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

III

Don't Play for Anyone's Team

There was one time she remembered, way back when she had felt like an intruder in the Stark's Great Keep, where she woke up to Lady Catelyn's hushing. It was comforting, she supposed, and she only remembered it because it was the first time she felt the gentle touch of a mother. Her own mother she could barely remember, with her dark hair like raven's feathers and smile so soft she felt it could cure every disease at once, and Lady Hightower had never once held her in her arms like Lady Catelyn did that night. She had never cried in her sleep before she was in the Great Keep, but it was during her first nights that it happened. Her grandfather had probably warned Lord Stark about her night terrors, but she guessed their Maester had advised against giving her the medicine she asked for. They probably took her for an addict, believed she would turn into one of those ghostly apparitions that wandered around the towns after the sun came down, begging for coppers to buy Water of Opium. It wasn't until a piercing scream broke the silence in the dead of the night that they decided to believe her. Her medicine had been provided to her without further questions every night after that.

The Maester, however, had advised her two things; the first was to put three —and no more than three— drops into a big cup of water to drink before she went to bed. The second thing he told her after she turned fifteen and began to indulge in wine and ale, and it was to never do so in excess, or else the medicine wouldn't work as efficiently.

And of course, she wouldn't want that!, she thought as much when she was fifteen, why would she ever go against a Maester's suggestions just to do something as silly as drinking wine, if it had such a nasty taste?

But of course one could not stay fifteen years old forever, and Odette's taste had been refined over the four years that followed. And the child she was back then didn't think there would be a time she'd desperately need to pass out drunk and forget herself. The Odette of the present wasn't one to be level-headed, but she wasn't one to frequent brothels either. And especially not to wake up screaming in a whore's bed.

Soft hands cradled her face, not as bony as those of Lady Catelyn, and a sweet voice called her name in whispers. She felt the hands wipe hair away from her sweaty face, and she opened her eyes slowly, wincing as she felt as if she was looking straight at the sun.

"Hush now, you're going to scare the clientele away." The sun spoke, only it wasn't the sun, but it was easy to tell the two of them apart. The whore had hair red as a blazing fire that appears to glow, and her face is round and lovely, but not hard to look at. "There she is, you had me worried for a moment."

Odette's head was spinning, and her mouth was a dry paste. It felt as if she forgot to form words, so she could only make a slurred sound that resembled that of a birthing cow. The red-headed prostitute laughed. "Take it easy, do not sit too quickly."

But the girl did not listen. In fact, there was a ringing in her ears that silenced everything but the loud thumping of her heart. So she sat on her butt as soon as she got the chance, pushing heavy drapes of worn fur away from her chest. She found she was still in her hunting clothes, save her vest and her boots, and her shirt was open in the middle revealing far too much that she'd usually show, yet the had no time to tie the slit back together when she felt something rise in her throat.

She pushed the woman from her lap and stumbled out of the bed, knocking the candles off a table, and she fell to her knees and emptied her stomach in a basin half full of water. Her eyes watered and her nose ran as she continued to gag until there was nothing but a sour aftertaste and yellow spit coming out of her mouth, but still, she sat on the floor and hugged the basin like it was her dearest possession.

Back in bed, the woman crossed her legs, the slit of her robe revealing long legs that were made to be wrapped around a man's waist and breasts bigger than anything an even a King could dream of. "My, you truly are stubborn as a mule." Odette raised an eyebrow over her heavy eyes and opened her mouth to tell her to shut it, but another violent gag made her double over the basin and moan. "You need to put something in that stomach."

The woman stood up and walked over to a table further into the room, and came back to Odette's side with a large piece of bread and a cup. She went to her knees and offered the girl some food, and Odette could've been a prideful bitch, but she also knew when to yield, so she took the bread in her shaky hand and bit into it.

"Slow bites… That's a girl." The woman patted her head as if she was feeding a pet, and left the cup by her side before she went to the elegant vanity by the bedside and began brushing her rusted curls, eyeing Odette through her looking-glass. "I take it this is your first time getting drunk."

