I do not own or claim to own any of GRRM's works, nor am I profiting off this story

Finally get to Winterfell and meet the rest of the North...tensions are rising.

Winterfell. The beating heart of the North. Unlike many castles throughout the realm which were built all at once, Winterfell had been a continuous project for thousands of years, always being expanded and upgraded to deal with new threats. There was a cycle that Rambo Bolton had told them about once when visiting Karhold. The Bolton's would take Winterfell and sack it, burning all things flammable and tearing down as many stones as they could. Then the Starks would come back and rebuild bigger and better. Finally, the Red Kings of the Dreadfort knelt to the Starks, and Winterfell was finally completed. There was not a larger keep in the North, nor one as defendable, except perhaps Moat Cailin and Greywater Watch. High grey walls that reached one hundred feet, that then had a moat built around them, and a second set of eighty feet walls built around that. Spanning several acres, the castle contained three keeps, a great hall, around a dozen towers and a Godswood that took up a third of the castle. There were also glass gardens for growing vegetables in the winter, and of course, the legendary crypts of the Starks. The Kings of Winters final resting place.

Outside the castle was Wintertown, the third-largest settlement in the North, after White Harbour and Barrowtown. It was much larger than Kartown and boasted bigger and heartier buildings. When winter came around, it would double in population for those who wanted to escape the cold. They came down from the mountains and in from the forests, and the Starks sheltered them in exchange for winter work around the castle, and on Stark lands.

When they had arrived at the castle gates, Constantine lead the way with his banner bearer, hopefully calming any tensions. Although the Manderleys were friendly with the Karstarks, they were also friendly with everyone else, and were especially loyal to House Stark. Hundreds of years ago, the Manderleys were driven from the Reach where they had originally settled. Chased out of their lands and into exile by jealous neighbouring lords who wanted their wealth and power. The Starks gave them a home and forevermore the Manderleys had used their wealth, and talent for politics to further the North's economy. They were some of the only followers of the New Gods in the North, and as such had more southern customs than any other house. It was because of this the Manderleys were able to play both sides of the coin when it came to the power blocks of the North and keep in everyone's good books. They were perhaps the most cunning and shrewd out of all the Northern Lords and could play the game better than all of them combined .

As they approached the gates, Jagare breathed in a nervous sigh and shook out his nerves. His father had told him days ago that the moment the party entered the walls, he had a mission to complete.

"Look and listen" he had told him. "To the king, the prince, the lords, men-at-arms, all of them. I want to know everything." The growling words still sat in his head, causing his skull to ache. As he rode under the portcullis, a nervous gulp escaped him. When he entered the courtyard, he kept to the back and behind everyone else; immediately dismounting and handing his horse to Lyanna who nodded at him to go. Due to the sheer number of people, he was able to easily blend in with the others in the courtyard. Slipping up a narrow set of stairs in a tower, he walked along the inside walls until he found a small turret with open views down to the courtyard. He saw the other Northern lords form a welcome line at the other end of the courtyard. The distance was on purpose. If one party drew weapons, the other would have time to respond. It was almost droll, how ready everyone was to accept open war. At the front of the Stark party was the King himself. Tall and thinning, though still with the Stark strength about him. He had a long face and a trimmed whitening beard to match his long tied-up hair. He wore no armour but had the ancestral great sword of the Starks 'Ice' strapped to his back. Jagare had always marvelled at Valyrian Steel, the strongest metal in the known world. Even in the dull grey light, the blade shone and shimmered.

Theon Stark. King of Winter, Lord of Winterfell, and the many-eyed wolf. He was given such a name for the amount he knew about his lands, which lords were planning what and what armies could be a threat. He was the one who predicted the Bolton attack even when the snow fell so hard no scout could see 5 feet in front of them. At his right-hand side, stood a tall, slim, and handsome-looking youth. He could not have been more than Jagare's age, but he carried himself higher. From the disdainful looks he was throwing at the party, especially the Bolton's, this could only be Jon Stark, Prince of the North.

