Storm's End 296 AC,

Robert Baratheon.

The day had started so well. Robert had woken up in a good mood, for once, thanks to the excitement he had felt about the joust. He had looked forward to seeing both Ned's and his own son's prowess in the yard and had not been disappointed. Oddly enough it was Joffrey who had surprised and delighted him most. Robert not truly knowing about his son's talent with the lance until seeing him in the first tilts.

Part of him felt a little ashamed of neglecting Joffrey's upbringing when he saw how gifted he was. He had left his education to the Kingsguard and Cersei, uncertain that they would find common ground in something as the lad usually emulated his mother's family in the short time they spent together. True, Robert would indulge, sometimes, in retelling some of his well-known glorious moments fighting during the Rebellion, but the losses he suffered always won over the pride he felt. Memories of Lyanna and Ned would prey on Robert's mind, preventing him from enjoying this moment and stopping any bonding with Joffrey.

Seeing both his foster brother's and his own son's abilities had made him proud. Whereas Joffrey's competitiveness reminded him of his own. Ever since, he had seen Joffrey in a new light, not only as his mother's son but as a true Baratheon.

Looking on as his son humiliated Loras Tyrell had been the highlight of his day. He still couldn't forget the Roses' part in the Rebellion and how they tried to attack his home and starve his two brothers out. He may not be on good terms with them, but they were still his kin and Robert would never let the dragonlovers forget they had messed with the wrong House all those years ago. That it was here, in Storm's End that Joffrey took his victory only added to that. Robert was still able to bring a smile to his face at the thoughts of so many of the Tyrell's Bannermen bearing witness to the might of House Baratheon once more.

He had teased Mace Tyrell as soon as Loras fell on the ground, boisterously laughing and japing at the boy's expense. Ser Loras was a good and true competitor, which made Joffrey's victory even more commendable, but Robert would never admit it to the Oaf of Highgarden. Instead, he focused on the next round and was elated when he saw young Jon Stark win his bout. Though he had made it clear to any who would listen that he would bet on his son and not Ned's, for one never bet against their family and Robert had hoped that his action would raise his son's confidence.

The final joust had been more than he had ever hoped for. A moment that would be sung for years, one that Ned would have been proud to attend too, he did not doubt. Joffrey had beaten Jon Stark in all his glory, fair and square, and Robert had reveled in seeing the Roses put out when his son crowned young Cassana as he should have. No son of his would do as the accursed Dragonspawn had done at Harrenhal and it had made Robert even more proud of Joffrey to see him do the right thing.

A true knight of the Realm, he'd thought ever since, and that thought had never left him until he fulfilled it later that night. It was well-deserved and self-gratifying, and while part of him would have wished to do the same with Jon Stark to honor both the lad's father and his sportsmanship, Robert felt Joffrey deserved it more and that it would taint his son's glory.

'There would be other times for that one. He would be a knight too one day, Ned, and hopefully, the two of them will keep that competitive spirit and bring it to another level.' Robert thought to himself.

Mayhaps too this would be the push Jon Stark needed to accept fostering in the Red Keep. Now that Joffrey had been knighted, Jon could be the prince's squire and they could bond through the sparring yard as Ned and Robert did. It was a welcome idea and should the chance present itself, one that Robert intended to speak aloud to the young man in question.

"I haven't heard you laugh that much other than to mock someone. It's a nice change." Renly said, making Robert laugh harder.

"What can you do besides be happy when your son beats all his competition and wins the joust? At least one of us represents our House as they should!"

"Renly did well, brother." Stannis retorted and Robert rolled his eyes at his brother's unwanted intervention.

"He couldn't even beat the Knight of Roses." he scoffed.

"Who still gave your son a hard time. And came second at the last tourney." Stannis insisted.

"No matter, Stannis. I made my peace with never meeting our brother's expectations." Renly whined.

"And you never will if you don't put your heart in it. You should borrow a page out of Joffrey's book!" Robert said, lifting his glass in good cheer.

"I'd rather not," Renly said and Robert frowned at his crisp tone.

"He's proven himself to be the very best of the competition." the King insisted.

"By beating a wounded man? By not asking him to yield?" Renly scoffed.

"You're not pleading for your foe to yield when faced with the prospect of dying."

"Was he? Was Jon Stark looking like he would kill Joffrey?" Renly retorted.

"The lad didn't back down, as expected from him. He would have rather died than forfeited, as his father would." Robert snapped, not enjoying the turn this conversation with his brothers had taken.

"And look what it got them. Ned Stark is buried in some cold crypts while his son suffers alone from his injuries. Have you at least asked about his state or did you just stay there, boasting about your prodigal son who only won because –"

"Renly, enough." Stannis cut them off, probably feeling Robert's mood changing. "What's done is done. Let us enjoy our nephew's victory."

"Aye, you're right. Celebrations are in order. Now that he's been claimed Prince of Dragonstone, I cannot wait to return home. Free at last of the burden you put on my shoulders!" Renly smirked, raising his glass of wine before downing it.

"Forgive our brother, Robert. He's upset about your lack of acknowledgment of his efforts. Not that I didn't warn him previously but he still held onto the hope that you still care for him."

Robert wanted to argue that he did care about his brothers, but saying so out loud felt somewhat wrong. They were not close at all and Stannis got on his nerves more than he should be able to. Renly was a better sort and Robert had nothing bad to say about him except for his dubious inclinations.

"Are you out of your mind?" Cersei's nagging voice grated his ears, though he would lie to say her intervention wasn't welcome.

"Can't you be happy for once in your damned life, woman?"

"Not when you're condemning my son instead of rewarding him for his feat!"

"What are you on about, Cersei?" he frowned.

"I heard what Renly said, about you just naming my son Prince of Dragonstone!"

"That is what he is. What he's always been." His reply was filled with the pride that he felt about his son's achievement. A feeling that he longed to simply enjoy.

"So you're going to ship him to that damned island now that Renly displeased you?"

"You are making no sense! None of you are making sense right now!" Robert threw his hands in the air.

"I swear on the Seven, Robert, if you plan to send him to Dragonstone, I will make your life seem like a journey through the seven hells!"

"You're doing it already by grating on my last nerve!" Robert exploded. "There will be no sending Joffrey away. I simply acknowledged his title as my heir."

"So you won't make him take my place in Dragonstone?" Renly asked, looking crestfallen.

"He is a boy still! Why would I send my son to that shithole?" he chuckled, thinking it a funny jape.

"You didn't mind sending your brother to said shithole at the same age." Renly retorted.

"That's different, Renly. And I don't want to argue with any of you right now. 'Tis a joyous affair and you are all ruining the celebration."

"I apologize, Your Grace. I will not be a bother to you anymore tonight." Renly coldly said, picking up a jug of wine and walking away from the High Table.

Though Cersei's chastised face from the misunderstanding was enough to dim Robert's annoyance at that moment, Renly's attitude perplexed him. He needed to get back to his joyous state so he quickly demanded more wine. He then resolved to look for his next bed warmer through the ranks of Stannis' servants. Two of them had already gained his attention, yet while they were extremely diligent and attentive to his needs, none were enough to fill the void Lyanna had left in his heart. The servant he had decided on bedding that night had everything he wanted to at least make him forget things for a while.

So lost was he in the promises of the night to come that he didn't see the commotion around him. Only when he heard Catelyn scream and his goodsister rushed outside shouting her daughter's name did he realize something was amiss.

"What in the Seven Hells is going on?" he asked, confused. "Where is Stannis?"

"Some of his guards came to get him, brother. Something happened and it seemed Cassana got hurt." Renly answered.

"Joffrey! Joffrey was with the girl. Where is my son?" Cersei immediately yelled.

