DISCLAIMER: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. All intellectual rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my OCs.

Please read Author's Note at the end of the chapter.

I

No Lady

The Great Hall was a proper mess, so Odette had avoided it at all costs for the past month. In fact, she'd been avoiding mostly everyone who had anything to do with the preparations for the arrival of King Robert and his party, including, but not limited to, Lady Catelyn, Septa Mondane, Vayon Poole, and Maester Luwin. And the rest of the servants. And cooks. And even the stableboy. Safe to say, Odette had been pretty lonely since the raven arrived from King's Landing.

Before the rest of the Keep was awake, just a bird's chipper away from the sunrise, Odette was already sliding into her riding boots and a white linen shirt who'd seen better days under an open leather vest. She considered topping it with a coat, but the morning wasn't chilly enough for her to need it that badly. And the sun would be out soon enough, so why bother. She'd never minded the cold as much.

A deliberate glance at a glass in her chambers was taken to make sure her hair was in place. Odette wasn't a vain person; quite the opposite actually, but she still braided her hair appropriately to make sure nothing would catch the wrong person's attention. Luckily for her, everything was still in place. She yawned, slapping her cheeks to wake herself up. She considered taking a bath, but her clothes were clean enough, so she settled to wetting a cloth and rubbing her face with it. She rubbed her hands too, but a faint stain of black remained in her fingertips.

She reached for her archery gloves —which were really just her old horseback riding gloves with her pinky and thumb cut out— and headed for the door. As slowly as she tried to open it, it still flinched when she did. She winced, hoping she hadn't woken anybody, so she waited, hand still in the knob, but the Great Keep remained silent.

Still, she tiptoed through the stone floors as she passed the servant's chambers. The candles had long burned out, replaced by the subtle glow of the upcoming sun that was yet to rise from behind the East Gate. The armory's gate was always left open, from both the unwavering trust of Eddard Stark in his loyal people, and the constant weariness that battle could creep up on them in the middle of the night, so there was no time to find any keys. Odette found this very convenient for her, especially in early risings when she would need to fetch her stuff without being questioned.

Amongst a variety of sharp swords, maces, axes, and crossbows was her favorite bow. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship she'd had quite a hand in making, back when Bear Island was her home. A composed bow made of ash tree wood, standing like a sore thumb between the rest of the yew wood longbows. She grabbed it by the riser fondly. Although many have advised —or rather argued— that a composed bow wouldn't be as good a weapon as a longbow, she'd preferred the smaller shape that would easily rest across her back and not hit the bark of trees as she sneaked into narrow spaces, giving her away. She'd made up for the shorter string by tying its silk fiber strings tighter. It was harder to pull back all the way, at least for someone her size, but it gave the arrows a faster flight so, with the right arrowhead, they would pierce a bear's skin all the way to the bone.

After fetching two dozens of arrows, Odette jumped into the wide grounds of the courtyard, welcoming the fresh air of the morning into her chest. The dirt was wet with the mist of last night's rain, so her steps were muffled in the mud. She walked past the Guest House, but she couldn't see the inside in the dark. She guessed it was dusted off and the beds wore flesh linens, no doubt in black and yellow, to honor the King.

On her way to the Hunter's Gate, she passed the empty kennels. The direwolves had slept there for about two nights until the cries of the Stark children had forced Lady Catelyn to allow them to sleep in their chambers. Well, not all of the direwolves anyway, Odette remembered hearing muffled barks coming from the chambers of Jon Snow. It was clear the Lady of Winterfell didn't care enough for the bastard of her husband to watch for his safety, in case the wolves were rabid or something.

A soft growling let her know her stomach was empty, so she was eager to get to the Wolfswood and find something fresh to eat. No doubt the cooks would be too busy readying the King's Welcome Feast to give her something. If she even tried to grab one of the recently polished cutlery, she would get a warning hit by a wooden spoon on her fingers. It had seemed good enough of a warning to Theon Greyjoy, who'd tried to get a taste of a fresh batch of fluffy brown oatbread. She wouldn't make his mistake.

She breathed out warm air that came out of her mouth in clouds like smoke, looking down to her hands as she put on her gloves when she heard light steps behind her. She turned her head slightly to see Arya Stark still in her bed-gown, which was now getting dirty at the hem.

Arya rubbed the sleep away from her eyes as she looked up at Odette. "Where are you going? It's so early."

Odette took two steps towards her and leaned over, resting her hands on her knees so she was closer to Arya's height. Not that she towered over her that much. Even Sansa was an inch or two shy of reaching Odette's height. "Exactly, it's early. You should be in bed, saving your energies for today."

