Hello! I am back with the next chapter. Now this is the last chapter of what I consider the prologue/the set up, and the next 6-10 ish chapters will be scenes for the next 7 or so years. The proper story will pick up again at canon time, with the death of Lord Arryn. I know that the past few chapters have been posted about a month apart from each other, and before that there was no update for like a year, and thank you so much all for your patience but I must say that I'm unsure when the next updates will be.
I am writing them as we speak, but I'm struggling with the order of which to write them and post them. I'm actually writing 2 of them at the same time lol. It's a bit difficult because they're not really important, they're just scenes that show the regular lives of the characters, there's no invasions, there's no plotting, nothing really exciting, and yet they're also SUPER important because they're showing the growth and the changes that the characters go through over a fairly long period.
But anyway! I shall keep working on the next chapters and hopefully you won't have to wait to long, but in the meantime here you are!
In this chapter we have 2 brand new POVs and we get to witness the long awaited Northern Games! Please comment and let me know what you think.
"Despite their significant role in the Rebellion and their Lord's closeness with the King, the North has been granted no rewards from the crown. No gold, no tax breaks, no lowered tariffs on trade and no positions at court. Everyone else that took part in the Rebellion has gotten something in return, but not the Starks. And yet, they are more powerful today than they have ever been in their history, even when they were Kings in their own right."
"Yes, all thanks to the ingenuity of one man, if the stories are to be believed."
"They are plotting something."
Tyrion scoffed. "They are Northerners father, what could they possibly be plotting? If they wanted power, they would have requested boons after the Rebellion. As you said, they played a great part in the war and they are close to the King. They could have been given even more than us."
Tywin's glare was smouldering and the dwarf almost flinched. He managed to keep his head held high and his eyes straight, though. Small victories.
"You are blind as you are short." Tywin retorted. "Ned Stark has formed an alliance with the Martells and the Tyrells, enemies of the throne both. He has vastly increased the North's wealth with the help of his allies and he spent the entirety of his stay at Riverrun before the Ironborn Rebellion trying and failing to avoid the King. It is well known that they argued over the deaths of the Targaryen children, deaths that I ordered, and I am not as idiotic as to believe that all has been forgiven as our fool of a King clearly does. He is up to something."
Tyrion sighed and took another sip of his wine. Anything to show his father his disinterest, false though it may be.
"And what do you wish to do about it, Father?"
"Me? Nothing." Tywin smiled, and the young man's gut clenched. "You will go North. These Northern Games offer us a great opportunity to infiltrate Winterfell. You will keep an open eye and report back everything you see. And Tyrion. You will take along a few other Lords to keep an eye on you. You will not fail me."
Those were the last words that Tyrion heard from his father, a whole week before he departed Casterly Rock to voyage north. The Lannister Lord wanted to know everything: the state of the North in general, of the Starks in particular, the relationship between the Stark family members, their relationship with the wild Greyjoy girl, who came to view the Games and how close they seemed to the Starks, the subject of any conversations Tyrion may overhear... the list went on. But Tyrion was really only here to see history in the making.
Down below, a man at least three times Tyrion's height paraded around with his arms above his head, smiling wide as the commonfolk screamed wildly at him. One would think he had already won the competition. Finally, after whole minutes of the man's posturing, he made his way to the small grassy circle that laid near the centre of the arena, wiped his hands of any sweat and knelt to the ground so his thighs were almost touching his chest.
Supposedly, this was the best position from which to lift heavy objects. Tyrion wouldn't know, they had servants for that at the Rock.
The man, some Umber's cousin's second or third son or some such, gripped the boulder at the bottom and pushed with his legs until he was standing, the huge rock cradled against his broad chest. Tyrion leant forward in his seat and held his breath in anticipation, until the man spun and hurled the boulder into the air, along the strip of grass, with a huge roar.
There was silence as it soared through the air, nobleman and commonfolk alike keeping their eyes glued to the rock until it landed, squarely in the centre of the strip of grass. The stands erupted once more into cheers and screams of victory and Tyrion leaned back into his seat with a satisfied smile, clapping politely along with the others in the Lords' dais.
"Amazing" Lionel spoke next to him, though his voice was anything but amazed. Tyrion didn't turn towards him. "We just watched the sixth man in a row throw a stone. Incredible. Mesmerizing. How far we've evolved, I say!"