"I haven't heard of his whereabouts." Renly shrugged.

"Then look into it! Fetch my son and get to the bottom of the matter!" Robert ordered, concern growing for his son for the first time in years.

To his relief, Joffrey was unharmed, though he could not say the same about his niece. Cassana it seemed had been hit by Theon Greyjoy of all people, and Robert's fury at seeing his niece's swollen face in Stannis' solar after hearing his son's report of what had transpired could not be contained.

"We should have dealt with that fucking Squid right away in Pyke!" he exploded.

"He was still a child, Your Grace." Stannis pointed out.

"He almost laid his hand on my son, he hit your girl and you're still out there defending him? How spineless are you?" Robert countered.

"Believe me, I wish nothing more than to see him punished for what he did to my daughter –"

"Then bring him here, so I can sentence him as he deserves!"

"He has been sent to the cells so we can hear all the parties involved –"

"What more is it to hear? He hit my cousin! He deserves to at least lose his hand for this!" Joffrey intervened, to Robert's surprise.

"You hear my boy? Bring the prisoner to the Great Hall so we end this affair."

"It can wait until the morrow, Your Grace. You are not in a fit state to be judging someone." Stannis stated.

"For the Gods' sake, what is wrong with you, Stannis? Are you so fond of the lad that you're willing to look past his vile transgression?"

"My daughter is shaken right now. She is in no state to face Theon Greyjoy, and as much as I loathe it, we have to provide him a fair trial else we will be seen as no better than the family who was on the Throne before ours."

"You dare compare us to the dragons?" Robert snapped back. His temper rose at the mere thought of being held to the same standards they were.

"I do when you are not in control of your emotions. We may agree with your action, but others would be prompt to take offense. From what I heard, your son had goaded Theon into a fight."

"I did not!" Joffrey yelled, seemingly offended.

"How dare you accuse my son! He is as much a victim as your daughter in all this!"Cersei was quick to add.

"Not according to my guards. Theon may not have been justified in his action, but Joffrey started it and escalated the situation, though I failed to understand how, as each of them are reluctant to talk about it, as if being ordered by someone not to." Stannis said, looking pointedly at Joffrey who tensed at those words. "If we act too rashly because of our anger running high, some will compare us to the dragons."

"What care do we have for the opinion of others?" Cersei scoffed.

"A Prince's action led to the death of two Lords and a Rebellion ensued. I do not want history to repeat itself." Stannis explained.

"The Ironborn are in no shape to rebel and the lad needs to pay for his insolence."Robert retorted.

"And should the Ironborn protest against our just sentence, my Father will crush them as he did before!" Joffrey proudly said before turning to him. "We shall make an example out of them for those who dare defy your authority."

Stannis' gaze was enough to let the king know that it was exactly what he was implying. Robert didn't want to compare Joffrey to the man he hated the most, yet he couldn't shake the feeling he had at the start of the tourney when his son turned his attention to none other than Margaery Tyrell. Had it not been for the Kingslayer's explanation of Joffrey's action, he would have set a clear boundary to Joffrey's actions. Instead, he decided to trust his son for once, and he hadn't been disappointed when Joffrey crowned his cousin instead of a betrothed girl.

Still, his son's reaction made Robert doubt for a moment. Enough to take his brother's words into.

Damned that fool of a man! he cursed his brother internally. Joffrey is nothing like Rhaegar Targaryen. And I am nothing like Aerys.

"Tomorrow it shall be."

"But Father!" Joffrey started to protest.

"Cassana needs to rest, and I won't have my niece face the Squid tonight."

"We don't need Cassana to testify, I can –"

"You too will testify, on the morrow. With every lord and lady in attendance." Robert grumbled, making Stannis nod his agreement.

Cersei couldn't hide her disdain when she followed her angry son out of the room. It seemed that Catelyn wasn't happy either about her husband's request, but Robert couldn't care less at that moment.

Stannis had openly defied him once again and while he could find no fault in his brother's logic, it irritated him greatly. He hadn't forgotten how he'd been mocked for moons after Steffon's birth and Robert wasn't one to forget slights made to him.

He was supposed to be the King, to be the one making the decisions, not to be undermined every time by someone from his council or his family. It happened more and more lately, be it Jon Arryn or Stannis who took great pleasure in putting him in a position of weakness.

Jon spent his time refraining Robert from spending any money until their new Master of Coin could work his magic and bring more to the coffers.

Robert truly didn't care about depending on Tywin to fund them, as long as he could satisfy his needs, but both Jon and Stannis were adamant about not giving the Lord of Casterly Rock more power over the Crown.

Would that his brother by choice was still alive, then Robert would not have hesitated to put him in the Small Council and replace Stannis. With Ned and Lyanna by his side, he would not have suffered as much as he did. None of them would have played any game with him, of that Robert was certain. Alas, both had fallen and the Game of Thrones was one played against him as much as it was for him, or so he felt on occasion. This was yet another one of those.

Storm's End 296 AC,

Theon Greyjoy.

He'd fucked up. Royally. His anger at Joffrey Baratheon and what he'd done to the letter had caused Theon to attempt to strike the Crown Prince. For that alone he'd be lucky to keep his hand or his head. The fact that he'd instead caught Cassana Baratheon with a glancing blow, would certainly see him lose something this day. Never mind that it was not his intent or that it was the fault of the poncy prince. Joffrey had moved out of the way like the craven he was, thereby causing Theon's hand to hit a target he'd not aimed for.

It was almost enough to make him laugh at the irony of it all. As rarely did Theon miss a target when he sought to hit it with a bow in hand.

'If only I'd been using one on him at the time,' he thought bitterly.

Yes, it was almost enough to make him laugh. Had he been in any condition to laugh that was. The bumps and bruises that he could feel anytime he moved were the least of Theon's concerns. Instead, it was the sound of the footsteps that moved his way, along with the knowledge of who those footsteps belonged to that Theon now worried about. Stannis Baratheon was not a forgiving man at the best of times and this was far from that.

"You struck my daughter," Stannis said loudly. It was no question that Theon was being asked and so he replied not. "After I treated you fairly and far above your station, you struck my daughter." Stannis ground his teeth and stood waiting for Theon to reply. They'd be ground to dust before he did so.

No further words were spoken and other than the insults and laughter or the guards, Theon was left to suffer in silence. He was not left in such for long and again he recognized the footsteps that moved his way. These belonged to someone who cared for Cassana Baratheon almost as truly as her mother and father did. The Onion Knight was no friend of his and that was before Theon had landed a blow on the man's liege lord's daughter. One look at the scowling face of Davos Seaworth was more than enough to show that he was even less of a friend today.

"I'm to escort you to the king, lad," Davos said and Theon felt the stiffness in his bones as he rose to his feet. "You've earned his ire already, I'd bid you keep your tongue in its mouth where it belongs."

Theon looked at Davos, unsure why he was offering him advice and even less so that he'd follow it. He was marched from the cell and through the dark and damp underbelly of the keep. It was a place he'd visited but the once and that was on the day of his arrival at Storm's End. Stannis Baratheon had brought him down here and warned him about his future behavior. The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands all but said that should he act up or displease him somehow, it would be these cells and nowhere else that Theon would call home.

It had been enough to stop the worst impulses that Theon had felt over the years. The knowledge that Stannis was not a man who gave out second chances had been reinforced in each dealing with the stern lord. Theon may very well be a fool and a slow learner at times, he'd learned that lesson well enough, however. Now it seems he may have been better off had he not, as cells were far preferable to whatever his fate was to be.

