Chapter Three- Fall
Ser Jaime Lannister was exhausted. He had spent much of the day searching for his brother, the so-called "Imp" Tyrion Lannister at his sister's request. She was determined to prevent the dwarf from embarrassing their family while in the capital of the North. Jaime was happy to help but less so to march around all of Winterfell and Wintertown searching for the littlest Lannister.
As Jaime walked down the dirt streets of Wintertown, he passed a small stone and wood structure filled with the sounds of grunts, moans, and laughter. Jaime looked the building up and down before frowning.
The whorehouse, he wouldn't have…oh, of course he would, he thought before heading inside.
The whorehouse was packed to the brim with lecherous men and women. His shiny golden boots were pulled on by the faded wooden flooring as he entered. He certainly hoped it was ale that was sticking to them. Jaime earned catcalls from multiple men and women alike as he weaved his way past bouncing couples and whores looking for a new client.
Tyrion you lust filled little fiend, where are you?
Jaime made his way to a somewhat deserted hallway that had several sectioned off rooms for private transactions. The sounds of grunting men and groaning women got louder with each room he passed as did the knight's disgust.
How you manage to visit these filth holes so frequently I'll never understand, Tyrion.
Jaime reached the end of the hallway when he spotted shaggy blonde hair through a small doorway. Sure enough, it was Tyrion, a cup of wine in his hand, a laugh in his throat, and a girl on his cock.
"Mm, it's true what they say about the northern girls," Tyrion cooed.
The whore finished her work and met Tyrion's eye, "Did you hear the king's in Winterfell?" she asked.
Tyrion made his way towards the chamber's bed and seated himself on the mattress, "I did hear something about that, yes."
The whore joined him, seating herself at the edge of the bed. "And the queen and her twin brother; they say he's the most handsome man in all the Seven Kingdoms," she continued.
Tyrion scoffed, "Oh I've heard the crown prince is far more handsome than he…what about the queen's other brother?"
A coy look appeared on the girl's face, "The queen has two brothers!?" she said in mock surprise. Tyrion began to disrobe slowly, maintaining eye contact with the redheaded whore with every move.
"Well yes, there's the pretty one, and there's the clever one."
The whore began tracing circles around his chest, "I hear they call him 'The Imp'".
Tyrion's mismatched eyes briefly narrowed before quickly widening as the dwarf smiled, "I hear he hates that nickname."
The whore flashed a wicked smile. "Oh, I hear he's more than earned it; I hear he's a drunken little lecher that's into all manner of perversions," she purred.
"Clever girl," Tyrion concluded as she began to laugh.
"We've been expecting you, Lord Tyrion!"
Tyrion's eyebrow rose, "Oh have you? Well the Gods gave me one blessing."
The dwarf laughed heartily as the whore began to climb atop him, only for the moment to be spoiled by his elder brother entering the room. The whore froze as Jaime held up a hand, "Oh please, don't get up on my account," he said.
The whore rolled off of Tyrion quickly, "M'Lord."
Tyrion sighed, "Must I explain to you the meaning of a closed door in a whorehouse, brother?"
Jaime flashed Tyrion his teeth as he poured himself a cup of ale, "You have much to teach me I don't doubt, but in this instance perhaps you'll forgive the interruption; our sister craves your attention."
"She has odd cravings, our sister."
"Family trait…the Starks are feasting us at sundown; please don't leave me alone with these people," Jaime nearly begged.
Tyrion grinned. "I'm sorry, I've begun feasting a bit early and this," he gestured to the whore. "Is the first of many courses."
Jaime returned his smile, "I thought you might say that, and since we're short on time…"
Jaime opened the door once more and a line of nude whores entered one-by-one, piling onto Tyrion's bed. Jaime exited with a wave, "See you at sundown."
