Chapter 2: Hadrian's Values, Harry's Heart


Never before had Kevan seen his brother drink so heavily as he did this day.

And never before had he been so confused as to the reason of said drinking.

As Tywin poured himself another goblet of wine— his eighth yet— Kevan watched his brother pace the lord's study of Casterly Rock. Usually his brother Tywin was the very essence of calm and collected, but today he seemed frayed and worried.

And Kevan had no clue why.

"Two months from now will have made seventeen years since the rebellion that saw my daughter made a queen…" Tywin muttered before emptying his goblet with a gulp. "And eighteen years since Prince Rhaegar had absconded with the She-Wolf, Lyanna Stark…"

Ah… That was the reason for the drinking, Kevan surmised.

The birth of a single person that had marked the Lannister family only ruling the Seven Kingdoms by proxy, and never by right or law.

The birth of Hadrian Eddard Baratheon, or Harry as some called him.

Harry, Kevan snorted with detached amusement. Such a common sickening nickname.

Much like Ned for the Lord Stark of Winterfell…

Nevertheless, that birth had been acknowledged by all as undeniably Robert's child sired by his hastily married wife Lyanna Stark immediately after the Tourney at Harrenhal. Then mere months later, when the men had ridden to the Vale for the funeral of Jon Arryn's second wife, the Prince had stolen the new Lady Baratheon from her journey to Winterfell to be with her lord father, Rickard Stark, and baby brother, Benjen Stark.

Seven above, that abduction had changed everything… Especially since Lyanna had already been with child from Robert.

Kevan remembered… He and damn near everyone else in Harrenhal had heard the two coupling like two beasts trying to rip each other's throats out…

Tywin turned to the one person he would admit to trust without reservation.

"Tried as I might, the boy has survived everything we've thrown at him. Assassination after assassination thwarted by Kingsguard. Poison after poison mysteriously never working. Cersei even pushed the little wolfspawn from the Red Keep, and he survived!"

"That was her?" Kevan recalled the Falling of the Crown Prince. It was rather miraculous that Prince Hadrian had survived a drop from the White Sword Tower, only to be found an hour later in the cellars of the castle playing with dragon bones without a single scratch on him. Kevan thought it was the work of magic, but the prince had never shown anything else since then.

Of course, the prince had never fallen since then either. Or at least, that was what everyone had thought happened that day, but now Kevan was being told that his own niece had tried her hand at murder.

Tried and failed, being the stressed point he got from this little reveal of information. No wonder Tywin had never told him. It was an embarrassment his brother was probably only letting slip with the copious amount of wine in him.

"I think you've had enough, brother." Kevan said as he took the again half full goblet from Tywin.

"I prayed for days that the Stranger would take that blasted boy… But, I suppose, the Mother's mercy was just a little stronger…" Tywin stood abruptly, but did not waver or lose his balance. "We need him either cowed, or out of the picture. His very existence has thrown things out of our control for too long. If he lives to see his nameday in two months, then our family is doomed to see a wolfspawn rule from the Iron Throne."

"What does his nameday have to do with that? He could still be killed." Kevan put forward, if only to give his brother some measure of hope. After all, a sword was much more effective at killing than any poison or tower accident.

"Because, dear brother, if Prince Hadrian reaches King's Landing after King Robert has settled his business with Lord Stark in the North," Tywin began, and Kevan thought for a moment that despite his ruddy face and half-lidded eyes that Tywin was not nearly as drunk as he was led to believe, "then the boy will actually marry Margaery Tyrell and unite the Reach with the Iron Throne, Dragonstone, Storm's End, and the North."

"Oh." Was all Kevan could say as he was reminded that the prince was indeed to marry Margaery Tyrell in some time. It had been such a footnote to him, one that Tywin obviously remembered well with distain, that he hadn't bothered to care.

