The Heart Holds the Darkest Truth
For the past seventeen years, Rowena Lannister has lived her entire life as the legitimized bastard of Jaime Lannister along with her twin brother Tristan Lannister - tucked away in Casterly Rock where they were brought up by their grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister when they were only children. Seven years later, she finds herself in Winterfell a month earlier awaiting her reunion with her father- but, it is what happens during her month alone in the North that changes what she thought she knew about herself and her brother. And it is also a certain bastard that reminds her what her father had told her before she and her brother left for Casterly Rock, "we don't chose whom we love."
Prologue
Winterfell is nothing like Casterly Rock. She had about thought this even before they had reached the gates of the thousand-year-old bleak fortress castle that sat as the capital of the North; but now, as she stood in the center of one of the guest chambers, it had dawned her heart that Winterfell could never be Casterly Rock and she was far from home. The stone walls were a bleak dark grey that made the room feel heavy around her shoulders unlike the earth red walls that reflected the sun she grown up in, the chamber was nowhere near the size of her own rooms, at most this chamber was the size of the dungeons down below the Rock that were used to keep thieves and murders; and from what she had first seen when she had gotten out of the coach, Winterfell had no splendid garden where the prettiest and rarest flowers grew like the one overlooking the cliff at the Rock, but rather a simple Godswood and there were no fruit trees where ripened fruit could not be plucked by her own hand. And all she would see whenever she would look out of the window in the coming mornings would be nothing, but the muddy courtyard and winter hills covered by the woods that encircled Winterfell instead of the beautiful view of the blues waves of Sunset Sea crashing against the cliff rocks and the bright yellow-pink sunrise. No, Winterfell is not her home- it could never be Rowena Lannister's home.
But, coming to Winterfell had been the only way that she would be able to reunite with her father, Ser Jaime Lannister after seven long years of being apart. During those seven years they had lasted their bond through countless letters along with her brother Tristan-although, as the years went on her twin brother found more time for flattering the ladies than writing back father. There was never a night that went by where Rowena closed her eyes and she didn't think about how much her father missed both her and her brother or the other way around. There were times when she would think about her Uncle Tyrion, the Imp as everyone called him, but she would find content whenever he would visit her and Tristan on their namedays and she would be lying to the New Gods if she claimed she didn't miss her little cousins Tommen and Myrcella. The last time she had seen them was when they were the littlest of children, oh how sweet they were so drastically unlike her prince cousin Joffrey whom her Uncle would describe as a nightmare. Rowena only hoped the golden crowned boy had grown out of it before he became King after his father.
She had only ever seen King Robert Baratheon a few times as a girl when she stayed at the Red Keep; those times were during the beginning of the many feasts the King would throw for whatever reason he thought fit, her father would never let her and Tristan stay any later than when the King would start to get drunk. If Rowena were ever to recall, there would be only scarce times when she would see him actually sit on the Iron Throne, his hand Jon Arryn did most of that (from what she could remember). The only time King Robert personally spoke to her was when he would greet her or Tristan on their namedays- so, while the King was here she would act so favorably of him like her grandfather had taught her in the open for all eyes to see. Though, when she was alone in her own walls was when she would be able to express how she felt little for her King Uncle, if she would even call him that. Yet, while all she could feel for the King was less than content, it was her brother who admired him- well, rather the Robert depicted by the books from his rebellion.
If Tristan were to have been found, in both the Red Keep and the Rock, he would have been found nestled somewhere in the libraries spawning over books depicting all the events of Robert's Rebellion and the histories and lore of the Seven Kingdoms. No doubting thought crossed her mind that her Uncle Tyrion had planted the seed of her brother's secret fascination of books whenever he would make such random visits. Oh, how Rowena silently wishes that Tristan had come with her, if he was here than maybe she wouldn't feel so alone in a place that was so different than the one she had come from; they were inseparable and Rowena knew that somehow Tristan and her were connected in a way that no other pair of siblings could feel. One could easily tell what the other was feeling or thinking by just a look and Rowena didn't know how she could live a whole month without her beloved brother; but, it had been his choice to stay behind at Casterly Rock and join their father halfway into the journey up North. As much as Rowena was dissatisfied with his choice, she knew that Tristan had wanted to prove so much more to his father when the two would meet again; she just didn't know what Tristan wanted to prove.
