I apologize for how trash some parts of this chapter is. I've been working and re-working it, but everything just seems so over-the-top instead of naturally flowing the way it should be. Nevertheless, the scenes in this chapter are necessary to the plot, and so I had to have them in here. The next chapter is MUCH BETTER, I can assure you all of that.

Also, if you have any suggestions for the story, please be sure to include them in either a REVIEW or PM directly to me. I will now be much freer to answer back.

Oh well, enough of this blabbering… ON WITH THE SHOW!

Chapter 7: The Guiding Hand of Hadrian


Tyrion woke to the creak of old bedposts that were certainly not his own, and his palm resting on the plentiful bosom of a woman not yet paid.

"Uhhh… who's there?" the Imp asked, his voice hoarse though it was. The ill effects of wine were still on him, and Tyrion had no notion of the hour. How long had he slept this time? He was so heavy, so damnably weighed.

"Who?" he called again, more loudly. Torchlight spilled through the open door, but within the chamber the only light came from the stub of a candle beside the bed. He saw a shape moving toward him.

Tyrion shivered.

Here in Winterfell, every servant was loyal only to the Stark family.

And it went without saying that the Starks hated Lannisters with a frigid passion.

Then the man stepped into the candlelight, got a good look at the dwarf's pale face, and chortled. "Drown yourself in liquors, did you?"

Tyrion's fingers went to the great throbbing in his head from where his hairs rooted at his forehead to just below the crown of his nose. The proud drunk was still aching and the breast in his hand was still warm to the touch. "With a great pretty whore, yes."

"Pay her, and get me out of here… Where am I?"

"An inn just outside of Winterfell. You summoned me to you last night and told me to see you away from the dour Starks and into the warmth of a common woman."

"Aye, I remember now… Why do you listen to me?" Tyrion groaned, refusing to take his hand from the breast as he toyed with it unconsciously and used the other hand to rub at his eyes. The whore beside him moaned with a delightful softness even in her sleep.

"Because usually when you start talking the shit is followed by the hear the sound of coin purses placed in my hands."

"Ugh… you'll get no gold if I die in a place like this from this headache, Bronn."

His legs were stiff and sore as he finally eased himself out of bed. He massaged some life back into them and limped heavily to the doorway Bronn was guarding. Tyrion pulled up his trousers and did his garbs in order to appear at least decent. Bronn didn't seem to care as he kept his eyes on the gently heaving breasts of the whore who was still fast asleep.

"You know," Bronn began as he fetched Tyrion's coin purse from his belt, "where I come from… whores generally wake or are awake before their male guests. Let's them earn a little more for their troubles."

"I can assure you I must have made her earn every gold dragon. Throw her the purse, and let's go before she does awaken." Tyrion grumbled, "I'd hate for her to follow us back into Winterfell just for some secure business while I'm here."

"That good?" Bronn tossed the purse onto the bed where Tyrion had been. The girl turned toward the sound, but did not stir again from her slumber.

"That eager… she must be new." Tyrion glanced back at the sleeping girl for only a moment. "An experienced girl would have made the night last until the dawn by… as you say, waking before me to further the entertainment."

Bronn seemed to find that amusing.

"She's not too young… not old by a long shot either… Must have discovered something she liked in her new line of work." They closed the door to the cellar of a room, and strolled out proudly. There were other rooms in this dark and drab place, but no windows. The smell of sex and perfumes hung heavily in the strangely warm inn. Though Tyrion supposed the unusual warmth had to do with the hot springs that ran under Winterfell and its lands.

"Or realized there was a good line of work for something she liked." Tyrion countered, he and Bronn sharing a smile as they left the inn and mounted a horse.

As they were ushered into the castle by the still half asleep guards on duty, Tyrion patiently waited until the guards left their presence to get down to business.

"Did you recover what I needed, Bronn?" Tyrion asked as he and Bronn walked through the courtyard of the castle.

"Aye, that I did." Bronn said, his eyes catching every man that was within his field of vision. Even if Tyrion knew he would never be harmed by the Starks without just cause, it helped relax him that Bronn was so tense when normally the man was too lax. "All the reading material is in our quarters within the castle. And as for that other stuff… Well, let's just say it's in a safe place."

"And the letter back from the Iron Bank? Harry said to expect it by owl." Tyrion reminded his companion.

"And that it came. Fast little bugger, that snowy white owl of his. The Iron Bank's missive is in your quarters. It came with two other letters as well, one from Harry that you missed last night and one from Dragonstone that you missed this morning."

"Damn, then I'm behind in our schedule." Tyrion groaned, but squared his shoulders for the long day ahead of him. "And knowing Harry, he's probably going to take the day to be with family and other such dribble. Let's make good use of the time he's affording us with his sentimental foolishness."

Tyrion greatly increased his pace, and Bronn smirked as he did nothing to keep up with the half man. "Come, we'll break our fast with my brother and then get straight to work. Have the normal lads gather a couple of ravens for the normal letters and then have Sed secure an owl from Ser Rodrick or Ser Arthur for what needs to go back to Dragonstone and the Iron Bank."

"How much gold is in it for me?"

