Disclaimer: This narrative and its characters are inspired by the incredible worlds of Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire, which belong to their respective copyright holders.

Galeon I

To Galeon, the expansive halls of Harrenfell felt overwhelmingly large. The quietness and typical emptiness of these spaces, especially during times devoid of urgency, often made him momentarily believe he was alone in the world. Yet, the presence of soldiers always within reach to heed an order reminded him of the disciplined environment he sometimes found irksome.

Nevertheless, he cherished his surroundings, considering it his home—a sanctuary providing solitude and a retreat when needed.

Galeon's roots traced back to Lys, an island located far southeast in Essos, where he grew up in a home that was notably more modest, bathed in sunlight, and caressed by the sea breeze. There, birds chirped from their concealed nests, and the air carried the fragrance of flowers.

In stark contrast, Harrenfell was a dark, majestic place, not devoid of nature, as it boasted five acres of carefully maintained forest inspired by Galeon's fascination for Winterfell. This forest, often referred to as a garden, was filled with the earthy scents of damp soil and moss, housing ancient redwoods, oaks, and ironwoods. It served as a sanctuary for his wife, a Stark descendant, whose beliefs were intertwined with the ancient, enigmatic deities of the forest, reminiscent of the now believed to be extinct children of the forest.

Despite being located in what northerners would consider the south—where the last weirwoods were destroyed a millennium ago, except on the Isle of Faces and in Harrenfell, home to a heart tree with a carved face—Galeon found solace in the castle's vastness because it brought joy to his loved ones.

Caught in a reverie, akin to an elder reflecting on past regrets, Galeon is drawn back to the present by his wife's tender voice. "My love," she calls out. Lifting his gaze, he addresses her, "Daph," his tone imbued with affection and a hint of longing, "Where might Daesys be?"

This question had become a ritual for him. "Arguing with Cregan in the garden," she informs him. Galeon gestures for Daphne to join him, noting, "No one else possesses the endurance to deal with her as he does. The moment has come for Daesys to choose a swornsword."

"I thought that matter was obvious," he replied.

"For her, indeed," she conceded. "Yet, for him, it remains unclear."

With a sigh of resignation, Galeon was prepared to endure the conversation further. "Cregan's intentions are purely for her benefit."

"She knows it too, which is why she hasn't made it official yet," Daphne agreed. "But winter is coming."

Over time, Galeon grew to comprehend the profound significance of that phrase, a evident reminder from the Starks that always sent a shiver down his spine despite its familiarity.

Each noble family boasted its own words, a reflection of their values and aspirations, ranging from honor and loyalty to faith and courage, with the Starks' ominous warning of 'Winter is coming' standing uniquely among them. Galeon, who personally crafted the Maltanis' vow of justice, found it a preferable alternative.

"Addam, ever loyal and skilled with the spear, has known Daesys his entire life," Galeon remarked, pausing to sip his apple juice—a preferred alternative to wine. "Knowing she is safeguarded brings me peace. It's time for Cregan to chart his own course."

"Despite his Dornish birth, his spirit aligns with the north," Daphne observed, noting her husband's distant gaze. The longevity that Galeon has endured often felt more burdensome than beneficial, distorting his perception of time, and leading to a life marked by indifference towards most things in the world. At nearly 400 years, the weight of his experiences is a sorrow too vast for most to bear.

Daphne knew that Galeon's presence was integral to her coping with immortality; his absence would leave her incomplete.

"This year marks Cregan's sixteenth," Galeon noted solemnly. "He's ready. I've intended to knight him on his name day," he added, though with a hint of sadness. "Jon has his duties at Dragonstone. It seems we are gradually being left behind, my love."

Daphne sought to offer solace. "Ned mentioned Bran might soon join us here," she said, attempting to lighten the mood, "And we could always make one of our own anyway." She added, laughter tinting her words.

For Galeon, fatherhood was fraught with challenges, haunted by past sorrows. Yet, Daesys's birth was a joyous surprise, a beacon of hope Daphne believed could guide Galeon forward.

"I ought to have realized the direction our talk was heading," he remarked, placing his glass down with a sense of acceptance. "You didn't come here to discuss the quarrels of the young ones. Your disdain for this place is no secret. What brings you to me, dear?"

Daphne gently grasped her husband's hand, signaling the gravity of her news. "Today brought sorrowful tidings, my lord. I wished not to burden you until your duties were concluded." She opted for directness, understanding the futility in cushioning the news. "My deepest condolences, love. Jon Arryn has passed away."

