhere, and they need not hide. You wouldn’t walk into a settlement or godswood without seeing half a dozen of them going about their business. The Andals didn’t particularly like our little friends, but they followed the rules. Because they knew if they didn’t our axe might have only been bronze, they were still sharp.” Dacey grimaced, “Then a particular zealot Septon came to our shores. He asked the other septons why the First Men still worshiped false gods, why they abided by the existence of creatures that spurned the Seven.”

“The founder of the Faith Militant,” Lancel guessed.

Dacey nodded, “He began attacking godswood and settlements. Putting to the sword anyone who would not convert and killing the Children of the Forest in mass. At the onset, our people were able to flee into our holdfasts, sheltering under the protection of the Magnars. Even with their steel swords and axes, they could not breach fortresses built by the strength of the First Men. They realized this and instead set to besieging.”

Trystane frowned, “People would have starved.”

“Many did,” Dacey grimaced, “but our people were not alone in their sheltering within the holdfasts. The Children of the Forest, honoring the pact, would sneak out in the darkness of night and return in the morning with food to share. For many moons in the south, this continued. Then the septons arrived at the Hightower. Old Town was designed to defend against invasions from the sea, not the land. The Faith Militant marched up to the gate of the Hightower and demanded its surrender.” A sigh came from Dacey, “Like all the others, the Hightower could have withstood the Andal assault. Yet the Magnar at the time doubted. Instead of holding against the invaders. He waited for the Children of the Forest who lived and sheltered to return from their nightly foraging. Once they were all accounted for, he opened the gates for the men of the Faith. They were slaughtered, as were any of the Magnar of the Hightower’s people who refused to convert.”

Arya frowned, “But that was only one holdfast.”

“Sometimes one is all it takes little wolf,” Dacey sighed, “When word spread among the Children of the Forest about what befell their kinfolk at the Hightower. They abandoned the holdfasts throughout the Reach, Westerlands, and Riverlands. Not long after those in the Stormlands and Dorne also seemed to vanish. Without the Children of the Forest, those sheltering in the holdfasts either starved or were forced to convert.”

“The Rock held out for a year,” Lancel grimaced, “but even we ended up converting to the Faith. My ancestors refused to cut down our heart tree, it still stands at the center of the Stone Garden.”

Rickon frowned, “Why didn’t we help?”

“We might be one people’s pup,” Dacey looked at him sadly, “but we were still separated by region. We cared more for the safety of our own than those who held to another Magnar. Many fled to our lands, but by the time we understood the threat, it was already too late. The best the Magnar of Winter could do was secure Moat Cailin and ready our people to throw the Andals back.”

(Vale – Blood Moon Gate)

Bran followed Robert Arryn into the keep, “We’ll be staying here tonight, Mya will have the goats and mules ready to make the final leg of our journey.”

“Why not make the rest of the journey today?” Bran looked out a window at the winding path leading to the Eyrie which was just barely visible at the peak of the mountains.

“Mountain clans,” Robin answered his cousin, “We should wait for a group of my knights to secure the pass before we make the assent.”  Robert frowned, “How long are you all planning to stay again?”

“Sansa said we’d be here a couple weeks, maybe a moon and a half,” Bran frowned, “Aegon has to visit with all your vassals, at least those of any import.”

Robin mused, “I’ll tell Lord Royce to have them gather, it would be quicker. That’ll give me time to arrange your ship to Dorne is prepared. Also, we’ll have more time to explore. Except for Cousin Harrold’s daughter, there aren’t many people my age at the Eyrie.”

Bran felt for his cousin. At King’s Landing, he had Tommen to play with, and until now Arya was still around. Robin didn’t have anyone his age to play with. As they walked around the keep, he noticed a courtyard below them, “Hey look, that’s Aegon and Sansa.” The Silver blond hair and red of his sister were at once recognizable, “Wonder what they’re doing?”

Robin snorted, “Gross grownup stuff probably. Cousin Harrold had to give me the talk after we saw a couple mountain goats during a hunt. Lord Royce answered my questions later, but he became very red while doing so.”

“Father and mother gave Arya and me the talk after we walked in on them once,” Bran grimaced, “I started going to Sansa to deal with nightmares after that, and Arya would just tough it out until Jon showed up to break his fast with us.”

This confused Robin, “Wasn’t Jon just in Rickon’s room?”

Bran grimaced, “There were Night’s Watch brothers in attendance when you arrived. Jon’s normal room was in one of the cells used to house them. When they visited, he’d come to stay with either Robb, Rickon, or me. Usually Robb, but in the last couple of years Rickon had started to hog Jon’s time to read him stories.”

Robin grinned, “Jon tells good stories.”

“It’s a gift,” the boys turned to find Jon walking towards them, “Well, my young lords what mischief are you plotting?”

Bran huffed, “We weren’t plotting,” he motioned to the view of the courtyard, “We just saw Aegon and Sansa down in the courtyard.”

“Ah, that’s where the two love birds scurried off to,” Bran and Robin saw Jon’s eyes cloud for a moment before they cleared and he smirked, “Now Ghost is chaperoning them, we can give them privacy.”

Robin blinked, “What was that?”

“Warging,” Jon sighed, “I’m not the best at it, that would be Bran here.”

“Jon has an easier time slipping in and out of Ghost,” Bran mused, “I’m just better because he can only give Ghost commands, I can almost become Summer.”

Tilting his head Robin frowned, “Can anyone learn to Warg?”

Jon shook his head, “Not sure, but it’s easier if you’ve got ancestry in it, Starks were wargs for generations, but we’re not like some. Similar to how the Targaryen bonded to dragons, Starks bonded to dire wolves. The reason we’re called the blood of the wolf.” Jon grimaced, “It’s also got its dangers, some lose themselves in the animals they warg into. For us, we can feel the line between us and our wolves. I know where I end, and Ghost begins.”

“Do all of you warg?” Robin looked at his cousin.

Bran frowned, “Not sure, I didn’t notice Rickon showing any signs of it, but he’s been half feral since he was born. I know Robb has wolf dreams, but we don’t discuss this in letters, so don’t know if it has gone further for him. Jon and I can both actively warg into our wolves, and I’ve been able to warg a cat that lurks around the Red Keep a couple times, but he shakes me off rather quickly. As for Sansa, Arya, and Edric, I think they have a sort of open connection with their wolves. I’ve seen Lady and Nymeria act without either of my sisters giving them verbal commands. Whirlwind though gives Edric these looks like he knows what he’s thinking and is waiting for the word.”

Robin frowned, “Why are you two so different than the others?”

“We got lessons,” Bran revealed, “At Winterfell, Lord Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven. He gave Jon and me some tips to help us train. He said once we mastered it, we could help our sisters when they were ready to progress, but I think they and Edric progressed in their own way.”

Below in the courtyard, Sansa sat next to Aegon on a bench, “You’ve been rather quiet.”

“Lord Stark and Cousin Robert make this political stuff look far easier than it is.” Aegon held his hand palm up and she gently placed hers with his, “The Northmen accept me because Lord Stark supports me and I’m marrying his daughter. Tyrion had that herald at the tourney cobble together a fantasy so alluring even I believed it. As for the Riverlands, well your uncle might not have them all singing my praises those who attended the wedding were receptive to my presence in part because their liege lord’s granddaughter was at my side.”

“Now we’re in the Vale where the benefits of my presence are the weakest,” Sansa guessed, “Robin is sweet, and he likes you as long I and my siblings think of you positively. That doesn’t help with his banners as he is a child.”

Aegon nodded, “This will be the first time where it will be me presenting my case to be accepted as their Crown Prince and future king. I do not need everyone to love me, but I need their support even if it is begrudgingly.”

Sansa smiled softly, “You could always have our dire wolves stand in a line and remind them your future queen is a Stark, and Winter is Coming is more than pretty words.”

A chuckle came from Aegon, “I’m not sure scaring them is the answer either, otherwise I’d have waited until we hatched the dragons. Not that your dire wolves are not terrifying in their own right, but people might question my reliance on my betrothed’s family sigil.”

Elsewhere, Ysilla Royce sat with Mya Baratheon as the girl oversaw preparations for the trip to the Eyrie in the morning, “You haven’t mentioned my betrothed since Prince Aegon gave you the documents declaring your legitimacy as a Baratheon.”

Mya grimaced, “Father sent a letter telling me he is arranging a marriage for me. He knows Lord Arryn relies on me, but as soon as he is settled, I’m to leave with Aegon on their progress. My betrothal will be with a Stormlord.”

Ysilla gapped, “I thought the time away from the Vale would do you good, not for your Father to have you sent to another kingdom permanently. Did he at least give you a hint as to who he is selling you off to?”