"No gold this time, I'm afraid. You get to keep your legs, as Prince Hadrian has promised you." Tyrion smirked at that, but Bronn didn't seem to find that one amusing.

"Hate that guy… He just takes all the fun out of my being a sellsword through and through…"

"Actually, he takes full advantage. Sellswords generally don't have someone to miss them if they suddenly find themselves very dead."

"And they can't get reliable work without legs!" Bronn muttered hotly. That bloody prince got under his skin. He much liked the other one, a bit cruel and a little mad, but still willing to pay Bronn good coin for any deed done. Prince Hadrian, however, felt that some things Bronn did required little gold and more of his continued life among the realm of the living.

Don't get Bronn wrong, he probably liked living more than dying or being legless, but that didn't mean he had to like the corners Prince Harry put him in. It was all for the best though, as far as Tyrion was concerned. Bronn would just request more gold until the amounts bankrupted kingdoms if Harry didn't keep resting the prices to stable quantities. Bronn liked steady work, just like a good whore did, but his work was a touch more dangerous and sometimes he needed to be strong-armed into forgoing pay.

It kept Tyrion in some wealth, and kept Bronn on his toes.

All good for the realm, after all. If Bronn was the one with the sword, the skills, and the wealth, he would have probably killed Tyrion by now despite the friendly bond they held as client and bodyguard.

Tyrion swallowed a lungful of the cold morning air and began his laborious ascent of the steep stone steps that corkscrewed around the exterior of the tower the Lannisters were given for their stay. It was slow going; the steps were cut high and narrow, while his legs were short and twisted. The rising sun had not yet cleared the walls of Winterfell, but the men were already hard at it in the yard below.

"But speaking of pretty legs that don't wish to be unattached, is Margaery Tyrell making herself at home in King's Landing yet?" Tyrion asked as that brought a smirk back to Bronn.

"Aye, and the city's mad with love for her. She and her Tyrells have been carting food up from Highgarden and giving it away in her name. Hundreds of food carts and carriages each day. Breads and fresh greens. Tender meats and lean fish. Summer wines for the common people to enjoy and sweet drinks for orphan children. There's hundreds of Tyrell men swaggering about with little golden roses sewn on their doublets, and not a one is buying his own drinks. Wife, widow, or whore, the women are all giving up their virtue to every peach-fuzz boy with a gold rose on his teat."

"Good. The future queen is using her time with Cersei gone very well. Be sure that Sed sends a letter to Renly and then Stannis in ensuring no harm comes to her or the Tyrells. If they break a law, they get the good cells. If they rape a woman, however unlikely given their generous acts, we decide the harshness of the punishment. If they kill a man… well, let Stannis deal with that."

"The crown prince who doesn't pay has already seen to that. The Tyrells are to be treated as any other guests to the Iron Throne. He said that the Margaery girl was made aware of this before he left."

Tyrion sighed and shook his head, "If that's the way he wants it, then there must be at least three good reasons as to why. Fine, no letters to King's Landing."

"Good," Bronn smiled brightly, "I didn't feel much like doing anything anyway. Not without a purse of gold to jingle nicely at my hip."


"Well now, this is an awkward situation…"

That voice was enough to wind Noho Dimittis fear to the highest pitch.

"Baratheon…"

Standing in front of him and his eleven Braavosi guards was none other than Hadrian Baratheon. The man had appeared out of thin air!

And he looked quite amused.

"What is this? What's happened to hospitality, Noho?" the Baratheon walked to one side of the entrance hall they occupied. He had suddenly been there one second as Noho was walking right past the spot! The guards had been loafing around as they normally did, but after a moment or two they had gotten off their asses and actually pointed their spears at the crown prince.

Little good the spears would do them all, though…

Behind the prince was the boy, Gendry. Ugh, how the boy grinned mockingly at them.

"And here I thought Braavos was the land without fear. A place where every man, woman, and child walked the streets free of everything. Sadness, oppression, and most importantly: fear."

"Prince Hadrian," Noho collected his wits. He stepped forward a little, "how can we help—"

There was a bang and a flash of red light: Noho backed away as three of the guards fell. Another screamed as his spear was grabbed and he was tossed aside from it. Then the Gendry boy roared as he dodged two spears and used his arms to hit both spearmen in the throat. There was a roar of anger from the last four.

Noho backed all the way to the door into the main chamber of the Iron Bank, and opened it skittishly.

These fools were no match for Baratheon, even though there were ten of them against one of him and his half-brother: Baratheon was a warlock, as Noho knew, with prodigious skill and little patience. They all fell and remained unmoving as Baratheon waved a hand and stardust fell upon the ten men. They were breathing, but only because the wizard allowed it so.

Noho's eyes widened as he was lifted from the ground and bound in the air. His body went limb, and he fell under the control of the warlock. Baratheon made a gesture with his hand, and Noho had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes, Noho saw the Gendry boy passing him into the Iron Bank. Baratheon smiled at him as he moved past as well.

"Now entering, the Crown Prince of the Iron Throne, Lord of Dragonstone, and your current nightmare… Prince Hadrian Baratheon." Gendry announced in a clear and loud voice. Baratheon walked in, and Noho was dragged along on his knees as though strung by a fisherman's line.

