Bran 304 AC
Warm voices bounced off the stone walls, and the world spun around him. A group of free riders held a table towards the doorway. Men of arms for Lord Darry occupied the table closest to himself, and some other party of knights with sigils he cared little for sat by the warm hearth. Bran tightened his grip on the tankard of ale and drank every drop in one continuous drop. "Another!" Tossed some more coins at the barkeep. "Another I have a mans thirst!" His cheeks were warm, and he felt alive, but he needed more or he would feel cold. No blue lips spoke to him. "I see you, little wolf." In the dream, the crow sang to him. "You shall drown too." Yet In a room filled with boisterous strangers he was alone. I had to push him away…I needed to. Princess Myrcella was right, he would only get him killed.
"I know you love my brother Bran, but you know in your heart he'll get himself killed following you down the path you tread. Let him go. For the love you bear him."
The pretty girl remained on his lap. Bran had spent all night charming her."I'm going to Winterfell for my fucking brothers wedding. Robb, he's marrying some lady, whatever her name is, but that doesn't matter."
"Why not milord?"
"I have a room." He kissed her neck. "Let me keep you warm this night. Winter is Coming." A man of fourteen name days, and his smile could cut down the strongest maidens. She was likely no maiden, but he cared little for that.
"You do feel warm." The girl giggled. "But I'm unsure if my father would approve, milord."
"Fuck your father! When the snows pile as high as castles, you'll only have the memory to keep you warm." He squeezed her ass. "And I've noted your eyes all night. You've been undressing me. Don't lie fair lady. I'll show you what a Stark of Winterfell can do."
"Let me finish my rounds, Ser Wolf." She nibbled on his nose. "And then you can make me howl."
He hardened at the thought.
The barkeep slid him the beer and drank the bitter shit down his throat until his eyes watered. Bran leaned back on his stool, sporting a satisfied grin. Life pulsed through his limbs. His body was warm and alive. The dreams…the nightmares are dulled.
Long, boney fingers wrapped around his throat, strangling him a prince of flames without pity or remorse. The eyes were familiar, but inhuman. I know those eyes… Bran drank to forget as much as he could what the gods showed him.
None of the happy, oblivious strangers understood anything. If they did, they would drink and fuck all day and night. Cities shall sink into the sea. Crops shall burn under monster of fire and flame, and creatures of ice sang songs of doom and despair. The Dawn shall never come. And I alone know…There was nothing that could be done against such reckless hate. Why must I be shown these terrible things? I only wished to be a knight. Cousin Jasper promised him he would be a knight one day as honorable and good as father. But it didn't matter, all of them would die screaming. No tomes in the library gave him a clue on how to change prophecy.
There was no hope.
Bran didn't care and drank his sorrows away. He reached for more coins in his pouch and felt nothing. "More."
"We are out, milord."
"Fuck you. You're lying!" Bran snapped. "Now give me another!" He drew his dagger Valryian steel and slammed it down between his fingers, chuckling. "I'm thirsty." The room died and became as quiet as the crypts of Winterfell. The barkeep stuttered as he grabbed him by his collar.
"Milord-"
"And who are you making demands to my people?" A young man said with the plough of House Darry sewn over his brown tunic. Lyman Darry chestnut eyes widened in surprise. "Gods be good, you're Brandon Stark." Ambition twinkled in the young Lord's eyes. Do you think ambition will save you? Do you think ambition matters?
Bran smiled. "Guilty. Now fuck off."
Lyman bristled. "Here, let me handle this. Thamen, pour Lord Brandon another."
"Yes, milord." And Bran didn't look a gift horse in the mouth and drank a few large gulps.
"Why don't you come join us, my lord? We would be all the better for it. "
"Thanks, but I have a woman to bed." Bran stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "Now be a good cocksucker and fuck off."
Lyman snatched his ale and flung it. "Don't think to command me in my lands."
Bran laughed. "Funny man, this one." And swung, colliding his fist with Lyman's square face. The Darry boy's knees buckled as his Men of Arms rushed to defend him. A storm of mailed fists descended upon him. Brans grunted from a sharp blow to the stomach. He shattered a fat man's nose with his elbow with a snarl and punched a soft squishy throat with a quick jab. Every blow he received and dished out he was alive. A backhand sent him spiraling onto the dirty floors. A boot shattered his nose in a stream of crimson, but he didn't feel it as he curled up until the blows stopped. A low growl rumbled through the tavern. "Dawn." Bran whimpered. And he looked up and saw he was not alone. Beside Dawn, he stood wearing a black cloak hiding his golden hair. His green eyes burned. Castle steel was out in the air and his lips twirled upward.
"Unhand Lord Brandon sers or it shall end in violence."
"Who are-" Lyman chestnut eyes widened and Bran thought he might piss himself. He snickered. "My prince. He struck first."
Tommen nodded. "A drunken bout, no doubt. Now go back to your tables ser, I shall see it handled."
Lyman bowed.
"Good man!" Tommen chimed cheerfully.
He wrapped his arm around him, and Bran scowled. "Let me go." But he was as weak as a newborn to offer any more resistance as Tommen held him. "You shouldn't be here." He whimpered as they walked to the stables. The frigid air hurt with every breath he labored.
"And where else should I be?"
"Well, enough away from me." He slurred. Safe at camp with the rest of Cousin Jasper's household.
Tommens bright look dimmed. "Do not ask something I cannot do."
"If you were smart, you would. I've hurt you enough."
"We survived battle together." Tommen said with a crack lip of his own making. "We saw our friend die." His voice cracked. "Damn it Bran, I know the burden you carry its larger than my own, but don't shove me away."And he meant every word and Bran felt the tears form. He clung to him like a drowning man. "I don't know how our story ends, but I shall be by your side until the bitter end. Now you best get it through your thick skull." And hugged him.
