Chapter V

Duncan

The last time Duncan had ridden next to the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North was many years ago. He was three and ten at the time and had rode out to personally escort Lord Stark into the city his family ruled for the past hundred and fifty years.

It had started out what could be considered an awkward silence, just like when he was younger, but after they got good eight or so miles away from Darbey's Hall, Lord Stark broke the silence going on between them.

"How have you been, Duncan?" He asked, his voice traced with curiosity.

Duncan looked at him, formalities were dropped now since it was just the two of them that'd be conversing. "I've been good." He replied as he turned his gaze back ahead of them. "I wrote to my wife this morning before we left to inform her that we'll be going to the village, and that I'll hopefully be back soon."

"That's nice to hear." The Lord of Winterfell said.

"Indeed," spoke Duncan in response.

Another moment of silence befell them after this, one that lasted a few seconds before being broken once more by the Warden of the North.

"The woman you married, she's a Frey right?"

"Aye, she is." Duncan affirmed with a slight nod, ignoring the men behind them that had begun to sing Dark of Night. "I don't remember where she is on the inheritance list, way too many Freys for me to remember, but I believe she is Lord Walder's fifteenth granddaughter? That or she is the thirteenth, one of the two."

"Seven hells, how many does he have?" Lord Stark asked, his voice filled with curiosity and appalment.

"Enough to where I think he should change his house's name to House Breed, and his words be, We Breed Fast." Replied Duncan followed by a small chuckle as Lord Stark snorted and laughed a little.

"And what would their sigil be?" He asked Duncan with amusement and curiosity in his voice.

Duncan thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and saying. "I don't know, a baby?" He glanced at Lord Stark. "Haven't thought about it, but I think it'd suit them well, since most of them can act like babies."

Lord Stark studied him for a brief moment. "You don't seem fond of your new family."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "I didn't marry Lord Walder's fourth son's second daughter out of love or anything of that sort. I married her out of duty and the betterment of the North."

At this, Lord Stark raised a single eyebrow. It was asking his unspoken question.

'How in Seven Hells does marrying a Frey girl improve the North?'

"The dowry I was given was her weight in gold and silver," Duncan said a little quietly. "Among a few other things," he added, "with what I was given I could rebuild one of the ruined strongholds at Sea Dragon Point, or build a dozen or two ships. I know gold and silver won't keep us warm during winter, but it does have its uses just like these emeralds."

Lord Stark didn't respond, at least not at first, he was silent for a few seconds. "This be true, gold and silver will not keep us warm during winter, and winter is coming, but you are not wrong either. I may not like to admit, but they do have their uses, and it gladdens me to see that you are using them correctly."

Duncan looked away as he felt his face become slightly warm. He had blushed at the praise and how he knew this was because his ears felt warm. They never do that unless he blushes.

"Do you," he started and stopped, clearing his throat so he could speak more clearly. "Do you think my grandfather and parents would be proud of me? If they could see the lord I've become?"

There was more emotion than he thought there would be in that question as the Warden of the North looked at him, and not as in at him, but as in the eyes. Lord Stark stared directly and deeply into Duncan's yellow eyes with those dark grey eyes of his.

"I think they would." Lord Eddard Stark claimed as he turned his gaze onto the road. "Your grandfather would most certainly be proud of what you have done and become. I didn't know your parents well, but he had told me that they had loved you dearly, especially your mother."

"… Did you ever meet them?" Duncan inquired after a moment of silence. "My parents I mean." He clarified in case Lord Stark was confused by the question.

"I did, quite a few times actually." Lord Stark revealed.

Duncan nodded. "What were they like?"

Lord Stark thought for a moment. "Good people." He answered after his couple seconds of thinking. "They were good people and did not deserve what happened to them, especially your mother."

The Lord of Drakelow Keep was quiet. He heard the tales about what happened to his father and mother. How his father had valiantly tried to save Lord Stark's father and brother, Brandon Stark, only to be killed by the King's personal guards.

And his mother…

He had heard the cruelty that befell her. How the King ordered for his mother to be cut open, and that her child, his younger sibling that was growing inside of her to be ripped out and then tossed into the fire that killed Lord Stark's father.

It was said that she was still alive as they tossed his not fully developed younger sibling into the green flames, and that her screams were so loud, so dreadful that the Queen, Rhaella Targaryen broke her silence and begged her brother to put an end to it all. Rumor has it the King agreed, but it was only because he had grown annoyed with his mother's screams.

Whether all of this was true or not, Duncan did not know. All he did know was that the memories he had with his parents weren't many, in fact, it was hard to even call them that, for he couldn't really remember their faces or really any events with them. All he could recall of them was their voices, how his father had a strong, unyielding voice while his mother had a gentle and soft one.

