Jon Arctic and Cirilla Riannon

by Jxduffy

While his father was away fighting in the Greyjoy rebellion, Jon hears the washer women whispering about how Ashara Dayne might be his mother. With this new information, Jon goes on a quest. He didn't expect that when he passed out, he would wake up in a place called "Ard Skellig"

21. Chapter 20:Travel and Rumblings of Chaos

Chapter 20: Travel, landing, knights, and rumblings of chaos

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POV Arya, 20th day, 5th moon

Lya was waiting for her just outside the room, but Arya couldn't find it within herself to rush about like she always did with her friend. Bran deserved her time.

Her father had told her that her little brother had been struck by a terrible fever shortly after Robb and Serena's wedding feast, and hadn't even woken up since. She still couldn't believe it, Bran was fine when she saw him last, but when she went to Jon he told her the same as their father did. But she could tell he was so very angry when he did. Ciri hid it better, but Arya knew something was wrong. She could feel it.

They had waited for Bran to wake, while her father and mother argued in Bran's room deep into the night, and Jon glared at people with suspicion with a hand on his dirk and clenching his teeth whenever Bran was mentioned.

Even Ciri had been tense, she was more impatient in their lessons and more demanding that she be better. Arya didn't really mind it, but it was less fun with the silver-haired woman like this. She was learning quick though!

But all that wasn't important right now, she had to say goodbye to Bran. The King wouldn't wait any longer. And her mother might take her eyes off of Bran before Arya left.

"I have to go, Bran." she didn't really know what to say, Bran always talked to her first. "Everyone's waiting for me, and for you..." Arya wiped at her eyes and got it over with, "You better be awake when get back!" she gave him a kiss on his brow and ran from the room. Lya stopping her from barreling into the guards in the hall, her friend was dependable like that.

Lya's hand slid from Arya's upper arm to her hand, silently entwining their fingers like the girls did when one was upset. Usually, that was Arya.

Her friend led her down the hall, a tense and mopey Nymeria right by her master's heel while Skagga lumbered around behind the littlest Mormont. Both animals had grown, Nymeria the size of one of Farlen's hounds and Skagga was easily twice the size, but at the same length. Even watching the bear navigate the stairs couldn't bring up Arya's mood.

They soon reach the yard, where everyone waited for them. The Queen and her children all waited around the open gate, the Princess Myrcella nose-deep in a small tome, the youngest prince hid his face in his mother's dress, and Joffrey looked bored with his powder covered black eye. It was something Arya was eternally glad to see, the crown prince had been insufferable ever since he arrived, made worse by Sansa silly words and looks towards him. She was even with him now.

So, when, the morn after the welcoming feast, Joffrey came to the great hall with a ham sized purple mark on his eye, well, it had made Arya's day.

The prince said that it was received in a spar, but he hadn't been to the yard in weeks by then and the glares the Queen sent the King were telling even to Arya. Then there were the whispers of the servants, that the prince had angered King Robert somehow during the feast.

Next to her father was Jon, she was happy her big brother was coming south with them. Not only would she get to continue her "Sculpting" lessons and Lya hers on the ways of the Old Gods, but where Jon went so did Ciri. So, Arya would have more family with her than Sansa. Both her father and brother had serious expressions, Jon nodding at times like he was being told what to do.

Just as Arya was going over to see what those instructions were, strong arms slid under her shoulders and lifted her from the ground. "Did you get your goodbyes in? This might be your only chance." Ciri asked, her voice betraying her experience.

She only nodded, "Good." the silver-haired woman said, squeezing Arya a bit before putting her back down.

"Did you hear? The Umbers will be staying a few more days, or until Bran awakes." Arya did hear that, both Rose and the kitchen staff were complaining about it. Though for completely different reasons. So, she nodded, as did Lya.

"Lya, just so you know, Jon will be very busy helping Lord Stark when we get to Kingslanding. So, the two of you will be training harder than before on the way there. Be ready for it, he'll be working you to the bone." Ciri told the she-bear, her friend nodding resolutely. Lya was always like that, dutiful and ready for a chance to prove it.

The witcheress smiled at her, mussing up her braided hair, and crouched down to their height. "How have your sculping lessons been going, Arya?" she asked in playful whisper.

The answer was "Not well" not that she'd tell anyone that. She was capable of freezing the water, but the girl had little to no control over it. The cold just smashed into everything full force every time she used it. She was so tired and cold afterwards that Jon always had to bundle her up next to a flame for the rest of the lesson time. It wasn't Jon's fault, he was a good teacher, so Arya felt even worse for wasting his time. But she'd never give up, like her big brother told her "You never fail until you give up, everything needs practise." plus, she didn't think she could bear his disappointment.

"I'm getting better." she answered, which while a stretch wasn't untrue.

"Good, as long as you're learning" Ciri said, probably reading her thoughts like a book.

"Come along then, we shan't keep their graces waiting." the witcheress said in jest, standing to her full height and steering the pair to the horse and pony waiting for them.

_ 28th day, 5th moon _

"A good chance to train" Ciri had said the second they heard that they'd all be halting and setting up camp. Sadly, Jon agreed, so she and Lya wouldn't be getting any time for play that day.

The moment she and the witcheress had found a discreet spot, one near the area Jon and Lya had taken, they both assumed their stances. Arya had gotten into this habit, one shared by all four of them, because otherwise Ciri would have attacked her before she was ready. "The enemy will never wait, me doing that now will just give you bad habits." she had said.

Arya held her wooden sword, carved by Jon the day after they left Winterfell, in her left hand just as her brother showed her. One-handed, level and pointing towards her opponent, with her elbow bent slightly. In her off-hand she held a short stick that took the place of what Ciri had called a parrying dagger.

The silver-haired woman on the other-hand, she was holding her longsword. And even though it was intimidating at first, the girl had gotten used to it. "Fear makes you weaker than you'd be otherwise." her had brother told her. The sheathed blade was pointing straight at her, the hilt held near Ciri's chin. The witcheress was always picking her stances at random, while also using slightly different styles against Arya. She said it would keep her from getting too comfortable fighting against any one of them.

They both stood there, waiting to see what the other would do. Arya started circling the older girl, making sure she always kept moving. "You're small, skinny and can't take a hit. So, don't let them." Ciri had said when they first started on footwork.

The witcheress pivoted gracefully to keep Arya in sight. Then, mid-step, she rushed the younger girl and attacked with a savage chop not at all like she usually fought. Surprised, Arya brought up her sword for a block and put her dagger under the tip to brace for the strike.

But Ciri's sword smashed down on it and easily forced it down, stopping just before she struck where Arya's neck met her shoulder. "And that's where the random butcher would have killed you." her instructor scolded, "Girls like us, Arya, block only when there's no other option. We can't fight like Jon does, most men are simply stronger." she said, mussing up Arya's hair.

"So, be faster. Dodge, parry and use their strength against them. Then slash or stab them where it hurts." Ciri told her, pointing in turn to her neck, the pit of her arm, elbow, wrist, the inside of her thigh, back of her knee and then just above her heel. All with the tip of Arya's wooden sword.

"Again." and they returned to their old places, with Ciri taking up her favorite stance. The one where she held her hilt right of her chest with the blade pointing straight at the sky.

This time, when the witcheress went at her like a wildling with a cleaver, Arya did her best to lean, skip or twist away. Parrying with her sword or dagger when she couldn't avoid it.

A little way away from the pair, Lya was attacking Jon as often, as fast, and as hard as she could. None of her strikes getting through though. "Constant aggression, girl. Don't let your foe so much a breath without having to fight for it." her brother said, his voice rumbling more than usual. Lya doubled her efforts, the clacking getting fast-

Then Arya was falling, her foot kicked out from under her. She hit the ground hard, getting the air knocked out of her chest. Once she was breathing again, her instructor looked down at her. "Awareness of your surroundings is good, but your main focus is always on your opponent." Ciri said, but the words sounded like someone else's. She then helped the girl up.

"Again."

This time they started right where they were, Ciri shoving Arya away and swinging her sword at her. The girl let herself fall, and rolled with the momentum. Then, using her sword to help, she quickly got to her feet. Quick enough to duck under a horizontal slash at her head.

Arya quickly lashed out with her sword, striking for the inside of the thigh but only hitting air when Ciri somehow danced away. That's what it often felt like to spar with the witcheress when she fought as herself, like she was dancing and Arya had to keep up to get any hits in or keep from being hit herself.

Ciri's longsword thrust out from behind Arya's own sword, knocking it aside and rushing for her neck. Only throwing her head back saved her from its point, she then struck the blade with her dagger to ward off its edge.

The girl quickly stepped back to create distance, but Ciri wouldn't let her. Her instructor seemed to fly over the grass, the overhead swing that followed the pursuit was just as fast.

In a sudden burst of creativity, Arya quickly brought her wooden sword over her head and held it in line with her shoulders. Its length properly over her, she braced its tip with her dagger. It was far too late for Ciri to change her swing, the obvious force behind it giving her little choice.

The blade struck Arya's sword just above the hilt and slid all the way down the blade. It was difficult, the strain of her move making her arms shake, but Ciri's sword passed over her like water off a duck's back. Arya was quick to capitalise on the opening it made and whipped her sword at her instructor.

She smiled, Arya saw the path her sword would take. Sweeping from over Arya's head, then behind her and pivoting on her wrist. The momentum carried and she drew a sharp line right under Ciri's chest.

From the look of surprise on her instructor's face, she knew it truly made contact.

The witcheress dropped her sword, which caught Jon and Lya attention, then rushed Arya with a great big grin. "You hit me! You finally hit me!" she cried, spinning the girl around in her embrace. Excited over her first blow, well... grazing cut, against her teacher.

The joyful silver-haired princess put her down, but still kept her hands firmly on Arya's shoulders. "This calls for a present!" the witcheress proclaimed, "Girls, go off and make your mischief. Jon and I need to find the right gift." she told them, and Arya saw, not for the first time, a happily exasperated look on her brother's face.

At Ciri's insistence and Jon's acceptance, the two girls left their instructors and went back to camp. They hadn't been sparing long, especially since they usually kept going until dinner time, and then sculpting around dusk, ever since leaving Winterfell, so the girls didn't really know what to do with their day off.

Without any good ideas, they both decided to wander the camp together. Along with Nymeria and Skagga of course.

Their noses brought led them straight for the nearest cookfire, one that happened to be watched over by Jory. "There you girls are, we were wondering if you'd return this time." he said, Fat Tom and Wyl nodding along. The head guard turned the meat chunks on the iron spit, they were nearly done. The fat, juicy meats crispy in all the right places.

"If it's Lord Stark you're searching for," Jory said, glancing at the foursome's hungry faces, "he's gone to sup with His Grace."

The King. Arya found him to be a jolly fat man with good stories. So, she didn't really mind him, but he took far too much of her father's time for her liking.

When none of them moved, Jory sighed and gestured for them to join him and his men at the fire.

"I her'd that ye both been spending time with yer brother and lady Ciri, time away from pryin' eyes." Wyl said, smile on his face. Wyl liked to tease when he wasn't working. "They be teachin' ye how ta cast woodland spells?" he asked, brow raised in jest.

"Woodland spells?" Jory asked, before Arya could make up a good enough excuse. Wyl wasn't as easy to fool as Fat Tom.

The young guard chuckled, "Oh aye, some butcher's boy got a good close look at our Jon. I was there to see 'em piss his breeches!" the son of a mountain clanswoman laughed, "Then 'e goes and tells all 'e can that his mum had ta been a Child 'o tha Forest." his laughter died down to chuckles.

"Jon's much too tall, an his eyes the wrong colour for that." Fat Tom said, eyeing the nearly done meat.

"Aye, an that's what I tell 'em, but they don't believe me. After all, 'am only a Northmen, so what do I know." Wyl snorted in half-jesting disdain, crossing his arms as he did.

The talk of the Southerners ceased when Jory pulled a knife and cut into one of the larger chunks. Both of the other guardsmen surged forward, only to retreat when Jory swiped at them and said that "The little ladies get theirs first."

It rankled Arya that she'd be called such, but any words against it were silenced by the fist sized chunk on meat on a stick handed over to her. Which was quickly followed by another given to Lya. The meat was then released to the men, with Jory taking his piece last. All that was left over was divided in two and thrown to Nymeria and Skagga.

They all ravaged their portions in silence, Arya found she quite liked it.

_ 8th day, 6th moon _

The neck was the most interesting place other than Winterfell Arya's seen in her life. It was just so different from everything else, filled with strange and new things. Ever since the travel train passed the ruined Moat Cailin, a sight that made her strangely sad, Jon and Ciri showed her plant after plant. Telling her and Lya of the various deadly or medicinal uses for many of them.

Today was even better than any of those, for Jon was bringing Arya on a hunt. They had left Ghost and Nymeria with Ciri and Lya, who were doing their own thing, because Jon said that the pups are still too clumsy and that even she was barely qualified to join. Well, those weren't his exact words, but it's what Arya got from it.

"Step only where I step, remain vigilant at all times, and never panic. Do you understand?" her big brother said, eyes serious.

Arya nodded resolutely, and Jon hefted the fully steel spear that he managed to borrow from the King. Then they set out into the swamp.

Her big brother would step on seemingly muddy or wet spots, only for his sabaton to not sink at all. He wound his way around lone dark trees and past dense thickets. Arya did her best to step where he did, her feet touching down on those solid, if a bit cold, spots. Jon would occasionally stop and wait for a moment, or two, before lashing out with the spear. Each time it did, a different snake would be stuck on it, the tip deep into their heads. He would wait for their thrashing to end, then pull them off and stick the snakes in a pouch.

She would always follow only one step behind, two at most, stopping where he did, and looking where he told her. A half-hour later he told her what they were hunting. "The guards, cooks, and servants all whisper about 'Lizard-lions' and how they taste, how useful certain parts are... among other things." Jon said, his head swinging back and forth like she'd seen Nymeria do at times.

So, this was Ciri's idea.

Her brother would rarely go out of his way for himself or most others, but if Ciri asked him to get something for her... Well, Arya was convinced Jon would hunt down a Dragon for its teeth.

Suddenly, as the girl wondered why her instructor would want a lizard-lion of all things, Jon stopped in his tracks and his head snapped to the left. Arya nearly bumped into his back. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could Jon nodded at something.

She followed his gaze, but saw nothing other than trees half in the water. After a moment of them both watching silently, Jon turned away and continued on. "What was that?" Arya whispered.

"A fellow hunter, they're traveling another way now." he answered, not even looking back or slowing his pace.

Eventually, Jon stopped once more and shifted his entire body to face off to their left. Arya soon did the same, twisting on the balls of her feet, to look where Jon was pointing the spear. All she saw was a log floating along on some small current.

"There, that one seems the right size." he said, his slitted eyes still locked on the log.

Jon then brought down his free hand to the dark, gross water and just barely touched the surface. Under his fingers the water started to churn lightly, and the log shifted.

The water kept moving and occasionally bubbling as the log turned on itself to point towards Jon.

It wasn't until the log rose to show its eyes that she realised that it was a lizard-lion. Arya didn't know what it was, but she froze under its evil gaze. The scaled lion's slow advance, and the lazy swish of its tail, was somewhat... hypnotic, but it also filled her with fear, the kind a rabbit had after hearing the cry of an eagle.

All of a sudden, it wasn't slow anymore.

Leaping out of the water, and ripping into the air the monster looked just as she always imagined a dragon. The lack of wings never even crossed her mind, its narrow head filled with teeth as long as her fingers and its whiplike tail were enough.

It closed in, and Jon struck it down.

The spear in his hand rammed straight into the lizard-lion's maw, the tip piercing all the way through. In that one moment, in Arya's eyes, her big brother seemed invincible. His spear was the bolt that felled Meraxes, his arm the scorpion.

The beast, killed in an instant, went limp and Jon guided it onto his shoulder. "You and Lya should be able to do this on our way back." he said, giving her a smile.

Arya knew she would tell that story to everyone she met.

_ 20 th day, 6 th moon _

When she was presented her gift, it gave the story she had told her father and the guardsmen an even better ending.

They were vambraces made from the skin Ciri had taken from the lizard-lion's thighs, and the spines taken from its tail ran from the blade side of her hands to her elbows. To keep it fixed in place, the tough skin covered some of her hand to reach a carved bone ring around her middle finger. Ciri and her brother had even given her spare rings for when she grew. The only strange thing was the small, narrow pouch on the bottom side of the right brace.

Her vambraces were the greatest gift she had ever received and she let everyone she knew know about it.

"Those are some handsome braces, Underfoot."

"A kindly gift, milady."

"Very... well made gloves, Arya."

"You plan on stopping a blade with that, girl?"

"Ha! All you need now is plate and mail, then you'll be quite the warrior!"

"A fitting gift, Arya, take good care of them."

They all had good things to say, the first thing she'd loved that no one disparaged, even Sansa and Jeyne couldn't find anything bad to say.

It was glorious, she wore them all the time. When breaking her fast, having lunch around the fire, at dinner, and even over her dresses whenever her father made her wear them. The dark green scales went with everything.

Then she was given what Ciri called "The other half", which was an eating knife carved from the lizard-lion's shoulder blade with a hilt wrapped in the skin of its belly. It brought the story to even greater heights.

POV Robb, 28th day, 5th moon

His father's stone throne was more comfortable than Robb expected, the smooth groves in the rock seat only slightly too large and apart. Yet any discomfort at his new place in Winterfell or worry over his duties was alleviated by Serena, his wife, who stood by him.

The Ironwood doors were opened before them as the two bickering Aldermen left the hall, and Robb prepared himself for the next round of petitioners that would come before him.

When none did, the young lord could barely contain his sigh of relief.