The welcome was cold and formal, after all, it had been Theon Stark who burdened his father with Jagare all those years ago when he called out what he saw in the great feast. His father had never talked about it, but Hothar Umber told him the story when he visited, he was the first to try and throw a punch at Ellard Dustin. It was from him Jagare had received the full story.

Nevertheless, the Northern lords kept their cool and no blades were drawn, but the air was so chilly with hate that it could have frozen a side of beef. Jagare did what his father asked though. He saw Stark archers sitting up in towers, he saw Lord Glover whisper a command to his squire, and he saw Lord Mormont swapping coins with Lord Tallhart. Maybe they were they betting? But most interesting of all, he saw the King's eyes sweep the party expectantly as if looking for someone who wasn't there. Jagare wondered if maybe he was looking for him.

That night before the feast, which was a quiet and subtle affair, he told his father what he saw. His father's face did not change, but Jagare knew that something in that bothered him. He grunted at Jagare to stay out of the way until he had talked to the king about what was to be done with him. Jagare could only hope that conversation would not come before he could put his plan into action. The castle was pushed for space, and the steward seemed to have little respect for his father. After asking what rooms were assigned to whom, he responded with a cold stare and an even colder reply.

"I have assigned you the rooms here, what you do with them is none of my concern. Call a servant if you require a bath." He then through a distasteful look at them and moved onwards. Jagare glanced at the men behind his father who were tightening their hands on their swords. Ben must have noticed as well, as he put a hand up at the men, signalling them to loosen their grip. His father then left with Ben to make sure 'the men were settled in Wintertown' but Jagare knew he needed to leave the castle before he snapped. Daryn looked confused and angry.

"Why did that man talk to father that way? He's not a lord, only a steward. How dare he talk to father that way!" Jagare knelt and put a finger to the boys' lips. It was always a problem with children, they never knew when the right time was to speak, and it ended up badly if they said something near treasonous. And there were a lot of treasonous things muttered within the halls of Karhold.

"You mustn't say that Daryn, not here. Not whilst we're in Winterfell." He looked confused, but Lyanna swooped down and took him in her arms.

"Come now, little brother. You know how we don't talk about our trips to the kitchen in front of father?" Daryn's face morphed into a grin, and he nodded. Lyanna smiled and continued "Well the same goes for here, we must only speak positively of the Starks and their men. Ok?" Daryn looked confused, but he nodded and trotted into the room. Lyanna smiled at him softly and he returned it.

"We're gonna be okay" he whispered. "I promise. Soon we will be gone. Free. Just like we always talked about." Lyanna sighed and pulled him into a tight hug that he gladly returned. They were both sick and tired of their fathers' feuds, and how it was affecting them. Jagare felt guilt and sorrow, however. Was it truly his father's fault? He was the child after all. It was his fault that the North was divided. Without him…He let go of Lyanna and excused himself. She looked like she was about to say something but held her tongue. For the rest of the day, Jagare walked the castle of Winterfell with his hood up and his head down. Even though his father had warned him to keep out of sight, and it was possibly the most dangerous castle in Westeros for him to be walking around in, he simply couldn't let this opportunity pass. No matter what he thought of the Starks, their castle was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

He found it all he reckoned, the crumbling first keep, the heated glass gardens, the entrance to the crypts, the bell tower, and the library. Eventually, he found himself on a covered overpass, looking down into a small courtyard. Down below, he saw a figure wielding a sword against three opponents. They seemed to be guards of Winterfell, but they were giving the figure no challenge. He was battering them, his swings harsh and fast. Disarming one and planting a foot in another's chest, he turned to the last and with a roar bought the flat of the blade against his helm. If he had twisted his arm, it would have cut the man's head in two. Jagare wanted to stay to see if the guard would rise, but then the victor took off his helmet, and the long dark hair of Jon Stark flowed down to his shoulders. Jagare gasped, and the man turned at the noise. Quick as a deer, Jagare swept away from the bridge, aiming to put as much distance between himself and the rage-filled prince as he could.