It was a warm gesture and Bran wept for the future he feared. "I'm scared Tommen. I'm so scared of what shall come. My dreams they always come true." He didn't feel a man nonetheless a Stark, but a sacred boy. Monsters come for us. And what hope did man have?
Tommen held him. "Don't give into despair Bran. I'm no wise prince, but I know that much. Give in to sorrow and you shall die for certain."
"I do not see a Dawn Tommen. Only death." But he recalled the words of his father: the only time a man could be brave was when he was afraid. He didn't feel brave, but he didn't wish Tommen to worry over him too much. He was one of the few good things in his life and offered him a small smile. "You're a good friend Tommen. I shall try to believe otherwise."
Tommen nodded. "Well, look on the bright side, Bran. If we die, you don't have to hear my japes anymore."
Bran snorted. "Not all of them are bad Tommen. Not at all."
Ayra
She painted the canvass deftly from memory. Syrio says you only have a moment to take in the battlefield. She painted the high, imposing grey walls of Winterfell and her battlements around the main gate. Banners streamed through the gatehouse the Crowned Stag of House Baratheon and the Flying Falcon of House Arryn. Knights of the Vale made up the honor guard for their liege and prince. However, it was the eyes of the men she focused on and the weapons they carried. Cousin Jasper's red hair and stern gaze as he scanned everyone assembled into the courtyard, looking for potential threats even as he smiled. Ser Brynden, the famed Blackfish, was by his side. A fierce veteran of dozens of battles. All the boys would beg him for stories. Behind them, Arya painted her brother Bran, a taller stranger with careless eyes as he galloped through with reckless abandon. Dawn looked regally at his side. She spent a lot of time on Prince Tommen and his delicate blond curls and his bright, friendly eyes. He looked like the Kingslayer who rode through the Gates of Winterfell many years ago without the arrogant smirk. A tall boy every inch a maidens fancy even at fourteen namedays. Days spent in the courtyard made him strong. Sansa would make many beautiful children with him. Ser Robar, a knight of the Kingsguard, rode behind him. When she was satisfied with it she brought it to Syrios attention for inspection.
He rubbed his chin. "Very good. Marvelous in fact!" Syrio said, and filled her chest with pride. "You've made great improvement, but-" Arya recalled her fathers worse. Anything said before but is horseshit.
"You miscounted the knights off by two."
Arya scowled.
"It's still exquisite. You've done well, Arya. Very well."
"Not well enough." She mumbled.
Syrio chuckled. "Now, now, don't be so dour. You created a great work of art." He squeezed her shoulder before lifting it up. "Very beautiful. It's a crime to have it stuffed in my quarters. What about this Cley Cerwyn?" She scrunched up her face in annoyance. "I'm sure he would love this? Or maybe not." Syrio read her well. "Do I need to inform your lady mother?"
She shook her head quickly. "Cley Cerywn did nothing untold." As if he could manage to best me in a fight. It seemed a good idea to pursue the possibility of a match with him, Castle Cerywn was close to Winterfell and she could march with Robbs banners when assembled. Eventually she would have to marry for her duty to House Stark, but she wanted it on her terms. Cley was friendly enough and decent looking. They went on a few hunts and rides together and had a fair time. Jory and Lyanna both found little to complain about with him, and Arya trusted the Mormont girls' judge of character. A betrothal wouldn't be out of the question, the match would be a fair one for the North. I even let him lead during a dance! And then he opened his ugly mouth and belittled her martial talents. "You fight well for a woman." He smirked. For a woman? I fight well for a warrior. Naturally, she had to beat him for it. His face turned as red as the blood that flowed from where she cut his cheek. Once more, placing him down on his ass. Cley just couldn't accept she was better than him at fighting. The contest of swords could scarcely be called a fight. It was a walk in the Godswood. Syrio was brilliant, along with Dacey Mormont. Cley was below average. She even showed good judgement in having the fight in private as not to cause a small scandal for Robb with his big day approaching, but Cley refused to look at her. His fragile ego was bruised. Lyanna told her he likely had a small cock. And she agreed.
I have my friends, my sword, and my family to occupy my days. Arya mused. She would worry about potential betrothals another day. Instead, she would focus on honing her skills with a sword and other weapons of war. Come spring, they would march to face the King Beyond the Wall and Arya would join Dacey and the other Mormonts in the field. The Lord Commander had stabilized the Wall with an influx of gold from the Iron Bank. Paying some local smallfolk to help man the castles as volunteers. Robb spent many nights in fathers solar considering plans for the Gift. Lord Tywin was a strange bedfellow, but for the good of the North, they worked with him. The Watch was the Shield that guarded the North from the wildlings. Threats all of them.
"Your mother may appreciate the painting?"
And that was true. Mother was quite pleased with her work even if she misliked the objects of her painting. Mother wished for fields of flowers or baskets of fruit. Not duels in the courtyard. Though she liked Nymerias portrait. It took forever to get her to stay still. "I think not." She admitted. "She has too many from myself. I'll just hold on to it for myself, I suppose."
"Of course, child."
Servants provided the tea and plates of scones. Arya wore a plain grey dress for the affair. She felt as comfortable in a skirt as she was in breaches. Though she was not without teeth and held two hidden knives under her thighs. Teatime could always descend into a violent affair. Ladies of the North could be vicious creatures. A different sort than warriors in the courtyard, but hair pulling and gnashing of eyes was a possibility and words that stung. One needed to parry words and swords.
If anyone touches Sansa, they shall lose an eye! Arya vowed.