Robb stood from the throne of Winterfell mechanically, and forced himself not to stretch out the kinks in his back. It would not do for him to show any childishness, everyone counted on him to do well. He could make no mistake. Even with all the Northern Lords gone back to their keeps, Robb couldn't afford to show weakness. Not anymore.

As he walked to the door that would lead him to the Lord's solar, and more work, Serena slipped her arm around his. Saying nothing and keeping his face still, as to make it seem this was planned, Robb kept going. Even though he knew she wanted to say something.

It was at the split in the hall between the Stark family chambers and that of the Lord, when his wife guided him to a small balcony that oversaw one of the yards.

She poked her head back into the hall for a moment, then spoke "You should go visit Bran." and your mother. He knew it, she knew it, it didn't need to be said.

"I have much work to do, he will wake whether I'm there or not."

"I will go over the reports and letters, should there be anything you absolutely must see I'll put it aside for you." she said firmly, her free hand slipping into his own and easing its tension, "Family comes first, there's only so much I can do for Rickon. He needs his mother..." she continued, her voice going soft and worried.

He untangled himself from her, then pulled her into his chest. Serena huffed, she didn't like it that his latest growth made him half-a-head taller. "I will go." Robb said, "But only shortly, then I'll join you."

"Fine." she allowed, burrowing further into his furs.

They stood there a moment, the chilly night meaning nothing to them. Then Serena pulled away, squeezed his hand, and sent him on his way.

Robb felt much colder than before, but soon made it to his brother's room. He heard shouting right after nodding to the guard, even before his hand touched the handle. "... Butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? Do you!" it was his mother's voice, hoarse from her lack of sleep.

He swiftly opened the door, but neither his mother, nor the one she'd been yelling at noticed his arrival.

"Yes, my lady, but the appointments-"

"I will make the appointments." Robb said, interrupting the aged maester. Luwin should have known to come to Robb, the man knew of his lady mother's state. The young lord felt it was another mark of his failure to measure up.

His mother's eyes snapped over to him, wide and bloodshot, while the maester did so slowly with an unfocused gaze. His mother went red and held the sides of her head, humming a little tune. She needed rest, desperately so. Robb hated seeing her like this.

"I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices." Luwin said, pulling a scroll from his sleeve.

The young lord took the offered list, feeling his mother's gaze bore into him, and unrolled it. At the very top of the list was the captain of the household guards, there were many good names, but few had the martial ability to retain the respect of the other men. It was a forgivable mistake, for the maester had never been a fighting man. Another thing he noticed was that all had a good understanding of their letters.

Robb almost sighed, the only one he wanted for the position was south with their father and sisters.

Moving on, he only read three names suggested for steward, one was Vayon's cousin. For a moment he thought of naming Rose as the replacement, but she was far too busy. The older woman had taken up almost the entirety of his mother's duties along with some of Vayon's. Rose was so laden with responsibility it seemed that she was everywhere.

For the master of horse there were four names, all of them guardsmen. Robb found it passing strange that Luwin hadn't suggested any sons of Wintertown's biggest stablemaster.

"Good men, we'll talk about them and others tomorrow." he said, using the same voice his father used when issuing commands, and returned the Maester his list.

"Very good, my lord." Luwin said, shoving it back into his sleeve. The man was always taking things from and making others disappear into them, ever since Robb was young.

"Leave us now." he commanded, the young lord didn't want him to see something he shouldn't. No matter their history.

Luwin bowed and left. Then, once the door was shut, he turned to his half-hysteric mother. "Mother, what are you doing?" he had to convince her, for everyone's good.

Her eyes went vacant, "What am I doing?" her voice breathy and quiet. "How can you ask that?" his mother's voice rose and her eyes sharpened in anger, "What do you imagine I'm doing? I am taking care of your brother. I'm taking care of Bran!" she said, Bran was always her favorite, it was how he got away with everything. Robb and his other siblings always came second to her precious Bran.

"Is that what you call it?" he demanded, walking farther into the room, "You haven't left this room since Bran fell ill. You didn't even come to the gate when father and the others went south."

"I said my farewells to your father and sisters here, and watched them ride out from that window." she said, her face empty once again. "I can't leave him, even for a moment, not when any moment can be his last. I have to be with him, if... if..." his mother's eyes filled with tears as her words failed her, and took hold of Bran's pale, thin hand.

"He's not going to die, mother." he said, any anger or bitterness flooding away. "Luwin said that it's only a fever, a strong one, yes, but he's not a babe. He'll live through it." Robb assured her, the fever was a strange one, Luwin had told him, but it would eventually pass.

"And what if Maester Luwin is wrong, what if the p- fever is stronger than he thinks? What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?" she demanded, her knuckles turning white.

"Rickon needs you!" Robb snapped, it was always Bran. He'll be fine! "He's not even three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone's deserted him, so he follows me or Serena around, weeping and clutching at us. He's sure to be calling her mother instead of you soon!" the young man clenched his teeth, and took a breath.

"We don't know what to do with him, I'm too busy and Serena isn't his mother. He has no wetnurse, hasn't for a long time, father took a quarter of the maids south so those that remain are overworked. We- I need you..." he admitted, and he hated it. He was supposed to be strong.

His mother just sat there, holding Bran's small hand, doing nothing. Like always.

Before anything else could be said, a howl cut through the air. "It's Bran's." he said tiredly, going to the shutters.

Robb quickly opened them, letting the cool night air into the stuffy, stinking room and listened to the wolf.

The howl of his younger brother's direwolf was always a sad thing, even before his master fell ill. It sounded as though the pup was always carrying a great burden, one as heavy as the Wall itself. Tonight, it was especially so.

"Don't." his mother panicked slightly "Bran needs to stay warm." he heard the shuffling of blankets behind him.

Robb disagreed, for Bran was a Stark. Made from ice and iron, people said. He'd like to melt if it was too hot. "He needs to hear them sing." the wolf songs always made Robb feel stronger, why would Bran be any different?

Shaggydog soon joined in, full of hunger and want like he had been ever since he started howling. The darkest pup must have been somewhere around the glass gardens by the sound of it. Next to add to the chorus was his own Greywind, prouder and fuller than his brothers. Robb could almost imagine all the other's joining in, well not Ghost of course. He was mute after all, poor boy.

"Shaggy and Greywind." he informed his mother, though he found it odd that few others could tell the difference between them. Farlen could, but only when they were close enough.

Suddenly, he heard sobbing and spun around to see why. His mother, covering her ears with tears streaming down her face, was shouting. Almost screaming, "Make them stop!" she cried, swinging herself side to side. "I can't stand it! Make them stop! Make them stop! Kill them if you have to, just make them stop!" she fell onto the floor and Robb rushed to pick her up.

He gently, but firmly, held her against him as she wept. "Don't be afraid, Mother. They would never hurt him." he said, but knew it would do nothing to convince her. Little could when she got this paranoid over something, his father had even had to switch a maid with an almost Stark look to work somewhere far from her quarters once before.

"Close your eyes, rest." Robb said, carrying her to the cot that had been set in the corner. "I've been told you've hardly slept since the wedding." he didn't have to be told, all the evidence he needed was right in front of him.

"I caaan't." she groaned, weakly fighting against him. "Gods forgive me, Robb. I can't, what if he dies while I'm asleep. What if he dies. What if he dies. What if he dies..." she wept as he laid her down.

Then the wolves howled again and his mother screamed, "Oh, gods, close the window!"

"Only if you swear to me you'll sleep." Robb allowed, releasing her and walking over to the window.

As he gripped the shutters, another sound joined Greywind and the others. "The dogs, they're all barking. All of them..." he stretched his head out the window, looking around. "They've never done that before..."

The panicked whinny of a horse quickly caught his attention. Cranking his neck, Robb struggled to see it. Then he did. "Fire..." he breathed.

One of the stables were aflame with most of the horses locked inside, those that weren't had charged away from the inferno. Some with their tails or manes on fire. "Help me. Help me with Bran." his mother ordered, like he was a little boy or one of the guardsmen.

"The stables are on fire." he told her.

"Thank the gods..." she whispered, though not to him.

Robb looked over to her, she seemed a different woman than that of only a few moons before, "Mother, stay here. I'll come back as soon as the fire's out." his piece said, Robb rushed out the door.

He commanded the guard stationed at the door to come along and as he went he brought those at the end of the hall along as well. He'd need all the hands he could get to calm the horses and put out the flames.

They rushed into the yard nearest the stable and arrived only moments after the fire brigade. As Robb ordered the five men to join them, the captain of the brigade, Hodir, quickly came up to Robb. "Milord, the fire was sudden, but we've managed to keep it from spreading to other buildings." he reported, fiddling with his old bronze gauntlets.

"And the horses?"

"The fire started in the fuel storage, so the stable hands had time to get most of them out. Few were too close to the flames, and fewer broke free in their panic." the greybeard took a breath and gestured to his right, "Only one of those have died, the rest we've calmed."

"Have we lost anyone?"

"None that we know of, milord."

"Good." he sighed his relief, "How long before the fire's put out."

"Well, 'cause of the manure inside it'll take a few hours at least, milord." the older man scratched at his white hair, looking sadly towards the flames.

Robb ran a hand down his face, as the smell of burning horse shit filled his senses. It was bad, all that fire-feed gone to waste. Winter was coming, as his father said, and they would need it when it did.

Before he could command that he be updated when they found anything about how it was started, a guardsman, one of the newer one's from Wintertown, skidded to a halt to his left. "Milord... bodies..." he panted, "Don' know them... killed by your and the little lord's wolves."

That quickly stole his attention, "Where, show me." he ordered, Greywind would never simply savage someone for no reason.

Complying, the guard lead him away from the still burning flames and came upon two mangled corpses lying together in front of a door. The one that he'd just left from.

Near the pair were the direwolves responsible, but neither were in good shape. Greywind was swaying and stumbling as he tried to stand, while Shaggy was lying unconscious next to the door frame. Robb quickly saw to his pup, and found that there was blood seeping from the fur between his ears. Looking over to him, he noticed Shaggy had a worse version on the side of his head.

The two dead men had clearly tried to fight them off, but the rends in their flesh and leathers, along with the pool still growing under them, were a testament to the wolves' determination. "Fetch Maester Luwin." he told the young guard, who quickly scrambled to fulfill his orders.

Robb then brought his focus to the men. Both were dressed in black leathers, with crimson accents that was there before the blood. They were of noticeable quality, soft under his finger where he touched and still giving off the smell of new leather, under that of manure. They also wore hoods over their heads and cloth over their faces. Pulling the black silk away, he saw green eyes set in properly fed faces and cared for golden hair. Neither had any features that truly stood out.

Then he noticed something, blood on the door frame, at chest height. The men at his feet didn't have any on their hands.

A scream rent the air. Mother!

Robb smashed through the door and crashed all the way to the stairs. He climbed as fast as he could, taking the steps two or three at a time.

She screamed again.

He pushed himself to go faster and slammed bodily into Bran's room, the thumping of countless other boots somewhere down the stairs behind him.

The first thing he saw Bran's direwolf, blood covering his chops, licking more of it off his mother's hands. Next was the corpse in the room, its throat ripped out and wearing the same leathers as the other two men. A sharp, bloodied dagger was held limply in his hand. The wolf leapt onto bran's bed, as though nothing had happened, and his mother started cackling madly.

"Gods..." a man whispered behind him.

Looking back, Robb saw that Ser Rodrick, Maester Luwin, and five guardsmen had all arrived too late to really do anything. Just like him.

Taking one of Bran's too many blankets, the young lord wrapped up his still laughing mother and pulled her to her feet. He then led her passed all the assembled men, "Come, Maester Luwin." Robb ordered.

"Any reports will be brought to me in the Lord's solar, after I have seen to my lady mother." he said, stopping Ser Rodrick from saying anything.

_cut_

It didn't take long to get his mother sorted and taken care of by Old Nan and Maester Luwin, so Ser Rodrick didn't have to wait long for Robb to Join him in the Lord's solar.

Other than the older knight, there were three others in the room. One was Captain Hodir who stood in the corner, another was Serena and the third was Karra, a person Robb had seen only twice despite how long she'd been living in Winterfell.

As Robb took a seat behind the desk, Serena put a hand on his shoulder. He had to fight against leaning into it.

"Ser Rodrick, your report, please." he asked, in his lord's voice, preparing himself for whatever would come.

"There were, thankfully, few deaths due to the fire. One older stablehand, Torrek, died amidst the flames while another, Rennec, had his chest caved trying to calm a stallion. Bran's pony was too near the flames and died from the smoke, the same happened to four other horses. One mare, in her panic, ran into a wall and broke herself against it." the old knight said, then looked to Hodir.

"The fires 'ave finally gone out, milord." the grizzled man said.

"What of the strangers, the assassins killed by Greywind, Shaggy and the pup." Robb prodded, wishing to get to the thick of it.

"None of the guards have seen them before, but they might have slipped in with the King's party. Many new faces then, many of Western look." Rodrik said, not truly saying anything, "The entire castle is currently being searched, if there are any others we shall find them."

It was then that Jon and Ciri's companion spoke, "Their daggers were good steel, most of their clothes of fine make, and they were all properly fed. From that I see no other sender than a High Lord or a Magistrate. There were four men in total, three having gone directly to Lord Bran's room, so they knew the castle layout. This strikes most Essosi from the list of suspects." she paused, and reached for something in her cloak. "The fourth was wearing canvas and spoke poorly, either an extremely well-trained man or simple lowborn knife. He came to the library tower with a lit torch."

Robb hands tightened around each other as the tired-looking woman found what she was looking for. "When I tried to stop him, he attacked me with this." it was a dagger, its blade the same colour as Ice and with a dark bone hilt.

"That's Valyrian steel!" Ser Rodrik said, eyes wide and voice breathy.

"Indeed, a rare thing in these lands, but the man was unskilled. So much so that, expecting a stronger opponent, I killed him accidentally." she continued, her tone just the same as before. As though she had solved a puzzle and was explaining it to them. "I theorise that the four men were of two separate groups. The man I killed." Karra said, waving the Valyrian steel gently in her hand, "Who must have been hired by a fool. And the other three, attacked by young direwolves yet still managing to reach the young lord, were trained by someone of great means. Someone who knows where the little lord slept, but not the Lady Stark's state." she finished, glaring at the knife with interest.

"But why? Why kill Bran, he's only a boy." Robb wondered aloud.

"Simple, my Lord of Stark, he knows something that could damage a great lord or Lady, and it wasn't the Northern Lords, even Lord Bolton wouldn't be that bold. It had to have been one that came here, to Winterfell, with the King." she said leadingly.

"The Lannisters..." the young lord growled, his knuckles white. He might have drawn his sword to vent had he not been seated. "Was there nothing on their persons?" Robb asked, looking for anything damning.

"Nothing other than their steel." Ser Rodrik said.

"Then this is all our evidence, a dagger?" he wasn't truly asking, simply talking to let it out.

Karra nodded sagely as the knight spoke once more, "What are we to do, my lord?"

I can't do this... Father, what do I do?

"We wait for my mother to wake, I will need her council to make a decision. In the meantime, post a guard in Bran's sickroom, day and night. Another outside the door, two at the end of the hall, and the pup will remain in the room as well. None may enter without my or my wife's warrant." he said, forcing his hands apart and putting one on her hand that still rested on his shoulder.

The older man nodded gravely, and left once Robb dismissed him. The captain of the fire brigade followed right behind the knight, while Karra stayed.

"I will not keep you from your reading, my lady. Research all you wish, but I will be needing your council more often." he said, dismissing the blond.

She stood and bowed with elegance that greatly opposed the darkness under her eyes, then left.

Robb sighed and leaned back, it was all simply too much.

Little did he know what his indecision would cost the entire realm.

POV Sansa, 27th day, 7th moon

"Apologies, your grace. My sister felt unwell and chose to remain in our tent for the day." Sansa lied, the very moment she completed her curtsy.

"No need for that, Lady Sansa. I understand." the princess said, the picture of grace Sansa always imagined. Myrcella and Ciri, while both princesses, were very different. But she realised something important a few days after their first sewing circle together. The stories told of two kinds of princesses, like Visenya and Rhaenys. One is brave and strong, while the other graceful and courteous, but both were beautiful and had their own elegance. Like two sides of the same coin, as Rose was fond of saying.

She and the princess weren't alone in their sewing today, both Jeyne and the princess' septa were there with them. Sansa knew she used to have a septa, but she was sent away and she could no longer remember anything about the woman, so the princess' was a curiosity to the little lady. Her pure white silk robes bound at the waist with a seven-coloured belt of woven cloth. Most of her hair was covered by an equally white hood, though some curled golden locks found a way out.

Thankfully, Sansa's lady mother taught her about the Seven, so she wouldn't bring any shame through ignorance.

With the princess' leave, Sansa took a seat next to her and across from the septa, while Jeyne took the remaining chair. Once all were seated, the three girls took up their needles, thread and whatever they were working on. Myrcella had a hoop made for practise, Jeyne had good leather already cut for a pair of gloves, and Sansa was continuing her work on a dark green woolen cloak.

After a few silent moments, the princess spoke up, "Lady Sansa, if I may ask, who is that cloak for?" the question was fair, for it was visibly too large for Sansa herself and many of her family was coming south.

"It's for my brother Jon, he hasn't one of his own." she answered, she was doing so because her brother had gone without a cloak for as long as she'd seen him. Jon simply never took one and wore only his strange mix of plate, mail and gambeson. Even when it snowed all he'd do is put on his helm.

The princess smiled gently at Sansa's answer and looked at the cloak in question. Sansa wasn't doing much to the fabric, she had cut a small hole midway down for the strap of Jon's backscabbard and was adding simple embroidery along the edges to keep them from fraying. She was also making the hood smaller and less baggy than most cloaks, her brother was very active after all.

