Chapter 5: Fun and Games

Winterfell was... well, it was exactly how I expected it to be.

The hearth was large, the food hearty in spite of its relative plainness, and the air warm with wine and friendship, both old and new. As the youngest Royal child, I had been thoroughly appraised and cooed over by the Starks and my own family both. When we sat down to feast, I was partnered up with Arya, a watchful Jon's gaze following the two of us enter the hall together. As the feast began in earnest, there was a palpable air of tension where I was sat, Arya watching Joffrey put on his most charming façade, reducing Sansa to little more than a tittering moron. She turned her gaze back, likely expecting me to make similar overtures towards her. When I didn't even appear to notice her presence she appeared glum, chewing her food sullenly. Eventually, I decided to end her torment, and broke my stony silence with the first thought that popped into my head, "So, Arya, how long do you think it will be before one of your brothers gets well and truly drunk?"

Her faced struggled to decide between displaying offence or confusion at the question, "What?"

"Your illegitimate brother, Jon I believe his name was, appears to be getting all too comfortable with the flow of summer-wine at the squires table. At this rate, I expect he should have to be dragged out of these chambers." Her face finally settled upon offence, flushing slightly, her nostrils flaring in anger at what she perceived to be an attack on her beloved brother. I let out a sigh at her response, and made to course-correct, "Do accept my humblest apologies, my lady, it appears that we have gotten off on the wrong foot. You must forgive the insensitivity of my question, I have spent far too long in the company of my Uncle Tyrion, and sharing japes, barbs and observations that may be construed as insulting is a common pastime of ours."

Her face remained still, till she eventually let out a huff, the anger leaking from her shoulders, "You talk like an old man."

I smiled and leaned in, making sure to keep my tone light and teasing, "And you wouldn't be mistaken for a lady in a thousand years."

She looked at me with a curious glint in her eye, tilting her head in Sansa's direction, "Do you reckon I could hit her from here?"

I looked across the table, where Joffrey and Sansa were preoccupied, making bedroom eyes at each other, "Not from here, close the gap some, get the right angle, and the right projectile, and I reckon you can." I grabbed a spoon lying on the table, "Here, use this with some of the pudding. I'm getting sick of their needless tittering, and I want to have some fun of my own."

Arya grinned, stood from her seat and slinked down to the end of the table, using the spoon to dish out a small chunk of pudding, before aiming and launching her projectile with her makeshift catapult. She struck gold, the lump of pudding landing squarely upon Sansa's face, much to her consternation. Arya prepared to launch another, only for Robb to come rushing down, hauling his baby sister back by the armpits and depositing her like a sack of potatoes back in her seat, a poorly hidden look of amusement on his face.

I had similar look on my face, "Nice shot, my lady. Square in the face."

"It was, wasn't it?"

I nodded and hummed in agreement, "Yes. If ever you decide to become an archer or a siege engineer, I expect you shall be one of the finest in the land." I winked roguishly, in something of a mimicry of Joffrey's own mannerisms, "And one of the prettiest too, I should expect."

Arya blushed in spite of the over-the-top nature of the compliment, "Really?"

I smiled. The tension between the two of us had officially been cut, a rapport established, and as the night wore on, we became closer, the words flowing freely and naturally between us, any pretentions of status or rank long forgotten before a string of japes, barbs and humorous tales that only a child could get away with telling. At times, I even forgot the presence of anyone else in the hall, so boisterous and lively was she when she got going. Of course, I remained cognisant of the fact that important interactions were occurring all around me, but being aware of them, I took the time to enjoy myself. I let the evening pass me by in a flurry of mischief and merriment, and went to my chambers and the bed provided to me happy, with a belly full of food, and almost entirely relaxed, the joyous atmosphere of the evening washing over me.

The next morning, I was woken by an excited Bran. He maintained some semblance of respect, but it was clear that he was bursting at the seams to begin babbling. I silenced him with a look, expelled him from my chambers, got dressed, and then beckoned for him to speak as I made my way over to the hall to get breakfast. As I had expected, Bran had ambitions of squiring for Barristan, just as I supposedly had. The whole time we were walking, he was asking whether I would make an introduction, and about what Barristan was like. He spoke like a child, babbling so fast that one word was near-indistinguishable from the next, so much so that I had to stop him, tell him to take a breath, and then instruct him to speak slowly and clearly.

After a brief period of sheepishness at being corrected by the prince, he continued, and I answered his questions as best he could. Yes, Barristan was indeed the best fighter I had seen, yes, he was a harsh and yet effective taskmaster, yes, Barristan the Bold was indeed quite bold. Throughout the entire meal, Bran peppered me with questions, making the entire affair an exercise in patience. Catelyn came around, likely intent on chastising Bran for his poor manners, only for me to dismiss her concerns with a smile and a few kind words. She frowned, clearly noting that I had been annoyed just a few moments ago, and yet let the matter drop.

After my fast had been broken, the girls made their way to needlework classes with Septa Mordane, whereas I went with the boys to the training yard, the atmosphere tense with friendly rivalry. Doubtless, many a boast had been made last night regarding the quality of Northern and Southern warriors both, and both sides seemed eager to prove the others wrong.

Initially, it was quite a boring experience for me, watching the other boys smack each other around with wooden practice swords. On occasion, Robb or Theon would take to the yard, and I would watch with rapt attention, out of curiosity if nothing else. Robb proved to be quite gifted with the sword, and Theon only slightly less so, putting in a good show on all of his bouts in spite of being outmatched on occasion. Finally, the time came for me and Bran to take to the yard, Ser Rodrick attempting to wrap me in pads, which I promptly refused.