"Are you not enjoying yourself Lord Lionel?" The dwarf asked, if only to keep the fool from continuing on in even a louder voice.
Harrald scoffed. "Enjoying ourselves? My Lord, we're freezing our arses off watching some upjumped little savages run around in circles and throw rubbish around."
The dwarf glanced at his countrymen before returning his attention to the spectacle, continuing his clapping until the Umber man walked out to the side of the arena.
"You should perhaps speak more loudly, Lord Harrald. I don't think the Starks quite heard you."
Indeed, the Starks, seated a few benches higher and to the centre were entirely focused on their children's excited babble, however a few of the other Lords sat closer to them were throwing the Westerlanders side glances and glares. Little Mychel Redfort, just a boy of twelve, was clenching his little fist as he glowered at them. Thankfully, Lords Lionel and Harrald seemed to simmer down at this, slumping back into their seats and muttering under their breaths as a seventh man built like an ox took his place upon the grass circle.
A sense of frustration poured over the little Lannister. Here he was, witnessing the first competition of its kind and he couldn't even enjoy himself because of his father's task and these two baboons beside him.
He had hoped he would be granted a little enjoyment even while he fulfilled his father's wishes. He had kept his senses keen, he had exchanged insightful and quite enjoyable conversations with the Stark boy and his bastard cousin, he had sat at watched as a strange group of Northern boys along with Loras Tyrell and Mychel Redfort (and inexplicably, even one Northern girl) taught the Tyrell, Royce and a few Northern girls how to throw a punch and effectively cripple a boy's manhood. He had observed the Greyjoy girl (from afar. When he approached he had been told to go fuck a boar, if he was capable of even reaching it. How uncouth.) and her lack of positive interaction with anyone other than the oldest Martell bastard.
He was doing his job! Tyrion was gathering intel as his paranoid father had demanded, and all he asked in return was some relaxation. Some time to enjoy a show, a good meal, an evening at the brothel. But no. Fucking Lefford and Westerling had to hound him, stick by his heels like dogs, pester him into writing reports every evening, compare notes on what they had observed, all the while insulting and critiquing everything they saw North of Moat Cailin any time they had an opportunity.
The Lannister continued to stew even as they announced the winner of the boulder throwing contest - some mason from the Mountain Clans - and his frown was so pronounced that the serving girl that came to give them their platter of bread and cheese squeaked in fear and scurried away after depositing her tray.
A few more minutes of listening to his companions complaining under their breath had Tyrion throw his bread back onto the tray and jump down from his cushioned bench. Idiots, the lot of them, moaning over cheese. It was the same fucking cheese they had in the Westerlands, made from the mountain goats of the Iron Islands!
Little Sansa Stark ran past him as he made his way through the dais, closely followed by one of the Sands and the Royce girl, all squealing and giggling away as Loras Tyrell roared in outrage and his sister laughed daintily from her seat. The mischief of children. It made the dwarf smile slightly, a smile that quickly disappeared as he remembered that his father would be eager to hear of how the children of Houses spread wide across the realm were playing together. A planned arrangement, the old bastard would probably call it. Children simply couldn't be children in his eyes, everything had to have some nefarious purpose.
Plastering a pleased smile on his face, Tyrion made his way past the Tyrells and the Martells, nodding at each and smiling a little wider at the children, before coming before the Starks.
"Lord Tyrion!" Lord Stark hollered, a small uptick of his lips showing his immense satisfaction. "How are you enjoying the festivities?"
"Very well, Lord Stark, I wish to convey my congratulations to you and of course your lovely wife that concocted the fabulous idea!"
The dwarf bowed to both Lord and Lady and Catelyn dipped her head in thanks, a happy gleam in her eyes.
"Thank you, my Lord. Would you like to take a seat?" The Lady responded, sweeping a dainty hand to her right to indicate the bench beside her husband. The boys, Robb and Jon beamed at him and wiggled to the side to give him space to sit between them and the Stark adults and Tyrion smiled wider, thanking them all.
Attentions turned back to the arena as a dozen women stepped onto the track that ran the periphery. All were tall, with their hair held back and wearing breeches. He could only imagine what his companions were saying about the spectacle as the ladies got into their ready positions, ready to race around the stadium. Women, taking part in competition, wearing breeches, making a spectacle of themselves, what horror! Tyrion snorted at the thought.
