Disclaimer: Westeros and its world belongs to George R R Martin; I'm just using it as a whetstone while I create my own.

New chapter! I have discovered a competition on Inkitt for original works, and it's coincided with an idea that occurred to me, so I'm currently writing that as well as this. This isn't a hiatus warning or anything so drastic as that, but worst case scenario is no new chapter for a few weeks while I write that; I prefer original fiction to fanfiction, it feels more natural to write. Additionally, anyone who wants to read that story, (and hopefully vote for it!), will find it on Inkitt, details on how are on my profile. Please do vote if you like it, because if it does win then it gets published!

Anyway, here's the next chapter...

Tyrion I

Two layers of furs, and the thickest cloak he had taken from Casterly Rock were barely enough to keep him reasonably warm as he waddled his way across the courtyard and into the Great Hall of Winterfell where the scalding waters of the hot springs heated the walls to a comfortable temperature.

His siblings were already sitting there, surrounded by the young princes and the princess. A crowd of gold hair and green gems, and his lips twitched a little at the sight of the five of them despite himself.

'You're up late,' Jaime remarked, kicking the bench out so that he could take a seat beside him.

'I went to offer my condolences to Lady Stark,' Tyrion explained. 'The maester claims the danger to the boy has passed, but the boy, Bran, has not yet woken.'

The young Stark lay silently in his bed, covered from toes to neck in furs, while his mother kept constant vigil beside him, waiting for her beloved son to come back. She had not, despite Tyrion's attempt to be as sensitive as he could, taken his offered condolences as well as he had hoped. Catelyn Stark had seemed almost wary about him being in the same room as her boy, but Tyrion could forgive her her grief.

'Is he going to be ok?' Myrcella, the sweetest of his sister's children, asked, eyes wide.

'I don't know, princess,' Tyrion smiled as kindly as he could, 'but we can hope that he is.'

Tommen nodded sweetly, studiously spooning bacon onto his plate, but his elder brother's upper lip curled.

'Weak things die,' he dismissed.

'Weak things do not survive falling so far,' Tyrion told him pleasantly, 'perhaps we should drop you from such a height and see how strong you are?'

The crown prince's eyes flashed angrily, and Cersei's slender fingers curled furiously around the stem of her glass.

'A prince does not say such things,' Tyrion told him, 'Rhaegar was the soul of courtesy.' He knew well enough that his sister had once dreamed not of stags but of dragons.

'Father killed the dragon prince,' Joffrey sneered.

'Go pay your respects,' Cersei tersely instructed her son, 'go with him, Tommen, Myrcella.'

'Yes, mother.'

The sneer slid back to his usual pout, and Joffrey strode from the hall, trailed by his siblings.

'I am surprised the boy is still alive after falling from so high,' Jaime said eventually.

'It might have been kinder if he had died,' Cersei murmured.

Kinder to who? Tyrion wondered.

'Perhaps the Gods wished him to be spared.' Tyrion shrugged, concealing a grin. 'Maybe one day he will do something important and change the fate of the Seven Kingdoms,' he continued with a grin.

His sister looked a little uncomfortable, exchanging a glance with her twin.

'I heard you intend to go North with Benjen Stark to see the Wall,' Jaime said.

I do,' Tyrion nodded, helping himself to wine, and the platter of small, crunchy fish. The fish were almost twice the size of the ones that swam in the rivers of the West. 'I always wanted to travel and see the world, so I shan't waste the chance to see the Wall. Even I shall feel tall standing atop it.'

Jaime smiled wryly, shaking his head. 'You did say you wanted to travel when we were younger.'

'You made a far finer castellan instead,' Cersei commented bitingly. She had not forgiven him for his chastising of her son.

'Ah, but sweet sister,' Tyrion grinned, more than familiar with her sharp tongue, 'those drains are more of Casterly Rock than you shall ever command.'

'I am Queen,' she reminded him acidly. 'I command the whole realm.'

'Try ordering our father to do anything,' Tyrion snorted, 'see how much of Casterly Rock the queen can sway. It's a pretty thing you wear sitting beside the king, but it's not the same crown, and it has not the same power.'

'Even Robert cannot command father,' his sister dismissed. 'If I had been born a man I would have been twice the son you are.'

'Why would father need another son?' Tyrion asked innocently. 'Between my mind and Jaime's sword we are the perfect pair.'

Cersei shot him a disgusted look, and swept from the bench in elegant disdain.

'Brother,' Jaime remonstrated, 'you should not bait our sister so.'

'But, dear Jaime,' Tyrion grinned, 'she paints such a target upon herself I find it hard to resist.'

His brother snorted and speared the last sausage upon his knife. It was some sort of blood sausage, dark and rich, and he watched enviously as Jaime devoured it in three deft bites.

'Ah, Kingslayer,' the king boomed from the end of the Great Hall, 'and the littlest lord of Lannister, I trust you haven't taken all the breakfast.'

He strode down the length of Winterfell's impressive hall, clad in silks and swaddled in furs, with Lord Stark beside him and trailed by the northman's wife and his guard. At some point he had misplaced his crown, and Catelyn Stark was holding, half-reverent, half-tentative as she followed, unsure whether to return it or not.