As Jaime left his younger brother to his devices, he heard a shout of "Close the door!" from behind him. Jaime opted not to do so as a sort of punishment for wasting his day. As the knight made his way back towards Winterfell, he was sure that Cersei would not be satisfied with his search, but he didn't really care. She couldn't stay mad at him for very long, especially not when surrounded by Starks.
~0~0~0~
Catelyn Stark looked down as she worked, weaving locks of auburn hair over and under one another. Her daughter, Sansa, had asked her mother to fix her hair for the feast that evening, hoping to impress the prince, her apparent newly betrothed. As Catelyn looked down at her daughter, she couldn't help but see a younger version of herself in the girl. Not only did the two share their Tully-red hair and vivid blue eyes, but they shared a similar dreamy demeanor in their youth.
When Ned had pulled the family aside to announce Robert's proposal to betroth Sansa and Nat, the girl had been more expressive and excited than she had been in years. Growing up, Sansa had always been enthralled with stories of heroism and romance. And now with a handsome, warrior prince showing up on their doorstep it was like those stories had come alive to whisk her away from Winterfell as she so desperately desired.
Catelyn was skeptical. She didn't trust the Lannisters for a moment and couldn't quite pin down the nature of the crown prince. Depending on which of his two parents he emulated more Sansa could be in for quite a bit of trouble.
Catelyn's worrying was interrupted by Sansa.
"Do you think Nat will like me? What if he thinks I'm ugly?"
Oh, Sansa thought the Stark matriarch.
Catelyn cupped her daughter's cheek before continuing to braid her hair. "The Prince is an odd one, but he doesn't strike me as stupid which is what he'd have to be to take a look at you and think you're ugly."
Sansa smiled as her mother held up a mirror to her face.
"Besides," Catelyn continued. "There's much more to love about a person than that, dear; when I married your father I didn't think much of him nor he of me but we grew to respect and love one another over time, that's what makes for a proper marriage, love."
"But the prince is so handsome, don't you think?" Sansa chirped.
Catelyn sighed and gave Sansa a tired smile, resting her chin on top of her daughter's head. "Yes, my dear, he has a lovely smile."
Sansa freed her head from her mother's and turned to her, "When will we marry? Are we going to have to wait?"
"Calm yourself, dear, your father hasn't even accepted the king's offer yet."
Sansa made a face at her, "But why would he ever say no?"
Catelyn bit her tongue. Why indeed? As far as offers of marriage went, they could get no better than the crown prince of the realm. But to marry their daughter off to a Lannister? She shared her husband's hesitation.
"You would have to leave home, as would your father; you'd leave your siblings, Jeyne, me…" Catelyn trailed off, remembering how Ned had left her to fight Robert's wars twice before. Catelyn didn't think she could handle a third, much less with her oldest daughter leaving at the same time.
"Oh, but I'd be queen someday!" Sansa urged. "Please mother, you left home to come here, oh please make him say yes," she begged.
Catelyn stroked her daughter's hair, "Sansa-"
"Please, please, it's the only thing I ever wanted!"
Catelyn looked down into Sansa's eyes. She was still hesitant. How could she deny her daughter the prospect of becoming queen, of marrying into the royal family? She couldn't. But still, how could she knowingly send her daughter to King's Landing amidst all of the turmoil and the snakes waiting to strike at a moment's notice? She couldn't.
Catelyn sighed as she finished the braid. What could she do?
~0~0~0~
The King's feast had gone without a hitch as the moon rose over the horizon. The sound of laughter, hundreds of synchronized voices, and the slight twinge of the bard's harp echoed throughout the courtyard as Jon Snow hacked away at a practice dummy.
The bastard son of Lord Stark peered in at his half-siblings and longed to be among them. But Lady Catelyn had final say, the Starks wouldn't insult the Lord Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms by seating a bastard at their table. The fire looked warm, Jon thought. He could sense its warmth, even from the chilling courtyard.
Not like the King would even notice me with his eyes in the waitress' tits, Jon thought as he returned to the dummy.