"Is it sad that I can't remember what they look like?" Duncan asked after a few seconds, his voice lacking the emotions he was currently feeling as the song Dark of Night started to come to an end.

Lord Stark looked at him and then shook his head. "No, it is not. You were no more than a child when they died."

While this was indeed true, Duncan didn't find much comfort in Lord Stark's words. "Still, they're my parents, and to forget what they look like?" He shook his head. "It troubles me greatly."

At this, Lord Stark didn't say anything, causing the conversation to come to an end, which quite frankly Duncan was glad of. As much as he wanted to speak to the man he looked up to, he did not wish to snap and argue with him.

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Balen

"A Dornish bastard little brother? Out of all the things you could have wedded it had to be a Dornish bastard?" The short raven haired woman in a dark green dress half shouted.

"It is good to see you too, Cassie." Balen replied with the slightest of smirks.

"Spare me the greetings little brother and explain to me what you were thinking. We both know well how Father feels about the Dornish." She snapped as the red oak double doors to his room were closed by the guards that stood vigil outside.

Balen looked at his older sister, Cassandra Selmy, née Rutherford for a solid couple of seconds before turning away and sighing. She was annoyed with him, which was understandable, but a part of him felt like she was taking out her irritation on the wrong person. After all, he wasn't the one who had sent raven telling her to come here and speak with him. No, it was no doubt his father that had done that.

That was what his father always did, whenever he couldn't get his way and was furious with him. He would call for Cassandra and have her come and talk to him. He would have her try to speak some sense into him.

Still, he was glad to see her, despite coming at their father's behest. The amount of time that had passed since Balen had last seen his oldest sister was too long, and throughout that time a lot about her has changed. Her breasts had grown along with her belly, she wasn't fat, but no longer did she have the perfect hourglass figure that a lot of men desired.

Overall, she was still beautiful, just a little chunky.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Balen started in a tone of resignation, ignoring her scrutinizing gaze. "It was an honest mistake, truly, but I swore a vow, and a holy one at that. Drunk or not, the fact remains I made it, and must honor it."

His sister stared at him for a solid eight or so seconds, nothing being said in that timespan. "So," she finally started, her eyes still trained on him. "You did not do this to spite Father?"

"No, I did not." He assured her. "Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to believe that, at least I think. I'm not sure what he believes, I just know he is furious with me."

At this, his sister snorted in an unladylike manner. "That's an understatement, he's beyond furious with you. He's livid, and were you not his only son, I'm pretty sure he would have disowned you, maybe even kill you."

"That's comforting to hear." Balen replied with a hint of sarcasm and a scowl.

"It's not supposed to be." She claimed with a note of seriousness. "Do you not understand what you have done? Telissa Hewett wasn't just Father's childhood friend's daughter, she was the key to repairing our relationship with the Reach!"

She shook her head and soon began to pace around in front of him like how their father would do. "House Tyrell have not forgotten us forsaking our oaths, and siding with the rebels, neither have their bannermen. Well, perhaps Mace Tyrell has but not his mother. No, the Queen of Thorns will never forget that."

Balen remained silent as his sister continued to speak about how marrying Telissa would have been the start of mending that bridge they had broken. How it would have given them a tie to the strongest shield of the Four Shields.

He knew all of this of course, but if he was being truthful with himself, Balen doubted his father gave a single shit about what House Tyrell thought. He didn't speak of them often, but he remembered the disdain his father would have in his voice when mentioning them, especially Olenna Tyrell.

If he recalled correctly, his father had claimed Olenna to be nothing more than a poor imitation of Tywin Lannister, the Warden of the West and Shield of Lannisport. Why his father had so much dislike for the old woman and her family he would never know.

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The Stag King

When the news of Elbert's demise reached him, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, did not know what to truly do. At first he laughed and said that it was a good joke, but that there was no way Elbert could die only to receive in response a firm yet soft, "Robert," from his foster father, Jon Arryn making his laughter stop in its tracks.

"You're not kidding." Robert said seriously as he looked his foster father in the eyes.

"No, I'm not, my nephew is really dead, Robert." Jon told him, his voice dripped with sadness. "Along with my great-nephew Jasper, both killed in an attack by the Hill Tribes."

At the time all he could say was, "Seven Hells," and "I'm sorry."

To which Jon thanked him and then asked for his leave, he needed time alone, which was understandable, but had wanted to inform Robert of Elbert's passing.

That was all no more than thirty minutes ago and since Robert had been sitting in his room staring blankly at a wall that had mounted on it a stuffed white stag's head.

A part of him wanted to just drink his sorrows away, for Elbert was as much of a brother to him as Ned was. Another part him wanted to go out and kill the dumb cunts that killed his friend, but he was king now, and while he would never admit it, he doubted he could even wield his warhammer anymore, at least like how he used too.

