Chapter 3

Robb

A pair of ocean-strong eyes stared out in the open. The river appeared still, yet she still flowed under the thinnest of ice, awaiting the gentle touch of the sun. As the north wind bit the ground, it bared the coldness of the wintry abode. With the leaves blowing, the trees' silvery-brown skins stood tall with a great deal of strength, representing the North with pride. There were billions of sculpted flakes parading together to coat the earth and sticking to the young man's fur cloak and his thick ginger-brown locks. He was Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.

He looked down at the direwolf standing on its hind legs. It was his trusted companion, Greywind. His fur was a mixture of grays and blacks that clung to his frame like a windbreaker in the gale. With every step he took, Greywind's paws kissed the ground with lightness. There was also a serenity to his gaze. They always shone yellow in the dead of the night, especially towards those who threatened his friend.

When his ears perked up, he licked his snout and cocked his head to see a man with dark hair and a cocky grin. "Thought you'd be out here, boy."

Robb narrowed his eyes at his father's ward. He hated it whenever men called him "boy", because they never took him seriously. He was the Warden of the North's eldest son.

"Why are you here?"

"Your father's been wondering where you've run off to. The King'll be here soon."

Robb didn't know what to make of the new King. He hadn't heard of any pleasant stories, but then again, he hadn't heard of any horrible ones either. All he knew was that he was a year younger than Robb.

The King's younger brother had a reputation for being a right royal prick, or at least that was what the rumors were. But perhaps the two most infamous Lannisters were the Imp and the Kingslayer. Everyone in the whole Seven Kingdoms knew who they were. How the Imp gained his name for his small stature, and the Kingslayer slayed the Mad King when he took a vow to protect him. Not only did he earn the reputation of Kingslayer, but he also had a bastard daughter, who became the Imp's ward.

Robb heard a ridiculous rumor about the Kingslayer's bastard; how her beauty could stop a man with just one look. She was a Lannister, though, so no matter how beautiful she was, she was probably like the rest of them: blonde hair and a smug, satisfied face. He had never heard of a kind Lannister. They were all cruel and did whatever was necessary to pay their debts. Even his father grimaced upon hearing of the Lannister party, because they came late to Robert's cause, when victory was all for certain, and Lord Stark never forgave them for it.

"Best be on our way then."

They headed to a huge castle complex spanning several acres with two massive stone walls protecting it. There were dozens of courtyards and open spaces inside the complex with many of his father's men training by sparring with each other or practicing their aim with a bow. The inner castle held a Great Keep and a Great Hall with towers and halls. It was very grim compared to other lands, or at least, Robb had been told, but it was his home, and it would soon be all his.

His family stood outside, patiently waiting. His younger brothers, including his bastard brother, turned to see him, and his younger sister glanced at him. Robb noticed that his other sister, Arya, was nowhere to be found. She was probably watching the King to see if he'd turn up by now.

The Starks all formed a line with their men and Ned Stark's bastard son standing behind them for support. Robb stood between his father and his sister, waiting patiently by the gate. When a small figure hurried past the group wearing a helmet that nearly slipped off, his father caught wind of it. Realizing that it was his youngest daughter, he grabbed her shoulder and took off the helmet for her before he passed it to a man behind him. He then told her to join the line, so she did by shoving her younger brother, Bran, out of the way and told him to move.

Visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads, a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Even though Robb had never personally met any of the riders, he was aware of who they were based on other people's accounts. There was the Kingslayer with his beaten gold hair, the Hound with his terribly burned face, and the King of the Seven Kingdoms riding a black stallion. Robb's sister, Sansa, gazed at him with such admiration that it made Robb harden his gaze at the King.

When King Niklas dismounted his horse with little ease, he sauntered over to the Starks with a smile on his face and kind green eyes. He looked more like a Lannister than a true Baratheon, but Niklas Baratheon was their King now, Robert Baratheon's heir.

Lord Stark offered him a warm greeting by saying, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

Robb then looked over at the wheelhouse, watching everyone else dismounting from their transport. The Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children and her handmaidens. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden in, was a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses.

As soon as the last handmaiden stepped out, Robb knew it was the Kingslayer's bastard. His breath grew still, and his eyes remained fixed on her, not wanting to look away. Her sunlit waves were the starlight and wintry boughs swirling together in a lucid dream. It was styled just like all of the other handmaidens, two braids twisted and nestled over her shoulders, while the rest of her hair piled on her head. She wore a cape over the pink dress she wore, which complimented her fair skin and the green lights hidden in her iris.

