Author's Notes: I'm back! Summer's been long, and surprisingly packed full of things I needed to do, but now I'm back. And goddamn, I'm surprised to have 240 followers and 162 favorites this early on the story.

To address some reviews quickly:

- No, Geralt did not get the snowbear cloak. Besides that he respected it the way a beast would respect another beast, white isn't exactly his color.

- Geralt's wounds were deeper than it would normally be. An important comment said that you can grip the blade of a sword without cutting yourself, and this is true depending on two things:

1- You have heavy plate armor, in which case you're protected enough to grip it even if it comes at you at a relatively high speed/force.

2- You can grip it barehanded and have maybe some deep scratches on your palm if it is motionless, but otherwise you'll be fine.

In Geralt's case, he was neither in armor nor was he catching his blade motionless. It drove back and should have cut the upper half of his hand off, but he's strong enough that he would only take deep scars from it.

- It is the end of the initial Winterfell arc, but the 'who am I' one is... well, you'll see.

- For the sole reviewer who mentioned not reading Berserk, I strongly recommend that you do. A lot of the story won't make sense without it, and it is an excelent story besides that.

- As for matchmaking, more on that later, but endgame romance is very far away, and I'd say you wouldn't guess it.

As for the rest, thanks for the support and overall encouraging comments! Now without further ado, here's the end of the first arc.

A Pack Divided

It had been a good time. It had been the longest Eddard had stayed in the North in years, and the quickest he'd returned since his last stay. It had only been two months since Geralt's nameday, and he would stay a full moon before returning to the Eyrie. Lyanna had been ecstatic, and Benjen nearly matched her. Brandon and Geralt had been more controlled in their reaction, but undeniably happy that the Quiet Wolf had returned. It made Geralt crack a smile to remember his brooding brother's reaction to the far better relationship he held with the Wild Wolf. He lost it when he remembered Eddard approaching Geralt over what caused it. For a moment, he believed he would be the subject of his pity as well, but Eddard always proved to be wiser than he let on. There's nothing pleasant about what you did, Geralt, but we still have Brandon alive thanks to you. It wasn't right the right thing to do, but it wasn't wrong either.

That in turn, led him to remember the show of the blue rose to Eddard and Benjen. Lyanna and Geralt had prepared Chitch in case she would receive new 'friends' before showing each one the flower. Eddard, much to Lyanna's disappointment and Geralt's expectations, had not seen little elven girl. Benjen, on the other hand, had seen her before he even saw the rose. Lyanna and Geralt had to pin him down and make him swear on his honor and name he'd never tell of her to the others before explaining the elf's situation. He'd refused at first, but agreed once he heard the whole story. He took a fast liking to Chitch soon after, and she to him. Adults are less like to believe in fantastical tales, to see dragons and elves and demons and spirits as children will find. Someone in Geralt's dreams had said once. The thought made him frown. So what would it take for the old and the bitter to see them? Would they need to reclaim their innocence or be forced into a nightmare? On the brighter side of that thought, Geralt's nightmares became fewer and fewer. He still slept poorly, but it was to dreamless nights.

But as of now, Geralt was testing his skills against Eddard, who fought back against him well. It was clear the third of the Starks was better than his elder, but Geralt decided to hold back. He did not seriously intend to hurt his brother and friend, and he did not judge him harshly on his skills. It wasn't that Eddard was inept, he was rather good, actually. But against someone like Geralt, who may have very well been born with a sword in his hand, it was clear who held the advantage in spirit and experience. Even strength as well. Geralt had finally practiced enough to start using a greatsword with one hand. He had had half a mind to spar with Robert Baratheon without holding back, so he could size up the stag for his worth. But, according to their father, Jon Arryn kept him in the Vale for a reason still 'unknown'. The tone in Rickard's voice assured Geralt it was a matter regarding House Stark, but he didn't know in what way it concerned them.

"Seven hells, Ger, you fight like the Warrior!" Eddard was panting, but neither the sweat nor the cool breath leaving his mouth hid his smile. Geralt twirled his greatsword with one hand, quickly holding it in both hands and taking on a defensive stance. Geralt let out a cheeky grin. "'Seven hells'? 'The Warrior'? I know why father called you back north now, Ned. Any more time in the Eyrie and you'll be talking like a damn southron."

"Aye, I'm afraid my only northern companion in the Vale is the Heart Tree they still have. And if I would sleep and eat beneath their roof, I ought to behave as they'd have me. Only someone as stubborn as you would never change, Ger." Eddard laughed and Geralt did the same. It was cut short at Geralt's charge. Ned swung down in a two handed strike, but Geralt met his blade with strike of his own. Between his strength and Mormont's sword, Eddard's weapon flew from his hands. He was left staring with his mouth agape. "Geralt, you're really half a wolf, do you know that?"

"Direwolf, Ned, it's in our banners, remember?" His response was cheeky, but Geralt picked up his brother's sword and tossed it to him. Eddard reacted fast to catch it, but held up a hand in defeat. Geralt held back a frown that his brother was done with the combat. He's the only one here who's shown any new moves. Bran's a damn good fighter, but we've been at it for years, there's nothing surprising about sparring with him. Eddard seemed to have picked up on his discontentment before pointing at the greatsword. "Have you named it yet, Ger?"

