Alright everyone, back again! I just want to say that I really appreciate all the support that I've gotten for this story so far. I'm truly thrilled that I've gained so many fans for what I'm writing that, yeah, I just don't know what to say. I'm just happy that you're all enjoying this. Not much to say outside of that.

Shout out to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. And another huge thank you to everyone who has favorited, alerted or reviewed this story so far. Your support is what keeps me going If you have any direct questions you want to ask me, please PM me as I am not the greatest in responding directly to reviews, but please still review lol. I like hearing from all of you!

Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!


Chapter 23

Riding with his back straight and his head held high, Jon Stark led what was perhaps the longest procession of riders and carriages he had ever seen through Winter Town and towards the East Gate of Winterfell. Riding next to him was an assortment of highborn's that Jon had never, even in his wildest dreams, thought he would ride beside let alone lead. Princess Arianne of House Martell rode to his immediate right, the beauty of the desert riding so close that they were almost touching. A fact that had placed Jon on edge for almost the entirety of their journey together, though not in a bad way. Next to her was her uncle, the Red Viper of Dorne Prince Oberyn Martell while his eldest daughter, Obara Sand, rode just behind him. The prince's other daughters and paramour were with them as well, though instead of riding for the last leg they had all decided to ride in one of the few carriages House Manderly had lent them after their arrival to White Harbor.

Riding on Jon's left, opposite of the Martells, was Ser Garlan Tyrell, along with his squire Dickon Tarly. If Jon were to be asked to define a southern 'knight' he would tell the one who asked to simply look towards Ser Garlan, or Garlan the Gallant as he heard many of those amongst House Tyrell's retinue refer to the man. He was the exact type of knight that was always the hero in Sansa's stories that she liked to listen too. And his squire…well Jon honestly couldn't believe that the young man was Sam's brother at first. The two were just so…different from one another. Honestly, Jon didn't even realize that two brothers could be so different. But while Ser Garlan and Dickon rode at the front with Jon and the Martells, the rest of House Tyrell rode back in a large decorative carriage that easily looked like it could hold a dozen people comfortably.

"I've heard many a story about the majesty of Winterfell," Princess Arianne said from beside him, her eyes traveling up the tall dual walls that protected Winterfell from the elements and any potential enemies as their horses began making their way up the wooden bridge that connected the outer wall to the inner wall. "But now actually laying eyes on it, the stories do not do your home any justice Jon. Your ancestor was quite the man of vision and deed to create such a structure like this. And here I was thinking the Sunspear was impressive. Winterfell is indeed something else entirely."

Jon felt no small amount of pride at hearing Arianne's words. Sunspear was indeed a wonder to behold. And he was sure that Arianne had no doubt spent time in Essos as well, given that her mother was from the Free City of Norvos. So, to have her compliment his home so was no small thing.

"Indeed it is," Ser Garlan added, as the knight edged his horse closer to Jon. "You Northerners never do anything halfway, that is for sure. I can see now why it is said that Winterfell has never fallen to an invading force. Attacking this place would be a nightmare, even without the weather to consider. Not that I'm considering it, of course. Just an observation."

Glancing towards Garlan, Jon could do little more than shake his head. It was more than obvious, even to him, that the Tyrells were desperate to gain his, or rather House Stark's, approval. Ever since he joined them on the King's Road, all the family members had been beyond polite and courteous with him. Well, all except Lady Olenna Tyrell of course. But after their first quick meeting, Jon quickly learned not to take offense at what the old woman said. Hells, if anything, her demeanor and no-nonsense approach would probably be a better approach to gaining the approval of the North rather than all the flowery words and courtesy of the south.

Passing through the various buildings that made up the interior of Winterfell, Jon felt his heart lift as the main yard before the great hall came into view. His entire family and their wolves had all assembled before the steps of the hall to welcome him and their guests. And standing right next to his family was Master Nox and Lady Nyra while just next to them stood the few Lannister guests that were still at Winterfell. Urging his horse to a trot, Jon led the procession into the yard before pulling his horse to a stop halfway across the yard. Climbing down from his saddle, Jon immediately made his way over to Arianne and offered her his hand while the various carriages and riders began spreading out through the large yard. Arianne graced him with a smile and took the offered hand before sliding perfectly from her saddle and landing with barely a sound. Though even after dismounting from her horse, Arianne refused to let go of his arm, leaving him with no choice but to walk hand in hand with the Princess of Dorne towards his family as Prince Oberyn retrieved his paramour and his daughters from the carriage they'd been riding in.

He could see his father's eyes bounce off where their hands were joined together, but other than that his father kept his face completely passive. His brother Robb however…he was sporting a grin that promised no small amount of teasing to be heading Jon's way soon. Sansa was smiling brightly while both Arya and Bran rolled their eyes.

"Father," Jon greeted his father as they neared. "I introduce to you Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne, along with her uncle Prince Oberyn Martell and his daughters and paramour Lady Ellaria Sand."

His father met the eye of each Martell before bowing his head in greeting. "Princess Arianne. Prince Oberyn. Ladies. Welcome to Winterfell, the hospitality of the North, and that of House Stark, is yours for as long as you wish to stay within our walls."

Finally letting go of his arm, Arianne stepped forward and gave his father a slight curtsey. "We thank you for your hospitality Lord Stark. And we shall do our upmost to not be a burden upon you and yours during our stay in the North. And for the sake of tradition more than anything else, we would ask for bread and salt to honor the laws of gods and men."

His father nodded and ushered a few servants forward who were carrying trays loaded with bread and small bowls of salt. One by one, each member of House Martell came forward and partook of the bread and salt before moving off to the side so that the next group could be introduced.

Jon had to admit, the Tyrell's could make their presence known when they wanted to. Lord Willias was dressed in a fine heavy doublet while Ser Garlan's armor was so finely polished it was shining despite the sun being blocked out by the clouds. And while Jon would always say that Arianne was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever had the pleasure of meeting, Lady Margaery was indeed a very beautiful lady as well.

"Father, I present to you the members of House Tyrell," Jon began to introduce the newcomers, only to be cut off by the matriarch of House Tyrell.

"We can speak for ourselves, lad," Lady Olenna scoffed, stepping forward until she and his father were nearly arm's length away from one another. "I must say, Lord Stark, you are much more impressive in person than my oaf of a son has said."

"Grandmother!" Lady Margaery gasped, stepping forward and giving an apologetic look towards his father. "We are guests. We should no—!"

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport, girl," Lady Olenna huffed. "This is my one chance to ignore all that pomp and circumstance in the south and just speak plainly. One of the many things I admire about your Northern lot, you speak your mind and don't bother getting weighed down with all that courtly horse shit."

"Lady Olenna," his father said, though Jon honestly couldn't tell if his father was amused or annoyed by the old woman. Probably both. "Your reputation proceeds you. And I see that all that they say about you is true too."

"Not all," Olenna sighed, shaking her head. "As much as I would like to, these old bones wouldn't be able to handle taking several young men to my bed each and every night. Now, let's get this over with. This is my grandson and future Lord of Highgarden, Willias. My second grandson, Ser Garlan, and my only granddaughter, Margaery. And I see that despite recent events, may the gods curse those traitors and the Maesters to the worst of the hells, you have quite the impressive lot as well."

Frowning, Jon came to the realization of just what the old woman's game was now that he had the chance to sit back and watch. Her blunt mannerisms were merely a means to throw her opponents off guard and give her an advantage. It was certainly a different approach than what he'd seen during his admittedly brief time within the court down in King's Landing.

"Lord Willias, Ser Garlan, Lady Margaery. Welcome to Winterfell," his father responded, taking his time in greeting each one. Which Jon realized was his father's counter to what Lady Olenna was trying to do. She was trying to put everyone off guard, so his father was taking his time and allowing everyone to catch up to try and erase whatever edge the matriarch of House Tyrell was gaining. "This is my son and heir, Robb. And you've already met my son Jon on the King's Road. These are my daughters, Sansa and Arya. And my – my youngest son, Bran."

The two families politely greeted one another, and Jon could see a slight frown forming on Lady Olenna's face as her ploy to put his father on the back foot obviously failed. Strangely enough though, even though she was frowning, Jon could sense a feeling of almost satisfaction and excitement coursing through the old woman as House Stark and House Tyrell finished greeting one another. 'Is she excited because father didn't fall for her game?'

"Well, now that all of that is out of the way there is someone else I've been looking forward to meeting," Lady Olenna said, turning towards Master Nox and Lady Nyra. "Lord Nox, Lady Nox. I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time. There is something to be said about a self-made woman who rose through the ranks and became the Stewardess of Winterfell by her own merits. And you, sorcerer," Olenna paused, her gaze going from his master's head to his boots and then back. "You are not what I expected. Last word I had of you swore that you were taller and broader than the Mountain-Who-Rides and that you were blessed with a face that could make even the Maiden herself swoon. But all I see is a man. A comely man, but a man nonetheless."

"The day is still young, Lady Olenna. There's still more than enough time for me to exceed that which you have heard." Master Nox replied without hesitation before moving his attention to Willias. "Tell me, young man. That limp of yours, how long have you had it?"

Lord Willias blinked, then shot a look towards Prince Oberyn. Jon had heard the story of how Lord Willias had been made lame from both Arianne and Prince Oberyn the first night after meeting up with them. It happened during a tourney, one of the first—and unfortunately the last—tournies for Willias. He'd drawn up against Oberyn and in a bout of ill luck ended up with a broken leg as the result. Many wanted to claim that Oberyn caused the injury intentionally, but the Prince of Dorne told him that was not the case. And that even despite injuring the lad, the two had become something of friends over the years.

"Some years, Lord Sorcerer," Willias answered Lord Nox. "I've grown accustomed to it."

His Master smiled, and Jon could immediately see where his Master was going to go with this. 'It will go a long way to garnering some favor with the Wardens of the South and rulers of the Reach. And as good as the North has become at growing our own food, it's still the summer years. Come winter, we will more than likely need the food from the Reach to feed everyone.'

"Well, it would be a shame if I am unable to live up to the image the famous Lady Tyrell has crafted of me, no?" his Master asked rhetorically. "I'll swing by after you lot have settle into your rooms and look at your leg. At worst, I'll be able to minimize the pain you feel. At best, you'll be able to burn that cane by nightfall."

Every member, even Lady Olenna, stared dumbly at his Master while more than a few of those that were watching began muttering to one another. "I – I would be eternally grateful to you, Lord Nox, if you would be able to do anything to help relieve me of this burden." Lord Willias stated with more than a touch of excitement in his voice.

Jon noted that there were more than a few disbelieving looks among the Tyrells and even amongst those who'd arrived with the Martells. 'They'll see,' Jon thought with a smirk. 'Master doesn't 'try'. He does. It's the first lesson he taught us when we began our training underneath him. And soon everyone else will learn just what that means.'

"Then Lord Nox will attend to you after you are settled," his father said with a note of finality. "Tonight, we shall have a feast to properly welcome all of you to the North. Until then, I invite you all to adjourn to your rooms and rest from your travels."


Walking calmly down the corridors of Winterfell with Sansa and Talisa flanking him on either side and Osha taking up the rear behind them, Nox ignored the Tyrell guards that'd taken up position near the beginning of the guest wing that the Tyrell family had claimed as their own for the duration of their stay. Wisely, the guards didn't make a move to try and stop any of them. Not that they could have even if they wanted to. But as much as he'd like to think that it was his reputation in this land that stilled the guards, he knew that their inaction came more from the fact that they were visitors to Winterfell. And that the Tyrells had informed them that they were expected and were not to be held up.

Reaching the sitting room that'd been set aside for the Tyrells' personal use, Nox gave the door two sharp knocks before pushing the door open and walking inside. He could sense through the Force that all four of the Tyrell family members were present, as well as the two rather large bodyguards that served the dowager of House Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell. Or the Queen of Thorns pending on who you spoke to. It was the elderly matriarch of the family that overcame her surprise at their sudden appearance first. "Well, I see power has gone straight to your head. But at least you have the decency to knock."