For the next few days, various lords arrived from all over the North. By this point in his life, Jagare was an expert at keeping his head low and voice quiet. He talked sparingly with anyone other than his family. Most of the time he confined himself to the limits of Wintertown, where smallfolk could travel with hoods up and no names. His sort of place. Then came the day of the feast, when all lords had arrived and the King toasted to the realm before the next day when the court would be held, and decisions made for the future of the North. Apart from a close encounter with Turania Snow, a fellow bastard who was a known accomplice of Jon Stark, he had avoided everyone who was a danger to him. He even suspected that many did not know he was here at all, his father would have not flaunted it after all.

Eventually, darkness fell on the castle, and the feast began. It was not a grand affair. Winter was coming and food needed to be conserved. Besides, drunken lords could lead to tensions being let loose. Winterfell would be a battle zone. Jagare hid in the shadows, down on the lower benches that did not reach the eyeline of the high table. He didn't want to be seen by anyone who might recognise him, even his family. It was the first time he had been in a place where lords that opposed his father would be. Those who supported him were bad enough, this would be even worse if someone noticed him. He had sat on one of the far benches from the top of the hall. It was the furthest he could be from the Starks without actually going outside, and yet it was still too close for his liking. Whilst Lyanna, Jon and Daryn were seated near the high table, other lords were wandering around the room talking and laughing with each other on the benches. They were getting too close, Jagare thought. But all exits were being guarded and watched. It was considered rude to leave a king's feast without permission.

He had stood to refill his cup from a flagon on another table and had glanced a look at the high table. The king of course sat in the seat high seat, with his wife on his left, and his son on her left. On his right, to Jagare's amazement, sat his father. They seemed to be conversing deeply, and once in a while the Lord to his father's right whom Jagare could not identify would lean over and whisper a comment. Jon Stark appeared to be angry at something, and his mother was trying to calm him down. It appeared to fail, as he rose and approached his father, speaking straight to all of them. The King shook his head, and his father remained silent. Jon Stark's head then scanned the hall, his eyes filled with anger. Jagare moved quickly back into the shadows, content with sitting on his empty bench, leaning against the shadowy wall in hiding.

But it was not to last. A figure slid into his side and nearly sent him flying off the bench. A truly drunk Constantine Manderly smiled eagerly, his hair flying all over the place and laughing heartily.

"This place is a bloody keg of wildfire, I'm telling you Jagare. All we need is one spark and boom!" He laughed and took another swig of his ale. Jagare grunted and leaned over to mutter in his ear.

"My aim here is to remain unnoticed and undetected until such a time as I can slip out. I do not wish to draw attention to myself." Connie took no notice, and if anything started talking louder.

"Oh, come on Jagare, we're all friends here." Jagare winced at his name and Connie hiccupped and frowned. "Wait, no, that's not right. We all want at least three other people here dead don't we." He shook his head, and his face turned a bit paler. Jagare hoped he was sobering up.

"Aye, I suppose you could say that."

"Fucking politics. It's killing me I tell you. My cousins have been hiding in the shadows observing the Lords coming and going, just as you I suppose." He lowered his voice, much to Jagare's relief. "I have gained some valuable intel around the king's intentions for the North." Jagare looked at him warily, but he carried on regardless. "There will be a council tomorrow. Your party was the last one to arrive, and the king wants it done with. Well, I say the King…" Jagare had heard enough. He turned his head and spoke softly, yet quickly and fiercely.

"Then I suppose you should tell my father; he will be wanting to know." Connie shook his head, oblivious to Jagare's tone and spoke again.