"Actually, I have." Geralt replied with a short grin. Eddard's face was even, but he could see the worry underneath. He rolled his eyes, "No, I didn't name it 'Orphan's Tears', Ned. Father wouldn't have allowed it."

"Tell me how many times that's stopped you from doing as you like." The Quiet Wolf asked with his arms crossed. Geralt shook his head, looking at the sword in his hand. His grip was loose for a moment, and it was tightly wrapped by his fingers in the next. "Its name is Wolf's Claw."

"Wolf's Claw? That's a rather good name, actually. Would it have anything to do with Lord Jeor's sword being named Longclaw?" Geralt smiled and nodded. "It is. Figured I owe it to him I have a damn good sword of my liking, so I wanted something that was mine without forgoing his name."

"Then I'm sure your enemies will loathe to see you wield it in battle, Ger. If today's training is anything to go off on, you have the makings of a knight." And what you saw was me holding back, Ned, he thought. He took a moment to visualize his brother's words. He loved the North and its winds and snows, but a part of him knew he could live with the southron heat. And he certainly preferred steel for armor rather than boiled leathers. His sword he would have to discard, however, for something more suitable for his size upon manhood. The only detail of that image that failed to fit in his mind was the idea of ser preceding his name. His thoughts went to Essos. "Or perhaps a mercenary commander. The world is large, Ned."

"Ger, if you come and tell me you'd be fighting for slavers' wars, I'll smack you. There's no glory in taking bloody gold from that lot." Geralt rolled his eyes at his brother's impeccable honor. "Then I'd just take my spoils from Braavos and Pentos, Ned. Or I'd steal them from the Dothraki. All I know is my place is in the field, with a sword by my side."

"You're mad, Ger. Let's go to the Godswood, it must be noon now. It's been long since the five of us have been together, we ought to enjoy it." At that, Geralt nodded. There was contentment in walking with his brother out of the Great Keep and to the Godswood in the midday and not at the hour of the wolf. It had been a fortnight since Eddard had arrived, and Rickard had given his litter plenty of room to enjoy their time together. Geralt sighed at that. If he's allowing this much from us, it's that there's something he intends for us to do. Doesn't matter, though, not right now. Now we can enjoy ourselves. As the pair met up with Brandon, Lyanna and Benjen, Geralt's mind drifted to the black pup in the depth of those woods. He had dreamt once that he was in the wolf again, trotting with his pack sister. He'd gorged on goats and hares, and the scars he'd gained against the white queen only made him stronger.

The meeting started happily, the five gathering and laughing before the Heart Tree. It wasn't long before Lyanna threw a snowball at Geralt, which missed and hit Brandon instead. The following battle was one of vigor, alliances, betrayals, and no victors. Even with his face and clothes pelted with snow, Geralt had never felt so warm. Eddard grew tired first, and when he refused to fight, so did Lyanna. Benjen followed her lead, and Geralt and Brandon remained. With the two remaining, they gave each other a few shots before agreeing to a ceasefire. That had shocked the three witnesses, and when Lyanna mocked them for it, the two simply threw the rest of their rounds at her. That had nearly started another war.

By the end of it, the five sat on different roots of the Heart Tree, each taking the time to speak of their lives. Benjen had the least to say, but the group convinced him to go first regardless. His was mostly spent around training lessons under Rodrik or history lessons with Luwin. He was almost too reserved in speaking of his time, until Brandon teased him about him spending so much of his days with the blue rose. Geralt wasn't able to tell if Benjen had grown pale at that or if he had blushed. Either ways, it took a single snowball from Lyanna thrown at the eldest of the group to get him off the topic. Eddard managed to keep the peace and had Benjen speaking more on himself. By the end of it, the group learned of his dreams to become a proper knight, perhaps even Kingsguard.

Lyanna immediately demanded she go next. None refused her, and the She-Wolf spoke at length of her swords lessons and her improvements. She spoke at length of how she begged their father to allow her to leave for Bear Island, where the Mormonts could teach her better. A part of Geralt worried for Chitch losing the only lady friend she'd ever had, but he knew his sister could not and would not ever be chained to a single place. And if she did go to where the bear warriors lived and practiced, he'd be sure to visit. He was of the mind to show Jeor Mormont how well his gift sword had served him, and he said as much to the group.

Brandon spoke after, speaking of the duties Lord Rickard had passed onto him. He found the maintenance of Winterfell, counting the supplies and provisions and the everyday commoner's problems and requests a bore and the Lady of Winterfell's task, but their father insisted they should all know the way to maintain the castle. With that, he gave the younger Starks a brief warning on the impending boredom that would approach them with said lessons. After, he spoke boasts and nurtured his pride again, speaking of many lord's sons he'd beaten in jousts, and even the lords themselves. They called him more centaur than man with the riding skills natural to him. Or so he said. They all shared a good laugh when Geralt commented on said lords' daughters mounting him like one. Brandon laughed the loudest, speaking that it was a lordly matter to allow 'his lady to mount and not be mounted'. When Lyanna threw another snowball, he dodged it.

