Disclaimer: ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.

Summary:

AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.

Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.

He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.

Jon

He wasn't exactly sure what shock was, for he had not experienced it coming from a woman, but he imagined that it felt somewhat like this. He'd never seen a woman that wasn't a Wildling Spearwife, all hair and rough-cut furs and roughspun linens, fight. Just a few hours before, he'd seen a woman with a skinny sword flick her wrist and two men were dead.

Jon didn't quite know why it had never occurred to him that women could wield a sword or weapon just as well as a man could. Women have arms, too. Women have legs, too. It had just somehow never crossed his mind that he'd see a woman wield a sword as skillfully as any proven warrior would. It was silently agreed upon by the three men that nobody would tell Arya.

Jon held his practice sword with one hand, holding it level to the ground. He swung it with his wrist and hit the practice dummy a few times. He wanted to crouch and hit it with power, for that felt natural, but he was curious as to how Lady Forel did it. He wouldn't ask, though. He would never speak to her unless she spoke to him; it would be so rude.

He knew his place in the Stark household. He didn't hate Lady Stark, of course; at least, that's what he kept on telling himself. He didn't have the Stark name. It wasn't his fault. He would tell himself a great many thing to make himself feel better. Some nights it got so hard that he cried himself to sleep. He was a near-grown man, though, so he didn't cry as much, if only because he was told that men don't cry.

"My Lord," came a foreign voice from behind. Jon spun around to see Lady Forel, standing a yard behind him wearing a long black gown that was fitted tight around her slender waist. It flared out with many ruffles at the skirt, which started quite low at the hip. Her sleeves were long and tight, which clung down to the wrist, where it then flared out lightly with black lace. He bowed his head and stared at her hands.

"Good evening, Lady Forel," said Jon, as politely as he could. He felt nervous; he didn't want to get an earful like Robb did.

"And to you," she said pleasantly. "I was on my way to the feast when I saw you, so I thought I might come get you." He looked up with a questioning glance. "Did nobody tell you that it was starting?"

It took a moment for him to realize that nobody told her. Or perhaps she was playing a cruel joke? She didn't seem the type, but he said "I shouldn't, my Lady."

A smile was on her lips, but a frown was in her eyes. "I offend you?"

"No, no, my Lady, of course not!" he said, shaking his head furiously. Realizing that he still had his sword in his hand, he let it down. "It's not you. It's me. I don't think...well, I didn't want to offend you, you see, by being there." She looked confused. "I'm not a Stark." It felt like a confession for a crime.

"Neither am I, but I'm still going to the feast," offered Lady Forel, still not quite getting it.

"Lady Stark..."

"Yes?"

It was painful to say. Even more painful was the realization that he might have to explain to Lady Forel, a foreigner, what a bastard was, and what it meant to be one. Still, she waited patiently for him to finish. She stood so tall, with her head held so high. She would have been less intimidating had she not been so beautiful.

"Lady Stark wouldn't want to offend our guests with the presence of the bastard." He kept his tone even, but the word 'bastard' was said with disdain.

Lady Forel blinked with a frown. "Do you mean you?"

A beat. "Yes."

"Bastard means...?" A great fear; she didn't understand. Perhaps the Bravosi people didn't have a word for Bastard?

"Lord Stark is my father..."

"...But Lady Stark is...?"

"...Not my mother."

"Oh." Another beat. "I do not mean to pry, but do you know where your mother is?" It took a moment, but Jon shook his head. "So Lord Stark has brought you here to raise amongst his own?" Jon nodded. "And Lady Stark..." Lady Forel then laughed. "Westerosi culture...so strange." She sighed. "So, what, they don't feed you? You look too big and strong to be starved."

"I eat," said Jon.

There was a very long pause. Lady Forel rubbed her hands a bit from the cold Northern air, keeping her eyes on Jon. He couldn't read her expression. Finally, she took in a long breath through her nose, and offered her arm.

"Come on, eat with me," she said. "Escort me to the feast."

Jon gulped, glancing around to see if anybody was watching. There would be Hells to pay should they see the Bastard of the North with a Lady like her. "My Lady, I cannot-"

"Well, you also cannot just let a cripple walk to feasting by herself, can you?" A pause. Lady Forel laughed. "Just let me lean on you. I'm hobbling like an old man. If Lady Stark feels that I will be offended by having you there, then I will simply tell her that I wish to dine with my hero."

Jon wrung his hands in his gloves uncomfortably. "Greyjoy shot the arrow, not me."

"But you were still there," she said. "Come, I will be more offended should you not dine with me." Her voice was lilting in and out between Braavosi accented words and a perfect Westerosi accent. Jon didn't know what to say, but to refuse a Lady - and their guest, no less - would be wrong.