"No, not your father. I shall tell you, my friend, after all, you are the one that needs to hear it most." Jagare faulted at that. What did he need to hear? Surely nothing that important would be for him. Connie beckoned him closer and whispered "It's the prince. He's taken over more and more control of the North as his father's grown older, and now he's planning to-"

"Connie!" a voice interrupted. "There you are my friend, you left us far too early. Hope that's not all you can handle." Jagare glanced up and cursed inwardly. In front of them, stood three men, two slightly older than him and one that looked around the same age. They all held horns of ale and had cheery grins on their faces. The man who had spoken was the tallest and oldest of them, with brown curly hair and pale stretched features. He was tall, yet strong and sinewy, and stunk strongly of wine. His sigil showed a mailed fist on a green base. House Glover of Deepwoode Motte. Shit. Even more than the Dustin's, they were House Starks's biggest supporter. The Kings wife was a Glover, her this must be her nephew. Oh, fucking shit.

The Glover's eyes scanned over Connie and then fell on Jagare with a confused look. "And who is this?" Jagare shot Connie a warning look and luckily even in the drunken state he understood.

"I believe he is a young soldier in my retinue, what business is it of yours?" Jagare silently cursed again. Not the most diplomatic words to be used. Damn drunk Connie.

"All right, steady on merman. He only asked a question." The second man was shorter and stockier, he had the starting of a beard, with the first bit being braided. He wore the sigil of a black bear, a Mormont of Bear Island. "Anyway, why are you talking to a man-at-arms? Come drink with us, you're the only one of those easties that I don't want to put my dagger through!" He shot a quizzical look at Jagare then turned back to Connie who stood up with arms raised.

"Very well Jorah, I shall come." He shot a wink at Jagare and then made to leave. A weight left Jagare's body that they had simply ignored him. Then the third man spoke.

"Wait." Jagare glanced at him and immediately seized up inside. This one looked plainer than the others, with long hair tied back in a knot, and the smile on his face replaced with a brooding look that was somewhat familiar to Jagare. His sigil was the crossed axes on a field of yellow. House Dustin. Oh shit. Double shit. He now knew where he had seen that brooding face. In the looking glass, his own reflection.

"What is it Willam?" Spoke Glover, who had already moved to leave again and was pulling Connie by the shoulder.

"Wait" he repeated, he leaned forward and seized Jagare's face and leant in closer. It took all his willpower to not smack his hand away, but a real man-at-arms wouldn't dream of doing such, so he lowered his gaze and simply prayed that he wouldn't recognise him. The Mormont started laughing and smacked the Glover on his shoulder.

"I think he's found his bed companion for the night, Lothar!"

"He always did like them young and pretty!" Both laughed heartily, but Connie looked on concerned, and Willam Dustin whispered to him, with a small smirk.

"Good try…" He then dropped his hand and moved a few paces back, while Jagare's heart started racing rapidly.

"Oh, bedding him would be sinful in more ways than one my friends. Isn't that right, cousin." Jagare's heart froze in his chest, and the feast became nothing more than a ringing in his ears. The laughter froze and two more gazes turned on him, while Connie was looking around desperately as if trying to find a hole to swallow him up. Jagare wasn't having them look down on him any longer though. He stood up to his full height, coming up above the eyes of Lothar Glover, before moving between them.

"Excuse me, my lords. I shall not disrupt you any longer." He only got five paces before a voice called out behind him. With the lungs of his warlike father, Willam Dustin bellowed his name like a warhorn.

"JAGARE SNOW." He froze as all chatter quietened in the room. It happened almost instantaneously. He became acutely aware of every single pair of eyes watching him. The confusion and anger of his fathers, the fear and worry of his siblings, and the understanding and judgemental eyes of almost every lord there. Even in that disastrous moment, in that split second, he noticed the Kings eyes. How they looked at him with nothing short of anticipation.

"Jagare. Snow. Well, isn't this an honour?" The voice spoke again, this time quieter, but surer and cockier. The three men walked towards him with smiles on their lips, and pleasure in their eyes. They had him trapped.