Eddard brought forth new tales from the Vale. He spoke at length of Jon Arryn, who was perhaps the only man who could best their father in matters of honor and justice, according to his words. Lord Yohn Royce, who would at times oversee his, Elbert Arryn's and Robert Baratheon's training with the Eyrie's master-at-arms, Nestor Royce. While the three could take on Nestor at their best, mostly through Robert's strength and leadership, the four of them could not face the great Bronze Yohn. The lord was apparently closer to seven feet of height than six, and his gruff attitude in no way hindered his will and talent for fighting. The man himself, though, had a strict sense of duty and honor, which led him to sport a liking for the Quiet Wolf. Elbert Arryn himself was becoming a friend to the two lord's sons, sporting in part some of his uncle's temperance and a wickedness he'd learned from Robert. Lyanna would growl whenever the Baratheon was mentioned, but Benjen made a remark of the wonders of a wolf, a stag and an eagle befriending one another.

Finally it was Geralt's turn. It took some prying from the others to get him to speak, but he worked out in his mind what to include and what to leave out of his stories. He picked one, and that being the one of the direwolf, the snow bear and the Heart Tree. He spoke of brief nightmares and sleepless nights, forgoing the contents of his mind within the realms of his subconscious, and his solution to remain by the sacred forest. He spoke of finding a wounded black wolf running from a snow bear, and of the fast alliance the two formed to take the great she-beast down. It was hard, but he mostly went unscathed, or so he told, and the two managed to bring down the beast, and Geralt used Wolf's Claw to cleave her skull in. He was met with incredulous gazes at first, but any disbelief they felt dissolved when they remembered Geralt's aversion to lies. Brandon grunted he'd been scared half to death that he'd found his brother at the gates of the Great Keep bloody and cold, but was relieved that it wasn't his. Lyanna lamented that he did not bring the wolf to Winterfell and kept him as a pet.

"He wouldn't have been free." Was all Geralt replied. They continued speaking with each other until it began getting dark out and their bellies protested in hunger. They returned to the Great Hall to find something of a private feast for the lot of them. The boar and the venison was finely made, and Benjen and Lyanna sated themselves on lemon cakes once the dinner was done. Rickard sat at the head of the table, smiling, listening to his children's antics. Geralt hid a frown. He could see melancholy behind their father's eyes, and the only other person whom he suspected had picked up on that had been Eddard. The two made a look and knew better than to speak of it during the night. He'd been half expecting for the Lord of Winterfell to call them to their solar once they were done, but instead he bade them good night and off to their rooms they went. Geralt kept his expression unreadable and bored, but when no one was looking, grabbed Eddard by the shoulder and led him through another hall.

"Geralt?" He said nothing until he was sure they were alone at the hall. It was night, so naturally the castle was far less lively, but he knew his missions out into the Godswood had upped the number of guards patrolling the inside. "Father's hiding something."

"Naturally, Ger. He's the Lord of Winterfell. There are matters I imagine he can discuss with no one given his position." Eddard answered evenly. Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's mildness. "That's obvious, Ned. I mean it's something to do with us. This is the most freedom he's given us to be out and about to do as we like in a long time. And it goes beyond your visit, he wasn't like this the last time you came."

"And if it regards us, Ger, I don't doubt he'll tell us. We can't press him on at a time like this. We'll make this worse on him and ourselves." Geralt shook his head. "We're not pressing him for the truth, we're listening to what he has to say without him knowing."

"Listening? You mean spying? Geralt, you can't be serious."

"I am serious, Ned. Father means to do something, we best know what that is. Benjen's too young, and Brandon and Lyanna may just barge right into his place if they hear something that upsets them." Eddard furrowed his brows. "You're hardly different, Geralt. Asides, how are you so sure spying on father will lead to anything? He'd have to meet with someone for us to overhear what he has to say, and we'd need to overhear the right thing as well."

"He didn't say it Ned, but he's had that look all night, and you know that too. And if he did mean to go to rest alone, he would've gone directly to his solar. If I had to guess, he's going to Luwin's room. And what better confidant could a lord have than his resident Maester? It's not like he has mother to discuss these issues with anymore."

Eddard frowned at that, but ultimately sighed in defeat and followed Geralt's lead. Geralt himself frowned as he led his older brother. Someday, Ned, you'll have to stand for yourself and not let another rule you. Even if it's your own blood. He felt halfway guilty in abusing his Eddard's weakness, but he was determined to hear what his father had to say. True to his guess, Rickard's detour had led him to Luwin's study, and true to their luck, the door was open by just an inch. Putting a finger to his lips, he gestured to Eddard so they could both listen in.

"…one else? Brandon's to be betrothed to Catelyn Tully, so through him, the North and the Riverlands would be joined, perhaps the most important of the marriages. They may not be Targaryens nor Lannisters, but they're directly adjacent to our territory. Add finding Eddard an Arryn bride, and three neighboring kingdoms would be bound by blood. Only problem is the piss-poor luck the Arryns have had in producing an heir, never mind a lady to marry off. Eddard seems to get along well enough with Elbert, he speaks well of the lad, perhaps that will help him find a wife from the Vale."

"That is true, my lord, though perhaps you could look to House Royce to make for another bond to the Vale?"

"I've pondered on that myself, Luwin, but it won't do. It might be far and stretched, but I find that distant branches of the same name carry more… clearness in their title. Whether she be a direct descendant or the fifth-born of the third cousin of Jon Arryn, should Eddard's bride be named Arryn as well, the name alone should shield him from any possible misgivings between our houses. For that matter, the Tyrells should be the easiest to come to terms with. There are almost as many of them as there are flowers in the Reach, so that should make for Benjen's bride as well, in due time. Lyanna is already to be betrothed to Robert Baratheon, so we continue to grow the links between the kingdoms, and Geralt…"

"What about Geralt, my lord?"