"And who have we here?" The heir to Winterfell turned back to King Niklas as His Grace made his way down the line. "Lord Stark's heir, I presume?"

"Robb Stark, Your Grace."

They both shook hands with a firm grip before the King had the other Stark children introduce themselves. When he reached Sansa, she smiled sweetly when he complimented how pretty she was. Robb heard that his sister was to be married to the King, so perhaps he did it as a term of courtesy, but then again, Sansa was a young girl, who will soon be a blossoming young woman. She'll soon flower and bear her husband's children, fulfilling the legacy. The idea never thought to cross Robb's mind until now.

When the Queen Regent approached Lord Stark, she gave him a polite smile and offered her hand to him. He then took it as he knelt in the snow to kiss her ring, acknowledging her as his Queen.

"Lord Stark, take me to your crypts. I wish to speak to you alone if I may."

The Queen Regent grimaced at the word "crypts", and Robb knew why. It was no surprise. Everyone throughout the whole Seven Kingdoms was aware that Robb's dead aunt, Lyanna, was Robert Baratheon's betrothed before she was taken by the Targaryean prince.

"We've been riding for a month, Your Grace. You should rest first."

"In due time, Mother. Lord Stark?"

He looked over at the Queen Regent before he turned his attention back over to the King as he gestured for him to follow him by nodding his head. Robb watched his father leave with the King until they were out of sight. He then turned back to the Lannisters, watching them carefully, especially the Kingslayer's bastard. It wasn't long when he soon averted his gaze when she caught him making eye contact, and he could have sworn that he saw a small smile crept up her face, almost finding the interaction amusing.

Eddard

Ned and King Niklas went down to the crypt together. The winting stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern to guide His Grace to the bottom of the stairs. Their faces were red in the lantern's light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against their mortal remains.

It was unusual for King Niklas to come here to discuss business. If Robert were alive, he surely would come down here to see Lyanna's corpse. As they moved further into the crypt, King Niklas followed wordlessly, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down there. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows, they sat with their blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed: black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. It was grim thinking indeed.

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, had a long stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life, all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchers on either side were his children.

Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryean only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully only to be Ned's wife in the end. He was the eldest, the true heir to Winterfell, and his father had been forced to watch his own son die.

As for Lyanna, she had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart, but the late king, Robert, loved her even more. She was supposed to be his bride.

"When I first heard the story, I couldn't help but wonder why. At first I thought it was to please the North since she came from one of the most powerful families in Westeros, or at least it's what someone with common sense would think. Unfortunately, that wasn't the reason. Going through such great lengths to root out every Targaryens from their stems for the sake of one woman?"

"She was his betrothed, Your Grace."

"So he loved her more than my mother. Is that what you're telling me?"

Ned knew the answer, but he remained silent even when the King stared him down as if he was challenging him. The little rise in the corners of his mouth was oblivious to the cool detachment in his eyes.

"King Robert may have loved her, but he did choose your mother."

"Love?" the King scoffed. "It's like a delicate flame, isn't it? And yet, it can easily be extinguished. I trust my Hand discussed through his raven why I'm here, didn't he?"

Lord Stark nodded his head, acknowledging it, "Yes, Your Grace."

"You helped my father claim his throne, and now you must help me maintain his legacy. I'm sure if your sister was still alive, you and my father would have been brothers, bound by blood, only this time, he sought to use me to pursue your daughter. No matter. I will do as I'm bid by joining our houses, as my father might have once done with your sister."

The news still surprised him when he received the message from King's Landing. He still couldn't believe that Robert wanted his son to marry his daughter. But perhaps he shouldn't be surprised though. After all, Robert loved Lyanna with all his heart, and if this was a way to unite their houses together, then by all means. However, it was still too early.

"Sansa is only thirteen."

"And I am only sixteen. Both old enough for betrothal. If you are so concerned with her age, then the marriage will wait a couple of years, but she will be my Queen as promised. Get her ready as soon as you can. Have her bring her Septa and her younger sister if you'd like. You'll also have your eldest son travel with us. Robb, wasn't it? A young man like that needs to be with brilliant fighters if he should succeed as your heir and take your place to help her walk down the Sept once we marry. Perhaps I'll even make him my squire."