Odette took the cup and smelled its insides. It was Sweetwine. "First time getting this drunk." She filled her mouth with the drink and swished it inside her mouth, rinsing her tongue and teeth before spitting it into the basin. "Not sure I like it." Her voice came out hoarse, but then again, she'd never had the sweet tune other ladies raved about. Hers was raspy and low, and she was discouraged by the Septa to ever open her mouth with the intention of singing, in fear she would scare off little children.

"You seemed to like it quite well last night."

The ward eyed her with suspicion, chewing another bit of bread. "Please, Ros, do elaborate, you seem as if you're eager to tell me what a fool I made of myself."

"Well, you almost knocked the door down and tried to force yourself on little ole' me. Me, of course, couldn't fight my primitive urges as I allowed you to ravish my body until sunrise."

Odette rolled her eyes and swallowed. It was a welcome surprise that she didn't feel as if she wanted to vomit any longer, but her head still ached. "My apologies, my lady, it was very inappropriate of me to take your precious virtue away from your future lord husband, may The Seven intervene for my soul."

Ros turned back to face Odette. "I thought you didn't believe in The Seven."

"Well, if it's not the Smith hammering my brains out, then I don't know whose God I've angered now." She groaned, massaged her temple.

"You speak blasphemy." Ros giggled.

"I speak a lot of things. You, for once, could do so a little quieter, I fear my head's about to blow."

"That'll teach you not to drink on an empty stomach." Odette looked up just in time to get a wet cloth throw to her face. It smelled faintly of lavender oil. "Clean yourself, I need to get to work soon, and so do you."

Odette shot her a nasty look but began wiping the sweat from her face and neck. "Pretty early for work, won't you agree?" She said, eyeing the way the sun angled inside from the window. People would be up already, but certainly not for much else than break fast.

Ros put some rogue in her plump cheeks and tied her hair in a pretty braid. "The King's men are hungry little things, and most of them have never had a Northern woman before."

"But this early in the morning?" Odette groaned.

"It shouldn't come as a surprise that men from all over Westeros are willing to line up to have their way with me."

"Really?" Odette asked cheekily as she stood up slowly, taking her precious basin with her just in case. "Last I heard, Jon Snow shagged ass from your chambers after you flashed him your tits."

Ros' cheeks turned even redder, but she smiled. "How dare you. I drag your drunk little ass away from the Wolfswood and let you sleep in my bed and this is how you pay me?"

Odette shrugged, opening the window and emptying the basin outside as she gives her a half-assed glanced. "Alright, I'm sorry, you have pretty nice tits. Happy?"

The whore shimmied her shoulders, making her breasts bounce under her sheer tunic. "Uh, are you playing for the other team now?"

Dropping the empty basin, Odette grabs the cup and empties the rest of the Sweetwine in her mouth. She gargles rather loudly before she spits the liquid far outside the window. "Sorry love, I don't play for anyone's team but mine."

Jon Snow woke early the morning after the Feast to watch the sons of Houses Stark and Baratheon spar from a distance. For a minute, he hoped he would get to see how the skills of the King's children compared to those of his half-siblings, but all he got for his trouble was a very uncomfortable seat on the sill to watch Robb disarm the young Prince Joffrey several times before the golden-haired boy began to make excuses for himself. It was quite the show match before Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms padded Prince Tommen and Bran and encouraged them to have a friendly game.

The bastard rested his chin on his knee and watched the yard with boredom. He wished the King and his family would pack their trucks and march back South already, so Winterfell could go back to normal.

His head perked up when he saw a new movement. A small figure stumbled into the yard. He recognized Odette's dark locks, Lord Stark's first ward, and also the eldest. He didn't quite remember the first time they'd been introduced —he was barely eleven at the time, and she was thirteen, that was the last time they'd been the same height as well.— but he was glad she was there, despite both of their circumstances.

Jon watched as she was intercepted by Robb and Theon, who grabbed her by the arm and pointed at the fight between the two young kids with mockery. She said something and Robb's face filled with worry. She slapped Theon's hand away softly and went to walk away, but Ser Rodrik caught her eye.

The two of them argued in hushed voices, Ser Rodrik always keeping an eye on the children. Truth be told, Odette never had a good relationship with people of authority. Jon never knew why; she just arrived like that from Bear Island. He guessed it was more as if she didn't like to be told what to do.