"I must thank you my Lord and Lady, for opening up Winterfell to the realms for these Games." The dwarf called over the chanting crowd. "I had hoped that I would be able to attend this historical event, and I must say, I have not been disappointed!"
"Thank you, my Lord." Stark replied, similarly raising his voice to make himself be heard. "I'm also very happy and pleasantly surprised at the success of the events. I admit, this entire thing is the product of my wife. She planned the events and began construction while I was fighting against the Ironborn. When I came back, I saw no reason to remove her from the project."
"Indeed. Tell me, Lady Stark, how did such an idea come to you?"
A gong sounded below and the competing women were off, sprinting down the track. The crowd screamed and the children beside him jumped from their seats, bouncing on their toes and yelling encouragements. Lady Stark followed the girls with her eyes, distracted from their conversation for a moment before returning half her attention to the dwarf.
"I admit, I took most of my inspiration from the tourneys of my youth. It is simply that Northerners do not value using war and battle as a form of entertainment. The real difficulty was finding other ways to showcase strength and skill while staying away from the more martial pursuits. These events are made to demonstrate physical strength, speed and accuracy, all in different manners."
"Yes, I can see. The previous task tested accuracy as well as strength, did it -"
"YES!"
Young Robb Stark slammed his hands down on the railing before him, screaming his little head off before launching himself into his equally enthusiastic bastard cousin's arms as the adults looked on in amusement. The race was over, one of the girls winning by a fair margin.
"That's Shella! Yes Shella! SHELLA!" The boys yelled.
Tyrion sent an amused glance to Starks. "Do the boys know this woman?"
Ned nodded, sharing a fond look with his wife. "Aye, she lives in Wintertown, she is a sister of one of the castle's cooks. Shella wins this victory for House Stark and Winterfell."
"Well then, my congratulations!"
The sudden return of seemingly the entire realm's children put an end to their conversation, though a fair few laughs were shared when a still bouncing Robb picked his sister up as she ran past, twirled her and set her back on her feet before rushing over to the Bolton boy.
Only a few days into their stay and already Tyrion had a wealth of knowledge to take back south. The Games had indeed opened the doors of Winterfell to the realm, and the poor Starks had no clue what kind of predators they had let within their walls. An event like this, people's guards were down, merriment broke all barriers and if the adults remained tight lipped, well there were always children still new to the idea of a secret that he could (and had) interrogate.
The Starks were closer than any family he had ever seen. It made him loathe his father even more when he saw this dour, serious man spare a genuine smile for his children, ruffle a bastard's hair and call him family, and trust a woman with the most ambitious financial project seen in the North. They were a true family, tight knit and unbreakable, their only weak link being the Greyjoy girl; the feral young lady didn't understand that she owed her life to Ned Stark and Jon Arryn.
Though she was unlikely to be of any use to Tywin Lannister simply due to her sheer hatred of anyone and everyone, Stark or otherwise.
There was much to observe indeed. Olenna Tyrell seemed to push both Loras and Margaery into Robb Stark's arms despite him having a bastard as a constant companion; the children of all families seemed to get on splendidly with the exception of the Mormont girl and the Umber heir; Ser Milton Redfort was in negotiations with Lord Bolton to foster Domeric in the Vale with his brother, and little Sansa Stark seemed to be the leader of a rebellion where the soldiers were girls under the age of ten and the goal was to empty Winterfell's kitchens of oranges.
The Old Lion would be interested to hear of the goodwill generated during the events and of the close relationship between the Stark, Tyrell and Martell adults.
Mission accomplished. Now if he could only ditch these infuriating chaperones of his, he could finally have some fun!
Margaery had never left the Reach before. She had been to see her cousins in Oldtown and had marvelled at the beautiful Tower that her mother had once called home, and she had gone down to the town to browse the markets, but she had never been so far away from home.
She knew a lot about the North. She had read many books and the maester would often tell them stories of his childhood when he still lived at Deepwood Motte.
She had thought she knew what to expect. She was wrong.
They were now in the second week of their stay at Winterfell, on the last day of the events, and Margaery had perhaps never had so much fun!