“Beg pardon,” Both turned to see Ser Barristan had come to examine the preparation, “His Grace is not selling Mya off,” Barristan sighed, “My great nephew’s eldest son is of age with Mya, he is unwed and Arstan has had difficulties finding an appropriate match for him.”

Mya grimaced, “Why?”

“I will not lie,” Selmy chuckled, “Beron is not what you’d probably hope for in a husband. He is skilled in martial matters. He has always been one to study history and tactics, the letters I have shared with him are rarely about little else. Most girls are off put by his eagerness to regale them on the history of the poleaxe or the similarities between ballista and crossbows.”

Ysilla glowered, “So the king thinks his daughter is an appropriate match for him?”

“It was actually Lord Renly who made the suggestion after word of the events at Winterfell became public knowledge.” Barristan shook his head, “Even discounting Mya’s origins at birth, the repercussions of that poor decision have had lasting consequences.”

Mya’s face hardened, “I understand, when you return to King’s Landing, thank Uncle Renly for doing his best.”

Barristan shook his head, “The betrothal is not yet set Mya, His Grace is merely looking at this as the best choice. My grandnephew is at least of age with you, there are men much older than you without wives in the Stormlands, and boys who are so young you’d be a spinster before they were old enough even consummate a marriage.”

Ysilla snapped, “There are options here in the Vale.”

“No,” Barristan’s eyes hardened, “There are not. The Redforts sent word to His Grace, they asked that Mya be removed from the Vale. They asked pleasantly but made it clear they’d level charges that Mya had seduced Mychel. The situation with the Faith is tense enough at the moment, we do not need further provocation.”

Mya looked shocked while Ysilla’s face began reddening in anger, “They wouldn’t, even Mychel admitted he was the one who instigated things at Winterfell.”

“House Redfort is embarrassed,” Barristan explained, “They are trying to save face, and obviously did not know Robert was going to legitimize Mya when they sent that message. To the Faith, it wouldn’t matter. In their eyes men are not at fault when it comes to these things, it is always the fault of the women involved. The worst they receive is flogging and a warning to not allow themselves to be seduced again. Women get humiliated, shamed, beaten, and then brutally executed. None of which is condoned by the actual scriptures of the Faith mind you.”

Ysilla noticed Mya begin to hug herself and could see the fear starting to show in the other girl’s eyes. She quickly gripped her shoulders to ground her, “My father would never condone them doing that Mya, he’d raze the septs and send the Septons to the gods if they even tried.”

(Sunset Sea – Somewhere between Iron Islands and Lannisport)

Victarion eyed the woman serving him and Theon their evening meal, “If she’s as good in the bed as she is at the cookstove Theon, you’re luckier than most of our ill-begotten people.” He noticed his nephew look at him quizzically, “Most men don’t think to make salt wives out of women who have actual talents for anything more than fucking and squirting out more reavers.”

Theon smirked, “Then I’m lucky, she’s good at both and has other talents.”

“Well, she was a thrall so I doubt reading letters or charts is included in that,” Victarion leaned back, “We’ll be in Lannisport in a few days, I’ll deal with the Lannister cunts, want you to take some of the boys and start perusing the local brothels. Don’t buy a woman for yourself but pay for the lads.”

Theon nodded, “Want me to take the ones who are smart enough to remember to ask questions and not just getting their jollies?”

“Take a mix, you’ll have to treat the whole crew before we cast off,” Victarion mused, “It’s a way to impress them, plus most of them have too many rocks in their heads to remember to ask any damn questions while plowing a whore.”

Theon motioned to his salt wife, “What about her?”

“Take her with you, rent a room. It’s not uncommon for us to take salt wives ashore to enjoy the luxuries of an actual bed and a bath.” Victarion frowned, “Here,” he tossed an iron key on the table, “Remove her thrall collar tonight, the scars won’t fade but most Greenlanders won’t notice them at first glance, and the lack of collar would make them know she’d been freed.”

Theon frowned at the key, “Why didn’t Father give me one of these when I told him I was making her a salt wife?”

“Balon doesn’t see a difference between thralls and salt wives,” Victarion huffed, “Hell, he put thrall collars with our house sigil on any woman he claimed when we were younger. Before he got your mom as a rock wife, though, I think the only reason he didn’t put a collar on her was old Rodrik would have put the collar on him and chained it to stone before kicking him overboard and straight to the Drowned God.”

Hurried knocking at the hatch drew their attention. Victarion grumbled, “Better be good, enter.”

One of the crew stumbled in, “Ship on our stern, looks like one of ours but is flying Essosi flags.”

“Old Ghis?” Theon quired the crewman.

The reaver nodded, “Yeah, the harpy of Old Ghis.”

“So,” Victarion chuckled, “Thinking what I’m thinking nephew?”

Theon sneered, “Draw him in, then hurl a couple barrels of pitch at him followed by a couple dozen burning arrows.”

A deeper chuckle came from the older Greyjoy, “Well, I was going to say let him get close enough then ambush him, but if you want to barbecue my dear brother. Who am I to disappoint my nephew.” Victarion looked to the crewman, “You heard my nephew, get the catapult ready.”

Chapter Text

(Sunset Sea)

The sun hung low on the horizon; the spray of seawater made the air taste of salt. Theon knelt at the railing at the stern of the longship as the men finished preparing the catapults. Two of the three equipped onto Victarion’s ship had been rotated to face the rear. Only the one on the prow had been ignored; it was blocked by the mast after all. The men were loading the barrels of pitch.

“Ready for this lad?” The reaver next to him smirked, “Got two stags saying my arrow hits true before yours.”

Theon snorted, “You even got two silvers after that walloping I gave you at dice yesterday.”

“I will once my arrow makes its mark,” The reaver chuckled, “Now, you remember how to fire an arrow while standing on a ship?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Theon sneered, “You’re two sheets to the wind, you just figure out how you’re going to scratch together those silvers once my arrow turns the Silence into kindling.”

The third man assigned to ignition duty scoffed, “Will you two stow it, I don’t want to miss the captain’s orders.”

Victarion was on the lower deck with the men managing the catapults. His booming voice called out, “Let them fly boys.” The unmistakable sound of the catapults letting loose their cargo was soon followed by the sight of the barrels flying overhead. Victarion called out quickly, “Archers, let them have it, catapult crews, reload for another volley.”

Theon stood up, swinging his arrow through the nearby brazier before taking aim at the barrel soaring through the air. The man next to him fired, but his arrow sailed past both barrels, “Damn too high. Theon hurry up and fire.”

Rolling his eyes, Theon let loose his arrow, the third man’s arrow followed his. The two burning arrows seemed to dance in the air before splitting to each find their marks in the falling barrels just before they crashed into the deck of the other ship.

“Bloody hells,” the gambling archer swore, “Storm gods were guiding your arrows lads, that all that can be said.”

Theon’s eyes hardened as he saw men on the other ship running to fight the flames as others began loading crossbows and drawing bows, “Down.” He pulled the gambler down as their third also dropped. Men behind them moved forward with shields to create a protective dome. Moments later they were pelted with arrows and bolts.

Victarion called up, “You still breathing nephew?”

Theon stood taking another arrow from his quiver, “Aye uncle, not going to the Drowned God yet. Let’s hit them with another salvo.”

A boisterous laugh came from Victarion as he climbed up to the rear deck, “You’re a vicious little cunt aren’t you nephew.”

“Uncle Euron is within striking distance,” Theon snarled, “We pull his bloated corpse out of the drink and show it to Lord Stark, he’ll pay the iron price for it.”

Victarion chuckled as he put his hands on Theon’s shoulders and turned him to look at the Silence, which was already turning to catch the wind. The flames still licking at the prow of the ship, “Look nephew, he has the wind. By the time we turn to catch it he’ll be out of range. The Silence is smaller and faster than my ship. We did some good damage and he’ll have to make port somewhere to make repairs.” Victarion then pointed at the water, “Besides, look at their stern, they’re dumping oil, if we gave chase all we’d be doing is giving Euron an advantage. We’d be the ones burning.”

Theon grit his teeth before tossing his bow down, “Fuck.”

A feral smile came to Victarion’s face, “Go down to your cabin and have that salt wife of yours release that tension.” He then looked to the crew around them, “See that lads, my nephew is made of salt and iron. Anyone questions if he’s gone soft being raised on the mainland, tell them of this.”

There was a round of agreements before Theon departed to go below deck. Victarion’s eyes hardened as he looked at the retreating form of the Silence. Even if the flags were not hers, he recognized the silhouette of his thrice damned brother’s ship anywhere. He even half expected Euron to be standing at the stern glaring back at him, but even from this distance he could only make out the form of a single man holding the helm of the ship.