"Geralt's… Geralt's a different case. Where the others may be subjects to my matchmaking, there isn't a thing I can do with him that will end well without his direct consent to it. He's unruly, and I love him as well as the others, but I'm having a hard time coming up with anything for him. Assuming that we have certain bonds with the Tullys, Arryns and Baratheons, we'd have to come up with brides from two other kingdoms. Quellon has not produced a daughter, so the Greyjoys are out of the question. That's a shame in itself, Geralt is just irreverent enough that he could tame the Iron Islands himself. The Tyrells… they'd be like to ask for two hands rather than one, but I mean to make the most of my five children, and the Tyrells are the best I could think of for Benjen."

"But my lord, you're his father. He has to know you mean well when you see to your children's futures."

"You're aren't such a new addition to Winterfell anymore, Maester Luwin, you know Geralt's… tendencies. He's too stubborn to do as I tell him without him agreeing. He means well, but he won't settle for anything that he himself hasn't chosen. I know he'd look for something himself, but that won't do, not in this short time. The proposal to the Daynes may yet be re-opened with some luck, but I would prefer something of a larger scale. His brothers and sister have duties, so does he. Greyjoys are not an option, and Targaryens far less. I'd sooner be burnt at the stake than let him move so far south with the Aerys growing wilder and wilder. Perhaps the Martells… to be truthful, Luwin, I don't have an answer. And I need to find one that works. Eddard will do his duty and Benjen as well. But if Geralt rebels, he'll unknowingly invite Brandon and Lyanna into that open rebellion, and all will fall apart. I've been sleeping little as of late, would you give me some Essence of Nightshade? Perhaps some proper rest will allow me to find a solution to this maddening matter."

"Of course, my lord. Three drops will do. Any more than that, and I fear Winterfell shall have a fretless night attempting to wake you."

"My thanks, Luwin, I'll be seeing you tomorrow over this."

Geralt grabbed Eddard's wrist and ran behind the corner of the right hallway. The two held their breaths as they heard the door open and their father walk softly to the other end. Geralt sighed and looked to Eddard. He sported a knowing look this time, one of expectant disappointment. Geralt scoffed. "Don't give me that look."

"Father's right, Geralt." The words frustrated him more than they had the right to. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Ger, I've half a mind to believe you might just be father's favorite. You've denied his plans at every turn in favor of what you like. You won't settle for anything he says, he's the one that has to listen to you. Of course he's worried. You were right, father did have something planned. He'll be announcing the betrothals and talks of future wards soon enough, and everyone will look to you when they realize you won't be subjected to it where the rest of us have our duties." Geralt growled. "I've been trying to help father, Ned. And I've been pretty damn busy myself, I already agreed to find myself a betrothal to aid him."

"And how far have you come? Would you have one for tomorrow? Or have you been training with your sword every day?" Geralt got close to Eddard then. "And you, Ned? Do you have any teeth at all? Do you have any dreams? Have you ever thought for yourself in all your years in Winterfell, or is everything you do at someone else's orders?"

Eddard looked taken aback, and for a moment, Geralt felt regret. But his brother was ice in the next moment, his face betraying nothing. "I can, and I do. I chose the Vale, I chose House Arryn and I chose to stay along with Robert. And when the time comes, I will pick my own wife with Lord Jon's and father's approval. The fact that I live with rules does not mean my life is chained by them. And you say you're your own man and you'll always be your own man, but where has your word gotten you? You've done well to train yourself to become the warrior you've always wanted to be, but when you said you would help father in finding your own arrangement, what have you found? Aye, you're far stronger than me, far more independent than the rest of us, but the truth is, Geralt, that you're also the most selfish out of all of us."

And with that, the Quiet Wolf turned on his heels and marched away. A hundred and one thoughts passed through Geralt's head, from apologies he meant to give to his brother to ceaseless insults he would curse him with. In the end, he chose silence, and took a moment in contemplation. It wasn't until the shuffling and clinking of chains shook him from his stupor. "Geralt? Pardon the intrusion, I do believe I overheard you and Eddard speaking not far from my office. I wouldn't presume to accuse you of such, but I imagine it wasn't happenstance that your squabble would be so near me just after your father left, would it?"

He didn't have it in himself to be surprised when he found Luwin standing by his door. His face was curious and gentle, enough for Geralt to know his father would not be informed of his late-night activities. He shook his head. "I'm behind on my studies, Luwin. Haven't found myself a bride yet."

"A complex study, no doubt. You surely have your family's support in your efforts as well as mine. It is rather late, but if you have need of my assistance, you are more than welcome to it." Geralt looked into his eyes for a moment. He nodded. "And I'll have it."

With that, he walked into the office, the Maester's chains chiming to an arrhythmic tune when he followed him in. It was easy to forget the grandness of the Great Keep's own library, but looking at halls and halls of books, tomes and scrolls, Geralt found himself half nauseous. Luwin's soft chuckling came from behind him. "Worry not, my lord, you won't have to search far and wide in these halls to seek what you want. Truthfully, if you mean to find what your father wants for you, you need look little. Lord Rickard wants marriages to only to families at the head of other kingdoms, which you would find in Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. I was about to store it in its place when I heard you and Eddard outside. You will find it on that table with the candle."