Nox didn't back down, nor did he stop walking into the room. "You knew that we were coming, and you are in Winterfell. Were you expecting someone else?" Nox asked as he focused in on the eldest of the Tyrell children. "Well, let's get on with this. Sansa, turn around for a moment. Willias, off with your pants and lay down on the table over there."

Immediately, all four of the Tyrell's plus Sansa were put on the back foot. The only ones who were not taken aback were the two hulking guards and Talisa. "W–What?" Willias stammered, his attention flickering towards Sansa, who blushed when she noticed the heir of Highgarden was looking at her. "W–Why?"

"Because it's a lot easier to examine something directly rather than having to guess through the obstruction of clothes," Nox answered as if he were lecturing a child. "Sansa will turn her back. And as for the rest of us, you don't have anything we all haven't already seen…so to speak on my part, I guess. Now. Drop your pants and get up on the table. We don't have all day."

He could sense the hesitancy coming from Willias, which didn't dissipate even after both Sansa and Margaery had turned their backs to him like good proper ladies. Letting out a breath, Willias got to work quickly undoing the laces of his pants and dropping them before laying down on the table in the room with his brother Garlan's help. Once he was down, Garlan then grabbed a sheet and used it to cover almost all of his brother's lower body save for the leg that was injured.

"You can turn around now, Sansa," Nox said, taking a step forward and motioning for the two young girls to join him. "Talisa, you go first. Then Sansa. Don't say anything until both of you have a chance to examine him however you deem fit."

Talisa, ever the professional healer, didn't hesitate as she stepped up and began to carefully examine the man's leg with her hands. Once she reached his thigh, she slowed her prodding and focused on a specific area near the hip. Her examination lasted for only a minute or so, but that was apparently all she needed as she wordlessly stepped back and motioned for Sansa to step up next to her and take her turn examining the young man. Sansa's complexion had gone from its normal pale to a deep red as she held her hand out a few inches from touching Willias's leg. Willias tried to give her a reassuring look, but Nox could only sigh as he noticed Sansa's trembling hand and her clearly distracted mind. Apparently, he needed to work with her on concentration.

"You won't be able to concentrate while your thoughts are so far away from what you are trying to do, Sansa," Nox chided the young girl. "Put all thoughts outside of what you are trying to do out of your mind. Focus on your task and your task alone. Or you will fail. And I'll have you sparring with Arya until you can't sit down right for a month."

Sansa flinched at the threat of having to spar with her sister. Taking a moment to compose herself, Nox could sense her nervousness die down slightly as she held out her hand once more. This time, he could sense the whispers of the Force leaking out of her hand and into Willias's leg. Which apparently was noticeable by Willias as well as the young man blinked, shivered, and stared down at where Sansa's hand hovered over his flesh. "What do you sense, Sansa?"

The young Stark frown as her hand vibrated for a moment before she pulled it away from Willias. "His leg is…It's healed but there is something not right with the way that it healed."

Nodding, Nox turned his attention to Talisa, who proceeded to add in her analysis as well. "That is what I felt as well. It seems that the bone in his leg was broken near his hip and wasn't set entirely properly and therefore healed over incorrectly. Which is causing your limp and your pain. In this case, the best course of action would be to rebreak the bone and set it properly. However, given the time that has passed and the location of the break…there is a chance that we could do far more damage than good by rebreaking the bone."

A slow, clearly sarcastic clapping came from the edges of the room. "Congratulations, sorcerer," the Queen of Thorns chided them. "You three have deduced what any even slightly learned individual in the arts of healing could tell us. Now, do you have anything more impressive to show or tell us? Or are you just wasting our time telling us that which we already know?"

"Grandmother!" Margaery gasped while Nox merely turned and fixed the elderly Tyrell in his Force sight.

To her credit, the old woman did little more than shiver slightly under the weight of his gaze. "I assure you, Lady Tyrell. I have many, many more 'tricks' up my sleeve. And you would be wise to not wish me to show you most of them. Now be quiet for once. And witness a mere glimpse of what the Force is capable of."

Turning his attention off the old woman, Nox made his way towards the table and stood beside Sansa staring down at Willias. "We're going to break your leg and reset it Willias," Nox explained to the heir of Highgarden, causing a jolt of fear to spread throughout the room. "As Talisa said, there is a risk to this. Bone marrow could escape and enter your blood stream and make it to your heart, causing a heart attack. Sansa and I, working in tandem, are going to minimalize this risk using the Force. I'm going to break your leg and reset it and then Sansa will immediately heal the damage done. Any questions before we start?" Willias made to interject, but Nox didn't let him and continued while holding his hand just above the man's forehead. "No? Good. Now, you're not going to want to be awake for this as it's going to hurt like hell. So, sleep."

It took more effort than Nox had anticipated, but within the span of a heartbeat Willias went from wide awake to having his eyes roll into the back of his head and collapsing lifelessly onto the surface of the table.

"What did you do?" the second son, Garlan Nox believed his name was, demanded. His essence screaming his need to reach for his sword to try and protect his brother.

"Nothing nefarious," Nox shrugged. "I merely used the Force to overload his mind and shut it down momentarily. This way we can work on him without him having to suffer through the pain that we're about to cause. And once we're done, I can revive him easily, or you can wait until he wakes on his own in a few hours. Now, step back and let us work."

He could sense that the young man wanted to say or perhaps do more, but a subtle gesture from Olenna behind him brought that to an end. Apparently, the old woman wanted to see just what they were capable of.

"Sansa," Nox said, snapping the girl to attention at his side. "Get ready and work with me. Don't heal him until after you feel that I've set the bone properly. Heal him too soon, and we're right back at the start and we'll have to break the bone again."

Beside him, Sansa swallowed nervously. "I'm ready, Lord Nox."

Giving her one last look, Nox turned his attention fully to Willias as he held his hand directly above where the bone had healed over incorrectly. Using a variation of a Force Crush, Nox clenched his fist and broke the femur near the hip joint. A loud snap sounded as the bone broke and, despite being unconscious, Willias's entire body flinch violently, causing Talisa and Garlan to both reach out and hold the unconscious man down. Ignoring the twitching body, Nox concentrated on using the Force to realign the bone. Not an easy task as it was akin to doing a puzzle in the dark.

"Sansa. Now." Nox ordered the moment he felt that the bone was correctly realigned.

Sansa didn't hesitate as she immediately began wrapping the Force around the bone Nox was holding in place as if she were bandaging a wound. The young girl was completely focused on the task at hand as small beads of sweat began forming on her brow and her hand began to shake. Pulling back on his own power, Nox felt whatever Sansa was doing settling in on the bone and immediately heal the break he'd created. Tilting his head, Nox watched what she was doing through the Force. Usually, it took one years upon years to learn how to properly use Force healing, and even then most could not accomplish the task. And yet, here was this young Stark girl from a backwater planet who was doing a Force technique at the age of twelve that most Force practitioners several times her age and experience couldn't hope to duplicate.

"There," Sansa breathed, rocking back on her heels, and almost falling over if not for the presence of her shadow Osha, who caught the young girl around the shoulders and helped her remain upright. "Thank you, Osha… That… That was…"

"Quite a bit different than the first time when you healed my wife," Nox finished for her as he used the Force once more to examine the leg she'd just healed and finding no faults at all. "You didn't have the adrenaline rush this time around. But you did remarkably well, Sansa."

Sansa beamed with pride as she allowed Osha to guide her over to one of the few chairs in the room. As Sansa moved away, her spot was immediately claimed by the young Margaery. "Is he…? Will he be alright?" The young flower of Highgarden asked, her voice a mixture of concern, excitement, and awe.

"Let's see for ourselves," Nox said, pressing his index finger to the center of Willias's forehead. "Wake up."

Upon his command, Willias's eyes fluttered opened. "Wh–What? What just…?"

"I placed you into a temporary deep sleep so that Sansa and I could fix your leg," Nox answered the question the young man wasn't able to properly form.

Blinking, Willias took a moment to seemingly process what he'd just said. His eyes widened in realization once he had, the young man sat up and began tentatively poking at his hip and leg. "There…There's no pain," Willias said with no small amount of shock and awe in his voice. "There's…There's no pain."

"Nor should there be," Nox answered, "Sansa, despite her age, is incredibly powerful in the art of healing. Even amongst my people she would be considered a prodigy and highly sought after. Now get down and put some weight on it."

With the aid of his brother and sister, Willias slowly lowered his feet to the floor and rose from the table. His face was set in an expression of fear as he was obviously bracing for the worst. But once he had both feet on the ground and was standing to his full height, the look of fear and apprehension disappeared, replaced with a look of shock. "By the gods," Willias breathed, stomping his formerly injured leg against the floor, and smiling as there was obviously no pain in the action. "There's… There's no pain. No clicking. No…nothing. Gods, it's been so long I've forgotten just what this feels like to walk without at least a dull ache in my bones."

Margaery and Garlan were both beaming at their brother as they watched him take a small walk around the room unaided. Though when he tried to do a little jump, he stumbled on the landing, making them race forward to catch him. "I'm alright," Willias said, waving them both off, his smile still etched on his face.

"I would advise that you avoid strenuous activity for some time yet, Lord Willias," Talisa stated as she stepped up to him, her eyes traveling up and down his person. "You haven't used the full strength of your leg in some years, therefore the muscles in your leg have gone soft. You'll have to start slow and build up the muscles in your leg once more before you try more strenuous activities."

Willias nodded along as Talisa proceeded to outline what was basically a physical training regime for the heir of Highgarden. As she did so, Nox took careful note of the one individual who, while happy with the way things had turned out, was not paying attention to either Willias or Talisa. The Queen of Thorns attention was focused solely on young Sansa, her face impassive, but her emotions anything but. And there was now no doubt in Nox's mind as to the full intentions of the Tyrells while they were in Winterfell. 'They mean to try and betroth Sansa to Willias. A very shrewd play,' he thought, his sight passing over Margaery for a moment. 'They strengthen their House and gain blood ties to House Stark, which will be enough to quell any dissent there might be in the Reach for fear of bringing the wolves down upon them. And with the betrothal of Sansa to another, they remove their own daughter's primary competition for the position of the next queen of Westeros. The Queen of Thorns certainly does appear to live up to her reputation as an astute player of the game. Unfortunately for her, she has never played against the likes of me. And she has yet to realize the trap that she is walking right into. The only question that remains is when the right time will be to pluck the roses' ambition and bring them back to ground.'


While his Master and sister were busy with the Tyrells, Jon was preoccupied as well leading Arianne and her cousins up through the Sorcerer's Tower and showing them everything he could think of to show them. He'd expected Prince Oberyn and his paramour to join them as well, but the moment everyone started to disperse from the courtyard the two had all but vanished. When he inquired about their disappearance to Arianne, the Princess of Dorne merely smiled at him and calmly informed him that the two were more than likely on their way back to Winter Town to visit the brothel to relieve the stress of traveling such a long distance.

The comment took Jon aback, though not because of the action itself but rather because of the pointed way Arianne had said it. Almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world for one's uncle and lover to frequently seek out the company of others. Within his family, the only one he knew to frequent the brothel was Theon, who constantly liked to brag about his conquests. The idea of his father, Robb, or even Uncle Benjen visiting the brothel with frequency… He would still love them all the same. But he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Not that he was given much time to think about it, as Arianne had quickly taken his arm and all but demanded that he personally show her the famed 'Sorcerer's Tower'. And, as it wouldn't be proper for a Lady let alone a Princess to go unaccompanied, her three cousins Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene joined them in their walk.

He started with the living quarters and workshops that were near the base of the tower. Neither of which seemed to interest the Princess all that much, though he did notice a gleam in the eyes of the one with blond hair, Tyene he believed her name was, when he showed them the workshop that his Master had taken to calling his 'laboratory'. As they ascended the tower, he could feel the slightest bits of excitement starting to come off Arianne as her grip on his arm became slightly tighter with each level they rose.