But now he saw it. The might of the Reach chained to the Iron Throne was nothing to sniff at in these times. Yet, it would have been a great boon to the Lannister claim to the throne if that might had been tied to Cersei's child, Joffrey, instead to Lyanna's child, Hadrian.

"And we're not even considering the Vale, who love Hadrian as much as they loved Jon Arryn. Even the dim-witted child of Jon Arryn loves Harry like a brother, and now as Lord of the Vale, the boy would never turn against Hadrian if we did make claims on the throne." Kevan said, more to himself than his brother.

"The Dorne aren't exactly against him either with how vocal he is about seeing old crimes punished…" Kevan went on as he recalled his last time at court when the Mountain had stirred Hadrian's irk. The Hound was Joffrey's sworn shield, but everyone knew that if push came to shove, the man would fight for Hadrian in defense of Cersei's spoiled boy.

"That means that our only allies if we made claim to the throne would be the Ironborn… or commoners from across the Narrow Sea." Tywin sneered so hard that Kevan thought he might retch.

"The Targareyn girl and her brother still live across the Narrow Sea." Kevan reminded his brother, "Kill the brother, take the girl, and we could have all the old loyalist come out of the shadows. Robert's reign has been weak and peaceful, and Cersei has asserted her power every chance she could if Prince Hadrian or Jon Arryn couldn't stop it. That was how we got Ser Boros Blount and Ser Meryn Trant on the Kingsguard in place of the ones who joined Hadrian's Griffguard."

"They are temporary replacements as the others trained the Crown Prince and ride with him. Blount and Trant might as well be bags of flour for all the good they'll be to us once the boy sits on the throne. Which, I'll remind you, might happen as soon as he is married to the Tyrell girl." Tywin spat on the floor, making Kevan cringe as he stepped back.

"Even so, the prince will need to sire heirs of his own. We could have maids give the girl moon tea in secret for a few years. Seven above, we could even have her poisoned to death unlike the prince."

"That would only make the boy take another wife, and possibly tie even Dorne to him next in marriage."

"Then just the moon tea, then. It'll give us more time to amass power in King's Landing, and to put the crown in more debt to our family."

Even despite how little he was helping things along, Tywin still turned to him with an approving look.

"Indeed, that could work," Tywin murmured so low that Kevan barely heard him.

"Then let us see how many tourneys and festivals we can squeeze out of the months to come with all the excellent news greeting the kingdom. A new Hand, the prince marrying, and more things yet to come."

Tywin looked as though he could not be prouder of his brother, and Kevan basked in that pride.


His father, Lord Eddard Stark, stood high on a walkway, alongside his mother Catelyn. Both were watching as his eldest brother, Robb, coach him, the second youngest child, Bran, in archery lessons for the day. By them was their cousin Harry, Harry's half-brother Gendry Waters, and Bran's own half-brother Jon Snow.

Bran's fifteenth attempt was off target, hitting a barrel to the side. Jon and Harry shared a look as Jon patted Bran on the shoulder. The boy was growing frustrated with his practices as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Go on. Father's watching, as is your mother," Jon said as Bran looked to where his parents stood, both smiling down upon him from their walkway. He then pulled the arrow back in the bow, his arm shaking slightly. He however took a deep breath and steadied his arm. Releasing the arrow, it struck the target, if slightly off center.

Dropping his arms, Bran frowned and sighed in disappointment. They had been at this all day since breaking fast, but he had only improved by a bare margin.

"Not bad, Bran," Robb complimented his younger brother with a smile, "I see Harry's been giving out his little hints again."

"They help," Bran said, his face flushing in the cold air of the north. He tried to remain steady with his bow, to prove to is brothers that Harry was not wasting his time with him, but as the arrow flew high and wide Jon and Robb stifled their laughter.

Rickon, the youngest Stark amongst the pack of wolves, had no such reservations as he laughed loudly while Bran's head hung in embarrassment and shame.

