Daeron

It was the day he had been dreading as soon as he knew it destined; He hardly slept in misguided attempts to keep it at bay. Yet, there he sat, cross-legged at his sister's side and yet away from her, beside Illyrio Mopatis. His eyes turned away from the large Khal Drogo and his sister by his side in truth. He couldn't bear to look at her for long. She was regal and beautiful as ever in the same dress she demonstrated to him at the magister's estate; the same dress he hated to see her wear because it revealed her allure to any man with eyes and the shallowest of courage. His entire life she had told him that they were meant to be together; for each other. Yet, she was marrying another man right in front of him. What was he to do after that?

He turned and watched the Dothraki killers intermingle amongst the congregation of wealthy merchants and magisters. The two groups were so unlike that it seemed comical to him. Of course, he then thought of the contrast of the pale Targaryen skin against the deep bronze of Essosi residents. He watched as several Dothraki women flailed frantically to the beat of bison-skin drums, doing what he guessed could be called dancing. The sound of buzzing drew his attention to the feast. Smoked gazelle meat, boar and horseflesh that was attracting a swarm of flies from being left out all day; it was stacked in a nearby trough. Daeron looked back to the women, who were now being dry-fucked in the midst of their dance by drunk Dothraki men right in front of every patron there. He realized he couldn't relate to these people; and these were the people they were to take with them to Westeros.

He half-turned to Magister Illyrio. "That's inappropriate for a wedding, isn't it?"

"The Dothraki are a passionate people. The marriage of their khal is a joyous occasion. The only ceremony they hold where nobody is usually killed outside Vaes Dothrak. Unless, it's over a woman of course."

Illyrio pointed out a man who dragged away one of the dancers just so he could rip her thong away and have his way with her. He began fucking her in earnest from behind to cheers, right there in front of his sister. Another Dothraki immediately stepped behind him and slit his throat with his arakh, a crescent-shaped blade, sending blood hurtling to the right and splashing the girl as well. He hastily tossed his body to the side and tore off his pants; he gripped the girl by her hips and began fucking her in his victim's place. The girl was unfazed by the violence and began bucking her hips backwards to meet his thrusts. Daeron was stunned and ultimately decided not to comment on the matter.

He looked back towards the pillars and saw that guests were beginning to bring gifts to his sister. He shuffled forward past Illyrio to get a better look.

A golden-robed merchant with various rubies and sapphires on his wares approached the newly-wed pair and set a chest before them. He reached inside and pulled several, dark-skinned snakes from inside. He raised them towards Visenya as they coiled along his fingers and wrists; she visibly recoiled and gave Drogo a look, whom hadn't given her a single glance up to that point and still didn't. A moment later, he reached back down to slide the snakes back into his box and retreated away. One of the khal's men stepped forth and retrieved the box; he placed it in a growing pile with the other gifts, which was mostly jewels and gold medallions.

Daeron noticed that the man usually stayed at Drogo's side and recognized him from the courtyard the day Drogo and Visenya were introduced.

Sensing his curiosity, Illyrio gave him some details. "That is Qotho, one of the khal's bloodriders. Bloodriders are a khal's most trusted warriors. There are traditionally three. They are by his side always; they share food, drink, war and even their women but never horses. You see horses are like the heart to them, most sacred treasure beyond even riches … and wives."

"Are you saying that savage will value his horse more than my sister?"

"That is just his way, your grace" Illyrio offered apologetically.

Daeron then noticed a modestly dressed blonde woman approach Visenya. She wore neither the soft, windy dress of an Essosi woman nor the tattered, animal skin of a Dothraki. She wore a simple, cream-yellow gown and boots that seemed better suited to the west than Essos. She was flanked by a light-armored, bronze-skinned soldier that wore a feathered helm that was double-plated in the neck. Daeron recognized the man as an Unsullied; Illyrio kept enough of them around that he could recognize one on sight but he didn't know the woman. He decided that she was handsome but her weathered and sundried face showed faint signs of being a beauty in more youthful days.

"Who is she?" Daeron asked Illyrio.

"Jorah Mormont. She hails from your home continent, Westeros. She served your mother, Queen Rhaella for many years. The Unsullied at her side is her slave and bodyguard, Black Bear."

Surprisingly, Khal Drogo even greeted Jorah.

"Always a brighter day when I see those wide hips, Mormont." Drogo greeted in Dothraki.

Visenya giggled.

Jorah and Black Bear bowed before the pair.

"Khal and Khaleesi" Jorah greeted. "Many fortunes upon your union."

Drogo gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. Jorah then took three books from Black Bear and stepped toward Visenya to present them.