"I'm a little dirty, my Lady," said Jon, trying to deter her.

"I don't mind," said Lady Forel. "As long as you are there. Come." She held out her arm. Jon began to reach for her, but shyly retracted. He gave her a pleading, unsure gaze, as if to doubly ask her permission. She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh and took him by the wrist to loop his arm around hers. He almost jumped at her touch, but went well enough along with it. "Now, just be polite and let me lean on you a little while I walk. And, please, if we're going to be seen together, stand up straight?" Jon stood up straight. "Now shoulders back. Head high." He complied, feeling strangely out of place. "Just so," she said. "Shall we, my lord?"

They began to walk slowly, Lady Forel limping on her right side towards him. "You don't have to call me 'my lord,'" he whispered, afraid that somebody might hear.

"What then to call you?" she asked. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. "What do other people call you?"

What don't they call me? Thought Jon. Bastard. Snow. Lord Snow... "Jon Snow is what they call me. Jon is fine, my Lady."

"Jon?" She nodded, satisfied. "Cadenzsa."

"I shouldn't, my Lady-"

She sighed. "So many rules of Court..."

Who should happen to round the corner as they were entering the castle corridor but Lady Stark. Jon immediately felt that tightness in his stomach, that awful knot, that sickness that made him want to run and hide. The look on her face. Her tight jaw, that tiny flare of her nostrils, that was unnoticeable to anybody but him. Jon knew she hated him, no matter how hard he tried to keep out of her way, he knew how much him just being was infuriating to her. Lady Forel didn't notice. She greeted Lady Stark warmly.

"A warm good evening to you, Lady Catelyn Stark," she said. "Jon has been kind enough let me lean on him while we walk to the feast."

There was a great tension between them, though Lady Forel did not sense it. Or perhaps she did, for she then said: "My handmaidens will be so thrilled to sit next to their rescuer tonight. They haven't been able to stop chatting about Jon's bravery. You don't mind that he's escorting me, do you?"

Lady Stark swallowed hard, tightening her hands. "If you are certain he will not offend anyone..."

"I cannot think of a single reason why this brave paladin would," said Lady Forel. "Shall we go?"

A pause. "You go on ahead, I'll be with you in a moment." Lady Stark brushed passed Jon, who was shaking inside.

"You didn't have to do that," he whispered, slouching next to her as they kept walking.

The Bravosi girl shook her head with a grin. "What does anybody have to do?" Lady Forel asked. "You have to eat, you have to sleep. But you don't have to be polite to survive. You don't have to say please and thank you. You don't have to live by honors and prayers. You don't have to eat cooked meat. You don't have to live in a stone house. A man can live off of only carrots and turnips and beans if he has to. What man truly has to do anything? These stigmas and taboos and courtesies are all things that Man creates. In the end, the God of Death finds us, polite or not."

"My Lady?"

"All I'm saying is that we live by arbitrary rules that we invent. Not the Gods, but Man. For all we know, the Gods could be something that we've invented to make ourselves feel better." She turned to him with a grin on her full lips. "Tell me, do you pray, Jon?"

"To the old Gods," he answered, a little unsure if she knew who they were.

Lady Forel looked ahead and shook her head slightly. "Old Gods, new Gods... In Braavos, they honor all Gods from all over the world. Do you know this? Sailors, pirates, soldiers, captains, Sealords and courtesans...they all pray to different Gods. I heard a pirate king, once, say that the only God that there truly was lied between a woman's legs," she laughed, Jon blushed furiously. "When I was a child, I asked my father which God was the right one. My father told me that there is only one God, and His name is Death." She smiled at Jon. "And you only say one thing to the God of Death. Do you know this?" Jon shook his head, confused. "'Not today.'" She gave a tiny scoff. "Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten myself." They stopped. A beat. "Aren't you going to get the door?"

Jon looked up to see they were in front of the Great Hall's door. He silently cursed at himself and opened the door for her. She smiled as he came back immediately to hold her arm. As if she could feel his anxiety, she patted the top of his hand gently. "You'll be fine," she whispered.

The Great Hall was set up for a feast, with onion tarts, warm bread, lots of cheeses, stuffed pigeons, and - from the looks of it - the pheasants the men had bagged that morning had been roasted. There was squash, too, and beans. Jon had to keep on telling himself that to be polite to their guest was the right thing to do. He got a knowing glance from his father, who understood, but also feared Lady Catelyn's wrath.