Coming to one of the highest rooms in the tower, Jon paused as he was unsure whether it would be alright for him to bring the Princess into this room as normally, outside of Master Nox's acolytes, one needed permission from either Jon's father or Master to enter the Sorcerer's private library. 'Master did say to show them everything…I guess that is permission enough.' Deciding to push forward, Jon opened the door and led Arianne into the library. "This is Master Nox's private library," he informed the group, drawing sharp looks from three of the four women, Obara he'd come to realize had little care for much outside of martial matters. "Most of what you'll find in here are the tomes that were collected from Valyria. But he has quite a few more from our brief stays in Braavos and Volantis."

"Incredible," Arianne breathed, all but dragging him into the library before dropping his arm and making her way between the shelves. Pausing, she pulled a book seemingly at random off the shelf and flipped it open. "Are they all in High Valyrian? Because mine is more than a little out of practice."

Nodding, Jon stepped up beside her while making sure he was keeping a respectful distance between the two for proprieties sake. "Not all, but most. Lady Talisa has been most helpful since her arrival in both translating some of the texts and teaching a few of us how to speak and read High Valyrian. Though there hasn't been much time for either of those lessons as of late."

Jon felt a quick spike of jealousy from Arianne that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. 'Jealousy? Why?'

"Perhaps I can be of assistance then while I am here," Arianne said, replacing the book and returning to her wandering between the shelves. "I do not claim to be an expert in the Valyrian tongue, but I do know enough to instruct you in the basics of the language." As if to prove her point, the princess of Dorne switched from the common tongue to High Valyrian without hesitation. "And perhaps I can show you just what else I can do with my tongue in a more private setting."

Jon suddenly found an intense want to learn High Valyrian. The way the language rolled off her tongue…it brought more than a few images and desires to mind that he had to quickly quell. "I would be honored to learn from you Pr – Arianne. I'm sure that there is much you can teach me."

The look she gave him made his britches more than slightly uncomfortable. "Oh, you have no idea just how much I can teach you, Jon Stark."

An urge awoke within him, like a sleeping bear coming out of its cave on the first day of spring. He wanted her. By the gods did he want her. He wanted to press her against the shelves here and now, tear her dress from her body, and – 'Stop, Jon!' He cursed himself, fighting against the urges raging a war within him as he fought for control. A battle that turned abruptly once more when Arianne turned and jutted her hip towards him as she walked away. 'By the gods…she's a Princess! But on the other hand, she is making all these – no. That's no excuse! She's still a Princess and deserves the utmost respect. Yet had things turned out differently…then I would be a Prince and such things wouldn't matter – no. Stop. Just…stop.'

"Jon? Are you coming? It isn't polite to keep a Princess wanting."

'Gods,' Jon cursed, the war for control still raging within him as he quickened his steps to catch up with Arianne. 'She's going to be the death of me. I swear it.'

Catching up with Arianne, he found the Princess of Dorne standing beside one of the few tables within the library and staring down at its surface. Or, more accurately, the two bracers that were laid out on the surface of the table.

"What are these?" Arianne asked, her dark curls swaying as she turned her head at his approach.

Looking down, Jon wanted to curse his forgetfulness. On the table, thankfully still were he'd left them before his father had sent him south to protect the Martells and Tyrells, was the talisman bracer they'd found in Valyria that allowed him to control the dragon's fire. And next to it was the duplicate that Jon had been trying for over a year to replicate with unfortunately little success. 'At least I remembered to keep my other little gift from Valyria hidden in my room. Gods only know how anyone who react to me having an actual dragons' egg.'

"It's the talisman that I found in the ruins of Valyria. The one that allowed me to control the dragon's fire. Or at least divert it away from us," Jon answered, drawing a surprised look from Arianne. "And this one, well, it's a duplicate I've been trying to make for years using the texts we found in Valyria. But I've had no luck whatsoever with the blasted thing. Even after almost a year, it's little more than a decorative bracer. And not even a well-made one at that."

Arianne favored him with a smile that lifted his ill mood brought on by the reminder of his failure. "I'm sure that you will figure it out, Jon. You're one of the smartest and most gifted men I've met. And I include my father and uncle in that company as well." Turning away, she looked down at the bracer again, the smile fading from her face as one of her fingers began to delicately trace the rune work on the original armlet. "Tell me… You said that you've been using Valyrian text to duplicate this, correct? Which means Valyrian magic."

"Aye," Jon nodded, staring intently at Arianne.

Her smile returned full force as her fingers left the armlet. "Then I might be able to start teaching you here and now, Jon Stark. For these runes are not Valyrian. They are of my people. They're Rhoynish."

"Rhoynish?" Jon questioned, looking back and forth between Arianne and the talisman.

"Yes," Arianne nodded, pointing towards one of the symbols on the armlet. "I am by no means an expert on the subject, but I've studied my ancestors, especially their magic given its recent resurgence. This rune here…I recognize it as being a rune for 'fire'. And I recognize a few of these other runes…however without a guide I am not entirely sure of their meaning. Though I do find it strange that there are Rhoynish runes on a Valyrian artifact. My ancestors did not have the best history with the Dragon Lords. So, it is odd that they would give the Valyrians a part of their magic."

"Actually, it's not as strange as you might think," Jon started, remembering back to the ruins of Valyria and what they learned about the Valyrian people. "The Valyrians didn't just eradicate their enemies. They absorbed them, taking what made their enemies strong and incorporating them into their own people. The Rhoynish were powerful. It isn't surprising that the Valyrians would take in their magic after their defeat. But now that I know that these runes are Rhoynish instead of Valyrian…"

Trailing off, Jon turned on his heel and marched away from Arianne and began searching through the shelves of books looking for anything on the Rhoynar people. 'Come on, there has to be something here,' he thought, quickly scanning over the books. Sam, Talisa, and the other students had been busy trying to categorize the books that they'd found, but it was still a work in progress. Which meant that finding anything about one subject in the library was more than a little difficult. Stumbling in his rush, Jon braced himself on the shelf and cursed his two left feet before blinking dumbly. Right in front of him near the floor was a book with similar symbols as the talisman. Grabbing the book off the shelf, he quickly flipped it open, once again cursing his lack of understanding of the Valyrian tongue as he made his way back.

Arianne was still where he'd left her, though during his brief search she'd managed to pull two chairs up to the table and was currently sitting in one of them. "Did you find something?" she asked, a slight note of excitement in her voice.

"I think so," Jon nodded, taking the empty seat across from her as his excitement mounted, making him forget the fact that he was with a Princess. "These look like the same symbols as on the talisman."

"Hand it over," Arianne all but demanded as he laid the book out on the table so that the two of them could look it over. Arianne immediately began flipping through the pages, her eyes scanning each page quickly before moving on to the next. "Most of this is in High Valyrian. But other parts…like this page here…this is Rhoynish. I might just be able to make some of this out…but this is very old."

Jon lost track of time quickly as he and Arianne sat next to one another with the book spread out between them. He had no idea if her cousins were still in the room or not, nor did he really care. He was so engrossed in his work and in the beautifully intelligent woman beside him that everything else faded into the obscurity. Working together, the two used everything they knew to work their way through the Rhoynish-Valyrian book, using scrap pieces of paper to write down their observations as they went. In seemingly no time at all, the entirety of the surface of the table was covered with various books that Jon had fetched and dozens of pieces of scrap parchment with crude drawings of runic designs.

"So, this is where you two have disappeared to." Jumping slight, Jon cursed himself for having become so engrossed in his work that he'd neglected to keep mindful of his surroundings, and because of that he'd allowed Prince Oberyn to get almost arm's length to the two of them. "I must say, you two caused more than a few tongues to wag at your unexpected disappearance. Though I am quite surprised to see that none of what was being said is actually happening."

"Prince Oberyn!" Jon greeted the man, trying to keep himself passive despite his anger at himself for having failed to have noticed him. "We…We were just working together. Nothing untoward hap–!"

"Relax, boy," Prince Oberyn said, smiling lightly at Jon as he held up a hand. "I know my niece, and I like to think that I've known you long enough to get a good read on you. And if anything were to happen, I know that it would be my niece who would be the guilty party and not you."

"Is there a reason that you are interrupting us, Uncle?" Arianne asked, seemingly completely at ease with the prince's insinuation, which brought more than a few inappropriate thoughts to Jon. "Or have you come merely to try and get a rise out of Jon and I? And before you comment on that with your usual response, don't."

The prince's smirk made Jon shiver as the potential double meaning of Arianne's words came to him. "Nothing of the sort, dear niece. I'm merely here to remind you that our wonderful Stark hosts are holding a welcoming feast for our arrival, as well as belatedly welcoming the Lannisters as well. And I thought it prudent that I find you both before the start of the feast. You two have already started more than a few rumors. Should you both miss the feast…Well, those rumors will become even more interesting by morning. Perhaps even to the point where we'll have to find a Septon or drag you both before the weirwood as is tradition here in the North?"

'Stay calm, Jon,' he thought, willing himself to remain impassive as possible just as his Master had taught him. 'Don't give into his taunting.'

Clicking her tongue, Arianne rose to her feet. "Was it not you uncle who told me that if you do not start at least five scandalous rumors wherever you visit, then you are not trying hard enough?"

Prince Oberyn smirked and nodded. "Yes, I did, niece. Though in that case, I was referring to myself, not you. I do have a reputation to keep after all."

"Of course you do, Uncle," Arianne nodded before turning to him. "I expect you to be my escort for the night, Jon. I have found myself missing your company since you left Sunspear and would not have you parted from me tonight."

"I–I would enjoy that very much, Arianne," Jon replied, only just managing to keep the stutter out of his voice as he agreed to her request.

"Good," Arianne nodded. "Then I best freshen up while I still have the time. And don't think you're going to be completing this little project without me, Jon Stark. You've piqued my interest with this Rhoynish armlet from Valyria. And I intend to be there once you've completed your work."

"Of course, Arianne. I think I have already made twice as much progress with you now than I have in the past six moons alone," he said in an attempt at flattery.

"Yes, you could," Arianne nodded. "Modesty is a good trait to have Jon. But so is confidence. Perhaps you should start showing more of the latter rather than the former." And with that, Arianne turned quickly away from him and marched out of the library with her uncle and cousins following closely behind her.

Now alone, Jon let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Gods…That woman is going to be the death of me."


Sitting in the great hall of Winterfell with his head leaning back against his chair, Robb Stark watched with a keen eye on the festivities that'd taken hold within the heart of Winterfell. The great hall had been transformed into a state that he doubted he would ever see again. Members of four of the Great Houses of Westeros were gathered under a single roof for the first time in he didn't know how long. To an outside observer, everything might seem completely normal. Bards were playing in the corner, their music bringing a lively air to the hall that prompted more than one man and woman to leave their seat and dance across the middle of the hall. And the members of each house were seemingly being very cordial with one another. But the truth was that this peace that'd descended upon Winterfell was balancing on a sword's edge and the wind was blowing.

It was in the eyes. The slight shifting and the tightening whenever a member one House would approach a member from a differing House. Almost as if they were expecting a dagger in the back here and now. And then there was also the fact that, after the initial entering of the hall, each House had pretty much separated themselves from the other, sectioning off each part of the great hall as if each side was preparing themselves for battle. He knew that gatherings such as this one was important for the future as whenever this many nobles gathered it was inevitable that one—if not more—alliances would be struck before the gathering was through. And as he watched his sister Sansa be led across the dance floor by a newly healed Willias Tyrell, Robb had a suspicion as to a potential alliance that might be struck.

'She isn't the only Stark who is enjoying themselves,' Robb's own voice sounded in his head. 'In fact, you seem to be the only one of your siblings who is not enjoying themselves tonight.'