'There's more than enough, your grace,' Eddard Stark reassured him stiffly, and Tyrion fancied he saw the slightest hint of disapproval in the man's frigid expression. He could hardly blame Stark. Robert Baratheon was not the man he had once been.

He is twice the man he once was, Tyrion thought, eying the king's belly with a grin.

He slumped onto the bench across from Jaime, pouring a goblet of wine full to the brim and emptying it in a single motion.

'So have you decided?' The King demanded. 'You've had a day, Ned.'

'Perhaps this is not the proper place, your grace,' Eddard Stark began, glancing at him and his brother. It was no secret that Lord Stark was not fond of his family. Tyrion could hardly blame him. He was not fond of his family, and he'd been with them long enough to grow numb.

'Nonsense,' the king bellowed, reaching for bread. 'If you say no then I shall have to inflict this honour on the Kingslayer, and if he's already here then I don't have to find him later.'

'I will come south,' Stark sighed, 'but I need time to organise things before I leave, to explain things to my children, and say goodbye.'

'Bring them with you,' the king shrugged, 'they should see something other than snow in the summer.'

'Robb must stay to learn, Winterfell will one day be his, Rickon is too young,' Lord Stark disagreed, 'and Bran…'

The King's face darkened momentarily, eyes glinting as he chewed. 'Bring the others then. The girls, and your other son.'

'Other son?' Catelyn Stark's head snapped up, fingers white around the golden circlet.

'Ah,' the king grinned obliviously, 'my headache, thanks Cat.' He plucked the crown from her fingers, and placed it upon his brows, shaking his head until settled comfortably.

'Other son?' Stark repeated quietly.

'Jon,' the king said too cheerfully, 'you have a lot of children, Ned, but surely you remember their names.'

Tyrion snickered quietly and Jaime flashed the Warden of the North a cutting smile. His brother had never forgiven Eddard Stark for judging him unworthy of his white cloak, nor, perhaps, for the death of his three brothers of the kingsguard.

'Jon would not be welcome at court,' Eddard Stark said slowly.

'Why not?' The king seemed blissfully unaware of Catelyn Stark's mounting fury. 'He's a sad, sullen boy, but no worse than you were, and better he come south than freeze to death on the Wall as he intends.'

There was a long silence as Eddard Stark exchanged a look with his wife, half-guilty, half-worried. No doubt Catelyn Stark would not take kindly to the proof of her husband's infidelity being paraded around King's Landing, but Tyrion was more captivated by the king's request.

Perhaps I have misjudged him.

Robert Baratheon made it sound like he wanted the boy to come south for no more reason than his own whims, but Tyrion fancied he might be less ignorant of Lady Stark's disdain than he seemed. Why the king was bothering to help Eddard Stark's bastard when he barely kept track of his own was beyond him, but he'd displayed more tact and cunning in the last minute than Tyrion had suspected he possessed.

That's worrying.

He could only guess at how many other moments had passed by unnoticed.

'He is a bastard,' Stark said finally, abandoning subtlety.

'So?' The king refilled his goblet. 'I wasn't suggesting you sit him next to your other children in the Red Keep, or by my side here in Winterfell, and risk offending some pompous idiot, make him a guard, the Hand of the King needs guards, and boys should not be so eager to throw their lives away.'

'If he wants to go North to the Wall we should let him,' Catelyn Stark suggested coolly.

Tyrion frowned, and the king's eyes briefly glinted dark, both of them were very much aware of why the boy might really want to go there, and how little it had to do with defending the realm from snarks and stray wildlings.

'He should come south,' he grinned, breaking the tension. The boy wasn't bad company, better than Cersei, and a bastard Stark might one day make a good friend for a Lannister. 'Together we can embarrass two of Westeros greatest lords.'

The king laughed. 'You would make a fine pair,' he chuckled, 'an ugly Lannister and a Stark's dishonour, people would come from the sunset isles to see you.'

'Still,' Eddard Stark said, clearly reluctant, 'he would have no place down south, and no future as a guardsmen.'

'I like him,' the king said abruptly, ending any argument. 'He says what he thinks; it reminds me of you, Ned, when you were younger. He comes south. A future will find him.'

'Yes, your grace,' Eddard Stark responded stiffly.

Tyrion grinned at the man's discomfort, noticing the slight wince away from his wife's gaze.

The king abandoned the table to visit the glass gardens moments later, claiming to want to purge the cold from his bones, and both Lord and Lady Stark left with him.

'Cersei won't be happy,' Jaime said after the doorway shut with hollow boom.

'Our sister is never happy,' Tyrion grimaced.

'She wanted me to be hand,' his brother said, 'not Stark, though he is preferable to many by far.'

'An honourable enemy, brother?' Tyrion had guessed as much already. Cersei liked to keep her twin close, and believed him more than any other man since Rhaegar had died on the trident.

'He dislikes Lannisters, especially me,' Jaime's lip curled. 'I for one am glad his bastard is coming south, Ned Stark's precious honour was not so important when he fathered him on some fisherwoman somewhere.'