"The Demon of the Trident they once called me," He muttered to himself as he felt the strong urge to chug down some strongwine. "The Storm King come again!"

He laughed bittersweetly at that. That was what they had called him after he caved in that silver haired cunt's breastplate. When he had killed the dragon-filth that kidnapped and raped the woman he loved!

The thought of it all made him clench his fists and had he held his horn in his hand he would have thrown it at the wall, at the white stag that was staring at him, but he didn't. Unfortunately he carried nothing in them so all he could do was sit and seethe as he dug his fingernails into his palms.

He wanted to drink badly and he wanted to fuck something bloody. He wanted to forget that one of his brothers by choice had died just recently, and act as if nothing bad had happened but he couldn't. Because Elbert deserved better than that, way better.

Deciding he had done enough sitting around Robert got up and walked to where his crown rested. It was a large crown, and not the first crown he had worn. The first one he had worn did not have jewels on it nor was it made out of gold. It was smaller, with the band being made out of metal and antlers on top of it with the largest antlers being directly above his forehead and the second largest above his ears.

It wasn't as comfortable as the one he wore nowadays, but Elbert had told him before leaving for Storm's End with Ned that it wasn't supposed to be comfortable. That it was to remind him of the responsibilities as King of the Seven Kingdoms. He had accepted it then and had told Elbert that he was going to become one of the greatest king's Westeros had ever seen, but that was when she was still alive.

When Lyanna Stark was still in this world.

Craving a drink now more so than ever, Robert approached the wine jug sitting on a dresser and had poured himself a drink and was about to guzzle it down only to stop and stare at the reflection he saw in the mirror on top of the dresser.

"I look like shit." He muttered as he stared at himself. He hated the sight he saw and wondered how it got to this point. How did he get so fat to where he sweated when doing nothing but sitting?

It infuriated him and without even blinking Robert roared and flung the large metal chalice at the mirror causing it to crack and shatter as wine flew almost everywhere in front of him.

The commotion he made caused the door to his chamber to fly open and the two kingsguard that stood watch outside to come bursting in, their swords half drawn and their eyes scanning the room for intruders.

"Your grace?" One of them said, confusion in his voice.

Robert didn't respond at first. He just stood there, seething at the sight of him in the cracked mirror as wine dripped down from the walls and the mirror.

"Your Grace?" The man repeated as he and his brother in arms approached him.

Robert glanced at him, and then at the broken image of himself.

"I want," he began, his voice dripping with fury, "to go to the yard. Fetch me my blunted hammer."

He didn't need to look to know that neither of the two men moved, prompting him to look at the man once more and saying with even more anger in his voice. "Did you not hear me? Fetch me my fucking hammer you idiot, and Ser Barristan too!"

The Kingsguard that had spoken quickly scurried off leaving Robert alone with the youngest member of his Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart. He stared at the Reachman for a solid good second before breaking the silence.

"How good are you with a sword, Ser Arys?"

"I would like to believe I'm pretty skilled with a sword, Your Grace." Ser Arys answered, albeit hesitantly and with a tinge of nervousness.

At this Robert grunted and moved to open so that he may put on a different set of clothes. Ones that were more fitting for spending time in the yard.

"Pretty skilled will do, you will be my warm up." He said finally as he started to take off his shirt, avoiding the cracked mirror that would show him his fat gut.

"Your warm up, Your Grace?" Ser Arys said, his voice full of confusion with no doubt a bewildered look hidden underneath his helm.

"Yes, my fucking warm up." Robert snapped irritatedly. "Did you not hear me tell that useless shit to go and get Ser Barristan?"

"I did, Your Grace." Ser Arys answered, this time with no nervousness in his voice.

"Then don't you think I need to warm up before I spar with him?" Robert questioned as if it was obvious while wondering what it was he did to deserve being surrounded with fools.

"You plan on sparring with Ser Barristan?" Ser Arys asked incredulously.

Robert wanted to do a lot of things to the young knight, he wanted to throttle him, curse him, yell at him, and give him a withering gaze, but in all honesty he couldn't be bothered.

"Out," he said to Ser Arys in a voice that didn't lack annoyance as he resumed getting undressed. "I'll be outside in a minute, so go back to standing outside like the guard you are."

Not needing to turn to see that the man was slowly walking away, Robert let loose a sigh. Dealing with fools was something he didn't like, not one bit.

Note From Author: I am not dead, I have just been busy with a number of things. Elden Ring had come out and so I spent time playing that, and when I did have more time on my hands I chose to write that one story idea I had.

For anyone that is curious it is an AU of A Song of Ice and Fire, and instead of Genna Lannister being betrothed to a Frey she gets betrothed to a Northerner instead. I had thought it would be interesting to do and would like to post it, but would like to get a solid number of chapters written for it first.