She was a Stark of Winterfell, same as her
It seemed all the Ladies of the North were attending Sansas little get together. Wylla Manderly sat next to her with a bright smile. Alys Hornwood chatted with Jeyne Cassel, Beth Cassel stuffed her face with lemoncakes. Plump Walda Bolton, Dacey Mormont tall and fearless even in a dress. She held no woman in greater esteem. Dacey would put Visenya to shame. Arya wished to be Dacey Mormont, strong and respected for her skills of arms. One day she would best her in a spoke sparingly, content merely to watch them as Nymeria does her prey. And she observed much from them: Alys was clearly with child but had yet to announce it. Jeyne was jealous of Wylla Manderly, likely over marrying Robb, Beth thought little, and Walda Bolton looked just as friendless as the day she arrived. She was out of place among them with a nervous disposition, but Arya supposed any woman married to Lord Bolton would be jittery.
Sansa held the center wearing a beautiful dress of gold with long flowing sleeves. A silver tiara on her brow. A crown would suit her. Arya mused.
"Lady Bolton," Sansa chimed. "I'm sorry for your loss. Your father passed away from the pox, did he not?"
Walda looked teary-eyed. " He did. My thanks Lady Sansa, it's very kind of you." She squeaked.
"Did he ever meet his three grandchildren?" Sansa asked.
Lady Walda shook her head, and Sansa soothed her as if they were long-lost sisters.
Even on Bear Island, one heard of monsters lingering in the lands of the Dreadfort. Albeit, such disappearances seemed to have halted. Lord Bolton and his hunters finally slew the beast, no doubt. A pity Arya would have wished to try her luck with such a foe. It seemed the only foe open to her was boredom, Wildlings with the occasional Ironborn raider. Arya thought sullenly.
"Tis the Wildlings I'm worried about. Not some pox." Alys said. "My father wishes to march come spring."
Lady Walda paled. "But Lord Stark remains in the South-"
Her future good sister shot up. "Lord Robb is more than capable of rallying the North in Good Lord Eddards name. The Ironborn felt Brave Robbs steel. He shall send the Wildlings reeling. I have no doubt in my mind of it!" She declared and looked at anyone to challenge her. Arya approved of her for Robb. Lady Wylla was a loyal woman and held steel in her spine.
"I would not worry about it." Dacey Mormont said. "As Lady Wylla says, Lord Robb is more than capable. Bear Island stands ready to answer the call of Winterfell."
"As does Karhold!" Alys declared.
"And White Harbor!" Lady Wylla declared.
"And the Dreadfort." Lady Walda said sheepishly.
An awkward pause as Alys snorted. "Why the hell not? The Dreadfort aswell!"
Giggles and snickers rang out.
"Worry not, "Sansa smile filled you with warmth as if you were very special. "when I'm queen, the North shall be well supported in days of woe. My prince shall keep our brave Northman in court and will respect our interests. My father shall remain as his Hand as he serves King Robert." I hope not. Father deserves his rest and belonged in Winterfell. Not some flowery seat in the South. Mother missed him as well though she refused to say it and Arya could tell from his letters he hated life of court. Besides, it seemed to her Lord Arryn would be Tommens choice. He was more comfortable with Cousin Jasper.
"To our future Queen!" Wylla cheered. "Long shall you reign."
"A beautiful queen she shall make!" Jeyne said zealously.
All of them joined in praising her. Arya rose with a smirk, and if she had a sword, she would have drawn it. Once they quarrelled like cats and dogs as children, but they were both Starks of Winterfell and sisters stuck together. "No one shall be your equal. Let anyone who claims otherwise meet Northern steel!"
"Or Northern axes." Dacey said dryly.
Sansa blushed prettily. "Those poor southron knights. How could they hope to overcome Northern prowess? Tis wouldn't be a fair bout."
When the plates were being cleared away and all the guests had departed. She approached her with a teasing smirk. "Your grace." Arya bowed. "It'll be insufferable calling you that, no doubt."
Sansa embraced her. "I missed you Arya. I don't think I realized how much until I arrived." Pulling away after a moment, "That dress looks lovely on you. It'll turn so many heads."
Arya nodded stoically, as Bear Island taught. "Thank you Sansa, but I do it for myself. Not others." She replied.
She smiled, and Arya felt some warmth in her chest. Once she thought Sansa hated her, but this visited had laid such fears to rest. They talked over Robb and Wylla about what she thought of her. How fair father in King Robert's court. Her instruction of Rickon in archery under Ser Rodrick's gaze. A long conversation as they sipped on the long since cool tea. They spoke of a childish prank of hers, and she apologized for it. Sansa laughed. "Oh, I overreacted. It was very funny." The candlelight flickered. They talked about Bran and his friendship with Prince Tommen.
"Don't you think he would make a natural Hand? Bran is so friendly and clever."
Arya rolled her eyes. "If he thought with his mind over the sword between his legs, mayhaps." Bran took nothing seriously. He loved Tommen dearly, but everything seemed to be a jape to him. She mentioned Cousin Jasper would make a fine choice for the office. No one could deny his martial talents and his dedication to his ward.
She kissed Sansa on the cheek and returned to her chambers to dress for an evening ride and feel the fresh Northern air on her cheeks.
"Hold on, one moment." She swore underneath her breath and opened the door.
Prince Tommen's friendly smile greeted her and earned one from her. Tommen was almost always as bright as the sun, like the boy in her letters. It was good to see his dumb face. However, she was puzzled by his sudden appearance. I always sneak in to see him! Not the other way around! She knew how to blend into the background like a shadow, avoiding the staff and the guards. It made her snicker, recalling scaring him the first night he arrived. I was a ghost in the dark.
"Winter Comes for you Prince Tommen!" She screeched an eerie sound into his ear, wearing a white sheet.
Tommen leapt out of bed and tackled her to the cold floor. "Have-Wait, you are no ghost." He removed the sheet. "Your Arya Stark!" He helped her up with a beaming smile. Even in the dark, she knew he was beaming. "What a fun prank you did! You got me good! I think I pissed myself a little."