Lady Catelyn was a genius for planning all this and Lord Stark always had a kind word for her, and he never even glared at her grandmother when she was rude and told him to stop looking like his dog had eaten the last plate of sausages. Little Sansa was so sweet, giving her an orange segment when they first met, still half hiding behind her mother's skirts; she quickly came out of her shell though and soon they were giggling and sharing stories as they sewed by the fire while their parents were in their meetings.
And all the new friends she had made! She was meeting children from all over, that she may have never seen at all if it wasn't for these Games. Lyra Mormont was an older girl that always glared at the bigger boys when they lingered too long, and she had incredible stories from Bear Island. Apparently her father was a bear! As were the fathers of all her sisters! Margaery didn't know a woman could have a child with a bear. Alys Karstark on the other hand was much gentler. She took a while before coming out of her shell, but once the girls had managed to convince her to stop whispering, Alys was one of those that laughed the loudest at jokes. She had a nice laugh. The Sand girls were quite similar to Lyra, really; all of them were strong young women that stood like the knights of the Reach: straight backed, confident and loose, not like an elegant lady but a flexible fighter. At least that's what Loras said.
The boys were quite nice too. Some of them had taken it upon themselves to teach the girls what an 'advance' was from a boy, and then taught them how to get a boy to leave them alone. Margaery could now break a man's thumb using only her bare hands!
Robb and Jon had also taken her to see the Godswood, and what a sight it was! It was darker than the one in Highgarden, and its face was sadder, but you could feel how old the trees were. It may have been her imagination, but there was power in these trees.
Truly incredible.
And yet she was confused.
Margaery was smart, everyone said so, and she had grown up at her grandmother's knee, learning politics from the best player in the Game. And things weren't adding up.
Her grandmother had made it clear to both her and Loras that they were to forge close friendships with the Stark children, Jon and Robb in particular. And Willas' letters, thorough as they may be, always mentioned Robb and Jon.
It's not that they weren't nice, they were! They were funny, and mischievous, and smart, and good at the sword, and kind... but Margaery didn't understand!
She was going to be queen one day. She would marry Joffrey Baratheon and rule by his side, the Good Queen Alysanne reborn! So why did she need to get close to Robb? And for that matter, Jon was a bastard. Again, he was a very nice boy, incredibly pleasant to be around, but he didn't matter.
The tale their grandmother spun about ensuring good relationships in order to preserve the favourable trade deals was valid, but did not require this level of mingling. Perhaps the Stark boys would pave the road to Prince Joffrey through Lord Ned and King Robert's friendship? Or Robb was a back up, in case a royal marriage was closed to them?
She simply didn't know. This had her grandmother written all over it: pots upon plots, plans upon plans, secrets upon secrets. Margaery trusted her grandmother. She did. And she knew that she would be given the information she needed when she needed it. It was just so frustrating!
Which was why she was currently crawling through the mud and hay on her hands and knees, having convinced the other young ladies to come along with her. A small act of fun rebellion, if you will.
Indeed, thirteen little girls, aged seven to fourteen were crawling in single file through the filth in order to get past the kennel master's station and into the kennels. Tomorrow was the last event, the hounds' obstacle race, and Margaery would be damned if she wasn't going to pet those dogs. Willas had told her they had all types of breeds!
"Ow!" She heard from the front of the line. "Lyra you're on my dress!"
"You shouldn't have worn a dress in the first place!"
Lyra was right, they would all get into terrible trouble for dirtying their dresses like this. Mud could be washed out but the various small tears they had all accumulated would have to be sewed back. Of course the dresses were made of simple wool, not a stitch of silk or lace anywhere to be found and therefore much less valuable than any of the other dresses Margaery owned, but it was still finely crafted for the nobility and had taken several hours of labour.
Lyra and Jorelle Mormont were the only ladies with the foresight to wear breeches on their little adventure.
"Well not all of us are so barbaric as to wear men's clothes!" The first girl - Margaery thought it might be Ysilla Royce - retorted.
"Shut up!" Mira whisper shouted from behind her. "If I get caught because of you two I will kill you!"
The girls grumbled and muttered insults but thankfully quieted down as they continued their advance through the kennels, keeping close to the wall.
Margaery liked Mira, she was smart and kind, and had that straightforwardness that the North was famous for. Grandmother had said that when she was old enough, the Northerner would come south to act as Handmaiden to Margaery. She was quite looking forward to it and the two girls had bonded over Mira's future stay at Highgarden. Margaery had been sure to tell her all about the splendour of her home.