As their gazes locked, the difficulty he faced in processing the news was evident, aligning with her expectations. Galeon's interactions with Jon, given his stature as the Lord of the Eyrie and the Protector of the Vale, were numerous. His affinity with honorable men like Lord Arryn was natural, yet it was during the War of the Ninepenny Kings that a lasting bond was formed.

Galeon's esteem for Jon was profound, to the extent that he recommended Ned and Robert to forego their training at Harrenfell temporarily to learn under Jon at the Eyrie. The duo's camaraderie with Lord Arryn deepened, especially when faced with Mad King Aerys II Targaryen's demand for their heads, leading Jon to defiantly rally his forces in their defense.

For Ned, Jon was more than a mentor; he was akin to a brother, especially after they joined forces with the Tully sisters in marriage, cementing a formidable alliance within the Seven Kingdoms that laid the groundwork for Robert's reign.

"Jon…" he murmured, seeking confirmation of the grim news.

"The correspondence bore the royal seal, penned by Robert himself. I kept it aside for you," Daphne informed him. "According to the letter, his illness claimed him swiftly. Despite Maester Pycelle's efforts, there was little he could do, though he did administer milk of the poppy to ensure Jon's suffering was brief."

"Such mercy is scant consolation," he responded, visibly pained yet considerate of her feelings. "What about Lysa and their son? Any word on them?"

Daphne replied, "The letter merely mentioned they were safe and have made their way back to the Eyrie." Galeon's initial reaction was one of concern, which he quickly set aside, recognizing the varied ways individuals cope with grief.

"Additionally, the letter brought more news. Robert intends to travel to Winterfell to seek out Ned."

The significance of her statement dawned on Galeon slowly, but realization eventually dispelled the shadows in his eyes. "Ned is to be the next Hand of the King," he concluded.

Daphne longed to mirror his enthusiasm, yet she was all too aware of the Stark family's ill-fated history with the capital, particularly for someone as upright and loyal as Ned. An undercurrent of dread twisted within her, yet she masked her concerns with a smile for the man she adored, a man who discounted omens and endeavored to lead a life grounded in personal integrity. "The decision remains uncertain," she noted. "Ned may well decline the offer."

"Indeed," Galeon replied, his tone laced with irony as a smile crept across his face, both fully understanding the slim chance of Ned turning down such a call from Robert, who was akin to a brother to him.

"The journey to King's Landing is necessary," Galeon announced with a grimace, aware of Daphne's awareness of his disdain for the city. "Would you accompany me?" he inquired, seeking the comfort of her presence.

"Without question," Daphne assured him, her voice warm and her gaze filled with unwavering affection.

Grasping her hand, Galeon expressed his gratitude, "Thank you, my love."

Cersei I

The guests made their way through the gates of the Red Keep in a procession of vibrant hues—green, gold, silver, and gleaming steel. Five hundred men comprised the entourage, a select group consisting of the finest bannermen, knights, and sworn swordsmen of the Seven Kingdoms. Overhead, dozens of emerald banners fluttered in the breeze, each adorned with the solitary white dragon emblem of House Maltanis.

Cersei recognized several of the riders as they approached. Among them were Ser Dante, his hair as dark as a moonless night, and Ser Addam, bearing a massive spear on his back. Standing beside Ser Addam was a black-haired girl with emerald eyes, unmistakably Daesys Maltanis, while a black-haired boy with purple eyes stood behind them—undoubtedly Cregan Sand, the bastard son of Brandon Stark.

However, Cersei's attention was wholly captured by the man leading the procession. He and the Stark's bitch were flanked by two knights adorned in the distinctive emerald green cloaks of the Order of the Knights, there was also her giant direwolf following behind. Galeon dismounted from his warhorse, and Robert greeted him with a familiar roar, enveloping him in a bear hug that could easily shatter bones. "Uncle! It's good to see that ugly mug of yours," Robert exclaimed, examining him with a chuckle. "You haven't changed a bit."

Cersei found herself longing to echo similar sentiments regarding Robert. Seventeen years ago, during their campaign for the throne, the Lord of Storm's End was the epitome of kingly appearance—clean-shaven, with sharp eyes, and a build that could have leapt from the fantasies of maidens. His height set him apart from the rest and adorned in his house's armor and distinctive horned helmet, he transformed into an imposing figure, truly giant in stature.

Many whispered of his colossal strength, wielding a spiked iron warhammer that few could even lift. In those days, the scent of leather and blood clung to him, an image Cersei could have grown to cherish.