"I did, didn't I?" Arya smirked.
She punched him in the shoulder for tackling her. Hard. "For pressing me to the ground."
He rubbed his shoulder.
Tommens nose almost touched her own. "We simply have to prank Bran! I need to take my fun while I can before I become an old stuffy prince! And your going to help me! You are my only hope, Arya Stark!" He declared, and she didn't have it in her to refuse him. They dyed Brans wispy, mustache purple while he slept.
Bran subsequently shaved it off.
We did him a favor.
"You know Tommen, if you were trying to sneak in. You can't knock."
"I wasn't trying to come." Tommen admitted. "But Nymeria was very insistent. I thought." He paused. "Well, you see, with Dawn usually it meant Bran needed me…" She considered it strange as well. She knelt at Nymeria's side, rubbing her fur coat. Tommen was right. She had this connection with Nymeria she couldn't quite explain. What were you thinking, girl? She was stumped.
"Not really, no, but since you're here, I suppose you could accompany me." Arya said stoically. "You make fine company."
"What fun!" Tommen announced. "And I have some new japes to try on you. You could give me some honest feedback."
"And if I don't like any of them?"
"Not possible. My puns are the puniest!" Tommen said with complete confidence.
Jasper
Jasper left Lord Starks Halls with a soft smile tugging against his lips. He was soaring high. A plan to remove the festering sore that occupied many Arryn minds since they ruled the Vale had come to pass with a single cut to the hand. The dull pain throbbed. One blood oath before the Stark in Winterfell and he had his sword to slay the Mountain Clans once and for all and finally bring them into his peace. To defeat Mountain Goats, you need Mountain Goats of your own.
The Northern Clans made perfect sense and with his Stark kin he had access to make his bargain.
"I Jasper Arryn in the presence of the Old Gods and the New swear a pact of ice and stone." He said solemnly. "By Red Rain, the sword of House Arryn, I pledge to defend your rights. I swear to be faithful in all matters, and mediate your disputes, and as long as the Tears of Alyssa weep from the Giants Lance, you shall have your gods. On my honor, I swear."
"I Lothor Burley with the consent of the Stark in Winterfell,pledge that any warrior of the Burley Clan who journeys to the Vale shall follow the law of the Falcon, shall name THE ARRYN as his Warden and answer his marshalling."
Robb Stark dipped his head. "In the name of my father Lord Eddard Stark, we grant it for Winter is Coming."
"Winter is Coming!"
"Winter is Coming!"
The heads of the clans all chanted. Norryes, Wulls, Liddles, Knotts alike offered oaths as old and sacred as the land itself. Jasper accepted each unique oath solemnly as they cut their hands with obsidian daggers. Grey Wind yellow eyes watched at its master feet with a piercing gaze. Warriors of the Clans who wished to feel blood on their axes before Winter buried their heads deep in snow. They would board the ships Lord Manderly had provided destined for Gulltown. Instead of dying in the cold, he offered those willing a chance of lands and titles. He offered them a chance to continue to live and men, like all animals, loved to live another day.
Some of his banners would curse underneath their cups about inviting Northman into his lands to handle the Clans. A slight against their martial honor. And Jasper understood it well, but the Knights of the Vale were the wrong tool to use and too valuable to be squandered away in some folly in the Mountains. Every knight lost in the pile of rocks, and every coin spent from his treasury, would garner him neither security nor safety. A defeat of his knights would be disastrous, a long campaign in the region costly and ineffective. A battle should only have been sought by a green lord eager to prove himself, but Shatterstone and the Iron Islands beat the greenness out of him.
I've nothing left to prove.
The clansman knew the lands like the back of their hands and would melt away into the ravines and caves and would emerge when they departed. It would leave House Arryn more vulnerable in the alliances between Stark, Tully, Lannister and Baratheon, and he would be no closer to bringing his peace to every corner of the Vale. The Lannisters have recovered faster from the war than I thought they would. They shall nip at my heels for it, seeking more rewards and offices. Though on the Dragon Queen, they remained closely aligned, cooperating closely. She shall never set sail west. Outside the grand alliance, the Tyrells focused inward. He had Lord Nestor advocate an increase levee on Arbor gold as a prudent measure for fiscal responsibility to the Lord Regent, but it was to foster further instability in the Reach. Let her banners see how impotent they are. The more the Tyrells handled internal squabbles, it would dim her ambition. Why does Lady Margaery remain unwed? What match are you possibly waiting for? Even Myrcella couldn't understand why she had yet to wed. It troubled him, but House Arryn's outlook remained bright. Jasper refused to squander the opportunity the alliances between the Great Houses had afforded him to pacify the region and finally bring it under the sway of the Eyrie. Too many Arryns had died to the Clansman and his children would not join them. It hardened his resolve.
The Mountains would become safe for them to soar in peace!
Jasper spent his years nose deep in parchment, sending letters to Winterfell, White Harbor, Kings Landing and his vassals, making his plans and securing concessions from irksome vassals. Grand Uncle Bryndens scouts and outriders frequent companions alongside the Knights of the Vale as he increased the patrols and scouting missions in the Mountains. Red Rain, the accursed blade, taught them fear as it inspired in his chest. The Bloodied Blade the Clans named it and what a bloodied blade it was. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Negotiations with the Clansman would damage his reputation as a martial lord and would fail, as they had all the leverage. They understood they could outlast them, no matter the pain he afflicted against them. Generations of conflict made any peace suspect. He trusted none of them to keep their words. They needed a fresh start with men without an enmity towards the Eyrie.
"You need hardy men willing to live the harsh land." His Blackfish said dryly. "But we don't have them. No one would wish to live in such rock."
