Well... everybody seems to be trying their hands on the Game of Thrones fanfic so why should I be left behind, eh? I've watched the show and read the first two books. I'd be trying to create my own verse with elements from both. The first chapter is more along the lines of a tease if you get my meaning.
Disclaimer: The standard, all properties used down below belong to their respective owners apart from any OC I may create. And I make no money off it... you know? The usual shit.
"Talking."
"Loud Yelling."
'Thoughts.'
His is the fury
Chapter 1
Ned
Winter is coming.
The words of his house. It was almost like a mantra that he whispered to himself at this point. A mantra that was much needed to keep himself calm. It was an old habit of his, seek sanctuary in the Godswood while methodically cleaning his ancestral greatsword and whisper the words of his house to himself.
It helped compose his thoughts... there was much need to do so a lot of times. Any time he had to take a man's life... the solace of Godswood would keep him sane. It was his burden, his duty as the Lord of Winterfell. While his Lady wife and much of the south were of the seven faiths, the blood of the Starks was true in his veins. His were the Old Gods... the nameless, faceless gods of the Greenwood he shared with the vanished children of the forest.
Eddard "Ned" Stark sat beneath the great Weirwood tree at the center of the Godswood. The great tree grew near the pond where the water was cold and dark. Its bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful.
There was much to think about today. It was not long ago when he had received word that Jon Arryn was dead. The man who was his father in all but blood, the man who had stood by his and Robert's side through thick and thin had passed off a fever. Gods were merciful for that he did not suffer long... the sickness was quick, small mercy but a mercy nonetheless. For a moment his thoughts wandered off Lysa Arryn... his lady wife's sister... in turn his kin. She was married to Jon Arryn and bore his child, he could sympathize with her pain for he knew what it felt like to lose those that you held dear. He had lost much himself, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Today he could not allow himself to be distracted.
King Robert was due to arrive in Winterfell today.
His closest friend, his King was riding for Winterfell. This was a momentous occasion, aye it was. A part of his mind was happy, it had been a long time since he met his friend. It had been almost 10 years since he had last seen his friend, he was looking forward to it... but would it be the same man he once knew? Or would he have been poisoned by the throne like so many others his mind whispered traitorously?
It had not taken him long to figure out why the King would be riding for the North. His Lord Hand was dead, and he intended to name him as the next. He did not belong in the south... in the court, in that viper's nest playing among the Lannisters. His place was in Winterfell, with his family, in the honorable north. He remembered once when his brother had said, "Us Starks don't do well in the South." It had been a mere jest at his part but his words rang true. His very same brother and his father rode South and they never came back... he did not wish to ride to that very same South. It had wounded the Starks in ways that never healed, he wanted no place in the Court but he doubted Robert would listen.
The Man was King and one did not simply deny the King. Even if that King was your closest friend, such things could cause a rift that could prove disastrous for his House in the long run. He would have to tread very carefully around Robert. Could he do it? Could he leave his family behind? his children? Winterfell? North?
Times like these were when he wished he could go back to simply being the second born son. When he did not have to bear the burden of the North on his shoulders... it was a heavy burden. He wondered all that could have been had things been different, but the Gods were cruel.
Even in the solace of the Godswood, he could feel the anticipation, the nervousness and even the strange joy of King's arrival that was flowing in Winterfell. Not much happens of note in Winterfell... some people found it boring, Ned found it a sign of peace. The preparations were still underway despite the fact that the King was soon to arrive. For a moment, all thoughts fled his mind as a singular worry overtook everything else, worry for Jon. What if Robert recognized? What if Robert's rage took over? What would he do? What would happen to his family?
Once more, he shook his head, he could not think like this, there was no time for second-guessing. Jon would have to be kept far from Robert... it would hurt him, being treated as an outcast, but it needed to be done for his own safety.
"My Lord," A soft voice called to him, a small flicker of a smile made its way on his face at the sound of Catelyn, "A scout just reported that the King's party is only a few hours away." Ah, of course. Catelyn only referred to him as 'My Lord' when it had to do with the matters of Winterfell.
"I shall send the guards to gather the children," Ned sighed standing to his feet, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Come, my lady, we must head to welcome the King."
Ned found himself standing in front of the east gate with his family awaiting the arrival of the King's party. Soldiers were lined on each side awaiting the arrival as Ned stood in the center along with his family, while the rest of the household stood behind him. A pang of guilt made its way in his heart at the thought of Jon standing behind his cousins instead of side by side with them.