A few moments of silent sewing passed them by, and Sansa felt she had to ask something. "Are you going to be sewing anything for your brothers? I'm certain Prince Joffrey would gladly accept something from you. I could even help if you like." she asked, and offered her assistance since what she saw of the princess' previous stiches left something wanting.

Princess Myrcella looked as if she was going to saw something, but stopped and looked away. Sansa thought she must have been embarrassed, so she changed the subject. "Could you tell me of your brothers, Your Grace? I am to wed one after all." she asked, giving a perfectly reasonable alternative to the princess.

"Tommen, is quite shy." Myrcella, after a moment's thought, said. "He adores stories of knights vanquishing evil, he especially likes it when uncle Jaime tells us of Arthur Dayne defeating the Smiling Knight." the princess developed a small smile over her telling of her younger brother. "Tommen is very kind as well, he even helps me in my garden at times."

Her smile seemed to falter then, "Joffrey... he can be gallant, but he holds a temper." she said, eyes far away. "But enough of my brothers. Please, tell of your own, Lady Sansa." Myrcella quickly suggested, her gaze still not reaching Sansa's.

So shy and demure, am I able to be the same?

The little lady quickly pushed away her thoughts, for she had to focus herself on the princess' request. Her mother always said that she must listen to her betters.

"Well, Rickon is only a babe." she said, starting at the youngest just as Her Grace had, "So, he still doesn't do very much, but he's very spirited. Bran..." Sansa didn't like thinking of Bran ever since he fell ill, she loved that they were going south, but when she went to bed at night the guilt at leaving him behind caught up to her.

It was then that a knock sounded off on the door, rescuing her. "Dear lady, Lady Sansa. You are here, yes?" Joffrey, her prince, said as he opened the door.

"Of course, Your Grace!" she said, setting the cloak and needle onto the small table before her.

Sansa quickly excused herself from the others, and joined her prince outside. The sun blinded her for a moment, but she quickly adjusted as Lady nipped at her dress. The first thing she noticed was the Hound, the prince's constant shadow, standing behind her prince and he leering at her with his horrific face.

"I came wondering if you would like to go for a ride?" Prince Joffrey asked, with one hand resting on his pommel as the other toyed at a wineskin.

Anything's perfect if it's with you... "I would love to, Your Grace." she said smoothly, prodding the cold bundle to keep her blush from showing.

Her prince gallantly offered his arm, and Sansa quickly took it. "Are you cold, sweet lady?" he asked, adjusting his doublet.

Never when you're with me... "No, my prince." was her easy answer, Sansa was rarely cold these days. Her Joffrey must be so radiant that the chill couldn't even touch her.

Prince Joffrey nodded regally as he led her through the camp, the perfect moment was marred only by the Hound's presence. She ignored the pricks on her neck best she could, but as they neared the horses Lady started shaking herself out and huffing quietly. Her pretty wolf was worried, yet about what Sansa couldn't tell.

When they reached the noble animals, the beasts quickly became skittish, stamping their hooves and staring at Lady. "They seem to be afraid of you wolf, dear lady." her prince said with a laugh, looking down towards the pup in question.

Sansa followed his gaze down to Lady, who looked up at her with concern, then glanced at the Hound behind her.

Joffrey chuckled, "How about this, you leave your dog behind and I will do the same with mine." he offered.

The young lady looked to the still worried wolf, perhaps she smelled some fell beast? "Stay here, Lady." she said, but at the same time mentally tasked the pup to follow from afar. If the beast came any bit closer, she could warn her prince and he could slay it. The thought made her smile.

Her prince smiled too, as he led her to a gentle roan mare and helped her into the beautiful horse's saddle. "Go do whatever it is you do, Dog." he ordered.

The scarred knight grunted and walked away without a single word, but it seemed that her prince didn't care. He merely kicked at his stallion and Sansa drove her mare to follow.

Together they rode out of the camp, Joffrey waving at all they passed as they bowed to him, and into the natural canopy of the trees. They rode in comfortable silence under the shade, fording streams and spotting the little lives in the brush. As they rounded a dense group of oaks, Sansa spotted a doe and distractedly licked her teeth.

"Sweet lady." the prince called, pulling her away from her strange focus on the lonesome, and vulnerable, deer. "Would you like any?" he asked, holding out the wineskin.

Sansa wasn't all that parched, but she felt an emptiness in her belly, so she took it. "Thank you, my prince."

With the cork already out, the young lady simply brought it to her lips and found that it wasn't watered down at all! It was a southern wine, the sort her father had a little of for her mother, Sansa found that she liked its red sweetness.

"Thank you, my prince." she said sweetly, handing the much lighter skin back to her gallant prince as a pleasant warmth spread out from her tummy.

He nodded and drank his own part, before replacing the cork and stuffing the skin into a saddle bag.

Their horses, more wandering than being driven anywhere, carried the pair around the woods and passed the occasional bramble. Until they reached another stream, and her prince decided they follow it.

The stream grew both deeper and wider as they rode alongside it. Eventually, Sansa heard wood clacking against wood. "Do you hear that?" she asked her prince, she thought they ought to turn back. Who knows what could be the source, after all.

"Yes." he said, driving his horse faster in the sounds' direction. "Let us investigate." he regally commanded, as the wind shifted to push his golden locks forward.

Sansa, reluctantly, followed the prince as the sounds of wooden strikes changed to splashes.

It took some time, but they soon entered a small clearing and found the source.

Jon and Ciri were standing, bootless, knee deep in the water of the gentle stream and were skipping rocks along the surface. "Sansa!" the princess called, having spotted her the moment she left the trees, "Pull off your boots and come join us, your brother needs help beating me over here!" she said, skipping a stone and getting it to hop twelve times. Jon's only went eight.

The disappointment in Prince Joffrey's eyes was clear. He mumbled something, then dropped his hand from the pommel of his sword.

He sneered, and wheeled his horse around. "Another time, Cirilla." Sansa said quickly, forcing herself, before following her prince. The little lady desperately wanted to stay, at least to watch and talk to the princess, but with the prince right there. She simply couldn't.

As she and the prince rode away, she couldn't help but feel like something... bad was supposed to have happened.

POV Bran 4th day, 8th moon

The wind had whistled to Bran before, even when he stood on the Broken Tower on a windy day, or when he fell from it.

But here, in this strange dream of his, all the wind did was whistle and claw at him as he fell through the cloudy sky. Most of the time, the only thing in his mind other than the blind panic he started with was the time maester Lewin made a false Bran out of clay pots and threw it out a window. Then the false Bran shattering against the ground. "But I never fall." he told the memory, as he fell farther than ever.

Fly... the wind whispered, but Bran couldn't fly... no one could. Measter Luwin said so.

The clouds thinned as he fell through them, and he could finally see the mountains. They were so very small from up there, but they were getting closer and the dream would end when he reached them. He would wake up when he finally hit the stones.

And what if you don't? It was louder this time, and it couldn't simply be the wind.

The ground was closer now, still impossibly far away, but less so than before. Bran was cold, and not because of the wind. The darkness around him was without any warmth, there was no sun, no moon, and no stars. Just him, the wind's voice, and the ground he was going to shatter against. His vision blurred with tears.

Not cry. Fly.

"I can't fly." Bran replied, his frustration only making more water come to his eyes, "I can't... I can't."

How do you know? Have you ever tried?

Bran looked away from the jagged spires closing in, and saw that it wasn't the wind's voice after all, but a crow's. The black bird flew around him in lazy circles, following him as he fell. "Help me then." he said, sniffling.

I'm trying. Say, got any corn?

On reflex, Bran reached into a pocket and found the corn he was going to give the crows on the broken tower. He pulled out a hand full and watched them float away from his open hand. The crow landed on his wrist and ate those that strayed too far.

"Are you really a crow?" Bran asked, crows didn't talk.

Are you really falling? It returned.

"It's just a dream."

Is it?

"I'll wake up when I hit the ground." Bran told the... bird?

You'll die when you hit the ground. The crow went back to eating corn.

The boy looked down, and found that he could see the mountains as more than simple spikes. He could see their snowy mantles and the threads of rivers winding around them peeking through the dark forests. He couldn't stop them, and Bran started to cry.

That won't do any good, the crow warbled, I told you, the answer is flying, not crying. How hard can it be? I'm doing it. The bird then flapped it wings and flew a tight circle around the boy's head.

"You have wings." Bran dutifully pointed out.

Maybe you do too.

Bran checked along his shoulders, groping for feathers.

There are different kinds of wings.

As he stooped searching, his hand caught his eye. It was... so skinny. He could count each and every bone, vein, and tendon under the tightly pulled skin. Had he always been so thin? He tried to remember, but all he got was light-headedness and a flash of angry silver. "Bran!" a woman shouted.

He clutched at his head, groaning and trying to stop the panicking voice. Enough of that! The crow cawed, slapping at his head with a wing. Leave it be, for later! The voice slowly faded and the angry slitted eyes were pushed away.

Bran let go of his head and opened his eyes. The mountains soared closer faster as the wind reached a roar. "What are you doing to me!" he shouted over it.

Teaching you how to fly. The bird's calm voice pierced through the howling with ease.

"I! Can't! Fly!" he cried, why couldn't the crow understand that!

You're flying right now. It insisted.

"I'm falling!" Bran reminded it.

Every flight begins with a fall, flying is merely controlled falling. It said, like he was dim or something. Look down.

"I'm scared-"

LOOK DOWN! The crow boomed.

Bran's eyes snapped downward, and he almost wet himself. The ground was racing towards him, the mountain like countless spears out for his blood. Forcing his gaze away from them, he saw the world laid out for him like a meal on a large table. It was so large, but all within his grasp. Bran wanted to go see it all.

He saw Winterfell as Gwyn must, the tall towers and colossal walls like children's toys. He saw Measter Luwin gazing at the sky with a bronze tube, Robb training with the men and going over formations, Serena rubbing at her flat belly as she worried at her lip, and Karra reading a great big tome with blood and bones pouring from her lips. At the heart of the godswood, the great weirwood brooded over the warm black pool. When it felt his gaze, the tree's eyes looked up at him knowingly as the stones of the castle groaned warmly.

Bran looked to the southeast, and saw a fast galley with a mermaid tied to its front. He saw his mother, bandages on her fingers, staring at a knife that sat in a deep pool of blood. Ser Rodrik was just outside, heaving and shaking on the railing. They both sailed towards a great storm they couldn't see.

Further south, he saw his father, surrounded yet alone, rubbing at an aching heart full of hurts and secrets with a face that showed nothing. Jon and Ciri walked roughly, leaning against each other heavily as they kept from looking back to the trail of men and monsters, both living and dead, behind them. Arya and Lya gnawed on bones as they bumbled behind, following the older pair. Sansa, alone, happily twirling her skirts as frost grew from her feet. He looked farther, to King's Landing, but all he saw was angry fire.

Past an island covered in dancing flames, and across the Narrow Sea, he saw dragons soaring about a bright city on a hill. But as he tried to see it, to see more, his vision turned hazy and clouds closed in like sharks.

At times, scenes would pierce the fog, an older Arya running through a desert with a bat in her hair, a she-dragon laughing at a boy with a crown, a masterfully crafted table cracking under invisible strain, his father both younger and happier as he danced with a woman in a long violet dress, and so many others that came and went so quickly that Bran couldn't tell what they were. But then came the sun, it started off as normal, then it started to grow and grow. Eventually he started felling hot under it, and what he could see of the world around him burst into flames. Even the stones glowed red and melted as the sea boiled.

NO! The crow shouted and pecked at his head. Too much, too far. Enough!

The growing sun was whisked away and the fog blew apart in the wind. On his shoulder, the crow glared at him with all three eyes that had seen so much. Evading its angered gaze, Bran looked down and saw that the world he wanted was gone, replaced by a great big bed of icy spikes. Thousands of skeletons littered their tips, other dreamers he somehow knew.

He screamed, wishing the world again spread before him. No, too untrained. That is why you must find me, else you're like to lose yourself.

All Bran could do was flail as the spikes whistled closer. Choose. Fly or die, and do so quickly. The crow urged.

Bran then spread his arms, and flew.

Laughing, he soared over the spikes and past them. He chased the setting sun over blue waters. It was so easy now, he wondered at what the issue was earlier. Now... now he could go see it all.

"I'm flying!" he cried out in delight.

I've noticed. The bird said, taking to the air beside him.

They flew together for a moment, then the crow pulled ahead. Only to twist around and crash into Bran's face. "What are you doing!" the boy shouted, the crow's talons raking his cheeks and its beak pecking at his head.

"Get off!" the crow was in the way, he couldn't see!

The bird cawed in his face, loud and angry and pained. Then the fog returned and whirled around everything. When all he could see was mist, it was all ripped away at once and Bran saw that the crow was really a woman with long black hair. but he knew that hair, and the woman it belonged to. She was a serving woman, one who worked in Winterfell. Yes, he remembered her.

Her grey eyes widened and she dropped the basin she held. It shattered on the stone floor, the stone floor of... of his room. His room in Winterfell, cold and high in a tower. In his bed.

"He's awake." she said dumbly, "He's awake, he's awake!" she continued, shouting as she rushed from the room and into the stairwell.

Bran brought a weak, trembling hand to his face and felt around. There was no blood, no marks under his eyes or on his forehead. Though it felt like something was on or in the latter. He was so dizzy, his head hurt and his stomach churned. He tried to get out of bed, but all he could do was shift about weakly.

Something heavy landed on his legs, forcing a groan. It hurt a bit. A mess of silver-grey filled his vision, followed by glowing amber eyes locking onto his own. It so very cold in the room, but the wolf's warmth covered him completely. My pup, but... he's so big. He reached out with a trembling hand, wondering how much he had missed. His hand was even thinner than when he saw it last.

A door slammed, and Bran slowly forced himself to see what happened. It was Robb, breathless from rushing up the stairs. He's visiting me, that's nice.

Bran glanced back to his pup, and the name that evaded him for so long finally surfaced. "His name is Longstrider." he said.

_11 th day, 8 th moon_

This past week had been terrible. No one would let him leave his room since he woke up, and Measter Luwin kept him in bed. All he did was eat and sleep and have lessons and do those strange exercises the measter told him to do. Serena had told him it was snowing more, but he wanted to see!

Just as he was working himself up to throw himself out of his bed, a knock sounded off on his door. "Come in!" he called after a moment's thought, people rarely knocked before coming into his room.

The door creaked open, and in walked the blonde, and somewhat ethereal, Karra. She appeared far less tired than when he saw her last, the dark shadows under her eyes nearly gone and with a graceful spring to her step.

"Lord Bran, I was told you were getting increasingly uncomfortable with your bedrest." she said softly, "So, I have decided to find a way to alleviate your discomfort." at that the pointy eared woman raised a hand and presented a tome.

"Maester Luwin already has me reading books." he said, hating how petulant he sounded.

"Histories, bestiaries, and herbology, I'm well aware." Karra said, looking at him strangely, "But this is a compiled edition of one Lomas Longstrider's Natural Wonders and Wonders Made by Man. I find it to be far more suitable for a boy of your age and disposition." she took a seat in the chair near his bed, the one Maester Luwin usually sat in, and eased the book open.

"Now, I will read this excellent book to you and you may ask whatever questions come to mind." the strange woman said, with finality.

As she started on the introduction, Bran forced himself to sit up. Only for another pillow to find its way into supporting his back, and he had to force his weak muscles no longer.

"Why are you here, reading to me?" he simply had to ask, it was so very strange.

"I am well aware of how dull, how hateful life can be without something to care for, or without freedom. By the name of your wolf, I see that you what to see the wider world. So do I." she answered slowly, her eyes drifting from the pages to stare into his own. "Books function as a balm to that adventurous itch, they teach you many things and help you deduce many more. Even bad ones are worth reading, if only to warn others not to." she finished with a smile.

Karra continued reading, and soon started on Longstrider's description of the Hightower.

Bran merely listened, using her flowing words to picture the tallest structure in Westeros in his mind. It was a wonderous thing, but he felt it could never match up to seeing in truth. How could it?

"When will I be able to leave this room? This bed?" he asked her, far calmer than he expected to.

"Medicine isn't my specialty, but by what I have learned it should take you no more than one, or perhaps two, moons to have full function of your legs. There were no injuries to them, so all you must do is regain your strength." she quickly answered, and Bran despaired. How could he possibly wait so long.

The beautiful woman chuckled, "Have no fear, little lord. I said full use. Should you perform your exercises diligently you should be able to get out of bed within weeks." she assured him.

The boy sighed and nodded, letting her return to reading the book aloud.

After the Hightower, came the Wall and descriptions of the castles that stood along its length. The book also told of the Night's Watch and the men who served it. While Longstrider called the Wall a thing of glory, the Watch was said to be a sad thing. Something that used to be so great brought low by time and fickle men.

Next came the Titan of Bravos, and Bran had no questions worth asking.

Then the three bells of Norvos, and still Bran had no questions.

Finally came the Long Bridge of Volantis, "Never had I been so far from my homeland." Longstrider wrote, and Bran had a question.

"Where are you from, Karra?" he asked.

She seemed to think for a moment before answering, "I was born in a place called Tir Na Lia. It was the capital city of our nation, and where I spent most of my life. When I wasn't raiding of course."

"Raiding?" she didn't strike him as a fighter, and didn't act anything like Theon.

"Oh, yes. Though most called it by other, prettier names, it was raiding. I was a Navigator for the Red Riders, and I killed, captured, and plundered right along with the rest of them. Most of what we took were slaves." before he could say anything, she held up a hand. "At the time I never thought much of it, I was Aen Elle, and all others were lesser than that." she smiled, her gaze far away, "Then I met the oddest pair. Two young things simply happy to be with each other as they adventured. They were one of our targets, I grew to regret it, so I helped one free the other."

Karra's eyes snapped back to him, "And here we are."

Bran held her gaze, thinking her words over, and then looked away. She might have done bad things in the past, his father had told him of slavery's evil, but like she said she regretted it and stopped. He did have another question, however.