(The Silence)

Moments ago, the world went mad as two impacts were followed by the screams of burning men and the splashes of those foolish enough to dive into the sea to extinguish the flames hungrily feeding upon them. Euron had been near the prow but had seen the burning arrow that missed either of the two barrels Victarion had sent his way.

He’d had no illusions his brother wouldn’t recognize his ship but wasn’t expecting such a warm greeting. He’d barely made it out of the initial impact area as the second and third arrows had found their marks. The pitch though was viscous and splattered over most of the prow, and anyone unfortunate enough to be within reach. The flames spread quickly, which included him.

His men acted swiftly to pull him out of reach of the flames and began batting them away. Euron leaned on one of them, then glared at his quartermaster, “Get us the fuck out of here now.” He looked over his shoulder at the massive form of his brother’s longship, “Victarion is not known for letting wounded prey escape, dump our oil reserves before the flames get to it. It will deter him.”

The quartermaster nodded, “Understood captain.” The man looked to the crewman supporting Euron, “Get the captain to his cabin.” The crewman nodded, a rueful expression on his face.

Upon reaching the cabin Euron removed his burn clothing. He glared at the two women, pointing at the younger of the two he motioned to the shelf of his various treasures, “Bring me the red bottle, the one with the bird on fire.”

The young woman hesitated but followed the command. Once she was within reach, he grabbed her by the throat, “Guess we are fortunate I restrained myself from fucking you. You are a maiden, right?”

The woman nodded, “Yes.”

“Good,” Euron used his free hand to uncork the bottle she held, “drink it.”

She gulped, “What is it?”

“Don’t fucking ask questions, just drink it,” Euron snarled, forcing the mouth of the bottle to her own, “and don’t even think of wasting a drop or I’ll let my crew have their way with you.”

Fearfully she gulped down the contents of the bottle, gagging at the awful taste, “What was that?”

“If the apothecary in Southros is to be believed, phoenix blood,” Euron huffed, “If you weren’t a maiden you’d have died like Aerion Brightflame, burning from the inside out.” Euron gripped her wrist and taking his dagger cut her palm, then forced her to wipe her bloody hand across the burns on his legs and lower torso.

Those in the room’s eyes widened as the blood seemingly absorbed into the burnt flesh, which swiftly healed. Within moments it was as though Euron had not been burnt. He glared at the crewman, “Guess it’s your lucky day. Not like you could tell anyone about this. If she wasn’t a maiden, I’d been using you, and probably not have bothered letting you live afterward.” Still gripping her wrist, he dragged her back to the shelf. Grabbing a vial he sprinkled some powder on the cut he’d made, the bleeding stopped and the wound seemed to seal itself, “There good as new.”

She gasped, “You’re some sort of sorcerer?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Euron sneered, “I know a trick or two, but mind you most of this is rather mundane compared to the shit I’ve seen at the edges of the known world.” He looked to the door as his quartermaster entered, “What’s the damage?”

The quartermaster motioned the mute crewman to leave before speaking, “We got the fires under control. The sparks put holes in the sail. If your brother hadn’t decided to not bother giving chase, he’d probably have overtaken us. Good we deterred him with the oil.”

Euron nodded, “Well, you’re calm, so guess we aren’t joining the Drowned God yet.”

“We’re still afloat, but the prow is a wreck, we can patch it with the materials onboard, but if the storm and sea gods come after us, we’ll be going to your Drowned God real quick.” The quartermaster sighed, “We need to find somewhere to beach the ship to do repairs.”

“Find a fishing village,” Euron frowned, “They’ll have shipwrights, a smaller one that is isolated. We hit them fast and make sure no one escapes.” Euron pushed the young woman onto his bed, sending a glare at her sister that halted her protests and had her retreating to the other cot in the cabin, “Tell the crew my burns weren’t as bad as they looked and I’m recovering. I’ll make an appearance in the morning.”

The quartermaster nodded, backing out of the cabin as Euron climbed onto the bed. He closed the door but stood listening to the young woman’s struggles and cries.

(Victarion’s Ship)

Victarion entered his nephew’s cabin, smirking at the sight of his nephew laying with the Half-Dornish former thrall sleeping against his chest. Her bareback and the pile of clothing on the floor showed Theon had done as suggested. Theon was awake but hadn’t taken notice of his uncle’s entrance.

Once he did his eyes widened, “Uncle?”

Victarion motioned him to remain where he was, “Don’t wake her,” he pulled two silvers from a pouch on his belt, “Iron Born don’t cheat each other, took him calling in a couple debts, but here’s what he owed.”

“I didn’t think him serious,” Theon looked at the two silvers his uncle had set on the table, “Something else?”

Victarion nodded at Theon’s salt wife, “Treat her well nephew. I know what people think of us, we’re brutes and monsters. For most of us, that’s probably true, but they don’t know any other way. Father tried a new way, but Balon’s pride in the Old Way was always there snipping at his heels. Had one of our older half-brothers become the Lord Reaver, we would not be like this.”

Theon frowned, “You don’t want to follow the Old Way?”

“I’m for the Old Way as far as it goes to ensure our people get food in their bellies and have rooves over their heads.” Victarion shook his head, “I’ve taken salt wives before, but I never mistreated them. I didn’t force them, yeah, I probably manipulated them into my bed, but they knew being at my side was safer than being taken by Euron or your father.”

Theon looked to the woman laying against his chest, “You’re thinking about Asha.”

A quite snort came from Victarion, “You weren’t the only one who took no pleasure standing there watching as Tully took his husbandly rights on that beach. Damphair tried to convince your father it didn’t require more than him and an acolyte to ensure the deed was done. I know it was a mummer’s farce, her struggling and Tully slapping her to get her to stop. Balon is so biased he believed that little tap the trout gave her was enough to stun her into compliance.”

“Lord Tully couldn’t stomach being in the same room as her until a couple days before they left Ten Towers,” Theon sighed, “When I’m Lord of the Iron Islands, I’m going to make changes.”

Victarion nodded, “Just don’t try to make them as drastic as your grandfather did, think that was his mistake. You’ll have me and Harlaw supporting you.” They took notice of the woman stirring, “If you’re still awake, means you got energy to spend. I’ll leave you to it.”

(Vale – Eyrie)

Aegon sighed as he exited another meeting with one of the Vale Lords. He found his brother and Quentyn waiting for him, “Please tell me that was the last of them for today?”

“I could,” Jon smirked, “but Lord Stark raised me to dislike lying.”

Quentyn frowned, “Yet he lied about your origins for four and ten years.”

Jon gave the older young man a calculating look, “Which he probably wouldn’t have if King Robert had told him from the start that he knew who my parents were. I mean, if you think about it. Had Robert and Jon Arryn told Father what they suspected; he’d been much less stressed.”

“Or he’d have denied their assumptions,” Aegon supplied, “even if they came forward with their suspicions Lord Stark wouldn’t have known what their reactions to the truth would be. When I heard Selmy took you as a squire, my first thought was Robert was making you a hostage.”

“Why?” Quentyn looked confused, “He didn’t even know you were alive until we reached Winterfell.”

“He didn’t know Viserys was dead, or that Daenerys was on her way to beg Lord Stark for protection,” Aegon sighed, “Though, pretty sure my aunt could bat her eyes at Robert, and he’d have rescinded the kill orders as long as she swore off the throne. Well, before the whole Cersei and Jamie thing. Instead, it was us telling him to keep his posterior on the throne until I could at least get these people to accept me.”

Jon frowned, “Take it that meeting didn’t go so well?”

“House Ruthermount,” Aegon glowered, “They demand I annul my betrothal and pressed I take their daughter as my future queen. Where do they get off making such a demand?”

“They think you are weak in allies, and actually require their support,” They turned to see Lord Yohn Royce exiting the meeting room, “I gave them a few words of warning.” Yohn smirked, “Also reminded them your betrothed is the daughter of the current Lord Hand, and the one man in the world who can scare the Mountain Clans.”

Jon looked surprised, “Father can scare the Mountain Clans?”

“When he was growing up here, he maimed one of the leaders of the Painted Dogs,” Yohn chuckled, “I was there, he slipped on gravel, otherwise it wouldn’t have been a maiming. Lord Eddard didn’t see any difference between the Mountain Clans and the Wildlings he’d been raised to hate. Yet the Mountain Clans like most First Men heed the words of our Magnar. While unintentionally, Lord Stark spared that Painted Dog’s life, but he enacted a punishment for the insult of attacking him and those he traveled with.”

Aegon frowned, “We made peace with the Free Folk, is there a possibility to do the same with the Mountain Clans? They are as you say First Men like us.”