Feeling the cool wind on his face as they left the cellblock behind, Theon almost wished to stop and welcome the breeze. It was something he was not given the chance to do. The Onion Knight was following his liege lord's orders and Davos Seaworth was ever Leal to the man who knighted him. As for the guards with him, Theon would wager they were looking forward to seeing him be brought low. Mayhap even to see his head removed from his shoulders. Either way, they would allow him to dally not, and all too soon, he entered the Drum Tower and the Great Hall.

The King, Queen, the young prince, and princess, as well as their shit of an older brother, all looked his way with vastly different looks on their faces. Robert Baratheon looked the very image of his House's words. Ours is the Fury writ in human form. Glancing at the Queen, Theon for once noticed not her beauty nor felt the stirring of his cock that he had when he first laid eyes on Cersei Lannister. He'd pleasured himself after doing so and had spent with the image of her face and the promise of what lay beneath her clothing at the forefront of his desires only the night before. Looking at her now, he'd barely be able to raise an eyebrow let alone his manhood. Her look was so reminiscent of the one that Joffrey Baratheon wore that to imagine her naked would be akin to picturing her poncy son unclothed.

'Though I'd bet he'd squeal just as loudly with a cock up his arse as his mother would'" Theon thought and would have smirked had he been able to.

Myrcella and Tommen looked lost and unsure of what was going on. Joffrey looked eager for it to begin. Then out of the corner of his eye, Theon spotted the only person who looked at him with more disdain and disgust than the majority of the Royal Family. Catelyn Baratheon would see him dead this very instant, Theon would wager. The look she wore was one he knew all too well and yet even more full of vitriol. It was enough to make Theon bow his head slightly. The king's words then forced him to raise it back up.

"The time for shame has long passed, Greyjoy." Robert Baratheon all but bellowed. "You attempted to strike a Prince of the Realm. Did strike mine own niece. What say you, boy? Do you dare deny these crimes?"

He wanted to. Truly he did. Theon wanted so very much to speak up on what Joffrey had done and why he'd then reached out to strike him. Only that it mattered not that he had a good and true reason to do so, he may have. Was it not for the fact that he'd have to name Jon Stark as a courier of a letter from his sister, he still may have done so. Yet he was no fool. Naming Jon Stark would only put Asha at risk. It would cause an issue for his sister and while misery loved company, his did not.

"I may be a cunt, but I'm not a total cunt." Theon muttered.

"What's that you say, boy?"

It irked him. To hear himself be named as such. He was Theon Greyjoy. The Heir to the Iron Islands. His family ruled the seas and were unmatched when it came to fighting on a ship. If they wished to see him cower and kneel then they had better bring more than words. Should they want his head, then they had better be prepared to pay the price to see that so. The Iron Price.

With one more glance around the room, Theon found himself relieved to see that Jon Stark was not there. He may not completely trust the future Warden of the North, but he'd found him to be an honest enough sort. Asha had done well to be sent there, Theon believed. So whatever favor he could garner for his sister, he'd now buy her. If the Lord of Winterfell was here, he may feel his courage waver. Theon may have sought to have the fencing master who'd won the Tourney of Highgarden do what he now must. Yet he was as alone as he had ever been since coming to this ill-begotten place.

"I demand Trial by Battle." Theon declared loudly and proudly. His voice not wavering as he did so and he thanked the Drowned God for that, if for little else.

"What's that you say, boy?" Robert Baratheon asked eagerly.

"I demand Trial by Battle!"

"Ser Brynden, the Crown would…"

"No!"

There was silence for but a moment. Loud voices shouted over each other and then only two were heard. Robert Baratheon and his brother Stannis glared at each other and was anyone to walk into the Great Hall then, they'd think they were about to fight. In this, they'd be only half right.

"This is mine roof and mine own daughter was the injured party. 'Tis not the Crown's right to decide who to name as champion, 'tis mine." Stannis declared to some stomping of feet and rattling of swords.

"And who would you name?" Robert asked, the Great Hall going silent the moment he'd done so.

"I name myself," Stannis said and Theon nearly crumbled to the floor.

There had been little chance he'd beat a Kingsguard. Not even the Blackfish, being an older man would have seen that so. As for the Kingslayer. Jaime Lannister may be a Golden Cunt, but he'd beat Theon with one hand tied behind his back if he so wished. While the thoughts of it being the Mountain who Rides being who was named to face him were ones that only came later that day.

Still, he could have gotten lucky and made a name for himself in the process. Earned glory in his death should fortune favor him not. Against Stannis Baratheon there would be little of either available to him and his only true hope was that the man ended him quickly. Something that the king now seemed to realize given the smile he wore. The Crown Prince too seemed happy enough at the champion who'd been named.

"Very well. One hour in the sparring yard. To the death." Robert declared loudly and Theon shuddered. Stannis not saying anything and simply walking from the Great Hall while Theon was all but dragged from it. His feet failed him and denied him the chance to walk out as he had walked in. As a man.

Time seemed to go ever so quickly after that. Armed and armored, Theon made his way to the Sparring Yard and caught sight of Jon Stark as he did so. The young lord looked to be there but not there given the glassiness of his eyes. His injury was clear for all to see as he stood there with his shoulder bandaged and his arm tied tightly to his chest. Loras Tyrell stood next to him and the Knight of Flowers whispered something into Jon Stark's ear, Theon unsure if it was even heard by the dark-haired boy. As for the rest of those watching on with eager eyes, their behavior said much about them. Their revelry seemed out of place for such a somber occasion.

Wine. Women. Song. One would imagine there was a celebration going on rather than a fight to the death. Mayhap there was and Theon just didn't realize it was his death they were there to celebrate. It mattered not.

"Yield and I'll see you sent to the Wall." Stannis Baratheon said quietly. His voice was barely heard as he spoke and yet his words were not ones that he accepted.

"Where is the honor in that?" Theon spat.

"There is no such thing as death with honor. Only death."

"I have no intention of dying today. But if it's to be so, allow me to choose where and how." Theon spat back.

"So be it."

Storm's End 296 AC,

Stannis Baratheon.

His brother was a fool. A colossal idiot who allowed anger, rage, wants, and desires to overrule all common sense. Never had this been more clear to him than in how he'd wished to handle what Theon Greyjoy had done. Robert was more than happy to risk war just to punish the lad for conforming to his nature and his upbringing. Understanding not, that to do so would be to fire the first shots in yet another war with the Greyjoys.

Theon needed to be punished, of that there was no doubt. Yet to lose his head, to see him dead for what he'd done made no sense. Not simply was the sentence out of kilter with the action itself, but it wouldn't simply be Theon Greyjoy who'd lose his life because of it. Stannis instead thought about his Bannermen, their sons, the Small Folk who made up their armies and navies, as well as the countless other men of Westeros who'd fall should there be war.

"Not that one isn't inevitable regardless," he muttered.

For that was the damnable truth of things. There was a war brewing on the horizon and it was one that they could ill afford to be weakened for when the time came to wage it. Rhaella Targaryen would one day seek to right the wrongs of his brother's rebellion and should she do so when they were already at war, it would be the end of all of them. Even if the Queen Beyond the Narrow Sea, as some had named her, used not the war against the Greyjoys to launch her own, she'd most certainly use its aftermath.

So, with that in mind. Added to the fact that it was a father's duty to stand for their child, Stannis refused to allow Robert to name one of the Kingsguard as his champion. He declared that it had to be him to stand up for his daughter and that the fight was happening under his roof, making that even doubly so. Then he'd tried to give Theon Greyjoy a way out that saved his life if not his honor. Only for the Ironborn Hostage to refuse to accept that way out.