The bankers looked momentarily perplexed, but then fear took over their expressions. Only one didn't seem to have the good sense to look afraid.

He was new.

"Noho," Baratheon's voice echoed in the spacious chamber, "now you may speak."

"Thank you." Was the first thing out of Noho's mouth as he felt control of his body return to him. He quickly clambered to his feet and scrambled over to the side of the chamber where his fellow employees to the Iron Bank were.

"How dare you?" the new boy, Sicyon Farmiih, snarled as he pointed a finger at Baratheon. "Guards! Guards! Remove this man from the bank!"

"I'm afraid," Baratheon smiled mockingly, "that your guards can be found sleeping on the job."

Sicyon sputtered, eyes wide before he turned to Noho. "Call the city watch! Do something!"

"There is nothing to do, newbie." Gendry the bastard sneered, "Be glad you still draw breath. My brother is in a good mood."

"I don't care—!" but he didn't get to finish as he grabbed his throat. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell in a heap where he stood.

"My patience wears thin for fools, Noho," Baratheon said, his tone mild but warning, "Ensure that when I next arrive, there are no more like him."

After a brief look with his fellow bankers, Noho nodded. "We will see it done, Ser Prince."

"Now then," Baratheon made a half moon gesture in the air and chairs appeared behind all of them, even the unconscious Sicyon. "I'd like to keep this short as I merely wanted to ask a few questions before all this… unpleasant business started."

"Whatever can we help you with?" one of the elder banks asked, stroking his short white beard.

"If you would recall, we made a deal. It was some time ago, perhaps a few years pass, now… A deal that was mainly for any and all communication with the Iron Throne to come, specifically, through me."

Noho gulped down his rising fear. Beside him, his co-workers shuddered with whispers and sobs.

What fool had upset the one thing this power-hungry wolfsmen had asked them?

Baratheon's eyes glimmered like a slumbering dragon jewel, green as the deadliest poison money could buy.

"Well… I'm waiting."


Arya's stitches were crooked again.

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so.

"Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith. She's all Stark, that one."

How she hated that woman…

Arya glanced furiously across the room, worried that Septa Mordane might have read her thoughts, but the septa was paying her no attention today. She was sitting with the Princess Myrcella, all smiles and admiration. It was not often that the septa was privileged to instruct a royal princess in the womanly arts, as she had said when the queen brought Myrcella to join them. Arya thought that Myrcella's stitches looked a little crooked too, but you would never know it from the way Septa Mordane was cooing.

She studied her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle. She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was chatting away happily as she worked. Beth Cassel, Ser Rodrik's little girl, was sitting by her feet, listening to every word she said, and Jeyne Poole was leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

"What are you talking about?" Arya asked suddenly.

Jeyne gave her a startled look, then giggled. Sansa looked abashed. Beth blushed.

But no one answered.

"Tell me," Arya said.

Jeyne glanced over to make certain that Septa Mordane was not listening. Myrcella said something then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies.

"We were talking about the prince," Sansa said, her voice soft as a kiss.

Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The one that was not their cousin by blood or marriage. The one they called tall and handsome. She thought Harry was the tall handsome one, but since they were cousins it amounted to nothing where Sansa and Jeyne were concerned.

Sansa had even gotten to speak with Joffrey at the feast. Arya had to talk with the little fat Tommen about sweet rolls and wooden toys. Naturally.

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with sharp resentment.

"He's our cousin!" Arya spat in disgust.

"Beth, you shouldn't have said that," Sansa quickly corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. "And he is not our cousin. He might be Hadrian's brother, but he is no relation to us. If we were to marry, it would be well-received in the eyes of the Seven."

"We hold to the Old Gods!" Arya felt her fists clench. Did her sister have nothing in her blood that was Stark?

Sansa shook her head as though Arya was too young or naïve to understand something that was going over her head. She twirled a lock of her long auburn hair. "What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He said I could call him Joff! He's very gallant, don't you think?"

"Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said, crossing her arms now. "I agree."

Sansa sighed as she went back to her perfect stitch work. "Poor Jon," she said with a sad shake of her pretty little head. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard."

"He's our brother!" Arya said, this time her temper rising along with her voice. She had been much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. "What are you talking about, children?"

"Our half-brother," Sansa corrected, soft and precise. Sansa then smiled for the septa. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today."

Septa Mordane nodded. "Indeed. A great honor for us all."

Princess Myrcella smiled uncertainly at the compliment.

"Arya, why aren't you at work?" the septa asked. She rose to her feet, starched skirts rustling as she started across the room. "Let me see your stitches."

Arya wanted to scream. It was just like Sansa to go and attract the septa's attention. "Here," she said, surrendering up her work.

The septa examined the fabric. "Arya, Arya, Arya," she said. "This will not do. This will not do at all."

Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa was too well bred to smile at her sister's disgrace, but Jeyne was smirking on her behalf. Even Princess Myrcella looked sorry for her. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She pushed herself out of her chair and bolted for the door.

Septa Mordane called after her. "Arya, come back here! Don't you take another step! Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our royal princess too! You'll shame us all!"

Arya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down her cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to Myrcella. "By your leave, my lady."

Myrcella blinked at her and looked to her ladies for guidance.