"What is Aen Elle?" the boy asked, was it a title?

"Aen Elle is the name my people used for ourselves, others simply called us elves or elf."

"Like how the Andals named themselves?"

"Yes, but it wasn't after a place like them. More akin to the humans who first settled these lands, the Furte Lain, the First Men."

The boy nodded, and the elf returned to her reading. She continued uninterrupted until she finished the man-made wonders.

Karra slid a small, blank parchment in between the pages to mark her spot, and thumped the book closed. She then placed it in the little free room on the table next to her and gracefully rose to her feet. "I'm afraid that is all the time we have, young Bran." she said, making her way out of his room.

"Will you come tomorrow? To read to me?" he asked, stopping her just after she opened the door.

"Of course, little lord." and then she was gone.

POV Ciri, 10th day, 8th moon

The warnings of all in the King's party, from the most lowborn of hunters to the King himself, were proven true long before she even saw the city. It was somehow even worse than Rivia, and while she could ignore it well enough, she thought she saw tears in Jon's eyes.

Around them, the city coursed with people, carts, and animals like blood does throughout a body. But right there, under the curtain wall of the Red Keep, she was at the heart. The sheer number of people going in and out was astounding. Their party even had to wait for a gap to be made, and this was with the King at the head.

As they all rode through the towering bronze doors the riders splintered in different direction. The King, together with one of his white knight's, rode off alone while the royal family all made for the smaller castle within the Red Keep. Maegor's Holdfast, one of the Baratheon men called it.

Ciri, Jon, a quiet Sansa, a distracted little bint, a comforting Arya, and a despondent Lya all rode together with the wolves. Skagga had been left in the Kingswood to roam and avoid the city, the poor little Mormont already missed the fluffy beast. No matter, visits can be arranged.

They all followed the Stark father, who was guided to the "Tower of the Hand" by a young blonde woman in roughspun clothes.

They hadn't gone for long when a rotund man approached Lord Stark. "The Grand Maester Pycelle has announced an urgent meeting of the small council, my lord Hand, and begs the honour of the Hand's presence when it is most convenient." he said, his eyes flitting this way and that.

"It will be most convenient of the morrow." the older man snapped, hotter than he usually spoke.

"I shall give the council your regrets, my lord." the fatter man bowed.

"No, damn it. I will see them. Pray, give a few moments to change into something more presentable."

"Yes, my lord." the man bowed once again, "We have given you Lord Arryn's former chambers in the Tower of the Hand, if it please you. I shall have your things taken there."

"My thanks." Jon's father shifted in his saddle to face them, "Jon, see to it that your sisters are settled in their rooms and kept in the tower. Arya isn't to pull you or Lya into any exploration." he then looked to Vayon, "Vayon, help Jory with the guards, and put the supplies to rights." the steward bowed as her Jon's father turned back to the fat man. "My wagons are still straggling through the city. I shall need appropriate garments."

"It will be my great pleasure." the man said, before he turned and guided the great lord away.

Jon rode up to the front, keeping Arya and little Lya right by his side to stop them from wandering off. Ciri supposed that Sansa and her puppy eyed friend were her responsibility. "Sansa... Jeyne. Follow me, I will get you to your chambers." she said, making sure to bring her bring out her inner Grandmother to stare down the smaller of the two.

Sansa's little friend kept her gaze low, properly cowed, as the two girls rode up to her sides.

They all rode for a slight bit longer, the guardsmen trailing behind, and their little blond guide got them right to the promised tower. They all dismounted and half the guards, upon Jory's command, took the horses to the nearby stable while the other half went in to clear each room one by one.

"It's clear, Jon." the captain said, prompting the witcher to bring the two young girls into a middling hall, at least to this world's standards.

Ciri followed right behind, both older girls in front of her, and all six of them made their way to the family chambers. Once she had dropped Sansa off at her door, and left her friend at the one right next to it, the witcheress went to find her own room.

To Ciri's immense joy and satisfaction, her Jon was already there. Undoing his armour.

She let herself fall onto the featherbed, and started working on her own plates. Each second that passed saw her anticipation rise, until she was in only her shirt and trousers.

Throwing herself to her feet, Ciri stalked over to the witcher and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Shall we break it in?" she asked, baring her teeth.

He took hold of her waist and pulled her flush against his front.

The strong hands traveled down, and the door slammed open.

Ciri sighed, and not the way she wanted to. "Yes, Arya?" she asked, looking past her Jon to see his sister positively vibrating with excitement.

The witcheress retreated her gaze back to the broad chest, and knocked her head against it, before coming up with her revenge.

She begrudgingly released her Jon and stalked over to the little interrupter. "If you're that energetic." Ciri started and kept the girl from demanding they explore, "Then we should all train extra today!" she finished with an evil grin.

Arya scrunched up her face, but said nothing as she spun around and allowed herself to be brought to task.

_16th day, 8th moon_

Jon's father had been badgered by the council again, Ciri could see it clear in his eyes. He was late to join them at the dinner table, like he'd been so very often, dragging Jon along with him to each and every meeting.

"My lord." Jory and the other off-duty guardsmen rose, all in their new grey wool and white satin cloak, to greet the Stark.

"Be seated." he said, waving a hand for two fresh plates, and for them to continue she supposed. "I see you've started without me. I am pleased to know there are some men of sense in this city." her Jon nearly fell into the chair next to her and attacked his platter of roasted ribs, Ciri's hand was on his back rubbing circles before she knew it. His father seated himself across from him, next to Sansa.

"The talk in the yard is that we shall have a tourney, my lord." the captain said, sitting back down and resuming his meal. "They say that knight from all over the realm will come to joust and feast in honour of your appointment as Hand of the King." Ciri could feel the lord's scowl at that, even though it made no mark on his face.

"Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I would have wished?"

Sansa gasped, taking her father's words as confirmation while ignoring their content, with her eyes as wide as the plate before her. "A tourney..." the little lady breathed. "Will we be permitted to go, father?"

"You know my feelings, Sansa. It seems I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honoured for his sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly."

"Oh please." the girl begged, "I want to see." Ciri felt she had to help her.

"I hear the princess Myrcella will be there, Lord Stark, as will most of the ladies of the court. People might find it odd if your eldest daughter wasn't present." she said, taking care that she didn't mention Arya or Lya.

The man looked in pain, "I suppose so. Very well, I shall arrange a place for you, Sansa." his gaze the went to Arya and Lya beside her, "I'll spare the both of you of it."

"Good, I don't want to go to that stupid tourney anyway." the elder of the two said, playing at her greens.

"It will be a splendid event. You shan't be wanted." Sansa said, lifting her head high.

Lord Stark's eyes hardened, "Enough, Sansa. More of that and I will have you and Arya trade places. I am weary onto death of your bickering. You are sisters, I expect you to behave as sisters. Is that understood?"

The redhead bit her lip and nodded, as Arya looked at her plate sullenly. Ciri couldn't understand what was going on between the two. Yes, they had their share of barbed words in Winterfell and the journey southward, but recently it's been getting worse. Nothing had happened, but something a driven a wedge into their relationship and widened an already sizable gap. She wondered if they were simply at that age.

All was silent safe the clatter of cutlery, then their father pushed himself up from the table. "Pray excuse me, I find I have little appetite tonight." he announced, then left without another word.

Moments after the lord had left, conversation slowly restarted all over the table and grew louder at the others. Sansa and her friend shared excited whispers about the tourney, both of them casting glances and both her and Jon. Beside Ciri, her ravenous man pulled another platter his way. He must not have eaten all day.

Down the table, Jory laughed at some raunchy joke, Hullen talked about horses with his son and Alyn, all while Arya stared silently at her leeks and cabbage.

"Don't worry, Arya." Ciri whispered to the girl, "I know a way we can enjoy the tourney..." the wild child gazed up at her, grey eyes hopeful. "I'll tell you all about it after dinner." she promised, keeping Arya from giving it away.

Suddenly, Sansa rose from her seat, "I've finished my meal, may I be excused?" the young lady asked, eyes locked on her brother, the current authority.

Jon's silver eyes flashed over to her, "Aye, you may." he said, after a moment's thought.

She then stormed away, and Ciri had to look over to her Jon. Clearly, he saw something she didn't. He only shook his head, leaving her stranded in confusion.

Whatever it is, I'll find out eventually.

POV Barristan, 22nd day, 9th moon

Barristan was not a man of many wants, but participating in the joust was one of them. The thrill of a battle with little of the consequence or heartache, the various games were also quite good practise. But the main attraction was proving himself against all the young men trying themselves against the competition, and showing them the heights they could still grow to.

Sadly, this time, it was not to be. For it was his shift to guard the King for the tourney, chosen from among his kingsguard brothers by drawing lots.

The aged knight stood next to the King's seat for the Hand's Tourney, so he at least had a decent view to see all the new blood.

Below the royal stand, the lords and knights rode onto the field. Most were known to the old knight, his own sworn brother Ser Jaime, the King's brother Lord Renly with his antlered helm, young Andar Royce, Jason Mallister and Gregor Clegane to name a few. Others were more unknown, three men of Winterfell, a man with a bear paw on his shield, what seemed to him a dozen Freys, and a few freeriders. There were also not one, but two mystery knights on the field.

The larger of the two, who the herald called the "Wolf of Kear Morhen", had a white wolf's head with its maw open wide in challenge painted on his blue shield and a green tabard over his dark grey plate armour. The other was proclaimed the "Lion Cub of Cintra" and wore a light blue tabard, and in their left hand a kite shield painted with three running lions on a field of blue. He struggled to keep from smiling at the "Lion Cub", they were small, perhaps under the armour was a young lad who dreamed of Kingsguard?

Beside Barristan, the crowned stag climbed to his feet, gave a speech and bellowed that they should "Start before I piss myself!"

None wanting to test the statement, all the riders rode back to their tents safe two.

One was the larger mystery knight, and against him was one of the Freys, this one's only difference from his kinsmen being the magnificent black charger between his legs.

The herald, standing tall on his podium opposite the king, swung one hand to his right "From the tall Twins over the Greenfork, Ser Perwyn Frey!" he shouted, prompting the steel plated man to thrust his blue and silver shield in the air.

"From the deadly forested mountains, the Wolf of Kaer Morhen!" the beast in question only rolled his shoulder and couched his plain lance. The commons cheered, as they always did for mystery knights

Dramatically, the herald lifted both arms. Then, once both riders appeared ready, he dropped them and the trumpets blared.

Both horses thundered along the fence, driven by spurs and shouts, and a simple kick. It took little more than a second for them to meet and the hoped-for crack resounded over the tiltyard. Both knights kept their seats. Out of the corner of his eye, Barristan noticed Lord Stark's hand release the railing and that only his eldest daughter accompanied him.

The commons cheered wildly as shards big and small flew from what used to be the mystery knight's lance. The twelve-foot tourney lance was now only a jagged hilt in his hands, which the steady man simply tossed aside as he slowed to a trot on what was the Frey knight's side. The Twin's lordling, on the other hand, retained more than half his lance, but his shield was cracked down the center and he swayed in the saddle.

Barristan had to sigh in exasperation, it only lasted a blink, but he noticed the mystery knight thrust out his lance like a spear just before he reached his foe. In that moment the old knight saw that his younger counterpart had little experience in jousting, and that he relied solely on his, admittedly great, strength.

A small squire, who, by Barristan's experienced eye, should really still be a page, rushed to the knight with a fresh lance. Their halfhelm wobbling precariously on their head

Ser Perwyn's squire, most likely a sibling or cousin, did the same with his master's arms.

As they both took their places, and the trumpets sounded once more.

This time there was no thrust, and both lances snapped in their middles. Ser Perwyn was nearly pushed out of his saddle, but managed to keep his seat with clear skill. Sadly, for the knight of the Twins, the wolf hadn't so much as moved when the lance took him in the shield.

Both men took their places, and Barristan knew this tilt to be the last. He supressed a sigh, it was sad for him to see skill pushed aside by sheer might. The trumpets let out their shouts, and thunder followed.

Even though one was slower, both riders quickly met and this time there was no shattering of lance or shield. Because the knight of house Frey was simply launched from his saddle and crashed into the dirt. Cheers erupted at the flight and fall, as the wolf knight rode to the end of the tilt line and spoke with the Frey's squire.

When the did knight didn't rise from where he fell, not even moving his arms, a stretcher was quickly run over to take the fallen knight away. The tiltyard was then made clear for the next riders.

Many jousts passed by, where the men of Winterfell made good showing yet only one measured themselves against more than one opponent, his sworn brothers handily felling the other competitors and the Mountain smashed aside an unlucky freerider. Then, the other mystery knight rode up to the tilt.

The boy's foe was Barristan's own sworn brother, Ser Meryn Trant. His white charger digging at the dirt in its anticipation.

After the herald made his mummery, and the trumpets made their brassy cries, the riders drove their steeds forward.

Ser Trant's charger was something to envy and made it so that the lances met two thirds to the smaller knight's side. When they did, Barristan saw a thing of glory.

With the side the mystery knight rode on, the old man had an excellent view of what occurred. The very second Ser Meryn's lance met their shield, the smaller knight tilted their shield just so and forced the kingsguard's lance to slid off.

The lion cub's however caught the other man in the chest plate and pushed him greatly before snapping under the strain. It all could have been mere chance, but Barristan's instincts told otherwise.

Ser Meryn quickly rounded the fence, as the lion's skinny young squire gave him a new lance.

The snow-white stallion, shaking its head, barely waited for the signal before it rushed down the lane. Ser Meryn wobbled in his saddle, but quickly settled. The boy was quick to spur his lesser steed into action.

Again, the young blood used his shield to perform that terribly precise move, proving that it was no fluke. Then, when the lance struck Ser Trant, it pushed him up and out of his saddle.

As the rider fell, the horse cantered away, free, until a pair of squires managed to get the reins and calm the beast. Barristan's sworn brother struggled to his feet, wobbling all the while, as the victorious knight approached him at a trot.

They spoke for only a short while, but by the way Ser Meryn ripped off his helm and stormed away one could tell he wasn't please by the shared words.

Once the young knight rode over to the white charger and took the reins, Barristan understood why.

Next to ride were two freeriders, neither man fell but they only made two passes before one yielded. Hours then went by without any decent jousts, only the Clegane brothers' once sided onslaught and the occasional easy victory for Ser Jaime or Ser Loras. All four were skilled, of that there was no doubt, but none of their opponents were able to make it a true contest. The commons, however, were satisfied by lances turning into chips.

Then the lion cub, riding his new white stallion, faced Ser Jaime, whose smirk Barristan could see even through his helm. The herald called the match a confrontation between "The young and the golden!" and he signaled that they begin.

Two white chargers met just off the center mark, and neither lance broke. Both a glided over the other's shield. Half the commons groaned as the rest booed, no brakes and no falls to please them, but they couldn't see the skill taking place. From both riders.

His sworn brother was renowned for his skill with a sword, but his shield work was a close second, and his lance only just under that. Jaime, in the way of skill, was one of the finest knights Barristan had ever witnessed. Yet all that did was make his moral failings all the more glaring.

The boy hidden under the helm also had great skill with their shield, but their lance could use some practice. That skill, however, could be earned in time along with their growth in size and strength.

Both riders swung around the ends of the fence, and, without awaiting the trumpets, immediately charged one another. This meeting came much faster than the last, and still neither lance broke, but Barristan could see Ser Jaime's catch for a split second.

Anticipating the riders' continued ride, the trumpeters blew the moment they both reached the ends, and finished only when they met one again. Both lances cracked down the middle, somehow keeping themselves in one piece, but the cub faltered and only just managed to keep his seat.

Both horse and rider shook themselves out as they charged back into the fray, the lion cub not stopping to replace their lance just as Ser Jaime did the same.

With a great crash, the boy's lance burst against his sworn brother's and Jaime's, having been pulled slightly back, pushed the younger rider out of his saddle. Just as it finally gave out.

Stablehands, fully prepared to catch the beast, were ignored as the white charger shook out its flowing mane and walked itself back to its fallen rider. Barristan heard a joyful, boyish laugh as the mystery knight rose to his feet and patted the horse's neck.

"You may keep the beast, as well as your arms and armour." his sworn brother, in a loud voice, said. "So long as you reveal your identity." he finished, tossing what was left of his lance over his shoulder.

Once again, the cub laughed as he reached up to his helm, waving off his young squire.

Almost everyone present gasped, then filled the air with quiet murmurs. For under the light steel of the helm was no boy, like even Barristan believed, but a young woman. Her hair fell silver as she pulled a woolen cap from her head. The woman's smiling face and laughing green eyes made it clear she saw it all as in good fun, even as the crowd murmured even louder.

A quick glace to his surroundings showed many things to the old knight, the Lord Hand pinching the bridge of his nose, Ser Jaime's slack jaw, the queen's wrathful gaze, but the only face that mattered was blank.

Then, with a loud laugh, the King of the Seven Kingdoms slammed his chair's armrest, "Ha! Ned, that's your boy's woman, eh?" Robert said, grinning at his Hand.

"Yes, Your Grace." Lord Stark said, a hand over the lower half of his face.

"They don't make them like that often, the boy's a lucky one." the king said quietly, as if to himself, and got to his feet.

"You did well to make it this far, Lion cub." the King proclaimed, "That in itself is deserving of reward, tell us your name!"

"Cirilla of Cintra, Your Grace." the girl revealed in a foreign accent, bowing low with an upturned hand.

"Very well, Cirilla of Cintra. For your reward two golden armbands shall be made for you to commemorate your achievement, and be delivered two days hence!" King Robert, generous as ever, announced.

The armoured young woman bowed once more as she thanked the King, then swung back into the saddle and rode away at Robert's leave. Cheering from the smallfolk erupted as no punishment was even mentioned, and any remaining whispers were drowned out.