Well, fear wasn't the right word. Fear was for the winter. Lord Stark didn't fear his wife; he respected and loved and cared for his wife. He and Lady Stark were devoted to each other, and the only unhappiness in their marriage was him, Jon Snow, simply just being.

The Stark children were lined up in a row, dressed to feast. Robb cracked a tiny smile, and gave a nearly invisible nod to Jon on Lady Forel's arm. Sansa, pretty as ever in a pale blue gown, didn't quite know what to think. Arya smiled, and so did Bran, until he looked at his mother, who seemed to be faking a smile. Rickon wasn't frowning. He was happy to see everybody.

"Lady Forel," said Lord Stark, coming forward. "Let me introduce you. I think you and Robb have already gotten acquainted, though," said he with a smile.

Lady Forel smiled at Robb, who smiled back. They both seemed apprehensive, a little shy. Jon figured that they probably didn't know how to act around each other, considering how they'd met. Robb wanted to make things right; he was the firstborn. He would be Lord Stark after his father.

"Good evening, Lady Forel," said Robb, whom Jon could see was nervous. He didn't blame him for being so nervous. "I hope you feel better."

"I do, thank you," she said, bowing her head. Jon walked her down the line to see Sansa, who was, no doubt, enamored by the elaborate detailed stitching in Lady Forel's gown.

"And this is Sansa, my eldest daughter," said Lord Stark.

"Greetings, Lady Forel," she said.

"And to you, dear. Aren't you a pretty thing."

"Arya, my younger daughter."

Arya curtsied. "Lady Forel, is it true you killed wildlings in the forest today?"

"Arya!" shrieked Sansa in horror.

"Where are your manners!" admonished Lady Stark. "I apologize, Lady Forel."

"Oh, it's quite alright." Lady Forel, who found the whole thing rather amusing, shook her head, laughed and said "I think that might be a rough subject for dinner, sweet girl. Perhaps we'll talk about that over dessert?" Arya was about to say something else, but Jon gave her a scolding look, which made Arya simply nod and step back. They continued down the line.

"Ah, this is Brandon," said Lord Stark, who was probably not at all surprised that Arya had gotten wind of Lady Forel's swordsmanship. Or, perhaps, was it swordswomanship?

Bran gave a respectful nod. "Hello, Lady Forel." He looked nervous. He gave his elder brother a questioning look, which Jon returned. Perhaps he could feel the tension from Lady Stark and him? Or was it between Robb and Lady Forel?

"Hello, little Lord," said Lady Forel, bending a little to look him in the eye. "Aren't you a handsome thing. Do you smile?" She tickled at his belly a little playfully.

Bran giggled a little and gave a big toothy grin. Lord Stark laughed a little, too. He gestured to little Rickon, who had a smudge of flour on his face. He was probably in the kitchen, again, stealing sweetrolls. He smiled at Lady Forel big and wide.

"And this is Rickon, our youngest." Lord Stark gave the little lord a tiny hair tousle.

Rickon stepped forward and held out a red poppy. "I picked this for you, Lady Forel. I hope your leg gets better."

"Why, thank you!" With a great big toothy smile, she knelt down and took the poppy from his tiny hand. "Such a gentleman!" she said. She tucked the flower's stem into the left breast of her gown, so it stood proudly like a pin. Jon caught the tiniest glimpse of her breasts before he looked up and away. He then caught Theon Greyjoy, smirking as he stared. Jon glared angrily at him when they caught eyes.

"How does it look?" asked Lady Forel to Rickon.

"Very pretty," he said.

"Just so." She smiled up at Jon. "Help me up, please?"

Jon gently took her arm back as she pulled herself up, wobbling on her weak leg. He'd had injuries like that before; the battle-blood running high keeps you from hurting, but once things calm down, you really feel it. If she'd gotten hit with a morningstar like Robb had said, then Jon was simply impressed that she was standing and that her bone hadn't shattered.

"Is Jon staying for dinner this time?" Rickon asked suddenly.

Jon gulped. Lady Forel patted his hand and said "I would be very sad if he didn't stay." Robb smiled at him. Theon shrugged with a smile, but Jon could hear his snarky voice saying some cruel joke. No matter, though, for he was now escorting a beautiful Lady to her seat at the feasting table. He pulled out her chair and went to the far end of the table to sit, near the door, where he often did. He didn't want to give Lady Forel the chance to object to him sitting all the way over there, for she was the guest of honor and Jon didn't want to sit near Lady Catelyn. He didn't want to anger her.

The feast was delicious, of course, since their cook was quite good. The Starks also dined with a delicious and sweet blackberry wine that Lady Forel had brought with her on her journey, and insisted that she shared. It was her mother's favorite, she said, and Jon believed her when she said that it was so sweet-smelling that it attracted more flies than honey did.