It caused arguments enough with his brother and his wife that he'd done so. Understanding, however, from his younger brother, his Bannermen, and those most Leal to him. Yet, as he readied his armor and made sure his sword was sharp, Stannis began to doubt that he had it in him to end Theon Greyjoy and send him to his Drowned God. He saw him not as anything other than a boy and enough boys had died these past few years as it was. Stannis' mind was filled with thoughts of two of them who'd lost their lives during the Greyjoy Rebellion and while he'd cared for them not, he wished not for their brother to join them either.

Yet within his mind, other thoughts fought for dominance. Not least those of his beautiful and precious daughter. An angered look came over Stannis' face as he closed his eyes and pictured Cassana crying and the bruise she bore from where she'd been struck.

The night before.

It was not the sight of the worry on Davos' face as he entered his solar, nor the angry tone that his wife spoke with, instead, it was the tears falling from Cassana's blue eyes that made Stannis cross the room in the blink of an eye.

"What happened?" Stannis somehow managed to ask as he knelt and took his daughter into his arms. Cassana's smaller arms gripped his back tightly once he'd done so.

"That heathen Ironborn Reaver struck our daughter! I want him gone from my home! Gone from the Stormlands! Gone from the very world itself!" Cat shouted. Stannis glared at her momentarily because of how her words made Cassanna grip him even more tightly. The affronted look his wife gave him for doing so, was something he'd worry about later.

"Davos?"

As Stannis held his daughter and told her everything would be well, while they waited for Maester Cressen to make his way to ensure that was so, Davos told the tale.

Theon Greyjoy had come across Cassana and Joffrey as they were walking the grounds of Storm's End. He'd spoken some words to Joffrey who'd not been best pleased by them and who had called him out for doing so and then Theon had moved to strike the prince. That alone was something that would see him severely punished by Robert. Not that Stannis would leave this punishment to his brother, mind you. For in trying to strike the prince, it had been his daughter who'd taken the blow instead. The rapidly darkening bruise on her cheek was proof enough of that.

Bidding her mother to take her hand and happy to see Cressen had arrived, Stannis moved to where Davos stood. The most Leal of his Bannermen and closest to his family other than blood, looking as concerned as either Stannis or Catelyn were about Cassana's injury.

"Where is Greyjoy now?" Stannis asked quietly.

"I ordered him taken to the cells, my lord."

"And my nephew?"

"Gone to his father to tell the tale, I'd wager."

"Make your way to wherever it is my brother is being told this tale, Davos. Return and inform me the moment they suggest a trial."

"You believe they'd do such a thing?" Davos asked curiously.

"A trial will be held, Davos, of that there is no doubt. Yet it's one I'll be the true judge over and not my brother or his wife and son."

Davos did as he was bid and wasted no time in doing so. Stannis turned to look as Cressen finished his examination and there was much relief in the small nod of his head the Maester gave him. The injury, while painful, would heal itself over time and leave not a mark on his daughter's face once it did so. Her mother's worries about that had quickly been put to rest. As for the pain that Cassana suffered, both physical and emotional, that would mayhap take varying amounts of time for her to get over. Stannis believed it would be the latter and not the former that he'd have to deal with much in the next few days.

Still, his daughter was now being as brave as he could ever have wished her to be. Her sobbing had stopped and she held her mother's hand as Cressen turned to tell both Catelyn and Stannis himself, the extent of Cassana's injuries. One of them accepted it far more than the other, but then his wife had lost a child and even though Cassana had only suffered a minor hurt, that fear would always be within her. No words of his, Cressen's, or anyone else's would ever be able to fully assuage Catelyn of those concerns and Stannis would not lie, he loved her even more because of it.

"Do you wish to speak to me of what happened, Cassana?" Stannis asked to a shake of his wife's head. His daughter looked at the one and then the other of them before she told her tale. Stannis listened proudly as she did so in one sitting and without hesitation. Only the quivering of her lip and the occasional deep exhalation of breath were signs of Cassana's discomfort.

"Your father will see he pays dearly for what he did, is that not so?" Catelyn asked when Cassana was finished.

"It is most definitely so. No man nor boy will ever lay a hand on our daughter without knowing that to do so is to bring down a father's rage upon them." Stannis said firmly. Cassana shuddered a little while Catelyn smiled a true smile at him.

Stannis made sure that Cassana was as comfortable as she could be, he then spoke quietly to his wife about the fact that their daughter would need to speak publicly about what had occurred. Once he'd done so, he then began to ponder on Theon's fate and the likely punishment he'd face. One thing was certain, he'd no longer be held hostage to his father's good behavior, and nor would he remain in Storm's End. It would not be a safe place for the Ironborn to lay his head after he had attacked its most favored daughter. Cassana was much beloved by the guards, servants, knights, lords, and ladies who named Stannis their Lord and Liege.

Now.

'The Wall was the only answer' It was something he'd thought to himself as he'd done his best to comfort his daughter and even more so later when Robert, Cersei, and Joffrey had arrived. The words then spoken had annoyed him greatly, but then most words that came from his brother's mouth annoyed him lately.

Walking out to what still looked like the tourney grounds, but now served a much different purpose, Stannis felt as resolved as he could be. In the stands, his brothers both looked on, one with some concern for him while the other wished only to see blood being shed. Beside Robert, Cersei Lannister wore a dark scowl on her face and Stannis was certain that was because she'd wished it to be her brother facing Theon. To her left, Joffrey wore a look that would name him his mother's son, though it may have been the monster that his nephew was squired to that Joffrey wished named as champion.

Renly offered him a nod of his head and Stannis' own in return seemed to allow him to worry not about the outcome of the fight that was soon to take place. A smile to his daughter and his wife and son was enough to offer them the same comfort that his words earlier had done.

As he waited for the herald to announce the Trial by Combat and the rules for such, Stannis found his eyes searching for other faces in the crowd of eager onlookers. Hoster Tully, like Stannis himself, had argued against Robert's insistence that Theon lost his head. Catelyn's father still had a mind for politics and so while he'd wished for Theon to be punished, he sought not a war to be the result of that punishment. Edmure was much like Catelyn and had even offered to stand as Cassana's champion in this matter. However, Stannis believed he'd been relieved to find that it would be his blade and not Edmure's own that would be wielded in the trial.

Davos sat close enough to Cassana that his daughter could reach out and touch the Onion Knight should that be her wish. Stannis was happy to see him and his sons there and he needed not to offer them any respite over his safety. Few men knew better than Davos Seaworth just how capable the Lord of Storm's End was with a sword in his hand. He may not be as fierce a warrior as his brother, but Stannis was as accomplished as most. Against Theon Greyjoy, he was far too accomplished he'd wager.

Soon enough his eyes caught sight of the future Warden of the North, Jon Stark who sat with a pained expression on his face. It took him aback for a moment until Stannis remembered the injury that the lad had taken and how Maester Cressen had informed him of his knight's request. Ser Symon Lake had asked the Maester to water down the Milk of the Poppy as he feared that his charge was being given too much. It was not meant nor was it taken as an affront against Storm's End's Maester but as concern for Jon Stark's wellbeing. Something that Stannis had bid the Maester to comply with and which now made him ponder on whether he'd been right to do so.

Hearing the Herald call out for the trial to begin, Stannis cleared his mind of all thoughts but those of the fight he was soon to take part in. He may have had Theon beat in strength, skill, and experience, but many men in the ground could say the same about the man who took their lives. Stannis Baratheon would not be one of those. There was too much in his life that he loved to allow himself to fall. So, even though he had no intent to take Theon's life, he would do so if necessary.

"Let the Trial Commence and may the Seven judge the guilt or innocence of the accused." 'No, it won't be the Father who'll do so. It will be Cassana Baratheon's father who is judge this day' Stannis resolved in his mind and raised his sword.