Unfortunately, the betraying voice in his head spoke true. While he was stuck at the head table constantly keeping an eye on the other houses to make sure nothing nefarious took place, his siblings were mingling with their guests and seemingly having a great time of it. Jon had moved from his seat the moment it was appropriate to do so and had taken up the spot right next to Princess Arianne. Ever since the moment he sat down, Jon and Arianne had put their heads close to one another and began talking, though about what he didn't know as he couldn't hear them over the noise in the hall. But he was sure that their closeness to one another, and the fact that the two had seemingly disappeared right after arriving this morning, would set more than a few tongues wagging. His brother had told Robb quite a few times about the woman's beauty, both in mind and body. And now that Robb had met the woman who had so captivated his brother, all he could think was that his brother had been understating matters. The woman was stunning. Though in his eye she still paled in comparison to Talisa.

Sitting almost right next to Jon was their sister Arya, who'd followed Jon after he'd left his seat to join the Martells. Though unlike his brother who was completely enthralled with Arianne, Arya seemed to have her attention focused on the bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn, the so-called 'Sand Snakes'. Warrior women who, according to Jon at least, were just as good with their weapons of choice as any man he'd ever met. So, it was little wonder as to why his sister, who dreamed of casting aside what was expected of her and forging her own path, was drawn to them. Thankfully though, the daughters of Prince Oberyn seemed to take Arya's presence completely in stride. Hells, if anything, within a few minutes Arya seemed more at ease with the bastard girls than any of the other visitors they'd had in Winterfell over the years.

Bran, much like Sansa, had drifted towards the Tyrell's, or more specifically the middle son of the Tyrells, Ser Garlan Tyrell. A knight of the Reach and a man said to be one of the better swords in the south. And just like Jon and Arya, it was little wonder as to just why his brother had made his way towards the man, who was now at least humoring his young brother with some tale or other. Despite being trained by Lord Nox, his brother's dream of becoming the greatest knight Westeros had ever seen had not diminished in the slightest. If anything, they'd only intensified as his brother's training began.

"Such a heavy demeanor is not befitting the heir of Winterfell tonight, Robb. Not while your brothers and sisters are enjoying themselves so."

It was all Robb could do not to jump out of his seat at the sound of her voice. Instead, he managed to remain calm as he rose to greet her. 'Gods! Am I so distracted that I didn't even…notice…her…? By the gods, old and new.' Talisa was always beautiful to him, but tonight, there was just something about her tonight that truly took his breath from him. Her hair was done in a traditional northern style braid and slung over one of her shoulders and she was wearing a pale blue dress that covered most of her body while still hugging her curves. If not for the darkened color of her skin, he would say that she was a true northern woman.

"Lady Talisa," he greeted her, doing his best to calm his racing heart. This was their first feast such as this since Lord Nox's wedding feast…and the less said about that night the better.

"Robb," Talisa greeted him before turning her attention to his father, "Lord Stark, please forgive my tardiness. A woman unexpectedly went into labor in Winter Town and it was an unfortunately difficult delivery for both the mother and babe. And I didn't feel right leaving either until I knew they were both alright."

"There is nothing to forgive, Lady Talisa," his father replied in greeting. "You were doing your duty to the people of the North. None here will begrudge you for that. Please, join us. The Tyrells have graciously provided the food for tonight's meal. Though, I fear that even if we invited every man, woman, and child in Winterfell to dine with us, there will still be some left."

His father wasn't lying in that regard. Upon their arrival, the Tyrells had immediately set about trying to make a good impression on their hosts by revealing enough food to feed a small army through a campaign. Ideally it was supposed to last for the duration of their stay, but given the fact that his sister and Lord Nox healed Willias Tyrell's leg from it's longstanding injury, the Lady Olenna Tyrell pressed the need for a lavish celebration for his recovery.

"I can see that," Talisa nodded, taking note of the piles of food, the weight of which Robb was sure was making the table legs buckle. "Perhaps when the night is through, we can send any food that is left to be distributed to those unable to join in the celebration tonight?"

His father nodded as Talisa took the seat to Robb's left and began putting a small amount of food on her plate. "Your thoughts mirror my own, Lady Talisa." His father said as Robb retook his seat.

"Talisa, please Lord Stark," Talisa said, filling her glass with watered downed wine that'd been set out for Robb and Jon. "I have been…basically a ward of Winterfell for nearly a year now. I have little connection to my past life and title. And that is the way I prefer it to be."

"As you wish, Talisa," his father nodded before turning his attention away from Robb and Talisa and back to the hall itself.

Wracking his brain, Robb tried to think of something to talk about as Talisa carefully picked at her meal. "The new mother in Winter Town. Will she be alright? And her child?"

Taking a sip of wine, Talisa nodded. "Aye. It was not an easy birth. The baby had not turned fully before the birth begun. Mercifully we didn't have to forcibly remove the babe from the womb, which could've caused quite a few more complications. But in the end, the mother and her new son pulled through and after a bit of rest will be back on their feet within a few days."

Blinking, Robb tried to wrap his mind around what she'd just told him. "What do you mean by…forcibly removing the babe from the womb? Surely, you don't mean that you… Well…cut the child out?"

To his horror, Talisa merely nodded. "That is exactly what it means. The process isn't unheard of and isn't nearly as bad as you might think it is. But it is still a last resort and only used when the life of the child and the mother are at risk."

Shaking his head to keep the image out, Robb tried desperately to find another topic to talk about. "Are you…finding the North to your liking, Talisa?"

Talisa paused in her eating and leveled her gaze at him. "You are horrible at small talk, Robb," she said not unkindly. "It's been a year since I left my home, most of which has been spent here in Winterfell. And my answer to that question is the same as the last time you asked it of me…which was two days ago if I recall correctly."

From beside him, Robb could swear that he heard his father try, and fail, to stifle a laugh. "Sorry," he said ashamedly.

"Don't be," Talisa replied, giving him the slightest of grins. "You're to be the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. It's your prerogative to ask the same question again and again. Even if you already know the answer."

Sighing, Robb turned his attention away from Talisa and back to the dance floor. His sister Sansa had left the dance floor and was now sitting next to Lady Margaery Tyrell and the two were engaged in a seemingly animated discussion, though about what he had no idea, nor did he necessarily want to know. But those dancing in the center of the hall had not stopped just because his sister and Willias had vacated their spot. In fact, it seemed as if more people had decided to take the opportunity to enjoy themselves. Lord Nox was expertly leading Lady Nyra around the floor, his grace and technique once again putting even the most seasoned of dancers to shame. But what surprised Robb was the fact that his brother Jon was also now in the center of the floor with the Princess held lightly in his arms. And judging from the look of shock on his face and the look of satisfaction on the Princess, it was not necessarily Jon's idea for the two of them to dance.

'Well,' Robb thought with a grin, seeing an opportunity to get one over on his brother. 'Jon might be a far better sword than I. But perhaps there is an area that I can truly outshine my brother.'

Waiting until she had finished with her meal, Robb rose to his feet and offered his hand to Talisa. "My lady, will you do me the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

Robb smirked as he was finally treated to the sight of Talisa being put on the back foot for a change. "And what will everyone think if we do, Robb?" Talisa asked, her eyes looking around the room. "The heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North sharing a dance with a foreign lady from Volantis?"

"They will envy my luck. For I will have been graced with the chance to dance with the most beautiful woman in the hall," he answered her, not backing down and still holding his hand out waiting for her to take it.

Talisa glanced down at his offered hand, and then looked up to meet his eyes, his heart beating faster and harder with each moment she stayed in her seat. "Very well," she said at last, bringing a wave of relief and joy rushing through him. "I do hope that you know your steps. I would like my toes to remain unmolested come morning."

"No worries of that my lady," Robb replied with confidence as Talisa took his hand and led her out to the center of the hall.

Once they reached the center of the mass of people, Robb wrapped his right arm around her waist and took her right hand in his left as she placed her remaining hand on her shoulder. Waiting for the music to shift, Robb immediately began leading Talisa around the floor with a grace that'd been engrained into him from the endless dance lessons his mother had forced upon him. 'I hated those lessons…and I let mother know it too.' He lamented as he guided Talisa through the other dancers. 'And now, now I can't tell her how much I appreciate her insistence that I learn the art.'

"It seems you're not all talk, Robb," Talisa commented, a light smile upon her face. "You're not half bad."

Smiling, Robb spun her around in a tight circle in accordance with the music before taking her in his arms once more. "I hated dance lessons when I was a boy. But my mother was relentless and insisted that I learn the steps of multiple dances," he remarked, his light mood fading slightly at having said his thoughts aloud. "And now I'll never be able to tell her just how much I appreciate her insistence. Or how much I've come to appreciate the hundreds other things she did for me over the years."

Talisa's face fell slightly. "She knows, Robb," she said, her left hand reaching up and gently cupping his face for a moment as they paused their dance.

"Thank you," he said with a smile before taking off once more as the music picked up once more.

After leading her around the dance floor for at least four songs, exhaustion finally caught up to both and they decided without even having to say anything to one another that they'd well and truly earned a break. Leading her back to her seat next to him, noting that his father had moved away from his traditional spot and was now down mingling with the guests, Robb held out her chair for her before retaking his own right next to her.

"That was…exhilarating," Talisa said, smiling widely. "It has been a long time since I've danced like that… Let alone since I've had a competent dance partner."

"I am pleased that I met your expectations then, my lady."

"Met and exceeded, Robb," Talisa commented back lightly. "And stop with the 'my lady'. You more than have my permission to call me by my name."

"Talisa," Robb said, smiling and enjoying the way her name felt on his lips.

The two smiled at one another as they sat back and just enjoyed each other's company while watching the rest of those present enjoy themselves. "Robb…I'm going to be leaving Winterfell."

Robb was caught so off guard by the statement that it took him a while to even realize that it'd been Talisa who'd said it. "What?" he asked when his mind was finally righted once more. "Why? I–I thought that you said that you were enjoying your time here? And you're not a burden on anyone! Why would you leave?"

"I have enjoyed my time here, and I have learned more from the sorcerer in terms of healing than I ever thought possible," Talisa nodded, giving Robb a sense of hope that she might just change her mind. "But I can see, especially after watching your sister and the sorcerer heal that young man over there so easily, that I am not needed here. Not when they can heal an injury that is unhealable by any normal means. But outside of Winterfell where the people do not have access to such miraculous capabilities? That is where my skills will be needed."

Robb hated it, but she had a point. Just about everyone within Winterfell and Winter Town would wait days to have a chance to see the sorcerer, or now Sansa, for the chance that they might heal whatever ails them. Granted most were turned away due to the illness or injury not being severe enough to warrant their attention. But a skilled healer like Talisa, and even Maester Luwin, were all but wasted in Winterfell. And if there was one thing about the Northern people, they were not wasteful.

"When…?" Robb started, then paused as he had to swallow a large lump that formed in his throat trying to keep him from saying the words. "When will you leave?"

"Not for some time. Months…Maybe even a year or more. There is still much I have to learn before I can set out as a healer." Talisa answered, bringing a new wave of hope to Robb. "And there is also something else I wish to do. Something that I will more than likely need your and your father's help wi –"

"Whatever you need, I will see it done," Robb said eagerly, hoping to win some favor with her.

What he got instead was a quick flick to the nose that he didn't even see coming. "A lord, even a lord-to-be, should not be so eager to grant requests like that, Robb, until they have time to hear what is being asked and consider the ramifications should they fulfill the request. I know your father taught you better than that."

Hiding the wince that threatened to overtake him, Robb nodded. "Aye, you're right. What is your request, Talisa?"

"I want to organize a group much like the Rangers you have patrolling the lands of the North," Talisa explained to him as he poured them both some wine. "But unlike your Rangers, who are hunting down bandits and undesirables, the group I wish to form would be a band of healers who travel from village to village and treat those who would be otherwise unable to receive the care they would if they lived near a castle with trained healers."

Taking a sip of his wine, another gift from the Tyrells, Robb took a moment and truly thought over Talisa's proposal before saying anything. In theory, the idea had a lot of merit. Healers, usually Maesters, never really strayed far from the holdfasts that they were assigned to. Which usually left the smallfolk to rely on the village elders or anyone who had even the slightest bit of training in the arts of healing. If an injury was bad enough, the smallfolk would make the trek to the nearest holdfast hoping to see those with more experience, but that journey was usually not without risks. Having a group of healers traveling around the land giving aid to those who needed it? It would certainly do much to boost the faith of the smallfolk in their lords and ladies who ruled them.