"We didn't think you would come" drawled Lothar Glover. "I mean, why, in the name of the Old Gods would you set foot here? In the Castle of the Starks." He stopped and gazed at Jagare, and his expression was of true amazement. "You must be very brave, bastard."

"Or incredibly stupid" chortled the Mormont. Not another word was spoken in the hall. He knew that he was expected to speak. Defend himself. Defend the heinous crime he had committed. In his mind, this was what it had all been for. His entire life had led him back to another harvest feast. Yet this time, he was on his own. He had no support but himself and his brain.

"Forgive me, my lord, but it was not my choice. My father ordered me to join him on his trip, and so, I accompanied him." Jagare spoke the words slowly and softly, giving no reason to indicate offence or that he was nervous. The three men started at that, maybe not expecting such a blatant and truthful response. Had they been anywhere else, it would have gone to fists. But not even these heirs would attack someone unprovoked in the eyes of the king. Not even him. Besides, they would want to Cavour the moment for longer. He thought he had his escape then and there, but a new voice came from the high table. A voice filled with laughter, yet when Jagare looked into his eyes, he saw malice.

"Jagare Snow" boomed Jon Stark over the hall, as he rose from the high table and started making his way towards the floor. The queen was frozen in her place, and the king made no attempt to stop him. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you at last. Why the boy who through no fault of his own has caused one of the greatest cold wars in the history of the North." Some of the lords laughed nervously at the joke, but most remained silent. Waiting. "Tell us, Jagare, all of us. What do you make of this situation? Is it your fault? Surely not? Do the sins of one's father rest on our shoulders? Or do you take the blame like a good little bastard." Jagare's words caught in his mouth and his brain strained to keep composure. He was not expecting that, so many carefully planned words, forcing Jagare into a corner. Jon Stark's eyes bored into his. He looked around cautiously and saw there was no one coming to save him.

"I am the child that split the North in two, my prince. The blame is my own, no matter how young I might have been." He saw Jon's smile grow at this, then a voice shouted from the crowd.

"NO!" Lyanna had stood up only to be pulled back down by their father. He looked around the hall, yet everyone who knew him couldn't meet his eyes. Rambo looked away, yet a flash of pity he saw glanced at him. That had been one of Jagare's only hopes, that Rambo's hate for the prince might have caused him to come to his aid. But not even Rambo would risk such open confrontation when there was nothing but a bastard at stake. Connie looked like he wanted to say something, but he couldn't go against the crown prince, not here. It would have been an insult to his father to toss away everything he had worked on for the last 20 years, over a bastard.

He looked up at his father and saw nothing but stone and blankness. It was like he didn't even know him. Jagare felt his temper rising. He wanted to scream to the hall that he was innocent of all and everything they laid on him. Wasn't it the policy of the North that sons were not blamed for their father's crimes? No. If they blamed his father, they blamed an entire faction. If they blamed him, he could do nothing. Would he put the blame on his father and start a war, would he put it on the king and get executed on the spot? No. He was a bastard nothing more. Fit only to die a bastards death. His silence spoke volumes, and Jon Stark had his win.

"Well, you heard it there my lords and ladies. All those trade disputes, fights between our Northern brothers and" He glanced at where the Bolton men sat "battles that have been fought." He turned round to look at the lords. "Why should this man be welcomed into Winterfell, is he not, an enemy of the North." The lords started to mutter and shout amongst each other. He heard calls for banishment, the wall and even the block. All he could see was the smirking face of Jon Stark. Those two grey eyes were filled with cruelty. Jagare felt a coldness within him. Not a body freezing one, but one that gave him strength. He let out a silent snarl and his expression morphed into one of anger. He met the prince's eyes and was met with a similar expression back at him. But before he had a chance to say or do anything, another voice called across the room. Just like one had done all those years ago.

