"Princess Victoria. I have to admit, I did not expect to see you here."

Lord Eddark Stark - the Hand of the King - did look surprised, but maybe not as much as he implied. He looked regal in his dark grey silks and light cloak, matching the color of his eyes and beard. His hair wasn't as well maintained as uncle Jaime's was, but enough care was given to accentuate his sharp facial features. I could see a bit of Robb Stark in that face, minus the Tully genes, but not as much as I had seen in comparison to Jon Snow's.

Physically, he was closer to Mark than to Robert, his body still clearly fit despite not seeing battle in a great number of years and ruling over a realm at thirty-five.

Five-and-thirty, I reminded myself. That's how they say it here. Don't mess up something you've grown up with all your life.

I wondered if I should be concerned about how little concern I actually felt about that.

Despite his good health, he looked older. When we had visited Winterfell, Lord Stark had been one to stand tall and stout, holding himself much like a king would among his court. He had been kind and polite in greeting, and more than thankful for my help in sparing Lady Sansa's dire wolf pup. Poor Lady Araya had to have been punished in her wolf's stead, and her own pup was to be hunted down when found, but I could imagine Lord Stark being fair in dulling out that punishment to her daughters.

Here there were shadows under his eyes that betrayed a lack of good sleep and his shoulders were hunched forward, as though even the weight of the cloak he wore for warmth was too much for him to bear. More whiskers of grey touched his beard and hair, leaving looking both wiser and drained at the same time.

I could almost imagine Defiant in his place, expression just as dour without his cybernetic helmet. Lord Stark wasn't as handsome as Defiant, but they had the same sort of vibe.

Lightly, I expanded my aura as I approached. Thoughts of pouring over black and white text, listening to the strum of guitars late at night while my loved ones slept on. Contentment. Relaxed.

It was important to be subtle here, but seeing a bit of relief under those dark eyes was worth it.

I gave a short nod to him and to Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of my father's Kingsguard. The older knight returned the nod as I greeted them, "It's a surprise to see you both here as well, though perhaps I should have known you would be paying your respects to Ser Hugh. He was Lord Arryn's squire and I recall the Lord being good friends to both of you."

"Did you know him well?" Lord Stark asked.

"I did." I smiled, thinking of the man who had made me swing a wooden sword a hundred times, as punishment for demanding to be trained like the knights. Still I had done it, and while he never said he was impressed, from that point on he never made a remark when I would copy the training every morning. "He was a hard man, but a noble one. Honorable."

Lord Stark smiled sadly, "That he was. And a strong ally to the realm. He was more fit to be the Hand of the King than I ever was."

I blinked in surprise, "I think you've done a fair job, my Lord."

"A fair job is not what this realm needs. A fair job that results in a unnecessary death of a boy is no different from a poor one."

"An accident is called an accident because no one is to blame," I said. "It was bad luck."

"Bad luck," he repeated. "But, it's bad luck at a tourney held in my honor. And who would the grieving blame, knowing that?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say to that. There were arguments I could make, offers for help, but this world was tricky in regards to what could be taken as sympathetic or insulting.

Ser Barristan coughed lightly, getting both of our attentions, "Are you here to grieve, Princess? Forgive me, I do not recall you and Ser Hugh being particularly close, if I may say so."

"Grieve, yes," I said, thankful for the change in topic. "But you speak true, I did not know Ser Hugh all too well. He was a kind enough squire in the few times we talked, and was ever eager to please Lord Arryn. His sudden death was shocking and unfortunate."

I glanced about the room. Aside from myself, Lord Stark, Ser Barristan and the Silent Sister, the room was empty. "Is this all who would attend this poor boy's vigil?"

"I had just gotten around to telling Lord Stark, but Ser Hugh had no one but a mother in the Vale," Ser Barristan answered.

"Then I hope he would be happy with such honorable men at his side, at least. Did my father show to mourn as well?"

A look passed between the two men, and I knew what the answer was immediately. Still, Lord Stark spoke, "No, I'm afraid I have not seen our Grace. No doubt he is busy with all sorts of political matters at the moment."

Getting drunk is hardly a political matter. I turned off my aura, my face flushed with embarrassment, "Let me apologize on his behalf, then."

"An apology is not needed," Ser Barristan said, "No wrongs have been committed."

I wasn't sure about that and from the subtle change in Lord Stark's expression, it seemed pretty clear that he felt something similar.

"Shall we pray?" I said instead. "I am no knight or lord, but if you would not mind my company, then I would gladly be in yours."

"The honor would be ours, My Princess," Ser Barristan replied. Lord Stark nodded as well.

I clasped my hands together as I approached the casket, eyes closed, praying to the Seven to guide his soul gently and bravely.

