Chapter 1

King Robert Baratheon ran his short, pudged fingers along the stone of the statue of his deceased beloved, Lady Lyanna Stark. Her brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell watched his close friend. Only Robert's breath could cut through the thin sound barrier. Eddard clutched the large black lantern in his calloused hand, watching patiently from behind. The Stark family crypt was cold, yet it did not bother the Northerner. His friend from the South shivered, despite the barricade of fat he had gain through out the past decade since the two had lingered eyes towards one another.

"She was more beautiful than that," the king announced, scowling at the stone face looming above. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" He shuddered once more, rubbing his nose. "She deserved more than darkness…"

Eddard stepped forward, gazing at his sister's grave. "She was a Stark of Winterfell," he told the king. "This is her place."

The king shook his head. "She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree," he laughed quietly, smiling, "with the sun and the clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died. She wanted to come home—to rest beside Brandon and Father." Promise me. Promise me, Ned. "I bring her flowers when I can. Lyanna was fond of flowers." The memory of Rhaegar Targaryen handing a beautiful arrangement of blue roses that day during the tourney still made his blood boil.

"I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

"You did."

"Only once."

The Targaryen's blood drained from his pale body, staining his beautifully silver colored hair. Blood swam like serpents, and the armies ceased fighting, crowding over the corpse and snatching for the jewels encrusted on his armor. Robert pulled off his Baratheon helmet, panting. He turned towards Eddard, and nodded.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," the king told the lord. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."

Eddard held his breath. "We should return, Your Grace. Your wife will be waiting."

The king scoffed. "The Others take my wife." He followed Eddard out of the cold crypt. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."

"I had not forgotten… Tell me about Jon."

Jon Arryn—the former Hand of the King, and Eddard's good brother. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him. I loved that old man."

"We both did," Eddard said. "Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?"

"Not well, in truth. I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She had taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?"

"Robert," Eddard began. "The wife has lost the husband. Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son. The boy is very young."

"Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy. Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored; the Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it," the king spat. "Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious. The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn… I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?"

Eddard cleared his throat. "I will take him as ward, if you wish. Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well."

The king smirked. "I generous offer, my friend, but too late. Lord Tywin has already given me his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him."

As the night elapsed, the debate of the Arryn family grew tiresome. Robert held his hand up to Eddard's face. "I have need of you, Ned."

"I am yours to command, Your Grace," Eddard said. "Always."

And so, the king spoke, and the lord listened. The king barked, and the lord remained strong. The lord became hand, and the praised Hand of the King. And after while, more time passed. "If Lyanna had lived, we would have brothers, bound by blood and affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Etienne shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might have once done."

"Your Grace," Eddard argued. "It pains me to say that I cannot promise my eldest to yours."

"Are you arguing with me, Ned?" The king raised his brow.

"I suppose I am. Your Grace—Robert… Etienne is barren. She had an accident with Robb years back. She will not be able to give you what you hoped to achieve with my sister."

The king turned towards the moon. "Is that so?" Eddard nodded. "And then so I extend my proposal to your Sansa. Unless she too is barren?"

"No, Your Grace. As enlightened as Cat and I are, she is soon to flower."

"Good," the king said. "I feared I would have to promise Arya. Gods know how painful that would be. She resembles Lyanna, Ned. I doubt I could watch Joffrey wed someone so beautiful."

Eddard smiled. Etienne and Sansa had little taste for Arya. They felt she would taint the family, and often giggled in dark corridors, dreading her marriage to a bastard and birthing hideous children. Arya did not have the Tully features, but she was a proud Stark, and an even prouder split image of her aunt. Eddard and Catelyn both knew that she would grow to be a beautiful woman, and hoped to break her boyish actions before the wilds claimed the girl, much like Lyanna.

"Wait," Eddard said. "Sansa is only eleven—"

"Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years. Now stand up and say yes, curse you."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace. These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife."

"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must. Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."

And just inside of the great castle, guests mingled, and already serving girls had smashed several pitchers of wine whilst defending their virtue. Etienne watched her father and the king through the largest window of her sleeping quarters. She smiled as the king pulled her father to his feet, and clasped him on the shoulder. A knock came from the eldest daughter's door, and Etienne's direwolf puppy Ana took a large, powered bounding leap off of the bed, her gray coat shining in the fire's light.

Etienne and Robb's direwolves both bore similar features, and were found huddled together, a mere foot from the rest of the wolves. Grey Wind was sheidling Ana from the others, and the bitch had not been discovered until Robb cradled Grey Wind in his arms, and pulled Ana with. Yet Grey Wind and Ana had not the same eyes, but the smoke grey fur.

The wolves were close, just as the siblings were.

"You may enter," she called, smoothing down her blue dress. The white lace rimming her neck felt like wet fire against her skin. She yearned to yank it off, but she knew better. She was a Stark. Her brother Robb gazed at her in awe, extending a clothed arm out towards his sister. She was his youth by a mere year. She grasped his arm.

"I believe Joffrey will be escorting Sansa to the feast," Robb told his sister during their departure from the room. "If I am correct, that means one of the queen's brothers will be leading you, Sister."