“I wouldn’t say they are like us,” Yohn frowned, “Even comparing them to the Free Folk is discourteous to the Free Folk. Mountain Clans are little more than bandits, they can barely be classified as people, they behave more like animals. They attack anyone who isn’t a member of their clan, even those of other Mountain Clans can be fair game.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, “Lord Royce, you had the visions, what roles did the Mountain Clans play in them?”

Yohn sighed, “Not much than getting ravaged by the Others along with the rest of the Vale. Save for the Burned Men, they took the easy way out, threw themselves on the flames rather than become wights. Before all that, a few hundred of them began working with House Lannister. Tyrion convinced some of them to serve him when he and the sellsword who saved him from getting sent through the Moon Door under false charges got ambushed on their way down the mountain. After the Battle of the Blackwater, they returned with castle forged arms and armor, and under Tywin’s direction began to harass the civilized parts of the Vale. It gave Lysa a viable excuse to not send forces to aid Robb Stark.”

Aegon frowned, “They did originate from Fist Men who refused to convert correct? Did the First Men noble houses not have some contact with them?”

“Thousands of years ago yes,” Yohn nodded, “We plotted and schemed to depose the Arryns and the other Andal lords, but as time passed, we put our plotting aside. Most of us converted to the Seven, we are only First Men in name only. We intermarried and came to understandings. To the Mountain Clans this was a betrayal. As for what I know of the clans, I am not even sure they follow the Old Gods. The Burned Men worship some fire witch that appeared after the Dance of the Dragons. Rumor, was she controlled a dragon.”

“She what?” Aegon looked shocked, “Was it ever confirmed?”

Yohn shook his head, “No, sending men into those mountains would have been a wasted effort. If they found the dragon, they’d have probably been killed before they reported back. There is also the consideration they would likely be ambushed and slain by the Mountain Clans.”

“Yet they honor their loyalty to the Magnar,” Jon frowned, “How did your ancestors make contact with them?”

(Vale of Arryn – Cave near the Eyrie)

Quentyn Martell kept his hand on his sword as there was movement at the cave entrance, “You’re sure this is wise?”

Jon sat before the fire lit in the middle of the cave, “That’s why I’m here and not Aegon.”

“Right,” Quentyn frowned, “So why’d you drag me along?”

Jon shook his head as the movement morphed into shadows, which soon connected to a group of men and women. Standing, Jon picked up a ruck sack and tossed it towards them, “Bread and salt.”

A woman with a necklace of ears picked up the sack. Opening it she took a piece of bread before taking a covered bowl from the sack and dipping the bread in the salt and taking a bite. She then dipped it again before passing the sack and bowl to the others. She then walked to Jon and handed him the break, “Bread and salt.”

Accepting the bread Jon ate it. The other Mountain Clan leaders watched him for a minute before also taking bread and salt. As Jon sat back down Quentyn whispered, “What was that about?”

“Making sure it wasn’t poisoned,” Jon explained.

The woman took a seat closest to him as the others took seats around the fire, “Surprised us, having the symbol of the Magnar of Winter enter our camps.”

“Trust me,” Jon smirked, “Had it been the Magnar of Winter’s wolf who walked into your camps. Surprise would have been the least of your feelings. My uncle’s partner birthed mine, he is not even a full year old yet.”

Another of the clan leaders swallowed hard, “Your uncle is the Magnar, the one who was raised beneath the wings of the Old Falcon?”

Jon took note of how one of the man’s legs ended at a mangled mess of bandages, “Aye, though I see him more as a father, my own wasn’t around. I am sure you wish to know why I have called you here.”

“This place has stood empty for longer than known memory,” Another clan leader scoffed, “Even we who lead know not what was discussed in this cave. Our elders have only bits of lore.”

Nodding Jon leaned forward, “This was where your ancestors and those of the First Men Houses of the Vale plotted to deposes and destroy the Andal invaders who stole your lands.”

The Mountain Clan leaders looked at each other in surprise. The Painted Dog with the mangled foot frowned, “We’d never work with those lowland scum.”

“Where do you think your hate for the lowlanders comes from,” Jon glared, “Your ancestors felt betrayed when they chose to accept the rule of the Arryn in the Eyrie and forsake the Old Gods.”

The woman with the ear necklace snarled, “They did betray us, and continue to do so. They force us to scrape by living in the mountain passes. We have no choice to raid, how else are we to feed ourselves, our people.”

“You might not see it or like it, but you have choices,” Jon spats back, “but you choose to play the part of the victim. Rationalize the torment and terror you afflict upon the people of the Vale, claiming it is your only choice. You are no better than the Wildlings or Iron Born. You wallow in your misery and instead of seeking a way out you inflict pain and suffering on others. Why? Does it make any of you actually feel better to rape and murder your way through life?”

The clan leaders were silent, each looking at their fellows unsure how to respond. The mangled footed Painted Dog huffed, “Did you summon us here to just berate us?”

“No,” Jon sighed, “The Long Night draws near.” The only sound in the cave was the crackling of the fire. Jon saw the way each of their faces paled, “The enemy is coming, the Free Folk have sought shelter on this side of the Wall. We are rallying the forces of Westeros to stand as one. Where will you be when the Watchman sounds his horn three times.”

A young man with a burnt-out left eye spoke up, “The Burned Men will be at the Wall.” He looked to the Painted Dogs, “Our kin will be with us.”

The Painted Dog leaders nodded, the one with the mangled foot spoke up, “True, but if winter is coming, where will our people who do not fight find shelter. With our fighters and hunters gone, who is going to feed them?”

Lord Yohn Royce stepped out of an alcove, “They will find food and shelter at Runestone, or any other castle held by a House with the blood of the First Men.”

The woman with the ear necklace frowned, “This be true? No trap?”

“Those who return from the Wall will find their people alive and well,” Yohn nodded, “At least in regards that I have the power to see to. I cannot prevent the gods from calling for the old and infirm.”

The woman snorted, “We know you are not able to defy the summons of the gods. As long as none of ours is slain by yours with no just cause.”

(Crownlands – Near King’s Landing)

Arya had stopped the small party just as they came into view of the city. Stepping from the wheelhouse she looked to where Rickon sat on the head of one of the giants’ mammoths, “See that red building on the hill?”

Rickon frowned, “That where Papa is?”

“Yes,” Arya smirked, “and I promise the smell isn’t as bad once we get there, but you’ll start to notice it as we get closer.” She spotted her dire wolf leading Shaggy Dog into the wheelhouse. She noticed Dacey riding up to her, “Think we’re ready to continue on.”

Dacey frowned, “The giants are one thing, but the mammoths, even the main roads in the city wouldn’t support them walking single file.”

Styr agreed from where he sat atop the wheelhouse, “True, plus they need room to graze.”

The sound of hoofbeats preceded the arrival of another party. Edric Dayne ahead of an assortment of guards, “Well, what do we have here?” He focus landed on Arya, “Little sister, what has father told you about strangers?”

“We not strangers?” Rickon pipped up as he scrambled down the mammoth’s trunk, the beast instinctively moving the long appendage to set the boy down near his sister, “We pack.”

Edric dismounted, “Aye, that we are.” Once on his feet Edric knelt and Rickon launched into him. He stood adjusting the boy’s hold, so he was clinging to his side. Edric looked to Arya, “We’ve arranged an area outside the city for the mammoths, fodder isn’t exactly easy to come by in the quantities the maesters believe they’d need. He looked to the giants, “They’re free to come and go from the city. Ser Cassel has arranged men who will escort them both ways.”

Tormund chuckled, “Giants getting an effing honor guard.”

“More likely a means to calm the populace,” Alysane sneered, “They’re as tall as most the buildings in the city.”

Great Jon looked to Edric, “Lord Stark send you just to tell us this?”

“Well, that and give time for the Herald to spread word,” Edric mused, “We thought it best not to give the news too early. Oh,” Edric looked to Arya, “The Herald is the same from the tourney, he’s spinning it that the giants are seeking Father to report the Other’s are on the march.”

Arya frowned, “But Father already knows that.”

“Yeah,” Edric agreed, “but the small folk don’t, and this is kind of a perfect opportunity. Plus, more believable that the giants who lived at the edge of the known world came to tell him, instead of the information coming from a fever inducing vision.”

Styr leaped down from the wheelhouse, “I’d believe it, and can say I came to warn of the same. My people lived at the edge of the lands of Always Winter.”

Edric nodded, “That will be helpful,” he then focused on Rickon still clinging to his side, “Well pup, time we go see Father.”