"Wait! Be quiet!" Wylla Manderly called from the very front, and Margaery had to hold back a groan. Some of the other girls were not quite successful, Sansa even slapping her little hand against the stone floor.
They were so close! They had finally reached the back of the kennels where the competing dogs were kept, and Wylla was even right up against the door to the large box that Willas had told her was meant to keep a whole pack instead of just a singular hound. They couldn't stop now!
"What now?" Ysilla demanded.
There was silence for a moment and Mira let out an impatient breath before Wylla finally responded:
"Nothing." She said hesitantly. "I just thought I heard something."
"Then let's fucking go!"
"Lyra!"
"Be quiet Alys!"
The girls all moved to form a crowd around the box door while Wylla worked to slowly undo the creaking latch. She finally pushed the door slowly open, peaked her head around the corner...
And promptly disappeared from sight with a muffled scream.
There were various gasps and muted squeals from the group but they pushed their way forward into the box, to find a frightened looking Wylla surrounded and held tightly captive, a hand over her mouth.
"Willas!" Margaery whispered angrily. "What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!"
Indeed, her new friend was being held tightly against her older brother, while Loras, Jon and Robb glared at the newly arrived girls.
"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Willas hissed back. "You're making a racket, we heard you coming from miles away!"
"We were whispering!" Sansa defended, in a voice that was slightly louder than wise.
"Did you learn to whisper from Greatjon?" Robb asked.
The Reacher girl suppressed an irritated twitch. The Greatjon had become known over their visit as extremely loud; decidedly not capable of being discreet at all.
"Willas could you let poor Wylla go now?"
"Right yes, sorry."
As soon as she was free, Wylla took a step away from the boys and brushed the dust of her dress before coming to step behind Margaery, her head held high and a pinched face that betrayed how ruffled she was. Margaery waited until she was back with the group before turning to face the boys again.
"We're just here to see the dogs." She said in her most demanding voice, looking down her nose at her brother as if he wasn't almost a man grown but rather a cockroach. It always succeeded in making men flee when her grandmother spoke like that.
"So are we." Loras replied, a smug grin on his face. "In fact, you're late sister. We've been here for almost an hour already!"
Nostrils flaring in silent outrage, the child pointedly ignored her brother and turned her gaze to the dozen dogs behind them, stomping of towards them with a gaggle of girls behind her. One when she saw Willas hold out a hand as she walked passed him did she slow, remembering his lessons from back at Highgarden.
She approached slowly until she was a few paces away and then she crouched, reaching her hand out to the nearest hound and letting it choose whether it was interested in her or not, the girls following her lead and the boys watching silently.
The dog - a middle sized black and white thing with long fur - raised its head and sniffled from afar, reaching its neck further and further towards her until it could come no closer without getting up. It did so, attracting the attention of three of the others who similarly approached their large group of children.
Before long, girls and boys alike were sat on the ground, scratching and stroking whatever fur they could reach while being trampled on by excitable puppies. Margaery's face hurt from smiling so wide.
"They're so friendly!" Sansa squealed, even as she leaned far back to avoid a tongue in the face.
"I was expecting most of them to keep their distance." Ysilla agreed.
"It's because none of these are bred for hunting. The aggressiveness has been trained out of them." Willas replied.
"What are they bred for, then?" Jorelle asked.
The Mormont ladies had explained on the way that due to the abundance of bears on Bear Island, all of their dogs were massive. Tall enough to reach a man's hip, thick and grizzly enough to fight of predators, teeth as long as her pinky and sharp enough to rip flesh to shreds. They were certainly useful against invaders like the Ironborn or Wildlings too. The sisters understandably had taken some time to be convinced to break into the kennels to pet the dogs.
"The black and white ones here are shepherds." Robb explained, pointing to two of the middling sized dogs that Margaery had approached first. "They herd sheep into the direction the farmer wants when it's time to migrate grazing fields. They're very fast and incredibly intelligent. That one there," He pointed to one fluffy dog that was half sprawled over Loras' legs. "is a sled dog, used in the coldest months of winter to carry people and goods when horses and carts cannot make their way through the snow. Not the fastest but certainly the most durable. Those two are herd protectors. They chase of predators that try to prey on sheep and cattle."