It was an odd feeling, to pray. I knew the Seven like the back of my hand; the Warrior, the Mother, the Father, the Smith, the Maiden, the Crone, and the ever haunting Stranger. Robert had often talked about the Warrior and the Father, in his own way of religious piety that often involved a concerning amount of drink and hunting. Cersei spoke mainly of the Mother, of how the truest and most sacred title is that of Motherhood, and how little respect that is given among the realms.

I felt... something for these gods. Nostalgia, because I had grown up with their fantastical tales and raised to respect their worship. Disconnection, because a large part of me knew of another world, where we had faced down beings that were practically gods and devils. Where the afterlife may only exist to those whom said multifaceted gods bonded with.

If there was a god to worship, and if it was allowed, then I would have prayed to the Stranger. After all, was I not a stranger myself, in a world with two minds? The family that I loved and I believed loved me knew me so very little, and I knew the world from my memories and dreams from only a distance.

True, you may represent Death itself, I thought.But have I not dreamed of dying more than once? Dying and finding myself in a dream within a dream?

I had asked myself earlier in the day when I had been born. Was it only once I was held in Cersei and Robert's arms? Was it when I began to realize these fantasies were more? Or was it the me of those memories, and I was merely a continuation of the tale?

I pray for you, Ser Hugh. I pray that you never have to consider these questions, wherever your soul ends up.

"I shall have words with my father," I said once the praying was done. "It is likely he is at the pavilion, gorging himself on wine, sausage, and battle. Would you care to join me?"

"It would be our pleasure, My Princess," Ser Barristan said.

We left the chambers, Ser Barristan and Lord Stark striding by my side like a pair of body-guards. Kind of funny, considering who I was.

"May I ask how Robb is?" I said to Lord Stark. "I understand he was saddened by his brother's departure to the Wall."

"Robb is doing well, Princess. Catelyn's letters have said he remains dutiful in his role in Winterfell. As for his brother, he knows that to join the Wall is an honor. He is well guided there by my brother, Benjen Stark. In years time, I can imagine Robb and I visiting the Wall, or perhaps Jon traveling down to meet us instead."

I had hoped for more about Robb than that. We had spent more than a few afternoons together in Winterfell, talking of our parents, our responsibilities, and just... enjoying each other's company. A chaste kiss on the hand or cheek, but we were still very young, and I wasn't ready to be dealing with that kind of mess. It was more refreshing to just enjoy the company of someone who wasn't close family for once.

I must remember that Lord Stark is known for being a bit distant. Certainly didn't help after the Dire Wolf fiasco with Joffrey, where very few people came out of that happy.

"I've never seen the Wall," I admitted, hoping to maybe steer the conversation in a different way. "My mother told me it is like a prison without borders, because the cold is a better jailer than any man. Father said something... very similar in his own way."

Lord Stark huffed out a breath, "I can imagine very well what words he used."

I smiled.

"Some of the greatest Knights I've met took the Black of their own accord," Ser Barristan said. "Ser Amor the Lance, Ser Bellos of the Irons, and Ser Dugry the Wind. I've talked to Lord Commander Mormont a few times, and every time I'm left impressed with his valor."

"I noticed neither of you said that what my father and mother said was a lie."

"Your Grace has not lied," Lord Stark was quick to say. "The Wall has become home to more and more criminals seeking to be spared, this is true. Not enough good knights have taken the Black. But Jon Snow is an honorable boy and I know he will honor the Seven Kingdoms at his post."

"One day I would like to visit," I said, almost wistfully. "King's Landing is beautiful, but I've found an appetite for mountains and snow, after our too brief visit. Is it true that the Wall is seven hundred feet tall?"

"It is so, Princess. We've had many maesters over the years confirm the measurements."

"Incredible." Even then, I had doubts. I could recall beautiful buildings of gold glass in my dreams that weren't that large. "Tell me, how was it built? Magic? A top a hillside perhaps?"

Lord Stark shook his head, "No one knows how it was built, beyond myth and song. Brandon the Builder most likely had a hand in it's creation, but you'll likely find a hundred maesters who would argue that it's several Brandon's who finished it. Even with Winterfell's great library, and the Stark's connection to the North, there is no clear answer there. If it were magic, then it was lost to us long ago."

I gave a sigh, "I suppose the mystery is part of the magic itself. Even the greatest mummers and sword eaters admit to them being tricks when I question them. Maybe all real magic is lost."

Ser Barristan hummed in thought, "I don't know if that is true. I've seen many great and terrible things in my days. Beautiful but terrible things that I sometimes cannot explain. Winds that sound like words if you were to strain your ears and dreams that seem to feel almost prophetic."