(Red Keep – Main Yard)

Ned stood stoically as the party returning from the Riverlands made its way through the portcullis from the city. A rider had come reporting the mammoths had been more than happy in their hastily made stable. A massive tent, which was multiple tents sewn together to give the massive woolly beasts shelter from the warmth of this region.

Even from here they could hear the mix of shock and fear coming from the city as the party made its way from the gate to Aegon’s Hill. Ned looked to where Robert stood, while there was no need for the king to greet Ned’s children, his friend wanted to see the giants.

Edric rode in at the head of those sent to greet the party, Great Jon and his son road next to him. Then came the wheelhouse, followed by Drogo, Tormund, and Styr bringing up the rear and guiding the extra horses. Lancel had ridden on the top of the wheelhouse next to the driver.

As the wheelhouse came to a stop Ned took notice of the two giants navigating how to enter through the portcullis. The smaller of the two simply ducked at nearly a bow, but still had to twist to the side to accommodate his width. The taller one had to squat and support himself by grabbing his fellow as he squeezed through.

The redhead Free Folk man Ned assumed was Tormund chuckled and called out in the Old Tongue, “Wun Wun, you thought the gate at East Watch was narrow.”

The giant snarled something back which made Ned smirk. Robert elbowed him, “What they say?”

Raising a brow Ned motioned to the giant, “Not exactly something for pleasant company, but had something to do with Tormund there having relations with Wun Wun’s sister.”

Robert snorted, “Well, good to know they have a sense of humor.”

Behind them Duncan was doing something he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced in his more than a century of life. He was looking upward at another being, “I’m not sure my neck has ever bent at this angle.”

At his side Brienne snorted, “Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Ned focused on the wheelhouse as Dacey and Alysane disembarked, swiftly followed by the two dire wolves who quickly joined his and Edric’s to the side of the yard away from the stables. Arya and Rickon were next, and like the wild wolves they were ran to him. He chuckled as they collied against him, “Well now, Rickon I can expect it’s been a few moons, but Arya it has only been a one.”

“We’re just happy to be back,” Arya said into his side.

Robert chuckled, “They spent time in the Riverlands, can’t say there was much fun to be had there.”

Arya remembered her lessons and releasing her father curtsied, “Your Grace.”

Next to her Rickon frowned, before looking to Robert, “Um, hi?”

A deeper chuckle came from the king, “Finally, someone who doesn’t both with the whole Your Grace rubbish.”

“He’s a child Robert,” Ned snorted. He eyes swept over the rest of the party, making notes that all by Tyene and Trystane were accounted for, “The Martells split off for their manse?”

Arya nodded, “One of Tyene’s father’s men met us at the gate with servants to take their luggage. Gendry is escorting them.”

“Good lad,” Robert nodded, “how’d your mother treat them?”

Arya frowned, “Well, Tyene was roomed with Beth in the family wing of Riverrun. Gendry was given lodging in the barracks with the other squires.” She looked to her father, “She gave Aegon a room of his own, but Jon and Bran shared. There were a lot of people there, and Riverrun is small. You could fit three of those keeps within the walls of Winterfell.”

“There’s a reason anything important happens at Harrenhall,” Tyrion stepped forward, “Ah, is that my cousin I spy.” Lancel and Beth approached, “Hmm, and what’s this you finally take notice of girls dear Lancel?”

The boy, who was already double the height of the Master of Coin rolled his eyes, “Greetings cousin, you remember Beth Cassel from Winterfell.”

“I’m not sure,” Tyrion smirked, “my nose was deep into the accounts of the realm most of our visit. Barely had time for any pleasurable activities during our stay.” He looked to Beth, “Cassel, you are the daughter of our Lord Hand’s stalwart master at arms I would take it.”

Beth nodded, but she noticed her father was not present. She looked to Lord Stark, “My Lord, where is my father?”

“Handling a matter for the crown,” Ned shook his head, “Jorah and he are rounding up a few pompous fools who believed themselves above the laws of gods and man. I will be educating them in their folly.”

Arya looked at her father curiously, but Rickon’s face became a feral grin, “Someone upset Papa.”

(Sept of Baelor)

The Sparrow watched as the Most Devout was swiftly becoming a sea of blubbering cries of mercy as Gold Cloaks and a mix of Household guards swept through their ranks. Below the arrangements of seats Jorah was reading a list of names, the birth names of the members of this august body. While members of the clergy of the Seven tended to relinquish their birth names and any family allegiance, that was more customary than actual practice.

He was probably the only one in the room who had actually given up his past and identity when he took up the calling. As a Septon he’d been trained in Old Town, but as he was not born in a notable family, he was sent forth to become a Wandering Septon. It was through his wanderings that he came to the realization that the Faith as it stood did not serve the people. He had spent a night in one of the hidden sacred groves of the Old Gods, and in that place learned more than all the years he spent reading religious scriptures in the Starry Sept at Old Town.

The dream he had was so vivid. He’d awoke in the night to the cries of a young woman. She was knelt before the ancient, weathered face of the heart tree. She begged and pleaded with her gods, though for what he knew not. She spoke in the language of the First Men, a language he’d never learned. Her cries drew him, he wished to give her support, to show her the Seven would ease her plight. Yet some force held him back, would not permit him to approach.

As he watched, a breeze seemed to encircle the young woman, yet the leaves of the trees did not rustle. Her cries ebbed to a few chocked sobs before a new sound was heard. The cries of a babe. Only now did he realize the woman was clutching a bundle to her breast, a bundle that had been far too still before the breeze.

When he awoke in the morning he found his pendant, the iconography of the seven-pointed star that symbolized the Seven who are One, was missing. He searched the grove for well over an hour, but the coin sized metal disk was gone without a trace. Just as he was thinking about how to explain its loss, he noticed something hanging from the branches of the heart tree. Tied to the same cord his metal pendant had been affixed to was one carved of the white bark of the heart tree.

As he saw the new pendant the dream returned to the forefront of his mind, and the woman’s face became clear within his memories. It was one he knew well, for it was a face he’d looked upon from his first breaths, until she took her last some years ago. It was his mother kneeling before the Old Gods begging for the life of her child, a life they had restored.

The pendant was a sign from them, he may serve the Seven, but he was theirs. It had enlightened him. The Old Gods did not demand or require worship, they loved their children and would never abandon them. Even if those children spurned them in favor of another god.

The Sparrow clutched at his weirwood pendant as Ser Cassel approached, “Well, that’s the last of them. The Master of Laws will be getting splinters from that bench trying all these cases.”

Jorah snorted, “I’d group them up in batches depending on their charges.” He focused on the Sparrow, “You okay, looking a bit out of it.”

“I stand before the husk of the Most Devout, they were supposed to be the best of us. Yet they have fallen so far,” The Sparrow bowed his head, “Father’s mercy be upon those who have fallen.”

Rodrik Cassel sighed, “Be needing more than the Father’s mercy. You be alright with the rest of them?”

“We have much to discuss. The least of which is who will ascend to the Crystal Throne and dawn that ridiculous crown.” He looked to the two men, “Not that these matters concern men who follow the Old Gods. Be thankful for the lack of a centralized religion. I do not know if your faith could suffer such corruption that has tainted mine.”

Rodrik chuckled darkly, “I could tell you a tale or two, but we haven’t the time at present.”

“Agreed,” The Sparrow saw the men out of the chamber of the Most Devout before turning back to the thirteen men and women, mostly women who’d somehow survived unblemished by the High Septon’s fall. Though it be unkind to think, he was sure each of them had just as many skeletons hidden away as those who were now being loaded into cart to be escorted to the dungeons of the Red Keep.

One of the younger septa, though she was still probably in her fifth decade of life looked to him, “So, is this how you thought to steal power from the High Septon? Have your heathen benefactor sick his attack dogs on us?”

Sighing deeply, he looked to the septa sadly, “My dear, it was not my doing. They had fallen far, and now they have garnered the reward for their deeds.”

One of the handful of septons who survived the culling snarked, “You expect us to believe that? You debase yourself by consorting with heathens who worship false gods. We should have denounced you Sparrows the moment you turned against us and the Seven.”

The Sparrow glowered at the obnoxious man, “I am a servant of the Seven, I have been since the day I said my vows and cast off my birth name. In my time wandering the lands of Westeros, I have seen the works of the Old Gods. I am not foolish enough to discount the powers that once ruled unchallenged. Those powers return, and it is better to live beside them than challenge them when their fury is at its greatest. The Magnar of Winter stands at the side of the Iron Throne, his words are a warning. Winter is Coming. There is another saying in the North, the North Remembers. Six thousand years ago the Andals were welcomed upon these shores as refugees. A century later we of the Faith paid that kindness back with steel and fire.” The remaining members of the Most Devout looked uncomfortable as he continued, “During the Andal Invasion, we paid in blood at the Neck for our sins of hubris, greed, and pride. Two centuries ago, Cregan Stark collected for our sins of cowardice and self-interest. Today, Lord Stark reminds us we are not above the laws of man or gods.”