"No, we don't." Jasper rose from behind his walls of parchment. His ser had given him an idea. "We don't have them, but the Starks do and Winter is coming!"
He sent to the Citadel a request on the histories of the Northern Clansman to understand their customs and sacred traditions, to secure their oaths, but most of it proved useless according to Lord Starks letters whom proved a greater source of information on how the clans lived. Lord Stark held his own conditions before he gave his support for his venture.
'Nephew.' Lord Stark wrote. 'I cannot in good conscience stamp my approval without the assurance you shall not put the clansman of the Vale Mountains to the sword if they offer to bend the knee. Swear to myself on Jon Arryns memory it shall not be a butchery and you have my support in this matter. It was insulting the request, and he took offense to the slight against Arryn honor. He had no inclination for such butchery. Does he think myself Tywin Lannister? If they bent the knee to his authority and law, he would accept them to his peace, but if they refused to bend, they would die. Why wouldn't they bend to him? The settlement of Northern Clans on her lands, backed by the Eyrie with the finest steel would bring them to the tables. I know it will. It won't lead to slaughter.
In the light of day, Prince Tommen sported a sunny smile despite the long hours spent negotiating with a bunch of old men. One couldn't even tell when you looked at him. "You did well." Jasper didn't bother to hide the pride in his voice. Years of planning hang on the edge of a knife and it had almost come undone. He had thought the coming of Winter would encourage their self interest in survival to come south, but they held stubbornly to the Old Gods. Jasper was weary of settling them without conversion to the Faith of the Seven, concerned over the reaction of the faithful and their revulsion to such a settlement.
"Nay Lord Arryn!" Tommen replied cheerfully. "You won the Northern Clans over. Not myself"
Jasper snorted. "If only that were true. You did very well." He squeezed his shoulder. "Accept the praise Tommen. I never would have thought of using the Tears of Alyssa to skirt the issue of the Northman gods. It was brilliant." His words reminded him of Myrcella's intelligence. Some of the Lannister wit lived in his prince's head.
"Only because of your training ser." Tommen deflected. "Thus, the day is still your own."
He cuffed him on the side of his head lightly as his ser often did to him. "Enough of that." He chided. "Accept you did a good job, my worthless squire."
Prince Tommen chuckled and nodded. "I suppose this means I shall be ending my wardship soon." In the light, it looked as if a golden crown rested on his head and his heart stopped in his chest. Jasper chilled at the thought of him leaving the safety of the Vale. He's only a boy of 14 namedays. Was it not yesterday they were working on theoretical Small Councils? His eyes turned hard as Tommen was green as grass. He didn't understand the dangers of the world. It was not the swords and spears one should fear, but the hidden scars that haunted ones sleep.
I'll keep him safe from harm until he comes to majority. It was still two years away. Two long years until we play the game.
His prince would not make his mistakes.
"I wouldn't go that far, my prince. You still have much to learn." Jasper's voice brokered no argument.
"I know, but the day is coming sooner than later."
Prince Tommens words were honest and sent his heart into a panic. Where was this coming from? Is someone encouraging him to press him to push for his rights? He's not ready! He's not ready! Once he would have already pressed for Lady Sansa and Prince Tommen to have already been wed and to secure a place in the capital, but he was willing to wait a little longer until he was certain he could handle the politics of court. A Crowned Prince married established himself as a force to be reckoned with. It would not serve House Arryns interest to see the boy crushed beneath the weight and he didn't want Tommen to suffer his pain. He's only a boy. A sweet boy whom he loved as a little brother.
The last time I played in Kings Landing, I allowed a war to break out.
I was a Falcon of Summer.
Prince Tommen shall be no Summer Stag.
The Sept of Winterfell was a small thing, but Jasper found solace in the carvings of the Seven, and he needed their solace now. Normally, he would have sought Arrow, but his friend needed his rest. The Seven are one. Septon Layne told him as a boy. Like man he didn't truly understand the motivations or reason of the Seven. Men nor gods make sense. He could barely hide his ignorance from man, but he doubted he fooled the Seven. They understand what I am. Jasper's bent knees ached, but he didn't adjust his position. The Fathers eyes were stern and firm as a boy he saw Jon Arryns disapproval, but now the eyes seems to approve. He hoped he was on the right path. "As High as Honor." He whispered. It was how a Lord of the Eyrie should behave. The fear that hounded him died years ago. I'm behaving as befit as a Lord of the Eyrie. And he hoped his father gazed down with pride. The Mother and the Maidens he saw green eyes of Myrcella. She loved their little flock with all her heart and it made his heart ached when he was parted from her or his children. Roland, Alyssa and little baby Brynden. My sweet, intelligent princess and my darling children. He prayed to the Mother for their health.
A shudder ran through him when he gazed into the eyes of the Warrior. It made Red Rain heavy at his waist. A cursed blade as the land it came from. It should be hidden away from the sight of all. One day, his son would bring honor to the blade in a way he never could. Like most lords, it was the Warrior he prayed too. Not for feats of glory. He only prayed to have the strength to protect his family. To keep them safe another year. Red, everyone bleeds red. Hiding underneath the scabbard, it rained red. His family would bleed red too if he failed in his duty. Sweet Myrcella would weep over their babes. Little Alyssa who grew scared of the wind, but loved her pet rocks. His boy Roland a little knight in the making who played with his toy knights, courteous to everyone he met. Both were so sweetly protective of the other. They had Myrcellas green eyes and his red hair. Children bled too, they screamed worse than men. The incense of the candles burned the nostrils as gripped the pommel. Swords clanged in his skull. "Forward for the Vale! Not one step backwards!" Butchers around him enjoyed hacking the brave boys to pieces. Ungodly sounds did they make. Red Rain showed no mercy. It hacked off limbs no matter how small.
"Father!"