Chuckling as he heavily sat back down, Robert called for one of the serving girls who used to hold the King's wine, ale, and spirits, now only serving to please the King's eye. He kindly ordered the curvaceous brunette to send his message to the castle goldsmith, "Craft them with gold and inlay with silver, fancy, but not too much. Something with three lionesses."

His wife's fuming visage still ignored, Robert shouted for the joust to continue with a "What are you waiting for, winter!? Get on with it!"

Next to ride up was the remaining mystery knight, and the Mountain. While both knights were large, Clegane dwarfed the other contestant.

The stone fist that adorned the Mountain's greathelm, which would have looked comical if not for the man's reputation, glowed dully in the weakening sunlight. His dark steel plate reflecting little to nothing in comparison.

What followed the herald's speech pained Ser Barristan, for what the two riders showed was not the skill the old knight saw in the previous joust, but something more akin to a pair of mallets striking each other head-to-head. Each horse raced down the lane and the riders' lances both shattered against the other man's shield over and over again.

After the fourth lance, it grew quite monotonous for him, but everyone else cheered and roared with every mighty blow. The loud noises and great speeds enough to please them endlessly.

Finally, with the last of eight thunderous clashed, the smaller rider rolled off of his horse and fell to the torn field.

The mystery knight's squire rushed to his side, and helped the man get to his feet best they could. He swayed slightly, but quickly found his balance and reached for his helm. It took some time, but the steel was removed and revealed a young man. One that Barristan recognised to be the Lord Hand's baseborn son.

Cheers were the crowd's reaction this time, but even though they were slightly muted Robert seemed glad to see the silver-eyed boy. "There you are! Should have known you'd be here, boy! With more training you'll make a fine jouster." he encouraged, before dismissing the young warrior from the field.

Barristan followed the boy with his eyes, what did you have to feed a child to give them such strength?

The announcement of the next joust quelled any pondering.

On one side, the Mountain trotted up, while on the other was a young knight in shiny new plate riding a mare. The boy was announced to be Ser Hugh of the Vale, and Barristan recognised him as Lord Arryn's old squire.

Once the herald performed his duties, the two riders raced towards each other. The roar of the crowd barely keeping pace with the thunder of the horses.

Then lances struck and Ser Gregor's slipped up, ramming itself into the small space between the boy's helm and his gorget. Barristan knew the strike to cause instant death, he'd seen it plenty of times to know.

Dead as so many before him, the boy fell from the saddle to gasps from the crowd and the mare reared its fear.

The panicking horse then rushed away from the blood pooling under its dead rider and escaped the stablehands. While Barristan, even with all he'd seen, couldn't help but sigh sadly at it all.

_23 rd day, 9 th moon _

"I stood the last vigil myself. He had no one else." Barristan told the Hand, then half-remembered a few conversations. "A mother in the Vale, I am told" he then added.

Just an arm's length away from the two men, laid the poor young knight.

His sky-blue cloak of white crescent moons, the blood stains cleaned out of it, was laid over his front. His skin was pale, and drawn tight over his rough-hewn feature. The only colour on it was his ginger hair, wetly clinging to his forehead. That and the crushed blue velvet doublet, whose collar hid the ruin of the boy's neck.

"Hugh was Jon Arryn's squire for four years. The king knighted him before he rode north, in Lord Jon's memory. The lad wanted it desperately, yet I fear he was not ready." few of the dead young knight's age were.

"None of us are ever ready." the Hand said quietly.

"For knighthood?" the older man asked, there could be wisdom in tha-

"For death." Stark said as he gently pulled the blue cloak up to cover the boy's bloodless face. Barristan thought that statement plainly untrue, he himself had been ready for a long time now. Sadly, few were foolish enough to attack the king.

"This was needless, war should not be a game." now to that, Barristan agreed. Yet tourneys were not a game like the younger man thought, it was important training for both new blood and old hands, along with being the only way a knight can prove himself in peace times. "Send his armour home to the Vale. The mother will want to have it." the Hand continued.

"It is worth a fair piece of silver." Barristan informed, "The boy had it forged special for the tourney. Plain work, but good. I do not know if he was finished paying the smith."

"He paid yesterday, my lord, and he paid dearly." Lord Stark murmured, then turned to the lead silent sister. "Send the mother the armour. I will deal with this smith."

Veiled women busied themselves with the corpse and the luggage beside it, as the Hand turned and left. While Barristan followed just behind his shoulder, young Jon silently joining them by walking behind the other.

The camp stirred as they walked through it, meats fried on pans over open flames, young squires sleepily hurried about on errands for their knights, men-at-arms hurried for the latrines, and a man with a struggling goose kneeled as they passed. Around them, the tents of the day's wealthy or noble riders were all around them. There were Mallister eagles, the brindled boar of Crakehall, Redwyne grapes, and many more he knew, some he didn't.

As they passed the tents of his fellow kingsguard, Barristan found himself thinking on the King's plans. "The King means to fight in the melee today." he told the Hand.

"Yes." was the even response.

"The defense of one's pride often clouds judgement, and later reflection finds surer routes than previous desperation led to." the knight said, unwilling to go against his oath, but needing the Hand to intervene.

The man only sighed.

Moments later they reached the King's pavilion by the river. The morning mists that came off the water wreathed the grand golden silk tent in grey. Leaning against a post was the Kings iron great shield, emblazoned with the crowed stag.

As he and Lord Stark entered the pavilion, young Jon stayed behind and stood by the tent flap.

Inside, the knight and Lord Paramount found the King drinking ale from a polished horn and roaring at the pair of Lannister squires trying to buckle on his armour. "It's too small, Your Grace, it just. Doesn't. Quite. Fit." the boy, who was almost in tears, desperately pushed and pulled at the steel to no avail.

While the King had lost some weight since Lord Arryn passed, it was only just enough for a keen eye to notice, and not nearly sufficient for the gorget to fit. The boy fumbled the steel and it crashed to the carpet covered planks, "Seven hells! Do I have to do it myself? Piss on the both of you. Pick it up." the king swore and thundered, "Don't just stand there gaping at me Lancel. Pick it up!" the squire jumped, and the King turned away his glare.

"Look at these oafs, Ned." he said, anger fading quickly once he noticed them. "My wife insisted I take these two to squire for me, and their worse than useless. Can't even put a man's armour on him properly. Squires, they say. I say they're swineherds dressed up in silk."

"The boys are not at fault." was the Hand's instant response, "Your too fat for your armour, Robert."

Robert stared, not breaking eye contact as he drank the rest of the ale and threw away the horn once it was gone. "Fat? Fat, is it?" he asked darkly, "Is that how you speak to your King?" then the man roared out his laughter, sudden as a hurricane in the Stormlands. "Ah, damn you, Ned, why are you always right?"

Only a foot away from His Grace, the two blondes smiled weakly. Then the King turned his gaze upon them, "You." they looked at each other, "Yes, both of you. You heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armour. Go find Ser Aron Santagar. Tell him I need the breastplate stretcher." when they remained, the King roared, "Now! What are you waiting for?!"

Both boys nearly fell over in their haste to escape the tent, and the King kept up his stern mask until they were good and gone.

Then he fell into a chair with laughter, and Barristan couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ah, I wish I could be there to see Santagar's face. I hope he'll have the wit to send them to someone else. We ought to keep them running all day!" the large man continued until he was red in the face.

"Those boys, Lannisters?" Stark asked.

The King nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. "Cousins. Sons of Lord Tywin's brother. One of the dead ones. Or perhaps the live one, now that I come to think on it. I don't recall. My wife comes from a very large family, Ned."

One of the most numerous families in Westeros, only outnumbered by those of the Reach.

"The talk is you and the queen had angry words last night." Lord Stark said, and the King's smile turned into a sneer.

"The woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She's sulking in the castle now, damn her." Robert smoothed his beard, "Your sister would never have shamed me like that." he said, bringing up the 'perfection' of Lyanna Stark like he often did.

"You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert, you saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath. She would have told you that you have no business in the melee." the Hand replied.

Barristan knew little of the girl who sparked the tinderbox that was Westeros, but he knew if Rhaegar didn't... well the puissant knight who spared and healed him after the wouldn't have ended up like this.

"You too?" the king frowned, "You are a sour man, Stark. Too long in the north, all the juices have frozen inside you. Well, mine are still running." he said, slamming a fist into his chest to prove it.

"You are King." the Hand reminded.

"I sit the damn iron chair when I must. Does that mean I don't have the same hungers as other men? Hearty food, a squealing girl in bed, the feel of a horse between my legs! Seven hells Ned, I want to hit someone."

It was then that Barristan caught what the Hand meant, "Your Grace, it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?"

The King blinked as his bluster faded, "Why, all of them, damn it. If they can. And the last man standing-"

"Would be you." Lord Stark finished, "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by hurting you."

Then Robert, red in the face, threw himself to his feet, "Are you telling me those prancing cravens would let me win? "

"For a certainty." the Hand said, stoic as ever.

The King, clearly furious, paced about the tent. Then quickly crossed over to his breastplate and threw it at the knight.

Barristan shifted out of the hastily thrown steel, "Get out." the King commanded coldly, "Get out before I kill you."

He nodded, bowed, and turned around to leave along with the Lord Hand, "Not you, Ned." Robert added. Lord Stark halted, while Ser Barristan continued without pause.

With his shift starting soon anyway, the knight took up a post on the opposite side of Stark's boy beside the tent's entrance. A quick glance at the boy told the knight that he must have been trained to guard, the young man's gaze was steady yet constantly moving to take everything in. Both hands were at his side, but his stance was tensed and ready.

Barristan had to wonder why Lord Stark would so that, train his baseborn son to be a guard. Was it for himself, his daughters, his eldest son, or his future grandchildren?

Regardless, the fruits of that labour were clear and the two of them stood there silently, only their eyes moving, as the sun climbed higher into the sky. Around them, the camp hustled and bustled as the occasional laugh from heard from within the tent.

Eventually, the King and his Hand emerged from the silk sheets smiling at each other. Many japes were shared between them, and Lord Stark smiled brighter and more often as they went.

The four of them soon reached the King's seat, and the Northerners, once again stony faced, left them there for their own seats in the stands.

King Robert sat on his highbacked chair, the one beside him empty today, and the aged knight took his place slightly behind the seat on the right side.

The King commanded they begin and Barristan hoped that the rest of the tourney was less eventful than the first.

POV Alyssa, 29th day, 9th moon

"Lady Alyssa." Cirelle, a chamberwoman, called to her quietly from a slight distance.

The girl, who rightly should have been asleep at that time, put down her cloth doll and scampered over to the pretty woman. When she reached her, Cirelle crouched down to Alyssa's height. "We've got a raven tellin' us your Aunty Catelyn will be getting here soon, along with Mya." the woman, originally from Sisterton, said, her accent slipping out like usual.

Alyssa had to think hard on the aunty Cirelle spoke of, for she referred to many people that way, before remembering that Catelyn was the name of her mother's sister. The one that married a wolf and lives in an ice castle!

Quickly giving Cirelle a thank you and a kiss on the cheek, as she was taught was the way to give thanks to girls by Mya's friend Mychel, Alyssa rushed to the place in the castle where Mya had always met her. She got to the small welcoming hall, the one right after where the stone ladder opened up to, and saw that a whole bunch of people were already there. Many of them she hadn't met before, there was even a really short man with funny coloured hair and a tall dark one like the rogues in her stories!

"Mya!" she cried, jumping at her favorite person. Though she'd never tell anyone that, it might hurt their feelings.

The mistress of the mountain, as she heard some call her, chuckled at Alyssa's excitement as she returned the hug best she could.

"Where's Aunty Cat-elyn?" the girl asked, releasing the older girl and looking over the group. But she didn't see any women who looked like her mother. Had Cirelle been lied to?

"Lady Catelyn rode up in the basket, Aly." Mya told her, easing her worries. "But there are other guests here as well..." she continued, reminding her of her manners.

Alyssa was quick to fix it, "Alyssa Arryn of the Vale," she said, trying her best in her curtsy. She thought she did well, since Mya smiled at her, and the rogue did too! "Who are you?" she then asked, looking them all over in turn.

"Tyrion Lannister, the Imp of Casterly Rock. At your service." the short man said, giving her a shallow bow.

"Tyrion... Ah! Ser Jaime's brother! I like your cloak. He told me about you sometimes... What's an Imp?" she said, excited to finally meet the funny brother Ser Jaime told her about.

Ser Jaime's brother blinked at her, he wasn't very funny right now... was Ser Jaime talking about how he looks? Alyssa didn't find that very nice of him. "Well, an Imp is a little demon that likes to make mischief. I find it quite accurate." he said with a strange smile. "For example, I once brought a donkey and a honeycomb into a broth-"

"I've heard that one, milord, and it ain't appropriate for the little lady." Mya said, her voice different and much harsher than it's always been. Was Tyrion the Imp going to say something bad? "Aly, your aunty is with your mother in the Lord's solar. You should be good and say your hellos." the black-haired woman said, her voice back to normal.

But what she said made Alyssa feel conflicted, her mother was always very angry with her when she visited her in the Lord's solar. Although, she had promised to let her see her Aunty Cat... and she had to greet all the visitors.

Alyssa made her decision, and rushed off, but not before thanking everyone in the welcoming hall for coming to the Eyrie.

She knew the mountaintop castle like she knew... like she knew... her hand! Like she knew her hand! And so Alyssa rushed as fast as her little legs could carry her. The stairs of the Moon tower were a difficult obstacle, and proved too much for her midway up. Thankfully Auren, one of the younger guardsmen who Alyssa found to be quite nice but sadly spent most of his time at Snow, was also in the stairway and helped her the rest of the way up.

"Thank you, Auren!" Alyssa said just as he put her down at the proper landing, she always made sure to say her pleases and thank yous just as Mya told her.

"Any time, Little Saint." he said, using the funny name the guardsmen started using for her ever since she helped their scratches and bruises in the practise yard. Alyssa didn't quite understand why, but Mya told her it was a term of en-deer-ment and that those were good!

She then went for the big door to Robin's chambers, Auren helping her with it, and she slipped in after a quick thank you.

The chambers that her mama and Robin shared were very nice, so nice that the common room had pretty rocks, cloths and wood everywhere. She wanted to look at everything since her mama never let her stay long, but Alyssa ignored all the interesting stuff and tapped over to the solar door.

"... quarrels with the Lannisters-" Alyssa heard, but quickly knocked before anything else could be said, it was rude to eavesdrop.

There was a moment of silence, then the door opened to reveal a woman who looked much younger than her mama, but still similar enough.

"Aunty Cat!" She cried, the hair, brows and cheekbones were too much like her mama's for it to be anyone else. Alyssa quickly opened her arms for a hug before anything could be said.

Her aunt's face quickly went from surprised to joyful as she looked down at her, the tall woman then bent down and picked her off the carpet. "You must be Alyssa, hello dear." she said, carrying her into the room. It had been a very long time since she'd been carried, she liked it.

Alyssa hummed her affirmation, and asked the question that's been on her mind since she heard her aunty was there. "Is it cold in your ice castle?"

Her aunty looked confused for a moment, then smiled. "No, dear, Winterfell is actually quite warm." Aunty Cat said, her hand tapping Alyssa's chest as her arm adjusted itself under her.

"Is your hus-bande a big bad wolf like in the stories Uncle Petyr told Robin?" she asked the second her first question was answered.

Aunty Cat took a moment to answer, and when she did it was kinda quiet. "Ned isn't an actual wolf, Alyssa, even though he is just as protective. He's also a kind man, at heart." she said, and the girl was about to ask after her cousins, but her mama stopped her.

"What are you doing here, girl!" she yelled angrily, her mama's face red. "You know you aren't to enter Robin's chambers. Just think of what you could be bringing in! You could hurt him you foolish ba-"

"Mother?" Robin's tired voice, coming from the door she just came through, interrupted their mama's anger. Their mama was a very angry woman, but that was alright. Being a ruling lady is stressful, Alyssa been told so.

Her aunty turned, and Alyssa got to look at her brother for the first time in what felt like months. He was just as skinny as she remembered, his green-grey eyes were weepy, but his hair was as pretty as she last saw it. She then looked at what he was holding. Is that my doll? But it simply couldn't have been, even if it looked just the same as hers, for Robin had many of his own toys. Far more than her, for he was the Lord. As her mama once told her.

"I heard voices." he said, and that didn't surprise her. Their mama was a loud lady.

"This is your aunt Catelyn, baby. My sister, Lady Stark. Do you remember?" she asked, though Robin didn't look like was truly listening. He shook a little.

"I think so." he said softly.

"Come to mother sweet one." their mama said sweetly, sitting in a poufy leather chair near the fire. Their mama was always very nice to Robin, Alyssa thought it was because he was always sick, or that he was a boy, or older.

Robin pattered over on unsteady feet and their mama quickly started fussing over him. Alyssa found herself wishing to have the same done for her, even though it made her feel guilty. "Isn't he beautiful? And strong too, don't believe the things you hear. Jon knew. The seed is strong, he told me. His last words." her mama could be very silly sometimes, even Alyssa knew Robin wasn't very strong. Besides, the last thing her papa told her was very different.

I'm sorry, Alyssa. It seems I won't be able to play today. The girl teared up at the memory of his tired face, of how he held his belly.

"He kept saying Robert's name, and grabbed my arm so hard he left marks. Tell them, the seed is strong. His seed. He wanted everyone to know what a good strong boy my baby was going to be." her mama continued, petting Robin's head just like she wanted hers to be.

"Lysa." her Aunty Cat said, glancing at Alyssa, "If you are right about the Lannisters, then that gives us all the more reason to act quickly. We-" she continued, talking all fast.