"Nothing would give me greater joy, Your Grace." Ned answered. He then hesitated to say, "These honors are all so unexpected. First my eldest daughter, and now my son. He should at least stay in Winterfell to guard the North and I may take his place. It is also my right as a father to walk my own daughter down the Sept. I should at least discuss this with my wife…"

"Do you not trust in your son's abilities then, Lord Stark?"

"I trust my son with my life."

With a satisfied grin, the King replied, "It's settled then. Your son will join our travels to King's Landing, and you will stay here, guarding the North."

For a moment, Ned was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. If only Ned convinced him to go rather than his son. Winterfell was where his son should remain to take his place when his father wasn't around as it would all one day be his. Ned glanced at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. He knew they were all listening as he thought winter was coming.

Theon

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its gray stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad. The roaring fire could barely be heard at the end of the hall with the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. His Lord's children had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the King and the Queen mother. In honor of the occasion, Lord Stark permitted each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Many of the handmaidens served the men their wine, including the Kingslayer's bastard. She was as beautiful as what the men said, Possibly more beautiful than the Queen he bet.

When he looked to see Robb Stark's face, he couldn't help but notice the smug on his face as he gazed at her, so he went over to the boy and sat beside him. "Guess the rumors were true about her. She's sleek as a mink."

Robb took a sip from his goblet as he said in a low tone so that only Theon could hear, "What do you make of our new King?"

"All I know is that he's probably stabbing many southern girls with his right royal prick."

They both chuckled at each other, and Theon couldn't help but notice how the Kingslayer's bastard went over to them with a kind smile and welcomed them with a quick curtsy. Theon couldn't help but trace her curves with his eyes before he watched those pretty lips of hers move.

"The King would like to speak to you."

Robb looked at the boy king who smiled down at them before he turned back to the Lannister Queen's handmaiden and nodded his head as he stood from his spot and followed the girl. Theon followed after them in support of his friend. When they reached the platform, the Kingslayer's bastard gave a quick curtsy once again in respect for her King, her Queen, and Lord and Lady Stark before heading off to serve the men. Theon was only a few steps away from Robb Stark, and he watched his friend bow considerately to the King and to his mother.

"Your Grace."

"A pleasure, Robb Stark. Lovely country you have here. It's nothing compared to King's Landing."

Theon had seen the same deceitful smile on the King's face as he did with many other men. He may have been young, but Theon could see right through it.

"Yes, Your Grace."

The King then looked at Robb Stark from head to toe with a devilish grin as he commented, "Strong build. Won many fights I'm assuming?"

"Sparring with my father's men, Your Grace."

"I could use a fitting man like you. You should be my squire."

Theon already imagined Robb's expression. His lips pressed together, his posture turned stiff, and his stare hardened. He even looked to his Lord father for help only to look down in disappointment. It then became clear. Lord Stark agreed to it as the King sat there smugly.

"It's a great honor, Your Grace, but my place is here, in Winterfell. Should anything happen to my father, I need to stay here to take my rightful place as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell."

"Your devotion to your House and to your family is admirable, but your father and I agreed that you will come with us to King's Landing and serve under me. Hopefully, in time, you'll become a knight in the Kingsguard. However, if the gods drag your father to his death, then you will set that oath aside and take your rightful place as Lord of Winterfell, agreed?"

It was more of an order than an agreement, and Robb certainly knew it as he nodded his head and bowed as courtesy. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Excellent." When King Niklas set his sights on Theon, he pointed to him. "You look vaguely familiar."

"That's Theon Greyjoy, my ward." Lord Stark spoke up as Theon took a few daunting steps towards the King.

"Greyjoy? Ah, Balon Greyjoy's son. I can already see the resemblance. A shame really. How his only surviving son turned lackey." Theon was not amused by the comment as he stared down at the King like a boy as the King continued, "I remember learning about how my grandfather's fleet burned in Lannisport. If I recall, your uncles were responsible. Must have been a great victory for your House, but a shame really, how it all turned out."

"We were outnumbered ten to one."

"Yes. Yes. I know the lesson. A foolish rebellion. Your father knew it from the moment your brothers died in battle. Now you're the enemy's squire." His grin stretched from ear to ear when he saw Theon's cold stare. "I've offended you. Go on then, Greyjoy. Enjoy Lord Stark's hospitality."

He presented him with a bow, not taking his eyes off the boy king as he and Robb went back to sit in their seats, not daring to forget the King's words and the past that haunted him.

Tyrion

The night air was promising. Both the Starks, the Baratheons, and the Lannisters drank away 'till their hearts content. Tyrion had a flagon in his hand as he tasted the sweet, burning sensation coursing through his tongue which soon filled his belly. He was sitting down on a high step with his short, twisted legs hovering over the ground while he gave himself a toothy grin.

