Prologue: Seeds

Kingsroad - Journey to The Wall

There were still many miles to go, and they had been walking through the winterized trees for the better part of a day, the harsh wind howling all about, whipping their faces every time they let their guard down. Taking the Black was virtually no one's first choice, but it was a right sight better than death - or in some cases, losing certain bits - and it was his choice. Life had gotten rather... complicated... and rather than face the consequences, the man had taken the coward's route out and had jumped at the chance to follow customs that were not his own. Dealing death for payment was easy enough, but when it came time to face death, it turns out that he was a disgrace to his name and not worthy of his organization... It was likely only a matter of time before they came for him...

"Say it again, one more time." Daego Maynslyr, a tatterdemalion immigrant from Essos, complete with unkempt scraggle on his pointed chin and that underfed look of a vagrant, raised his bare fist in the direction of his traveling companion, just itching to have a go with the fat son-of-a-whore. Rast was the other man's name, and the only reason they were in the same company was simply that they were traveling in the same direction heading for the same destination, although there really wasn't much of a choice for that arrogant cunt.

Rast - judging that their escort was far enough away as he relieved himself in the woods - took Daego up on the challenge, sharing his feelings on foreign scum; Daego was a small enough man, so he felt that his chances at coming out the victor were high. "You deaf? I said you were were a yellow-bellied bastard, that you should go back home where you belong - you men aren't fit to wipe the shit from my boots, and your women are only good for one thing-"

The rest of his words were drowned out by very rapid swearing and Daego shoving him with all of his might; in a match of sheer body strength, it was clear by the minimal backwards movement that Rast had the upper-hand, but only a half-wit would count Daego out so easily. "Oh, and where is it that you think I come from?" He was just about as tall as his opponent, but not nearly as meaty, and it would happen that they were both unarmed; Daego was not one to let something that trivial stand in his way, and he had it in his favor that he was quicker and more clever: weaving his head to the left as Rast aimed a one-haded punch right, the smaller of the two men caught his enemy by the twine on his wrists and made to twist it in the opposite direction, effectively breaking both of his arms. Actually, if done successfully, it would have ripped his right arm from the socket.

However, by the time that hands had been laid, the guard was finished taking his piss and had returned to pry them apart. "You fucks behave! The Lord Commander won't have you acting like this, and neither will I!" He thrust the two away from the other, deciding then and there to speed up the pace, so they'd reach the others traveling up Kingsroad that much faster. As an added slap, he made sure ALL of the future brothers were secure in their new bracelets, having words with Daego, who had previously not been cuffed and was free to walk about as he pleased. "Mind your head, boy, or I'll see that no one buys your mannered act again!"

King's Landing - The Offices of Lord Petyr Baelish

Previously, he had been pacing his office, lost in the past and battling back the memories of the maddeningly beautiful Catelyn, thinking how he envied the King for his trip to the north to see the Stark family; Eddard could prove an invaluable asset if he came to King's Landing - as if his famed honor could allow him to refuse his friend - but what of Cat? Surely she would be weary of her husband returning to her once more with another bastard? And then were the whispers of her son Brandon's fall... Had the Gods been kinder, she could have been his, and she never would have needed worry of infidelity; had the boy been his and not the offspring of that witless oaf, he might have had the sense to avoid such an accident. But alas...

"And the father?" Petyr - now seated at his desk as he spoke business with a goat farmer from a nameless hamlet just outside Casterly Rock - had shut away pointless musings as his steel mask surveyed the investment before him. This old man had come looking to marry off his niece's daughter for a nice place to retire in his old age, and to do that, he was either mad or had a secret bargaining chip. So far, the farmer had seemed rather put together despite his long years, so the younger of the two was inclined to believe that this leverage was worth listening to at the very least.

Balding and gray, the farmer shook his head. "The girl don't know him - her mother took his identity to the grave she did." He looked around the office, beady silver eyes looking for eavesdroppers before he went on in a conspiratorially low voice. "Take a good look at her though, and it dun become so hard to guess though. My niece Lirona was a right proper whore - not unlike the ones you got here - and the only babe she had got all her looks from him. Pretty little blonde thing, green eyes. Fits a certain family, if you catch my meaning."