"Not in front of the baby." her mama said, and Alyssa thought she was talking about her before she took a gentle hold of Robin's cheeks. "He has a delicate temper, don't you, sweet one." she cooed at him.

"The boy is Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, and these are not times for delicacy." her aunt then rubbed her back, just like her uncle Bryn did. "Ned thinks it might come to war." the way she said the word scared Alyssa.

"Quiet!" her mama snapped and Alyssa tucked her face into her aunty's shoulder, she didn't like it when her mama got this angry. "You're scaring the boy."

Alyssa heard something fall, "Don't be afraid, my sweet baby. Mother's here, nothing will hurt you." the girl peeked over, only to see that her mama was talking to Robin again and had started feeding him from her chest. It was strange, to her, for Alyssa ate little bits of meat and beets that Mirai would cut for her. The other boys her age did too. but Robin still ate from their mama.

"We're safe here." her mama said, petting Robin again.

Her aunty started saying more, but she pressed the side of Alyssa's head into her chest and covered her ear. So, all the girl could hear was booming and rumbling. Eventually, her aunty left the solar in a hurry, and took Alyssa with her.

Her head was released as they passed Auren, "Could you tell me of anyone who can show me to my room, little one?" her aunty asked.

She thought a moment, then told her to go down the tower and then she'll find someone. Her Aunty Cat brought her all the way to her rooms after she asked Soren to guide them. And the smile she gave her was so big, and Alyssa even got pets!

_15th day, 10th moon_

The big hall was nearly full when Alyssa was guided to join her aunty for the... the something with Lord Tyrion. She was a bit tired and hadn't quite been paying attention, and was feeling a bit guilty about it.

It was only a moment later that Ser Jaime's brother was helped in, Alyssa knew his legs weren't very good, but it seemed unnecessary to have two guardsmen carry him in. Although, he didn't look half as well as when she first saw him, even if his pretty cloak was cleaner than then.

"You wish to confess your crimes, we are told." her aunty said.

"Crimes! Did Ser Jaime's brother do something bad?" Alyssa whispered to Mya, who stood by her side.

"Yes, Lady Alyssa, I have carried out terrible things." Lord Tyrion said gravely.

"The sky cells always break them." her mama said, smiling at her aunty. Smiling! She almost never did that! "The gods can see them there, there is no darkness to hide in."

"He does not look broken to me." her aunty said dryly, like Mya did with some of the guardsmen.

Her mama turned back to Tyrion, "Say what you will." she said, just like when she talked to everyone but Robin.

Ser Jaime's brother took a deep breath, "Where to begin?" he said, "I am a vile little man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting, my lords and ladies. I have lain with whores, not once but hundreds of times." at that Alyssa reached up and tugged on Mya's fingers, but the woman's quiet "Later." made her relent.

"I have wished my own lord father dead, and my sister, our gracious queen, as well." the girl gasped as a knight chuckled, "I have not always treated my servants with kindness. I have gambled. I have even cheated, I blush to admit. I have said many cruel and malicious things about noble lords and ladies of the court." at that almost everyone laughed loudly, Alyssa was simply confused. "Once I-"

"Silence!" her mama shouted, face red. "What do you think you're doing, Dwarf?"

The small man cocked his head, "Why, confessing my crimes, my lady," he said, eyes wide.

Her aunty stepped forward, her face cold, "You are accused of sending hired knives to slay my son Bran in his sickbed, and conspiring to murder Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King." she said, eyes sharp. What?

He shrugged, "Those crimes I cannot confess, I fear. I know nothing of any murders." he said helplessly.

"I will not be made a mock of!" her mama yelled, standing from Robin's fancy chair. "You have had your little jape, Imp. I trust you have enjoyed it. Ser Vardis, take him back to the dungeon... but this time find him a smaller cell, with a floor more sharply slopped."

"It this how justice is done in the Vale?" Lord Tyrion roared, stepping forward and stopping Ser Vardis in his tracks. "Does honour stop at the bloody gate? You accuse me of crimes, I deny them, so you throw me into an open cell to freeze and starve." Ser Jaime's brother looked up, showing bruises that were hidden in the shadows of his face until then.

"Where is the king's justice? Is the Eyrie not part of the Seven Kingdoms? I stand accused, you say. Very well. I demand a trial! Let me speak, and let my truth or falsehood be judged openly, in the sight of gods and men." this the man said with incredible finality. Like nothing Alyssa had ever heard before.

The lords and knights in the hall murmured, beside her, her aunty's hand tightened so much her knuckles turned white. Mya shook her head sadly.

"If you are tried and found to be guilty of the crimes for which you stand accused, then by the king's own laws, you must pay with your life's blood. We keep no headsmen in the Eyrie, my lord of Lannister. Open the Moon Door." her mama ordered.

All the men on one side of the hall shuffled as far from a certain place as they could, revealing the Moon Door that sat between two of the pillars. Then two guardsmen, Marc and Morn, grabbed the bronze bars that held the white door closed.

The girl wanted them to stop, she never liked it when her mama or Robin made someone fly. It was like they were pulled away by big invisible hands, the sounds they made were even worse. It scared her. So, when the blue cloaks snapped in the sudden harsh breeze, and the wind howled down the hall, Alyssa snatched Mya's hand. She held it so hard, she was sure that her friend couldn't enjoy the pretty pink sky either. Her chest hurt.

"Behold the king's justice." her mama said. A torch died.

"Lysa, I think this is unwise." another guttered out.

Alyssa forced herself to keep her eyes open, otherwise she might see all the others again.

"You want a trial, my lord of Lannister. Very well, a trial you shall have. My son will listen to whatever you have to say, and you shall hear his judgement. Then you shall leave... by one door or the other." her mama said.

"I thank you, my good lady, but I see no reason to trouble Lord Robert. The gods know the truth of my innocence. I will have their verdict, not the judgement of men. I demand a trial by combat."

Everyone was quiet then, the only sound being the wind that made her shiver. Then, like when opening a bottle of bubbly wine, all the lords and knight suddenly started laughing. Even Mya had to muffle some giggles with her hand. Her mama and Aunty Cat were the only big people not laughing, but where her mama seemed a bit confused, her aunty's jaw was clenched.

"You have that right, to be sure." her mama said, voice light but not easy.

Ser Heward came forward and went to one knee, "My lady, I beg the boon of championing your cause."

"The honour should be mine, for the love I bore your husband, let me avenge his death." Lord Jon said.

Papa?!

"My father served Lord Jon faithfully as High Steward of the Vale." Ser Albar loudly joined, "Let me serve his son in this."

Alyssa looked up at Mya, trying to see if she could ask what was happening, but the older girl's eyes were too focused on all the men stepping up.

"The gods favor the man with the just cause, yet often that turns out to be the man with the surest sword. We all know who that is." Ser Lyn said, Alyssa didn't like him very much, but he won more often than not whenever she saw him in the yard.

Many others also volunteered themselves for the trial, all of them lords or knights. More and more kept coming forward, until her mama silenced them. "I thank you, my lords, as I know my son would thank you if he were among us. No men in the Seven Kingdoms are as bold and true as the knights of the Vale. Would that I could grant you all this honour. Yet I can only choose one." she paused and swung out her hand to Ser Vardis, "Ser Vardis Egen, you were ever my husband's good right hand. You shall be our champion."

But the old knight was one of the few who didn't ask for it, "My lady, pray, give this burden to another, I have no taste for it." he begged, going to one knee, "The man is no warrior. Look at him. A dwarf, half my size and lame in the legs. It would be shameful to slaughter such a man and call it justice."

"I agree." Tyrion added suddenly.

"You demanded a trial by combat." her mama said, her anger just barely under.

"And now I demand a champion, such as you have chosen for yourself. My brother Jaime will gladly take my part, I know."

"Your precious Kingslayer is hundreds of leagues from here." her mama's anger started to surface then.

"Send a bird for him. I will gladly await his arrival."

"You will face Ser Vardis on the day after tomorrow."

"Singer, when you make a ballad of this, be certain you tell them how Lady Arryn denied the dwarf the right to a champion, and sent him forth lame and bruised and hobbling to face her finest knight." the little lord said with a smile.

"I deny you nothing!" her mama shouted, her anger finally coming forth. "Name your champion, Imp. If you think you can find a man to die for you."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd sooner find one to kill for me."

The silence after Tyrion's words was heavy, even the awful wind calmed. Then, something stirred at the far end of the hall. "I'll stand for the dwarf." the rogue that came up with her aunty and Lord Tyrion announced, stepping out from behind the crowd.

It was soon after that that her Aunty Cat told Mya to "take the girl to bed." So, Alyssa finally got some answers to her questions!

"What's a whore?" was the first she asked.

"A desperate woman who does naughty things for coin." was the thoughtful, but somehow rushed, answer.

"What's a trial by combat?" was the second.

"It's were two men have a duel to see if the accused is guilty of the crimes the other says are committed, but it can only be done when there's little to no evidence either way."

"That's silly." Alyssa commented. If things were just done like that, then couldn't really strong people do whatever they wanted?

"Aye, but that's how it is."

"What's accused?" she, after a moment's silence, asked.

"It's when someone says that someone else did something, that's the word you use the call the person who's said to be guilty."

Alyssa hummed, and stopped her questions since she didn't have any really good ones.

It was when she had thought of one that a washerwoman, Alys, rushed up to Mya. "Mya, ye've got to come quick! Morden's tryin' again!" she said, clearly worried.

Mye frowned and looked down to her. "Aly, can you go back to your room on your own?" she asked, kneeling down to her level, "Morden needs my help, so can you be good and get there?"

Alyssa nodded instantly, she knew she was very good. She would make it just fine. No distractions!

"Good, I'll see you soon." Mya kissed her head and rushed off with Alys.

Once they both rounded a corner, the little lady started on her way. Eventually, she reached the stairs and, by being careful and going slowly, managed to climb just fine on her own. But as she passed a door, she heard voices.

"... no, uncle. Your place is at the Gate, defending us fr-" her mama was saying.

"The Riverlands are burning, Lysa! My home and yours, the Lannisters are slaughtering our people village by village! Give me only a thousand seasoned sword and I can give your brother the support he needs!" old Uncle Bryn shouted, shocking her. He never shouted.

"No, the Vale cannot spare-"

Alyssa pushed the door as hard as she could and cried through the crack she made, "We have to help! Uncle Edmure needs us!" she had only seen her uncle once that she could remember, but he was very nice. They should help him if he needs them.

The heavy door was pulled all the way open for her, and Alyssa quickly ran up to the third oldest man she knew. "You know nothing, girl. Know your place." her mama angrily told her.

"Uncle Bryn said the Lann-ass-ters are doing bad things, and that we can stop them. So, we should!" the girl said resolutely, grabbing her uncle's hand. Everyone, from Mya to the old Septon, always told her that she should always stop bad people whenever she could. This was one of those times.

"You see, Lysa, even this child knows what we ought to be doing. Only a thousand men that are already under my command. Compared to the men that are stationed from here to Stone that's less than nothing." her uncle pushed, gripping her hand a little tighter.

"Only a thousand." she echoed.

"No! All our men are needed here to defend the Eyrie!"

"The Eyrie, even with only the barest of forces, is nigh impregnable. The thousand men are the least you can do Lysa!" her uncle said, his voice growing louder as he kept asking.

"Yeah! Robin'll be fine mama. So pleeeeaaase?" Alyssa begged, making the big eyes that always managed to convince Jon the head cook.

Her mama screwed her eyes shut, and wrinkled her nose.

"Lysa!" Brynden asked, as her mama pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Mama!"

"Fine!" she shouted, "Take your seasoned swords, if any will follow you." her mama then smiled, "But you'll take the girl with you."

"Lysa... the battlefield is no place for a girl her age." her uncle said, looking at her mama strangely.

"It's that or nothing, uncle. " the woman spat, "Besides, she's the one who said something must be done. So, let her represent my baby."

"Now, get out!" she yelled.

After a moment of silence, where her uncle simply stared at her mama, Alyssa was gently pulled from the room and onto the landing. Before she could once again brave the steep stairs, her uncle took her off the ground and settled her on his hip. She looked up at him, and saw his face low with clear sadness.

"What's wrong, Uncle Bryn?" she asked, confused. For... hadn't they gotten what they wanted? They could help the Riverlands now!

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart, about your mother." the old man sighed, "I truly cannot understand why she treats you so poorly..."

"It's alright, Uncle Bryn. Mama is very stressed from all her work, and making sure Robin becomes a good lord. Everyone tells me how hard it is on mama, it's no bother. I understand." she said, reassuring her kindly old uncle. She knew her mama loved her, in her own way.

But her words did nothing to break his sadness, so she simply gave him a hug.

Suddenly, the steady rhythm of her uncle's big steps stopped, "Uncle, there was a bird from Riverrun, a letter from Edmure..." it was her Aunty Cat's voice, so Alyssa twisted her head to see her.

"I know, child. I will be riding with a thousand good swords to assist him, but they were hard fought. Even the little one was needed to convince your sister." he sighed, "It's been getting more and more difficult to have her see sense."

"You will not be staying for the trial?" her aunty asked, but it didn't sound like a question.

"That mummer's farce? No, I will be going down the mountain immediately to gather my men and prepare provisions." her uncle answered, his voice firm if somewhat odd.

"Then, perhaps Ser Rodrik and I will see you again at the Gates of the Moon, when we depart for White Harbour to join my son on his way south." the red-haired woman said, her lips lifting into a smile.

"We shall." was all her uncle said in return as he continued down the steps, thankfully in much higher spirits than before.

They soon reached the bottom of the tower, and instead of putting her down like usual, her uncle kept her in his arms. It was a bit odd to her, but she found that she quite liked it. Together they travelled to the welcoming hall, while the maids bustled around them faster than usual.

Her uncle opened the door to the hall, and stopped. Shifting to see the room, Alyssa's eyes went wide at what she saw. There had to be so much more than hundred guardsmen in the room, along with a dozen knights and more than a few squires. Mya was there too!

"We heard about the Lady Alyssa's travel plans." a big knight, Ser Roland, said as he stepped forward. "And as a Lady of the Eyrie, she must have a suitable escort. We," he continued, gesturing to all the men, "are here to do our duty and be a part of that force."

There was a moment of silence, then her uncle spoke, "Then I thank you, Sers and goodmen, for joining us. Know that there will be more men added to our number at the Gates of the Moon."

With a bowed "Of course, Ser, but those will be part of your force. We are merely an escort." The men parted from the door and allowed her Uncle Bryn to carry her through. They all then followed behind, while Mya came up next to her, "I'll be your feminine company, Aly. For what little of that I have." she said, smiling at the girl.

Alyssa smiled back as they started their downward path.

_18th day, 10th moon_

By the time Alyssa, her uncle, Mya, and the men who left with them at the Eyrie reached the bottom their numbers had grown too large for the girl to count. All she knew was that whenever she looked around, she could always see at least ten armed men. Her Uncle was very happy about this, she could tell.

As she had for the past few days, in the time her uncle was busy finding his seasoned swords, which she didn't quite know what was, for how does one cook a blade, she wandered around the Gates of the Moon. Her usual first, and current, destination was the practise yard, it was the place she could help others best after all.

The main yard at the Gates of the Moon was very different from that of the Eyrie and the Red Keep, both of which were made of stone blocks. The one she now entered, with today's plate bearing guard by her side, was much bigger than the others she had seen and its floor was covered in lots of reddish sand. "Ser Osgood, why is there sand instead of stone?" she asked, dreadfully curious about it.

"The sand offers a more accurate feel to a true battlefield, it also helps with certain messes that are common here." the large knight said, guiding her along the edge of where the men sparred.

She watched them all fight carefully, most used swords like the heroes of song always do, some carried warhammers, like Bobby said he used to, and one even had a flail. Only moments after she spotted the flail-wielding man and his patchwork opponent, Alyssa saw the metal ball strike the swordsman's arm.

The man cried out as his shield cracked down the center. The smaller knight fell to one knee, but refused the winner's helping hand.

She couldn't quite hear it, but the wounded knight spat something out as he struggled to his feet. After a moment, where they only stared at one another, the smaller knight charged his foe.

He quickly lost, unable to fight with his already injured arm. So, after being smashed into the ground, the larger knight refused to fight him anymore and forced him off to the side.

Alyssa, to help him best she could, and sate her curiosity, rushed over to where he sat in the sand. She reached him just as he ripped off his old helm and leaned onto the stone wall behind him. It was only when she was by his side, an arm's length away, that the sweaty boy noticed her. "Lady Alyssa!" he said, green eyes wide, "Forgive me, I didn't see you-"

"No! Stop, no moving!" she ordered, like she'd seen the captains do, and stopped him from getting onto his feet.

The girl then tugged on the boy's shield, prompting him to carefully undo the straps and let the ruined thing fall to the sand. There was no steel under the wood, and the beige cloth was more ragged than anything she'd seen before. Alyssa gently pulled the sleeve back, revealing the tanned skin underneath and saw that an ugly purple bruise had already started forming.

"No moving!" she ordered again, seeing the boy reach for his matted brown hair. The hand fell back down as he sighed.

Slowly, Alyssa laid her small hands on the growing mark and breathed deep as she focused on the feel of it in her grasp. Her eyes closed, so as to focus better, she kept breathing steady until her hands went hot. As the heat passed, and she opened her eyes, Alyssa felt the familiar hunger.

The little lady rose, dusted off her dress, and said that "You should be more careful, rest your arm." just like Mya said whenever Alyssa hurt herself on something.

"T-thank you, my lady." the boy said, staring at her and his arm in turns. People always did that whenever she helped their hurts for the first time, was it really so strange?

He was odd, and Alyssa didn't remember seeing him before. "What's your name?" she asked, it was rude not to ask.

"Eren... Stone, my lady." he said, looking away from her. She had to remember not to get excited at his surname, many had it she was told. It didn't mean that he was related to Mya.