There had been few times he'd fought for true. He regularly sparred and every man he faced knew that Stannis would brook no lack of effort. You gave your all when you faced him and if you did not, you found someone else to serve. For it served you ill to think yourself better than you truly were and you learned not from not truly testing yourself. They were lessons that Stannis now put to the test and he was surprised that they were as needed as they were.

'Though a man who fears death will fight with all he has to force the Stranger to call on someone else.'

Theon Greyjoy now fought like a man who heard the Stranger call his name. His blows were fierce and his strikes were true. Wasted though they were. With shield in hand, Stannis easily absorbed all the strikes aimed his way. The shield he held was unyielding and well capable of doing as it now was. As for his sword, other than to parry, to block, or to try and find an opening to deliver the trial-ending blow, Stannis limited its use. He allowed himself to pass up more than one opportunity to send Theon Greyjoy to the Drowned God's halls and he wondered if any noticed him doing so.

The Blackfish and the Kingslayer no doubt did. Robert too mayhap. Davos he'd wager worried not and yet may not have seen just how within himself he was fighting, while Mace Tyrell was a fool who probably named Theon as the potential victor. Again it was an odd look on Jon Stark's face which Stannis caught out of the side of his eye. A look that showed the young lad was an apt student and which was probably partly the reason he was as talented as he was. Stannis was more than certain that he too knew that it was not Theon's life that Stannis sought and he believed the young lad relaxed because of it.

Blocking yet another far too-strong blow, Stannis was forced to counter with one of his own. The pained yell he heard once he'd done so was enough to force him forward. He'd played this game for long enough and to continue was to risk it being one he'd lose. Stannis now attacked with both strength and purpose and Theon quickly began to waver under his fierce assault. Slash, parry, counter, feint, he used them all as he forced Theon back further and further, the yard becoming ever smaller to the Ironborn Hostage.

It pained him to do so, but Stannis knew full well that victory alone would not be enough for some of those watching on. Robert and Catelyn would both demand blood and so blood is what he now gave them. A cut to the arm where the armor had been dented enough to allow his strike to reach the skin below. Another to the shoulder and finally a slash to the side that Stannis knew would require Cressen's attention as soon as the fight was won. Theon suffered them all and then it was time for him to know the ignominy of defeat.

Moving much faster than his injured and weakened opponent, Stannis was even more assured in his strikes. First taking Theon's shield from him and then his sword. The point of Stannis' sword now rested against Theon's neck as the Ironborn gasped for breath and bled all over the stones beneath his feet.

"End me, make it clean, and send me back to my mother and the sea," Theon spoke bravely, broken though he was.

"Yield and earn another day in this world, Greyjoy. Make not your mother mourn her last remaining son and you have my word that it'll not be your life you forfeit, only the trial itself."

"I Yield," Theon whispered. "I Yield to the Lord of Storm's End!" he shouted when Stannis bid him to.

Stannis waited not for the proclamation to come from Robert or Cersei. Both of them rose to their feet as too did Joffrey at the words Theon had just so loudly uttered.

"Theon Greyjoy, I sentence you to live out your remaining days as a brother of the Night's Watch. May that noble order allow you to find the honor you so easily gave up."

His guards moved as quickly as he'd told them to. Stannis looked not to his brother or his brother's wife, to his own, or even to those in the crowd he named as friends or family. Instead, he looked to his daughter and the sight of her offering him a warm and relieved smile was enough for him to know he'd done the right thing. Cassana needed not to see a man die here today. If it was in his power, he'd ensure she never needed to bear witness to such. Her hurt had been avenged, honor was restored, and war was averted. No man or woman would tell him he'd done the wrong thing. Not when Stannis had striven his entire life to only do what was right and true.

"For my daughter and for those who would ever wish her harm. Let them and her know that she forever has her father to stand as her protector."

With that, he turned and made his way back to the keep itself. Keen to speak to Cassana and to explain to Catelyn why he'd sought not Theon's death. Less so to speak to his brother or to hear from his Goodsister, though he knew he'd need to face both.

As he was entering the keep, he caught sight of Jon Stark heading his way. The young lad walked with a purpose and yet, Stannis spoke to him not. He did return the nod of the young lad's head, however. Stannis accepted the offer that he believed was contained in that nod. He'd done the right thing and at least one of those watching on had moved to let him know that was so. It was something that was spoken more overtly on the day of the young lad's departure and welcomed just as much then as it had been now.

Storm's End 296 AC,

Ser Joffrey Baratheon.

A knight of the realm. It should not mean as much to him as it did and yet, Joffrey couldn't lie and say that he did not feel different since he'd earned his spurs. Not even his mother's words that as a Prince of the Realm, knighthood was but a secondary title had been enough to lessen the feeling of accomplishment that Joffrey felt. The simple truth was he had simply been born as the one, whereas the other had been something he'd won due to his skills and his cleverness.

The hobbling of Loras Tyrell's horse had not gone exactly how he'd planned, yet it had achieved all Joffrey had wished it to. Taking out both Ser Addam's and Lord Jason Mallister's mounts had been more than enough to ensure that Joffrey faced the opponent he most wished to beat. Not to mention that in it being both horses who turned up lame it quietened any voice or assuaged any doubt that it was fate and not malice that befell his and Jon Stark's opponents. Joffrey felt rather proud of coming up with that plan if he was being honest with himself. As he was in how his sabotage of the saddle of Jon Stark's horse ended up playing out.

"I could have wished for naught more than that." he laughed as he looked at himself in the looking glass.

To injure Jon Stark and then to beat him with a sword in hand, was beyond even Joffrey's wildest dreams of how the joust would play out. The victory was all he'd set out to achieve. To win and for his name to be feted. In the end, he'd won far more than that and it was time for him to get even more of his just rewards.

Turning from the looking glass, Joffrey walked from the room and made his way to Jon Stark's chambers. He'd been denied entry once already and it had irked him greatly. When Theon Greyjoy had fought in that abomination of a Trial by Combat, Joffrey had once again seen his chance to rub it in Jon Stark's face that he'd beaten him, only to be denied once more. He would not be taking no for an answer this time. Especially since he had found that it was not only those who surrounded Jon Stark who dared to speak the word to him.

"The Rose Whore too will learn respect," Joffrey muttered under his breath.

Thrice she had denied him. The first was at the feast when she had publicly refused to dance with him after Joffrey had danced with his cousin. His uncle, father, and the Blackfish all making excuses for what the little whore dared to do. His mother, however, very much did not and Joffrey found himself most grateful for her words. It was more than could be said for the pitiful words of his cousin and her whining to him about asking Margaery Tyrell to dance.

"It's not a done thing, my prince."

"What's that you say?" Joffrey snarled, enjoying how Cassana cowered and shivered.

"Lady Margaery's betrothed is injured, my prince, it's not a done thing for her to dance with another while that is so."

"I won the joust. I'm a Prince of the Realm. If I wish someone to dance with me, then dance with me they shall. Betrothed or no."

He'd spoken the words on a balcony with just him and Cassana able to hear them. Then he'd spent the rest of the night glaring at Margaery Tyrell and had again attempted to make his way to Jon Stark's room only to be denied entry.

After Theon Greyjoy had been sentenced to the Wall and he, his mother and even his father had all spoken of their anger and annoyance that this had been his fate, Joffrey had once more tried to get Margaery Tyrell to walk the grounds of the keep with him. Her refusal to do so, disguised under a false excuse, had angered him greatly, and had it not been for the fact that she was with her guards and there were more of them than there were his own, he may have struck her for doing so. In the end, he simply walked away and did his utmost to keep his true rage contained. Joffrey felt ever more his father's son since he'd been knighted by him.