"Khaleesi, I offer books of the histories and many songs of the seven kingdoms. I also offer my eternal service as well as the sword of my sworn protector, Black Bear of the Unsullied."

Visenya hesitantly reached out and took the books from Jorah's grasp and nodded. "You're well met, Lady Mormont. I humbly accept your service and … your gifts."

Jorah bowed again. "Please, khaleesi, just Jorah; if you will."

Visenya smiled at this. "As you wish."

Jorah and Black Bear took their leave from Visenya and Drogo. To Daeron's dismay, Visenya carelessly flung the books into her gift pile as soon as Jorah turned her back. He watched as a few loose pages scattered on the steps from one the books when it landed. Still, Jorah sat down next to Daeron, either not noticing this or pretending to do so. Black Bear sat on the other side of her, silent and alert.

Daeron turned to her as she immediately nodded to him and greeted, "Your Grace."

"I hear you served my mother."

"Aye" she replied. "I was a lady-in-waiting to your queen mother for a time."

"Aye" Daeron softly repeated, tasting and playing with the word on his tongue. "Aye. You're an Andal. I don't believe I've ever met an Andal woman before."

"No, your grace?"

"I think I would like to hear all I can about the west from you and of my family. If you don't mind, of course."

"Of course. I do serve you. You above all; even above the khaleesi if you don't mind my saying. You are the rightful king."

Daeron gave a half-smile at that and turned back to the wedded pair. It would probably be best to not parade Mormont's true allegiance before his sister. She wouldn't take kindly to it and something about Mormont made him want to protect her. She was a westwoman and more than that, an ally and decidedly motherly. He saw all this about her despite just meeting her. It was then that Illyrio motioned to one of his slaves. Two slaves brought forth an even larger chest before Visenya and her husband-to-be.

"My gift, khaleesi, which I am most certain you will find most splendid of all." He motioned to them and they pulled the chest open and revealed three large, colored and scaled oval stones seated upon straw grass and the velvet lining of the box.

Daeron only saw them from the side and craned his neck to get a better view. Drogo sighed and smiled at a Dothraki jest from Qotho, clearly bored with the festivities. Visenya stood up and drew near the scaled delights.

"Dragon eggs, khaleesi" Illyrio proclaimed. "Long ago discovered in the Shadow Lands of Asshai. They no longer gestate I'm afraid and are in fact petrified as stone. Still, I saw them best rendered to your possession given your … proclivities towards dragons."

Visenya looked them over; her violet glare intensified over the precious stones. There was one of a deep leafy green, one of deep scarlet and one of a light cream colour; each contoured toward a blacker shade near the base. She reached down and cradled the cream egg in her hands and brought it in for a closer look under her heart.

She looked at Illyrio. "Stone eggs. All but useless to me but still …" She allowed that egg to fall from her hands back into place along with the others inside the chest with a thud. Daeron winced at her carelessness. "… they make a fine treasure" she carried on. "I accept your gift."

He graciously smiled and gave a half bow. He motioned for his slaves to take the chest away.

At that moment, Drogo rose to his feet, his long braid scraping the ground as he did so. All the whispers and motion that may have been occurring at the ceremony immediately stopped. He walked over to his bride and held out his hand expectantly. She looked up and reluctantly took it, rising to her feet. He walked her over to a cleared path just as an Essosi horse handler drew Drogo's mustang and a silver stallion towards them by their reins.

"What is happening?" Daeron asked Mormont.

"This is the equivalent of a Dothraki bedding. The gift of horse is among the Dothraki's highest honors. They will first ride together as khal and khaleesi. Then he will take her for the first time as the sun sets with the stars as audience. The 'moon's first kiss' as they call it."

"No" it was so low that it was barely audible.

She looked at him, straining to hear, "What was that, your grace?"

All of the guests stood and gathered towards the khal and khaleesi as they approached their horses.

"A gift from the khal himself" Illyrio gestured to the silver, "a silver of your very own, khaleesi."

Visenya went to the silver and carefully reached out to stroke its fine, platinum mane that she internally compared to her own. "It's lovely."

She turned to Drogo and said "Thank you." He only gave her a dumbfounded look and glanced at Illyrio uneasily. "Thank … you." She realized that he didn't comprehend and turned to Illyrio herself. "How do you say 'Thank you' in Dothraki?"

Illyrio wrung his hands together but looked lost in how to respond. It was Jorah Mormont who responded. "Khaleesi, there are no Dothraki words for that phrase."

Visenya nodded and said, "I see." She then looked to the khal and gave him a seductive grin and continued to stroke the silver. Drogo reached over and grabbed Visenya by the hips; he handedly lifted her up above his head and on to the horse mount even as she was a few over five and a half feet tall, decidedly tall for a woman. She yelped in surprise but giggled at the rough handling. Drogo leapt onto his own mustang beside her.