Hmm, a blonde with green eyes, born near Casterly Rock? Those traits were indeed prominent in the Lannister line, and one particular Lannister was an infamous frequenter of brothels, but that didn't necessarily mean that this girl was related, although the chances were stacked in her favor... "Prove to me that this girl is how you describe, and we'll talk about setting you up in a nice home in the city." Petyr stood up then, signaling that this meeting was near its end. "You should know that I hate bad investments - they can be so hard to mitigate." Clasping his hands and fixing his face into a surface smile, his tone made his meaning perfectly clear. "As you can see, I'm a very busy man, and busy men don't always have the luxury of time; time to enjoy the benefits of successful partnerships; time to find appropriate ways to deal with those that try to swindle them." Always searching for pawns of value, Petyr was interested in claims of this bastard or that, and to hear that there could be a secret Lannister walking about... This girl could prove useful, and if not, well, he could always use another whore to replace the last... "Do we understand each other?"

Getting to his feet, the farmer nodded meekly. "Aye, Lord Baelish. Iylyria won't disappoint."

A good host, Petyr showed his guest to the door. "For your sake, I hope not."

En Route To Castle Black...

As night fell over the encampment - the drastic temperature drop mirrored not only by the frosted edges of the river, but also by the muted flicker of the fire that gradually came to replace the crisp northern sun - a miserable lot from further south was ushered through thick underbrush to meet with some others, among them the ranger Benjen Stark and the Imp Tyrion Lannister. Every man alive in Westeros had heard some tale or other of the Half-Man, and any well-traveled individual versed in battle and history should have heard of Benjen. At least that's what Daego thought as an admirer of House Stark - honorable people, House Stark. There were still many miles to go until they reached Castle Black, but at least with such renowned company, the dredge should be entertaining at the very least.

"Sit." Benjen spoke to the new arrivals as they were marched into the camp and sat around the fire, hands tied before them. "You'll be fed." He ordered the armed escort that had been present from the beginning of their journey to undo the binds so they could eat. "Untie 'em."

Going to obey orders, he loosened the ropes one at a time. As the men were freed, the little Lannister lowered his book to address the other boy in his company, speaking as if he knew exactly what he was talking about, a little smug, knowing smirk on his face. "Ahh, rapists." He went on as if the add-ons were deaf or daft, or perhaps not even there at all.

Can't speak for the other bastards, but at least one of them was no rapist; Daego Maynslyr despised rape more than any other act committed by man; he had watched his mother being raped to death by Dothraki, her body giving out long before they finished, her remains desecrated; his sister had not escaped the savages' cocks - but she had been lucky enough to survive long enough to flee to Braavos. Speaking with the memory as if it were still fresh, he had expected his remarks to be ignored, but that didn't dissuade him from speaking his peace. "Or fighters."

"Fighters?" The boy looked up from the flames of the fire, the light illuminating a resemblance to Benjen's grim countenance. Not a bad looking sort, the either of them. Could there have been a relation, or was it just lucky coincidence?

Daego nodded, eyes roving over to address Tyrion as well. "Aye, fighters. Not everything is black and white as it seems - Of all my crimes, taking a woman by force is not on that list."

"Then enlighten us, friend," Tyrion carefully stressed the word, implying that he wasn't completely convinced of Daego's words, "What are your crimes?" He surveyed Daego, taking great interest in the great burn mark along the side of the other man's face, marring much of the jaw-line and vanishing beneath the high collar of his jerkin. "Not fancying women? Or could it be that your biggest crime is fancying the wrong individual, and ending up here?" The blonde smirked at the way that he had clicked his tongue, almost hissing at the notion as if he were a wet feline. "Let me guess - you fell for the wrong person, and either you were spurned directly, or someone else refused to accept it, so you were burned. A runaway, perhaps?"