Geralt nodded his thanks and sat himself down in front of the great text, the words seeming like little more than dead and broken ants in the midst of an enormous yellowed page. He growled internally. He began reading names, the color of their hair and shade of their eyes and found himself bored to death already. A grunt from him brought a chuckle from Luwin. "A rather dull read compared to the present Eddard gave you for your nameday. However, it was written two years ago, a rather good way to instruct yourself on current members of noble houses, as well as their ancestors and way of life."

"Seven hells, Luwin, and you've read the whole damn thing yourself too?" Luwin smiled and motioned to several links of the chains around his neck. "No Maester is allowed to be sent to a Great Lord without at least four copper chains. We must bear knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms and the influences of the histories of the intertwined royal families within them. That includes the most recent households and how they have grown or, in some unfortunate cases, ceased to exist."

"So that's what the copper chains are? What of the others?" Luwin smile and sat down in front of him, taking the time to show each of the links. "From yellow gold to steel to brass to iron, we are trained to understand everything from finances to smithing, astronomy and warfare. My own specialties have lied in history, where my links are numbered seven, lead for geography, mapmaking and weather are six, and pewter, household management, are eight. Tin, steel, red gold, I've had five forged for each, each for philosophy, politics, midwifery, agriculture and animal husbandry."

"And the Valyrian steel?" Luwin's eyebrows rose at that, fumbling at his neck for a moment before retrieving only two black links. They drank the light just as Lord Rickard's Ice did and held all the same elegance and power. "Only two, I'm afraid, twice as many as the rest of the Maesters have. Valyrian steel is exclusive for the high mysteries, of magics and the eras buried beneath the sands of time. A time of dragons and the Others and many more things we have lost in our memories."

"All Maesters have only one?"

"One they immediately receive when the first lesson is learned. All to remember the simple matter that magic has long since left this world, and the last of the dragons died a century ago. Only one of the Maesters held an obsession over it, forged multiple links of Valyrian steel for his studies. If he should continue on that path, perhaps he could become the Archmaester of such knowledge, and earn the mask, ring and staff of Valyrian Steel. Such things have not been used in decades. The fact alone that the spot of an Archmaester of the higher mysteries has been missing for decades makes the man that much more of a curiosity. He is self-taught in his craft."

"And I imagine he looks like a starving Essosi mage. Did he hide from the sunlight to protect his pale, thin skin? Were his lips blue from drinking Shade of the Evening?" Luwin raised a brow at that. My training doesn't interfere with my lessons, Luwin. I've been listening. His wrinkles showed when he smiled. It's a wonder he's of an age with father. "Why, he was the exact opposite. To look at him, you would think he was build to be a soldier, if said soldier had the body of an ox. He was burly, gruff and leathery of skin as far as I remember. The other Maesters who mocked him made sure to do so out of earshot, I believe they were too intimidated by the sight of him. Some even rumored that he'd killed a man with his bare hands."

"And you, Luwin? Was he friend or foe to you?" Geralt asked. He tried to imagine a shaven bull with chains around his neck and in a Maester's robes. It's a wonder that kind of a man would choose a library over a battlefield. Hell, I have half a mind he means to make off with the Valyrian steel if he achieves his goal and make himself a weapon with it. "Neither, I'm afraid. Maester Marwyn is a man of few companions, absolute focus and rather poor skills in treating with other Maesters. He was more of the company of harlots, hedge wizards and sellswords. I did make it a point to show that I held nothing against me and offered help in whatever he should need. In turn, he lent me a few good books when it came to Winterfell, its alleged ancient magics in its giants and Children of the Forest, theories on the construction of the Wall, and other such works of our country's unique past. It earned me the second link. When your lord father requested a Maester from the citadel with such specialties, he focused a little on that as well. I myself was eager to return to the North, so I accepted my place eagerly."

"And you had all of Wulfric's best qualities through a northman's voice. That would get the lords off my father's back… I trust your silence on this, Luwin, and you'll have mine. I did hear his plans so far, that includes that he is of a mind to marry us off to the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands and the Reach. That leaves fewer kingdoms to settle with." Luwin bobbed his head at that, chains jingling. "The problem with this is that by sorting out the families exclusively to the highest bloodlines, fewer matches are left. House Tyrell would serve well for multiple hands as their house is large and prolific, but it would take a great measure of luck for House Arryn to produce and maintain a lady for Eddard to marry, if their poor luck is anything to go by. The remaining Great Houses to serve well for you are fewer for it."

"I see the problem now. If that's the case, however, then House Dayne should have never been part of his plans. They're under the Martells, not above them." Geralt replied, looking over the purple and white banners and the current names under them. Luwin nodded. "Lord Rickard was prepared to settle for that, as he suspected an old, respected house famous for their Swords of the Morning would be the only way to have you settle for his plans. Your rejection left him wanting, but your willingness to help him gave him hope again."

"Not much hope to have when the Great Houses have failed to make daughters. The Greyjoys have none, and the Martells have only one. Seven hells, she's ten years my elder, I doubt that would work." Luwin sighed deeply at that. "Not only that, but she is to be the queen soon. King Aerys has recently rejected his Lord Hand's offer for his daughter and chosen to humiliate him by calling him a mere servant. Prince Rhaegar is to marry princess Elia Martell, and Lord Tywin Lannister has resigned as Hand of the King. I'm afraid neither the Martells nor the Greyjoys are options, much less the Targaryens."