Women wailed terrible sounds. Push forward. He needed to push forward. They would die if they didn't push forward. Don't look, just cut down anything that moved. Bodies dropped around him, but he couldn't stop moving.
"Father!."
The stench was unbearable, and he was going to die. He was going to die with them. A tomb of black rock.
"Father!"
Jasper shook his head, and he knew he was in Winterfell and not the accursed castle of nightmares. I've left the Strangers Realm. A dreamworld of pain where he saw mother and Harry often. It was disorienting when he visited, though it was not as often as it once was. Time and Myrcella's sweet voice had healed him somewhat. Love turned him as softhearted as a girl. Little hands grabbed the edge of his cloak.
"Father, are you cold? You were shaking!" Roland asked.
Alyssa offered her sky blue scarf. "To warm you, father! Mother says a scarf makes everything better."
"Where are your guards?" He asked, harsher than he intended. His cheek burned with embarrassment at his weakness. Though it shifted to concern, neither of his children should be without an escort. Even in a friendly keep as Winterfell.
"Outside." Roland whispered. "Did we do something wrong?"
He shook his head."No." Jasper smiled at his darling children. "You've done nothing wrong. Here." And he wrapped the scarf around Alyssa's neck. Her cheeks were rosy red from the cold and needed to spend a spell by the hearth. What if either of them caught a cold? They need thicker cloaks. The fur wasn't warm enough. Jasper thought. It was unacceptable. Myrcella would be worried sick about them. I'm not worried, Lords don't get worried over soft matters. I'm as stern as stone. He scanned them over from head to toe and noted no wounds or scrapes. Rosey cheeks, nothing a warm meal wouldn't cure. Children were fearless and if you let them would get their little heads hurt. His eyes narrowed like a falcon. "Boots off now." He needed to inspect their feet.
"We wished to surprise you." Both said in unison, giggling as they struggled to move the boots of their feet. Jasper did it for them and knew he would have to have them change their socks for the day. Any good soldier knew to change their socks out frequently.
"I see that." Jasper said, rubbing his chin in amusement.
Roland beamed. "I made a snowball, but it melted."
"And I…well Roland found a rock!" Alyssa smiled shyly. "Do you like it, father?"
Jasper was the happiest lord in all the seven kingdoms as he placed the rock in his pocket. If only they could stay three namedays forever. He scooped them both of their giggling bodies into his arms. "Of course I love it! Why wouldn't I?" He tapped her little nose. "Now, my little falcons, let's find your mother. I think it's time for supper. We need the two of you to grow big and strong." They whined and complained about staying out longer, but he held firm to their big green eyes. A greater feat than claiming Red Rain.
"Okay, father, but no beats!" Roland declared.
Alyssa scrunched up her nose. "Yeah, no beats, father! They are foul!"
Jasper chuckled and ruffled their hair. Both of them had spent too much time with Prince Tommen. He saw a headache ahead of him and Myrcella, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.
Not a single damn thing
Tommen
Tommen tapped the quill against the desk as he studied the set of problems going through the problem in his head. Even in Winterfell, a prince had to keep up with his studies. Lord Arryn has great expectations as high as the mountains of the Vale and he had to meet them. A crown was a heavy thing. The work wasn't challenging, only tedious, but he knew the world wasn't as easy as simple problems. It's complicated with many answers. He studied all the kings who sat the Iron Throne, and it seemed the odds were against him.
There are more rotten kings than good…
Who would he be?
Tommen feared the answer.
Slender legs lay over his desk and piercing grey eyes gazed at him. "I believe you need to put it on paper to answer it." Arya Stark's voice was in a matter as fact tone. Somehow, she snuck in like a faceless man. Tommen thought it had had to be the window. "We are going to be late for Lyannas poetry night at this rate." And it made him feel terrible. Both of the Mormont girls were absolutely amazing. No one told bawdy japes as well as them and they were skilled dancers. During the welcome feast, they dominated the dance floor. And none of them seemed to ask him for any favors. Everyone always asked him for favors in the Vale. Lords and ladies all seemed to want a piece of him, like a bunch of it would be very small, but that's how they got you. Lord Arryn told him it was the game of kings and princes and he would have to play.
"Tis your duty to balance all the interests of your realm, my prince. Men and women shall always seek to influence you for their own ends." Lord Arryn said. "You must see through the flatters who shall seek to ensnare you in their folly and the crooks who seek to take advantage of you." Myrcella called them fair-weather friends who would disappear like the summer snows at the first sign of trouble. A king had great responsibility, but all Tommen wished to do was jape with his friends and fight in the courtyard. Every slash with a sword excited him and victory over his opponents was as sweet as lemoncakes. Tommen did a lot of winning in the courtyard trained by the Blackfish and Lord Arryn. Everyone always tried their best! I'm just better!
Tommen preferred the company of those that didn't play. They made faster friends. He hoped to count the Mormont girls as friends.
"It's hard, Arya, with you telling such japes." Tommen twisted to face her. "Though." His smile grew wider and wider. "I have one for you."
She acted nonchalant, but he knew he had her interest.
"What do you call an owl with armor?"
"I know not."
"A Knight Owl!" Tommen felt very proud of that one.
Ayra snickered.
It was enjoyable making his fierce friend laugh. Starks by nature, could be a rather broody and serious lot and needed to laugh or their faces would freeze shut.
"Well, Tommen, I have another one for you." She admitted and gave a wolfish grin when he gave her his complete attention over the parchment. He loved a good jape. Bran told great japes, and it seemed it Arya did as well. It must have skipped Lady Sansa. But he wouldn't hold it against her. Not everyone could have their sense of humor. "Do you know what the reward is for the knight that wins the jousting tournament?"
Tommen shook his head.
"Well, I can't tell you - it's a serprize." He clutched his stomach and tried valiantly to stay in his chair. It was a losing battle.