Falling silent, Maynslyr glared moodily at the fire, refusing to acknowledge how close or how far that assessment had been to the mark. Watching the pair of them, the pretty boy glanced specifically at the dwarf with intent brown eyes. Pleased to have the floor once more, Tyrion continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "They were given a choice no doubt: Castration or The Wall." Seeing that he had the boy's undivided attention, he returned his eyes to his book. "Most chose the knife."

Snorting, Daego interjected once more, not expecting any further acknowledgement. "Ha! If it were up to me - and thank your gods it is not! - I'd have the fuckers' cocks AND force them up to The Wall." He glared over at the two next to him. "That's right lads, I'd have them take your weapons and any chances at the temptation to repeat your crimes."

Rast, still the fat one with the beard, responded."You sound an awful lot like a woman, spouting that bullshit."

"Aye, a woman." Daego shook his head, eyes resting on the fire, lingering in the dancing depths. "Living in free cities has obviously given me a more educated viewpoint than you; although, I have to bet that a rotting stump has a more educated viewpoint than slime like you." Fatty growled, but he wasn't ready to be bound again so soon, so he didn't reply. Probably not the wisest decision making an enemy this soon in, but Daego had been through too much worry about nuisances like him.

Not the only one watching the unsettled way that the lad was wringing his hands, the blonde continued with his conversation, seemingly not aware of the exchange going on just to the side. "Not impressed by your new brothers?" The one with dark curls looked over at us. "Lovely thing about The Watch - You discard your old family and get a whole new one."

Somber beyond his years and likely wanting to talk about anything else, the boy finally spoke, stealing a glance over at Benjen as he mulled over Lannister's words. "Why do you read so much?"

Focused once more on his tome, the highborn blonde sighed. "Look at me and tell me what you see."

"Is this a trick?" Interesting, the boy didn't just barrel in with an answer - most other men would have. Tyrion seemed to think so too.

"What you see is a dwarf." He looked up, clearly never intending to finish that page. "If I had been a peasant, they might have left me out in the woods to die. Alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock - things are expected of me." He turned his eyes down at the page once more. "My father was the Hand of the King for twenty years."

"Until your brother killed that king." It was more a fact than an accusation.

More than used to hearing of that blip in history, they shared long glances back and forth, the moment not quite at ease any further. Maybe to him, it was an accusation. "Yes. Until my brother killed him. Life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king, and... my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of my house, wouldn't you agree? But how? Well, my brother has his sword, and I have my mind; and a mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone. That's why I read so much, Jon Snow." Ahh, so this was Stark's bastard! If he was so beholding, what did his father look like? Hmm, food for the slumbering mind. "And you? What's your story, bastard?"

Jon inhaled, considering what to say, or maybe he already knew. "Ask me nicely, and maybe I'll tell you, dwarf."

He laughed at the remark, but Daego had the impression that it was a shared thing, and that if any one else had said that, they would have been greeted by a taste of cold reality. "A bastard boy with nothing to inherit," he cast a secondary glance to the side, peering across us, "off to join the ancient order of The Night's Watch alongside his valiant brothers-in-arms."

"The Night's Watch protects the realms from-"

"Ah, yes, yes," Tyrion waved him off, laughing in his own subdued way, "against grumpkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet-nurse warned you about. You're a smart boy - you don't believe that nonsense." Returning once more to his book, Jon Snow gazed at us once more, looking for a moment as if he was reconsidering his resolve. The fat one glared back at him, no doubt hating the boy for being able to get women on his looks alone, not having to force himself upon them. The dwarf tossed Jon Snow his flask, "Everything's better with some wine in the belly."

This is not my first story by any means, but it is my first Game of Thrones fic, so please, tell me how you think I did. As you might have noticed, this takes place during the second episode, with some of my own additional material. Just so we're clear, this is eventually be a Jon Snow/OC fic, and possibly a Petyr/OC.

Please review!

I don't own Game of Thrones, only my OCs Daego Maynslyr (pronounced Day-go Mains-lure), and Iylyria (Ee-leer-ia).