When he pushed for me to wear them, I attempted to convince him, "Ser, how are we to learn save from our bruises? I assure you, I have gained many a bruise in training with my Knight, and can take a good thrashing, and I hear that the Starks are made of similarly tough stuff."

Bran chipped in, eager to follow my lead, "Yes I am! I can take it!"

"See? And I assure you, no grievous harm will come to either of us anyway, on account of the padded practice swords that you have been so kind to provide."

Ser Rodrick assented to my point, allowing the bout to commence, though he seemed reluctant to do so. I smiled at him for his understanding and turned to face Bran. When the fight began, it quickly became clear to me that this would be a one-sided affair. Bran's swings were sloppy, haphazard and telegraphed well in advance. It was literal child's play to dodge them, weaving in and out of his increasingly frantic swings, before closing the gap and getting in close, the edge of my practice sword resting gently on Bran's neck, "I win."

The entire bout had been ended in less than thirty seconds, and all without a single blow landing. Needless to say, the crowd watching had been plunged into shocked silence at the display. Bran looked a tad despondent, so I decided to show mercy and go easy on him, "I told you Ser Barristan was a good teacher. Would you like me to show you some tricks and then maybe we can fight again? Who knows, you might even get me!"

His face immediately brightened, "Yes, please!"

For the next one-and-a-half hours, I walked Bran through the basics of swordplay. Surprisingly, I had to start with the very beginning, his parents seemingly having delayed the start of his martial education. I taught him the proper stance and grip to use with a sword of that length, and in what manner to use it. From then, I emphasised positioning and footwork, highlighting the importance of tactics and strategy in a fight. After that, I walked him through some basic offensive and defensive moves, finishing off with a lesson on control, instructing him to retain absolute control over the length of wood in his hands, such that he does not have it taken from him in a fight.

When we re-entered the yard to commence a new bout, the audience watched eagerly for the outcome. Joffrey looked annoyed at the attention I was receiving, though thankfully he decided to keep his annoyance to himself on account of all who were watching. When our fight actually began, Bran put on a much better show, his strikes more calculated and harder to read than before, though unfortunately they remained slow. Whereas previously he had been aggressive, he was now a more conservative, defensive fighter, one focused on keeping himself safe and pressuring me to attack and thereby make a mistake he could exploit. Of course, whilst he put on a good show, his style remained amateurish and sloppy, and he still failed to land a single blow, though on occasion he came close.

Still, the bout lasted in excess of whole minute this time, Bran remaining reserved, minimising the opportunity that I would have to simply bypass his guard like I had done before. Instead, he managed to force my sword to strike his own, a brief exchange which ended with me rapping Bran's knuckles with the flat of my sword, prompting him to drop his with a yelp, at which point I ended the bout by resting the tip of my sword upon his chest. Bran once again looked glum, though I quickly raised his spirits with a few kind words, "Don't worry Bran, for the time to practice that you've been given, you've improved by a massive amount. It took me years to get to where I am now, so don't be sad if you can't match me after just a few hours of practice. You're still incredibly good, considering, and you have a lot of potential. One day, I don't doubt that you'll be one of the greatest Knights in the realm."

Bran smiled at my praise, and as I offered him my hand to help him stand, he accepted it with much gusto. There was some jeering and taunts coming from the Lannister side of the audience, but I ignored them, and their words seemed to roll of Bran, who was still high off my statement. Looking around, I spotted Arya watching the fight with Jon in tow, and I promptly shot her another wink, enjoying the blush that showed on her face. Soon after, she rushed off to her chambers and to her waiting and likely furious mother.

Robb looked at me with a strange expression on his face, though he soon became distracted by Joffrey's challenge. Just as expected, Joffrey desired to fight with live steel, a challenge Robb stupidly accepted, only for Ser Rodrick to intervene and deny the offer, insisting on blunt tourney swords or no fight at all. I didn't let the event spoil my mood, only for my spirits to crash to the ground when I took a look at Bran. It was at that moment that it occured to me that Bran was going to fall from the tower in just a few days time, rendering him crippled.

Even more horrifyingly, I was debating whether or not I should let him fall.

Now, let me explain. It was clear to me that some timely intervention on my part would likely save Bran from the fall, and yet, if he didn't fall, then Bran would never have his dreams. He would never meet the Three-Eyed-Crow, never unlock his true potential, all of which could prove invaluable in the upcoming string of crisis that were due to occur. Not to mention how his lack of injures could butterfly out. If he weren't injured, he would likely come down to King's Landing, and when shit kicked off, he may end up trapped to suffer the tender mercies of Joffrey's hospitality.

The only question remained, could I? Could I let a child, and a relatively lovely one at that, nothing like Joffrey, suffer in such a way? Had you asked just a few days ago, I would have said yes. I would have said how it was about the bigger picture, about how much suffering his pain could prevent in the future, that it was just a question of bloody maths. Now, though, I couldn't be too sure of my convictions. The damnably adorable lad had managed to form an emotional bond with me, and my gut twisted into knots at the thought of him falling from that tower and winding up crippled. Not to mention the assassin that would then come for his head at Joffrey's behest.

It was sickening thought to entertain, and yet, entertain it I did.

All of a sudden, the prospect of spending the days ahead in the company of the Starks didn't seem so fun anymore.

Clearly, Tommen has some thinking to do. What will he decide? Will he be righteous, or will he be pragmatic?
Feel free to comment and let me know what you think.
Hope you guys enjoy!