But while the idea was a good one, there were multiple issues that would need to be resolved first before they could go forward with the idea. The first being just how would these healers earn their coin to pay for their healing supplies and other basic amenities? The smallfolk could pay them for their service of course, but he doubted that many of those they would be treating would have the coin to pay them in full. Which meant that this group would be relying heavily on the donations of the Lords and Ladies of the land for their coin. Which meant they would have to look at the taxes and see what could be moved around to make sure they could get the coin. Perhaps they could combine the group with the Rangers?

The coin for the group was just the first problem though. The second would be ensuring the group's security. Once word got around that there was a traveling group of healers who worked for little or nothing, few would be foolish enough to bring them harm. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't happen. There were those out there who wouldn't care about the fact that they were a traveling group of healers looking to help people. They would only see an easy target to attack. So that meant that they would have to provide some sort of security for the group as well. And lastly, they came to the issue about just who would be part of this group. Obviously, Talisa would be leading them. But outside of his sister and Lord Nox, Robb could count the number of trained healers he knew of on one hand.

"The idea has merit," he said after thinking for some time on her proposal. "There are a lot of details that would need to be worked out before the idea could be brought before my father for approval. But I would be more than happy to help you with the organization of this group of healers, Talisa. If that is what you truly want to do."

Talisa favored him with a smile, then made his heart nearly leap out of his chest as her hand lightly fell atop of his own. Without thought, his hand turned seemingly of its own accord so that his palm was flush against hers and their fingers wove together, locking their hands together. Smiling at Talisa, Robb sat back and took a moment to enjoy this one simple moment where he and the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with sat together and watched the feast going on around them.


Sighing heavily, Ned Stark entered his private solar adjoining to his bedchamber and immediately sought out the comfortable chair that was positioned just before his hearth. The feast to welcome the visiting Houses to Winterfell had dragged out long into the night. Far too long for his tastes. And in fact, he could even still hear the feast still ongoing even from his chambers. 'Gods only know what tonight's gonna cost us,' he sighed, feeling a headache begin to form. 'And the gods only know how much the rest of their time here will cost us. One visiting great house would be costly. Three at once…? The only saving grace in all of this is the fact that all the Houses at least realized the burden they were placing on us and have sought to ease the burden by bringing either coin or supplies of their own to distribute. But even with their aid…this is going to be a long and expensive gathering.'

Hearing a low whine, Ned turned his head just in time to watch Winter saunter into the room and drop down onto her belly before the fire. The difference in the she-wolf from a year of proper feeding still amazed Ned. Her body had filled out more and she'd grown at least a hand if not more during that time. She could now lay down on the floor and rest her head on the arm of his chair without straining her neck. And the pups were showing signs that they would be just as big, if not bigger, than their mother by the time they finally stopped growing.

"I hear you, girl," Ned nodded as Winter whined once more, the sensation of exhaustion fluttering through the strange connection he felt with the she-wolf. "I'll take a war any time over dealing with the politics of the noble houses and the game they all love to play."

Winter gave off a huff and rolled over so that she was laying on her side with her belly facing the fire trying to warm herself. Despite not caring or even wanting to play politics with the south, Ned was not ignorant of them. He knew exactly why these Houses had come calling on Winterfell. They wanted power. Specifically, they wanted the Sorcerer's power. And since Nox was a man who was not so easily swayed, they had set their sights on the next generation, his children and those who were and could be trained by Nox to wield his power. Along with the power of the sorcerer, they also wanted to know just how the North had managed to advance themselves as in a few short years in hopes of duplicating their success. And they weren't even trying to be discreet in their desires either, which irked Ned more than anything.

All throughout the feast, Willias Tyrell had kept close by Sansa, entertaining his young daughter with stories of Highgarden or tales of the Reach. And whenever he was not impressing himself upon his daughter, then either Garlan or Margaery were. Did they truly not think that he would notice just what they were trying to do? Or did they just not care? His sweet red-wolf was only two-and-ten, barely even a woman. And granted many highborn ladies throughout the realm were either betrothed or were being negotiated for at her age. But still… She was his daughter damnit!

The Lannisters were a bit more cunning in their desires. Though that was more than likely because their need for getting the blood of magic into the Lannister line was not as strong as the Tyrells, given that Joy Lannister was now one of Nox's acolytes. But they were still doing all they could to learn the secrets of the North, some of which he knew that Tyrion Lannister had managed to figure out. He'd wanted to restrict the half-man's movements in Winterfell, but Nox advised against it. Instead, he ensured Ned that they had a safeguard against Tyrion stealing and spreading some of the more profitable secrets of the North. Though when he found out just what that safeguard was…it was honestly the first time he truly wanted to strike his friend. They, unknowingly to him, had acquired Tyrion Lannister's own secret daughter safely in Winterfell and working for the Sorcerer. The only thing that had stopped him from striking his friend was when he stated that they needn't hold the girl hostage to keep the half-man quiet. They just merely needed to keep her safe from the rest of the lions.

But while the actions of the Lannisters and Tyrells annoyed him, it was the presence of the Martells that had him the most ill at ease. Relations between the North and Dorne had improved greatly over the years since Nox's arrival, but it was still tense after what befell Elia Martell and her child at the end of the Rebellion. On the surface it seemed like the ruling family of Dorne had come north to do exactly as they said: discuss further trade with the North in hopes of expanding the glass trade further south, perhaps even to Sothoryos or the Summer Isles. But when you looked closer, it was easy to see that that was not all they were after. Princess Arianne had made her intentions towards Jon very clear to just about everyone. And that worried him greatly.

There was a good possibility that the girl's interest in Jon was truly genuine, which it honestly looked to be. And in truth, it wasn't a bad match at all. While he desperately wanted to keep Jon in the North, perhaps even make him Lord of one of the recently vacated keeps, the Dreadfort for example, he knew that anything he offered Jon would fall well short of the chance to become the next Prince Consort of Dorne. The marriage would also work to truly repair the relations between the North and Dorne and it would give them an ironclad trading partner. But in the back of his mind, there was still a nagging suspicion about a potential match between the two. And that suspicion was born from Jon's true parentage. If the Martells somehow discovered Jon's true parentage, they could potentially try and push him towards the throne. No. They wouldn't even have to do that. They would just have to let his parentage slip into the right, or rather wrong, ear. And the moment word reached Robert, his friend's anger would do the work for them as he knew that the king would demand Jon's head immediately for being the son of Rhaegar. And once that happened, Dorne would take up arms in defense of their Prince Consort, as would those who still held loyalty to the dragons. And then either he or Robb would be stuck with having to choose between Robert or Jon.

He knew exactly who Robb would choose. And he knew that many of the North would follow the choice. Not because Jon was the son of Rhaegar, but rather because he was the son of Lyanna Stark. And because he had made a name form himself within the North on his own merits. But what was truly disheartening in the whole scenario was not the prospect of war, but rather that he himself did not know who he would choose. His brother in all but blood? Or his nephew who has become his son, in name and blood. 'No. You do know exactly who you would choose. Afterall, you made the choice years ago when you promised Lyanna on her deathbed that you would protect him from everyone. Should Robert ever learn of his true heritage and demand his execution…I would raise my sword against Robert and declare Jon my king. I wouldn't be pleased with the decision, but I would do it in a heartbeat.'

Resting his head back against his chair, Ned closed his eyes and allowed his senses to drift. And as soon as he did so, he immediately opened his eyes and sat up straight. 'Of course I would not be allowed a moment's peace tonight.'

"Milord," one of his guards called out from the hall. "La–"

"I know who's there," Ned grumbled, taking a moment to compose himself, because the gods knew that this conversation was about to tax him like no other. "Show Lady Tyrell in."

Huffing, Ned got to his feet as the guard showed the dowager of House Tyrell in while Winter only barely raised her head to see who had come in before laying back down and closing her eyes. "It is quite late, Lady Tyrell," Ned said, greeting the old woman politely.

"Pah, neither of us may be spring chickens anymore, Lord Stark, but the hour is hardly that late," Olenna replied, brushing off his concern as she claimed one of the two seats before the hearth, the one that Cat usually sat in during their quiet nights together. "And if your concerned about rumors being spread, don't. I've long since passed the age where I am interested in late night dancing between the sheets. Even if it would be with a strapping lordling like yourself."

The thought was not one Ned wanted to entertain, so he pushed it from his mind as he retook his seat. "I take it you have a reason for calling upon me now instead of on the morrow?"

"Of course, I do," Olenna shot back, pulling out a rolled piece of parchment from within the confines of her robes and brandishing it towards him like a dagger. "Let us cut to the chase, as you Northerners are so fond of doing. You know why I dragged my grandchildren across Westeros to meet with you and your family, don't you?"

Sighing, Ned nodded. "In light of recent events, House Tyrell has lost much standing with your bannermen. First not fully committing to the field with the Targaryens. Then the reduced trade with the North, not something that would hurt the Reach in a significant manner, but noticeable to those who relied on the trade for coin. And most recently, the plot of the Maesters that has been brewing under House Tyrell's leadership since before even the time of Aegon the Conqueror. No doubt some of your bannermen are starting to think that they might be better suited to stand as Wardens of the South. You need allies. Strong allies. And you're here to secure the North as your ally through marriage. Given the way your children were acting during the feast, you are hoping to take my eldest daughter Sansa and turn her into the next Lady of Highgarden."

Olenna gave him a look that showed she was mildly impressed with him. "And there are those in the south that believe you Northerners despise the game, Lord Stark."

"I do despise it," Ned countered. "It's a waste of time and resources that could be put to better use."

"That's debatable," Olenna shot back. "But despite your hatred, you play the game far better than most I've met. You're handling of the Sorcerer and keeping him locked to Winterfell by naming his lady wife as your Stewardess was a well thought out play. Then there is the fact that your eldest son and heir is obviously courting that young woman, Talisa Maegyr, who just so happens to have the same family name as one of the Triarchs of Volantis. Then there is the fact that your bastard boy is so obviously besot by the Martell girl. Should either or both courtships bear fruit, then the North will have gained ironclad trading partners in both Sunspear and Volantis. Which would allow you to expand Northern trade far beyond the reach of most other Houses in Westeros, making the North the most dominant exporter of Westerosi goods. Quite the ambitious goal, Lord Stark."

Ned was just about to counter her, saying that her thoughts were not his own. But the words died on his tongue. 'If people think you are doing something and are so convinced that they are correct, don't correct them even if they are wrong.' He remembered Nox telling him during one of their many discussions involving the politics of the south. 'That way, their own arrogance blinds them to what you are actually doing.'

"The North has stayed stagnant for far too long," Ned replied instead, neither confirming nor denying Lady Olenna's thoughts. "It has served us well in the past, but times have changed. And the North must change if we are to survive the whatever the future might hold for us."

He noticed that Olenna was eyeing him critically from her spot next to him. "Quite the view to have, Stark. And a drastic change from what many have perceived the North to be in the past. Now, are you going to open that contract up and read it? Or are you going to make me wait for winter to set in fully before you make your decision?"

Truthfully, Ned wanted to do nothing more than to throw the contract in his hand right into the fire and watch the thing burn. He and Cat had talked about their children's futures and their eventual betrothals many times in the past. But talking was as far as they'd ever gotten on that subject. Hells, he hadn't even finalized a betrothal for Robb yet. And now, here he was, holding a betrothal for his eldest daughter. His little red wolf.

Breathing out through his nose, Ned broke the wax seal on the rolled parchment and began reading over the contract before he could rethink his decision not to throw the thing into the fire. The contract was more than just a simple betrothal contract, it was also tide into a trade contract as well with a few aspects thrown in that were usually not normal for a betrothal. The contract itself and the contents within were certainly not unheard of, but they were not typical either. And for the most part, all the terms within the contract seemed to benefit the North, or rather House Stark specifically, over House Tyrell and the rest of the Reach.