"ENOUGH!" Yelled the king, standing up and banging his fist onto the table. The hall fell silent, and he stared at Jagare, his gaze hard and cold. "Go" he uttered. It was quiet, but the force behind it nearly propelled Jagare out of the hall. He turned and walked calmly, past the smirking faces of the young heirs, past the open-mouthed guards, and he carried on walking until he reached the courtyard where he started to run. His mind raced and his heart thumped heavily in his chest. In the distance, a wolf howled at the moon, and he shivered in the night air.

Eventually, he made it to the Godswood. It was massive here at Winterfell, around two acres of mixed woodland and hot springs, with the largest weirwood tree he had ever seen at the centre. Falling onto his knees, he pressed his face against the bone-white bark and drew in a long breath. Why did his father make him come here? Surely, he would have known what would happen, sooner or later. Or maybe it was his plan all along. Remind people that it wasn't the noble Lord Karstarks fault, only Jagare's. The bastard. He would take the heat off himself and put it on his traitorous son, his scapegoat. He roared with anger and the trees absorbed it all, but one person managed to find him. It wasn't whom he was expecting.

"I thought I might find you here. Whatever they say about you, you are a Northerner for the fact you seek solace with the old gods alone." Jagare turned, wiped whatever tears there were on his face, and immediately knelt before the King of the North.

"I-I apologise for the disruption I caused in the hall, your grace. I shall saddle a horse for The Wall tonight if that is what you wish." The king stayed silent for a few moments before snorting a laugh.

"Fuck that, what use are you to me on the wall?" he grumbled. Jagare lifted his head to stare up at the King. He had an odd expression on his long face, one of query and curiosity, just like in the hall. "Stand up boy, let me look at you." Jagare stood, and the king grasped him by the chin and looked into his eyes. It was the second time someone had done that, but this time it was not rough and cruel. The King seemed to be searching for something. Then his face morphed into a small smile. "There she is…" He promptly stepped back and turned to face the Weirwood. "The old gods give you any comfort then?" Jagare did not respond at first, listening to the breeze whistling through the blood-red leaves.

"Aye, your grace. I have been…unsure of things for a while now. But they have helped me confirm my misgivings. I know what I must do now." The king raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing rash I should hope." Jagare shook his head and the king moved forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You do not know lad; how complex the North truly is. We might be seen as the bluntest and most honest of the realms, but that does not mean we don't have our plots and conspiracies floating through our lands. They are just minuscule in comparison to what those southern shits get up to every dam day." Jagare smiled slightly at this, and the King matched it. He patted him on the back almost awkwardly.

"How much do you know. Of you past?" Jagare stilled, not knowing the answer the king wanted. "I don't suspect your father would have told you it all, but I also don't believe you know nothing." Jagare let out a sigh and spoke to the Weirwood.

"I heard it from mixed sources, but they all painted the same picture. I know what happened." The king nodded and was quiet for a while.

"Then you will know it was I who told the hall of what I saw that night." Jagare stayed silent. Probably considered rude, but the King simply continued. "I…I just wanted you to know that I did that out of fear. Fear for what could have happened if I had held my tongue. The hall…it was about to erupt." The expression on the king's face was pensive, nervous almost. "Everyone wanted an answer, and if they didn't get one, my father wouldn't have been able to contain it. The North would have plunged into war." Jagare was wordless at the comment. It was not what he had expected from the Many Eyed Wolf. He had expected someone who hated him as much as the prince did. But the King looked almost…apologetic. Maybe even…guilty. Theon Stark, the King in the North, felt guilty. Guilty that it was his testimony that sentenced Jagare to the life he had led. But he did it because he cared, cared about the kingdom that was soon to be his. He had sacrificed what he needed to and ensured peace. What a true king should do.

He was about to respond, but they heard a rustle behind them and turned to see Lyanna half walking half running in what looked like Benjen's cloak. The King turned to Jagare once more before walking backwards.