"I take no real deal in prophecy or signs," Lord Stark said. "And yet, I too agree that dreams can mean something. Maybe they are what we knew in our hearts, expressed in ways we cannot or would not understand otherwise. I suppose that may be what some could call magic, though I doubt many children would find it as fascinating as eating swords."

I had to laugh, "Maybe not, Lord Stark. But I find myself agreeing. There is something to said about the magic of dreams."

Or maybe it's not magic at all. Maybe it's the sheer power of the beings from the other side.

It would be arrogant of me to say I understood everything about this other me from the land of dreams and memory, but I knew she didn't believe in magic or gods. Or not as we knew them here, at the least. Perhaps the myths of legend were also part of this dream half, with their abilities coming into them as they grew, like mine did.

I wondered, if she were alive, whether she would agree with Lord Stark and Ser Barristan.

We made our way out to the pavilion, a sea of colorful tents set before us, the air filled with raucous laughter and shouting of traders and travelers. As full as I was, the smells of roasted pig and spices made my mouth water.

The day was just beginning, many squires were up and about, running around to please their masters. It was supposedly a great honor to squire for a knight, and for some cases that might have been true. To squire for Ser Barriston, Uncle Jaime or the late Lord Arryn was undoubtedly a good way to earn experience as a true future knight should. If I wanted, I could stretch that to others as well; Maesters were worldly and Uncle Tyrion was smarter than anyone would give him credit for.

But there lied the issue. I could stretch that suspension of disbelief as much as I wanted, but I couldn't ignore what my eyes saw and what my ears heard. Hear and there, lords or knights would rant at their squires for failing to properly polish their armor, or not getting them a proper cut of boar from the roast. Comments made about their mothers and fathers, questioning whether they were actually eunuchs', threatening to feed them to dogs...

Twice I caught someone cuffing a squire in the back of the ear, to better hide the bruising I supposed, and I was very grateful that I thought to turn off my aura. It took me every bit of my self-control to not say something cutting or exert my aura to quiet everyone.

This wasn't like back in the dreams. This was a world where my words had more and less weight as a princess than what my other self called a hero. Especially when I couldn't as freely exert that power without consequence. As therapeutic as that might be.

I could recall, though only with great effort, the younger heroes who would be mentored by their elders. Interacting with a few who stood out in my mind; Gallant, Vista, and the jesting Clockblocker. I couldn't imagine any of them letting their mentors smack them for earning their ire, regardless of cause.

No, I thought. There was one who might have.

Kenzie. The name filled me with love and despair, her adorable smile that belied an eternally seeking nature. Always desiring approval, no matter what. I could see her now, outlined in haze from vaguer dreams, pulling me close into a hug.

She would have taken a hit. She would have smiled and tried to do better after.

I pulled back from the memory before I could get lost in it and lose my footing. It would be better to catch up with Lord Stark about Robb-

My thoughts were cut off as a knight stepped before our path. His hair was a darker blonde than those of my siblings and cousins, his eyes brown, and his strong chin bore a vertical scar barely hidden by his scruff. He had to have been in his early twenties, maybe a year or so younger accounting for patchy beard, and full of confidence.

In comparison, the squire that ran up beside him carrying his banner was likely barely passing thirteen, wide-eyed and utterly terrified, as though he were facing down a charging Clegane. Based on the hair and eyes, I guessed him to be a relative of the strange knight.

Said knight took a knee before me, "Princess Victoria, it is an honor to meet you before the tourney resumes. Your beauty surpasses even the most glamorous of songs they sing in the Stormlands."

Really? Now of all times? "I- I thank you Ser..."

A glance at his banner and terrified squire didn't give me an answer to whose house he belonged. It seemed to be a line of trees bent and shaped into something resembling a grin, the road bending as it lead to the tree-line like a tongue.

"Ser Rosendrick of Tonguewood," Rosendrick answered, managing to not be embarrassed by the name, and shooting me a smile. "I had come to King's Landing for a chance to prove myself in the tourney, but had I known I would even get a glimpse of your visage, I would gladly have taken voyage sooner."

"Yes, well, thank you, Ser Rosendrick. I wish you good luck in the tourney. I'm sure your confidence will take you far." As diplomatically as I could, I stepped around him, "Please forgive me, but I must see my father before he rises. Urgent matters to discuss and such."

Ser Rosendrick popped up like a toy on a spring, scaring his young squire with the suddenness of his movement, and he matched my stride, "Then please, allow this young knight to add his person to your escort. The camps here are made of mostly honest men, I assure you, but you can never be too careful for thieves or scoundrels or ne'er-do-wells may see an opportunity to strike."