"Why did you try so hard?" she asked, he had badly hurt his arm, but still forced himself to fight again. This was the first time she saw someone do that.

"I have to become as strong as I can, my lady. To be knighted in the coming battles." he said, eyes hard but looking far away.

The girl looked up at the knight next to her, "Ser Osgood could knight you." she said, any knight could make a knight she was told.

Ser Osgood seemed about to say something, when Eren chuckled, "Thank you, my lady, but I have to earn it." he said, smiling at her.

This confused her, but the rumbling in her tummy distracted her from her next question.

Then her escort led her away from the patchwork knight, "Come, my lady, the kitchens aren't far. Perhaps we could get you some skewers." he said gruffly.

Excited at the thought of the tasty, onion and beef skewers, Alyssa quickly said her goodbyes to Eren Stone.

She followed Ser Osgood happily, bouncing with every step, as he led her around.

They soon reached the door that would lead to the kitchen, but as the big knight opened it something caught her eye. Only a little ways away, Ser Jaime's brother strutted to the stables next to the rogue who volunteered to fight for him.

Alyssa smiled, Lord Tyrion looked happy as he talked to Jory the stablehand, so he must have won. He didn't seem like he did those bad things her Aunty Cat said he did. She also hoped Ser Vardis was alright, he was always nice to her.

At Ser Osgood's urging, the girl turned away from the small man and rushed through the door for her skewers.

POV Leon, at sea, 10th moon

"My father told me"

Leon sang and pushed along with his fellows on the oars, the long wooden arms of the longship cutting through the choppy waters of Ironman's Bay. They all joined him on the second verse.

"Someday I would earn"

These words he sang louder than any other, he was so close. He'd gone on three raids in as many moons, quick hits on small ships against small merchant vessels. They weren't any large gains from them, but was all he could find quickly. Until this one.

"Longship with good oars"

His own father had told him this, the very day he captained his ship with the Lord Captain against the Greenlanders for their King to rise to his proper place. By the Drowned God, he'd get that longship. His mother would no longer have to toil away like she had since his father was killed by Stannis Baratheon.

"Reave on distant shores"

And reave they would, the captain having brought them all on this "trading" voyage by taking up half of them right off the dock, but not on shore as in the days of their glory, but on the high seas. The captain, after one day of sailing, had told them all of the ship's purpose. To attack a Redwyne trading vessel bound for Seaguard.

"Stand up high on the prow"

The captain himself stood at theirs, Myrish Far-eye in hand, looking out to over the water for their prey. The captain was a large man, and well respected around the docks of Lordsport as Captain Steelhand. The reason for the name plain as day, his arm ended not with a hand of flesh but a blade like the end of a falchion.

"Vicious men I'll steer"

Steer them Leon would, plenty of boys in Lordsport in need of work and most knew Leon by name. Some swear by their iron to follow him when he earned his longship. The first he'd reave would be lion cogs, then Redwyne, and once he had enough coin and a crew he could trust he'd sail them to take thralls by the dozen in the stepstones.

"Steady course for the Greenlands"

Leon's course wouldn't take him to the Greenlands for many years, he'd need to bring more men under his command, even another captain or two. But his ultimate destination, the one he dreamed of, was there. Dragonstone, and Stannis Baratheon. This reave would be the first of many steps one that journey.

"Hew many foemen... Hew many foemen"

The captain's face was visible from Leon's seat, so was his grin. They had finally reached the cog they were sailing for. "Signal the Seastrider! We've found them!" the captain commanded, and the orders were quickly followed.

Leon looked behind as the song died in the excitement, his eyes shining at the sight of the Seastrider banking left to head off and flank the Redwyne ship.

The captain's next order force him to turn back, "Ramming speed" he shouted, shocking the young Ironborn.

But he followed the order without hesitation, if he did the other oars would crash into his and he'd be killed as punishment. So, he pushed hard and fast, in time with the beat of the drum along with his fellows. Their efforts bore quick fruit, bringing the ship to incredible speed. Most of the arrows sent by the enemy fell into the water, the few that didn't hit no men.

"Port! Pull back! Starboard! Dig in!" the men on the left pulled their oars from the water and into the longship. Just as the rest all lifted their oars high and held them there, forcing the wooden blades to dig deep into the water.

Just as it had when they practised the little maneuver on the way there, the entire longship swung to the right. As it did, the free-handed men, who'd gone to the port side, hurled their grapnels at the Redwyne ship. Half found quick and strong purchase, while others had to be thrown a second or third time.

Once they were all in place, the throwers quickly climbed before the Greenlanders could get their wits about them and cut the ropes. Some proved better than others, but too few for only five of fifteen ropes were severed before the first Ironborn pulled himself over the short railing.

Once the first wave had all had their chance, the second was to climb. Leon was honored to be a part of that group.

The young man quickly untangled himself from the bench and oar, then rushed to the nearest hanging rope. Though on his other reavings there were no grapnels used, Leon climbed with speed and skill. His father's early lessons having been taught well, letting him climb faster than most with his axe held tight between his teeth.

Leon nearly flew over the railing in his excitement, and rushed the nearest Greenlander with a roar. It was a mere boy, face covered in pimples, but his mail was fine. As was his weapon, though it did him little good. The boy's hand didn't even have a chance to rise before Leon's axe bit deep into his neck. The Ironborn quickly moved on, but made sure to remember where the corpse fell. He'd claim his prizes later.

Looking around, he saw that there were far more armed and armoured Greenlanders that the captain said there would be, but that was just fine. The more there were, the more Leon could prove himself against them. He noticed that the conquered part of the deck was large enough to make space in front of the railing, but the Ironborn line that protected it was thin.

A big, plate covered Greenlander crashed through that thin line and rushed to the railing. So, Leon ran, legs using the sway of the ship to gain speed, and smashed the back end of his weapon into the unsuspecting knight's horned helm. The force of the blow brought the armoured Greenlander to one knee and Leon went for the killing blow.

Only for the knight to swipe at his belly with his arming sword, nearly gutting the Ironborn as he jumped to safety. The Greenlander used the distance he made to slowly climb to his feet. Thankfully, his fellow Ironmen all knew better than to interfere, one way or another.

Leon kept away, for though the knight seemed unsteady on his feet, it might have just been a Greenlander trick. So, he watched his prey rise and stomp his foot, focused yet still aware of the other men around them. He only moved once the knight rushed him ungainly, shield up and roaring "Bulwer!" as the arming sword came down.

The Ironborn sidestepped the wide swing, not trusting the shaft of his axe nor the rusted iron of his mail to keep. Leon, going low as the starboard side went high, chopped at the knight's shin.

All he got in response was a dent, a rough grunt and the Greenlander's roundshield slammed into his gut.

He was thrown off his feet by the strength behind it, landing on his back and wheezing. Leon was forced to roll away when the sharp tip of the knight's blade plunged for his neck

Leon managed to stand by the time the man ripped his sword from the plank, and back away from the wrathful slash at his throat with only a scratch to mark its passing. The next attack came closer than the first, busting mail on his shoulder and sending red rings to the floor. Leon had to put the head of his axe between the following swing and the right side of his head, the castle-forged steel cutting into his iron.

The Greenlander nearly took Leon's axe when he pulled back.

Then the Knight overreached, and stumbled during his thrust. The Ironborn was quick to take advantage, lunging under the blade to the left and bringing his damaged weapon to the back on the knight's knee. And though his blade didn't cut past the gambeson, Leon could feel the damage done to the joint.

"Time to die, Greenlander!" he yelled, escaping the grab the knight tried as he fell, and rounding to his foe's head.

He raised his axe high and quickly brought it down, just like chopping a log. The helm dented further and the man groaned, but he still tried to rise. So, Leon swung again, and again, and again. Until the shell burst open and the Greenlander's blood sprayed onto his face in a dense spray.

Looking at his axe, the Ironborn deemed the dulled and dented thing useless. Then, after finding a suitable gap in the line, threw the thing into the Greenlander crowd. A scream gave him a pleasant surprise. He then quickly pried the quality sword from the corpse's cooling hands and ripped the roundshield from its arm.

The leather strap was tricky at first, but Leon managed to loosely secure it without any cowards striking at him.

With his new, better, and well-earned weapons in hand, the Ironborn looked for his next prey. He found a suitable one near the center of the line, so Leon quickly made his way there.

"Shield wall!" he heard the captain yell from behind, just as he himself reached the others there.

Leon clicked his tongue as he locked his new shield with any others who had one, he wouldn't be able to claim more for himself since any kill done like this would be shared with the others. He nearly groaned, there were nine other Ironmen joining him in the wall that curved protectively around the captain, one of the men he knew to be a greedy bastard.

As a group, the Ironmen slowly backed away from the Greenlanders throwing themselves at their shields and covered the captain. Their lucky fellows that escaped joining them either kept on the attack or went to the captain for orders.

"Any lads with long, two handed weapons find a place behind the wall!" Steelhand bellowed for all to hear, "Those with shorter ones 'll join me behind and cut down any curs that get passed!" the orders were quickly followed. While in the captain's employ all men on the ship were servants, the captain their King. They could complain, curse and challenge when they returned to Pyke.

A spear-wielding man took his place behind Leon's right shoulder, and made himself ready to attack. The Greenlanders pushed against them hard, he could feel a weapon slam into the wood of his shield without finding purchase.

The weight was lifted as their foes pulled back to rushed them again, "Open gaps!" the captain ordered a beat after the weight left.

Leon and the others holding the wall loosened it enough for the men behind them to see through, the Greenlanders cheered.

"Thrust!" and the spearman behind the Ironborn rammed his steel into a happy man's throat, turning his cheers into gurgles.

"Close gaps!" Steelhand ordered and they obeyed, slamming their mismatched shields together the moment their fellows' weapons were gone.

The men beyond their little wall roared as they threw themselves uselessly against them in anger, "Fall back! Fall back!" the captain cried, panic in his voice.

His orders were followed, even though there was no reason Leon could see for the worry.

"The squids are runnin!" one man insulted, as the men holding the wall shuffled back as one.

"Ma Gran has more backbone than you lot!" another jeered.

Leon grit his teeth. He was Ironborn, and these pathetic Greenlanders thought they could belittle his resolve without consequence. He longed to run them through with his sharp new blade, but the captain's orders were paramount.

"Hold! Hold the line!" Steelhand shouted, along with the sound of a boot hitting the railing.

"Come on lads! Time to end this!" the jeering man shouted. The suggestion was quickly followed by roars of approval.

The sheer force of the push nearly shoved Leon and his shield out of the wall, and forced the feet of others to slide back on the deck.

Weight fell upon the wall again, with just as much strength as the last, but the Ironmen had prepared themselves for it. So, they easily weathered the attempt. Then a man in the distance screamed in pain, an angry shout soon followed.

"PUSH! ATTACK!" the captain roared, and his crew roared with him as the wall became men.

They rushed the surprised Greenlanders, half of whom were facing away from them, and killed all they could before they recovered.

Leon, smiling as he watched the men of the Seastrider coming over the port side railing in force, managed only to skewer a greybeard and behand a boy before a man faced him. The Greenlander attacked the Ironborn with a scarred falchion, but Leon brought up his shield in time to block the chop.

"Don't just hide from me squid!" the weathered man growled, his salty beard filled with blood. Leon noticed that his sleeveless brigandine had a bull skull over his heart.

He thrust out his blade in reply, aiming for the throat, but his foremost foot slipped and he only scored a strike to the man's nearly bare shoulder. Leon dared not look down on what caused the slide, for the grit the man had when the steel bit deep was that of a seasoned warrior.

His foe roared and swiped at the Ironborn's feet before he could twist his blade, forcing Leon to rip it out and leap in place to evade the attack. He then opened his guard, bringing the roundshield to his side and raising his sword skyward. The sailor took the bait and savagely chopped at Leon's exposed neck.

The Ironborn went low, took the blade against his shield, and kicked at the man's knee. The strength behind the blow, combined with what Leon now knew to be blood soaking the deck, sent the leg sliding over the wood and the sailor crashing down.

Just like the knight, the sailor grabbed at him on the way down. Sadly, unlike before, this one succeeded. With Leon's mail in his fist, the Greenlander forced the Ironborn to join him on the bloody deck of the cog.

The sword was too long for these close quarters and the shield too unwieldy, so Leon let them clatter to the deck as he gripped his foe with his left hand while his right went for the dagger he kept in his boot.

Leon managed to rip it from its place before the Greenlander slammed his fist into his gut, nearly forcing the wind from his chest and throwing him off. But the Ironborn kept a firm hold on the edge of the man's brigandine and his knee still pined the falchion to the deck.

To keep the man from trying anything, Leon took two fingers from his left hand and rammed them into the Greenlander's stab wound.

The man screamed in pain, and was distracted enough for Leon to easily push his thin dagger up between the overlapping plates. The steel easily slipped through and bit deep into his foe's flesh, chocking his roars as blood filled his lung.

But still, the Greenlander's grip held firm, so Leon wrenched his dagger and ripped it out. The man coughed blood onto the Ironborn's face, "Fuckin' squids, stupid and savage..." he choked out, "Far cry from Quellon..." he coughed once more and the light dimmed in his eyes.

Even as he died the Greenlander's grip remained strong, so Leon was forced to cut halfway through the man's wrist. Once the fingers fell limp, the Ironborn pushed the corpse away, put his dagger back into its place and retrieved his weapons.

He stood quickly, ready for another foe, but saw that none were left for him. Many of his fellow Ironmen were much like him, either just having finished a man or about to.

"Enough standin' round! Lads from the center to portside get to tossin' the dead and mortally wounded. The rest of ye get belowdecks!" Steelhand ordered, and all the men were quick to comply.

Leon himself was part of the first group, so he could easily gather his earnings. He took the falchion and brigandine from his last foe, and from the greybeard he took a quality dagger. The knight was a more disappointing harvest, for most of the armour was a size too large for Leon. However, the full plate greaves and vambraces fit well enough. He also carried a fair amount of silver.

The first he killed, the boy, was the true prize. Leon suspected that he was some lordling on his grand adventure, for the gold coins he found in his boots were many and his mail was made from flat, riveted rings.

The Ironborn stripped right there on the blood-soaked deck. He took off his rusted ringmail and worn-out leather bracers. Then pulled the lordling's red gambeson over his canvas tunic, followed by the mail shirt and finally the sleeveless brigandine. He then strapped on the greaves and vambraces. Then hid the coin.

A good haul, but it's still not enough.

He needed far more coin to pay his way to a longship, and there was little chance of him earning it properly.

"Oi, Leon! Quit yer dreamin' and get to throwing!" Gernar shouted as he tossed an Ironborn corpse overboard.

Leon sighed, this was the part he liked the least.

_cut_

"Well done boys!" Captain Steelhand, an arm around the waist of his new salt-wife, proclaimed to them once the longship was filled to the brim with Greenlander goods.

Leon went straight back to his place at the oar, but a hand fell upon his shoulder before he could fully sit down. "Ye did well, boy. The captain wants you with the rest of us." the captain's first mate, Rogar One-eye, said as he pulled a well-beaten thrall by the hair. "Up ye get." he said and, upon seeing Leon's hesitation, pulled him away from the bench.

Rogar roughly shoved the thrall to the oar and threw the now free arm around the young Ironborn's shoulders. The first mate then brought him to the stern to join the captain, officers and accomplished fighters that gathered around Steelhand. They all stood around in silence, the captain only giving them an acknowledging nod as Rogar and Leon arrived.

The longship sailed away with a fair bit of speed, even though the Seastrider lagged behind due to her heavier losses. The cog sitting in the blood red, corpse filled, water slowly shrank into the distance.

Suddenly, that very same water turned strange. Waves rose high around the Greenlander ship, but only once in a while and in odd places. Their ship was pushed along by the ripples from these unnatural whitecaps, but its sister seemed to drift even further away from them and closer to the source.

Whatever comfortable, satisfied silence then men stood in disappeared, replaced by a heavy sense of dread. For what caused these waves could only be one of three things, and each of them was more terrible than the last

All the fighting men could only watch as the clueless oarsmen pulled the longship away from the scene, the only sign of the warriors' witnessing of this event being the captain's white-knuckled grip on the rail.

A deep boom, like that of a giant's drum, sounded across the sea. Then, as the sound faded away, the oars of the Seastrider went to double beat and frothed the water around her. But as they started to gain speed, the ship seemed to be yanked backwards.

"Grapnels! Catch the Seastrider and we can tow her out of there!" one man said, a desperate look in his eyes.

The captain said nothing, only shaking his head at the man.

"Whatever's got them will just take us along with her." another, shorter Ironborn said.

Rogar turned his head to the oars master, "Have 'em stop, Sam. The sail will pull us along fine." he quietly ordered.

Without the rhythmic beat of the drum or the slap of the oars to drown them out, the churning of the water and the low booms Leon had been trying to ignore seemed to fill the air.

They stood there, watching, listening, as the oars of the Seastrider beat even faster. All for naught, for even with the growing distance between him and the longship, Leon could see the wake that trailed from her front.

It was quickly pulled away, until the Seastrider seemed to be right next to the cog they had just reaved. Then there was nothing, the waves calmed and the booms ceased. All was perfectly calm, the sea still as a pond.

Leon felt himself shiver at the sight.

Then, in a great burst of seawater, a giant white tentacle rose from still waters and wrapped around the empty Greenlander ship. "Kraken..." A scarred greybeard gasped, his voice filled with fear.

Around the cog and panicking longship, the water churned chaotically. More so than it had only moments before.

A sencond, larger limb smashed into the center of the Seastrider. Snapping the mast like a twig and caving in the deck.

Three more wriggled their way along the side of the cog, wrapping next to their larger accomplice.

Leon could see the muscles in the tentacles flex, their combined might crushing the large hull and splitting the ship into two ruined halves.