"And which of you was proclaimed marksman at the age of ten?" all the boys turned to see their lord father giving them a stern look from the walkway above. Then they saw Harry give a suspicious look to a barrel behind them before pulling out his light bow and notching an arrow from the quiver on his back so quickly that they barely saw it happen. Gendry moved a few paces to the side, smirking as he watched Harry take aim at the air in front of Bran with his weapon at the ready. When no one answered Bran's father, he could hear his father and mother laughing above them.

"Keep on practicing Bran," Harry encouraged, "You'll be better than this lot in no time flat."

Bran nodded vigorously before he raised his bow with another arrow notched. He took care to aim and steady his breathing, but before he could fire his arrow, another arrow flew from out of nowhere directly behind Bran. Yet, before it could reach the target, Harry's arrow flew from Bran's other side and skewered the first arrow before embedding itself deeply into the far wall. Everyone turned first to Arya, who was in shock that her arrow had been shot out of the air mid-flight. Bran had even dropped his bow in shock, and would have made to chase after his sister for her attempt to embarrass him, but even he recognized the amount of talent Harry must have had to not only hit another arrow in mid-flight, but to do so on purpose.

Walking over to Bran, Harry placed a hand on his head, "Keep with your practice Bran, and when you get it well enough, I'll teach you how to do what I just did. Your brothers had no talent at all for it. True by light of the Seven, they were even worse than you when they were your age. Not much better now though, either."

Robb and Jon scowled at their cousin's back, making Bran snicker to himself before looking up into Harry's face. Harry was facing Arya now, and when she turned to flee, Gendry was already blocking her escape.

"And Arya, what have I told about that arrogance. It's the Tully blood, I swear, because if it were the wolfsblood you'd be helping Bran instead." Harry shook his head, giving Arya a piercing look, "Not another lesson from me until you learn some humiliate. For every knight of the realm, there is a better one just waiting to be born. It's the reason we have tourneys, to showcase skill and comradery between ourselves instead of fighting to the death in war after war."

Arya hung her head at Harry's words, but Bran was sure it was more because Harry wouldn't teach her anymore archery tricks rather than the scolding he just gave her. She ran off, no doubt to make more mischief or to sulk in her room about how the only person who was willing to show her anything she thought brilliant was now punishing her.

Harry had his hand on Bran's head again, ruffling his hair in a brotherly manner, "And mind you Uncle Ned, I was a marksman at the age of eight, if you recall."

"Aye," Bran's father called back with a deep chuckle, "but you couldn't wield your father's hammer. Tried as you might, I seem to recall a little princeling who stood no taller than my knee dragging King Robert's warhammer along wherever you went. Couldn't even lift it an inch from the ground, but could pull it with him as though it were a toy wagon everywhere he went."

Bran looked up into Harry's face again, this time seeing his cheeks flush as he hid his face form Bran's father and mother, who were both laughing openly at him. Bran understood though. He had only stopped trying to use the legendary greatsword, Ice, a few months ago in exchange for lessons in archery and the sword.

Bran looked up at his parents once more, though this time their attention was to the approaching Ser Rodrick who when close enough to them stood stiffy near them holding a missive and the raven it came from.

Bran looked to Harry for what was being said, but cousin Harry's face had become drawn and stony as though all the joy had been sucked from the world. In moments like this, Bran reminded himself that his cousin was only seventeen years old, because he looked so much older.

Especially when Harry and his father locked eyes they were now, seeming to have entire conversations without words.

Bran's father nodded once to Ser Rodrick, then to Harry before nodding to Bran, who felt himself swallow a breath for reasons he didn't know.

"Come along, Bran." Harry said, Gendry now returning to his side as they all swept from the training yard. "A deserter has been reported from the Night's Watch. He was found south of the Wall, near Lake Long. You are to saddle your own horse. Come."

Oh. That was the reason for the sour faces on his cousin and father. Bran felt his chest grow tight.

This would be the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king's justice done.


It was the ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran's life.

Bran felt himself moving, but it was all rather numb. It wasn't until well into their ride to where the man was being held that Bran came out of his haze.