Rolling her eyes at the reminder, Arya peeked behind Odette, seeing the quiver hanging from her back. "Can I come with?" And she gave her the same pleading look she must've used with Lady Catelyn when she begged that her wolf, Nymeria, was allowed to sleep on her bed.

Odette didn't yield as easy, so she opened her mouth to give her a lame excuse as to why she couldn't come with, but closed it when she saw a shadow of red behind Arya.

Not far in the distance, Sansa Stark lurked in the edge of the Guesthouse, right where the stone floor ended and the dirt began. She kept her shoes in the stones, not trying to mess up her nightdress. Her red hair was braided behind her head, eyes drowsy. "Lady Stark." Odette greeted her with a tilt of her head. "You should be resting."

Sansa eyed her younger sister with wariness. "Arya, come, we must begin getting ready for the King."

"It's too bloody early." Arya groaned. Odette pressed her lips to suppress a smile. "Besides, I'm sure the King would smell worse than we do."

The redhead's ears turned red as beets. "Never mind that, we must give your Grace a good impression. The Septa would be upset if we're not in bed when she comes to find us."

She never thought she'd agree with Sansa, but Odette nodded her head at the younger girl. "She's right you know, no matter who we are, today you are expected to be a proper lady, like your sister and your mother." Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Odette continued. "And, I don't know if I'll be back by the time the King arrives. Imagine how disappointed your father might be if you're not presented to your Grace with the rest of his children. He'll want to show you off, I'm sure of it."

Odette looked down at the dirty gown and frowned. She then ordered Arya to step on the tips of her boots, which she did, and marched backwards towards the clean floor. Arya chuckled, and Odette happily delivered her to her sister's side. "Off you go then."

Arya nodded and ran back off to her chambers, meeting her wolf midway. The thing had grown several times its size since they found it, and it followed Arya like a tame pup. Odette expected Sansa to follow behind, but she hesitated, nervous fingers picking at her nails. "Everything alright?" Odette asked out of pure courtesy. The two of them hadn't exchanged words since the girl had spoken some cruel words to her, the day they'd found about the King's visit.

Sansa shook her head. "I must apologize for my behavior, Lady Mormont. I was in no place to speak such things about you. It was disrespectful of me."

Despite herself, Odette chuckled bitterly. "Never apologize for things you don't mean, Sansa."

"But I do mean it! Despite being, you know," Sansa almost choked trying to find the right word to describe her, so she merely gestured at her, up and down, to make her point, "you're still a noble Lady, and I shouldn't have spoken to you with such language."

"Sansa, I've known you since you were not much older than Rickon is now. And not a day has passed that you don't look down on me for who you think I am…"

"You're a legitimate child of a Lord…"

"Only by ink and paper, you still think of me as a bastard. And that's alright. If I cared about everyone's opinion, I'll spend the day locked in my room, crying my eyes out."

"But still, I'm really sorry that I…"

"Are you sorry that you called Jon a bastard, too?" Sansa shut her mouth and looked up at Odette, who was momentarily thankful that she was still a bit taller than the young Lady. She scoffed, disappointed. "See? You're not sorry you said it, you're sorry you were caught." The redhead seemed to be struggling to come up with something to defend herself. Odette always thought her blue eyes were pretty telling, almost as if she could see her mind working through the water's surface. Still, she knew she was still a child, the same age she was when was taken to Winterfell, a short six years earlier, so she cut her some slack. "Go on and bathe, it must take you hours to get your hair to look pretty enough to impress the Queen."

Odette turned her back on the young girl and began marching to the stables, where her black mare was already waking. "You're really not coming to greet his Grace?"

The brunette smiled, eyes locked in the magnificent wooden door she'd need to climb to get to the woods. "Not empty-handed."

The day had turned into night and the Southerners had invaded Winterfell like a plague. Wherever he saw were banners of gold and crimson, shiny armors and colorful dresses that dragged in the dirt. It was almost as if they did it on purpose, to make them feel lesser than them, with their jewels that reflected the lights and their polished helmets with intricate designs. Jon Snow swung his sword angrily at the sack of hay, imagining it was a soldier of flesh and bone.

The sounds of music and roaring laughter could be heard coming from the Great Hall, he hit the sack harder, hoping to muffle the noise of the party. "Is he dead yet?"

Jon turned around to see Benjen Stark jumping off his horse with the help of a bored sentry. "Uncle Benjen!" He called with a big smile that was matched with that of his father's brother.