Geralt listened to the family names Luwin had listed, and he listened to the one that he did not. Perhaps… He turned the pages of the book until he found what he looked for. They certainly don't lack for branches, and the girls seem to be of my age. He muttered the names under his breath, doing his best to remember them. When the Maester looked over his shoulder, his face turned grim. "My lord Geralt, there's a reason I have not mentioned them. Your father has a very strong aversion to–"

"It's the only option left, Luwin. Any one of the rest would need to produce a daughter within this year, and I'd prefer not to wait for fourteen years for my future betrothed to come of age, nor for me to be fourteen years older than her. And if one of us had to go that far south, there's no way in hell I'd allow for Benjen to become a ward there. Father would agree on that." With that he closed the book and left for his room. He'd memorized the names well enough, he'd learn the rest when his father accepted his proposal. When he slept that night, he dreamt of castles and banners and swords and blood. They were not Westerosi in any way, but he remembered waking up in the middle of a battlefield. A boy a little older than him extended his hand to him, silver hair flowing in the wind. 'Get up, Guts.' He woke up nauseous from that.

The morning sun rose fast that morning, the rushing and bustling of the Great Keep leading Winterfell's pack to find their way back to the dining hall. Rickard arrived last and ate with them with smiles that reached his eyes. Somehow, there skin under his eyes still held dark hues. And that was with the Essence of Nightshade. Father may just be as terrible sleeping as I am. He focused on the food, with Lyanna occasionally speaking to him until she realized he wasn't listening. Eggs, bacon burnt black, blood sausages and honeyed bread made for their breakfast, and soon enough the five were as happy as they could be. There had been a couple of times that Geralt had glanced at Eddard, but never managed to meet his gaze. You'll be eating your words as well soon, brother. Their father rose first. "Now then, all of you. Follow me to my solar, there are important announcements I mean to make to you lot."

"What's it about, father?" Benjen piped up. Rickard's smile was warm, placing a large hand on the boy's head and ruffling his hair. "You'll learn once we're there, pup. Come on."

As Rickard began walking, Brandon, Lyanna and Benjen shared a look, though they failed to note it was one-sided when they turned to Eddard and Geralt. It was only then that the Quiet Wolf looked to him, one just as unreadable as the other. Neither said anything, and the other three looked at the pair inquisitively. Eddard shook his head. "We best not keep father waiting. He rarely ever calls on us together, and he never overstates the importance of those matters when he says it is so."

He walked first, for once leading the pack. Geralt frowned and caught up fast enough to be on his side. Neither spoke, and the other three had no choice but to follow silently. In his solar, they found an intricate map of Westeros on his desk, marking its cities and terrain with perfect detail. Standing behind his desk, the five found that the map was facing them. Rickard motioned to five chairs on the other side for them to sit, no doubt moved there just for the occasion. When they sat, they remained quiet. Brandon and Lyanna looked like they wanted to speak, but their father's austerity marked a silence only he was allowed to break. He leaned forwards on his desk, looking over at the map time and time again. Closest to him was the North, whereas the South pointed at them. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked up again.

"I have made more than a few arrangements over the past few moons. Arrangements that will determine the future of House Stark. I like to believe I've been fair to you all for all my life. You've wanted training by the sword and dancing lessons? I've given them. You've wanted the freedom to ride and race each other in the fields? By my word, you've had it. You've chosen households to go to, lands to discover, places to explore? I have taken you there myself. And where there is a time for pleasure of one's own choosing, there is also a time for duty for a calling higher than yourself." He spoke with distinct pauses, and his voice was soft, but his eyes were hard and strict. Brandon shook his head. "Of course, father, what do you need us to do?"

"To follow your duties, Bran, and your brothers and sister as well. House Stark has been the ruling house of the North, and that entails the largest piece of land in all the Seven Kingdoms, larger than the other six combined. That is one of several reasons we have stuck with our own, choosing to do little more than to deepen our bonds with our sworn houses even more. It's time, however, that we looked southwards, and to truly link ourselves with our neighbors." Rickard stopped for a moment and stood straight. He turned directly to Brandon and set his eyes upon him. He pointed just south of the North. "Brandon, I have spoken with Lord Hoster Tully. After much talks, you are now betrothed to his eldest daughter, Catelyn Tully. Through you, the North and the Riverlands shall be bound by blood, the blood of your children."

Geralt looked at Brandon swallowing the lump in his throat. It did not take a Maester to see the discontentment in his face, no matter how he tried to hide it. Eddard looked almost indifferent by comparison, though hints of worries spread to his eyes. Lyanna looked the worst, eyes bulging and gripping to the hands of her chair tightly. Only Benjen looked curious to what went on. Rickard turned to Eddard. "I've spoken to Jon Arryn as well. He and I share the mind of allowing you to choose an Arryn bride for yourself, Eddard. We would have you choose one who is healthy, one that you yourself would choose as well. And given his orphandom, he speaks on behalf of Robert Baratheon as well, who will be Lyanna's betrothed once the two are of age."

