CH 4: JOURNEYS BOTH HOME AND AWAY

When the day came that they would depart Winterfell for the capital, Asher was torn. Winterfell was almost everything he had hoped it would be, and he nearly did not want to leave. Nearly. His whole life was truly to the south. Jamie and Tyrion, Arys, Myrcella, even his Lord Uncle would be making the trip south. That was possibly the most important thing to him, getting time to truly spend with his uncle for the first time since their meeting. They had written each other for years, but they had never truly spoken since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Back then, he had seen him for who he truly was. A nephew more than a bastard, Lannister or Stark.

He would need to be vigilant however, as his uncle possessed little or no cunning in his honorable mind. His frozen face that he took up when he was playing the part of a Lord certainly helped, as he would truly use it in most conversations in the south, but that alone would not shield him from all of the plots and intrigue of court. He could lean on Myrcella to get some meagre information out of her mother's network of ladies, but he would have to form his own network of reliable gossips when he returned to the capital. Ser Meryn's squire certainly loved to boast plenty, it may be finally time to put his kingsguard connections and knightly status to work.

Aside from their own departure, this could truly be the last time he ever set eyes on Jon Snow. Jon had promised to write him, something he eagerly agreed to, but he hoped that he would change his mind about going to the wall. There was plenty of work for him within the north besides the wall, and a single letter from his Lord Father could get him into any keep as a page or squire. Tyrion invited himself into the party going north, reluctantly using his connection to the queen to do so, and would hopefully follow his wishes in trying to convince poor Jon that celibacy was not the way one would want to spend their whole life.

Saying goodbye to the still sleeping Bran was something of its' own that he wished would have never come to pass. His Lady Aunt barely acknowledged his presence, thankfully, and had let him say his goodbyes in peace. He had done a good enough job avoiding his father's old betrothed, who he was certain was not the most thrilled by his presence in the castle these past weeks, but he knew that after Bran's accident that her patience was coming to an end. Seeing the boy named for his father in his current state was near heartbreaking. He had had such aspirations as squiring for him when he was done with Jon, something that he had never learned would not come to pass. The boy would wake to learn that his bastard brother had been forced to the wall by circumstance and even more saddened than he already would be, as was his nature. He hoped and prayed before the Old Gods and The New for his recovery, and knew that he would wake in time. Those with the name Brandon were fighters, even his father had fought his way into death. The boy would live, of that he was thankfully certain.

As Benjen Stark mounted his horse for the ride north, he reflected on what could be his last ever trip home. That is how he treated every one of them, the last time he would ever see the home of his family. It helped him keep his mind realistic, and allow him to truly enjoy these breaks from the wall. This is how he had wanted it when he was younger, wanting to escape the memories of his dead family, leaving poor Ned with a cold wife and colder castle. Thankfully, both seemed to warm to him in the years after his return. Now with six children of his own, Ned had truly refilled the halls of Winterfell with little wolves to trample through. While it would never be the same for him, Ned had finally found his place in the world as an honorable man and lord.

Now, they would both be leaving it all behind. Him to The Wall with his brother's child, the second oldest of the brood. Bastard or otherwise, Jon had always been a Stark to him, same as his brother had always thought. The boy was convinced he had no place for himself here in Winterfell, Their Home, but he would do his best to do right by the lad. He knew his other bastard nephew, Asher, had tried his best to get Ned to let the boy follow south with them, but he would not allow it. Benjen would never have to ask why, as Ned was surely glad he was able to deny at least one more of his blood the trip to the deathtrap of King's Landing. How Asher had lived in the same city of his father's murder was beyond him, for he would never set foot in such a place.

Said nephew was saying his final goodbyes to Jon now. The two had grown close in the time he had spent in Winterfell, acting more as a brother to the boy than perhaps he could have ever imagined. The lad surely saw himself in his fellow bastard, and Jon saw what he could possibly become. Now though, the likelihood of them ever seeing each other again was so small that it nearly brought a tear to his eyes. Ser Hill's place was in the south, sworn to guard the Princess Myrcella, while young Snow's place was now to the absolute north, to The Wall. It was as if he was seeing a scene long ago, when he last saw his father and brother leave for a wedding, only to never return. They have that thought in their heads that they will see each other again, though it may never come to pass.