"Think he's dead yet?" a surly voice called from behind him.
Jon turned and his dark eyes lit up in recognition. "Uncle Benjen!" he exclaimed before embracing the man. Benjen Stark looked his bastard nephew up and down before clasping his hand on Jon's shoulder.
"You got bigger," he thumbed the banquet hall. "I rode all day, didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters," he explained.
Jon nodded and turned solemnly.
"Why aren't you at the feast?"
Jon looked at his feet, "Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst."
Benjen's face fell briefly. "Well," he began. "You're always welcome at the Wall; no bastard has ever been denied a seat there."
The mention of the Wall lit a fire within the young Stark bastard. The Wall was where the criminals and rejects of society were often sentenced to take the Black and service the Seven Kingdoms in exile. To Jon Snow, it seemed to be the only place where he could truly belong.
"Take me with you when you go back!" he insisted.
"Jon-"
"Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will!"
Benjen waved at him dismissively, "The Wall isn't going anywhere."
Jon stood firm, squaring his feet with his shoulders and puffing out his chest, "I'm ready to swear your oath."
Benjen sighed in frustration. Jon was still young and didn't understand the real implications of taking up the oath of the Night's Watch. Didn't understand the things that he would be required to forfeit.
"We have no families, Jon. None of us will ever father sons."
Jon shook his head, "I don't care about that!"
"If you knew what it really meant, you might…" he turned to the banquet hall. "I'd better get inside and rescue your father from his guests, we'll talk later."
Jon frowned as he watched his uncle leave. He was ready, he was sure of it. But still, Benjen had unnerved him with his last warning. What could he have meant?
"Ah, your uncle is in the Night's Watch," came a voice from behind.
Jon whipped around and found no one. Upon lowering his gaze slightly, he was met with the sight of a small figure lurking several feet away in the dark.
"What're you doing back there?" Jon called.
The figure's head leaned back, he must be drinking wine, "Just preparing for an evening with your family- you know, I've always wanted to see the Wall."
As the figure stepped into the light, Jon made a poor effort at hiding his repulsion. The dwarf was ugly indeed. His forehead jutted out like a board that did little to hide his mismatched green and black eyes. His piercing stare was making Jon uncomfortable.
"You're Tyrion Lannister, the Queen's younger brother," Jon concluded.
Tyrion waved a hand, "Indeed, my greatest accomplishment," he pointed a finger up at Jon. "And you're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"
Jon grit his teeth and turned back to his training dummy. Bastard. He hated that word.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Tyrion piped up. "Did I offend you? It's only the truth! You are a bastard."
"Lord Stark is my father," Jon growled.
Tyrion made his way towards Jon, "And Lady Stark isn't your mother which makes you a bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are- the rest of the world will not- wear it like armor; it'll never be used to hurt you."
Jon, bastard or not, had Stark in his veins. And as with the rest of the Stark family, Jon had a quick and ferocious temper. "The hell would you know about being a bastard?" he snapped.
The littlest Lannister took another swig of his wine and made his way towards the feast "Oh, bastard…all dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes."
~0~0~0~
"BAH-hahahah!"
Catelyn smiled grimly as she observed Robert getting too friendly with a wench in their court. Lady Stark had the unfortunate honor of being seated next to the Queen Cersei as the two women watch the King fiddle around with another woman. Truly a horrifying experience. But Lady Stark had years of diplomatic experience to rely on, she could manage, just not comfortably.
"Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?" Catelyn asked in desperation.
The queen didn't take her eyes off her husband. "Yes. Lovely country."
Catelyn smiled and turned her eyes to Sansa. She and her friend, Jeyne Poole, were giggling to one another about something. Catelyn traced their eyeline and found the two girls staring at the crown prince who was seated next to her son, Robb.
"I'm sure it's very grim, after King's Landing. I remember when Ned brought me up here for the first time," she said with a smile. The queen said nothing. Catelyn tried to think of something else to say when movement in front of their table caught her eye. It was Sansa approaching.