Odette crossed her arms and stomped her foot before she walked back to Robb and Theon, where she sat on the dirt with her back against the brick wall and closed her eyes, leaning her head in an awkward angle against her shoulder. It seemed to Jon like she wanted to get some sleep.

From his place at the yard, Theon Greyjoy looked up to see a clueless Jon staring at the drunken ward. Stepping back from the encouraging yells of Robb to his little brother, Theon leaned against the wall and said to Odette: "Don't look up now, but lover-boy is staring."

She frowned but kept her eyes closed. "I said leave me alone, I'm trying to sleep here."

"You're not getting any sleep here," he said sure, having to raise his voice so Odette could hear it over the cheering. "We might as well gear up and go a few rounds, show 'em how it's done."

At that, she opened only one eye, quickly scanning the small crowd of men on the opposite side of the yard. "Not with them watching." She decided and closed it again.

Theon bit his lip in curiosity. "You've never been one to back from a dare."

The girl had to bend her neck to look up at him. "Was that a dare? Sorry, I confused it for the desperate begging for public humiliation, it sounds all the same when it comes out of your mouth." He kicked her side with his boot. "Alright, once the lions scatter, I will beat you bloody, alright? Piss off now."

"Why not now?"

She stared at the knights and squires who surrounded the frog-looking blond child which she assumed was the Prince. Most of them were shivering, whether it was from excitement to see violence or from the chilly winds, but attempting to hide it under their cloaks. "We do not exist for their amusement. If they want entertainment, they could have very well stayed South where peasants dance to their songs."

"Careful there, that tongue of yours could get you in a lot of trouble."

Odette tsked. "This tongue of mine better also get me out it, or else I might have to cut it out myself and hand it to the fat king in a silver platter."

Theon chuckled. "You're digging yourself an early grave." He eyed the southerners warily to make sure they didn't hear anything.

"I could never quite picture myself dying of old age, grey hair, full of wrinkles…" She drifted off and then pretended to shiver at the thought. "Anyway, be a dear and distract Ser Rodrick so I can sneak out of this madness."

The ironborn crossed his arms. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I'm older and I command you to do so."

"You cannot command me," he mocked. "shall I remind you of your status a ward?"

"Shall I remind Ser Rodrick of the white stallion that went missing?" She threatened with a high voice, too sweet to sound normal coming from her mouth. "Surely you remember, since it was you who…"

Theon's eyes went wide. "Alright, fine." He eyed the whiskered old man with nervousness. "Make it quick."

She didn't need to be told twice. He walked towards Ser Rodrik, trying to appear nonchalant as he began a trivial discussion about the differences between the fighting styles North and South as Odette took her chance to flee.

She turned her back on the clanging of swords, ignorant to the curious stare of both Jon Snow and Arya Stark, who were watching her from the gallery. One foot in front of the other, she commanded herself, she needed a good scrub and fresh clothes, since hers were covered in crusty animal blood and horse sweat.

Her chambers seemed further away than ever before, but she finally reached her door. She leaned against it, taking a deep breath to stop the urge to throw up in the middle of the hall. Hands on her knees, she went to clear her throat.

There was a cough. Odette frowned. She didn't get to clear her throat. At her side, she saw the tips of dirtied boots and looked up to see a man standing very still before her. He was old and had somewhat of a belly, his skin was tan, which was unusual in the North, and seemed as tired as she felt. "Uhm, yes?" She asked uncertainly.

"Apologies, do you happen to be Lady Mormont?" The man had a thick accent he was trying to hide very badly, but she wouldn't point that out.

"I'm not…" She rolled her eyes. "Yes, whatever, I am, what do you want?"

The man bowed slightly before he extended his hands and Odette saw he was holding a package she hadn't noticed. "The name is Aldrich, m'lady. Lord Stark pointed me in the right direction to deliver this to you, I hope you don't mind."

Odette took the package from his hands. It was heavy for its size and neatly wrapped in silks blue as the clear sky. She let out a shaky breath. "It came early this year."