'Ours is the Fury indeed.' he thought wryly.

By the time he had reached Storm's End's guest wing, Joffrey had been joined by four of the Mountain's Men. Raff the Sweetling, Polliver, Eggon, and Chiswyck were men that Joffrey felt were more than a match for the guards of Starfall that Jon Stark traveled with. Yet, as they neared the room itself, he wondered if they were a match for Ser Symon Lake and Syrio Forel. He was about to ask Eggon to go fetch some more of the Mountain's Men, only for them to reach their destination before he could do so.

"I wish to speak to Lord Stark," Joffrey demanded.

"Lord Jon is unavailable, my prince." the guard replied.

"The Prince said he wishes to speak to your lord, best you open the door." Polliver snarled.

"And my companion told you that our lord is unavailable." the second guard stated firmly.

"I am a Knight of the Realm. I demand you open this door at once." Joffrey shouted. His loud words brought first Ser Symon and then Syrio Forel from the room.

"Is there an issue, Lucifer?" Ser Symon said and Joffrey hated that it was the guard and not him that his fellow knight turned to first.

"I demand to see Lord Stark." he moved forward, as did Polliver, Chiswyck, and the others.

"Lord Jon is resting, my prince. On the Maester's orders, we're accepting no visitors, not even a prince. As I have told you before."

"Still resting, what is he a weak suckling babe." he japed to laughs from his men.

"A man bearing an injury, my prince. Mayhap when he's not you and he could revisit your rivalry. Until then, not even the king himself may see our lord." Symon said and Raff the Sweetling moved forward threateningly.

It was quick. So fast that Joffrey never even noticed the man move. One moment Syrio Forel was standing by Ser Symon's side, the next he had moved and tripped Raff the Sweetling, knocking him into Polliver and Eggon. Joffrey turned and saw all three men on the ground and though Chiswyck made to move forward, he stopped him from doing so. The looks on the faces of the two guards from Starfall as well as Ser Symon's were enough to tell him that they felt no fear of him or his men. While the look that Syrio Forel wore almost made it seem as if he wished them to dare to do something. Only then did Joffrey notice the presence of the bastard's direwolf glaring at him from the threshold of he door.

"I shall be taking this up with the king. Remember what happened to the Squid when he threatened me. Your actions here shall not go unpunished."

"Mayhap they won't, my prince. Yet, as long as Lord Jon is allowed to rest in peace, we'll do our duty and accept whatever that duty brings us." Ser Symon said, far too smugly for Joffrey's liking.

Later that day.

His father did nothing other than laugh. Let the boy rest were the only words he spoke to him and though his mother once again took his part, Joffrey wished for it to be his father who did so. So he was still stewing over being denied what he wished for as the day went on.

He walked through the ground alone at first and was joined by his cousin. Cassana prattled on and on about his crowning of her and how Theon Greyjoy had been fairly punished for his actions. Joffrey barely listened to her inane musings and paying her little attention as they made their way to the sparring yard. Once there, he took most of his frustration out on his cousins and was thankful that the Mountain was elsewhere. They'd not properly trained since he'd arrived here, other than the once, and Joffrey welcomed the respite from the bruising he'd receive once they did so.

That night, he made his way to Margaery Tyrell's rooms and he walked with purpose. No more would he accept being refused what he wished and since he couldn't get to Jon Stark, he'd settle for time with his betrothed. Joffrey picturing exactly what he'd do with her and how he'd see it was known to one and all. Kisses, touches and it all being discovered at just the right time to shame the Golden Rose, seemed a fitting end to his rivalry with Jon Stark. He'd beaten him in the yard, had shown his betrothed favored him, and now he'd ruin her in the eyes of the realm. It would be his finest moment. The final piece of proof that he, Ser Joffrey Baratheon, was the better man in every way.

"My Prince?" Margaery said as she opened the door to find him standing there with his guards.

"I would wish to walk with you, Lady Margaery. There are things I wish to speak to you on."

"My prince." Margaery sighed. "We have spoken already of how unseemly it would be for us to be alone together. My betrothed…."

"Is a lesser man than me." Joffrey moved forward. His hands reached out to grab Margaery's own and pull her towards him.

Three things happened at once. A bird chirped loudly, Margaery Tyrell pushed his hands from her arms and as Joffrey glared at her and moved forward, the white wolf appeared from nowhere.

His men, he himself, Margaery, all moved in different directions. Margaery back into the room before closing the door in Joffrey's face. Joffrey away from the door and down the corridor, briskly if not yet running. The guards seemed reluctant to cover his retreat and yet Joffrey left them with no choice but to do so. All the while, the white wolf moved slowly toward them. Its red eyes seemed to look deep into the very heart of him and Joffrey liked it not that they did so.

'It's stalking us. Treating us like prey. Treating me like prey.'

Then, the wolf seemed to stop and Joffrey looked on in disbelief as it lay down in front of Margaery Tyrell's door. Its head was still raised and those red eyes of its looked still in Joffrey's direction. Yet, its movements had stopped and whatever fear Joffrey felt, now began to diminish. Anger, rage, wrath, and the wish to see the wolf paid for daring to make him afraid of it, now fought for dominance in Joffrey's mind. The latter won out and it was to The Tickler that Joffrey hurried.

"Your crossbow, where is it?" he asked breathlessly.

"My prince?"

"Your fucking crossbow, I want it now!"

How long it took to get the crossbow, Joffrey knew not. Time seemed to be never ending and when it was brought to him, it was done so without any bolts. Joffrey demanded them as well and cursed the fool of a man for bringing him the weapon without them. Eventually, he had both and soon enough he was making his way back to Margaery Tyrell's rooms. Images of the white fur-lined cloak he'd make himself filled his mind as he hurried through the keep.

To his dismay, the white wolf was gone when he reached Margaery's rooms. Instead half a dozen men at arms stood guard and Joffrey was forced to turn back without his prize. He handed the crossbow off to Eggon and then bid the other three men to do as he ordered them. Tales were to be spoken of how Margaery Tyrell had thrown herself at him. How she had offered him her maidenhood in return for a crown. Servants were to be bought off and gossip to be spread throughout the keep. He may not have gotten the chance to ruin Margaery Tyrell how he wished to, but he'd ruin her regardless.

As for the white wolf. That pelt would be his one day, on that Joffrey vowed.

Storm's End 296 AC,

Margaery Tyrell.

Her heart had been in her mouth. A mouth that cried out worriedly when she had seen Jon Stark unhorsed. Margaery wanted nothing more than to leave her seat and go to where he lay prone on the ground. So much so that she did leave her seat, but that was as far as her feet would take her. Loras, her mother and father, and Margaery's fear about what she'd find should she reach where her betrothed lay unmoving, all combining to allow her to move no further.

She offered prayers to each of the Seven who are one. The Father and Mother, The Maiden and Crone, Smith, and Warrior, and lastly the Stranger himself. All of them begging for their favor, or in the Stranger's case for him to hold back his own so that Jon rose unharmed from his fall. Memories washed over her of how Willas had been after his own. Those early days were the worst of all as they first feared for her brother and then found out the awful truth about his injury.

"Please Mother let Jon not suffer so." Margaery pleaded.

It was Loras who noticed it when Jon rose. He drew her attention to where Jon now stood, injured but able to move and walk at least. Again Margaery wished to run to him, to offer up whatever comfort her words or even her touch may bring to him, and again she moved not. This time Joffrey Baratheon's words stopped her from doing so. The challenge called out and Margaery was certain that Jon would accept it not. Only for her certainty to prove for naught as one-handed or not, Jon too called out for his sword and what had begun on horseback, now continued afoot.