'They're desperate,' Ned realized as he started going through the contract once more. 'They're doing everything they can think of, even coming here in person, to obtain a bride from House Stark. Is their position truly so precarious in the Reach? They've even put in a clause stating that there will be two wedding ceremonies. One in Winterfell before the heart tree for which House Stark will pay for. And one in the sept at Highgarden, which House Tyrell will provide the coin for.'

The only part that truly seemed to benefit House Tyrell in specific was the terms of Sansa's dowry. Instead of coin, House Tyrell wanted a single Valyrian steel sword, at least a longsword in length. Such a dowry was almost unheard of outside of one reserved for a Princess of the Realm. And if not for the fact that they had a stockpile of Valyrian steel thanks to Nox's expedition into the ruins of Old Valyria, Ned would've rejected the contract outright for that one clause alone.

"Well, Stark? Do we have a contract or no?" Lady Tyrell all but demanded as she sat seemingly impatiently by his side.

Rolling up the contract, Ned thought over his words carefully before responding. "Your terms are most generous. Besides the requested dowry, though considering Master Nox's recent success, I find myself without cause to deny the request. But –"

"Anything before the word 'but' Stark is horse shit and you know it," Olenna cut him off, surprising Ned slightly as he'd often said the same thing. "The North may not have the best recent history with the Reach, considering the Maesters and the failed marriage between the Mormonts and the Hightowers. But she will be the future Lady of Highgarden and wife to the Warden of the South. She will want for nothing. And the North and the Reach will benefit greatly from a union of our two houses."

"But," Ned pressed on over Lady Tyrell and giving the old woman a look that caused her to freeze momentarily. No doubt because as he recognized that his own anger that'd crept into his voice had turned his eyes the slightest shade of yellow. "My daughter is still a young girl of two-and-ten. And I will not see her wed for at least another five years."

The old woman overcame her surprise quickly as his words reached her. "Reasonable. Marriage serves little use if the bride hasn't bled yet and is unable to bare children."

"Additionally," Ned pressed on, trying his best not to let the words of Olenna put him off. "I will not agree to this betrothal unless my daughter finds the betrothal agreeable as well."

The look Olenna gave him was one as if he'd grown a second head right before her. "You would hold up the betrothal and the betterment of your people on the decision making of a two-and-ten-year-old girl?"

Ned gave the old woman a hard look. "Aye, I would. The North has survived long before now and will continue to do so well after our time has come and gone. This agreement will indeed perhaps make things slightly better in the North for some time, but let us not fool ourselves, Lady Tyrell. You need House Stark. You need the power my daughter commands and the influence House Stark can bring to your House. We, however, do not need House Tyrell. We are discussing my daughter's future, Lady Tyrell. She deserves a say in it. By the end of your stay here in the North, should my daughter find Willias agreeable, then I will agree to the betrothal. If, however she does not, then you will leave my lands without. Those are my terms, Lady Tyrell. You can either accept them, or the door is right there. The decision is now yours."

Olenna stared hard at Ned, a look he returned with one just as hard and unyielding. The moment of silence stretched on between them, the only sound in the room being the slow steady breathing of Winter and the burning of the fire. In the end, Olenna was the first to back down. "Well, I never expected to find such a challenge when I set out from Highgarden. And now I'm even more sure that coming here was the right decision to make. Had my oaf of a son come up here, he would have done something so stupid as to make it so that relations between the Reach and the North would only become a thing of fantasy."

Rising to her feet, Olenna waved Ned off as he rose to help her. "I'm old, Stark. Not an invalid. My legs still work just fine. And I suppose that we will be extending our stay here in Winterfell for a bit longer than we had originally planned. Keep the contract, Stark. You've laid down the gauntlet for your daughter's hand. And I guarantee you that before we leave, your daughter will all but be begging for you to agree to the offer."

"We shall see, Lady Tyrell," Ned answered, rising to his feet despite the woman's motions for him to remain seated.

"Indeed we shall, Stark," Olenna grinned. "Indeed we shall."


Drumming her fingers against the railing lining the balcony attached to her chambers in the Red Keep, Queen Cersei Lannister, for she refused to have any ties outside of 'Queen' to her drunken whoremongering husband, glared hatefully towards the North where she knew the greatest threat to her, and her children's, reign resided. 'Unfortunately, I am the only one who truly recognizes the threat Nox poses,' she fumed, still glaring northwards as her fingers picked up the pace of their drumming. 'My drunken husband all but worships the ground he walks on…and the Small Council are all either Baratheon's as well or brow beaten into submission. And now because of what transpired during his brief time in my city…even the fucking small folk look upon him like he's some sort of god descended from the heavens to save them. None of them realize the true threat that he is. But I do.'

She'd always been wary of the stories of the sorcerer ever since Robert returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion singing the man's praises like he was the Warrior Reborn. But now after meeting the man in person, she realized she'd been wrong. He wasn't as dangerous as she thought. He was far, far more dangerous than she could have ever dreamed possible. That night when he silenced her and froze her in her seat with but a mere look… She had no idea what foul magic he used on her that night. But she could still feel the cold fear he'd cursed her with even now well over a moon past his leaving. The fear, the darkness. It would come and go seemingly at random. But when it came, it never fled no matter what she did. Drinking. Fucking. Causing torment upon some idiotic serving girl. Nothing could bring her out of the dark pit that Nox had cursed her into.

'He needs to be brought under control!' Cersei seethed, her drumming ceasing as she closed her hand into a tight fist. 'Or, failing that, eliminated! He's not one of us. So, he's our enemy. Yes. He needs to be eliminated. But before he dies…his power. I must have his power! With his power, my rule and the rule of my perfect lion will remain unchallenged for an age!'

Hearing a light tapping on her door, Cersei didn't bother to turn around as the Kingsgaurd assigned to her today, Ser Mandon Moore, opened the door to her chambers and entered. "Your grace. Lord Varys is requesting an audience with you. He is out in the hall."

Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Cersei took a moment to gaze over Mandon's pale façade. Jamie always considered this man to be one of the most dangerous of the Kingsgaurd because his face never truly gave away what he was thinking. Which to Cersei meant that he was the perfect tool if he did what she told him.

'Jamie.'

Her musing of the Kingsguard was cut off as her mind drifted, as it usually did, to her brother and lover. He was another reason for her hatred towards the sorcerer. Were it not for that blind meddling fool, her brother would not have had to endure the punishment that Robert so unjustly brought down upon him! 'They dare to punish Jamie!' she seethed once again as her thoughts turned to her brother's whipping and the wounds that had still not fully healed over. 'They should be lining up to suck his cock in thanks for saving all of their lives! But, no, instead they whip him bloody! And not even father will step in to remind Robert and the realm that the Lannisters are not a House to take such a slight! And this…? This was so much more than just a slight!'

"Your grace," Moore called out to her again. "Shall I tell him to leave?"

Taking a moment to compose herself, Cersei shook her head. The eunuch never called upon her unless he had something that he knew she would be interested in hearing. The only questions were what was the information that he had and what it was going to cost her this time. "No. Send the Spider in." She didn't bother to turn around, instead she merely listened to the door open and close as she remained staring out over the kingdom that rightfully belonged to her.

"Your grace," the smooth oil voice of the Spider called out to her as the eunuch entered her chambers. "I am grateful that I managed to catch you at a unbusy time to speak with you."

"No games, Varys," Cersei all but snapped as she was in no mood to trade words with the cockless fool. "Say what you have to say, then leave."

As usual, the man didn't flinch in the slightest in the face of her wrath, the same wrath that had sent many a servant to the ground in fear. "Of course, your grace," Varys bowed slightly, his tone not changing and the irritating smirk still on his face. "I was merely curious as to whether you have received word from your brother or uncle about your cousin and whether or not she was successful?"

Cersei only just managed to keep her brow from furrowing as she spared the Spider a single glance before dismissing him and returning her gaze to King's Landing. "And why would I care about word from that wretched creature or the bastard girl?"

She could almost hear the amusement in Varys's voice as he spoke. "Because Lord Gerion and Lord Tyrion have both escorted your cousin Joy to Winterfell to have her tested by Lord Nox to see if she is capable of becoming one of his acolytes. No doubt at the command of your father, Lord Tywin. The songs of my little birds in the North have not yet reached me as to whether she was successful, so I was merely curious as to whether you had heard if she was successful or not."

Cersei only just managed to keep her rage, which was already teetering on the edge, from taking hold. 'Now even my father is lining up to suck the sorcerer's cock!' She seethed, only just barely managing to keep her expression impassive as she did everything in her power to keep her anger from showing. The last thing she wanted now was to give the cockless fool the pleasure of showing that he'd managed to get under her skin. 'No. Father wouldn't do something like that. It's a ploy. It has to be. A way to learn the sorcerer's secrets and use them for House Lannisters' advantage. But still, even knowing that…I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and a Lannister by birth! I should have been informed of this!'

"Whether she succeeded or not is none of your concern, Varys," Cersei answered him, playing it off as if she had known about her father sending the bastard North the whole time. "It is a matter for House Lannister and none of your concern."

"Of course, your grace," Varys replied, seemingly unsurprised by her response. "Then I shall leave you be, your grace. Oh, before I leave, there is one more piece of news that I believe you will be interested in hearing. It appears that it is not only your uncle and brother who have gone to pay a visit to the Starks. My birds have sung songs saying that the Martells are making their way to Winterfell as well as the Tyrells, though they unfortunately did not sing just who amongst the families are making the voyage. Good day, your grace."

The moment the eunuch left her chambers, Cersei's delicate hold on her anger disappeared and she let out a scream and picked up the nearest thing she could find, a vase of some sort, and threw it across the room with such force that it shattered into countless pieces against the wall across the room from her. 'I have to write my father!' she mentally screeched, her breath coming out in near pants as she began pacing. 'First, he refuses to do anything after Jamie's unjust punishment! And now he sends the bastard girl North to gain the favor of the sorcerer without telling me! Me! His own daughter and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! Whatever plot he has hatched regarding the sorcerer, I need—no, I should have been—in the know about. That man is a menace to the kingdom and our power. Yes. I need to write my father again. Only this time not as a daughter to a father, but rather as a Queen to her subject and demand to know why he neglected to inform me of this little plan of his. That last bit…The Martells and the Tyrells? I'm not surprised those power-hungry roses are trying to suck the wolves' cocks. They latch onto whoever has power and try to steal it from them as they are unable to create any true power themselves. The Martells, though… Why would they care about the frozen wolves that lay on the opposite side of the Seven Kingdoms from them? Ugh… Father should have just routed the snakes out completely just like he did to the Reyne's and Tarbecks. But no. Because he didn't, we now must keep an ever-vigilant eye on the snakes because of what happened to that fucking slut Elia. And now they're traveling to visit the wolves? They're plotting their revenge…I just know it! But I won't let them anywhere near my precious lion or what is rightfully his!'

Ceasing her pacing, Cersei stood in the center of her room taking several deep breaths as she reigned in her anger. 'Calm. Father always preached that anger clouds your ability to think clearly. I must be calm to plan. The sorcerer and the wolves have become too powerful. I need to find a way to first weaken them before they can be brought back fully under control like the wretched dogs they are. But how?'

With her mind so focused on figuring out how to start discrediting the sorcerer and the wolves, Cersei didn't even realize she'd left her rooms until the doors shut behind her and her guards, mostly wearing Lannister red and gold as they should be, took up positions around her with Moore standing closest to her. Without saying a word, she marched towards the gardens of the Red Keep, hoping that a walk might just calm her enough to allow her to think clearly.