Daeron went to Visenya and grabbed her bare calf. She looked down at his hand first, before drawing her eyes up to his face. "Visenya. Don't do this. We can run away from here and find another way."

Visenya looked down at him with a spiteful glare. "I have an army now. I'm not running anywhere. Now take your hand off of me, little prince. I am the queen."

Reluctantly, Daeron removed his hand and stepped away. He watched as Drogo took the silver's rein and led Visenya in turning away with his horse. The Dothraki erupted in cheers and what sounded like warcries at the forthcoming consummation.

Daeron looked at Jorah, before walking past her; he pointedly refused to watch as his sister and her khal left the makeshift temple to fuck in the outskirts of the Pentos drylands.

He returned to the overhang where she wed and looked out over the horizon as the sun drew down.

Several days later, Drogo's khalasar continued their travels east to the Dothraki Sea and Vaes Dothrak, something Daeron knew would have frustrated Visenya to no end; that is, if she wasn't preoccupied with other things.

The khalasar were preparing to make camp in the wild plain just beyond the Free Cities; Daeron rode a meager painted steed at Jorah's side, who rode one as well. Black Bear was just behind them. The three rode a distance behind but within eyesight of Visenya's silver. He could see her bruised arms and legs that slipped out occasionally from her gown, though she pulled it over them as often as she could. She winced constantly and swayed on horseback; she also struggled to walk on foot when she did so.

"My sister suffers, Jorah." Daeron said to her.

"I see, your grace."

"That monster."

"Easy. This is Khal Drogo's khalasar. Words spoken against him by an outsider may be seen as a challenge."

Daeron huffed.

A few moments later, Visenya brought her silver to rest; she craned her neck and groaned in pain. Daeron, Jorah and Black Bear came to a halt as well.

Daeron reached into his saddlebag and retrieved a piece of stripped, jerked meat of a deer. He extended it to Jorah. "Please take this to my sister, but don't say it was from me."

With a moment's hesitation, Jorah nodded and took it. "As you wish."

Wordlessly, Jorah brought her horse over to settle next to Visenya. Daeron watched as Jorah offered her the meat. He wasn't entirely surprised to see Visenya smack the meat from Jorah's hand and spit on the ground where it landed.

Daeron sighed and looked at Black Bear. "Well, there's a dragon in her yet."

"Yes", agreed Black Bear.

After the khalasar had made camp, Jorah found Daeron resting alone on a cloak in the grass; he was chewing on deer jerky while reading from one of her books. She came from behind and peered down to where his eyes fell when she saw he was too distracted to notice her. She swallowed hard when she realized he was on a chapter focusing on the North. She clasped her hands in front of her and bowed.

"Your grace, your sister is bedded down and rested. I have seen that her handmaidens have treated and oiled her wounds. She seemed soothed."

He flinched, startled at her sudden appearance and turned to look at her.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." She looked up at his words. He smiled; something she noticed he didn't do often. It was a beautiful thing, his smile, and she was sure many young maids would swoon at the sight of it.

"Would you please sit with me, Jorah?" he offered, shifting to make room for her on his cloak.

"Your grace?"

"Please."

Jorah gathered her skirt and obliged, sitting with her legs strewn to the side in front of Daeron who laid on his own side. She felt foolish, a middle-aged woman grazing next to a striking boy aged ten and three as if they were young lovers, snacking in the countryside and making promises of a future love to fulfill. Her imagination often got the best of her still. She mentally reprimanded herself.

"Deer meat?" he offered a long strip of jerky to her.

"Thank you, your grace" she said shakily and took it. He watched her casually as she yanked a piece of it off with her teeth and set to chew it. His eyes shifted past her and she craned her neck to follow his gaze. They watched the khalasar finish settling camp; women took their babes to a nearby river to gather water; men staked tents into the ground with wooden mallet tools; some hung deerskin on the tents for further protection from the elements and set the firesite at the epicenter of camp.

"I remember when we were young" Daeron went on, "my sister and I were driven from our lord's home in Braavos. The only man loyal to my family. When he died, his servants cast us out and left us with nothing. I was but five. My first memories. We have been unsettled ever since. I actually admire the Dothraki. They make wandering look far more organized than we ever did."

Jorah looked at Daeron and saw pain and loss in his eyes that she wished wasn't there. She wanted to do something that she knew she shouldn't so she instead refrained.

"This life was never meant for you. You belong in a palace with more good people than are gathered here to ensure you live a life of luxury."

Daeron scoffed and chuckled at that, then stifled even more raucous laughter with his palm, catching Jorah off-guard.