"NO!" Lyanna's scream was shrill, so much so that Geralt had to hold his ear the way he'd hold a freshly bleeding wound. Lyanna was on her feet, hands balled into fists. Rickard's face betrayed nothing, but he was no longer yielding as he had been in days past. The softness that came when he allowed her fighting lessons was missing, only that of a lord's severity remained. She bit her bottom lip at that. "You can't marry me to that… that oaf, father, I won't stand for it! He's stupid and brutish and I've heard of how he likes to drink and whore!"

"Yes, you will, Lyanna. I've spoken with Lord Arryn about it as much. Robert seems to follow his own desires, if Jon tells it true, I'll give you that. And he is also well aware of how House Stark will not be shamed by such tendencies. But the lad is young still, barely a man. He has yet to mature, and once he is grown, then you shall be betrothed. He has been made aware that should he continue to do so once that betrothal is set, that the proposal may well be off and that he himself would be victim to your own ire. He's accepted those terms, and in turn, you shall accept these. Similarly, Brandon will not shame Catelyn Tully by bedding girls during and after his betrothal and marriage as to not stain House Stark's own honor." Lyanna was shaking, tears in the corner of her eyes, while Brandon's jaw clenched. Eddard stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You think too low of Robert, I promise you. He's passionate, yes, but he means well. He could never raise a hand to you."

"Easy for you to say, you get to pick your own lady instead of being given some stupid bride! And what of Geralt and Benjen?! Why do we have duties and they get to be free?!" Rickard's angered showed enough for Lyanna to sit back down. "I'll say this once and only once, Lyanna, so listen well. I don't give half a damn what your situation may be, but you never, and I mean never turn on your own brothers, do you understand me? Especially when one of them is your youngest brother, who has yet to turn of age."

His tone was sharp and angry, and all Lyanna could do was look down at the floor and nod somberly. Rickard sighed and turned to Benjen. "That being said, I do have duties for you as well, pup. I'm currently in between letters with Olenna Tyrell. You might be the fifth child of House Stark and my fourth son, but you are still my blood, and I would see you marry someone worthy of you in due time. The Tyrells themselves are many and more, and I'm sure they have no lack of pretty lasses your age you could be betrothed to in time. If all goes well, within the coming months, you're to become their ward. If that happens, stand tall and be proud, for your name is Benjen Stark of Winterfell. You are sweet, Ben, but you're also a direwolf. Always maintain courtesies, but never forget your fangs, my boy."

As he said that, he stood by Benjen, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The Pup looked nervous, but he nodded as soon as Rickard finished speaking, trying to sit taller in his chair. Geralt looked on, Rickard giving him a brief look before turning back to his place behind the desk. Lyanna spoke softly. "…What of Geralt?"

"Aye, father, what of Geralt? I do not mean to turn on him, we're a pack, but you've spoken to each of us of our duties to House Stark, understandably so. You have not yet spoken of Geralt's own." Brandon followed. When Geralt looked at him, Brandon's face was solemn, but not incriminating. Their father looked at him now, jaw mildly clenched. He could see a thousand words behind his eyes, hundreds of thoughts and ideas that would not escape him. When the silence reached its peak and all waited for an answer, Geralt stood up and walked towards the map. He pointed at the top of the scroll.

"I already have mine. The Riverlands are south of the North's only border, that's why their allegiance is the most important, why only Bran could be important enough to seal the marriage. Ned's won Jon Arryn seven times over, so an Arryn bride seems like a good fit for the second son of the North, and a bridge with our seaward neighbors. Robert Baratheon fell for Lyanna by luck, so that would unite us to the Stormlands, which would be isolated if not for Benjen's future bond to the Reach. That leaves the Martells, but they just gave their only daughter's hand to Prince Rhaegar. Quellon Greyjoy has not produced a daughter, and it's rather late for him to make one at this point. The Targaryens have none, and even if they did, Aerys is too mad to make for a reliable host at this point. To the west, however, Casterly Rock has several branches, and I'm sure Tywin Lannister could use a link to another army, especially considering how his king humiliated him by turning away his daughter's hand."

The room was heavy with unpleasant silence, and Rickard's eyes widened farther than Geralt had ever seen them do. Brandon and Lyanna looked flabbergasted, seemingly having no response to his practiced answer. Benjen looked afraid, and Eddard apprehensive. Beneath the latter's tension, however, there was a healthy amount of respect, which was only confirmed through an almost imperceptible nod. Geralt acknowledge and returned an even shorter one, before looking to their father. "With this, we'd have a link to four of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We'd be lacking the Crownlands and the Foot, but then we'd have enough links to–"

"No." The Lord of Winterfell was silent, and his answer quieter still. His eyes had yet to blink and his gaze had yet to leave Geralt. He frowned at that, remembering the other arguments he'd practiced the night before. "I don't pretend to ask for Cersei Lannister's hand, I don't expect Lord Tywin to give it to a thirdborn son, regardless of my status as a Stark. There are others from other branches that are my age. Not the highest standing, but if I remember right, there's a Cerenna and a Myrielle Lannister that are cousins to–"