It was not an elaborate feast, for it had been made on such short notice, but Lady Forel did not seem to mind. Jon kept an eye on her the entire evening, watching her eat, drink, and make merry. She was so charming and jovial, and her accent was something that Jon found quite lovely.

"Lady Forel," asked Sansa, taking care to show how perfectly she could operate a knife and fork with her squab, "do you have any brothers or sisters?"

The lovely Braavosi shook her head. "It's only me," said she. "And, please, you may call me Cadenzsa, if you like."

Sansa smiled. "That's a pretty name," she said.

"I think Sansa is a pretty name, too. It reminds me of the sound a soft wave makes when it hits the sand." She lowered her voice to a soft whisper, and swayed back and forth with a few waves of her hands. "Saaaansaaa... Saaaanssaa..." Sansa and Robb both laughed. Lord Stark gave a tiny scoff with a smile.

Arya was itching to ask Lady Forel about the swords again; Jon could see it from how she was bouncing in her chair. He gave her a few scolding glances, to which she obeyed, reluctantly. He liked Arya; she was a square peg in a round hole like he was.

"Will Cadenzsa be staying with us long, father?" Arya then asked.

"Until her leg heals, at least," said Lord Stark, sipping the wine. Lady Forel smiled.

"Your father is quite generous," said the lady to Arya. "My father and your father know each other from a long time ago. Did you know that?" Arya shook her head. "I imagine that it was from one of the many wars that Westeros has had to endure?"

Lord Stark nodded. "Something like that," he said. "Lady Forel's father is Braavosi, just like her," he said to his daughter. "He told me all about Braavos. He told me once that if I should ever like to visit, he would show me about."

Lady Forel grinned. "I'm sure that the offer is still well on the table, Lord Stark. And, of course, should any of you - " she glanced at Jon with a twinkle in her eye " - at all should like to visit Braavos someday, I would be honored should you enjoy my family's hospitality. We have a beautiful manse on our own island."

"You have your own island?" Theon then asked, looking over his goblet of wine.

She nodded. "We do, Lord Greyjoy. Braavos is a city which sprawls across over a hundred small islands. We have a few streets, yes, but we mostly have canals that take us all over the city. The manse has been in our family for many years, but for a time we lived in the Sealord's Palace. It was beautiful there; so vast with towers and domes...and a garden where I could run around with the other children. The kitchen in the SeaLord's palace was the size of three of these rooms! I used to sneak in there when I was little and steal oranges." She giggled. "My mother was furious when she found out. 'Why steal?' she said. 'You can have anything you want, as long as you ask nicely!'"

"So why did you?" asked Bran.

Lady Forel shrugged. "I think I did it for the game of it. I didn't see much harm in it, considering that there were always so many oranges in the Palace, for the Sealord at the time loved them. I also used to climb on rocks and the palace walls, which made my father furious."

"I like to climb!" said Bran.

"Which you're not supposed to do," said Lady Stark gently.

Lady Forel nodded. "She's right. Climbing can be dangerous. I fell and broke my arm, once. Thankfully, it was while I was still living at the Palace, so I got help right away. After that I took to swimming instead. Braavos is located on a beautiful lagoon, where we get our fish and clams and oysters to eat. So I swam all the time to make my arm strong again. Have any of you ever had clams from Braavos before?"

"Not from Braavos, my Lady, but we get ours from the coasts nearby," said Robb. "They are small, sweet things."

Lady Forel smiled. "The clams in Braavos are huge. I mean, really, huge - the size of a grown man's fist. And their shells are sandy-colored and ridged, like mountain ranges." She sighed. "Maybe I'll send for some to make for all of you as a thank you."

"That would be nice," said Robb.

Jon caught eyes with her; she smiled happily and raised her goblet to him. They were dark, like his, and deep. He had never been a part of the feasting when a guest was there. He was usually kept aside as an unfortunate secret. Being there was a glimpse into what it felt like to be a Stark; to be part of a family. He would have been able to enjoy it more, though, had Lady Stark not given him silent glares all night.

"Lady Forel," said Lady Stark, trying to distract herself it seemed, "what else does a Braavosi lady do in her spare time? I'm sure that the girls would like to hear of it."

Sansa smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes, please."

"Do all ladies in Braavos get to play with swords?" Arya asked.

"Arya!" shouted Sansa.