"By the Seven Arya!" He complained from the floor. "I need to get this done." Problems on logistics wouldn't solve themselves.
"I'll do it." Arya smirked. "I'm good with numbers. I'll get it done faster. Your maesters will be none the wiser."
Tommen stopped laughing. "Tis kind of you, but it's my work. A prince needs to be diligent." His voice turned smaller. "I shall not be negligent." The Seven Kingdoms had suffered enough under negligent kings. Brans father suffered for one. Lord Stark should be here seeing his eldest son wed. Instead, he was guarding the Iron Throne for his father. It made him furious.
"A wise prince delegates." Arya replied.
"Do not ask me to skirt my duties." Tommen said with a princely voice that sound like a stranger. "I will not be my father."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, one assignment will lead to your moral destruction." Her voice was biting. "By nightfall, you shall sleep with a dozen whores and kidnap Lady Wylla."
"Arya-"
"I'm not done." Arya barked with a stern tone. "You shall break guest right and turn Robbs Wedding Red." Every word dripped with sarcasm. "You are right, Prince Tommen, this shall be a slippery slope."
Tommen smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I'm being silly."
"You are." Arya agreed.
It didn't take her long to finish. They made their way to the hallways Ser Robar was beyond surprised seeing Lady Arya coming out of the room, but he swore him to secrecy. Both of them told japes as they wandered the halls. She was just like the fierce girl who pinned him to the floor all those years ago. Bear Island may have turned her into a Northern Lady, but she was still Arya Stark. As free as the Northern air. She was a complete delight on rides and knew how to make snowballs. We even made snow knights! Well, I tried to make one. He almost snickered. There were no awkward pauses between them. Everyone looked at him and saw the Crowned Prince, but she saw only Tommen. Only Brave Bran looks at me like that. The look meant everything to him. He hoped she always looked at him like that. "Arya." Tommen said, stopping. "I wish to say thank you!" He beamed, recalling all the fun they had had. Rides in the Wolfswood. Hunting Bears. Japing until his stomach ached. Pranking Bran. "You've been a true friend these past couple of days. I shall miss you terribly."
"I suppose I shall as well." Arya replied stoically. "The next time I shall see, you will be at your own wedding." And Tommen knew it would be a happy day. Marrying into Brans family. Lady Sansa was beyond beautiful. A tall, petite woman with long smooth legs and gorgeous thighs and two perky breasts that must be soft to touch. Debased thoughts swirled his mind when he was with her. I shall hold on to my honor. As High as Honor! It was the only way a prince should behave, Tommen vowed.
"You make a handsome couple."
Tommen smiled. "Thank you! I shall try my best! Lord Robb and Lady Wylla make a handsome couple as well."
"They do."
"Do you think she is a mermaid with the green hair?" Tommen asked.
"Huh?" Arya paused, considering it. "She might be one, I suppose. Maybe I'll have to investigate such." A playful smirk. "What should I do if I discover a fin?"
"Well, you're a girl, so she can't control you with her voice."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Tommen, that is a siren."
"I'm pretty confident it's a mermaid."
"Well, you are wrong. It's a siren." Arya said, blunt as a hammer. "Sirens are on rocks singing sailors to an early grave and mermaids swim in the oceans. Everyone knows that."
Tommen laughed at the silly conversation. He loved silly conversations.
Unfortunately the conversation shifted to Lord Robbs wedding. A more serious affair. Lord Arryn and Myrcella told him of the political ramifications of the union, but happiness was an important component for politics as well. Otherwise you build a dynasty on quicksand. His parents marriage was proof of that. It made him think of Arya marrying some Northern lord. She would be a tough one to please. Maybe he should meddle? Princes did need to meddle from to time in the affairs of the realm. He would keep his ears open and a few words to the Heir of Winterfell couldn't hurt.
I am the Crowned Prince. My voice holds weight.
Tommen said cheerfully. "And I'll go to your wedding when you have one. I'll be terribly grumpy if I miss it." Heads would roll if some rebellion made him miss it. No Nights Watch for any of them. "I would offer to scare him, but Nymeria is far more fierce than myself. She ripped that bear apart like nothing and would keep any lord honest. How could I top that?"
Arya snorted. "I think I shall scare him plenty on my own." Hand falling to her hip with a fierce glint shimmering in her grey eyes.
"No doubt!" Tommen agreed. "But those who care for you only wish you to see you well. There is no dishonor in that."
She nodded her head slowly. "Syrio would say the same." Arya sighed. "It is something that still doesn't come easy to me. I'm no weak creature relying on others."
Tommen laughed at the absurd feeling. "Arya Stark, you are no weak creature, you're as fierce as Nymeria. Anyone who says otherwise is slow-witted or poorly armed." He snickered. "I shall see you on a future campaign, no doubt." Even if the thought of battle worried him. Not for the act of fighting, but how much he would enjoy it, Shatterstone showed that clear enough. Daeron the Young Dragon allowed the thrill of combat to consume him. Maegor the Cruel enjoyed violence as well. Joffrey would have made the Mad King look like Baelor the Blessed and his father was as negligent as Aegon the Unworthy. The thought he could become Joffrey or his father bothered him deeply. I have their blood… But his reign would be a peaceful one. The quill would keep the peace, and he wouldn't need to take up the sword. Tommen shifted his mind to more pleasant musings and nearly jumped with excitement as the thought struck him as quick as lighting. "Oh, and I can't wait to hang that lovely piece of art in the Red Keep! It really was amazing. Could you make me more? Maybe one of cats? Ser Pounce needs a portrait!"
Arya reddened a shade of Brans hair. "I-"she spluttered. "I don't think such is possible."