But if she was uncertain, Septa Mordane was not. "Just where do you think you are going, Arya?" the septa demanded.

The door behind her opened, and in stepped her saving grace. Everyone bowed their heads, and Arya felt a familiar weight atop her head, ruffling her hair in a way she both hated and loved.

"She'll be leaving with me, of course, Madam Septa. Arya may be a lady in the making, but she is also a woman of the Stark family line."

Septa Mordane had the decency to curb her frown at Harry, but her eyes were like daggers that glared up at him. "She needs to learn her lady arts."

"And she will… another day. For now, I think she's enjoyed enough of your company. As has my sister. Come, Myrcella, we wait to the training lot."

Myrcella looked as upset as Arya had moments ago. "Do I have to? Mother will be upset."

"She'll live, as will you when you've learned to handle a blade well enough to keep an assassin at bay until help arrives. What I do as your eldest brother, Queen Cersei knows I do for your own good. Now come, and I will not repeat myself."

Arya felt sorry for the way Myrcella's face fell as she handed over her stitch work to the septa. However, she was too busy taking in the immense satisfaction in the shock on the septa's face. Harry didn't wait to see if Myrcella would actually follow as he turned on heel and made his exit. Arya made quick to follow, running down the steps as fast as her feet would take her.

As soon as she had caught up with Harry, she began to tell him everything. He was the only person who listened to her aside from Jon.

And after all, it wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. She was older. She could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures.

If she did marry Prince Joffrey, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

Nymeria and Severus were waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. Nymeria bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her. They went everywhere together, and Nymeria slept in her room, at the foot of her bed. If Mother had not forbidden it, Arya would gladly have taken the wolf with her to needlework. Let Septa Mordane complain about her stitches then. Nymeria nipped eagerly at her hand as Arya untied her. She had yellow eyes. When they caught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. Arya had named her after the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea.

That had been a great scandal too.

"…don't know why you cursed that wolf with that woman's stupidity…" Harry muttered, but Arya pretended not to hear him. He had some kind of distaste for Dorne that went back years and years before she was born. Whatever it was he carried it with him to this very day.

"Sansa, of course, had named her pup Lady, of all things! And she was talking about the Seven like they were our gods!" Arya went on, making a face and hugged the wolfling tight. Nymeria licked her ear, and she giggled.

"Hmmm," Harry hummed, probably paying her only the barest attention as with a simple call of his wolf's name it was at his heels. "By now that blasted Septa of yours has sent word to Aunt Catelyn and Queen Cersei. As if either woman could stop me from teaching you two how to defend yourselves."

Even still, Arya did not care to be found. The boys were at practice in the yard today. She wanted to see Robb put gallant Prince Joffrey flat on his back.

"Come," Harry whispered, and Arya heard the click of Myrcella's shiny shoes trailing at a subdued pace behind them.

"Don't worry," Arya said to the princess as they followed fast behind Harry, whose long legs allowed even his leisurely stroll to make them work to keep up. "I'll help you learn. It really is for the best, what with you as a princess and all. Not that you'll be taken hostage or something, but if the stories about what happened to Harry are true when he was our age, then you'll do good to at least learn your way around a dagger."

"It's not the learning," Myrcella's voice was soft and meek as her eyes stayed on Harry's back, "It's the dirt… Brother Harry insists that every time we practice, we do it in the training yard. With all the dirt and mud… and grass… and dirt… Why can't we practice in my room? Or his bed chambers? Or in father's throne room? I always get so dirty when I play with Harry…"

Arya felt her sympathies for the princess die a little after hearing that.

They arrived to the view of the whole yard. Up in a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep, Jon sat on the sill, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin. He was watching the action, so absorbed that he seemed unaware of their arrival until the action stopped to see them approach.

"Gert down here, Jon!" Harry's voice rose above the dim, and Jon smiled so big and bright as he leapt down and rolled smoothly to his feet. Harry smirked at him, probably having taught him how to do so. Harry was always teaching them one thing or another. Usually things to save their lives if they were ever caught up in a fight they were ill prepared for, but sometimes he shared with them pearls of wisdom or tips to learn something they were not interested in.

It was one of the reasons Arya even bothered to show up to her lessons with the septa.

Jon gave her a curious look as he approached them, shakes hands with Harry as though they were men. "Shouldn't you be working on your stitches, little sister?"

Arya made a face at him. "Harry saved me. I wanted to see them fight. I wanted to practice my other stitch work."

Behind them, the others had gone back to their training. A chorus of thuds and grunts started up as they all turned their attention to the training yard.

"A shade more exhausting than needlework," Jon observed, stroking his chin.

"A shade more fun than needlework," Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed.

They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she went to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her while laughing hysterically.

"Why weren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her a half smile. "Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes," he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

"Oh." Arya felt abashed. She should have realized. For the second time today, Arya reflected that life was not fair.

"Which is foolish in itself," Harry said as he stood up straighter. His eyes were critical as they watched Bran whack at Tommen. "It doesn't matter who's holding the sword if they make you a better fighter. Ser Rodrick knows that, but I'm sure he was given words by Ser Jamie or another of the blasted Lannister men."