Ned took a moment to study his family, Cat stood ever the perfectly poised Lady of Winterfell, her face was the perfect mask of impassiveness. Robb stood by his other side, a little nervousness showing on his face at the thought of meeting the royal family but he was doing a good job at hiding his emotions.
From his peripheral vision, he could see his youngest son standing by his mother, holding to her for safety as the young did. His eldest daughter stood by her brother's side. She was visible fidgeting and nervous, wanting to make a good impression of the Royal Family and the Knights of the realm. Ned buried his thoughts of Sansa's naivety, she was still a young girl but perhaps he should have a talk with her soon. Arya meanwhile lived up to her wild reputation, she was much like her younger brother Brandon in that regard, both of them could hardly stay still for long.
Ned turned towards the sound of galloping as his guests poured through the gates. In a sea of polished gold, silver and steel rode hundreds of men, bannermen, Knights and sellswords alike. The banner of the crowned Stag flew proudly whipping back and forth in the chilly northern wind followed by the Lions much to Ned's distaste.
Ned recognized many of the riders, Ser Barristan the Bold being one such individual. The Lion of Lannister, Ser Jamie Lannister was also there with his bright golden hair flowing wildly in the wind. Beside Jamie was a tall well muscular boy, a man more than a boy with thick black hair with curls and bright ocean-blue eyes. Ned felt the breath leave his body, for a moment, Ned was reminded of days long gone, it felt as if he was back in the Vale once more. The boy was almost a mirror of what Robert had been once upon a time, with slightly smoother features than Robert's own ruggedness, a trait inherited from his mother surely. This was surely the crown prince, riding upon a war horse while wearing armor with a flowing cape, almost looked like if he was a knight rather than a Prince. The strange long curved thin sword and huge Axe over his back didn't deter that image either, on closer inspection, those were Valyrian steel weapons! Where the hell had Robert found such rare weapons for his son?! Even great houses like Stark and Lannisters only had one.
Ned's eyes flickered behind the boy to see Sandor Clegane, the Hound, vigilantly watching over everyone as if he only saw threats with that horrible charred face of his.
Ned fell to knees followed by everyone in Winterfell as the King Robert Baratheon got off his horse. Ned could feel his eyes bore into him intimidating as ever, it seemed the rumors of his... less than honorable activities were greatly exaggerated. "Ned! Ah, it is good to see that frozen face of yours," Ned felt Robert grabbing his arm and pulling him on his feet followed by a bone-crushing hug. He still had the ridiculous strength of his, Ned thought dryly. Aye, no longer did it seem as if his body was carved out of stone, Ned could feel the fat beneath his silk robes. However, he still had enough muscle and strength to crush a lesser man's head to paste if he so wished. The rumors that the King had let go after the Grejoy rebellion were indeed false as it would appear.
There were so many things Ned wanted to say, Yet Robert was Ned's king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."
"You've gotten fat!" Robert declared smugly causing Ned to raise an eyebrow before Robert let out another roar of laughter before he pulled Ned into another strong hug. "Nine years Ned! Where have you been?" Robert asked after he released his long-time friend and now smiling himself.
"Guarding the North for you, your grace," Ned answered dipping his head in respect.
"No more of this grace bullshit from you," Robert scoffed before he moved over to his lady wife, "Cat!" Robert called out affectionately as he hugged her like he had met his long lost sister before moving over to his children.
"You must be Robb," Robert stated shaking hands with Heir to Winterfell, a strange feeling of pride on his face at the fact that Robb was named after him. Then Robert turned to Sansa who put her best smile on and she blushed as Robert remarked. "My you are a pretty one."
Ned turned towards the carriage from which Cersei Lannister moved out of, the Queen was as frosty as ever followed by her two younger children. A girl and a boy, they, however, took after their mother rather than their father, unlike their elder brother. Ned heard Arya whisper excitedly, "That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother." Sansa hissed at her to shut up. Just then, Queen Cersei walked over trying to cover her bitter irritation extending her hand to him, Ned bowed and kissed her hand as protocol demanded and said.
"My Queen." Being called the Queen seemed to have uplifted her mood somewhat. Ned turned his attention away from her as she moved to greet the rest of his family to notice the crown Prince talking to his siblings before turning towards him.
Ned straightened a little as the crown prince briskly walked over to him with a bright smile on his face and bowed, "Lord Stark, thank you for having us."