And it was to a conversation Harry and his father were having that grabbed his interest.

It grabbed his interest because he heard the name of Rhaegar Targaryen, the dead prince who had abducted Harry and his mother, Bran's aunt Lyanna Stark, and started the war which saw Harry become a prince himself when his father the king won the Iron Throne.

The day was progressing clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at half-day to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills.

"Do you remember the Tower of Joy, Uncle Ned?" Harry asked in a distracted manner.

"Aye…" Bran's father, Ned, answered just as unfocused as his nephew. Beside them rode Ser Rodrick and Ser Dayne on the sides of their sworn lord and prince respectively.

"I remember it well… I remember the two years my mother and I were kept there. I remember hearing whispers of this battle and that skirmish… But what I remember most is the day you came for us. Not my father, Uncle Ned, you."

"Your father had to settle King' Landing after what the bloody Lannisters did in his name. It wasn't right, but it needed doing." The Lord of Winterfell retorted, but Harry didn't seem to care. He looked like it meant the world to him, if only for that one moment. The next moment, Harry was staring into the face of Ser Dayne.

"Aye, but it was still you. You who broke the siege of Storm's End that now sits Uncle Stannis as its lord. You who came down on the garrison at Summerhall where now Uncle Renly has his lavish parties to brighten up the gloom."

"Speak your point, nephew." His father told Harry, who glanced back at him with a far-away look in his eye.

"Do you remember what Ser Dayne did the moment he heard that Prince Rhaegar fell in battle at the Trident?" Bran flinched as he saw all the adult men, including his lord father and Ser Rodrick, stiffen so much that their horses reared up. They had to quickly settle their horses, but now Bran's father was staring hard at Harry. Harry was instead staring hard at the forlorn look on Ser Dayne's face.

"Indeed," his father began frostily, a tone Bran had only ever heard when someone questioned his honor or Jon's parentage, "I remember the men he slew in front my very eyes the moment he heard his prince fell. He was not alone though. Might the Old Gods and the New lay to rest the souls of Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower."

"My sworn brothers are long dead, Lord Stark." Ser Dayne said in a subdued tone, looking old and tired, "They followed their sacred vows to the end, and died as some of the best knights of the Kingsguard. They are well in rest by now…"

"Aye, they are…" his father looked away, and even Ser Rodrick gave a stiff nod.

"I remember something too, nephew." His lord father went on after a heavy pause made the men anxious. "I recall that the only thing that saved the surviving three— myself, Ser Dayne here, and Howland— was you yelling out the tower window."

"True, true," Harry chuckled, but it seemed a bitter laugh to Bran, "I screamed my little head off for someone— anyone— to come for my mother. There had been so much blood back then… And the screams of her pain…"

"And her last words…" Bran's father looked haggard for a moment, nodding as his eyes went distant before fleeting over to look at Jon, Theon, and Robb as though they were strangers to him. His jaw drew tight and he tore his gaze from the three just as swiftly as he had looked upon them.

"And the vows that we've kept…" Ser Dayne had said so quietly that, if Bran had not been paying attention as well as riding beside the Sword of the Morning with the bastard squire Gendry Waters and cousin Harry, he would not have heard the words leave his lips.

Glancing around, Bran saw that only cousin Harry and his lord father had heard as they shared a nod. Everyone else was looking away uncomfortably while giving their party some space.

"Bran!" he jumped, hearing Robb hiss his name so suddenly, "Come and ride with us. Leave father, Harry and Ser Dayne to lead our way. Squire Gendry, you as well. Give my cousin some space."

Bran moved as soon as Robb spoke, steering his horse toward the middle of the pack in order to reach his brothers and Theon. In contrast, Gendry waited defiantly for the order to come from first Ser Dayne and then from cousin Harry. Gendry looked smug, but Robb looked cold and furious. Their looks disappeared however once they all saw cousin Harry pull his steed up between Bran's father and Ser Arthur Dayne while the three spoke in subdued tones.