After saying his farewells to Robb and reassuring his cousin that he would be a more than worthy Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, something that may have surprised his cousin after their limited interactions throughout the royal visit, he rode out of the gate next to Jon. Jon said a sad yet warm goodbye to Robb himself, one that would carry weight and keep him going once he reached the wall. He was happy at that, yet sad that the boy still could not see how open Winterfell truly was to him.

As they road together for a time, he asked him what he thought about possibly serving another house in the North. Jon pondered that for a time, before responding, "I would be afraid of them trying to use me against Robb and the rest of my siblings. Many know how my trueborn siblings feel about me, and those who do not may think they could manipulate me into rebellion or being their puppet. The last thing I want to do is make Lady Catelyn right after all these years, that I am a danger to her children and their inheritance."

Asher is unsurprised at Jon's selfless answer, but knows he is not doing his own character justice, "You would never do something like that Jon. You are far too good a man to ever do anything of that sort, and far too smart besides to be manipulated like that."

Jon, who is unfortunately surprised at the praise from his cousin, rides in silence for a time. Soon, they are at the crossroads where Lord Stark and Uncle Benjen are waiting for them. Before they get too close to them, he pulls Jon in tightly for a hug from across their mounts. With emotion heavy in his voice, he says, "You are like the brother I never had the chance to have. Never forget that your family cares deeply for you, and that there will always be a place for you with me should you ever have need of it."

Jon freezes in his hold, shaking slightly as he removes himself, and gives the most emotional and genuine smile to him that he had ever seen on the lad. "I will write to you Asher, and one day we will meet again."

Asher smiles then, and looks up towards Lord Stark and their Uncle, "Don't want to keep them waiting up there too long, do you?"

Tyrion stole a glance at his bastard kinsman as he bade farewell to Jon Snow. The lad had grown especially close to his bastard cousin during their visit to the North. He had hoped, for his sake, that he could convince his Lord Uncle to allow the boy south with him, but it was to no avail. At the very least, he would try and save the boy from celibacy. 'For is their truly anything more ghastly than celibacy?'

As they part, he rides back to say farewell to Ser Hill, and comfort him on his cousin's decision. "The boy is young, he will see that time away from The Wall at another keep in the North would serve him well. It may delay his swearing of the vows for a few years at the very least."

The lad seemed somber, as he corrected his mentor, "He has his own reasons for not wanting to move that way, but if you manage to convince him I would applaud you."

Seeing the young man's sadness at such a prospect, Tyrion vows, "I will do all I can to save the man from celibacy. It is the least I can do, being a whoremonger like myself! Why, celibacy is far overrated. The Faith itself hardly follows its' own traditions of it, and it is scarcely younger than The Wall itself! Besides, after watching a man as small as myself piss off the side of it, he may realize that it is not worth freezing his balls off forever!"

Asher, smiling a bit now as he becomes exasperated at his friend's description, says, "Thank you Tyrion, for a visual I could have done without. Do what you can, but respect his choices when he makes them."

The Imp smiled at his former charge, and responds, "Of course! Now go, keep the whores of the south busy until my return, will you?"

As the royal procession resumes its' journey to the south, it is slow going. He had forgotten how slow the royal eyesore truly was, as it continued to break down at least twice daily as they crossed through the more treacherous parts of the North. After they had stopped for one evening, Princess Myrcella approached him with a smile that betrayed mischief, and had brought, dragged, his poor cousin Sansa along for further amusement.

"Oh, Ser Hill, how are you doing this lovely evening?"

Asher snorted, before replying, "Why Princess, I am merely cleaning and honing my blade, the practice I have had with Ser Arys as of late seems to have thrown it slightly out of balance."

Said knight snorted from behind the girls, as Myrcella replied, "Oh yes, your noble efforts against each other to improve your skills is quite amazing! Why, you will be the best in the realm after all the training you all put in!"

At that, even Sansa started to giggle a bit as the group erupted into a small fit of laughter. It was good to see Sansa in such high spirits, as Bran's fall had changed her from a bubbly, interested lady focused on the south into a quiet and solemn one. With her in mind, he asked Sansa, "How have you found our wonderful royal carriage, dear cousin? Has it lived up to your expectations as a wonderful vessel of southern construction?"