Surely, grandfather must have been writing to their father about how skilled a swordsman Tristan had become and how much of a man he must have resembled their father in his younger days. But, Tristan had always been the one out of the two to want to prove to everyone that he was more than how others saw them; legitimized bastard children of Ser Jaime Lannister and some Naath handmaiden in the Red Keep. But in their hearts, they were Lions. They would always be Lions.
The crackling logs in the fire had swept Rowena out of her thoughts and she found herself back in the surprisingly warm guest chambers, staring absentmindedly out of the only large window in the room. It may have seemed liked she was observing the bleak view, but her mind had truly wandered off pass the gates of Winterfell, pass the hills and woods of the North, and pass the North itself.
"Where shall we put your things, My Lady?" Jayne, a daughter of a lord from one of the vassal houses loyal to House Lannister, softly asked from beside her.
Jayne had been in her services when her grandfather had decided that she was of age to be given her own handmaidens, although Rowena was ranked above Jayne the two girls were the same age and had been brought up together before Jayne was placed as one of her handmaidens. If anything, Jayne was the only one out of Rowena's handmaidens, that Rowena would consider as a close companion- a friend maybe if her grandfather hadn't raised her and Tristin to believe that the Game had no friends.
Maybe, I don't need to play the Game here Rowena wanted to hope that Winterfell was not the same as Casterly Rock or Kings Landing, where schemes and secrets ran the court. For all that Winterfell had lacked, that would be the one thing making up for it.
Rowena turned to face Jayne, "wherever you can find a place to put them in." that was her dismissal in the matter and Jayne nodded her head before turning her back to direct the other two handmaidens on their duties.
"Corina, you are to find a servant and tell him we need hot water for the Lady's bath and some scented oils." Jayne ordered to the dark haired girl who looked no more than a few years younger than she and Jayne.
Rowena merely watched in amusement as she watched the small petite blonde command every little thing that needed to be done; it amused her to find how well Jayne masked feeling superior toward the other two girls. Though, only to be fair, the two young girls were fairly new considering that half of her former handmaidens had gone their own ways after their fathers arranged and secured marriage matches for them. Jayne was the only one still as loyal as ever.
Jayne continued, "Delilah, go down to the kitchens and have the cooks bring up a platter of pastries and wine for the Lady. You will also find one of the Stark boys and ask of them of where the Lady can keep Lan during the nights and-"
"There will be no need of that, Lan will be staying with me in the nights, and by my side during the days." Rowena dotted on the sleeping year-old hound curled onto the giant feathered bed.
Jayne frowned, "are you sure My Lady? I have heard that Lady Stark keeps her children's Direwolves in one of the stables-"
Rowena glared a Lioness's glare, "Lady Stark said this is to be my chambers for however long I see fit, did she not? If this is to be my room, then I will treat it as such. Lan will sleep by my side as he has since he was a litter."
Neither Delilah nor Corina question their thoughts on their Lady's stance, only hurrying out of the room to fulfill Jayne's orders of what was to be done in the next hour or so.
Jayne stepped forward, smoothing down her green wool dress, "forgive me, My Lady I should not have questioned you-"
Rowena looked down at the blonde girl with a small smile, "my name is Rowena, Jayne. You have called me that when we were little girls playing in the old Godswood. Use it, sometimes."
Jayne's blue eyes widened, "t-that is not proper, My Lady-"
Rowena stared down at her with cold hazel-green eyes, doing more than enough to make her handmaiden shut her mouth in a thin line. Rowena sighed contently before moving across the room to the bed where Lan had curled into a ball fast asleep. He had been a gift for her nameday the year before from her Father when he had failed to go through with his promise of being there for her sixteenth nameday; he had sent and forged a sword as Tristan's gift. Secretly, there were a few times that Rowena had wished she had gotten a sword too; forged only for her. Rowena was desperate to know if she had inherited her father's remarkable swordsman trait like her brother had. Though, Lan was a symbol of her father's love and his devotion of his remembrance of when she had mentioned how she wanted a pup of her own when she was a little girl. She had named it Lan to impress her grandfather and in honor of their ancestor who had given them Casterly Rock. Oh, how much she could not wait to be in her father's arms again after seven years with going a whole day without his embrace. It had been too long.