"I'd rather let the dwarf do it," Etienne said. "No, in all honesty, it matters not to me which of the brothers is to escort me."

"Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand," Robb said. "You may end the night with a dagger through your back." He flashed his sister a concerned look, his bright blue Tully eyes filled with said emotion.

"Robb, stop," Etienne pled. She cleared her throat. "Are you taking the princess?"

Robb nodded. "Did Mother do your hair?"

"Yes," she answered, patting the back of her bun. "Robb, do you think I am sore on the eyes?"

"Your dress is lovely—"

Etienne shook her head, and her voice cracked as she held onto Robb with more force. "My face, any other time. I hear the kitchen staff speaking of me behind closed doors. They hush about Arya and I, not that I care much for her, however. They often think aloud, or maybe they forget who they are. They say I wear the Tully hair and eyes poorly, and that it amazes them how perfect Sansa turned out. They never cease to let me remember how I will never hold my own child in my arms. I do not blame you for the accident, Brother, yet their words have become unbearable. They even call me an audacious child. But I am nothing like Arya. I—"

Robb cut her off. "Sister, you must ignore it all. Saying this with utmost respect, you are not an ugly woman. You are a Northerner. You look the part, better than some. As you age, I feel you will become what the staff proclaims that you aren't—gods know you shall be better than Sansa. You have nothing to fear."

Etienne flashed him a sad smile, and embraced her brother. "My thanks, Robb."

Guests were already seated inside of Winterfell's Great Hall. Catelyn Stark greeted her eldest children, breaking away from her conversation with the queen. And the queen followed. "Your Grace," Catelyn began. "My eldest, Robb and Etienne, proud Starks of Winterfell."

The queen showered the two with a false smile. The siblings bowed before the queen. "You look lovely, Your Grace," Robb told his elder.

"You appear to bear the appearance of a Tully swaddled in Stark colors," she snapped, and focused her sharp green Lannister eyes on Etienne. "As does your sister."

Etienne stood taller. "I believe my father has returned to escort you into the Great Hall, Your Grace."

The queen backed off, but by no means had the mere children, making her own way towards the king and the lord, rattled her. Jaime Lannister watched his sister, and Etienne swore to the old gods that their hands entwined for the slightest of seconds. Jaime caught her looking, and the Stark daughter turned away, facing her mother.

"My children, you both make me proud. You both know what we are expecting—all of Winterfell will be watching. The king and queen. I have the highest faith for you. Now, I trust you two will at least acquaint your own well-being's with your partners."

Robb took off gleefully. It was Etienne who lingered. "Mother. Which of the Lannister's shall I be appointed to?"

"Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, my daughter," Catelyn told her with a tight face. "Do not mention Lysa around him. They both had a rather… troubling past with each other."

"Understood, Mother."

Catelyn nodded, vanishing through the weave of guests. Etienne slowly approached the Kingslayer. Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand. She shivered. "Are you cold, my lady? Such a thing surprised me."

Jaime grasped her pale hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. When his lips replaced the memory of his limb, Etienne felt angst. He was faking every moment of it. She had half a mind to tell him to shove off until she remembered Robb's words; you may end the night with a dagger in your back.

She forced a smile just as unreal as his actions, while enduring feeling of the queen's eyes boring into her. "I trust your journey was not harsh, Ser Jaime."

"As well you should," he said. "Tell me, Lady Etienne. How could you possibly have come from such prepossessing parents, and yet…"

"And yet what, Kingslayer?"

"It is time," Catelyn announced. Cersei broke her gaze, and grasped Eddard's arm.

Etienne felt herself blindly entwining with Jaime's arm. He was taller than her, much taller than Robb or her half-brother Jon the bastard. Up ahead, Sansa smiled gleefully, Arya scowled, and Rickon stood alone. Bran brushed his fur cloak. "Try not to make a fool of yourself, my lady," Jaime warned.

"Try I shall," she told him. "And succession with be of utmost truth before your eyes." Jaime smirked.

Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand. You may end the night with a dagger in your back.

AN: I have been deeply contemplating whether or not I wanted to do this story. I decided to make this a mix of the books, and the show, so ages are younger like in the books, and Robin is Robert,

etc. I have it set as Game of Thrones and not ASoIaF because, well… I feel like a larger audience will be drawn to the show. This also has pinches of AU in it; so do not throw a pissy fit if something is different from the show/books. This is so awkward to write, man… I fantasize about Jaime! And it is hard to write sophisticated dialogue, whereas I'm so used to dialect writing Walking Dead.

I am going to say this now. Etienne is supposed to be civilized like Sansa because I absolutely cannot stand it when OC's are just like Arya. However, Etienne will have a lot of maturing to take on, and she will not always just be the boring barren daughter of the Starks. As for the romance, Etienne would be about fourteen right now, and Jaime in his thirties. Before you scream "RAPE" or "PERVERSION", women were married (I am not saying they are getting married, it is just a prime fact) at a young age back then. Look at Daenerys and Khal Drogo! Look at the Frey's—Walder married his daughters when they were about Sansa's age.

AND—yes, Jaime is a Ser, not a Lord.

Please review, and I hope you all give this story a chance. Constructive criticism is always welcome.