"I don't wish to be bleak any longer. Jorah, although these weren't meant for me, I would like to thank you wholeheartedly for bringing these books of the west. They are … extraordinary."

Not speaking, Jorah nodded her acknowledgement.

"Of the seven kingdoms, I have to say, I'm most fascinated with the north. You are from the north, aren't you?"

"Yes, though I haven't been there in quite some time."

"Would you tell me of it? Especially, your home. What was it again?"

"Bear Island. Yes, the north is … not like anywhere in Essos. Large tracts of land with sparse towns that would be considered outposts anywhere else. No markets like here. You can easily die between civilizations due to the wilderness or just getting lost. Wet, cold, cruel. There are some things about the north I don't miss."

"What do you miss?"

She thought on this for a moment. "Surviving in a land like that brings out something in you, I think. Joy, wonder, love. All of that is exemplified in the north; it's something special. Family is much closer; bonds of friendship are much stronger. It's a simpler life and there's little deception to who your friends or foes are. It's hard to lie when your teeth are chattering, I think. All of that and it's simply my home, even now. Yet … I can never go back."

"Why not?"

She sighed. She didn't wish to lie to her king. "I disgraced my family name. I sold slaves on northern lands. The warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark, wishes to see me beheaded. Instead of facing his justice, I ran."

She expected him to show outrage or disappointment in her. She expected him to shame her but instead he downcast his eyes and nodded in seeming acceptance. He took a bite of his meat.

"Isn't slavery an affront against your old gods? Do you … still keep to the old gods?"

"Yes", she swallowed. "And I pray for atonement every day."

He nodded. "Then we both have something to atone."

The two sat in silence for a while in deep thought away from each other until Daeron again broke the silence.

"I would like your help, Jorah Mormont."

"Anything, your grace."

"I would like to learn how to fight."

Jeyne

She tried to brush her long, mangy hair at her nightstand though she didn't have a large looking glass to check her ongoing progress. No, she would use her small glass to check herself after setting aside the brush. It took up a lot of time and was highly inconvenient. She looked at her hair then and flung the mirror on the bed in frustration. Whereas Sansa and even the other non-noble young ladies had long, fine hair they could easily comb or at least manage with a brush; Jeyne had long, wild hair with bunched curls that no comb could hope to survive. Not that she had a high-quality brush. Hard, clumped brushes better suited for a horse than a human; it was probably so. Theon often told her, her hair was wild like the direwolves she found and just as welcome in Winterfell. She bounced the brush off of the floor, hoping that it would break and was disappointed that it didn't.

I should just chop it all off, she thought, referring to her hair. Who would care anyway?

She did what she usually did and just put a tie in it, something Sansa and her friends often said was something smallfolk did. Which didn't matter anyway because she was a bastard; also, not everybody's hair responded divinely by becoming wet.

She went to her window and looked outside out to the courtyard. Some drunk lordlings from the Great Hall were singing in the streets; some bawdy song of a northern lass who gave herself to the lord of Winterfell and his bannermen while her sailor husband was at sea. Another man was puking in the yard while they laughed at him. Even from where she sat, she could hear the music and occasional raucous laughter from the hall. The king's party had arrived earlier that day; of course, being a bastard, she wasn't to disturb them with her presence. She had expected Lady Stark to wish her away but what gave her pause was Lord Stark's eagerness to keep her out of sight. Though she was slightly hurt at first, she grew to accept it throughout the day and knew that he was simply acquiescing to his wife. Pleasing a woman like that must be a task that deserves a royal title by itself. So, it was as it was; everybody was in the hall and she was alone. She shifted her gaze upwards from the drunkards to the target dummies where she had seen Robb had taken to train Bran just a few weeks prior. She looked to Ghost, who laid as silent and moody as her, in the corner.

"Come, Ghost; I have some frustration to loose."

In relative quick succession, she fired four arrows with all hitting near the centerpoint of her targeting dummy within only seconds between each shot. She exhaled forcefully to regain her breathing rhythm as she reached down to her quiver to gather her next volley. She was stopped by a shrill whistle behind her; she stopped and turned.

A man approached her in the courtyard, wearing dark clothing including doublet and leather pants. He clapped to show his appreciation.

"Impressive, girl. If you were a boy, we'd gladly take you on the Wall."

As he approached, he stepped within the nearby torch's light and she realized it was Benjen Stark, her lord father's younger brother.

"Uncle!" she shouted, dropping everything before running over and almost leaping into his waiting arms; she nearly knocked him right off of his feet.

"Oh, whoa!" he called out laughing as she squeezed and held on for dear life. "My, my, you've grown! Hold on, let me get a look at you!"