Arya watched her little brother defend against Tommen, who was now on the attack. "I could do just as good as Bran," she said. "He's only seven. I'm nine."

Harry didn't even bother to look at her as he answered with a wisdom Arya rarely grasped in the moment. "You're too skinny. Bran is a boy, and has been training for a while now. Even if he lacks in experience against you, you don't have enough of it to use against him. So he'll just hammer away at you until you fall."

"I'm fast… and can dodge." Arya disagreed, but this time it was Jon who answered, looking at her with a small frown.

"No, no, Harry is right. You'll think about that plan for a while. But we know you, Arya. You'll want to prove something to those watching and yourself. You'll try to match Bran blow for blow, and he'll win. He has the edge in endurance, strength, and form. You'll just tire yourself out trying to compete with him."

Jon suddenly took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. "I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one."

Arya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They went watched Bran and Tommen circle each other. Both were wearing thick padding, and clutching wooden swords. Considering that they were huffing for air, and sweaty all over, it was clear that they had been at it for quite some time.

"You see Prince Joffrey?" Jon asked.

She hadn't, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back, under the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.

"Look at the arms on his surcoat," Jon suggested.

Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the shoulder of the prince's padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

"The Lannisters are proud," Jon observed while stroking his chin. Arya had only just noticed that Jon was getting older. He had a peach hairs there now. "You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother's house equal in honor to the King's."

"The woman is important too!" Arya protested.

Harry and Jon looked at each other before chuckling loudly.

"Aye, aye!" Harry snorted, "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little she-wolf. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."

"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" It made her laugh. "That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"

Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."

There was a shout from the courtyard. Prince Tommen and Bran were rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made them look like enormous turtles stuck on their backs. Bran was reaching for his fallen sword, scrambling for it while Tommen seemed to just want to regain his feet. The men began to laugh.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. Then he moved to Bran and did the same. "Well fought you two. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."

Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Rodrik's summons. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked bored. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."

Theon Greyjoy and even Harry gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are children," Greyjoy said derisively.

"And neither of you have seen a day of battle." Harry snorted at his brother, who sneered.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey spat. "But I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

"You got more swats than you gave, Prince Joff," Robb said smugly. "Are you afraid?"

Joffrey looked at him with a deadpan expression.

"Oh, terrified," Joff said dryly. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Jon looked on the scene with a frown.

"Joffrey, stop being a little shit," Harry told his brother. Joffrey's face colored the same as Sansa's hair.

Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting, my prince?" he asked.

"Live steel."

"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"

The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Arya, a tall knight with black hair and burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?" the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull.

"I am training knights," Ser Rodrik said pointedly. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."

The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fourteen," Robb said.

"I killed a man at twelve. Prince Hadrian killed his first bandit at eleven. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."

"Quite right," Harry stepped forward, his full height that of a man twice his age. "I did the man in with a kitchen knife. And the man was drunk. There was blood everywhere."

Harry's eyes landed on the burned man, who stood up straight and flexed his shoulders. "Perhaps the Hound would like to reenact my childhood trauma here and now. Someone bring me a kitchen knife! NOW!"

Lew and Donnis scrambled toward the kitchens after Ser Rodrik sent them a look.

The burned man looked a little deflated at the waiting crown prince.


On the other side of things, Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded by the burned knight. Rob turned on Ser Rodrik. "Let me do it. I can beat him."

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said sternly.

"Joffrey has never used live steel a day in his little life. Don't be fooled by his posturing, Robb!"

Robb snapped to Harry's attention. "But today you will both learn a lesson. Either Clegane gets in that circle with me… or the two of you will. And it will be with live steel!"

The burned man paled drastically as though he were issued a death sentence. To which Arya could somewhat understand. If the man stepped into the circle with Harry, he could very well die from the two Valyrian steel swords at Harry's waist. And if he injured Harry with the full court in the same castle grounds, his life would just as readily be on headsmen's block.

"How dare you try to have my sworn knight killed!" Joffrey shouted. He looked a little crazed, "I'll be your foe, brother. But take care in what you wish for. I am not a small boy of ten any longer!"

"It would never work." Robb said, his temper subdued as he went toward thinking things through. "Joffrey would not make a good partner after all this. We'd just as likely end up killing each other than be any closer to hurting Harry."

"Have no worries, Stark." Joffrey said, removing his coat and furs as he was handed a sword. It dipped a little in his hand. "I will be very focused on gutting my prideful brother from nose to naval."

While the others in the yard were staring and gasping, Harry barked with laughter so loud that Arya swore the ground shook. "That's the spirit! That's what I like to hear! When you come at me, you come to kill! You better be of the same mind, Robb Stark, or you'll be the one nursing wounds."

Robb had a hard look on his face as he was prepared for the fight. Ser Rodrik went to prepare Harry, but he was pushed away as Harry jumped into the circle with his hands clapping thunderously.

"Finally, finally! Joffrey may not be able to back up any of his little yelps, but at least my shit of a brother has some of our father's fire in him! Finally! I was beginning to think he had a woman's wound! Always on and on about lowering himself and not getting dirty like some nurse-maid or septa!"

Joffrey almost immediately reddened at the insult, "How dare you! I am a prince!"