"Pardon me, my lady?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she took the present under her arm and held it there. "Did the man who gave it to you tell you anything?"

This time it was the foreigner who shook his head no. "Apologies, my lady, he only gave me directions and a name. Lady Mormont. He said nothing else. Mind you, I did not ask, he paid quite the sum for my troubles."

"You've come a long way. You must be tired, traveling all the way from Pentos."

He seemed surprised. "How did you know I come from Pentos?"

"Never you mind," she opened the door to her chambers and said from over her shoulder: "You should be on your way, Northerners are not particularly fond of foreigners."

She didn't wait for an answer, but she slammed the door and dumped the package over the bed. She knew what it was. It was the same thing every year; some old book with no letter. Her father was not a man of many words. Neither was her grandfather apparently. She began taking off her clothes angrily. Her head was heavy and so was her heart, and she wished that the liquor she had drunk would've washed away her sorrows like it was supposed to, but it didn't. She still remembered Benjen's words about her father being in Pentos. She still remembered the taunting head of the boy of the Night's Watch rolling off his shoulders and laughing at her. She still remembered the fire ablaze, even after she woke up.

She sat in bed wearing nothing but a dirty shirt that grazed her thighs and studied the light blue package as if it would bare teeth and snarl at any moment.

Someone knocked on her door and she said "Come on in." without thinking much about it, too entranced with the book to care about her state of undress.

In came Jon Snow, followed closely by his snow-white direwolf, looking around the small room with curiosity before his brown eyes found her. He blushed furiously. "I-I'm sorry, I saw, I mean I thought…"

Having caught her attention, she studied his reaction with amusement. He tried very hard not to look at her bare legs, but the redness in his neck gave him away. Having had her fun, she pulled the furs from her bed to cover her lap. "You thought what?"

He cleared his throat. "There was a man." He said as if that explained everything.

She smirked. "Oh yes, we fucked for about two minutes before he left me this gift as a token of affection. You just missed him."

Jon Snow's eyes went wide and his mouth agape for one moment, before realization dawned his sad features. "Right, here I was, being foolish enough to run to protect your honor…" She pressed her lips into a smile that didn't reach her eyes like it used to. Jon looked at the bed and noticed the gift she mentioned. "This from your lover?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

He sat down on the bed, a respectful distance away from her. She took the gift in her hands and played with the hem of the wrapping. "If I had any lovers you should know they'd be showering me with gold and bringing me the heads of my enemies, not giving me these."

"And what is it?"

She handed it to him. "Here, you open it." She asked. She'd opened more than enough of those in the past, and the disappointment was all the same.

His fingers were careful as he unwrapped the gift ceremoniously, making sure not to tear the silk apart. He unveiled an old book, the words from the cover had almost faded completely. "'Faiths of the East, a Study of the Great Gods and Minor Entities Worshipped from Narrow to the Hidden Sea…' Gods that's a long name… Written by someone named Hiram. Who sent this to you?"

"Jorah did." The bastard seemed confused. "My father. He sends one every year for my name day, yet never seems to be able to pick a quill to write down a simple letter."

"Uh, like this one?" He picked a piece of paper from under the cover of the book and inspected it. "Looks like a letter to me."

Odette ripped it from his fingers. "Give me that." She unfolded the paper and read it out. Jon studied her face meticulously. It was one of the few times he'd been able to see her truly affected by anything. Her face was usually like a beautiful but impenetrable armor, and it was the thing he admired the most about her. She always made seem so easy to be unfazed by anything.

And what he saw worried him. Her fingers were shaking, and her lips moved as if she was reading it out loud, but nothing but intelligible mutterings came out of them. Her eyes gleamed for a moment, but then her jaw clenched. Her eyes hardened again and she closed the paper again. "So much for that." She said and turned her head towards the window. The sun was clouded, and the air was heavy with the threat of rain, so the light shone silver around the small room.

He was a curious person, Jon Snow, he took the paper from her fingers carefully, to see if she objected. She let the parchment slide from her grasp and he began to read, although there were not that many words.

'Happy name day, my dear child. I hope this helps you find faith, if you still search for it. I believe have already found where to put mine. May we meet again where the sun rises. Love, your father.'