"Hello little dove," the queen spoke pleasantly. "My, you are a beauty; how old are you?"
Sansa smiled shyly, "Thirteen, Your Grace."
Catelyn observed as the queen looked her daughter up and down with a glance, "You're tall," the queen concluded. "Still growing?"
And there it was. The sort of backhanded comment that Catelyn had been expecting out of the queen all night. She was livid. Sansa shifted on her feet uncomfortably. The queen dared make her daughter insecure in her own home.
"I-I think so, Your Grace," Sansa replied.
"And have you bled yet?" the queen continued.
Catelyn was horrified for her daughter as she watched the smile plummet from her face. She glanced at Catelyn, eyes searching for an answer. Catelyn wanted to tell Sansa to walk away but they couldn't offend the queen with such a rude act. The Lady of Winterfell nodded to her daughter, signaling for her to answer.
"No, Your Grace," Sansa looked down.
Cersei nodded. "And your dress," she noted the craftsmanship. "Did you make it yourself?"
She was good, Catelyn had to admit. Only a woman with years of political experience could manage to so quickly destroy and rebuild someone's confidence like it was an afterthought. Sansa's smile shined as she looked back up at the queen and nodded.
"Such talent," Cersei returned her smile. "You must make something for me!"
Sansa smiled and curtsied, scurrying back to her seat to report the details of their interaction with Jeyne Poole.
"I hear we might share a grandchild someday," Cersei said, addressing Catelyn.
Catelyn returned her attention to the queen and smiled, "I hear the same."
Cersei observed as Sansa spoke to Jeyne at a speed quicker than the poor girl could possibly process, "Your daughter will do well in the capital, such a beauty shouldn't be hidden up here forever."
Catelyn sighed. If she could have it her way, Sansa wouldn't step foot near King's Landing.
~0~0~0~
"I just can't fathom how you possibly manage to feed them!" Nat chuckled, sipping his wine.
Robb grinned and laughed alongside the prince, "Oh believe me, it's quite a task."
The two heirs sat together at a table off near the right side of the hall, discussing the practicality of harboring six direwolves behind the walls of Winterfell. Nat had taken his time to settle down and put on his diplomacy mask after the heated conversation with his father and had been doing his best to engage with all of his future in-laws.
The little ones were something of a bore and Lord and Lady Stark were clearly uncomfortable in his presence, but the prince found himself to quite enjoy Robb Stark's company. Though the Stark heir was a bit reserved for Nat's taste he was surprised to find that the man had quite a good sense of humor.
It would be good to build a strong relationship with the future Warden of the North.
Nat strayed from his table etiquette training and placed an elbow on the table, placing his cheek in his palm as he addressed the young Stark. "So, tell me, what do you make of this betrothal?" he asked.
Nat grinned as Robb nearly choked on his ale. It was a question quite out of the ordinary, but the prince was genuinely interested in hearing the man's opinion. His query also served to disarm Robb Stark somewhat; by making the man more comfortable with him he could glean some useful information in their conversations.
"Well," Robb began. "I suppose there's truly no one better suited for my little sister than the heir to the Seven Kingdoms," he lied.
Nat groaned. "Oh, come on now, please be honest with me," he replied.
Robb frowned and took a deep breath, "Forgive my impudence, Prince Nat, but I'm remiss at the idea of sending my sister to the capital during these trying times- danger lurks around every corner."
Nat smiled at Robb; it was good that he didn't need much goading to speak honestly. Nat liked that. "I agree wholeheartedly," the prince declared, much to Robb's surprise. "Your sister is quite young for my taste," he tacked on.
Robb's brow furrowed at the prince's comment.
"Oh, please forgive my quick tongue!" Nat begged with feigned embarrassment, "I simply meant that Lady Sansa seems too young for marriage and the political ramble of King's Landing is all."