Sansa visibly fought back a smile, and replied with, "Oh noble Ser, it is such a joy! With its' frequent stops I get to view more and more of the countryside! Since we have now entered the Riverlands, it is nice to see such sights for so long at a time!"

Smiling at the thought of keeping her mind occupied, he continued the jesting with, "But of course, my noble cousin, have you not seen the home of your Lady Mother before? Your Lord Father has told me of your trip to Riverrun as a girl with your siblings, has it lived up to your memories?"

Sansa smiled openly now, as she recalled the trip, "I was rather young at the time Ser, but my mother has done well at describing the sights of the Riverlands to me. It is everything I ever could have hoped for with its' winding rivers and green lands."

The trio laughed again at her jest, and he began to wonder if such conversations would continue once they made it to the capital. He knew that she had shunned Jon to an extent in Winterfell in order to preserve her image as a lady, would she be able to bear speaking so freely in King's Landing with so many noble eyes on her?

"Noble Ser!"

He started, as he noticed Sansa and Myrcella staring at him. Sansa looked mildly concerned, where Myrcella looked exasperated and ready to make a jest at his expense. "My apologies my noble ladies, for I lost myself to my thoughts for a time in your presence," he finished his statement with an apologetic-looking bow, but as he rose he saw Arys crack a smile, and Myrcella begin to grin.

"Why Ser," she snarked, "How can you hope to protect me if you cannot even stay aware in conversation?"

He smiled, truly, before answering, "Why Princess, I'm sure I could still stumble in front of a blade for you. Even in that state, you are what remains important to me. For your safety is most precious to me Princess, and I would not accept any harm done to you."

After such an honest answer she had not expected to receive, the Princess stared at him with her jaw slightly ajar, having heard how genuine he was about trading his life for hers at a moment's notice.

Having finally left Myrcella speechless, he bid his farewell to the group, promising to meet Arys for a spar early the next day. The morrow's adventure, pending the success of the royal impediment, would land them on the Trident, home of the final battle of Robert's Rebellion.

As he showed another young squire the proper forms, Ser Benedict Broom, Master at Arms of Casterly Rock, reflected on one of his more promising students in the yard. When his lord brought the boy to his attention, he noticed similarities to his lord's son immediately. The first of which, was the way he fought. When he fought his opponents, he was overtly dominant. He had not seen the boy lose in the yard in some time, at least a few moons. It would be time for the boy to move on to opponents older than him once again. The boy also fought tall in his posture, something that the White Lion himself did.

However, there were several instinctive differences in the way he approached his opponents. When facing a foe for the first time, he was extremely cautious. Not in a detrimental way mind you, in a calculating, almost stalking manner. When he was ready to pounce on his prey, he took his advantage, usually to his benefit and victory. His eyes never left his opponent from the moment they set foot in the yard, always appraising. He himself had never seen someone so young with such focus, certainly not when the White Lion had begun.

Oh, Ser Jamie had focus when it came to fighting, of that there was no doubt. However, the lad clearly had an instinctive focus on whatever his mind was on. Whenever he ran across the boy when he was not in the yard, he always seemed to either be lost in his mind on something or focused on whatever book he had been given for study. For a lad of his age, he certainly was far more focused than someone of his station needed to be. Maybe that was why the lord had had the boy trained, he saw the potential he possessed.

The lad certainly had an early start to the yard at five namedays, but at nearly eight it was clearly worth the effort. He was certainly good enough to squire now, far better of a page than whatever lower-branch Lannister that he was assigned to deserved. Ser Tylarr if he remembered correctly, preferred to spend his days drinking his meagre status down in the pits of Lannisport. All the better for the young man, as he had far more time for study and practice.

AN:

I apologize if it looks as if the story is progressing slowly, I wanted to take the time and show how everyone is feeling and how their dynamic is like before the story really kicks off. I don't see this story going past 15-20 chapters, and there will be some pretty serious time jumps in there after a certain amount of time. I'll leave it up to you all to guess when the largest jump is going to be, it shouldn't be too hard. If you can guess it, I'll tell you one piece of the story of your choosing that I haven't revealed yet.