"It's a pleasure, my Prince," Ned was somewhat taken back at the respectful tone from the boy who stood as tall as he did. He was expecting a loud one like his father but perhaps he needed to reevaluate his initial opinion of the prince. Following the lead of their elder brother, the younger royal siblings introduced themselves. No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."
"My love, we have been riding for months. Surely the dead can wait till we have rested." Cersei turned to her husband and looked at him imploringly. Robert seemed to wanna scoff but instead turned to her and said in a clipped tone,
"The dead are the reason why I took the damn throne in the first place, My Queen. Come, Ned!"
Ned looked at the Queen's tensing jaw before dipping his head in respect and walked off with Robert. Ned loved Robert for that, for remembering even after all these years, for not forgetting why they had shed all that blood.
They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined. Where the hell are all of your people? I've never seen such emptiness before."
"They are widely spread thin," Ned answered, "For all the land the North boasts, only a little is fertile. That is where most of my people reside." Ned looked carefully for a moment before a smile made its way on his face, "Perhaps they were too shy at the sight of the Giant King." He jested,
"Hah! Warms my heart to see you still possess a sense of humor after all these years in this damn desolate cold wasteland! How the hell does it still snow here in summer?" Robert scoffed with his own grin.
"Late summer snows are common enough," Ned answered, feeling the chill flowing down in the crypts, "I hope they did not bother you, your grace."
"The Others take your mild snows," Robert swore. "What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think. And didn't I tell you? No more of this grace nonsense from you."
"The winters are hard," Ned admitted. "But the Starks will endure. We always have, your gr- Robert." Ned listened as Robert spoke off the South, of the beauty of his seven Kingdoms. Good to know he hasn't changed that much Ned thought, perhaps his worries over Robert being drunk on power were entirely unfounded... no, it was too soon to say. They must be preparing for the feast, Ned thought idly, Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark.
It was a heavy conversation for indeed, Robert paying his respects to Lyanna had brought back a lot of unhappy memories. Memories that he wished could be left forgotten, the two men stood in solemn silence pondering over the past in their own grief. After that had passed, they talked about many things, Rhaegar Targaryen and Jon Arynn being two of them. And just like Ned had anticipated, Robert had asked him to be his Hand.
"Come south with me," the King asked, more like commanded. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we would have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Steffon and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."
"Sansa is only 13!" Ned protested.
"Old enough for a betrothal," Robert waved with a smile, "I am not asking for a damned marriage right away."
That eased Ned's worries a little, "May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife..."
"Yes, yes, Talk to Catelyn if you must," Robert shrugged, "Just don't keep me waiting too long, Ned. You know I've never been patient."
Ned nodded hesitantly before he changed the topic, "You named your son after your father," Ned commented, "He reminds me of you."
"Aye he does," Robert chuckled, "Cheeky little shit, full of life and fight just like you and I once were. You know the rumors of my declining health were true. I know what the people whispered behind my back but I never cared but the little bugger came to me one day and said, 'A warrior must be always ready, especially in the times of peace. You don't have too many wits father, don't lose your muscle or I'll take your throne for myself.'" Robert recalled fondly.
"He seems like a wise boy," Ned commented
"He is," Robert nodded in agreement, "Dragged me to the training grounds with him every day until I joined him of my free will. He is his grandfather's grandson as much as he is my son, knows how to play both me and his mother like a fiddle." Robert commented with annoyance and fondness in his voice.
Ned frowned for a moment and prayed that the boy wasn't actually like the old Lion but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I meant to ask, your son's weapons... they are Valyrian steel?"
"Aye... a War Axe, and that strange sword of his... Katana he calls it," Robert said before he continued looking at Ned's questioning gaze, "It's a long story, we'll speak more of it later. Come, I am hungry!"
Jon
There were times when Jon despised his status as a bastard. Times when he was envious of his half brother Robb Stark, oh he loved his brother, he did but sometimes, he wished he was in his position. He was not any less good than Robb was, he was just as good, maybe even better at Swordsmanship, their archery skills were comparable, both of them had been taught how to read and write, even how to lead should they ever need it. The only crime Jon had ever committed was being born from the wrong womb. It was simply due to the circumstances of his birth that he was never going to be anything more than a bastard.