Rowena felt her lips curve as she ran her hand down the rust-colored fur back of the hound, he nudged his head against her hand as a warming response, before she turned on the heel of her leather boots to walk back to the window. It is then as she looked back out of the window that she saw two male figures sparring against each other with wooden swords while two other males (one young and the other old) watched on. She titled her head to get a better look and she had concluded that she had also been given a small view of the training yard due to the fact there were practice arch targets, practice dummies, and a stand filled with dull spears and swords and bows and arrows. But, as she looked on, she admired the one with a full head of thick, dark, curls bouncing as he dances on the dirt floor with his sword; he is precise with every movement, his steps are determined and quick, and his blocks are strong and reflexed. He would be a fine swordsman one day; she is sure of the stranger.
It is not until the sparring dual ends with the auburn-haired one bowing his head in defeat and the dark haired one warmly tousles the hair of his sparring partner. When he finally looks up does she realize that it is Ned Stark's bastard. There is a lightness to her heart when she knows that he is the fine swordsman that had beaten Robb Stark, maybe it is because he is a bastard and she was a bastard too once. Bastards are not expected to become very high in this realm, but she is the living proof that counters that.
It isn't until after her pleasant supper with the Stark family and when the whole castle has quieted down to nothing, but the whispers of light lamps and the sounds of guards walking all over the battlements; does she finally wander the ancient halls and stairwells of Winterfell. Her favorite is when she stumbles upon thousand-year-old tapestries that are strung upon the walls proudly. Each and every one of them depicts a moment in Stark history and she can read the full stories in every stitch as she gazes at every detail while loyal Lan sits next to her, awaiting to follow her when she wanders into the castle once again.
The winds are chilly during the night, even more so than during the bright day and so she is grateful that Jayne forced her to wear her warmest furs out and she wraps it closer to her body as she walks across the yard. Lan trails behind her, not too close, but also not too far. The courtyard is more serene and peaceful at night without the noisy commoners and the sounds of the boys training. She could hear their yells during her bath earlier outside the windows, but she rather enjoys the sound of one voice- she just does not know who it belongs to. Not yet at least. She is a Lannister, and a Lion knows everything around the lands it rules. Though, Rowena knows that if Robert Baratheon was always the drunken foul at every hour, it would be her Queen Aunt ruling in his place.
She had just been on her way back to her chamber, the month's journey had deprived her of much needed rest, until she had heard the sound of dull steal meeting against something hard.
CLANK!
CLANK!
The sounds echo throughout all of Winterfell that she is surprised that the castle had not woken up. She follows the sound of steel against something hard and she finds it is on the way to her guest chamber, but it is who the noise is coming from that makes her stop in her muddied tracks. There he is, swinging that stupid practice sword of his at the useless practice dummy that makes no sound of pain when he strikes the sword down on the dummy like a madman. There is a dancing fire to the way he dances with the sword, a dancing fire surrounded by nothing, but the ice cold keeping its flames from firing ablaze.
"I am sure your enemy is more than dead, Snow." She had not meant to make her presence known, but there was a tease in her soft and gentle voice.
A small smile crept its way on her face when he brought his sword than and quickly looked up at her, his face flushed, and his dark gray eyes widened in shock. There she stood before him, the exotic haunting figure he had not been able to get out of his mind from the moment she first arrived at his home. His beauty shocked him, for he had not seen a beauty like she in a place like this; his brother Robb and Theon were right when they had described the Kingslayer's daughter as the most exotic beauty in all of the Seven Kingdoms. He had not believed them at first, girls were never on his mind, but from the moment her green eyes with specks of brown met his; he had deemed her the most beautiful girl. And now, here she was standing before him in a gown that did not live up to her own beauty; weren't the Gods already cruel to him, enough?
Jon coughed dryly, "shouldn't you be inside, My Lady? The warmth of the castle would fare you better than the cold."
Rowena smiled before she looked up at the stone walls and battlements, "I was exploring your home, Jon Snow. It's quite different than Casterly Rock- more ancient." She liked the sound of his deep yet gentle, husky, Northerner voice.
With that she bid him goodnight with a little joke at him having already chopped off the limbs of the practice dummy, it isn't until she is fully turned away from walking back into the castle with her hound right behind her, does Jon Snow truly smile to himself. Rowena Lannister just began her stay at Winterfell, and already she picked at the right gaps of his brooding self with her sharpened claws.