He wrenched her arms from around his neck and held her at arm's length to look her over. "Gods, you've grown tall … and pretty, too."

She shook her head with a smile and blush as she softly pushed his arms away. "Don't mock me, uncle."

His eyes fell beyond her. "And who is this?" he asked with real curiosity.

She moved away and turned to follow his gaze as Ghost padded over cautiously to the pair. She had grown so much in the two weeks since being discovered in the wolfswood. She was around the size of a common fully-grown Winterfell dog breed. Still, she should still be considered a wolf pup as she was still playful and eager to test her hunting tools including teeth and instincts on everything that crossed her path.

"This is Ghost, a direwolf we found in the wolfswood."

"A dire … wolf? South of the Wall?"

He looked down at the cub thoughtfully.

"Is it really so strange?" she asked.

"It just doesn't happen, Jeyne" he said, with a sigh. "That and there may be a breach in the wall if a direwolf got past us."

"Six."

"Come again?"

"Well, seven. There was a dead mother in the woods with six cubs. The five Stark children and I each have one."

Benjen stopped in his tracks and ran his gloved hands through his hair. "Gods … there's more of them? My nieces and nephews …?"

She watched as he ran his hands down his face and exhale a long sigh.

"Uncle …?" she called with an uneasy smile and concern.

"I must speak to your father at once."

"He is in the Great Hall with the king and his royal family."

"Ah", he nodded. "I will kill him. I will save him from the lion's den and then I will kill him."

She tried and failed stifling a chuckle.

"Niece. Ghost." He nodded at the two of them in turn and began to take his leave when Jeyne quickly grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him back.

"Wait, uncle! Will … will you take me to the Wall this time?"

"Jeyne …" he groaned.

"Just once! I'll stay by your side the entire time! You always tell me that if I was a boy, I'd make a good sword on the Wall!"

"But you're not a boy. The Wall's no place for a girl."

He saw her drop her eyes, knowing that hearing that displeased her. She must be denied many things, being a bastard; even a highborn one.

He reached out and cupped the back of her head. She looked up at him, hopeful. He pulled her towards his chest and kissed the top of her head. She closed her eyes and squeezed his arm.

"In due time, I'll take you to the Wall. It's turmoil right now, darling. The Wall isn't going anywhere. Understand?"

She sighed and nodded. "Mmhmm. Thank you."

He slowly pulled away and turned to leave. "We'll speak later."

She watched him make his way to the hall.

"Your uncle. A man of the Night's Watch?"

She turned to the stables to track where the voice was coming from, realizing there was a child that was in a stall for some reason. Yet, with a man's voice.

"Who are you and whatever are you doing over there, boy?" she asked as the boy approached. As he made his way under the nearby torches' light, she saw that he had a man's face and rough hands; all that and he swigged from a leather flask of sweet liquor she could smell from where she stood as it passed to his lips. No, not a child but a dwarf, a being she had scarcely ever seen.

"Ah, taking a stroll about and admiring your township. And I'm no boy. You have some fine manure, by the by. Makes for beautiful grass, I'm sure. Would you like some, girl? The rum, not the manure." he offered her the flask to which she shook her head hesitantly. He shrugged his small shoulders and took another swig.

"You're the queen's brother, aren't you?"

He capped his flask and gave an exaggerated mock curtsy. He crossed his stubby, left leg in front of the other, bent his upper body as low as he could and spread his arms wide. "Well and present, my lady!" he bellowed in a mocking tone with a snort before returning to his original position. "My greatest honor, it seems. Tyrion Lannister, if it'd please you. And you are Ned Stark's bastard, are you not?"

She noticeably froze and turned neutral in her gaze upon him. Her heart immediately sunk and breath caught in her lungs at the thought of being called a bastard by a stranger. She internally cursed herself for having such a reaction. Ghost stood in tense stance beside her, snarling silently.

"Bastard, please calm the beast."

Jeyne did nothing and Ghost bared her fangs even farther.

"Somehow", Tyrion noted, not taking his eyes from Ghost, "it's even more unsettling when it's silent."

"You should leave now", Jeyne warned.

"Perhaps, you're right" he said, taking an uneven swig from his flask. "I do have to entertain my family and yours. But before I go, tell me. Why does 'bastard' offend you so much?"

She huffed. "It doesn't. I just don't know you."

"In absence of name, I can only fall back on what you are to call you."

She paused. "My name is Jeyne Snow."

"Ah, Jeyne the bastard."

Gods, she thought. He still calls me bastard.

He began to walk off towards the Great Hall before stopping to look back at her. "Allow me to give you some advice, Jeyne the bastard. Don't allow anybody else to sharpen the word 'bastard' against you. Harden yourself against it and it should never be used against you again. You seem deadly with a bow; are you saying a simple word can disarm and kill you?"