He hugged him tightly, the fur of his black cloak tickling his recently shaven face. He suddenly wondered why would Lady Catelyn want him to be presentable if he was not to be presented before the King. "You got bigger! I rode all day. Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters. Why aren't you at the feast?" Jon's smile disappeared as he explained to his uncle that Lady Stark thought his presence would be an insult to the royal family, and Benjen pressed his lips in a pitiful smile. "Well, you're always welcome on the wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Jon Snow's heart suddenly felt a little lighter. "So take me with you when you go back."

"Jon…" Uncle Benjen began, already regretting giving his nephew such ideas, but was cut off by Jon's enthusiastic begging.

"Father will let me if you ask him, I know he will."

"The Wall isn't going anywhere."

"I'm ready to swear your oath."

Benjen's silver eyes shone like a blade tilted against the moonlight. "You don't understand what you'd be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons."

The boy sighed, catching a glimpse of a drunken man grabbing a woman by the waist and sitting her on his knee. "I don't care about that."

"You might, if you knew what it meant…"

The neigh of a horse startled him, since he'd been too busy giving his uncle his best pleading eyes. Crossing the Hunter's Gate came Odette Mormont, his father's elder ward, dragging a large black mare by the reins and looking like she'd been dragged through the entire Wolfswood. Twice. Her tired face was covered in dirt and traces of blood, and her shirt was more black than white.

The sound of plates breaking caught her attention towards the Main Hall. "If you're here for the feast, m'lady, you've quite missed it."

She rolled her eyes at Jon's cocky comment. "What will I ever do?" She got closer to the pair and suddenly Jon's nose wrinkled when he got the smell of something dead. "All black, grey eyes, you must be Benjen Stark." She extended her hand, wrapped around the knuckles in dirty cloths, but Jon's uncle shook it nonetheless.

"Aye, that's right, Lady…" he trailed, waiting for her to drop a name.

Odette hit Jon in the shoulder. No lady, just Odette is fine."

"She's Lady of Bear Island."

"My aunt," she announced with disdain. "is the lady of Bear Island. I'm just a Ward."

Benjen frowned. "You're the granddaughter of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Odette shrugged, untying something big from its ropes over the horse's back. "I guess."

"You just saved me a lot of trouble. I was supposed to look for you. I have a message from your grandfather."

She seemed to be struggling to get the package from over the horse, as it was almost as high as her head. Jon felt the urge to help her, but he knew he would get nothing but a death stare if he even suggested she couldn't do it on her on, so he stayed by the sides, ready to jump in and help when the thing fell on top of her. "Oh Gods, so he really doesn't know how to send a raven," she grunted, out of breath, letting the thing fall on the ground. The mare made a sound of relief. "and here I was, thinking it was only me he couldn't bother to write. How silly."

The thing was wrapped in a cloak —hers, most likely, and it smelled nasty. She uncovered it and Jon finally saw the origin of the smell. It was a medium-sized doe, with two arrow holes; one embedded in the middle of the neck, and one that went higher, where the neck met the head. He guessed the second one was the killer shot. "Pretty impressive." Benjen complimented.

"Not quite," she growled, working the ropes around its body with difficulty, still keeping it in a bed of cloth so it wouldn't touch the ground. "I was chasing this beautiful stag, all day long until sundown. Not as big as the one we saw that day," she eyed Jon when she said it, and he knew she meant the deer that was killed by the direwolf. "but still. It was dark when I caught trail of this one. I was hoping I could make it before dinner but…" She mumbled something unintelligible as she finished tying it up, ending with a big handle in her hands. "Breakfast it is."

Jon took the reins of the mare and handed them to the sentry. "I'm sure the King would like venison stew."

"I hope he chokes on a bone." The sentry stopped dead on his feet and looked at her with wide, offended eyes. She gave him a questioning look for a good minute before she realized what she just said. "I was kidding. Gods, learn to take a joke. You can leave now," the sentry went to take the mare back to the stables in the back. "And don't give her too much water, she already drank plenty, and she won't be able to sleep well if her hay is full of piss."

"I'm sure he knows how to handle a horse."

Odette seemed to disagree. She took off her heavy vest, ending up in her simple filthy shirt. She got rid of the quiver, still pretty full of clean arrows, save three; one with a bent tip, and the other two with stains of blood. She left everything on the fence of the armory and walked back to her kill, eyeing Benjen with wariness. "Help me carry this to the kitchen, you can tell me about the Old Bear on our way."

Jon's uncle smirked at her bossy tone of voice, but he grabbed one end of the rope and helped her pull. "As you wish, my Lady."