An elderly septon, who looked old enough to have lived during the First Blackfyre Rebellion shakily stood, “We must restore our numbers so we might name a new High Septon.”

The young septa looked to the old man, “I would suggest we do better at vetting those we raise up to the vacant seats.”

“We will take your advisement into consideration,” Another Septon that the Sparrow knew was born from a noble family scoffed, “Though the twenty-eight septas seemed to lose fewer members than us Septons, I suggest we revoke those seats and fill them with brothers of good character.”

This suggestion started an uproar and an argument between the two groups. The Sparrow rubbed his brow, wondering if it was too late to request denouncement and seek service in Lord Stark’s household.

(Tower of the Hand)

With the excitement of the day at an end, Lord Eddard Stark made his nightly rounds of the tower. Brienne had retired for the evening and Ser Mandon Moore stood at the princess’s door. The knight giving him a nod as he walked towards him, “All quiet here Lord Hand. Princess has some company Lady Arya and Beth, they were chatting about the wedding at Riverrun, but it got quite a bit ago. Looked in and they’d fallen asleep.”

Ned chuckled lowly, “If Dacey is still awake, I’ll have her come move the girls to their rooms.”

Ser Moore shook his head, “Easier to guard if they’re all here. Ser Duncan have my balls in a vice if anything happens under my watch. Got that little shit Lancel rooming with Tommen, saw the look he had towards the Cassel girl. Now that I think about it, same look Jaime had whenever he been speaking with his sister.”

“As you were then,” Ned shook his head, “Though, if I’m not mistaken Beth and Lancel will be betrothed before long.”

Mandon nodded, “That be fine, but nothing happening under my watch before they exchange vows. Between Trant getting done in by a viper, and Blount getting fed to a tree. Not a good year to make mistakes as a kingsguard.”

Ned continued on hearing lowered voices from Edric’s chamber. Opening the door, he saw his older son reading a story to Rickon from an old tome. The heat cracked leather of the binding showed it to be one of Edric’s books he’d brought from Starfall. Stepping into the room he gave them a look, “Should you not both be asleep?”

“Rickon wanted to know what Starfall is like,” Edric raised the tome so Ned could see the writing on the binding, “Some of my family’s old tales. Mother took it with her when she left for Essos.”

Sighing Ned turned to the door, “One more story than douse the lanterns, we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Edric chuckled, “Father, we always have busy days.”

“Winter is coming Edric,” Ned exited the room closing the door behind him. Walking further down the hall he came upon Lancel getting a cup from a servant, “Trouble?”

Lancel shook his head, “I called for some warm spiced milk,” he motioned to the door to the room he was sharing with his cousin, “Tommen has always had night terrors, having a git like Joffrey as an older brother would give anyone the night sweats.”

“I see,” Ned looked to the door, “He’d been doing rather well. Sansa was the one who usually saw to him. Daenerys had been filling that role while she has been away.”

“I am sure they will eventually pass my lord,” Lancel confided, “I know mine passed a couple moons after you all left Winterfell.”

Ned sighed, “I’m sorry, no matter what was going on between Robert and Cersei, he should not have taken his anger out on you and your cousin.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark, but you have no need to apologize,” Lancel’s expression tightened, “Uncle Tywin told me Tyrek has been able to avoid further unpleasantness from His Grace.”

“For the most part I believe Robert leaves him to his own devices,” Ned snorted, “he has been filling in as the cupbearer at the Small Council meetings with Aegon away.” He motioned to the cup, “You should get that to Tommen before it cools, we will speak more tomorrow.” Lancel nodded before entering the chamber and closing the door.

Returning to the communal area of the tower he found Dacey and Khal Drogo speaking, “What’s this?”

Dacey handed him a letter, “The maester just delivered this. It’s from Theon, sent by a raven from Lannisport.”

“What’s he doing there,” Ned frowned.

His sister gave a snort, “Out reaving with his uncle.” Her expression darkened, “It appears while they were heading for Lannisport they had an unwelcome visitor. They gave him a warm reception, but the slimy kraken gave them the slip before they could end him.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed, “He’s rather good at doing that. Do they have any idea where he made port?”

“They got him good, they’re sure he’d have to make port somewhere along the coast of the Westerlands, maybe the northern area of the Reach.” Dacey hugged herself, “Theon said they’d spoken with the Lannisport Lannisters and they’re sending out scouts, but with their preparations for supporting the Wall they are stretched thin.”

Nodding Ned looked to the window, “Did they send word to the Reach?”

“Yes, but obviously they wouldn’t have heard back yet,” Dacey glowered, “Drogo has volunteered to take his men to scour the coastline.”

Ned looked at the Dothraki, “You told her about our deal then?”

Khal Drogo snickered, “I’m not foolish enough to have made the pact without having spoken to her of it first. That mace of hers is rather effective in her hand.”

“Then set off at first light,” Ned’s expression hardened, “Bring Euron in dead or alive, I don’t care what happens to his crew. Anyone who serves that monster willingly is already damned to the cold void.”

Drogo nodded before leaving to ready his men for the ride. He was gone only a few moments before Dacey leaned into Ned, “I was worried you’d be like Cregan was with Sarah, never see anyone worthy of me.”

Ned chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Dacey’s shoulders, “I can understand Cregan’s feelings. I do not believe anyone is worthy of you, Alysane didn’t give me a choice, but she’s always been more bear than wolf. Drogo though knows you are not some meek woman to be placed on a pedestal, nor are you a broodmare. He will treat you as you deserve or the Dothraki will learn the reason one does not bait a wolf.”

“I’m pretty sure Drogo understands that” Dacey smirked, “You have made him the instrument of enacting that wrath upon another who dared bait you. The Quiet Wolf doesn’t have to dirty his paws when he has terrified pack members who scurry to enact his savage will.”

A snort came from Ned, “Go to bed, I’m sure you’ll be busy following Arya and Rickon as she shows him all the secrets she’s discovered of this horrid castle.”

“Good night, dear brother,” Dacey called as they parted ways towards their chambers.

Ned made his way to his chambers. Other than Lyanna laying on the hearth already dozing, more continent with the presence of two of her pups within the tower, he was alone. It had been months since he and Catelyn had separated, but he hadn’t felt right about moving on. He knew from the encounter in Winterfell’s godswood that Ashara would wait for him. Yet it was not him alone in this decision.

If Sansa’s hand in that encounter is any indication, his eldest daughter is not against the match. Arya and Bran have both shown positive feelings towards Lady Dayne, acknowledging her as the mother of their brother Edric. He wasn’t sure if that would change if her position changed to include stepmother to them. It was his eldest and youngest he was truly worried about. Rickon was young, and he wasn’t sure the boy had a true grasp on the situation. Robb though was a harder read, the boy reminded him of Brandon more often than not.

The sound of bare feet in the rafters drew his attention. Looking up, he spotted one of the Children of the Forest clambering down to where they could leap to a bookcase to make the final descent. This one not being Lief he spoke in the Old Tongue, “What have you brought me little one?”

“Magnar,” the Child of the Forest dug into a pouch at their waist, “Letters from your son and one from your banner of the Dreadfort.”

Accepting the letters he motioned to a cabinet, “Help yourself little one.”

The creature gave a gleeful smirk before running to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of wine and a cup. They swiftly poured themselves before looking to him quizzically, “Magnar?”

He gave a nod, and the creature grabbed a second cup and swiftly served him. As he sat at the small table he cracked the seal on the missive from Robb, ‘Father, I am sure Roose will send a missive about me succeeding at your little test. At first, I was upset, but Jory explained to me the purpose of such things. He told me that Uncle Brandon failed when grandfather tested his character. I assure you father; I will not harm my pack as he did. I have written to mother to inform her that I am adding my voice to that of my sister, it is time House Stark and House Dayne uphold the vows broken by the ambitions of my grandfather. I hope next we see each other I will be able to welcome my stepmother to Winterfell.’

Setting the missive down Ned frowned, “Well, that answers that.” He reached for the second missive he’d lain on the table. Breaking the seal he recognized the handwriting of Roose, ‘Magnar of Winter, my lord, your son shows great growth in his handling of the North in your stead. He has endeared the Free Folk to him, proven himself time and again their protector. You did well in binding the Reach girl to your son, she is as fierce as your sigil and as sharp as the thorns upon her father’s. If any believe she will wilt at the first winter snow, they will find themselves sadly mistaken. I have shown my gratitude to your son for permitting the use of your family’s godswood I have taken the Free Folk woman Val as my wife; with the hopes she bares me a son. I must also applaud your son in his handling of the test you set me to administer, I feel another such test will not be necessary, but will keep my ears out for further matters which may permit him to prove his worth as your heir.’