"No, no, it's alright," said Lady Forel. "To answer your question, Arya, Ladies in Braavos do mostly as they please. So, if a lady pleases herself to become a Dancing Master, she does this thing and studies very hard. Or if she pleases herself to learn music, she does this. It is a Free City, so a Lady does what she likes. But on warm evenings, I like to take my canoe and row around the city, drifting around the canals and out in the middle of the lagoon, where the moon is so large and shiny on the water you might think you could step out and dance on it. Braavos is a city for lovers; and adventure, of course."

"Do you play music?" Sansa asked with a smile.

"My mother taught me," said the Braavosi. "I sing and dance, and I can play the harp, lute, and stone flute as well."

"I'd like to hear you play," said Robb, who seemed to have meant to keep that as an internal thought that he blurted out loud on accident. Jon saw the slight in his face right after he said it.

After dinner, Lady Forel's handmaidens - who had enjoyed dining with the other staff of Winterfell - brought in musical instruments. The Maester joined in to hear the songs, too, as did quite a few of the kitchen staff, that watched from the door. Her handmaidens were musicians, too, it seemed; played the drum, and the other played the harp. Lady Forel played the lute, quite skillfully, and she sang songs from Braavos that were beautiful but Jon didn't understand. Her voice was so strange; it was powerful and she sang out loud, but her voice lilted and fell and rose, each note like a wave of light going up and down. He had never heard anybody sing in that manner before. After two jovial songs in the beautiful language, which sounded like drops of water hitting a pond, she looked up to the applauding audience and said:

"When I was learning the Commontongue, I began translating songs of Braavos that I knew into your language. The words may not make much sense, but this is one of my favorites. It's a song that appears in a play. The female lead sings it to a handsome young Prince, who steals her heart at the end." Sansa swooned, loving every moment of it. She was such a little girl, dreaming about knights in shining armor.

She began plucking the strings in a playful tune that went up and down, up and down, in a simple way. The harp joined in. Then the gold-haired handmaiden began beating on the drum softly. And she sang a song about love and dancing on the water together and kissing.

"One, two, three and four

Your sweetest kiss is mine

Five, six, seven and eight,

Kisses make it nine,"

As Jon watched her, he felt a smile growing. He glanced to his side to see Robb, quite transfixed, hypnotized, even. As the song continued, he watched his brother smile. No doubt, he was falling in love with her. What was more odd was when he looked to Greyjoy, who was wearing an expression Jon hadn't ever seen before on him. With creeping horror, Jon realized soon that, as Lady Forel finished her song, he might be witness to a rivalry between the two men that were close as brothers, over the love of a woman.

"I'll never yield

I shall never roam

if my heart were a castle,

Sweet love, you'd be home"

Not that Jon really blamed them, though. As she rose and bowed on her lame leg, the hall of Winterfell erupted with applause, Jon felt that - if he had the chance - he'd like to love a woman like that, too.

Jon escorted Lady Forel back to her room after the feasting and songs. Lady Stark invited Lady Forel to sit with them tomorrow and do their needlework. Lady Forel agreed, saying that she'd never done it before and would like to learn. Sansa was shocked, of course, at this, as was Arya. Jon figured that if a father allowed his daughter to do swordplay, he wouldn't need to let her do needlework, too.

"Thank you for being my escort, Jon," said Lady Forel.

Jon smiled. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Forel."

"Cadenzsa."

"Cadenzsa." Her name was strange; beautiful. "Cadenzsa," he tried again. "It's a pretty name."

"I was named for my grandmother," she said. She yawned a little. "Forgive me! I never tire this early in the evening."

"I'm sorry. Go rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Lady-"

"-Cadenzsa," she admonished.

"-Lady Cadenzsa," said Jon. "Good night." He gulped and bowed and ran off to his room before anyone could see how furiously red his face was. His father's Ward was waiting for him on his bed.

"Get a kiss from the Lady, Snow?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" Jon demanded.

Theon smiled and rose, stretching. "I'll bet that's the first time a guest asked to sit with Ned Stark's bastard." Jon felt sick, his face flushing red. "Lady Stark was furious," continued Greyjoy. "And you know? It was great." Jon looked up in shock. "No, I mean it. To see her so mad and to not be able to do anything about it!" He punched Jon playfully in the arm. "I'll bet that felt good, after all the Hells she's put you through."

"Do not speak ill of Lady Stark!" said Jon.

"Alright, alright," said Greyjoy, shrugging. "But I'll bet if you play your cards right, you'll get to eat with us the entire time she's here, and Lady Stark won't be able to say a damn word about it. Won't that be great?" His father's Ward patted him on the shoulder and went for the door. "I like that Braavosi girl. I hope she stays a nice long time."

And Theon left, leaving Jon in his room, alone.

R&R! New chapter will be up soon, coming from Theon's POV. Or Possibly Cadenzsa's. Not sure yet.