When they arrived, Robb thought the man sentenced to death was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King beyond-the-Wall.

It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it.

He remembered well the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.

But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night's Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy.

As they came upon the holdfast, the breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold air as his lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them.

Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, trying to pretend that he'd seen all this before.

A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.

Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the Age of Heroes and the Children of the Forest. Harry looked much the same in that regard, Bran knew. His cousin was not smiling or even somber about this occasion. He sat tall on his black stallion, eyes intense and intent as he watched the man dragged before them.

They had taken off the faces of his father and cousin, and now what remained were Lord Stark of Winterfell and Prince Hadrian of the Seven Kingdoms.

There were questions asked and answers given there in the chilling day wind, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally, his lord father turned to Hadrian, who gave a nod, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square.

Prince Hadrian dismounted his steed, and the squire Gendry Waters, Hadrian's own bastard brother brought forth Hadrian's sword. "Lily," that sword was called. Bran knew that Hadrian had a twin sword to it, a companion one that was called, "Prongs". His cousin was rarely ever seen with both unless he had just killed a troop of outlaws or been across the Narrow Sea with the full might of his Griffsgaurd behind him.

But Lily was an amazing sword. Almost as amazing as the greatsword of Bran's father. That sword was named "Ice". However, unlike Ice that was as wide across as a man's hand and taller even than Robb, Lily was only half the size and width so it still settled comfortable on Harry's waist where he rested the sword in its scabbard. Bran wanted his own sword like Ice or Lily one day. The blades were Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke.

Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.

He knew Lily and Prongs had once been a greatsword from some disgraced house he could not recall. How Harry's father, King Robert, had commanded it given to his son almost immediately. And almost immediately Harry had it melted down and made into the two swords, Lily and Prongs.

Harry peeled off his gloves and handed them to Gendry.

"Speak your name, deserter." Harry commanded without preamble.

"I am G-Gared, ser." The man spoke hoarsely, looking up to meet his eyes.

"That is Your Highness, deserter. You speak to the crown prince!" Gendry snarled fiercely, and the named dead man, Gared, hung his head low and dared not meet Harry's gaze again.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness." He choked on his words trying to get them out.

"Why did you abandon the Wall, deserter Gared." Harry asked plainly.

"I know I broke my oath… For over forty years I manned the Wall and served as a Ranger to the Night's Watch… And I know I am a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall to warn them but… I saw what I saw… And what I saw were the White Walkers." Gared finished, looking up at Harry with a strange determination. Harry arched a brow, but on the inside he felt cold and numb at the mention of the Others. "People need to know, Your Highness. And if it pleases you… Pl-Please, can get word to my family. Tell them I am no coward… Tell them I'm sorry for disgracing my sacred vows… Tell them I did it for a reason…"

"Why did you not inform your Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, about the Walkers?" Harry asked, feeling the words leave him as he needed answers.

"They would have killed me for leaving behind Will and Ser Royce. But I knew I could go south of the Wall… That maybe the North still remembered the White Walkers… It was all I could hope for… The others at the Watch think wildings are our biggest threat. But the Wall wasn't built for no wildings."

"What happened to these people you spoke of? Will and Ser Royce? Did you abandon them?"

"They were dead already. The frozen dead wildings Will found had come alive and attacked us. I escaped only at the expense of Will…" Gared looked deeply ashamed at that, but was relieved that Harry was listening to him. Or at least that he was allowed to speak. The two guardsmen holding Gared didn't look too pleased that the prince was actually entertaining the man's nonsense.

"And your mission beyond the Wall? It was tracking these wildings that this Will boy found dead before they became White Walkers themselves?" Harry inquired, sending a stern look to the noises made by the guardsmen and his own brother Gendry.