Harry's near-crazed look of enjoyment darkened to something evil in nature. "And I am the Crown Prince. Your crown prince. So, when you enter this ring, little brother, bow and I might not lob off your ears for offending me."

Joffrey paled in that same second as he was about to hop over the wooden ring.

"You are below me in the pecking order, boy. You wanted a duel of live steel, and so you have it. I will be the one to indulge your childish fantasy, little brother. Come and play with the me, if you dare."

Arya watched as Joffrey faltered. Harry was well known to be one of the best swordsmen of his generation, and was already knighted. He had been trained by two of the best—if not the best—knights in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy. The Sword of Morning and Barristan the Bold.

"There'll be none of that crossbow shit today, Joff. Good as you are with it, a knight would have your head before you could even reload the second bolt. NOW GET YOUR ASSES IN HERE! JOFF! ROBB!"

They immediately were in front of him. They were shaking a little, but looked to be getting control of their fear. He then turned his eyes toward Arya, Jon, and Myrcella. Harry's gaze was heavy, as if it weighed on her shoulders.

"Don't you dare look away. Any of you. This is how little lords and princes die. Because they talk bigger than their bollocks." Theon snigged, but instantly shut up when he found a dagger in the wall next to him courtesy of Gendry on Harry's furious look at the Greyjoy.

Arya had the feeling that if Harry had thrown the dagger, it would not have been in warning.

"So be it," Ser Rodrik sighed as though he were aged just by what he was seeing, "I can't seem to stop this madness. The Queen and Lady Stark will be in my ear all day for this… or have my ear off…"

"Call it, Ser Rodrik. I grow impatient."

"Don't kill them. Don't knock them out. Only give shallow cuts and bruises." Ser Rodrik then turned toward Joffrey and Robb, who were busy working themselves up for a fight against Harry. "Aside from that, boys, protect yourselves and be smart."

"We shall be just fine." Joffrey sneered, spitting at the ground in front of him. In front of Harry.

Harry only grinned.

"We need a plan." Robb said, but Joffrey was too busy glaring at Harry with all his might.

Around the courtyard, Arya witnessed as the yard grew smaller and smaller as many men-at-arms gathered to watch the Crown Prince duel both his cousin and brother at once. Included in the crowd, Arya saw her lord father and even the king up in the window overlooking the training yard as well as the Kingsguard. She wondered how long they had been there.

Ser Rodrik sighed again, but raised a hand this time. "Very well, stand ready."

But then an arrow flew from the window overlooking the yard. It had come from Arya's father, who looked all the part of the stern Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. The arrow had given Harry's hand a scratch as he was about to draw the sword Prongs from its scabbard. Even the king looked deeply vexed by Harry.

"You draw that sword, and you'll have me as your opponent as well, Your Highness." Lord Stark said for all the court to hear. Harry didn't look worried.

"Damn it all, Ned, he doesn't care! He's probably all cock-hard at the idea of fighting father, son, and brother… One of you little shits down there give my son a training sword before I chose to fight EVERYONE in a reenactment of the Ruby ford!"

This was when Harry's grin dropped… and everyone paled a bit. The men-at-arms when scrambling for the closest tourney blade they could get out of the armory. Harry caught it without even looking as he continued to stare up at his lord-uncle and king-father.

"It would figure that you two old men have concern for the lives of your young boys…" Harry said, as though to himself but loud enough for everyone to hear. He was unhooking his swords from his belt and his outer garb. Gendry took things as they were handed to him, and Harry was left in the cold of Winterfell with only a tunic shirt his trousers, a belt to hold them up, and his shoes still on. The sword in his hand was very dull, seeming to have no edge at all. It was the length of his arm, shorter still than Lily and Prongs, but not by very much. "No matter, they'll learn this lesson regardless of your mothering… It is the will of the gods, Old and New."

The king snorted loudly at that, "Will of the Gods, he says… Little shit is talking like a king already, and I ain't even nearing the grave. Justifying slaughter with gods. HA! Damn boy amuses me to no end."


Robb took his sword in both hands, testing its weight as he never let his eyes leave Harry. Joffrey, who was next to him, had a smaller sword that appeared lighter in nature. The blond flicked the sword a few times, but always came back to point the tip at Harry's heart.

"Begin!" Ser Rodrik signaled, and immediately, Joffrey ran at Harry, leaping as his sword flashed from right to left.

Harry didn't move, orbiting his blade as he slapped Joff's sword harmlessly to the side. Harry's blade came up quickly, but Joffrey was saved some bruised ribs by Robb finally making it to the battle, parrying Harry so Joffrey could get back.

Joffrey added his own sword into the mix, locking it above Harry's so he was stuck between the two younger combatants. That was when Joffrey took a hand off his blade and backhanded Harry across the face.

The crowd gasped, but Arya saw for a fact that Harry's face had not moved an inch.

In fact, he was smiling.

The next second, Harry headbutted his brother in the side of his head by his right ear. Joffrey cursed aloud and broke the deadlock. Then Harry's foot came up to kick Robb in the chest, but he blocked with the flat side of his sword. It still sent him skidding back a few meters, so impressive was Harry's strength.