Ned chuckled as he tossed the missive back on the table and took a drink of wine, “Well Roose, let’s see if your loyalty faulters this time.”

The Child of the Forest tilted its head, “Why have the Red One test the Young Wolf?”

“Because Roose is of the Old Way,” Ned took a sip before continuing, “He does not bend the knee willingly. I took more than a pound of flesh from him to secure his loyalty. Robb is not me, he is young, hot blooded.”

“Wolf blood,” The Child of the Forest remarked.

A nod came from Ned as he continued, “Aye, I can temper mine, but Robb is too much like his Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna. Their wolf blood ruled them. Beyond the wolf blood, Robb is young, and his mother had filled his head with Southron ideas. Things like loyalty based on heredity. Things that don’t exist in the North. True the eldest tends to inherit, but normally they have had time to prove themselves over their younger siblings to be worthy of that inheritance.”

The Child of the Forest gripped their cup tightly, looking at the red wine within, “Magnar, I have another letter? Not sure if I should hand it to you though? Lief said no, but Lief only say that because Lief knows the words of the men who came with steel and flames. I know the one on the Isle is not supposed to commune with any beside her daughter and the sister of her father. She said it important you hear these words.”

Ned frowned, “Cersei is attempting to contact me?”

The creature nodded, “She asked one of us to pass it on, she knew it was not supposed to be permitted, but the others cannot send words of their own. Even if they were to write a missive their words would not pass beyond the shores of the Isle, that is the price they pay for the gods gifting them life.”

“What others?” Ned frowned as he remembered Leyton mentioning Duncan had not been the only one on the Isle of Face, “Do you mean others like Ser Duncan?”

Nodding the creature lowered its voice, “The two kinslayers in one and the self-righteous queen. They are bound to the Isle, bound to their bones, bound to their regrets.”

Ned held out his hand, “Give me the missive.” He knew the Child of the Forest couldn’t disobey a direct order from a Magnar, and Lief was not an actual leader, just self-important due to her ability to speak Common. The missive swiftly slipped into his hand, and he cracked the seal, ‘Lord Stark, I hope this reaches you. Though I am told I have been on the Isle for weeks, it does not feel as such. My only means of truly cataloging the passage of time is the length it takes for my letters to Myrcella to be replied to. I write to you not for my own benefit, but as the only one within this place who can pass words beyond the shore. Even the guards at the round fort would think me having gone mad. Upon reaching the Hall of the Greenmen, I was greeted by two improbabilities. How either exists as they do is beyond my comprehension, though I speak with them often. Queen Rhaenys, wife of Aegon the First and while it is the body of Prince Daemon Targaryen, his soul does not reside alone as his nephew Aemond Targaryen is also bound within. I know this sounds like I have lost my sanity, but this is the truth. From what I can tell, Aemond and Daemon deserve their fate. I feel though that Queen Rhaenys has received an unjust fate. She tells me her presence here is the result of a curse by your ancestor Torrhen Stark. A curse instigated in her ignorance which resulted in the death of Torrhen’s daughter at the hands of the Faith.’

Glancing over the last bit of the letter which was mostly a common curtesy ending wishing him and his well. Ned looked to the Child of the Forest, “Broken things.”

The creature nodded its head as though it knew the content of the letter, “Broken things.”

Chapter Text

(Riverlands – Isle of Faces)

Cersei exited the empty Great Hall of the Greenmen, not that anyone other than the two improbabilities even acknowledged her existence. The Greenmen were a peculiar lot, always seemingly in a trance. Unlike Rhaenys or Daemon, they were quite mortal. In the few weeks she’d been here two had passed into the Green Dream, their bodies becoming one with the heart trees they rested upon. Though they died, the number never seemed to change, as two initiates appeared to fill the empty positions of those who passed.

Walking the worn path to the glade where the Greenmen spent most of their days she found Daemon sitting next to what remained of Lucerys Velaryon. While the body drew breath, the clouded eyes showed his mind was immersed in the Green Dream. The rest of the body was a withered husk, what little remained with both legs and one arm missing. Luce, as both Aemond and Daemon would call the husk, should not be alive. Rhaenys revealed a Child of the Forest observed the battle, which could not truly be called as such, and retrieved Lucerys.

Cersei approached the man next to the husk cautiously, “Ser.” The cold emotionless expression turned upon her revealed that Aemond was in control of the body, “Still no change?”

“No,” Aemond turned back to the husk, “I oft wonder what he dreams. We are barred from the Green Dream, too close to the land of the dead from which we are also exiled.”

Cersei looked to the assorted Greenmen who sat ignorant of their conversation, “Can you not ask one of them or one of the Children of the Forest?”

“I’m half Hightower, they will not speak with me,” Aemond frowned, “Daemon they would speak with, but he avoids them. As for the Greenmen, our voices are the buzz of insects against the hurricane of sights, sounds, and experiences they drown in. Even the little initiates pay us little mind.”

Cersei looked at Luce’s withered form, his hair had gone white long ago, his cheeks were sunken to the point the bones of his face were in danger of rupturing from the skin, and his remaining hand was naught but skin and bones, “Why would they do this to him?”

“It was not them,” Aemond whispered, “I lost control of Vhagar, only Visenya could be considered to have truly mastered that best. I did not realize my folly; I did not heed the warning of my elders. Dragons are best as a deterrent to war and should never be used to fight one another.”

“But why this,” Cersei indicated Luce’s state, “Why not give him peace of death?”

Aemond turned his expressionless face upon her again, “There is no peace in death. It is but a waystation in the unending cycle of life. You die only to be born again. A king dies, he may be reborn as a butcher’s son, a beggar dies and is reborn as a prince whose head is cut off by a ratcatcher. There is no rhyme or reason, no rationale. The gods do not plan these things, it is men who do.”

The man before her seemed to shift as the persona in charge changed, it was unnerving to see how easily Daemon and Aemond swapped control of their shared vessel, “Well enough of his moping about.” Daemon stood up, “Mind you, not like I have much to do either.”

Cersei frowned, “He spoke of a prince and a ratcatcher, he was speaking of his nephew Prince Jaehaerys.”

“I know,” Daemon tapped his head, “Might not be in control, but I am still aware. Also, feel everything he does to our body, so prefer not letting him ruminate on that bit of family unpleasantness.”

“You hired those men to slaughter a child, your own nephew.” Cersei scoffed.

Daemon motioned to the glade around them, “One of several misdeeds that got me dumped in this gloomy place. Haven’t had a good drink in what,” He looked at her, “Two centuries?”

“About that,” Cersei frowned, “You ever tried to free yourself?”

A snort came from Daemon, “You can bet your golden lion knickers I did. Go past the radius of the roots of the oldest trees and I get dragged back to the hall by some invisible force.” Daemon looked at her, “So, any other inane questions?”

Cersei rolled her eyes, “It is hard to believe you and Rhaegar share blood.”

“Well, blood doesn’t mean much in the end,” Daemon mused, “It only binds us to one another, a continuation of our line. It is not only we Targaryen that the gods flip coins over. Greatness and obscurity, benevolence or tyrants. These are mere whims of the gods. Have you not seen such in your own children.”

There was no way for Cersei to answer that. She knew what her children were. Myrcella and Tommen were young, but both were kindhearted. They took more after Jaime than her in that regard. Joffrey had taken after her, he allowed his wants and desires to overrule his common sense. She had always thought herself untouchable, but here she was now, exiled to this tiny island with only creatures of myth and people who should been long dead to keep her company.

She could only hope Joffrey would find his way before he suffered more than he already had.

(Winterfell)

Margaery sat next to the pool before the heart tree, the sun was high above though barely visible through the clouds. Maege Mormont sat with her, brush in hand as she drew runes upon the expanding bump in her abdomen, “Did Lady Catelyn do this ritual?”

Maege huffed, “I was told she was hesitant, but Lady Hornwood and Lady Blackwood were in Riverrun during Robert’s Rebellion. They convinced her to do so and said it would please Lord Eddard if she showed an interest in our culture. Lady Karstark was here when she carried Lady Sansa and Bran. I was here to help her with Arya. Sansa herself administered the rite when Rickon came along.”

Nearby Septa Mordane sat observing, “It is not something I’m opposed to. Praying for the health and well-being of your child and safe delivery. A woman needs all the help she can get in the birthing bed.”