Entering the gardens, she immediately noticed the sound of someone singing a tale of some sort, accompanied by the excited voices of children. Her mood lightening ever so slightly, Cersei immediately headed towards the noise as she recognized the children as her own. Coming to a small clearing, Cersei smiled despite her current ill mood as she found Tommen and Myrcella sitting close to one another with Ser Oakheart of the Kingsgaurd standing vigil behind the two. Neither of her two little lions noticed her approach as they were both fully fixated on a bard sitting before them on a stone bench. "—for such an act of evil could not be punished so easily. Death was far too quick. And no pain could match that of a parent's loss of a child. So, a curse he placed upon the fool. A curse of life! A life of eternal torment as he would remain sealed inside a stone prison for all eternity! Wails and pleas for mercy went unheard as the fool who thought to end the love of the sorcerer and stole his child from him was placed into stone and thrown to the sea, not to die. But to live a life unlike any – Your grace!"

Whatever good mood Cersei had gained from seeing her children immediately died as she recognized the tale they were being told. "I do not believe that such a tale is suitable for my children's ears," she said, approaching the now kneeling bard and her two children who had sprung up to their feet to greet her.

"Please mother, it's a wonderful tale!" her beautiful little lioness pleaded with wide eyes while quiet little Tommen stayed behind his sister. "And Warner tells it so well! Even father said that it is a tale worth hearing! Please! This is the only scary part… The rest is about the Sorcerer and his love, the Beauty of the North, Lady Nyra Nox."

Cersei ground her teeth at hearing her precious daughter refer to that fat fool as her father. If only she could tell her sweet little lions the truth. But what truly caused her anger to peak was hearing her own daughter refer to that whore who'd stolen the sorcerer's power as the 'Beauty of the North'. Ha! What a joke. There was no such thing. The North had no beauty. Only barren snow-covered lands with barbarians who called it home.

"That…woman is no beauty, Myrcella," Cersei said, kneeling in front of her daughter. "She's nothing more than a lowborn whore who more than likely slept with half of the North before falling into the Sorcerer's bed. And that is not the sort of woman that a Princess like yourself should be looking up to."

"She's not – She's not like that!" Myrcella cried out, stamping her foot angrily. "She's the most beautiful woman in the realm!" 'Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.' "And they say that during her wedding to the Sorcerer that the old gods blessed her with a golden crown upon her head, showing the sorcerer had chosen the right woman for his bride!" 'Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds.' "She's not a whore! She's a beautiful maiden wh—"

Cersei hadn't even realized she'd moved until she felt a sting on the palm of her hand where it'd connected with her daughter's cheek. She could only stare in horror, unable to comprehend what had just happened as her daughter, hands raised to cradle a steadily reddening cheek, trembled before her while Tommen whimpered and cowered behind Myrcella.

Rising to her feet, Cersei brushed at the unseen dirt on her dress as she tried to pretend that nothing had just transpired. "You must watch your step, dear Myrcella. You are growing quickly and you're not as sure footed as you once were. Ser Oakheart. My children are tired from the day's activities. Take them back to their rooms and have them both lay down for a nap."

The young Kingsgaurd looked troubled for a moment, but a stern look from herself that sent the promise of retribution quelled whatever troubles he might have, and he quickly moved to usher her children out of the yard and back to their rooms.

Only when her children were out of sight did Cersei look down at the hand that struck her daughter. 'Why did I do that?! My daughter…My beautiful lioness… It's the sorcerer. It must be. Whatever trick he played on me on that first night…That's what caused me to strike my daughter! Yes! That's it. But there is an upside to this. I now know what the sorcerer and his little whore have planned! They plan to steal my throne. Yes. That little northern whore is without a doubt the one the witch warned me about. First, she stole the sorcerer's power away from the ones who should truly be using it. And now she seeks to claim the throne that is not hers. But I won't let that accursed prophecy come true. I will not be brought low! And I will not let my beloved little lions die at their hands! She is the key! She must be removed!'

'Yes. Removed.'

Shaking, Cersei glanced around as a shiver went down her spine. 'Just the wind,' she thought, noticing the still shaking leaves. 'But how to remove her? I doubt there is any assassin in Westeros that would do the deed, no matter what was offered. The Faceless men? A possibility. But that would take time to set up and there would be no guarantee that they would even take the contract in the first place. And going that route could potentially lead back to me. So…how to remove her?'

"Umm, your grace? Do you – Do you still have need of me?"

Spying the bard out of the corner of her eye, Cersei was struck with a thought on how to begin separating the two. 'Words have power. If enough of the sheep believe something to be true, then it doesn't matter whether it was true or not to begin with.'

"Do you have a family?"

The bard blinked, then hastily nodded. "Yes, your grace. A wife and a boy no older than you—"

"I asked you a simple question, not for your life story, bard," Cersei snapped, rounding on the man who flinched at her tone and presence. 'Good. Fear. That is what is needed. That is what I want! This is what I deserve!' "I will not hear another pleasant word about that northern whore in the Red Keep again, do I make myself clear?"

The bard swallowed and nodded. "Yes, your grace. Forgive me fo—"

"Forgiveness is earned, bard. And you will earn it or pay the price." Cersei continued over the stumbling man. "You will compose a song that sings to the truth of the Northern whore, not that drivel you've been spouting. Be as colorful and inventive as you want. But I want it to be on the lips of bards throughout the city and in the ears of all those who can hear within a sennight."

The bard blinked and paled. "Y–Your grace, I–I don't know if–"

"Fail to do so or try and flee the city and I will have you and your family hunted down on charges of treason against the crown," Cersei added, feeling a thrill go through her as the man's eyes widened in fear. "You will be placed in a giblet for the rest of your life and given the perfect view to watch as your wife and son swing from the gallows. Understand?"

The bard nodded quickly. "Yes, your grace."

"Leave," Cersei demanded, turning her back on the bard as the man quickly scrambled to gather his meager belongings before all but running away from her. 'I will not let that witch's prophecy come true,' Cersei seethed, her hand's closing into tight fists at her side. 'The sorcerer and his whore are seeking to take that which is mine! I will not let them have it!'


Lowering himself into his seat within the Small Council chambers, Jon Arryn cursed his old bones as his joints ached and popped as he sat down fully. Seeing that he was still alone in the chamber, Jon took the moment of peace he had to rub at the aching muscles and joints in his legs. 'Five-and-ten years ago, I was a man who could still ride into the thick of battle and slay men less than half my age. Now here I am…almost defeated by a single flight of stairs. By the Seven and even the old gods…I'm getting far too old for this shit. Perhaps it is time I finally announce my resignation as Hand of the King. I've served ever since Robert had that crown put on his head…I deserve some time for peace before the Seven call me to their side.'

But as quick as the thought came, Jon immediately dismissed it. He knew that he could not resign his position. Not yet. There were still too many loose ends that needed to be cleared up before he would feel that the time was right to leave his post. Hearing the door open, Jon wasn't surprised to see Stannis march into the chambers with his head held high. But what did surprise him was the fact that Robert was right behind his brother.

"Your grace," Jon muttered, attempting to rise despite the protesting from his legs.

"No need for that, Jon," Robert said, motioning for him to stay seated. "Keep your ass in that chair and stay comfortable. Gods know if anyone has earned the right to be comfortable, it's you."

Nodding his thanks, Jon remained in his seat as Robert took his place at the head of the table while Stannis took his seat to his brother's immediate right. Soon after the king's arrival, the rest of the Small Council arrived as first Varys, then Baelish, and lastly Renly made their way into the Small Council chambers and took their respective seats. The position of Grandmaester was still vacant as the Citadel was still working on clearing out the traitors and finding a suitable replacement for Pycelle.

"Alright," Robert bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table. "Let's get this counting copper shit over with already. Stannis, we're the fuck are we with the barrels of wildfyre the Mad-fucking-King left behind?"

Folding his hands in front of his mouth to hide his grimace, Jon only paid partial attention to Stannis as the king's brother began detailing the amount of wildfyre that'd been disposed of and how much was still under the city. 'As much as I would like to think that I am responsible for Robert's sudden interest in ruling like a true king, I know that is not the case.' Jon sighed as he watched the boy he raised at least start to act the part of a king by listening to his advisors and issuing commands after thinking them over. 'But after failing to turn him into a true king for so long, I know that I am not the cause for this even slight turn towards being a proper ruler. That accolade belongs with Ned and the Sorcerer Nox.'

"—it will still be some moons until we can be completely certain that there are no lingering caches beneath the city," Stannis continued as Jon turned his attention away from his failure and fully onto Stannis. "But the majority of the city is clear of the wildfyre and the threat they posed."

"Good," Robert nodded before turning to Renly. "And what of the pyromancers?"

"All of those who were around during the reign of the Mad King have been put to the sword," Renly stated, though Jon could easily see that the young man was uncomfortable with what he'd been tasked to do. For not the first time he thought about urging Robert to replace Renly as Master of Laws. The lad was popular with the small folk, but Jon feared that the boy simply lacked the constitution to do what needed to be done. "Those who were not are being kept under close watch by the goldcloaks."

"Good," Robert nodded and turned his attention towards Varys. "Spider. Have your worthless little birds finally put an end to the fucking dragonspawn in Essos?'

"Unfortunately, no, your grace," Varys replied calmly, his arms folded into the sleeves of his robes. "The last song I heard from my little birds in Essos had the Beggar King and his sister in Volantis, however they have long since left and were seen heading north. I've sent word to my birds in both Norvos and Qohor to keep a watch for either and to send word if they are seen. Though I do have other songs that his grace might be interested in. A rather peculiar song that was sung to me by one of my birds in the North."

Jon sat up straighter as he noticed Robert scowl over the fact that the Targaryens had once again disappeared. 'Clever, Varys. Distract him from your failure to find the Targaryens by bringing up the Starks.'

"What is going on now?" Robert asked, now very interested on the issue at hand.

Varys took his time in unfolding his arms from his sleeves, revealing a small raven's scroll in the process. "It appears that Winterfell will soon, if it is not already, host to not one, not two, but three visiting noble families. The Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the Martells are all on their way to Winterfell as we speak. And if the weather holds, I do believe that all three families will be arriving in Winterfell around the same time."

The news made Jon's already old heart skip a beat. One great house visiting another wasn't unheard of. But to have four great houses under the same roof at the same time? Gods only knew what was going to happen. If betrothals were made, which was more than likely given the gathering, then the next few days could very well shape the next generation of leadership throughout most of Westeros. And neither Jon, nor the crown, had any representative to speak on their behalf.

"Who leads each house?" Stannis asked, clearly very interested. And it wasn't a wonder as to why considering that his daughter was in Winterfell under the tutelage of the sorcerer. 'We'll have to send a raven to her immediately with instructions… But can we truly trust a young girl Shireen's age to speak on behalf of the Crown and House Baratheon…? No…No, we can't.'

Varys pulled out a second scroll from his sleeves and took his time in opening it. "From what I've heard, it's quite the group. From House Lannister, it appears that Lord Tyrion and Lord Gerion are escorting the Lady Joy to Winterfell in hopes that she will catch the eye of Lord Nox and become another of his acolytes. Lady Olenna Tyrell has personally set out from Highgarden. And she brought along all of her grandchildren, save for Ser Loras, who is still in service as Lord Renly's squire. The Martells have sent Prince Oberyn along with his paramour and his daughters. However, he is not leading the delegation. That honor belongs to Princess Arianne Martell. And rumor has it that the Princess of Dorne has acquired a sort of…infatuation with the white wolf of Winterfell, Jon Stark. The two apparently grew close during the northern expedition brief stay at Sunspear."

The last part brought a surge of relief through Jon. 'Finally, something is going right for a change.'

"A Princess infatuated with a former bastard," Baelish sighed while shaking his head. "The Dornish truly are an interesting lot. Or perhaps they see this as a way of revenge for Elia Martell. Take the former bastard from his family and then the Princess uses her womanly ways to turn the boy against his family. It wouldn't be the first time such an act has been carried out. The question is: should we trust that the boy has the force of mind to resist the wiles of the Princess of Dorne?"

Jon wanted to strangle Baelish as he noticed that the man's word had an effect on Robert.

"The sorcerer has shown many times that he is not a man who can be so easily swayed, Lord Baelish," Stannis countered, leveling his gaze at the Master of Coin.