Robb's expression softened and he nodded in agreement. Good. Nat had him believing that he was a bit dense rather than cunning. He remembered his grandfather's lessons on diplomacy quite well, always have your enemies thinking you less intelligent than you really were. Not that Robb was his enemy, but still, it was best to not reveal his hand to anyone.
The two men were broken from their conversation by the rolling laughter of the king to their left. Nat watched as his father buried his face in the chest of a rather ample Stark wench. He rolled his eyes. As much as Nat would enjoy doing the same, he knew better than to do so publicly like this.
"The King is rather…enthusiastic?" Robb suggested.
Nat chuckled and rolled his eyes, "Fat old fool, he should know better than to dishonor your family and mine like this."
Robb smiled nervously. "I'm sure father doesn't take any offense, the two of them have been friends quite a long time, you know."
Nat sighed and glanced towards Lord Stark. He knew very well. "Yes well, hopefully your father gets used to the sight or I'll have to get used to that," the prince gestured to Ned's uncomfortable expression, "gracing me every day back home."
The two men laughed as Nat noticed a movement through his narrowed eyes. It was his betrothed, Sansa Stark, failing miserably at looking aloof while she stared at him. The prince snorted before recomposing himself and locking eyes with the eldest Stark daughter. Her cheeks quickly became as red as her hair as he flashed her a dazzling smile that he had spent months working on in his youth. She quickly broke their eye contact and began gushing to the girl on her left.
Robb was watching a tense interaction between his father and Jaime Lannister before he noticed the prince's model smile. Robb glanced over his shoulder and noticed his sister and Jeyne Poole giggling to themselves and sighed.
"Oh, don't torment the poor girl like that," he begged.
Nat opened his mouth to laugh when a clump of pigeon pie had landed itself right between the eyes of Sansa Stark. The girl gasped before turning to her sister, Arya Stark, with a fiery vengeance.
"ARYA!" she screeched as the pie landed in her lap, ruining the fabric of her dress.
Nat began to double over with laughter as the youngest Stark girl feebly attempted to hide her deadly spoon. Robb chuckled as his mother caught his eye and nodded towards his sisters. Understanding, the Stark heir made his way toward Arya and looped his arm around her waist.
"Time for bed," he declared before walking off with the girl.
The prince wiped a tear from his eye as he watched his soon to be brother-in-law carry off his soon to be sister-in-law. He was beginning to like the Starks very much.
~0~0~0~
A slender woman with silver-gold hair stood before an open window, the Narrow Sea below her. Her violet eyes scanned the horizon, almost as though she could see the shores of Westeros from where she was standing. Daenerys Targaryen, the only daughter of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen and his sister-wife Queen Rhaella, stood in a small room in Pentos, longing for the life that was stolen from her during Robert's Rebellion.
House Targaryen had ruled the Seven Kingdoms for over 300 years with fire and blood before Robert Baratheon, the Usurper, had thrown the continent into chaos and slaughtered her family. Well, all but herself and her older brother Viserys. The two of them had been living in exile for nearly two decades, traveling the continent of Essos where they had no birthright, no throne, no kingdom.
"Where's my sweet sister?" a shrill voice called from behind her.
Her elder brother walked towards her holding what appeared to be some sort of white gown. Viserys, like the rest of their family, had the high-cheekbones, silver-gold hair, and lilac eyes as their ancestors from Valyria. As he walked towards her Daenerys thought that Viserys had grown even more gaunt than he had been before, though she was unsurprised. Living in exile, begging for food and shelter would do that to a man.
"Daenerys!" he chirped. "There's our bride to be! Look here- a gift from Illyrio. Touch it. Come on, feel the fabric."
Daenerys did as he instructed and traced the white fabric with her thin fingers. It was soft and delicate. Though she didn't care for it much knowing what it was for.
"Isn't Illyrio a gracious host?"