"Aye, they were raiders from the Haunted Forest." Gared nodded slowly, recalling that fateful mission with a haunted look in his eyes. "Lord Commander Mormont sent us on a rangin' into the Haunted Forest, going after 'em. It was the three of us; me, Ser Waymar and Will. Mormont gave the command to Ser Waymar, even though he was by far the least experienced of us three among the Watch. Mormont counted me and Will among his best men."

"Then why give the command to Ser Waymar Royce?"

"The lad felt it was his due to have a command because he was a knight." Gared said, and Harry understood.

"And the Old Bear accepted because he didn't want to offend Yohn Royce of the Vale." Harry sighed, shaking his head.

"Aye, Waymar was Yohn Royce's son. He joined the Night's Watch because he felt he'd never get wealth or land with his family."

"Of course the fool did…" Harry muttered, but motioned for Gared to continue.

"For nine days, we tracked the wildlings, first going north, then northwest, then north again. The weather kept getting colder. On the ninth day, Will said he thought we were being watched… and I felt it too. We finally caught up with the wildlings, and Will sneaked near their camp to get their numbers. He came back, reporting that the wildlings were dead, probably killed by the cold… At least, that's what he thought…"

"And that's when you three all went back, the wildings gone, but the wrights fell upon you?" Harry inquired as Gared nodded, "The White Walkers killed Ser Royce and Will, and you fled from them."

"Aye," Gared said, hanging his head.

"Stopping not at the Wall?" Harry asked.

"A-Aye."

"Stopping not at Castle Black?"

"Aye…"

"Stopping not at Last Hearth?"

"A-Aye, Your Highness…" There was something wet hitting the snow beneath their feet now. Harry felt it was a waste for the man to cry when he had failed so spectacularly if he wanted to warn people of the White Walkers. It made Harry angry, but he held back his rage in order to show the man the error of his ways before beheading him. It was the least Harry could do since the man had warned him of the return of those blasted Others.

It was what he had been waiting all these years to come to pass.

Finally, after so long waiting and watching the world around him… the Stranger would finally take him with open arms…

"Stopping not at Winterfell?" Harry pressed on, trying hard to keep his voice level.

"A-Aye…"

Harry gave a nod to the guardsmen, who seemed all too happy the farce was at an end as they forced Gared's head down onto the hard black wood of the ironwood stump in the center of the holdfast's square.

"Your family will know of your desertion." Harry promised, "But they will also know of why."

Harry made his way over proper to the execution block, standing beside the dead man as he recited, "In the name of my father, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Hadrian of the House Baratheon, Prince of Dragonstone, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, I do sentence you to die."

He unsheathed his sword Lily and held it with both hands high above his head.


It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky. Bran rode with his brothers, well ahead of the main party, his pony struggling hard to keep up with their horses.

Bran could not forget what he had just witnessed. It played and played again in an endless lopp before his mind's eye.

The crown prince Hadrian— his cousin Harry— had taken off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summer wine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting.

Bran could not forget the blood. There had been just so much blood…

The snows around the stump had drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched. The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head, and kicked it away. Harry had sent him a stern look, but the boy had kept on laughing.

"Ass," Jon had muttered, loud enough so Greyjoy could hear. Theon had shot Jon a hateful look, but didn't dare anything more than that with Bran's father—Jon's own father—and the prince so near.

Jon had put a hand on Bran's shoulder then. "You did well," Jon told him solemnly.

His father had told him that one day, justice would fall to him, yet Bran wasn't sure he could do what Harry had just done. He knew he would have to, one day, but hopefully not until he could work up the nerve to see so much fresh blood again.

So much blood

"The Others take his eyes," Robb swore while Bran was quiet. "The man died well. Race you to the bridge, Snow?"

"Done," Jon smirked, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The hooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow as they went.

Bran did not try to follow. His pony could not keep up. He had seen the ragged man's lifeless eyes, and he was thinking of them now. After a while, the sound of Robb's laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again.

So deep in thought was he that he never heard the rest of the party until his father moved up to ride beside him.