"I thought you'd be in there with a woman wrapped around your cock."

Tyrion's small neck turned to see his older brother approaching him. His armor had been taken off, and he wore a long, linen jacket with a leather belt and gauntlets. Jaime stood over him with a smug on his face.

"No. I've already had my fill of northern girls in the brothel this morning. Tonight, I'd thought to celebrate our newly appointed king making peace with the Starks."

Tyrion raised his flagon in salute before he bobbed his head to drink. He then offered it to his brother. Jaime looked at it for a moment before giving him a smirk and took it to have a taste before he handed it back to his younger brother.

"So, why are you here? Did Ser Barristan command you to patrol the perimeter?"

"Unfortunately no. I didn't want to be alone with those people."

"So you decided to leave my ward." Jaime's smirk fell instantly as his brother teased him, "And here I thought you were getting along with her."

"Except she's not my responsibility."

"True. I may have claimed her as my ward since her birth after her mother died as our father constantly berates me for it so." Tyrion caught Jaime looking at the ground with a bit of pain behind his green eyes. "But you brought her into this world. Your cock certainly has a tendency to get our family in trouble than any other cock has a right to. I remember when Ayleen's older brother, Malcolm Kenning, challenged you to combat. She then advised him against it, not wanting to see her own brother and you get hurt. Even her father commanded him to return back to Kayce."

"Hmph. Our fathers didn't want there to be bad blood between our Houses. No doubt Malcolm would do anything to watch me die."

"I think he would enjoy it more to see our House burn to the ground."

Malcolm Kenning never forgave House Lannister for his sister. First, Jaime impregnated her, taking away her honor, then she died delivering her baby. Tyrion will never forget when he shoved Jaime against the wall by the scruff of his collar after the midwife announced that the gods took Ayleen. Malcolm's face was wrapped in anger and sorrow. His hands trembled over his beloved sister's death. All Jaime did was stare hard at him, challenging him. He also wanted to take Elena as his ward, but his father, Lord Kenning, went to the Warden of the West and offered Elena to him, saying how she will prove useful to House Lannister. Tywin refused at first, claiming that he would have no use for a bastard. Upon hearing this, Tyrion went to his father and pleaded that he will take the baby as his ward. He was unfazed when his father stared him down and agreed, reminding him that she was his responsibility alone.

When Tyrion took another swig of his drink, he said, "Do me a favor. Watch over Elena, while I'm gone."

"You're not coming with us to King's Landing?"

"The charms of the North seem to agree with me. I thought I might explore it more and head further north."

Understanding what he meant, Jaime crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to him as he stared down at his brother. "Tell me, you're not thinking of taking the Black?"

"And go celibate? The whores would be begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock. I just want to stand on top of the Wall and piss off on the edge of the world." They both chuckled for a short time, but Jaime's smile barely contained an ounce of humor left as his brother continued, "So, you'll take care of Elena while I'm gone?"

It was more of a statement rather than a question, but nevertheless, his brother pressed, "Why ask me?"

"Because Elena's a lovely girl, and I know you'll break bones as you see fit if any man tries anything."

Tyrion knew Jaime cared so much about Elena. Ever since he laid eyes on her for the first time, Tyrion saw the hope in his brother's eyes that became a part of oxygen needed to breathe. He was sure if that silent emotion was removed, Jaime would surely choke.

"Your ward and I are more like strangers to each other."

"Then it's a perfect opportunity for you both to build a relationship with one another." Jaime was at a loss for words, and at that moment, Tyrion knew he had him as his brother looked away, almost considering the idea. Tyrion then stood from his spot and hopped off the step. "Well, I'm going to relieve myself. Maybe I'll even have a northern girl to keep me company." As he walked away, he said, "I'm leaving my ward to you."

Tyrion didn't have to turn around to see Jaime staring at him. He knew that this would be a good opportunity for Jaime to build the relationship he once hoped to have with his daughter. He just hoped that it would turn out alright for everyone's sakes.

Here is the next chapter everyone! Let me know what you think or what you are hoping for. Also, please message me if you have any questions on the series. It will be very different from the show, and for those of you who are wondering, this will be a slow burn Robb/OC story. It's what I have planned, but we will see depending on the flow of the story. And remember the Game of Thrones rule: Do not get too attached with characters. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Stay tuned for more!