The last time Cersei had seen the Lord of Harrenfell was two years prior, during the betrothal of his son, Jonaleon of House Maltanis, to Myrcella of House Baratheon. On that occasion, stags, lions, and dragons had united to secure a legacy for generations to come—a moment her father had regarded with immense pride.

Since then, the king had visibly aged, having gained at least three stones. A coarse black beard obscured his jawline, though it failed to conceal the dark circles under his eyes.

Despite Robert's tendency to overlook formalities in his uncle's presence, Lord Maltanis remained impeccable in observing the proper protocols, addressing him with deference. "Your Highness, we are honored by your gracious welcome."

By that time, the rest had dismounted as well, with the Stark woman and her daughter entering on foot. Cersei noted that she had never seen the two northern women opting for carriage travel, the savages. Both made a gesture as if to kneel and kiss my ring, yet Robert, foregoing formalities, enveloped them in an embrace that bore more warmth than he typically showed his own offspring. Subsequently, pleasantries were exchanged among all present, familiar with one another and thus requiring no introductions.

Following the initial courtesies, Robert conveyed to his uncle, "I know this is not simple visit, uncle. Let's proceed to pay our respects."

Despite their shared disinterest in formalities, Galeon acknowledged their necessity, at least for the sake of appearance. With no further discussion, the group accompanied the King to the Great Sept of Baelor. Cersei suggested they rest first after their long journey since dawn, arguing that the deceased would remain as they are, but her words were dismissed by Robert with a mere glance before he proceeded.

Upon reaching the great sanctuary, which was spacious enough for their large party, Lord Maltanis, moving first towards Jon Arryn, expressed, "I was unaware he was ill," Lord Galeon remarked, gazing upon his old friend. "Perhaps I could have been of help."

Cersei responded, "His illness took us all by surprise, my lord. He was well one day and suddenly not the next."

Robert, perhaps misunderstanding, added, "Perhaps It wasn't a battle to be fought, uncle."

At this, the formidable presence within Lord Maltanis, a power Cersei had long aspired to harness, seemed to surface, altering the blistering of the air. "You knew him better than to say that," came the dragon's cold rebuke to Robert.

Robert's response betrayed a hint of discomfort, "I apologize, uncle. I meant no disrespect."

"We all recognize Jon's valor, my love," intervened the Stark bitch, effectively diffusing the tension and returning calm. "Has the cause of his demise been identified?"

Robert shook his head solemnly. "I've never seen someone fall ill so swiftly. Just fifteen days prior, we had a tournament to celebrate my son's birthday. If you had seen Jon then, you'd have sworn he'd live forever. Yet, a mere fortnight later, he was gone. The illness ravaged him, like a fire burning in his gut." Robert paused, recalling the final moments he spent with Jon Arryn before his passing.

"Damned Pycelle couldn't dig up the cause," Robert scorned. "Uncle, could you send one of your healers? I'd trust them far more."

"I'll send a raven," Lord Galeon assured. "It'll give us peace of mind to uncover the cause of Jon's demise, especially if it was infectious."

The Stark woman voiced concern over Lysa's hasty departure. "Robert, you should've persuaded Lysa to stay or accompany you north to see Cat. Grieving alone shouldn't be endorsed."

Robert responded with a mix of bitterness and resignation. "Lysa vanished the moment she got the news, insisting on taking the boy back to the Eyrie, against my will. I fancied raising him at Casterly Rock under Tywin Lannister's eye. With Jon having no other kin, should I have left the boy in her sole care?"

"He's only six, somewhat frail, and now the Lord of the Eyrie. May the gods be merciful," Robert lamented. "Tywin Lannister never takes wards. Lysa's judgment failed her; the Lannisters are a distinguished house, yet she wouldn't consider it." He sighed deeply. "Did you know the boy is named after me? Robert Arryn. I've vowed to protect him, but how can I if his mother has whisked him away?"

Lord Galeon offered, "We can foster the boy, with your approval. We would only need Lysa's agreement, and she'd be welcome at Harrenfell too."

"A generous offer, uncle," said the king, "but too late. Lord Tywin has already given his consent. Raising the child anywhere else would be a grave affront to him."

Robert Baratheon was a man whose interests lay primarily in the realms of pleasure, his affections reserved mostly for those bearing the Stark or Maltanis names—a criticism that could never be levied against Cersei. Yet, it was in moments like these that Robert was prone to display a semblance of kingly dignity, a tendency that seemed to manifest more prominently in the company of the Maltanis. It was an open secret that he was utterly captivated by the Maltanis matriarch, willing to perform any feat at her behest, fueling rumors that Lyanna Stark was merely a surrogate for an unattainable love.