'Fisherwoman?' Tyrion shot him a sceptical look, knowing that his brother did not believe that.

'There were rumours,' Jaime shrugged, 'but you are right. Ashara Dayne is who I heard, I asked one of the stable boys about her and he clammed right up and refused to say a word more to me.'

'Maybe he was overwhelmed by your reputation,' Tyrion laughed. 'You could be right,' Tyrion emptied his wine cup, 'he has more of a refined look than most of his half-siblings. If it's true he might take after his uncle.' He didn't really care who the boy's mother was, or even about him, but he felt a little sorry for him having to endure Catelyn Stark's contempt for all these years, and there were better ways to escape it than the Night's Watch.

'Either of his dead uncles would be a worthy measure,' his brother nodded, 'but there will never be another Sword of the Morning like Ser Arthur Dayne. That man could have cut his way through me and my current brothers in white without taking a scratch.'

'Do you think so poorly of yourself?' Tyrion jested.

Jaime snorted again and stood up. 'I shall go find Cersei and tell her of my great disappointment, try not to drink too much, or cause any more trouble with the Starks.'

Tyrion yawned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jaime would make a very poor Hand of the King.

His brother's hands were meant for a blade, not for organising a realm while the real king drank his way towards an early grave, and he could tell just from the way Jaime was walking that he was relieved Eddard Stark had accepted the role himself.

Tyrion couldn't imagine any reason a man would ever want to be hand. He'd rather follow the king's example and drink, eat and whore himself until the pleasures of life wore him out; it would be quicker and more pleasant end than what the king had dubbed counting coppers.

He raised his legs and spun himself off the bench. There better things to do than sit alone when he could be wandering around Winterfell. The castle was one of the greatest in the seven kingdoms, older than the Red Keep, than Casterly Rock, the Twins, the Eyrie and any other great hold he could name. There had been stone towers over the springs here since the First Men had found them.

He turned out of the Great Hall into crimson eyes, stumbling backwards onto the floor in his surprise.

'Gods,' he swore, grateful that there was nobody to see.

The wolf was well-named.

When he made to push himself up the red-eyed beast padded closer, sniffing him curiously, then pausing to give him a hot, wet lick across his cheek before it lost interest and slipped away.

'Should be more considerate,' Tyrion grumbled. 'I helped save you and your master from the Wall.'

'Saved me from the Wall?'

Tyrion twisted round on the ground, springing to his feet and brushing the half-melted snow from his breeches.

'I should have known anywhere your wolf was you would be, boy,' he said wryly.

'Ghost seems to like you,' Jon Snow replied, eyes flicking to where the direwolf pup was watching them. 'The Wall?' He prompted.

'Lady Stark was most upset when the king decided you should come south,' Tyrion grinned. Vindictive satisfaction flashed across the bastard's face. 'Robert Baratheon is reminded of your father when he looks at you, and has decided to make sure you don't freeze to death watching for grumpkins.'

For an instant the boy looked quite disturbed, then he shrugged.

'Nothing to say?' Tyrion cocked an eyebrow. 'Not even happy to see Lady Stark embarrassed after all these years of being scorned by her.'

'Of course I am not,' Jon said evenly, 'she is my father's wife.'

'You can't lie to me, bastard,' Tyrion said. 'Your secret is the same as mine. I used to stare into the fire at Casterly Rock for hours, thinking of dragons, and how even I could look down at the world from atop one. Sometimes I would imagine it was my father in the flames, others, my sister.'

'I do not dream of fire,' the boy replied seriously, 'nor of dragons.'

'But you do not deny you have wished her gone.'

'I wished my mother would return, noble, beautiful, and kind, and that Lady Stark had found herself set aside for her,' Jon admitted, 'but I knew it would not be true.'

'And your half-siblings?' Tyrion asked, curious, 'were they set aside too.'

'Robb is the eldest.'

'Ah,' he grinned, 'you are your father's son.'

'Thank you.' The boy smiled for the first time since Tyrion had seen him, and the expression lifted his face, tilting his features into an almost handsome cast.

He is already more attractive than I will ever be, Tyrion thought sourly. Would that my misfortune could be so easily washed away by the kindness of a king.

'It will not always be a compliment,' Tyrion warned grimly. 'Eddard Stark is good man, an honourable one, but not very smart.'

'Why not?'

'A smarter man would have said no to Robert Baratheon and remained home with his family.' Tyrion pointed at the Stark banner, the grey direwolf on its white background. 'Starks belong in the North,' he reminded the boy, 'nothing good has ever come of a Stark going south. Your grandfather, your uncle, your aunt.' Tyrion ticked off the three most recent, but there were more, ones who had styled themselves kings of winter, the last of whom had knelt before the dragonlords.

'Then it's a good thing I am not a Stark,' the boy said dryly.

The offhand remark caught him by surprise and he laughed, throwing back his head.

'You have too much wit to be a Stark,' Tyrion agreed.

AN: Please read and review, thanks to everyone who does, and sorry again for the delay!