His brother would one day inherit Winterfell, and according to Robb, Father was hoping to one day name Bran the Lord of now abandoned Moat Cailin. Rickon was too young but he was certain that his youngest brother would have a bright future ahead of him as well, even his sisters would one inherit their own castles when they married.
What about him? He would always just be a bastard. Nothing more, he had no place to be. There was no future for him but the Wall. Just because of him being born of the wrong womb, his future prospects were slim and bleak. He was envious of his siblings some times, angry at the world at other times. Regardless, he would not let it keep him down, the wall would be a noble calling. He would rise high there one day. Or that's what he would always tell himself.
Jon hated being a bastard sometimes... today was not one of those days.
He'd watched from the benches among the squires as the feast had progressed. Normally, he'd dine with his siblings but today Lady Stark had forbidden him, said it would offend the King to dine with a bastard. Not that he cared or wanted to be in their company.
He watched from the crowd as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell hosted The King and the Queen at the highest table. Just below them were the Royal children who sat with the children of Winterfell. Jon had to snicker to himself as he watched Robb grinning like a fool while conversing with the crown prince who seemed polite but hard pressed to appear proper. Sansa was acting like a little star struck girl gazing at the prince as if her dreams had been realized.
Jon drank to himself the entire night silently watching over the proceedings, ever silent among the shadows. A bastard no one wanted to associate with, he was always a peculiar topic among the denizens of Winterfell.
He was a bastard so they dared not treat him like they treated his siblings for the fear of Lady Stark's wrath... but he was also the Lord's son so they dared not treat him like they did other bastards for they feared the Lord's wrath even more. They did what most folk would in their situation... they just ignored him, left him to his devices. This was something that bothered him no more, after his lessons and chores, it gave him time to himself. To hone his skills, to ponder his thoughts, his own private time to spend as he would, free of burden.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as he drank to himself.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as his uncle Benjen joined him.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as he tried to convince his uncle to take him to the wall.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as he made a fool of himself.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as everyone stared at him.
Jon told himself he was not envious of his siblings as he ran out of the great hall with Ghost on his heels.
Jon told himself he should stop lying to himself as he tried to drink in his anger, to breath deep. He tried to ignore the ache in his heart, he was fortunate that his father had even taken him in. He would no sully his honor by acting like an ungrateful child... he would not cry for he lived a better life than most of his kind did.
He didn't even know his mother's name... Jon felt tears dripping down his face before he roughly and quickly wiped them away. He would never show weakness...
Jon hated his status as a bastard.
Ghost bit his ankle silently, Jon knelt beside his direwolf rubbing its head gently, "I am sorry boy, I'll get you more meat later."
"Boy," A voice called from the silent night behind him, "Is that a wolf?" Tyrion Lannister stood there peering with curiosity... the Imp as they called him was truly unlike his siblings. All that the Gods had granted the golden twins, they had denied the younger Lannister.
"A direwolf," Jon corrected staring at the dwarf, "What are you doing here?" He asked, having forgotten his anger and disappointment in favor of his growing curiosity at meeting the Imp.
"Preparing for a night with your family," Tyrion answered before staring at the direwolf pup, "Might I have a closer look at your direwolf?"
Jon merely nodded as Tyrion leaned down causing Ghost to stare at him with uncertainty.
"Seems shy," Tyrion noted as Ghost seemed to bare his fangs at him.
"Sit Ghost," Jon commanded and Ghost obeyed still watching Tyrion uncertainly, "He won't harm you."
Tyrion looked Jon in the eye before he extended his hand towards the direwolf. Ghost sniffed Tyrion's hand slowly before giving it a lick before having lost all interest. Ghost peered at Jon silently for a moment until Jon nodded, Ghost turned and ran towards his other siblings.
"I am still training him... he's young," Jon said
"Oh worry not, boy, that's a nice wolf, never knew they could be tamed." Tyrion waved his hand, "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Tyrion Lannister."
"You're the Queen's brother," Jon commented
"My greatest accomplishment." Tyrion quipped sarcastically.
"I am Jon Snow."
"You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and spoke through clicked teeth, "And you're the Imp."
"My you're feisty," Tyrion replied, "That's good, you have to stand for yourself or no one ever will. You are still a bastard though." Tyrion grinned.
"Lord Stark's my father, yes," Jon answered with a clenched jaw.
"Aye, but Lady Stark's not your mother," Tyrion replied, "Making you a bastard." Tyrion hummed taking a good look at Jon much to his growing discomfort, "Fate is funny this way, you seemed to have inherited more Ned Stark than any of your brothers."