Daenerys passed the dress back to her brother, violet eyes locking onto his pale ones, "We've been his guests for over a year now and he's never asked us for anything," she agreed.
Viserys smiled, "Illyrio is no fool! He knows I'll remember my friends when I come into my throne," Viserys hung the dress on a hook and turned to Daenerys, frowning. "You still slouch."
With a swift motion Viserys slipped Daenerys' dress from her shoulders and analyzed her slender figure. "You have a woman's body now- I need you to be perfect today, can you do that for me?" he asked.
Daenerys covered her breasts and turned away from her brother to his displeasure.
Viserys placed a hand on her shoulder and gripped tight, "You wouldn't want to wake the dragon now, would you?" he said, lowering his voice.
Daenerys ground her teeth. She and Viserys had gotten along in their youth, but as the two grew older and Viserys grew more impatient, he began to become more and more unstable. Abuse was inevitable with him, and he had begun to use the phrase "waking the dragon" as a warning as to not trigger his rage.
"No," she breathed quietly.
"Good!" he chirped, stroking her head with fake affection. "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say it began today!" he declared, exiting the room.
Daenerys turned to her bath. It was steaming now. She tightened her hands into fists, expelling her anger slowly as she waded into the bath.
"My lady, it's too hot!" her chambermaid warned.
Daenerys sank low into the bath and turned to her, expressionless, "It's scalding."
~0~0~0~
Brandon Stark, middle son of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark, ran throughout the courtyards of Winterfell with his direwolf, Summer. He'd had quite a pleasant time at the King's feast the previous evening and was looking forward to a day of exploring and climbing, though he'd been sure to avoid telling his mother about the last bit. She was probably too busy anyways, readying Sansa for her journey south. And with his father out hunting with the King, there was only Maester Llewyn to worry about receiving a scolding from.
Bran and Summer came to stop below the broken tower, the remnants of what was once Winterfell's tallest watchtower and a personal favorite climbing spot of Bran's. Bran smiled at the structure. Since he would be joining his father in King's Landing, he thought it would be a fun to climb the old tower one last time.
Bran began to climb, fingering stones and pulling himself higher and higher as Summer whinnied below. As Bran neared the caved in summit, he began to hear strange noises emanating from within the structure. It sounded like grunting and groaning. Intriguing. Bran peeked over the edge of the jagged summit and saw that the noises were coming from the queen. Bran had discovered the queen in an act of intimacy…but the king was not with her, he was out hunting with his father. No, it was the queen's own twin brother, Jaime Lannister, that was with her in the tower.
Bran's eyes went wide as Cersei looked up and locked onto him.
The queen grabbed her brother's chest, "Stop, STOP!"
Realizing that he'd been caught, Bran quickly made to climb down the tower, but he was much too slow. Within a moment Jaime Lannister had him held up in the opening of the broken tower.
"Are you completely mad?" he breathed.
"He saw us! He SAW us!" the queen squealed, pulling the folds of her dress into her chest.
"It's alright," Jaime reassured her. "Well, you're quite the little climber, aren't you?" he grumbled to Bran. "How old are you, boy?"
"Ten."
Bran glanced between the queen and her brother as they shared a brief look. Before long Jaime shrugged and turned to Bran.
"The things I do for love."
~0~0~0~
That's the end of Chapter 3! What did you think? I want to thank everyone for all the reviews that have been coming in thus far, they've been a pleasure to read and I hope you continue to do so as I continue to update this story.
I've decided to continue with it though I have no promises on how frequently I'll be updating the story or even if I'll be able to finish it with school starting up again soon. But for now, we're going to go for as long as we can, because I'm really enjoying this story!
So, what are your theories for how the character arcs are going to continue? How are things going to go with Nat and the rest of the royal family? Thus far the story has been relatively similar to cannon but soon we'll be seeing the effects that Nat has on the world of Westeros!
Let me know what you're thinking! Have a great one, and I'll see you in the next chapter.
-Munch