"Are you well, Bran?" he asked, not unkindly

"Yes, father," Bran replied, but hesitated to look up. Finally, when he did, his lord father loomed over him like a giant wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse. "Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid."

"What do you think?" his father asked.

Bran thought about it. "Harry says that bravery only comes to a man when he's afraid. Is he right, father? Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

"Harry speaks true, Bran. That is the only time a man can be brave, and that is when he is at his strongest." his father told him.

"Hold." Came Gendry's voice from where he rode with Harry and Ser Dayne. Ser Martell and Ser Darry were at the rear of the party, and Brienne of Tarth was still in Winterfell.

Bran and his lord father pulled their horses' bridles and peered out in the middle of the road. Lying in the middle of the path was the bloodied corpse of a stag. Its throat was ripped open and missing an antler, but strangely its body was untouched aside from the maggots. A little way off, was the corpse of a direwolf the size of his father's warhorse. Imbedded in its belly was the missing antler of the stag. Bran watched Harry at the head of the party as his eyes survived the area with a strange intensity.

"Well now," Harry sighed as he and the others dismounted their horses. Bran hurried to be at Harry's side as he inspected the scene more closely. "should I be worried that this means my family is going to kill each other. What say you, good uncle?"

"It would certainly seem that way…" Bran's father commented dryly as he came up next to Harry and Ser Dayne with Bran himself and Gendry just behind them. The smell of the rotting corpses was horrid, and Bran wasn't sure how much more he could take.

"Well, its female, which means that Aunt Catelyn has much to answer for when we arrive in Winterfell. And much reason to be protected, I suppose…"

"And how do you know it is a female, good nephew?" his father asked quietly.

"Because of the five pups hiding in the reeds over there." Harry replied, casting a pointer finger over to where, indeed, five pups were mewing softly in the reeds. The pups were watching them all intensely.

Ser Darry and Ser Martell collected the pups from the riverbank, and Bran watched as Harry's eyes softened on them before turning back to his father.

"Rare to see a direwolf south of the wall." Harry stated plainly, drawing himself up tall, "It's a bad omen all its own."

"Why?" Bran asked.

"A direwolf this far south is a sure sign that winter is coming, and fast if they are this close to Winterfell." Harry explained, "That means that their natural prey north of the Wall is scarce enough to make them come south in search of food."

"Meaning the coming winter will undoubtedly be a harsh one." His lord father surmised with a grimace.

"What do we do with them?" Robb asked as he pointed at the pups.

Bran's father looked at the wolf pups and sighed. Again he looked tired and old.

"They won't survive without their mother. Better a quick death," Eddard said to Theon, who nodded.

"Right then. Look away Bran," Theon said curtly.

"NO!" Bran protested, as he picked up a pup.

"Put away your blade, Greyjoy." Harry commanded, as he watched Robb pick up two others in defense. Theon bristled at the order and glared at him. Harry arched an eyebrow before an apologetic look crossed Theon's face and he gave a stiff bow at the waist.

Harry then continued, "Keep the pups, good uncle. They'll serve you well in the future. Direwolves are fiercely loyal to their pack. And the Stark family have been their pack for generations."

"These are not common dogs, Your Highness. It's dangerous to keep beasts such as these around," Hullen, the stable master of Winterfell said, "It'd be more of a mercy to kill them now than when they turn on us."

Bran looked pleadingly to his father, but only received a furrowed brow in return.

"My lord father, Ser Rodrik's bitch whelped not long ago. She'll have enough milk. The litter only had two pups," Robb insisted stubbornly.

"Aye, and the bitch would tear them apart when the pups try to nurse from her," Their father replied with a stony look.

"Lord Stark," Jon said, slightly stilted at having to call their father by his formal title, "There are five pups; three male and two female."

"Aye, what of it?" their lord father asked.

"You have three sons, and two daughters. The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark. It is a sign from the Old Gods that you take them into your service." Jon explained, making all the others fall hushed. It was never good to ignore a direct sign from the Gods such as Jon had pointed out.