"Let me give you some advice, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Wear it like armor, and it will never be used to hurt you."
"I'd listen to my uncle if I were you," another voice interrupted, "He certainly deals with his fair share ridicule."
"Ah, my dear nephew," Tyrion responded before he could. Jon was surprised to see the genuine gladness at the Imp's face at the sight of his crowned Nephew. Steffon Baratheon was huge for a boy, he looked more man than a boy of 16. Although he was older, the crowned prince was a good bit taller than him, much to his dismay. Jon realized he was wearing a light armor that was adorned with Stag symbols. Over his armor was a fur coat for the chills of winter, Jon's curious eye caught the sight of an axe at his back, ignoring the burned guard behind him... which was undoubtedly the Hound.
"I am good uncle," Steffon answered, "You like it?" The crowned prince asked noticing his staring... Jon nearly sputtered at being caught before he was handed the very same Axe, "It's Valyrian steel, I call it the Maelstrom."
It was light for its size and yet was still heavy enough that he needed two hands to properly hold it, "It's beautiful my prince." Jon commented and indeed it was, from its pommel to the sharp edge itself seemed like a work of a master smith. Its handle was of wood with steel plating over it, the flowing pattern of Valyrian steel adorned the Axe beautifully, at the bottom, the pommel was equipped with a knife.
"And quite a useful weapon if I am honest," Steffon commented before Jon handed him back his axe. The crown prince easily lifted it with one hand before giving it a mighty swing at the helpless dummy beside them, instantly chopping it in half. Apparently, the Prince was very strong, it would seem the rumors about the Demon of the Trident might be true after all.
"I am Steffon Baratheon!" The Prince greeted him brightly with his hand outstretched which he shook, "Come, drink with me." Steffon motioned him to sit at the tables beside them pulling out a flask from under his robe before he turned towards Tyrion who was watching with an amused smile, "Would you care to join us, Uncle?"
"I would but I must go inside," Tyrion rejected, "I've already missed much of the feast."
"Trust me you haven't missed much," Steffon snorted, "Nice people in there but they are so boring... even the Lord Stark's children, they'd rather be stuck on proper decorum and manners rather than have fun, no offense Jon."
Jon merely nodded not sure of what to say, "Well regardless, I must head inside, enjoy the night Nephew, bastard." Tyrion interjected leaving Jon alone with the crowned prince.
"My prince, I am not sure this... is right," Jon began hesitantly pointing out to... whatever this was, "People would not think it right for you to sit with a bastard."
"You think either of us gives a shit about what people think?" Steffon snorted turning to the Hound, "The fuck are you waiting for? an invitation? sit down, Sandor."
The Hound merely grunted before grabbing the mug of wine being offered to him and started drinking, "May I ask what this is about?" Jon asked... still uneasy.
"Oh calm yourself," Steffon spoke, "You're way too serious, this is me merely getting to know my possible future brother is all." Jon nearly spat the wine he was drinking much to the Hound's amusement if his chuckling was an indication.
"What do you mean?"
"Father's trying to arrange a betrothal between me and your sister so..." Steffon said before he stopped abruptly and stared sheepishly at him, "Oh wait... I am not sure if I was supposed to tell you that..." Jon had an astonished look on his face at the Crown Prince who was rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, and the Hound who was laughing his ass off, "Why the hell did you not stop me?" Steffon demanded accusingly looking at the Hound.
"You seemed to have it under control," Sandor shrugged causing the prince to mutter something along the lines of cunt under his breath.
"A-are you serious?" Jon asked gathering his wits back.
"Aye," Steffon nodded with a sigh, "My Father is gonna ask Lord Stark to be the Hand of the King and propose a marriage between me and Lady Sansa."
Jon felt his mind reeling for a moment unsure of what to say, Sansa was going to be a Queen one day. He chuckled to himself, she'd love that. It'd be like all of her dreams coming true.
"So... Jon Snow," Steffon called out raising his mug, "Tell me about yourself then."
Jon sighed and smiled softly, thus began a long night that changed his life.
Chapter End.
So here we are, The end of the prologue. Please leave your thoughts below and one thing I ought to share about this AU is that there is no Joffrey.
Here are the current Ages of the characters if you were wondering.
Steffon=15
Robb/Jon/Theon=16
Sansa=13
Arya=11
Myrcella=10
Tommen=8