Lady Mormont scoffed, “That something you be keenly aware of Septa?”

“I may not have first-hand experience, but I have attended as many births as you have,” Mordane bit back. Her eyes narrowed, “I don’t remember seeing that rune before.”

Maege nodded, “It means shield, figure it won’t hurt to ask the gods to shield this little one from the Others.”

Nearby Val was drawing similar runes on her sister’s swollen belly, “Let us pray we have driven the vile demons back before either these little ones draw their first breaths.”

Dalla mused, “Mayhap Lady Stark’s pup, but mine will come much sooner.”

“At least he will open his eyes within a warm place with sturdy walls to shelter against those fiends,” Margaery stated, “Has Osha already done the rite?”

Maege nodded, “Not common, but a wife and husband can choose to do the rite themselves. Osha wasn’t given the opportunity with her first child, her first husband was a brute from what I’ve heard, saw her as little more than a broodmare.”

“Common among the Free Folk,” Val mused, “Jory is an attentive husband, beyond the Wall many women would be jealous.”

Dalla smirked, “He’d have many wives if Osha allowed it.”

Margaery’s eyes widened, “The Free Folk practice polygamy?”

“Remember Lady Stark,” Maege spoke sternly, “First Men's concept of marriage differs greatly from the concepts brought by the Andals. In a First Men household, there would be what translates to first or main wife. Beyond that, based on a man’s station he could have multiple wives.”

“It works both ways,” Val continued, “If permitted by their first husband, other than the first wife could take second or third husbands.”

Margaery frowned, “Only the first wife had to remain faithful?”

“Well, she’d usually be too busy raising her husband’s children to think about another man,” Dalla frowned, “The first wife must rear all of her husband’s children.”

Maege sighed, “This custom is very much the basis of the Iron Born having a rock wife and salt wife. They have twisted it to nearly being unrecognizable, but the practices are still reflections though their salt wives are not permitted to sleep with other men.”

Margaery’s eyes held mischief, “I’ll have to remind Robb he doesn’t have my permission to take a second wife.”

In the great hall, Robb sat listening to petitioners. His little council of advisors had grown with Lord Karstark having arrived along with Maege. Though Lady Mormont was not one to stand at his shoulder whispering in his ear. She was motherly, meeting him in his solar and listening to him before giving him advice that was both sound and reasonable.

Currently, a group of farmers and a group of Free Folk stood before him, a group of guardsmen standing between them to keep the peace. The Farmers claimed the Free Folk had stolen and slaughtered four heads of cattle and wanted recompense for their losses. The Free Folk claim they bartered for the cattle and paid the promised amount before butchering the weakest of the livestock.

Robb felt sorry for the guards who’d had to drag the two groups to Winterfell to have justice done. Sighing he motioned to the leader of the guards, “Since your lot doesn’t have much concern in this matter, tell me what you know.”

“Aye, my lord,” the captain saluted, “True this lot bartered for them cattle. My men witnessed the exchange. Said the cattle were little more than skin and bones, ribs and spine visible. They bartered for six heads, still got two at their camp, saw them before we came to Winterfell, fattened up nicely, but still looked unwell. Wouldn’t want to feed the milk or meat from those beasts to my own kinfolk.”

“Really,” Robb looked to the farmers, “How much did they give you for those cattle?”

“A few measly furs and some hard roots that were barely edible,” the leader of the farmers complained.

One of the Free Folk spoke up affronted, “You were supposed to plant the root you dullard kneeler, not eat them.”

Robb pressed his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, “So this whole mess was a misunderstanding and a bit of cheating.” Focusing on the two groups Robb stood, “Okay, this is what we’re going to do.” He stepped down so he was closer to the two groups, “The Free Folk are going to help you lot tend to your farms and cattle. You lot are going to provide them with shelter and land for them to work their own crops.” Robb looked to the guardsmen, “As for you, continue to keep the peace and I’ll have a bonus waiting for you on the other side of winter.”

Hearing the dismissal in Robb’s voice the guards escorted their charges from the chamber. As Robb retook his seat, he noticed the three lords smirked, “What?”

“Well handled Lord Stark,” Kevan chuckled, “Hopefully they will learn something from each other.”

“You mean as long as they don’t kill each other first,” Robb mused, “If we have a spare healer available have them sent to check on that encampment. If the farmers indeed intentionally traded diseased cows I want to know before we have something worse happening.”

Roose nodded, “Agreed, they are not far from the Dreadfort, I’ll send a letter to my maester to have one of his assistants dispatched.”

Nodding, Robb looked to his other side, “Lord Karstark, you are rather silent.”

“Not much to say, you handled that as I very much would expect from your father.” Lord Karstark nodded, “Very well played, but you’re right to be concerned for the safety of all involved. I’ll have more men patrol the area. I’d advise you to amend our stance on the Free Folk, make it required that emissaries from the noble houses must oversee any future transactions between the Free Folk and our citizenry.”

Kevan frowned, “That is a bit of an overreach. Such a decree would require even the smallest transaction to be consented to by a local noble. We have never imposed such strict observation tactics in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“It is mere prudence,” Lord Karstark huffed, “It would be best if we know what the Free Folk are receiving in trade. Why grant them the opportunity to arm themselves? One of the few advantages we have is in the quality of our weaponry over theirs.”

Robb stood, “You forget yourself Karstark. We are not at war with the Free Folk. We are at war with something far worse. Something we need the Free Folk to help us turn the tide against.” Robb’s eyes narrowed, “Would you dare advise this to my Lord Father, your Magnar.”

Karstark swallowed, “No, my lord, I would not.”

Roose nodded, “Testing the lad yourself Rickard?”

“Right, nothing more than a test,” Karstark chuckled.

Robb didn’t buy it; the man was potentially as dangerous as Roose. With the added problem being he was as hot-blooded as any Stark, their kinship was evident in that regard. Great Jon might not like that the Free Folk were living south of the Wall, especially with what happened to his cousin. Rickard Karstark was simply ruled by his traditional values, he needed no extenuating circumstances to despise the Free Folk.

Another problem was Rickard had made no qualms over his desire for Robb to wed Alys. Robb’s father had moved swiftly in that regard. Smalljon and Alys would wed once he returned from escorting Rickon south. It wasn’t as desirable a match for the Karstarks, but it was agreeable. It was apparently also not acceptable to disagree with a betrothal arranged by your Magnar.

His concerns over Lord Karstark were put aside as the next petitioner came forward. A Free Folk man escorted by one of Winterfell’s guards, “My Lord, this man came seeking justice. His daughter was assaulted by a group of men in Winter Town.”

Bristling Robb glared at the guard, “Where is the girl?”

“Osha took her to the maester,” the guard stated, “We got the men involved. Well, the ones Jory and the boys left breathing. Our patrol came upon the scene.”

The Free Folk man grumbled, “We just came to trade, Mance said we were safe.”

“You should have been, friend,” Robb stood and reached for his sword, “Like my father, my judgments are swift and fair.”

Leading the small group to the yard, Robb was relieved this was the last petition of the day if the lack of waiting people was anything to go by. He saw Jory and a group of guards restraining another group. The prisoners wore no heraldry, and their clothes were the rough spun of small folk. Jory spotted him, “My Lord, Grin tell you what we saw.”

“Group of rapists in Winter Town,” Robb nodded, “Mikken,” he called to the blacksmith, “I need a block.” Robb looked to the group, “You were caught in the act, there is no need for me to decide on your fates. If you dishonored the girl, you lose your head. The rest of you can take the black or join the others on the block.”

One of the men spat at Robb’s feet earning a punch from Jory. Working his jaw after the punch, the man spat blood before speaking, “Wasn’t a girl, My Lord, just a Wildling bitch in need of a good plowing.”

“I think you are forgetting who you speak with,” Robb glowered, “My youth must embolden you to this level of disrespect.” Robb seeing the gathering crowd raised his voice, “I am Robb Stark, the son of your Magnar, and I speak with his voice. The Free Folk share our lands, they stand with us against the terrors in the dark. They may not swear allegiance to Winterfell, but I am their shield.” He unsheathed his sword, “and their sword. Bring him.”

The man struggled as Jory dragged him to the block Mikken had set up, “My Lord, please, I am sorry, I’ll take the black.”

Jory snarled, “You heard him filth, he said if you dishonored the girl, you lose that ugly gourd of yours. I pulled you off her, so this is where your story ends.”

The man’s final words were a mix of blubbering and a few bigotry-laden curses. Robb silenced him with a single swing. The girl’s father pointed out the two others in the remaining four men who had dishonored his daughter. The remaining two had restrained the man and made him watch what their friends were doing to his daughter.