"Lesson number one, ya little shits." Harry said as he shouldered his edgeless blade. "Strength is essential to using a blade. The stronger you are, the fast you'll swing a heavier blade, or the more powerful your blows will be from a smaller sword. I've built my strength up quite a bit. The two of you need to start building your muscles, or you'll never be able to compete with the knights in the South, especially those from the Vale."

Robb stepped over cautiously to Joffrey's side, but thankfully the prince was keeping a calm head about the incident he had sustained. The two partners had a muttered conversation, one that went on for almost a minute before they seemed to come to an agreement.

Harry allowed it no more as he near instantly closed the gap between them. Joffrey and Robb separated to either side of Harry, taking him from two fronts. Harry pressed them hard, his blunt sword flashing against their live steel in a deadly dance that saw Harry turning from one to the other almost like a Dornish dancer spinning to entertain foreign guests. The strength of the blows Harry was sending their way put them on the defensive as much as they gave to their attack. Arya could tell that if they didn't do something soon, their little plan would fail utterly fast.

And there! There it was! Joffrey had locked Harry's blade under his own. Seeing the opportunity, the same as her, Robb made to intercept, but was surprised to see how Harry barely glanced up at him. Harry slid to one side, and forced his contest with Joffrey up high, well enough that it almost effortlessly joined Robb into the parry.

The only way Robb made room for breathing then was when his foot came up a half second before Harry's own, kicking the crown prince away from them as Joffrey kept Harry's blade preoccupied by grinding the two together.

Harry seemed all too pleased with how well the two were working together and keeping him at bay.

"Lesson number two, boys." Harry said as he swung the blunt blade in front of him. "Speed. The faster foe will almost always win. Faster to swing. Faster to defend. Faster to counter. Faster to think. The quicker you are, the more likely your chances of victory. The slower you are… you might as well be a cake ready for carving."

"I don't need your advice!" Joffrey yelled, rushing at Harry, who gave him a bland look.

"Too slow…" Harry said aloud, slashing his sword up just as Joffrey got within range.

Joffrey leapt back, blinking a bit as he checked his person. Harry had obviously made contact with him, but it wasn't until a second later when everyone in the courtyard realized what Harry had done.

"What'd he do? What did he do?" Arya asked frantically to Jon, who was pale and staring at Harry's smug face.

"He… he cut the arms from Joffrey…" Jon said in a far away tone.

"His arms?" Arya looked back at the battle. Joffrey still had both his arms, keeping the steel sword gripped in both hands. "Harry didn't take his arms! He's got both! See!"

"Not his actual arms, Arya." Jon shook his head before pointing to something on the ground in front of Harry. "Look there. Those arms! His coat of arms!"

And indeed, Harry had cleanly sliced the coat of arms from Joffrey's shoulder. The act of doing so must have taken more skill than Arya would have believed possible from any knight not found in a fairytale.

Her lord father and the king seemed to grow stone-faced at the action, but they weren't rushing down to stop things, so they must have thought it okay.

A second wind from the two partners in battle saw the crown prince fall back on the defensive, with Robb and Joff playing off each other quite well. It was obvious Harry was holding himself back to see what they could do. To say how much they despised each other, Robb and Joffrey made a great team when put together. The barely had to say a word to one another as they moved in perfect coordination. While one took Harry's attention the other tried to move in for the kill. When one tired of holding Harry's strength back, the other moved swift enough to clear up some space. The kept Harry on the back foot for a long while, making him circle the field in order to keep them both at bay.

However, something on Harry's face said that he had grown bored of playing with children. He was a trained knight, and they had barely begun to learn the craft of the sword. It would have been ridiculously easy for Harry to end things in minutes, if not seconds, if he had so chosen.

Now was simply the time to prove that, Harry's face said as he was no longer between Robb and Joff when they tried a pincher move to finally score a blow against the crown prince. They have grown too confident in themselves, Arya could almost hear the words in Harry's head. They actually believe they stood a chance. Time for them to know how easily I could kill them at any time.

Robb looked up just in time to glimpse the bottom of Harry'sleather boot as it came down on his face and smacked him tumbling toward the mud. Joff watched with barely contained shock as he was forced to clash against Harry, who quickly sent the blond backing away with a succession of weaving, flourishing thrusts that drove Joffrey's blade out of line while the stabs reached for his heart.

Robb got up from the mud as quickly as any would dare, launching himself like a cannon toward Harry's now exposed back.

And the crown prince half turned, gesturing casually while holding Joffrey at bay with a one-handed bind. Harry didn't move as he dodged Robb's slashes at him, even when they came from impossible to dodge angle that would have cut down ten less impressive knights in a row. Then Harry began to needle him. He pushed Robb's shoulder as he ducked under a slice for his head. Kicked him in the knee as he raised his leg over a low sweeping slash. Punched him in the chest when Joffrey had finally backed off as seeing that they weren't going to catch Harry any time soon. And when Robb tried to get away from him, Harry had grabbed the live blade between his fingers, watching as Robb stared at him in shock while desperately trying to pull away.

Harry put the tip of his own edgeless blade to Robb's neck.