Crates and chests, both empty and full, spilled into the sea. The contents of the barely touched kitchen changing the colouring of a small part of the water.

Once the devastated cog was halfway sunk, the tentacles batted away the remains and fell upon the Seastrider.

The longship didn't even last one minute, and Leon was thankful he could only barely see the men scrambling on top of it. He was even more so when he failed to see if any swam away or not.

That next week, where the longship glided over the small waves in near perfect silence was the most tense he'd ever experienced. And the night they reached Lordsport was the most festive he ever saw, even more so than the crowning of their king.

As his fellows laughed, cheered, whored, and told the tale, all Leon could do was pray that didn't happen on his next reave.

POV Lann, 4th day, 9th moon

The cub slinked through the tunnel, eyes lazily scanning it all before him. He always enjoyed exploring the tunnels of the great man-den, there was so much to see in many of them and many shiny things to be found. He rarely had the chance to roam at his leisure, for Lann could only do so when he was certain of his mistress' safety.

And that was rarely certain enough for his liking.

But, for now, she was and so he would roam. His wandering brought him to many different places that night, few had the glow of man-light coming under the doors. Lann stopped at every one of them, listening in. The silly men thought they couldn't be understood, but heard just fine. His mistress had taught him how, so he listened for anything that might do her ill. Anything to protect her.

The first glow came from under a sturdy, old door and the voices he heard were that of females. Both not much older than his mistress.

"Ave you heard? The gold shroud's been seen again." one said, low and frightened.

"That's just a story, Penny!" The other scolded, "Lord Tywin knows all that 'appens here in the Rock, he wouldn't let somethin' like that go." she said, with a trembly voice.

"Merei told me what she saw, Cerys. Nothin' but blood and bones was left of Lady Lorch!" the first female hissed.

"Everyone knows that old cow like nightshade in her drink, she sees krakens at port and snarks in the shadows."

"Well..."

It was then that the conversation devolved into nonsense he didn't care to listen to, so he continued on. Lann knew they spoke of him, no matter what silly names they called him by. Humans were strange creatures, his mistress included.

He passed some more doors, some contained whispers and mumbles, other whimpered, while one spoke with another about a disappearance. Another glow was spotted by the lion as he rounded a corner, this one leaked out from behind a fancier door than the one before. Well, that was what his mistress would say.

"They're frightened, Tywin. Half blame a specter while the others believe you banished the girl." an older male's voice, submissive in a way, informed.

"It makes no matter what they think, Kevan. What does matter is the Tully's, and perhaps the Stark's, insult against our house." an older, deeper, and somewhat richer voice said. "They must be shown the consequences to going against House Lannister. They have taken Tyrion, and regardless of his personal failings he is a Lannister. The Tully's must be punished." the voice, which Lann found he quite enjoyed, maintained its tone throughout.

"Send for Clegane, he's been getting... restless as of late." the voice continued, "Ser Amory will accompany him."

There was a pause, one filled with something the cub couldn't name.

"The preparation of the men." the older voice said.

"As you have ordered, we have two armies gathering at Deep Den and the Golden Tooth. There are also additional levies being trained down in Lannisport." the slightly younger one reported.

"Good..."

Soon the words turned to numbers and prey-food, even the authoritative male's voice could not make up for the boredom it forced upon Lann. So, he left.

His wandering continued without further interruption, until a strange scent found its way to his nose.

Intrigued, the young lion followed it. It led him much deeper into the Rock than he'd been before. So much so that the caves he travelled were no longer flat nor contained man-things. The air grew colder and wetter, but the scent grew equally stronger.

Soon, the source was found, and Lann felt he was right to follow it.

POV Ned, 25th day, 9th moon

"Tell him that when you see him, milord, as it... as it please you. Tell him how beautiful she is." the girl, who was so very young, begged him with large eyes.

"I will." he said, he promised, like he always did. Ned could never refuse a begging mother, the many he'd made promises to floating in his mind's eye. Always reminding him.

A nod given to her, and he left. Ned did his best to keep the memories out of mind, keep himself in the present, but he was an old man. Most of what old men did was think and reminisce, Robert proved that between bedding whores and trying to get drunk.

He'd made many promises to many women, all recent mothers, all broken in spirit if not in deed and word. The eyes of three colours reminding him of that fact constantly. But they were all kept so far, they were all safe. Yet still he felt the weight on his back, threatening to crush him should he slip.

His foot falling from one step to the other brought Ned back to where he truly was, not a tower, a keep or a dock. No sept, Tree or deathbed. Only a stairway.

The man whose words are iron took a deep breath, in and out, the walked down the steps.

Reaching the ground floor, the first man he spied was Baelish. A more immoral and annoying man than him he'd not yet spoken too, nor perhaps seen, than that one. The master of coin was speaking with a woman whose skin was as black as ink, she was the owner of the whorehouse if Baelish's prattling had any truth to it.

Next was Heward, playing forfeits with a buxom wench and having lost his belt, right boot, cloak and mail shirt. The girl only had to unbutton her shift to the waist. Jory was by a window streaked by heavy rain watching the game and admiring the view. Alyn and Harwin were chatting about horses and the joust, while doing the same as Jory. The pair had been sparring with Jon as Ned left the Tower of the Hand and had been quick to accompany him into the city.

Jon himself sat on a stool by the bar, his back to a featureless corner, inspecting the edge of his great axe. The weapon puzzled Ned, he'd never heard of nor seen his son ever sharpening the weapon and the metal was quite dark, but couldn't be Valyrian without the telltale ripples. He'd been meaning to ask, but never found the time to.

Ned reached the foot of the stair, adjusting his gloves as he spoke. "It's time we took our leave. My business is done here." he said, gaining the attention of all but his son. Who, knowing his skill, already knew he was coming down.

Heward threw himself to his feet, gathering his things and ignoring the girl's giggles as he did. "As you wish my lord, I'll help Wyl bring round the horses." he said, pushing the door open with his back as the young man slid on his mail.

The stool groaned as Jon stood from it and replaced his axe to its place on his back. His son took his usual place just behind Ned's shoulder as the lord left the stairway. Jory, Alyn and Harwin joined him, the head of his guardsmen joining Jon behind him while the two others took places in front.

Unlike the men of Stark, Littlefinger took his time. He kissed the Summer Islander's hand, whispered a funny something in her ear, and strutted over. "Your business, or Robert's?" he questioned lightly, "They say the Hand dreams the king's dreams, speaks with the king's voice and rules with the king's sword. Does that also mean that you fuck with the ki-"

Ned interrupted before Jon, the protective boy he was, could threaten gutting the man. "Lord Baelish, you presume too much. I am grateful for your help. It might have taken us years to find this brothel without you. That does not mean I intend to endure your mockery." he said firmly, ignoring the still-mocking gaze. "And I am no longer the King's Hand." he continued.

"The direwolf must be a prickly beast." Littlefinger said, mouth twisting into a sharp smirk.

"Aye, it is." Jon rumbled, frowning at the smaller man.

Ned drew up his hood as Alyn opened the door, warding away the warm rain that fell from the lightless sky. As he left the brothel, Ghost, half again the size of his sisters, rose from the clean slab he found and shook himself out. Ned also noticed Gwyn flying high circles around the building. Heward brought out his stallion as they approached the stable, Wyl doing the same with the other horses.

"Will we be going back to the castle now, my lord?" Jory asked. Ned nodded and swung into the saddle, Littlefinger doing the same to his left. While Jory and the others gave some distance on their horses, Jon and his black mare kept close to his right.

They only rode a moment's time before Baelish opened his mouth, "Chataya runs a choice establishment... I've half a mind to buy it. Brothels are a much sounder investment than ships, I've found. Whores seldom sink, and when they are boarded by pirates, why, the pirates pay good coin like everyone else." the man chuckled at his own wit.

He led him prattle on, the noise becoming like that of seagulls at a dock. Only background noise to what's important. The rain fell like tears, and felt just as warm as they breached his hood and flowed down Ned's face. Hate was a funny, if morbid, thing. Especially when aimed at oneself. Ned found.

He thought of his son, ridding little more than an arm's length away on the courser he won, then of Barra, Robert's latest. Of how many the Gods only know. "Lord Baelish, what do you know of Robert's bastards? Their number." he said, specifying so that the man doesn't simply deflect.

"Does it matter?" he shrugged, "If you bed enough women, their bound to give you presents. The king's never been shy on that count. I know he's acknowledged that boy at Strom's End, the one he fathered the night Lord Stannis wed. He could hardly do otherwise." the master of coin shook his head, "The mother was a Florent, niece to the Lady Selyse, and one of her bedmaids. Renly says that Robert carried the girl upstairs during the feast, and broke in the wedding bed while Stannis and his bride were still dancing." he said, seemingly pleased with himself.

"Lord Stannis seemed to think that was a blot on the honour of his wife's house." he started again, glancing at Jon, "So, when the boy was born he shipped him off to Renly." this time Littlefinger shut his mouth for more than half-a-beat.

"I've also heard whispers that Robert got a pair of twins on a serving wench at Casterly Rock three years ago, when he went west for Lord Tywin's tourney." he said, giving Ned the side-eye, "Cersei had the babes killed, and sold off the mother to a passing slaver. Too much an affront to Lannister pride, that close to home."

Ned grimaced at the thought, even if tales like those were told of nearly every noble in the realm... he could believe that the Queen had truly done it easily enough. But would the King stand by and let it happen? Robert, the young man he'd known before the war wouldn't have, not for a moment, but the man he knew wasn't nearly as practised at averting his eyes at things he did not wish to see as this Robert.

"Why would Jon Arryn take a sudden interest in the King's baseborn children? It wasn't like that with Robert's first, Lord Arryn wouldn't even acknowledge her existence." Ned asked, elaborating for Jon's benefit.

Lord Baelish shrugged, his sodden cloak hardly moving, "He was the King's Hand. Doubtless Robert asked him to see that they were provided for." he said easily.

Ned was soaked to the bone, it grated at him, "It had to be more than that, or why kill him?"

As Littlefinger laughed, Jon stopped his horse and everyone but the Vale Lord stopped right after.

"What is it, Jon?" Jory asked quietly, after ridding up to the young man.

His son, tense as a pulled crossbow, answered just as quietly. "Ambush, ten men at forty feet, another ten at fifty. Most are spearmen on foot, one is a knight riding a stallion" he informed them, using the short and dark tone he always did before a fight or hunt, right before an eye went white and Gwyn flew off over them.

"Lannister men-at-arms, the knight is Ser Jaime or someone dressed as him." Jon said after a moment, his eye rolling back into place.

"You're orders, my lord?" Jory asked, just as tense as Jon.

Ned thought for a moment, unsure of what the Lannisters wanted out of ambushing him. A warning? A threat? Or simply killing him in the street...

"Show yourself, Lannister!" Ned ordered, choosing diplomacy first. All his men were on horseback, while only Ser Jaime rode amongst his men. Running would be simple.

It took some time, all of them waiting in the rain, but eventually a golden armoured knight rode out of an alley some distance away. Then started towards them, "It seems they call you wolves for a reason. Is that due to your monst-"

"Your men as well." Ned interrupted coldly.

The Lannister knight, his helm tied to his saddle, sneered. Before spinning two of his fingers in the air.

Men in crimson and gold, all bearing well-made spears, streamed from the alleys behind Ser Jaime and formed two blocks at his back. Jory and the other guards quickly pulled their swords from their scabbards, while Jon eased his axe from its steel ring.

"What is the meaning of this? This is the Hand of the King." Littlefinger said carefully.

"He was the Hand of the King. Now, if truth be told, I'm not sure what he is." the Lannister knight said, still ridding forward as Ice started feeling heavy on Ned's back. It wasn't his preferred blade in combat, but it was better than his longsword when on horseback.

"Lannister this is madness. Let us pass. We are expected back at the castle. What do you think you're doing?" the master of coin said pleadingly.

"He knows what he's doing."

"Quite true." Ser Jaime said with a smile, "I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man."

"I remember him well." Do you remember my son? Young boy, auburn-haired, not even seven and poisoned at his own brother's wedding. Ned wanted to say, but that would be foolish. He couldn't get away with that like a younger, bolder man could.

"It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?" the boy asked, his cocky smirk turning angry.

"Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for crimes against my family." Ned said, still disgruntled that Catelyn had taken such liberties when they didn't even have solid evidence. From what he'd seen and heard, Tyrion was the more intelligent of Tywin's children. So, he doubted his involvement the moment Baelish had pointed the finger. He knew now that he should have made that known.

"My lords..." Littlefinger groaned in dismay.

Ser Jaime ripped his sword from its sheath, and Jon brought his horse slightly in front of Ned's. While Jory and the others slowly rode up to saddle close to their lord. The knight ignored him, "Face me with that pretty steel, Stark. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand." he said, sending Littlefinger a cool gaze full of contempt, "Lord Baelish, I'd leave here in some haste if I did not care to get bloodstains on my costly clothing."

"I'll bring the City Watch." the man said as he escaped.

Ned glanced around, open windows with faces peering out, but none of them would, understandably, lift a finger. There were seven counting himself, eight counting Ghost, against Ser Jaime's twenty, he'd won skirmishes with worse odds in the wars, but the Lannister men were well equipped and the knight himself talented enough for it to be heard of in the North. Although, Eddard believed his son could at least keep him occupied on horseback and possibly win on foot. Then his thoughts went back to the numbers. Then again, all his men were mounted, where Ser Jaime's were on foot...

Regardless, there was a better option. "Kill me, and Catelyn will most certainly slay Tyrion."

"Would she?" the Kingslayer asked, keeping out of Jon's reach. "The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think not." the knight sighed, pushing back his damp golden locks. "But I am not willing to chance my brother's life on a woman's honor." he said, sliding his gilded sword back into its sheath with easy grace. "So I suppose I'll let you run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he'll care."

Ser Jaime then wheeled his horse around and rode between the blocks of his men, once he was past them they joined together. The knight looked back at the clear captain, "Tregar, see to it that no harm comes to Lord Stark" he ordered.

"As you say, m'lord."

"Still... we wouldn't want him to leave entirely unchastened, so kill his men... his bastard too while you're at it." he said, his grin clear even through the rain and darkness.

All the spearmen rushed forward as Ser Jaime cantered away, and Ned saw that he and his men were too close to wheel they're horses around before the men reached them. So, he pulled Ice from his back and signaled for a charge.

"Get back here Lannister!" Jon roared, pulling a throwing knife from the strap on his chest and letting it fly.

The silver cut through the air punched past Ser Jaime's plate, sinking deep into the meat of his lower leg. Sadly, the strike did nothing to slow the knight down, only pushing him to ride harder. But it did surprise the Lannister men-at-arms, allowing for the perfect situation to ride through the lot of them.

"Charge!" He commanded, just as he had half-a-hundred times before.

They all drove their horses hard and together formed as tight a wedge they could before crashing into the footmen. Jon, having taken the lead with his charger, swung his axe up and through the first man in their way and cleaved his head nearly in twain. He quickly followed it by doing the same to the greybeard just left of his horse, this time sending half his foe's head flying.

Jon, his father right behind, rushed into the opening and Ned found himself going through those decade old motions like no time had passed. Ice, light yet heavy all at once, easily split one man in two from his shoulder to his waist. it nearly did the same to the boy behind him, but thankfully ended him just as quickly.

It was halfway through that they started to lose momentum, "Shit!" Heward cursed from somewhere behind as his mare screamed its death. Ned couldn't look back, for the captain, Tregar, was thrusting his spear at Jon's flank from a blind spot.

Ned was quick to use Ice's reach to lop off the spearhead, but before he could finish it a white blur ripped the man to the ground. Ghost, his white fur auburn with blood and mud, viciously tore into the man. Then disappeared between the legs of panicking foot soldiers, only the occasional scream let Ned know the wolf still lived or not.

With the tip of his axe spearing a helm, Jon rode free into the cobbled road and Ned only had to sever a young man's arm at the elbow to join him.

As the sound of pursuit faded, Ned only heard the huffing of six horses around him, and resolved to save the mourning for once they were back at the castle.

After fifteen minutes of hard riding, he had them relax and slow to a trot. "What are we to do, Lord Stark?" Jory asked through gritted teeth. Ned glanced over to his guard captain, and saw that his swordhand was missing a finger, the one next to it was cut halfway through.

"Jory, you and Harwin will ride hard to the castle." Ned started, plans forming in his mind. "You will have your hand seen to by a maester, while you, Harwin, will round up and bring here ten of our guard. And bring any Baratheon men-at-arms you come across." he finished, putting Ice back into its place and searching for the strap's buckle.

No one moved but him, "Go!" Lord Stark commanded, and the pair did so quickly.

"Jon." Eddard called, and his boy approached. "Take Ice." he said, finally pulling the specially crafted half-scabbard from his shoulders and sliding the strap out of his cloak. "And go to Chataya's, wait there for the girls." he commanded, pushing their ancestral blade into Jon's reluctant arms.

"F-father, I can't..." his boy said, the worry clear in his eyes.

"You will, Jon." Ned stopped him, feeling guilty to lay this on his boy's shoulders. "You must bring Ice and your sisters to Winterfell no matter what happens, for this place isn't safe for any of you. It may take some time, but they will find you at Chataya's and together you will leave Kings Landing for the North. Do you understand?" he said, his eyes looking deep into his son's.

Jon's grip on Ice's scabbard turned white-knuckled and his impassive face filled with emotion. Filled with the very same mix of worry, sadness, and determination as Ash's did back then. You would be so proud of him, and so very disappointed in me...

The gorgeous black mare wheeled around and carried his son away, and Ned watched him go. Ghost was the only one to look back as they went, the wolf's pointed ears low and his gait slow.

Eddard Stark watched until he could see them no longer, and only looked away from the place he last saw him when he heard hoofbeats approach.

The men were silent the whole ride to the keep.