He then began to walk off, only she was left perturbed and frustrated. "What would you know of it?" she called out after him.

He stopped to address her one last time. "All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes."

The morning following the arrival of the king's party was a sluggish one. The gathering at the hall would be remembered for a long time due to its vast entertainment and sheer amount of wine, mead and ale consumed. Quite a lot of buggery as well; many children were conceived yesternight, both legitimate and not. Though Eddard Stark was a gracious host as always, it was the king whom had elevated the night's events to a fever pitch with his rambunctious toasts and request for more wine, food and guests. It was King Robert who called for more smallfolk to be allowed into the Great Hall and the townsfolk would ever love him for it.

The aftermath of all of that was clear to Jeyne, whom walked through the township markets with a straw basket in hand and Ghost at her side. There weren't as many people in the streets in general and of those that were, she noticed a few slumped over stalls and walls; each barely conscious and dealing with the previous night's events in their own way. There were far less vendors out and she didn't have to weave her way in and out of the crowd as usual. There were no lessons for her that day and for that, she was glad.

In some ways it was odd; though she was looked down upon by the noble and first banner families, she was afforded much respect in Winter town by the smallfolk as Lord Stark's first daughter. She never had an entourage like the other Stark children; she didn't have designated guards, handmaids nor a doting septa like Sansa and Arya. The bastard girl was a loner and walked the town every morning before her daily lessons in blissful solace; it was understood that she was to be left well alone. Even so, she was gracious and well-liked by most. She liked to learn the names of as many people as she could and listen to their troubles; some had complaints they wouldn't dare bring forth to the Starks or any of the houses that served directly under them, yet they trusted the girl enough to release their frustration.

She wore her favorite deep midnight blue dress that was almost black as well as a burgundy short cloak that ran mid-back that covered her neck and shoulders well. Her winter boots kept her feet warm but there was actually a pleasant chill that Jeyne quite enjoyed. The ground was hardened from the warnings of a long winter so steps sounded as if met with stone and there was no worries about mud or dirt messing about her dress.

She smiled and waved at Moyna, a barmaid who dumped a chamberpot into a trough outside to be taken to the woods and disposed. Jeyne made her way to the produce man, Olven. A kind man of fifty years or so, who made his living trading and bringing produce from Bear Island and other lush farmlands in the north. The north was generally harsh country that wasn't amiable to fruit and vegetable growth so any man with the means to harvest and supply it in bulk could live comfortably.

He stood with bushels of sprouts, carrots, beets and spinach on one side; apples, pears, oranges and wildberries on the other.

"Morning, Olven" Jeyne greeted with a small wave and an easy smile.

"Morning, my lady" Olven gave a small head nod.

"Please, Olven". Jeyne gave an uneasy look around her. "I've told you. Just Jeyne. I'm no lady."

"You're Lord Stark's child, just like the others. What can I do for you this fine morning?"

Jeyne let it pass, wishing not to dwell on it. "The apples look delicious this morning, Olven. May I?"

She gestured to the basket of deep red apples. He nodded with a grin.

She reached over and took a juicy one from the top. She brought towards her nose and inhaled its sweet aroma that teased her senses.

"The trick is the timing." He said with his arms crossed. "They were plucked just before ripening and hastened to these very streets. That apple is at its utmost sweetness."

Her grey eyes looked it over and she couldn't resist. She bit into the mound just beneath the stem and found that Olven told no lies. Though the skin felt hard and there was no give prior, she found the interior soft and exquisitely juicy. The juice filled her mouth as she chewed to an extent that she wiped away a bit that escaped her lips. It was the best apple she ever tasted.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"My apologies, my lady", he whispered with a hushing finger over his lips, "but it's a trade secret."

"The old gods themselves are in that tree", she remarked, gazing at the apple for a moment. She looked back at Olven and shook her head. "My apologies, Olven. I forget myself."

She reached into her coinpurse and fetched three copper stars. "For this one and three more."

He reached out and accepted the payment as she put three apples in her basket. "My lady, this is too much."

"Think nothing of it." She took another bite of her apple and looked about the street before looking back to him. "The street is mostly empty this morning."

"Aye" he agreed. "The king caused quite a stir when he invited the little people into the hall last night. They'll love him for it but I'm sure they're cursing themselves right about now."

She smiled and shared a chuckle with him. She heard a man retching in the distance as if the old gods wished to illustrate this point.

His eyes fell down beside her. "You have a wolf now?"

"Her name is Ghost. She was found in the wolfswood." She refrained from telling him she was a direwolf for worry of his response.

"Well, 'ello, Ghost."