Now I felt really embarrassed, not just for myself but for Ser Rosendrick, who was clearly out of his league here and didn't even know it. Which was odd, because one of these guys was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the other was literally the Hand of the King.

Gods above, what backwoods did you come from that you don't even recognize the armor of one of these people?

"Ser Barristan, Lord Stark, may I have a moment with Ser Rosendrick?" I could see Ser Rosendrick's confusion before the words processed. There we go. "Please, it will be quick."

"Princess, are you sure that would be-"

"A single moment, Princess" Ser Barristan interrupted, with a clasp on Lord Starks shoulder. "We shall be nearby, so worry not."

The two men moved ahead, one of them more begrudging than the other, murmuring to themselves, but not taking their eyes off of me for longer than a second.

Ser Rosendrick's eyes were wide and his cheeks red, "Ser Barristan the Bold and the Hand of the King. I did not know- they look so..."

"Human," I finished for him. "They look human. Did you truly not recognize the armor or cloak?"

"I-I knew of those, yes, but I had not seen the man himself. Either one. I am a knight, I swore my oaths like all others. I had assumed-"

"That was your first mistake, Ser. Even if these hadn't been two of the most famous men in Westeros barring my Father, approaching me so suddenly with even normal guards - let alone my uncle or the other Kingsguard - could have ended badly for you. I don't think that would be a song your family would want to hear in Tongueswood. These men only leave you be for now because they can read the mood, so to speak. And I cannot say for what they will do after this is over.

"Your second mistake was impressing on me as you did, and not taking my leave courteously, as you should have. It does not matter if it be myself, my mother the queen, or even a maid. A knight does not force a woman to suffer his company. Do you understand?"

His face was a bright red by now, expression torn between horror and guilt. He dropped to a knee again, "My Lady, please, forgive me. I was too brash and unbecoming of myself. Allow me to make it up to you-"

"Ser Rosendrick," I said, fighting some impatience. "Please rise. All I ask is that you learn from this, use it to arm yourself in the future, and teach your squire these same lessons if you have any plans of knighting him in the future. I meant what I said, I truly wish you the best of luck in this tourney. I and others will be watching."

"My Lady is too kind," he croaked out, before rising stiffly but swiftly, moving back into the throng of camps to blend in among others of his kind.

I strode to Ser Barristan and Lord Stark, head held high, not acknowledging the stares that I must have earned from those who had watched the embarrassing scene play out.

The three of us continued our walk, and it was painfully silent for a moment before the talk began anew all around us.

I frowned in annoyance, "My ears are burning. I can just imagine the rumors being crafted here."

"Unfortunately so," Ser Barristan agreed. "It was no fault of your own, however. Any knight should know better than to be so fool hardy as that with the royal family."

"Unfortunately," Lord Stark echoed. "My time as Hand, short as it is, has shown me that one cannot walk from court to castle without a dozen more gossips sprouting. Sometimes it feels as if the walls have ears."

"I can attest to that, at the least," I grumbled. "I have taken up training in my room, because somehow my Mother always hears about me training in stables or yards, and scolds me after. At least there I can pretend to be innocent."

"I am no stranger to women taking up interest in the arts of combat and training, Princess, though I find it curious as to how you came to be interested."

Because another me did. And I became fascinated with her. "I find the pomp of some boys, and men, to misstep when dealing with a woman who knows more about a sword and shield than they do."

"As I was telling Eddard before," Ser Barristan spoke. "I recall a time the young Princess Victoria had been first approached by a young singer with more lyrics than wits. I cannot remember what lyric did the trick, but he ended up in the dirt, nose bloodied while Lady Victoria stood above him fuming. She has become quite diplomatic since then."

Lord Stark frowned, "That I cannot deny. Yet neither can I deny that not all knights are so meager. Perhaps we should call for more guards-"

"I'm quite safe with you two, if I say so myself." I hoped a bit of my flush had gone down. "I believe Ser Rosendrick has learned a lesson or two."

"The young can be stubborn to learn, My Lady."

I gave him a rueful glance, "I am young, Lord Stark. And Ser Barristan says I've learned well."

"You have, My Lady, but even I worry."

I sighed, "Give me one of Father's warhammers, and you'll find that I am a master of diplomacy."

I saw a ghost of a smile on Lord Stark's face, "Arya has been wanting to meet with you more often, Princess. You both have a way with words."

"You'll tell her that I shall sit with her today, if it pleases her then." The thought of spending more time with the rambunctious child brought a smile to my face. It wasn't quite the same as with Kenzie, but I could admire and understand Arya's adventurous nature, as well as her honesty.

My spirits were high and a good mood was shared between the three of us, the awkward interruption mostly forgotten.

It was a shame that my father had to ruin it.