Bran watched as the expression on his father's face changed from solemn to something unreadable. Bran looked to Harry for answers, but Harry had the same look on his face. The household guard exchanged glances, and Harry's knights traded murmurs amongst themselves about the pups.

At last, Bran's father spoke again. "You want no pup for yourself?"

"I am a Snow, father." Even Bran could tell his words were intentional, "There are no banners for Snow. The Stark family, however, have banners that proudly display the direwolf. They have been there for thousands of years. I am no Stark, father."

The Lord of Winterfell— for the face of Bran's father fell away— regarded Jon and Harry carefully, while Robb hastened to fill the silence that fell amongst the party.

"I will nurse him, lord father," Robb promised, "With a towel and warm milk, I'll have my pup suckle until he's old enough not to."

"Me too!" Bran echoed his older brother, while the pup in his arms made to lick his face.

Lord Stark gave his three sons each a hard look, then cast the same at Harry, "Easier to say, harder to do. I will not have you harass the servants to do the duty you have promised me here. If you do not take proper care of them you will be punished for it, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves. You must train them. You will train them, as Farlen and his daughter will have nothing to do with these monsters. And all the Gods help you if you mistreat them. They will sooner tear off a limb that sulk away if you kick them or mistreat them."

Bran nodded eagerly as he carried his pup in his cloak, Robb passed a pup to Ser Rodrik, for Rickon, as Theon carried the final two for the Stark girls. As they went back, Jon heard whimpering and crouched down to see a small white pup cowering in a small hollow. He picked it up and stared at it.

"That one's yours, Snow," Theon chuckled, "The runt of the litter."

Harry laughed softly at Jon's expression, turning around to get back to where Gendry was holding their horses.

At least until a small black direwolf pup with green eyes came from the hedges to nibble at the leg of Harry's stallion. The stallion bucked, and Gendry kicked the pup away. It went next for Gendry, who yelped in pain as the pup got a hold on his ankle. The men laughed at the little pup's feistiness, but Harry did not look amused to Bran. He walked purposely over to the pup, picking it up by the scruff of its neck and flicking it on the nose. The direwolf pup snarled and barked at him, sounding more adorable than menacing. Harry flicked it again and this time it mewed in pain while pawing at its injured nose.

"You can bite horses, but only when I command it." Harry said frankly, "But never again will you bite my brother."

The pup yipped at him, clearly defiant with the sudden command of a bigger being. Bran could see that this pup was bigger than the others, maybe the oldest of its litter. It was clearly the most mature thus far, having already learned to hide and attack its prey.

Maybe it wasn't even from the litter of pups that they had just found. After all, if one pack of direwolves had made it this far, why couldn't others?

Inside his cloak, his new pup whimpered softly and quivered into his clothes almost as if to tell Bran that he was right.

"Quite the handle you have on the young wolf, Harry." Bran's father observed with a strained smile.

"Maybe I'll tame and raise a fawn next, good uncle."

"Then you can bring them both back to Dragonstone to play nice with Sirius."

"Hmm… maybe you're on to something—" Harry pondered, but Bran's father had paled drastically.

"Hadrian, no! Sirius would rip them both apart for his next meal!"

"Maybe you're right…" Harry said, still holding the dark wolf pup even as he mounted his stallion. He smirked widely, looking a little sinister to Bran. "But we'll never know until we try… Isn't that right… Severus?"

The pup merely glared at Harry before sneezing and pawing at its nose again.


So, in this chapter we get to see Harry as he is with his family, but also how he handles his responsibilities as a prince of the seven kingdoms. We also get a hint at the hate other characters have for him and how his presence in Westeros has changed the Game of Thrones world for better or worse.

How much more has Harry changed simply by existing? How many enemies does he have? How many allies?

All good questions... for another time.

With that said, let me know what you think! Love it, or hate: leave a review and let me know! And if you like what you've read, please be on the lookout for more!