"Uncle," Robert addressed with reverence, the candles casting a flickering light over Jon Arryn's remains, amidst the solemn rites performed by the septas. "Will you accompany me to the North?"

Regretfully, Lord Maltanis declined, "I'm afraid that's not possible, my boy," his gaze fixed on Jon, as though seeking to rekindle life with his stare. "Tomorrow, I set sail for Lys."

Robert's discomfort was palpable, a tinge of sorrow evident in his expression. "Ah, cursed distance to the North," he lamented, the strain in his voice betraying his frustration. "Your absence will be a dull ache."

"Do not fret, Robert," the Stark bitch interjected softly. "I shall take my husband's stead. It wouldn't do for my favorite Baratheon to venture north unescorted, now, would it?" her smile offering reassurance.

"Wasn't Renly your favored Baratheon?" Lord Maltanis teased, drawing laughter with his jest.

Cersei's thoughts drifted to fantasies of Galeon Maltanis, whose whispers of endearment could unsettle her composure, his mere presence overwhelming. She reminisced about their first encounter at Casterly Rock, shortly after her coming of age, captivated by the commanding aura of his gaze, a force that even Tywin Lannister, his father, could not resist.

Cersei would go to any lengths, willing to set the Seven Kingdoms ablaze from the south to the north, to alter the fate that had ensnared her. She would even relinquish her crown if it meant being the one to receive those cherished smiles of his.

As they moved away from Lord Arryn's final resting place, the impassive stone figures seemed to watch them traverse the corridors. The king matched strides with his uncle. "You all might be curious why, after all these years, I'm heading to Winterfell in the north."

While many harbored thoughts, none voiced them. "Perhaps for the North's famed beauty, or to behold the Wall," quipped the Stark woman, with a light tone. "It's a sight every man should see."

"The North's allure is undeniable, dear aunt," Robert conceded. "Yet, my journey is driven by more urgent needs. In these challenging times, I find myself in need of dependable men. Men of Jon Arryn's caliber, who served as Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, and my Hand. His vacant seat will be hard to fill."

"Ned is the to be your new Hand," Lord Maltanis observed, his gaze fixed on Robert with a knowing intensity.

Robert momentarily diverted his gaze, a shadow of gloom crossing his features. "He's yet to accept, but I'm hopeful," he admitted.

The dragon lord's gaze remained steady on Robert as he noted, "You're aware of what his answer will be. Hence the long journey north. At least you have the decency to ask him in person," he added, prompting a groan of feigned annoyance from Robert.

"His role was crucial in securing this cursed throne; now, it's his responsibility to aid me in preserving it. Our destinies were intertwined to rule side by side. Had Lyanna survived, we would have been brothers not just in affection, but bonded by blood as well."

Afterward, the discussion shifted to more ordinary topics, until the Maltanis retired to their estate in the city—an elegant villa likely constructed around the same time as Aegon the Conqueror laid the foundation for the Red Keep.

The queen couldn't help but observe that Robert had omitted certain crucial details that she had been privy to through the spider. The king intends to betroth Eddard Stark's eldest daughter to her beloved Joffrey. Despite her son's misguided eagerness to please Robert, he shows no opposition to the match. Moreover, her own father seems to view it as a favorable alliance, as it would secure the allegiance of the North, the Riverlands, and possibly the Vale. He also believes it would serve to keep the Maltanis at bay, as he cannot fathom a scenario in which they and the Starks become enemies.

Cersei recognized the futility in persuading Robert to consider other matrimonial options for Joffrey, as the unfolding scenario mirrored the very alliance he had often envisioned—a merging of the Baratheon, Stark and Maltanis bloodlines. She has resigned herself to being surrounded by those northern savages for the foreseeable future. However, she remained adamant about one aspect: her precious Tommen would remain under her protection, untouched by these arrangements.

Robert harbors the hope of rekindling the bond he once shared with Eddard Stark by having Tommen and the North's second son fostered at Harrenfell, a tradition upheld for generations between the Baratheons and Starks. Cersei is adamant about not letting this happen, frustrated that her precious Myrcella, on the brink of marriage, is already distanced from her, residing in Dragonstone to acquaint herself with her betrothed.

The only conceivable method to sway Robert's decision is through his desire, which seems to be unduly influenced by the Stark woman. Cersei loathes the idea of having to ask that distasteful woman for a favor, knowing full well their mutual animosity. The only indirect avenue to reach her would be through her children and her husband.

And Cersei would seize any opportunity to spend time alone with Galeon Maltanis.