"Don't stray too far from the North. We might need you someday." Walking forwards, he called over his shoulder "And stay away from my son, I think that goes without saying though…as you should already know it." He then walked past Lyanna who gave a breathless curtsey, before the old king fell into the darkness. Lyanna rushed towards him and threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest. He welcomed her but his mind was elsewhere. Eventually, Lyanna managed to choke out some words.

"I-I'm so sorry Jagare, I should have done something, should have stepped up and told them they were wrong, that you're not what they say you are!" She fell into sobs once more and he held her tighter, his mind returning to the present.

"It's okay, sister. Soon we will be gone from this place. These people." Lyanna pulled her face away from his shoulder and looked into her eyes. They sparkled, brown and sweet as a doe. Her hair blew slightly in the wind and her pale skin looked like silver in the moonlight. Jagare felt a strange feeling inside of him, and his vision became slightly blurry. Then a voice pierced the sharp air.

"There you both are!" Both of them let go of each other and turned to see Ben jogging through a clearing in the woods, shaking in the cold. "You must both be freezing out here, come on let's go, quickly," Ben spoke calmly, but Jagare saw the uncertainty and nervousness in his eyes. The trio walked back through the Godswood, all of them silent. Finally, they reached the courtyard next to the main gate, where their father was waiting. He looked at the three of them coldly.

"Ben, Lya, chambers."

"But-"

"Not tonight Lyanna" his father warned, his voice barely concealing anger and his eyes burning with fire. "Go." They left, muttering a quick goodbye to Jagare. Then it was just the two of them. His father wasted no time pulling something from his belt and handing it to him It was a small pouch of coins, and he handed them to Jagare, much to his amazement.

"Find a place to sleep in Wintertown tonight boy. I don't reckon you should stay here." Jagare nodded, silently.

"As you command father"

"Do not…do not call me father." The words pierced the air like knives, and Jagare felt his head grow hot and uncomfortable. "Keep your fucking head down, otherwise you will lose it. You understand that?"

"Yes my lord." His voice was meek and quiet.

"You may have forced my hand…I will not apologise for what could come next." Then he was standing in the darkened courtyard, alone. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Out of the darkness came a shadowed figure, Jagare tensed for a moment before relaxing as the blonde hair was illuminated in the dim torchlight.

"Quite a show you put on there." Connie seemed sheepish and Jagare scowled at him.

"I had a helping hand to bring it to the stage" he growled out. He wasn't truly angry though; it would have happened eventually anyway. Connie scratched his head and sighed.

"Yeah…I can only apologise and say I'm in your debt."

"No, its fine" he murmured. "It was always going to happen." Connie nodded sadly, then looked around carefully.

"What I was going to tell you earlier-"

"It doesn't matter now."

"It does!" Connie looked at him with a grim determination. "Listen. The King plans to make your father his right-hand man." Jagare's eyes widened, but Connie quickly continued. "I know, it sounds impossible, and it won't happen without a deal of some sort being made. Stuff like opening of trade routes, marriages between the two sides, loads of peace-making stuff... but I don't think you will come off well in that deal." Connie sighed and rubbed his eyes. Jagare could see the stress lines on his face. Even with his indomitable presence, even the great Lord of White Harbour was starting to feel the strain. "Just, promise me you will keep your head down okay. I'll try and do what I can for you, but I have been advised by your father to keep within the Starks good graces as much as possible." Connie smiled weakly. "And for whatever else he is, your father does know how to play this game. And I won't disgrace what my father spent so long to build. I can't" Jagare shook his head.

"And I wouldn't ask you to. Thank you, my friend. Your council is needed and valued. Thank you." Jagare turned and felt himself swallowed by the darkness of the night. Pacing his way into the dimly lit town, it was only then when Jagare thought about what the king had said, about him already knowing to stay clear of the Prince. It was not long after that his head turned back to the letter, the one he had received the night before he left Karhold.

Its all about to get kicked into gear now. Sorry for the late upload the weekend was hectic to say the least. Feel free to like and comment!