"I guess it would be hard to get Ser Pounce to stand still." Tommens shoulders slouched before he snapped his fingers. "Unless I'm holding him! You shall paint us together one day! I command it as your prince." He said almost giddy as Arya scowled at him and he realized she was uncomfortable. Why are you frightened? Arya rarely looked uncomfortable about anything. I didn't think her to be the shy sort.
"If you are uncomfortable-"
"I'll do it." She barked. "It was just stupid was all wasting my time on a cat."
Tommen pressed it no further. It would be in poor taste to tortures his friends discomfort.
I'm not Joffrey, I'm Tommen Baratheon and I'm my own man.
The rest of the night was a delight as he told a wicked poem that got many snickers and cheers. The Mormont girls made a lively audience. He recalled the night fondly the next day as he escorted Lady Sansa in the glass Gardens of Winterfell. Several guardsmen trailed behind them as his hand entangled with Sansa Stark. His heart was beating widely in his chest and he was struggling to keep his eyes from drifting anywhere inappropriate. Is she wearing less than the day before? Tommen couldn't tell. It felt that way. Her hands, just like the welcome feast, had a habit of wandering over his back. Light caresses that burned the skin. She was likely as nervous as he. Tommen thought little of it. Myrcella told him to be weary of women who did things like that, but this was Sansa Stark. He tried to steer the conversation to something fun and light-hearted she enjoyed, but he found no luck. She doesn't enjoy riding, falconry, his amazing animal puns(Impossible, she liked some of them), board games, singing, poetry, musical instruments. She did some of them well, but she derived no true happiness from any of them. Even snowball fights! How can no one enjoy a snowball fight! He was running out of hobbies to partake in. Coin collections? Bugs? Maybe I shall try puppies any girl loved puppies.
Lady Sansa laughed at a joke he made. "How charming my beloved prince."
"I strive to be charming" He grinned and puffed out his chest. "You know what could charm even the dullest of days, a game of cards. I know some unique games. I could use a good partner. "
She bit underneath her lower lip. "I would love to play such games." Her voice was as soft as honey.
Tommen almost sighed. Another lie from her lips. Her letters were littered with lies, it seemed. She was like a songbird. She enjoyed everything he did and laughed at every joke he made, even if she found it unfunny or boring. Does she think I shall hit her or something? Tommen thought, horrified. He would never do something so wicked. But he said nothing, fearing a confrontation. Sansa would deny it and then there would be a deep, uncomfortable silence. Eventually, he would touch on something she enjoyed. Everyone enjoyed some hobby. Lord Arryn enjoys horses, Bran enjoys drinking himself to an early grave, Myrcella loves cyvasse and good hugs I need to give Myrcella a good hug, Tommen chided himself. What did Sansa Stark like?
"Excellent! We shall have a ball."
"Though my prince." She rested her head on his shoulder and his heart smashed in his chest. He enjoyed how strong it made him feel. "I feel rather faint. Could we mayhaps rest over on the bench?"
Tommen felt like a dolt and conceded at once. He undid his golden cloak for her as Septon Layne taught. "My lady." He dipped his head and didn't let his eyes linger on her chest. Sansa rested against him, her hands entangled against his own. Her hands felt nice and smooth. "Tell me about an adventure of yours and Bran. I'd love to hear one." And Tommen beamed. He had so many, but he chose one he felt would bring a smile to her face. And when he was done, she was giggling, and he felt wiser than Daeron the Good.
"What great friends you and Bran are!"
"He is like a brother to me, my lady."
Sansa nodded. "No doubt he shall spend time with us in Kings Landing."
Tommen nodded. "I would love nothing more." And he hoped Bran would certainly come with him to court. Maybe he shall meet a fair lady to tame his broken heart? Bran deserved some happiness for the burden he carries.
She leaned into him. "It reminds me of my father and yours, wouldn't you agree?" It nearly made him groan what she was shifting this too. Oh, make Bran your Hand of the King or place him on your Small Council. Oh, give my brother Rickon a white cloak. Robb needs tax cuts, my king. The harvest was poor. One thousand demands he could see coming out of her soft throat. And he couldn't yell at her without revealing what he knew, and he would certainly grow grumpy if he had to answer it. "Trust your instincts, you pissy prince." The Blackfish told him once. And he trusted them and claimed her pouty lips in a kiss. Sansa tasted of lemons and spice. When he pulled away, he wanted to press his luck. He enjoyed it very much. Kissing her was a lot of fun. My first kiss! We shall do a lot of kissing. What fun! It was no wonder Bran and Adrian enjoyed the company of pretty girls. Her blue Tully eyes gazed into his own. "Oh, my prince." She demurred.
"Did such please you, my lady? Or was I too forward?"
"No..noo. I enjoyed it my prince." And squeezed his hand.
It was no lie, and Tommen nearly jumped up with excitement! Ha, she enjoys something! A common interest between them. It was a small thing, but it was a start. And he almost seized her again with another kiss, but Bran told him ladies enjoyed if you left them wanting more. "I fear my kiss was one of farewell." Trying a more aloof look.
Sansa pouted. "Must you go?"
Tommen stood up and used his princely voice. "I fear so, my fair lady. Tis was a lovely walk. I enjoyed your voice greatly." Albeit, he gave a quick hug. Sansa likely needed one, and he loved giving hugs. They usually made things better.
Authors note: Sorry for the late post, but this chapter wouldn't end. I had to split up Winterfell into a two parter. I'm hopeful the second part will prove to be a bit shorter this is one of my longest chapters. Next up we shall have the wedding itself. Bran meets with some Reeds. Tommen duels in the Godswood. Myrcella and Sansa have a conversation on the future. Robb makes plans for the North.
Also what do you guys think of House of Dragons if you've seen it. I actually really enjoyed the show a lot. I'd give it a solid 8, it wasn't perfect, but damn Paddy was great as Viserys.