Ghost just looked up at him, blinking her red eyes at him, before poking her long tongue out beyond her fangs in a long yawn and looking away in disinterest.

"An albino?" he questioned.

"Yes. She's more fortunate than I am in this life it seems." She jested lightly at herself with a small smile.

"Well, I'm glad. You need a companion and you're alone far too much for my liking. She seems a fine protector."

"May the old gods bless you, Olven" she said with a nod as she moved to depart.

"You as well, my lady."

She continued down the street when she happened upon Lisbeth's station. She sold flowers and one of the bundles she had out had Jeyne's favorite: blue winter roses.

"Good Morning, Jeyne." Lisbeth smiled as Jeyne approached.

"Good morning, Lisbeth." Jeyne answered and gestured to the winter roses. "May I?"

Lisbeth nodded.

Jeyne hunched down and took a long whiff of the roses. It's natural, wild scent reminded her of her youth in running through the woods and diving into bundles of fallen leaves. She would pretend to be a wolf cub and when her father would dig her out, she would cling onto him and bury her face into his beard. She laughed when he would remark how she dirtied his furs. Those were the years she was closest to him. They have barely touched since.

"Excuse me, miss?" A male voice seemed to be calling out to her.

She stood up and looked beside her to see a tall, handsome man along with five men behind him in golden, royal soldier armor. The man himself had medium-length blonde hair, cat-like green eyes and a face that could've been chiseled by a great sculptor. He wore a white armor and cloak with the sigil of the Kingsguard. It was Ser Jaime Lannister. She had heard many tales of his swordmanship and the derogatory tale behind his unfortunate nickname, 'Kingslayer'. Her heart caught in her chest at the sight of him. He was absolutely stunning. She paused for quite a while, unable to say anything.

"Do you know who I am?"

She swallowed and gave a feeble bow. "Y-yes, ser. You are … Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard. I've seen paintings of you."

Her eyes went wide and she cursed herself internally for saying such a thing. Truthfully, the paintings didn't do him justice but she was glad she didn't say that. He had a smirk on his face that alone made her blush red.

"Very well" he said. "I am sorry to bother you on this fine morning but I'm looking for my miniature brother, Tyrion. Grubby hands, stubby little legs; you can't miss him. Have you seen him about?"

She gave pause. "I-I saw him last night, ser. He went to the Great Hall."

"But not this morning?"

"Not this morning. No, ser."

He nodded and took a couple of steps towards her and narrowed his eyes. She took an involuntary step back and her eyes danced about uneasily as she swallowed again.

"Have we met before?" He had a bemused look on his face. "You look familiar …"

"No, ser. We've never met." I would surely remember.

"You're quite pretty and … remarkably clean." He studied her up and down for a moment. "What is your name?"

"Jeyne, ser." She gathered herself up and finally looked at him.

"Jeyne. Just … Jeyne?"

"Jeyne … Snow."

"Ahhh" he leaned back and sighed. "Snow. That's a bastard's name up north, isn't it?"

She slowly nodded her head. "Yes … ser."

"Whose bastard are you if I may ask, Jeyne?"

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father, ser."

"Oh!" Jaime exclaimed. "You're the bastard! The infamous one. I was wondering if I would come across the likes of you. Tell me, Jeyne, where has Lord Stark been hiding you?"

"Forgive me, ser, but I don't hide."

"Hiding in plain sight, then. I see. Oh! I see you have a winter dog to boot."

Jaime leaned down to pet Ghost when she bared her fangs to him and snapped at his armored hand. He flinched and instinctively went for his sword as well as the soldiers behind him. Jeyne flinched and moved to shield Ghost. Jaime paused and removed his hand from his hilt. He looked over his shoulder to the royal soldiers.

"It's fine. It's fine." He chuckled and looked back at Jeyne.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Miss Snow. I'll leave you to it. Just one more thing."

He moved over to her and bent to her right ear. "A pretty thing like you really shouldn't be out on the streets alone. You never know what a man might do, especially when a lord's daughter is about. I doubt a pup could count for a guard."

With that, he moved past her. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Snow." He left her, with the royal soldiers trailing him. She looked after them for a few moments before taking a long sigh and returning to her business.

She ended up buying a dozen of the winter roses and put them in her basket with her apples. After her time at the flower shop, she took a walk to the barber. She gave some serious thought to getting her hair chopped off but ultimately didn't do it after seeing what a mess the barbers made of other girls' hair. Afterwards, she went to the kennels so Ghost could meet and play with some of the dogs. She then went to the butcher and bought some raw beef and pork for Ghost to feast on later. Finally, she returned to the courtyard. She intended to return to her chamber with her purchase to rest for a while before heading back out with Ghost to travel the nearby woods. As she entered the courtyard, she happened upon Rickon and a small entourage including Theon.