Jon held his own and battled bravely, yet he was injured and Joffrey was not. Each strike of the latter's sword caused the former to cry out in pain. Margaery let out her cries in tandem with her betrothed. Eventually, the injury proved too much of an obstacle for Jon to overcome and after a particularly hard strike against his shoulder, Jon finally yielded. Her relief was palpable and then she found she had other concerns. The wish to move to check for herself that Jon was unhurt was once again denied to her. A worry that the boy who'd hurt him would now seek to shame him by naming her Queen of Love and Beauty, something that Margaery, and dare she say it, her family, all now shared.

'I'll not accept it.'

'I care not that he's the Crown Prince.'

'I've shamed Jon and myself enough.'

Those were the words she listened to, while the ones that told her that in accepting the garland she'd have achieved what she had set out to achieve, were very much not. Margaery had seen enough of Joffrey Baratheon to make her question his character, she would do no more to make or allow anyone to question her own. So she was much relieved when Joffrey rode by her and made his way to where Cassana Baratheon sat. Relieved when it was his cousin rather than herself that Joffrey now crowned.

Her thoughts, prayers, wishes, and hopefully soon enough her very presence were instead with the boy who walked off to seek a Maester's aid.

"We must go to him, to ensure he is well," Loras said and Margaery nodded vigorously. Her mother and father stopped them not from hurrying from the stands this time.

Though he looked at her curiously, Loras spoke no words nor asked her any questions. He seemed to accept that her actions were in line with her intent and she was most grateful for it. There was no doubt or hesitancy within her as they moved past the tents and walked to where Jon Stark was being treated. No questions that she asked of herself or second guessing on her part. She worried about him and wished that worry to be assuaged. Other than that, nothing else truly mattered.

Reaching the tent, she was saddened to find that her presence wasn't welcomed or wished for. Yet later as she thought about it, she was very much not surprised. Ser Symon refused to allow her to enter even after he'd granted Loras the freedom to do so. The knight nodded to the two men of Starfall to make sure she tried not to do so once he'd walked back into the tent. Margaery was left alone with her thoughts and the wait felt like an age until Loras reappeared.

"How is he?" Margaery asked, her concern clear in both her expression and tone.

"As well as can be expected. Maester Cressen says the shoulder is only dislocated, not broken and the arm itself suffered no damage, or so he believes."

"Thanks be to the gods."

"He wishes not to see you, Margaery," Loras said sympathetically. "Nor will he be able to see anyone soon enough."

"Loras?" she gasped, the first words had been unwelcome, but the second had sent a chill down her spine.

"Milk of the Poppy, the Maester has given him some and Jon was already making little sense when we spoke."

She slapped her brother's shoulder hard. An angered frown on her face and it took Loras a few moments to realize why that was.

"I'm sorry, I meant it not…."

"He will recover? The Maester fears for him not?" she asked, ignoring Loras' apology for now.

"Jon is strong, he will recover. Of that, I've no doubt." Loras said and Margaery glared at him. "Nor has the Maester," he added quickly.

The rest of the day was a blur, as too was the night if she was being honest. At some point, Joffrey made his way to her and bid her walk with him and Margaery refused. It was the second or third time she'd done so and the first that was somewhat public. Both the others had been upon learning of Jon's gifts to her and after her conversation with her mother. Margaery was certain that she'd done so out of guilt more than anything else. This time, she knew not what name she'd give it. What she was certain of, was that she had no wish to spend any time with Joffrey after the joust and so she cared not that she was not there when his father knighted him.

Would it have changed what happened next, she knew not. Mayhap had things been different and she been who Joffrey was walking with, Theon Greyjoy would have been elsewhere. More likely, even had it been her instead of Cassana Baratheon who was with Joffrey, it would have ended the same. Regardless, Margaery was more than happy she was not part of whatever led to Theon Greyjoy facing a Trial By Combat. What she was less happy about was that she still hadn't been allowed to set foot in the room Jon Stark was resting in.

She'd seen him not since he'd fallen. Had it not been for the trial, then she feared she'd see him not until he left Storm's End. The words she wished to speak to him had gone unheard and unspoken. Some of them were even unrealized as Margaery truly knew not what she wished to say. Nor what she could say. Her mother may try to reassure her that it was simply his injuries and the need to recover from them that was the reason Jon refused to see her, Margaery believed her not.

"Her sour face is because Cassana was crowned, not her."

"You think she'd have accepted it even though it was her betrothed who Joffrey defeated?"

"I think she'd have done anything to see herself crowned."

"You don't mean?"

"Ladies have raised their skirts for less."

Girls, women, ladies, servants, Margaery was the subject of all their gossip and though it hurt her, she in many ways cared not. She knew the truth of her actions and Joffrey had not even gotten a kiss from her let alone anything else. The only time he'd even touched her had been without her consent and had led to Theon Greyjoy coming to her aid. Margaery wondered if the Ironborn Hostage had done the same for Cassana Baratheon and it had somehow gone wrong. It mattered not in the end. The die was cast and the Trial by Combat would not be stopped for God nor Man.

Standing with her brother, her attention was not on the fight that all of them were bid to bear witness to, Margaery instead focussed her golden brown eyes on Jon Stark's grey ones. It took her no more than a moment to see that he was heavily under the influence of something. The light she'd always seen in his eyes when he looked her way was missing. Jon seemed to be swaying a little too and more than once Ser Symon or Syrio Forel reached out a hand to keep him steady.

'Would that he'd take mine own.'

While it was billed to be a fight to the death, a yield was accepted and Theon Greyjoy got to keep his head, if not his status as a hostage. The Wall was what he was sentenced to and had she looked at her father, Margaery would have seen Mace smile when Stannis proclaimed it loudly. If she'd but looked to where the king, queen, and Crown Prince sat, she'd have seen their disappointment that no blood had been shed. Yet her eyes were focussed only on her betrothed. Ser Symon whispered in Jon's ear and then he, Syrio, the guards from Starfall and the White Wolf, all helped Jon back to his room.

She moved as quickly as she could. So fast that even Loras took a moment to realize her destination. Her brother and her guards joined her just as she reached where Jon was being helped to the back. All but the White Wolf continued on their way leaving her standing there unnoticed. Margaery refused to accept it as she moved thrice as fast and her footsteps took her to the front of Jon's party and not the back of it.

"Jon I…"

"Lord Jon needs his rest, Lady Margaery." Ser Symon said angrily.

"I wished to, I….are you well, Jon?"

All seemed to go quiet as Jon stopped moving his feet and those holding him up, allowed him to turn and face her. His words confused her when he spoke them and the expression he wore, was one that caused her much distress. Angered, disappointed, annoyed, upset, at one time or another Margaery was certain she'd caused those emotions to rise in her betrothed. There were other more pleasant ones that she believed, or mayhap hoped she'd provoked too. Never had she imagined he'd ever show her the one he now did.

"Where's your crown and your prince." Jon spat before Ser Symon and Syrio moved him away. Margaery left standing there shaken and upset and it was not something she managed to rid herself of for much of that day.

Sleep was hard to come by. Her dreams were troublesome, to say the least. An image of a wedding which had brought her much joy even when she had told herself she wished for it not, now bringing her nothing but sorrow. Margaery was forced to look on as Jon Stark married not her, but her cousin and it was enough to force her awake. Her tears flowed almost continually as she held her pillow tightly to her and begged the Maiden for a second chance to do what she now wished she'd done with the first one.