But then he was forced to swish the blade up, cutting an arrow in half as it came down from Arya's lord-father, Eddard Stark. Harry finally let Robb go, but the damage had already been done. Robb was leaning heavily to one side; the side Harry had not been beating down on.

Joffrey was caught by surprise when Harry had silently made it in front of him, and was left breathless as Harry slammed into him and drove him back to flip over the circle's wooden fencing. His sword came loose from his slackening fingers and clattered to the ground.

Both boys were down, or well enough to it. Joffrey was out of the ring, breathless and half stunned. Robb was using his sword like a crutch, warily watching Harry as he tried his best to stand up right.

In less than five minutes, Harry had broken their near perfect teamwork with his superior skill and strength.

"Final lesson, lads." Harry breathed, and breathed it hard. The two had apparently taken more out of him than Arya thought. She only now became aware of the fact that Harry was sweating and his hand was bleeding red drops onto the muddy snow of the yard. "If you can't win with honor, don't fight fair. Use anything and everything you can to stay alive. I don't care if you have to bite off their bollocks. Whatever lets you fight another day is all that matters."


Joffrey was finally coming back to the world around him, groaning as he lifted himself from the ground. One of the men-at-arms made to help, but Joffrey pushed him away as he stumbled onto his feet. His perfect blond hair was caked with dirt and mud, and it looked as though Harry had split his lip.

When Joffrey simply walked away from the court yard, no one made to stop him. In fact, they cleared the way for him as the burned man followed after the second prince. Robb at least had the decency to bow out of the ring but almost fell in doing so. He left Harry in much the same manner, stumbling back to the castle while everyone watched and parted to allow him passage. Theon followed after him.

There was no clapping. No cheering. Not a single person did more than mutter to each other about what they had seen.

And from what Arya's ears had picked up on, most agreed that Harry had been harsh, but true in his lessons.

The Warden of the North, and the King both approached the sparring circled, the latter shaking his great mane of dark hair as he kept his laughter to himself. The former was more restrained, but no less amused by the way things had played out.

"I told you, Ned! I told you! Damn boy just doesn't have it in him to play nicely with anyone."

"It isn't about playing, Robert." Arya's father said in a far more conversational tone, "Harry was quite correct in the wisdom he gave here. They were thinking that because they were a prince and lord's son, they could overcome the gap in ability between themselves and Harry. They were wrong. If an enemy knight or sell-sword had been their foe, we'd be without sons."

"But you still owe me three hundred dragons, Ned! I told you he'd have them either carted or stumbling away to lick their wounds!"

"You also said that even with a blunt weapon, he'd carve them apart." Eddard Stark gave Harry an approving look. "I am at least glad you refrained from doing so. I can see that Ser Barristan taught you quite well."

"And Ser Dayne," Harry said as he finally tossed aside the edgeless sword after giving it a hard look. "They call it the Cake Carving technique. It is useful when you don't have a good weapon like Prongs and Lily at your side."

"What about the other lad? Jon boy? Jon boy, get your ass over here!" the king called out, making Jon flinch. "You get into the ring with Harry here! Let him carve you up next!"

"Jon is a shade more skillful than Robb and Joffrey. He actually knows the limit of his skill versus an opponent. Harry would still obviously win, but it wouldn't be so easy. I dare say he might even give Harry a little exercise."

"Are you willing to put your coffers to your word, Lord Stark?" the king laughed. "Let's say five hundred dragons this time! Not a scratch to Hadrian, but all the lumps in the world to your Snow boy!"

"I will take that bet, Your Majesty." Ned turned to see Jon approaching them. "Jon is of some skill, as my brother has been to see him often. He will do well against Harry."

"Let's see then!" The king roared, looking at Harry. "Boy, pick up that piece of junk and hack away at Snow here! I've got five hundred golden dragons riding on you! Hop to it! Chop, chop!"

Harry sighed, "I've told you about your gambling problem… Almost as bad as your drinking…"

Arya watched Jon. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood. Finally, he climbed over the small wooden fencing and hopped into the ring. He was rolling his shoulders, but his expression was still unreadable.

"I'm not like Prince Joffrey and Robb," Jon said as he picked up the sword Robb had left stabbed into the ground. "I've nothing to prove but to myself."

"I know, but you better prove to me you're worth my waiting warm bath." Harry replied as he lifted the blunt sword and pointed it directly at Jon. "Otherwise, you'll be carved up like a freshly baked cake for wasting my time."

Arya bent to scratch Nymeria behind the ears. The wolf rose and rubbed against her. Ghost had gone and sat beside the training circle in order to better view Jon. Arya had no clue where Harry's wolf, Severus, had gone off to. It was a strange one, she felt. It roamed to where it pleased until Harry called for it. Almost as if it had other plans in mind.

"There you are, young lady!" Reluctantly, Arya turned around to the voice that had shouted into the courtyard.

It was worse than she had thought. It wasn't Septa Mordane moving toward her furiously.

It was Septa Mordane and her mother.


Nothing to really say for the end of this chapter. It was supposed to be completely different, but my computer erased the end of the chapter, I have since decided to simply split them in two since the chapter was going to be nearly 20,000 words anyway.

REVIEW and/or PM if there are any questions, comments, or concerns.

Until Next Time, See Ya!