"Ah, sweet Rickon!" Rickon was the youngest of the Stark siblings. A young boy of five with curly brown hair and blue eyes; Jeyne found him absolutely adorable. The two of them didn't see each other very often. She set her basket to the ground and kneeled as Rickon ran to her; he leapt into a hug with her.

"Ooomph!" groaned Jeyne from the added weight. "You're getting so big now!"

"Jeyne! I've missed you, big sister!"

"I've missed you too."

"Jeyne." Theon called out Jeyne's name as he approached the two, rather aggressively.

"Theon." Jeyne returned it kind, peering up at him from over Rickon's shoulder.

She then gently put Rickon at arm's length and looked over to her left; she observed her white Ghost playfully growling and tumbling over Rickon's own black-furred direwolf.

"What's your wolf's name?"

"Shaggydog!"

She gave him a curious look. "Shaggy … dog?"

His face looked somewhat pained at her questioning so she re-collected herself. "Sh-Shaggydog! A fine name! It suits you both. And where you going out on this wonderful day?"

"To play!" Rickon declared.

"Lady Stark told me to take him out to the woods." Theon said. "He has far too much energy today."

"Well, I have something for that" Jeyne declared, reaching into her basket and pulling one of her sweet apples. "Want an apple?"

"I think that's the opposite of what we want" Theon remarked.

Jeyne ignored him and told Rickon, "I tried one myself and it is the best fruit I've ever tasted."

Rickon took it in both hands. "Thank you, Jeyne!"

Jeyne was about to answer when she heard Sansa's voice call out to her.

"What are you doing with my brother, Snow?"

Jeyne looked over to see Sansa and her covey of ladies approaching. Her best friend and the head steward's daughter, Jeyne Poole, was always at her side. There were other young daughters of Stark servants and lower House daughters and also a blonde girl, younger than the others and dressed the finest of the group as well.

Jeyne stood to face Sansa. "I was in the market earlier where I bought some apples and I offered one to Rickon."

"Oh, you have apples?" Sansa asked. "I love apples. May I have one, please?" She extended her left palm out expectantly to receive it.

"Why, of course." Jeyne reached into her basket for another one and gladly handed it over to Sansa. Sansa barely held it before letting it fall to the ground. Jeyne Poole and some of the others behind her stifled laughter as Jeyne watched it fall and roll around. A chunk of the skin broke off and the core actually got dirty.

"So sorry", Sansa said in false modesty.

Jeyne swallowed. "It's quite alright."

Sansa held out her hand again. "May I have another?" More chuckles.

Jeyne stood stiff, conflicted.

Sansa gave a small smile and dropped her hand and the matter entirely. She stepped aside and gestured to the blonde girl. "Snow, this is Princess Myrcella Baratheon and you haven't shown proper courtesy."

Jeyne immediately curtsied and bowed her head toward Princess Myrcella. "My apologies. Pleased to meet you, your Highness."

"Pleased to meet you as well", Myrcella said, being polite.

"Your Highness, this is Jeyne Snow" Sansa said to Myrcella though she was looking at Jeyne the entire time. "She may look like smallfolk but don't let appearances fool you. She is my father's living mistake and a blight on the name Stark. Her mother was a harlot who seduced my father and we're all sure she'll never rise above that. Our dear bastard."

Jeyne simply looked at Sansa in the face, her face pained. She remembered when they were very young, the two were close. In fact, Sansa would try to follow Jeyne everywhere but it seemed Sansa either had very little memories of that or she willfully ignored them.

Myrcella looked between the two of them, shifting uncomfortably.

"As far as I'm concerned" Sansa went on, "the only good Jeyne is the one standing beside me."

Jeyne Poole looked over from Sansa to Jeyne Snow and beamed.

Jeyne Snow's eyes shifted over all of them and frowned. She reached down to pick up her basket. She stopped to address the princess and bowed her head to her. "Your Highness." She then began to take her leave and walk past the collected groups.

Sansa called out, "Wait!" and stopped Jeyne in her tracks. "I saw what you did that day in our needle session. Don't you ever desecrate my House sigil with your bastard blood ever again, Snow!"

Jeyne said nothing and simply continued walking on towards the keep and ultimately her chamber that mercifully separated from the rest of the Starks. Ghost bounded after her and she reached up to wipe away some damned tears that began to form in her eyes.

Maester Luwin with some of his servants rushed out from the keep past her and she stopped to see what was so urgent.

"Sansa! Rickon!" he shouted as he stopped in front of them. "Your dear brother, Bran! He has fallen from the high tower! He is in dire condition!"