Only a few weeks had gone since her arrival at Winterfell, and already the bond between her and the other Stark children had started to tie itself together. Sansa Stark was what Rowena knew she could have been when she was a girl if her grandfather had not brought her up the way he did; dreaming about Princes, gushing about brave knights who saved pretty maidens from ancient towers, reading love poems, and showing off her excellent embroidery. But no, Tywin Lannister had forced her and Tristan under the greatest Maesters for hours' day after day, leaving no time to dream about Princes, knights, maidens, and embroidery; and then after the lessons with the Maesters was when he would teach her privately about the Game while Tristan was off attending his arms lessons with Castellan Ser Damian Creed. The private calculating lessons with her grandfather never included Tristan, "he is too trustworthy. Too honest, like your father." Was what he had said when she asked him why Tristan was never allowed.
Arya Stark was what her sister Sansa was not; she was loud, wild like a wolf and she liked to play with bows and arrows and riding and sparring with her elder brothers, not sitting with Septa Mordane doing embroidery or reciting love poems and songs. So yes, Rowena would rather devout most of her time to the little Stark girl, now she was a reminder of the girl Rowena used to hide from her grandfather. When there were no lessons to be taught by the Maester or her grandfather had too much responsibilities with the Westerlands to teach her more about the Game; She would let the lioness within her run free. Ser Damian had turned a blind eye whenever she would fire every arrow marking every target, there was always a time Tristan would ignore her whenever she would best him in anything related to weaponry. Yet, riding had been her favorite act of small rebellion against her grandfather's strict upbringing- it made her feel like she was flying, only the legs of the horse were her wings. And Arya Stark had more freedom than any other girl in Westeros, for that Rowena would find herself tagging along with the little wild she-wolf. Her little adventures made up for the time she would have been spending in the boring guest chamber to pass her time in Winterfell.
Bran and Rickon were far too young to be going off on their own, and Catelyn Stark had them on a leash being held by Maester Luwin. The young wolves had to spend a majority of their time with their lessons being taught by the nice Maester, but when Rowena did find herself with the young Starks the two boys had more similarities between them than their older sisters. They would grow to become good men like their father before them, Rowena was sure of it.
But when Rowena was not joining in on Arya's wild acts, faking to enjoy embroidery and reciting old love stories with Sansa, or telling Bran and Rickon ancient-old lore about her ancestors and the Seven Kingdoms; then she would be with the elder Stark boys. Robb Stark and his bastard brother Jon Snow. On occasion (if he wasn't busying himself with some whore from Winter's Town), Theon Greyjoy tagged along. Perhaps, it was because they were very close to age that Robb Stark reminded her of Tristan, which was why she could indulge her time in his wit and boyish behavior. He didn't seem to care if she forced her way into riding along with them and sometimes he had even let her put her skills in archery for show once- until Catelyn Stark had caught him and Jon eagerly pushing her to challenge Theon. The latter being prissy about the whole thing ending in her hitting more targets than the self-proclaimed 'Iron Prince' did. Though, while she enjoyed Robb's presence and liked to laugh at Theon's dirty jokes more than she would care to admit; the best thing that occupied her days at Winterfell had been a bastard called Snow. Jon Snow.
Rowena had begun a habit to teasing the brooding bastard son of Eddard Stark until his ivory skin flushed red and his handsome face tried to fight one of the rare boyish smiles from coming onto her face. Jon Snow and her shared something more than what she had with Robb, Theon, or any of the Stark children; they had an understanding, a deep meaningful understanding that only bastards could share. Yet, there were so many times that Jon would bitterly remind her that she was not a bastard like he was whenever she compared the both of them- she actually had a family name. An old great name. She was considered more highborn than he ever would be, she was legitimized from the day she had been born while he was to live under the Gods' cruelty of being a bastard till the day he perished from this world. Though, she did not see it the way she did, to her they were the same. He did not know that, like Lady Stark, there was someone in her family that hated her and had looked at her with so much resentment and hatred long ago. Even with being legitimized, having a name belonging to one of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, and being showered by love from a father in front of so many eyes- she was still nothing, but a bastard to some.
Jon Snow had become the only thing she truly enjoyed in this cold wasteland and the two of them knew they had developed something that should not have gone as far as the two of them foolishly had let it go.