"I said no." Rickard didn't raise his tone, but his voice was steel. His mouth had spread his lips thin with his grimace, and none of his siblings dared say anything to him. Geralt himself grew angry. I didn't spend the night looking through that damn book, trying to do my duty for the family for you to dismiss it so early. "He'll say yes, father, you know he will. There's much to gain and little to lose from such an alliance, and all other options are out. You were saying that we all need to do our duties, weren't you? Lyanna and Brandon were rather pissed I had none, and I've just proposed mine, as we agreed. So why don't you stop acting like a damn coward and let me–"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was looking right with his left cheek stinging angrily. The slap his father gave him rang across the room like a silver plate falling to the floor. Looking from the corner of his eye, he had to struggle to keep a straight face. Laughter would erupt from his throat if he continued thinking about how his siblings looked more stricken than he felt. His expression turned to steel and looked back at his father, whose face was solemn and tired. He never faltered, and he certainly didn't yield. Eddard's voice came from the back. "Father, Geralt was only trying to–"

"All of you, wait outside. You've heard what I meant for you to hear." He had not raised his voice in all that time, and the four remained awkwardly in place for a moment. Eventually, they heeded their father's orders, Eddard bravely gripping Geralt's shoulder in comfort before walking with the others. Geralt had not moved, and his face had not changed. When the door closed, Rickard closed his eyes and sighed deeply, slumping back on his chair. Geralt didn't move. His father looked at him again. "You can sit down, Geralt. I don't plan to strike you again."

It took a few seconds for Geralt to do as he said, relaxing his posture and dragging a chair closer to the desk. Rickard observed his face for a while. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What am I to do with you, my boy?"

"Listening would be a good start. You told me about your plan in confidence, father, about the necessity of bloodlines linked together, of how only those of the Great Houses would do. House Lannister is a Great House, and they're the only ones where I may find candidates with–"

"I know, I know that, damn it. I know it well. Did it occur to you that I hadn't considered that option myself already? After the Targaryens, the Lannisters were the last house I wanted to send any of you to. Even the Greyjoys, whose history is dark and full of pillaging, have grown better with Quellon's guidance and rejection of their old ways. The Martells can be a poisonous bunch, but they have no quarrel with us, and they are renowned for being kind to children. It's nothing short of misfortune that only the Lannisters may have candidates for you to wed. Under Tywin Lannister, they may be the most intelligently ruthless house in Westeros." Geralt leaned in closer. "Which is why I proposed I go there, not Benjen. If anyone can survive there, father, it's me."

Rickard looked at him again, shaking his head slowly. "Never underestimate Tywin Lannister, Geralt, especially if you're already overestimating yourself. You're strong, I don't doubt that, but the Great Lion is indominable. Have you never heard the Rains of Castamere? The houses of Reyne and Tarbeck once dared rebel themselves against his father. Even without old Tytos's leave, Tywin went on his own and wiped those traitors from existence. Not their lords, not their soldiers, but everyone in those lands down to the last man, woman and child. He saved his house from debt and weakness, and he did so through the blood of his enemies. Hells, if I had to gamble on it, I'd wager that Aerys's constant derision and mockery of Tywin is his fear of his old Hand's strength. The fact that the King had so many good years reigning Westeros were hardly his doing, it was Tywin that helmed them. And he has just resigned, after Aerys denied Cersei Lannister's hand for Rhaegar. There's tension in those households, and I'd be sending you to Casterly Rock while the King has his sights on it."

"Father, it's the only way. Odds are Lyanna will run away before Robert even steps a foot past Moat Cailin if she thinks I'm getting the easy end of it. Brandon and I get along better now, but he'll be jealous too. I'm not overestimating myself, and I'm not underestimating Tywin Lannister. You say he's ruthless, but he's intelligent as well. He has no reason to turn away a potential ally, much less one as large and strong as the North." Geralt put emphasis on his final words, and Rickard raised a brow. "Do you really believe that? Living under Tywin's room will not be the same as living under mine, far from it. He's hard and he gives orders, whether you're his blood or a guest. And he never negotiates, especially if it regards someone directly under him. You will be directly under him. You won't be able to just sneak out as you like nor disregard his instructions as you've done with me. Hells, I don't even know if they have a Weirwood tree in Casterly Rock. If you mean to go there and not just survive, but thrive and earn a Lannister lady, you'll have to be impeccable with him."

"And I will, father, you have my word. You said I could help you to accomplish your dream, that I would aid you in uniting Westeros through common blood, and that I could choose how and with whom. This is my choice." Rickard stared at him intently. He lowered his face unto his hands and sighed, rubbing his temple with the tips of his fingers. "…Someday, you'll be the death of me, Geralt… Very well, I'll write to Casterly Rock, see if Ser Stafford's daughters aren't already engaged to other vassal houses. Lord Tywin is not a man to rush decisions, but he wastes no time either. Expect an answer soon."

Author's Notes: And there you have it. With this, you have the preliminary matchmaking Rickard planned, and a now much better idea for what's to come for Geralt. Canonically, two important changes I made are evident in this chapter, and they might not be too clear because the events are not explicitly detailed in the books. The first is Tywin resigning as Hand of the King when Aerys rejected the wedding proposal "I can't marry my son to my servant's daughter". In the books, he tries to resign this way, but is unsuccessful, why, I don't know. In this one he was, so he's back in Casterly Rock a little earlier than in the canon.

Secondly, I'm making Myrielle and Cerenna Lannister (and by extension, Daven Lannister), two cousins of Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion older than they are actually. Otherwise, Geralt would essentially be a teen courting two children. Beyond that, I'm excited to get on to the next part, I think there's plenty to use and capitalize on. Hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I have writing, and I hope to hear your thoughts in your reviews!

The Almighty Afroduck,

All hail