"Yes, he has," Baelish nodded. "But the bastard is not the Sorcerer. He is but still a boy who is just now at the age of discovering the pleasures of the flesh. And the Princess of Dorne is apparently quite the beauty. And given the nature of the Dornish, how long do you think the boy will be able to hold out against her?"

"And what would you suggest, Baelish?" Renly asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"Make it so that the boy is unable to be tied to the girl, and therefore cannot be used as a weapon against his family or the crown by the Dornish," Baelish replied easily. "The North holds the Night's Watch in high regard, or perhaps the position on the Kingsgaurd that the boy opened with the slaying of Ser Trant. Both Orders take vows of celibacy. Therefore stopping any potential ways the Dornish could try and use the boy."

"No," Jon said, mustering all the strength he could into his voice.

Blinking, Robert cocked his head towards Jon. "Why not? I agree the boy would be wasted at the Watch. But if we were to offer him a spot on the Kingsguard, it would give us direct control over Nox's apprentice. Hells, it might even convince the man to finally come south and take up the position as Master of the Arcane on this council that is waiting for him."

Jon had to fight to keep his displeasure from showing on his face. Everything about the sorcerer just screamed…well…wrong to him. His magic was a power that should only be held by the Seven. And while he wouldn't—and couldn't—deny its usefulness, the fact that a man so outside the Andal faith could wield it with such efficiency was concerning. It was even more concerning given the fact that Nox honestly didn't seem to care about the fact that Robert was his king. He just did what he wanted, regardless of what anyone else thought or wanted. Robert found the Sorcerer's attitude amusing and refreshing. But Jon saw it as nothing more than a danger that needed to be corrected before it spread out to the masses.

"Because Jon Stark is perhaps our best way of bringing the Martells and the rest of Dorne back into the fold," Jon stated, staring right into Robert's eyes as he spoke. "Even now five-and-ten years later, the Dornish hold a grudge for what happened to Elia and her children. They hate you. They hate me. And they hate the Lannisters for holding dominion over those they find responsible. But despite their hatred, they have opened their doors to the North. Jon Stark is the son of Ashara Dayne. There is no doubt about that. He is a son of Dorne and of the North, yet he was raised in the North and by all accounts loves his siblings and would do nothing to ever bring them harm. And the North has become a very influential region ever since you took the crown. And their loyalty to you and the crown is without question. If Jon were to become attached to the Princess and essentially become the next Prince Consort of Dorne, it would do much to bring the Dornish back into the fold."

Jon had been working towards that very goal for years. Spreading the tale of Jon's birth into Dorne as well as tales of his deeds in hopes of catching the attention of the Martells, which it had. Then the boy had taken care of the next part by living up to the tales Jon had spung throughout Dorne during his brief stay in Sunspear. And now the Princess was apparently infatuated with the boy. If it was within his power to do so, he would march both to the nearest sept and have them wedded and bedded within a fortnight. But unfortunately, should he tip his hand in such a way or if Robert called for the betrothal, then the Dornish would immediately back out due to spite.

"An interesting strategy, Lord Hand," Varys smiled at him. "Now I understand why you wished to have my little birds begin singing songs of Jon's birth and his late mother, the Lady Ashara Dayne."

Robert blinked, turning first to Varys and then back to Jon. "Yes, Robert, I have been working towards this very objective for some years now."

"Blah, seems a waste of time," Robert grumbled. "We should just issue a decree stating their betrothal and be—"

"No, that is the one thing we cannot do," Jon groaned. Apparently, Robert had not been listening too well. "The Dornish, and the Martells in particular, hate you. They hate me. They hate all of us. If you were to issue a decree announcing the betrothal between Jon Stark and Princess Arianne Martell, the Dornish would refuse out of pure spite and perhaps even call themselves to arms in defiance. We have to handle this carefully and from a distance in order for our long term goals to be achieved."

Scratching the back of his head, Robert sighed and shook his head. "Fine Jon. We'll go about it your way. Now, what the fuck else do we have to talk about? Get it out quickly, cause I need to fucking piss."


Leading his brother to his workspace within the Sorcerer's Tower of Winterfell, Samwell Tarly felt more than a touch of excitement run through him as he prepared himself to show his brother just what he'd been working on ever since he'd arrived in the North. Their reunion the previous day had been quick, as Dickon had stayed with the Tyrells as was proper given his station as Ser Garlan's squire. But today the knight of Highgarden had dismissed his brother for the day, giving the two a chance to truly reunite after years of separation.

"So, brother, what exactly is all of this…stuff?" Dickon asked as Sam led his brother into the workshop where Sam spent most of his time.

"It would take days to actually tell you about everything in here," Sam told his brother, "And truth be told, I think only Lord Nox actually understands everything that is going on in here. I don't even know what half of this stuff does and I work closer with Lord Nox than perhaps any of the other students at the Winterfell College, save for Lady Talisa."

"Lady Talisa," Dickon repeated with a smile. "Now that is a woman. Not quite as fine as Lady Margaery…but I definitely wouldn't mind sharing a night with her."

Stopping, Samwell turned and faced his brother. "Careful, Dickon. Robb has his eye on her. And trust me, you do not want to get in the way of the Starks once they have their eye on something. Or try and take something that they care about away from them. The Boltons, Ryswells, Whitehills, Ser Corbray, and the Maesters are just the latest to learn the truth of that statement."

His brother's grin faded as his face went white. "Well, I mean I guess if she's spoken for then it would be in bad taste to pursue such a woman…No matter how fine she might be. But enough talk of the wolves, brother. I'm anxious to see just what you can do after being under the tutelage of the sorcerer for so long. But I do have to wonder why we are up here in the tower in this strange craftsman shop rather than down in the yard."

Sam frowned as he knew that he would no longer be able to avoid the topic. "Dickon…Lord Nox never took me on as his acolyte. I don't have the gift of the Force."

His brother blinked, then laughed. "That's a good one, Sam. But everyone knows that the sorcerer only keeps around those who have the same ability as he. So, you must have this magic…or is it that you're ashamed of it? Or are you not powerful enough to really do anything?"

"Lord Nox doesn't dismiss people just because they can't use the Force brother," Sam countered with a sigh. "He dismisses those who don't show any promise to him. If they have an affinity for the Force, he will take them on as acolytes. But then there are others like myself who, even though we don't have the Force, we still managed to impress him and Lord Stark enough to earn a place within the Winterfell College."

Dickon continued to stare at him as if trying to decide whether he was having a go of him. "By the Seven, brother," Dickon finally sighed. "I thought that you were one of the Sorcerer's magic users. I guess that means that I can't become a magic knight either then, huh?"

"Probably not," Sam replied, shaking his head. "Lord Nox has an uncanny ability to sense those like himself. If you had the same magic as he, he would've conscripted you into the ranks of his acolytes the moment you walked through the gates of Winterfell."

Sighing, Dickon looked around the workshop. "Well, if you haven't been learning magic from the sorcerer, then what have you been doing all these years up here in the North?"

Smiling and feeling slightly giddy, Sam led his brother over to the newest project Lord Nox had assigned to himself and the others at the College. "A lot. I've helped to create the medicine the sorcerer uses to cure greyscale. We've created a pump system that can move water from one location to another using pipes, though it's not really all that efficient right now. I've also been tasked by the King and Lord Stark to help Lord Robb work on creating a new type of roadway that will support a new type of fast transportation between Winterfell and White Harbor. But lately I've been working on this."

Pulling back on a blanket, Sam revealed a bench that had a sharp blade that was attached to a bar allowing it to move back and forth across the length of the table. And in the middle, there were a set of clamps with spikes to hold something in place. And on one end of the table was a turning wheel that was attached to one of the spikes. "This is a lathe," Sam explained, seeing the clearly confused look on his brother's face. "Right now, it's used to shape wood into specific shapes quickly, and we're working on adapting it to shape steel as well. Here, watch this."

Picking up a log the size of his arm, Sam set it between the two spikes before turning another wheel to bring the spikes closer together, skewering the log and holding it in place. "Turn the wheel, and make sure you go as fast as you can." Sam told Dickon as he worked on positioning the sharp blade that was attached to the tabled against the log.

Still clearly confused, Dickon stepped up and grabbed the wheel and began turning it as fast as he could. The log immediately began to spin quickly and the blade that he'd set against it began cutting effortlessly into the wood, sheering off the outer layer but not going any deeper than where Sam had originally set it. With Dickon still turning the wheel, Sam slowly began to move the blade down the log, sheering off the bark quickly and nearly effortlessly.

"Okay," Dickon mumbled as he stopped turning the wheel. "That's…interesting. And we did remove the bark faster than a woodworker could. And if you can set that blade like you did to cut deeper, it looked like you could make a lot of good arrow shafts and spear shafts quickly with this thing."

Sam could tell that his brother was just humoring him. 'He doesn't understand the full implication of just what this device can do. But that's alright. I've spent weeks helping to make it, and I'm still just now starting to come to the full realization of what this lathe can do. Especially if we can get it to work with shaping steel in this manner.'

"Arrows and spears are just the beginning of what this thing can do, Dickon," Sam finally said with a smile, resting his hand on the lathe. "Lord Nox has a lot of plans for the future. And this thing will help craft what is needed to make his plans come to fruition."

"Huh, well…I'm sure that you and father will be able to figure out what you can do with this…thing when you return to Horn Hill."

Again, Sam felt his stomach plummet. "That's something else I need to talk to you about, Dickon," he said slowly, as he tried to figure out the best way to say what it was that he needed to say. "I'm not going to be returning to Horn Hill."

"What?" Dickon asked, blinking rapidly. "What do you mean? Of course you'll be returning home. Unless… They aren't forcing you to stay here, are they? No, don't answer that. Just, umm, I don't know. Just nod and when I get back to the Reach, I'll talk to father and we'll figure something out to keep you safe."

"Don't, Dickon," Sam said desperately, trying to keep his brother from making a huge misunderstanding. "The Starks and Lord Nox are not forcing me to stay here, that is my choice. And quite frankly brother…it is them who are keeping me safe."

His poor brother just looked more and more confused with each word spoken. "What in the Seven hells are you saying, Sam? Is there…? Has someone threatened you? I mean, I know we have enemies back home, but father can take care of anyone who tries to cross our House."

"And what if the one I need protecting from is father?" Sam demanded a bit more forcibly than he'd intended and his brother's eyes went wide in shock. 'Well, now it's out there. Might as well say everything.' Taking a breath, he pressed on in a more controlled manner. "Dickon, I don't regret leaving home for a single moment. But the day I left was not by choice. I've always been a disappointment to father, and don't try and say different brother. I'm fat and craven. And father told me very pointedly that he would not allow one such as I to tarnish his legacy. So, he gave me three choices. One: come to the North, seek out the Sorcerer, earn his approval, and unlock the secrets to his magic. Two: join the Night's Watch. Or three…the two of us would go hunting together and there would be an…accident during our trip. Either choice, father would get the heir that he wanted."

"I – I can't believe that father would do that, Sam," Dickon stammered. "He…He was probably just trying to – to motivate you. Yes, that must be it. And it worked. He – He wouldn't have harmed you. You're his son, his heir."

Shaking his head, Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, brother, but he wasn't trying to push me. He was completely serious. Aye, I am his son and his heir, but I am not what he wanted in either of those things. That's you, Dickon."

Dickon blinked again. "What?"

"I intend to write a letter that I am abdicating my position as heir of House Tarly and Horn Hill and I intend to have Lord Stark and Lady Olenna, now that she's here, bear witness to my writing of the letter," he said, making his brother's eyes go wide. "I'll never be the heir that father wants. And I don't want to die or end my days at the Watch. This is where I want to be, brother. And, besides, you'll definitely be a better Lord than I could ever be."

Before his brother could respond, they both heard a loud commotion coming from the nearby open window that Sam knew looked over the sparring yard. "Come on, brother," Sam said joyfully, trying to lighten the mood. "You'll never be able to see my fat arse spar like the sorcerer. But judging from the cheering, it sounds like if we hurry, we might just be able to catch the end of Lord Nox's spar against whichever unfortunate soul thought they could prove a challenge to him!"