Jon had never received a letter in his life. A bastard didn't have many friends outside of Winterfell, or inside for that matter. He had seen his lord father reading many of them, and they usually were a lot longer than this one. It was hard to believe that someone who hadn't spoken to their children would write no more than five short sentences in over five years. Not that his missing mother was much better. He still felt sorry for her.

He put a comforting hand over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dot."

She blinked some tears away and wiped under her nose. "Don't be sorry for me. I hate pity." She looked at Ghost, whose red eyes were watching her from the side of the bed. She patted the furs over her lap and the direwolf jumped over. He was too large to be held now, but he laid over the feather pillows and put his head over her lap.

Jon watched in awe as the direwolf closed its eyes when she scratched behind its ears. "So you're the only who's been letting him jump into beds, I was wondering if I was just bad at training him."

"Well, I usually don't mind dogs that much. I'm more of a cat person myself." She patted Ghost's next and down to his back, the wolf made a sound of approval. Jon felt a pinch of jealousy. "But I guess I have soft spot for misfits." Jon didn't realize it, he was looking at her hand as it detangled Ghost's furs, but she was smiling at him when she said that last thing.

Jon reached out and joined his hand with hers, stopping her from petting the animal. "Happy name day."

Odette turned her head, their faces were so close their noses would brush against each other. "The gift came early, my name day's not for another month."

"I'm afraid I won't be here in a month." He confessed. "I'm going to the Wall, to join the Night's Watch."

He squeezed her hand. Her hands were stuck on his, both of that dark shade of brown no one wrote songs or poems about, but dark as abysses. Other than pressing her lips together, she didn't do much. "Why?" She finally asked, her voice soft and even. "Has your father said anything? Is it the bloody King? Because I will…"

"My lord father was offered Hand of the King. He will head back South to King's Landing with King Robert. There's no place in court for a bastard." Jon said with a sad smile.

"You don't have to go with him." Odette reminded. "You can stay here. This is your home, after all."

"There's not much I can do but sit around and wait until Lady Catelyn decides she can't stare at my face any longer, and we both know not even Robb would go against her wishes."

"What about Arya? She would have some say in the matter."

"Arya will head South as well, Sansa too, someone has to marry the prince."

Odette was silent as a mouse, staring at the letter from her father. Jon didn't like her as much when she was that quiet, it usually meant she was plotting something reckless. She absentmindedly played with their intertwined fingers. She didn't think much of it, but Jon's heart beat a little faster at that. Inside her head, all sorts of roads were being mapped out.

After a long minute of silence, she opened her mouth. "You should pay Ros a visit before you leave."

Out of all the things she could've said, nothing could have surprised him more than that. "Ros?"

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Whores talk, you know? Surely you do not want to give sex without making love at least once."

Jon visibly flustered, and Odette couldn't hold back a laugh that shook her body so badly that Ghost gave a soft growl of disapproval when he was woken from his slumber. The ward didn't care that she angered a dangerous direwolf, and Jon Snow for once didn't mind that he was the butt of the joke. He was just glad that he made her laugh. It was one of the few things he would miss the most out of Winterfell.

As she doubled in laughter, Jon muttered: "Wouldn't be making love if she's not the one I'm in love with."

And Odette pretended she didn't hear him. Just as easily as she pretended she was hurting on the inside.

So, I won't address ep8.02 because I might cry. Jaime and Brienne's scene had me crying, and Jenny of Oldstones sure is a beautiful Swan Song for many of the characters that no doubt will be killed next Sunday. If Jaime dies I might have a stroke, but oh well, I hope they give him an honorable death. This is a dialogue-heavy chapter, but there was a lot to be talked about. And just before you guys get a bit confused about her age, since I mentioned she's older than Theon, she will be turning 19, which makes roughly a year older than Theon, two years older than Jon. Also, no Jaime in this one, maybe in the next one, or not, but in the one before that? Sure. As always, feel free to vent in my reviews or PM, whatever floats your goat, and let me know your theorist. I love foreshadowing shit, one of the few perks of missing sleep because you're too busy planning out like seven seasons ahead. It's 5am and I haven't slept, I hate myself.