Jon smiled as he heard her cursing at his uncle until they were out of earshot, not realizing he was being watched from the shadows by the infamous imp of House Lannister.

"So," she continued after she was done with discussing titles —and lack thereof. "What does the Old Bear deem so important it must be told in person?" And not by him, of course, she refrained to add. Gods forbid the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch left his tower to see her. She knew she sounded childish, but she hated how the people that shared her name would turn their backs on her like she was nothing.

Benjen Stark spoke with a hushed voice as they headed to the kitchen. "Your grandfather said word's got to him from a reliable source that your father was seen in Pentos."

"Pentos is a port of merchants, you'll think he has to make a living somehow." She said conversationally, but Benjen Stark saw the tick of a muscle in her clenched jaw. He attributed it to the weight they were dragging, so he tried to carry the most part.

"I believe your grandfather worries about how he's planning on making that living."

"I'm sure he's already learned his lesson," she countered. "besides, slavery is illegal in Pentos."

Benjen looked down at her with interest. "You know a great deal about the Free Cities." She avoided his eyes, so he changed the subject. "Besides, it's not about whether or not he's back to trading slaves." He stopped shy of the kitchen doors, which were blocking the panicked mumbling of the cooks. Odette could do nothing but raise her chin to meet his stare with her own look of defiance in her dark eyes. "There's rumor that Viserys Targaryen and his sister Daenerys are in Pentos." Odette's eyes hardened. "It's not an accusation, far from it, but people can draw their own conclusions."

"Oh, as he did?" She snarled, twirling the rope around her wrist and pulling the doe harder, pushing the kitchen's doors with her back until they were wide open. No one seemed to notice the intrusion, as everyone was already too drunk or too busy getting drunk. Or too busy getting the guests drunk. "I'm certain Jorah is not the only Westerosi in Essos, those are far fetched accusations."

"Please, listen," Benjen grabbed her arm, not pressing, but enough to make her stop on her feet. "Your grandfather is worried. If people begin to think that your father is siding with the children of the Mad King…"

Odette slips away from his weak hold, looking offended. "If Jeor was truly worried, he should've told me himself." She held one shaky finger high up in his face. "Not even one letter, in six years. That's how much they care."

She called for two of the cooks to skin the kill and stew it with onions and the spent grain from the beer. They took the animal away and she sat by the table, unwrapping her hands from the dirty cloth. Benjen sighed, finally realizing how young she really looked under the light of the fire. Jeor had told him to look for his eighteen —or was it nineteen?— year old grandchild. When he saw the grimy woman dragging a horse with her kill, she'd seemed older than that; but as she wiped her face clean, he saw that what he thought were wrinkles turned out to be lines of sweat and dirt. She didn't have the plump face of a child, but rather high, elegant looking cheekbones, full lips that were chapped by the crisp breezes, and big eyes as dark as they came. He also thought she looked absolutely nothing like the Lord Commander Mormont.

"All I ask you is to be careful." She looked up from her hands, giving him a look of distrust from under her thick lashes. "These are not your grandfather's words, but mine. The King is here, and if he thinks you or your father have anything to do with the Targaryens, well…"

He didn't want to finish his sentence, but he also knew he didn't have to. Odette's eyes traveled to the fire underneath a large pot, watching as the flames licked the dark grey metal. She touched her hair, as if without much thought, and twirled one finger at the end of the messy braid. It was the first girly gesture he'd seen her make.

Benjen took pity on the girl, so he tapped her shoulder. "I don't suppose you can help me find my brother?"

She nodded, tilting her head as if to order him to follow, and Benjen obliged.

So this is just the first half of the first chapter, which I intended to post as a whole, but the little shit is just driving me nuts, and I had to post this before I began my descent into madness, so here it is. The previous part is meant to be sort of a prologue? I guess. Don't quote me. I just wanted to get this out there asap. As you can see, there's a lot of straight-up GoT scenes in here, but please be patient. I try only include scenes that directly related to the story's plot. Mind you, is GoT, but in the late part of the first season we will get to see original scenes and dialogue, and development of certain connections. Also, I rely a lot on both the show and books because Odette's own history connects to a lot of other characters, as you can see, so I need to show certain reactions of hers. Next chapter (which will probably be about as short as this one, longer chapters will come) will surely show the second part of the first episode and Odette's first run into the Kingslayer, but keep in mind this is a slowburn, so don't expect them to be best friends right away. In fact, be prepared to be extremely thirsty for the first whole season, since the fun begins in S2. Any theories so far? Let me know! I'll try to update once a week at least! -Nicole, the helpless writer.