"And those are rat catchers!" Ysilla exclaimed even as she grabbed one by the cheeks and ruffled its ears. "We have these in the Vale too."
"And in Highgarden."
"I think this breed is fairly universal."
"I'd heard of shepherd dogs before but none of the others are familiar." Margaery said, and Willas nodded beside her.
"What I wouldn't give to have some of these at Highgarden." The young man sighed.
Robb chuckled. "Well the sled dogs wouldn't do very well in the south I think. Too warm. But we can introduce you to some of the breeders before you leave."
As the other continued their conversation, Margaery noticed that there was one person who hadn't said anything in the entire time she'd been here. Even Alys was quietly giggling with Sansa and Mira, but Jon Snow was solemnly stroking a shepherd's fur, not looking up, not smiling, not joining the fun at all!
"Jon, are you alright?" Margaery asked.
The boy looked up in surprise, but before he had the chance to answer, Robb let out an explosive sigh.
"Don't mind him, he's just been told he's going to be squiring for one of your Reacher knights."
The girls all gasped and a few even clapped their hands in excitement. Even Margaery couldn't contain a smile, but she remained concerned.
"That's great, Jon!" Ysilla cried. "Isn't it?
Jon nodded, his eyes resolutely stuck to the dog on his lap.
"It's a great opportunity. I'll get to travel and see more of the Seven Kingdoms, and being a squire is no small privilege." He said.
"Then what's wrong?"
He shrugged, still not lifting his eyes to meet theirs. "I just don't want to leave home, I suppose. I'll miss my family, and I won't get to see Bran grow up, or even Arya. She's only just turned three."
"You're not leaving yet, Jon." His cousin reasoned. "You've still got a year before Ser Russel accompanies Willas back home. We'll just have to make the most of it, make sure you make some memories with Arya before I usurp your place as her favourite brother."
Jon cracked a reluctant smile at that and half heartedly pushed Robb's shoulder.
"And you won't be alone." Willas added. "Margaery and Loras will be there, and so will I. I can properly show you my aviary instead of just talking about it all the time."
"And we can continue our spars!" Loras added.
"And I'll be going south too." Mira revealed. "I'm to be one of Margaery's handmaidens."
"Oh Mira, congratulations!"
"See Jon. You'll be surrounded! We won't give a second of free time to mope!"
"And the ravens are yours whenever you want." Willas added, shooting his brother a censoring glare. "You can speak to your family as often as you like. Share all your adventures with them."
Jon was properly smiling now and his pets had more life in them, his shepherd's tail thumping harder against the ground.
"Thank you all." He said. "You're right. It's a great opportunity, I'll get to see and do so much, and I can write whenever I want. And I'll send Arya so many gifts you'll never take my place Robb!"
The auburn haired boy laughed and punched his cousin's shoulder. "That's the spirit!"
Everyone descended into conversation, much louder than they should be considering they weren't allowed to be there and if they were caught it would be all their hides, but Margaery's thoughts were spinning.
She was happy Jon would be coming south soon, of course. The boy was a pleasure to be around, he was funny and serious in equal measure, thoughtful and mischievous, and he was always willing to go for a spar with Loras, always made time for her when she wanted a guide to see more of Winterfell and it's neighbouring town. But this had her grandmother written all over it. He was a bastard! Why was he selected for a squireship, why did Grandmother and Willas try to push her and Loras towards him and Robb, why had Grandmother gifted him a copy of the Seven Pointed Star in High Valyrian?! It made no sense!
Margaery forcibly took a deep breath. She could not get angry, she could not get frustrated. She was not privy to all of the information the older members of her family had, and there was surely a very good reason for everyone's behaviour concerning the older Stark boys. Perhaps the magics had re-awakened and the Stark children were wargs like the Stark Kings of old. Perhaps they were unknowingly sitting on a mound of gold greater than Casterly Rock. Maybe they were not Starks at all but secret Blackfyre princes!
It made no sense to fabricate wild theories if one lacked the proper information. Margaery would watch, she would play along, she would continue her work ingratiating herself with the Starks through Jon when he came South, and one day she would have her answers. Olenna Tyrell was the smartest woman in the world, and Margaery didn't doubt that if her plans came to fruition, House Tyrell would rise higher than they ever had been.