Yet even above all of that, it was the knock on her door, the encounter with the prince, and what she believed to be his intent that was the reason she was given a sleeping draught. Her memory faded as it took hold and images of a white wolf, her brother, a snarling and angered prince, and Jon chasing Joffrey down all mingled in with her mother's words and her brother's presence. Margaery barely remembered how she'd run to the latter and had wept in the arms of the former before sleep claimed her.

Morning brought little respite. Though at least she had forgotten much of her run-in with Joffrey Baratheon and again it was thoughts of her betrothed that filled her mind. Her appetite deserted her and she barely broke her fast. She was forced to listen to yet more gossip about her and words spoken about Cassana Baratheon and Prince Joffrey that Margaery knew were uttered loudly to get a rise out of her. The foolish girls who did so had little understanding of why she was as upset as she was and thought themselves so smart and clever in their silly little games. Margaery instead thought only of the man she'd been betrothed to and wondered when that betrothal would now be broken.

It became too much for her to bear. Even more so when she heard that Jon Stark and his party were to leave today. Margaery needed nothing more than to speak to him and at least try to explain why she'd acted how she did. Her concerns were no longer for a broken betrothal or even a match she was now certain she'd always truly wished for, instead she worried that she was hated and despised. That she'd taken whatever regard Jon had held her in and simply thrown it away. It was not something she could allow to stand.

"I need you to bring me to Jon Stark, Loras." Margaery pleaded with her brother, Loras shaking his head but briefly before she spoke some more. "I beg it of you, brother. Just a few moments, allow me to speak my concerns at least."

"Margaery…"

"Whatever comes of it, please allow me to wish him well at least."

As conversations go, the one she had with Jon Stark was as odd as she'd ever known. At first, he barely seemed to hear the words she said. Then he seemed angered by them. Briefly, Margaery was certain that all her fears were for naught and that Jon actually welcomed her telling him all she did. Yet the moment she spoke Joffrey's name she was certain she'd underplayed rather than overplayed those fears.

"You are well, Jon? Your recovery is expected?" she asked to a nod of his head. "I worried so upon seeing you fall, to see you hurt I….."

"I wished to see you, Jon, I've tried so many times to get to see you so I could hear it from your own lips that you were well. I'm sorry if my attempts to do so caused you distress, truly." she said to a blank look from Jon, who seemed to be looking at her intently for some reason. At the jewelry she still wore. Her smile now appeared as she thanked him for this and his other gifts.

"I knew not they were from you, Jon, truly. Had I…I wish to thank you for them, for each of them. I shall treasure this one and those others always, I swear it."

Again there was little response, a nod, a shrug, was it not for how intently Jon stared at her, then Margaery would think him still heavily under the influence of Milk of the Poppy.

"I wish I'd gifted you something too, Jon, I want you to know how true that is. Mayhap in the future, your nameday? I…" she stuttered, unable to properly converse with someone who answered her back not. Trying to think of something, anything to say, she in the end chose the very worst thing to bring up.

"Though I did give you my favor and did so without reservation or doubt. I cheered for you, Jon, for you and you alone. I wish you to know that. To know that I would never have accepted being named by anyone but you. No matter, if Joffrey is a prince or not." her words, earned her the first of Jon's own.

"I believe we've spoken enough."

"Jon I…"

"I wish to return to my family, Ser Symon."

What prompted her to ask she knew not. The realization that it was her attitude to the North that had initially caused some distance between them. That even before how she acted during the tourney, it was how she acted in Winterfell and even in Highgarden that had caused a rift between her and her betrothed. Mayhap it was simply that she wished for the chance to speak to Jon when he had recovered. To allow enough time to pass so that he would at least listen to her words and not seemingly be angered by each one of them. Whatever the reason, Margaery was left heartbroken by the answer.

"I would like to visit Winterfell again, mayhap when you return from Starfall?"

"Some Roses wilt in the North. It would be for the best if you stay South, where you belong."

No further words were needed. None were spoken. She was not welcome in the North and the truth of just how badly she'd hurt Jon Stark was finally laid bare. An hour later, Jon Stark rode out of Storm's End in a carriage and while Margaery looked at him from her window, not once did he look back.

Within two hours she was being held in her mother's arms. The tears she'd shed intermittently since the night before now fell in an almost constant barrage. Her sobs were loud and over and over again, Margaery spoke the same six words.

"He hates me. I deserve it."

She heard not her mother's reply. Believed it to be simply words spoken that named her own as wrong. Yet they were very much not and two days later as they departed Storm's End, Margaery finally heard them for true.

"There is much we must speak on, Sweetling. Your father and I feel it's time you were told a truth that we now wish we'd not kept from you. Yet here is not the place and now not the time. When we return to Highgarden, we'll tell you the truth of why it's Jon Stark that we seek you matched to. Until then, worry not about your future. For it's one we've long desired for you that will come to pass."

Storm's End 296 AC,

Jon Stark.

After the Joust/Before the Trial

Pain and fear were the only things he could feel at that moment. He didn't know where he was and couldn't properly open his eyes. For a while, he thought he was dead, that he was in one of the seven hells he had heard his mother talk about. Visions of things that did not happen clawed at his mind, torturing him as much as the unbearable pain he felt while trying to escape those images.

He lay in the dirt while Joffrey looked over him, smirking while the pain in Jon's shoulder pinned him to the ground. Robert's cries of joy rang through his ears as he celebrated Jon's defeat by his son's hand.

"Like Father, Like Son. You made me proud, Joffrey. You rid the word of a dragonspawn as I did with his mad Father."

"Soon, the rest of his family will follow."

"Which one of his kin will we execute first? The honor of the choice goes to you, my son." Robert laughed.

"The girl, bring her here. I may have some fun with her before ending her life." Joffrey's smirk widened as a screaming and kicking Beth was brought to him.

"No! Leave her alone! She has nothing to do with this!" Jon pleaded, his eyes full of tears.

"We're here, Jon. We're not going anywhere." a voice resonated far away.

"Do you prefer I took my pleasure with this one?" Joffrey asked, pointing to where a distraught Margaery was tied, making Jon's heart clench.

"Jon? Are you well? Do you need more milk of the poppy?"

"No more of this! We shouldn't –"

"Which one will it be? Your cousin or your betrothed?" Robert's voice teased him while Jon looked around, seeing his family and friends lined up to witness his choice. His aunt Barbrey was crying, and so too were his Uncle Benjen and his mother, while he could only see hatred in Brandon and Little Ben's eyes. Loras was screaming Margaery's name, sobbing uncontrollably, and his friend's parents stood there in the same state of shock as he was.

The choice should have been simple. He should have begged for Beth's life above all. She was the closest thing he had to a sister and he would die for her. Yet the thought of something awful happening to Margaery broke his heart as much as it did for Beth.

His sword was within reach, or so he believed. He had a chance to end Joffrey and stop this monster from exacting his plan. He stretched out his hand, barely getting over the pain to get to the sword when he felt his breath shorten. Panic rang through him as he realized something was tied around his neck, preventing him from moving further, and soon he had to give up to try to catch his breath.

"Leave them out of it. Take my life instead." he pleaded weakly.

"I guess I will have to take both then." Joffrey stepped on his wounded shoulder, making Jon scream in agony. "What a shame, truly. You wanted to protect your family from us, yet thanks to you they're in a world of trouble. I promise you, on my honor as a knight, that I will take good care of them."

"You have no honor." Jon spat.

"Neither do you. You're a liar, a Dragonspawn, no better than your father and mother. Now your family will suffer the consequences of your actions. You shouldn't have poked the Lion." Joffrey growled before swinging a war hammer into his chest, mimicking their father's last combat.

He knew it wasn't real, but the pain was suffocating. He could hear voices around him, voices that didn't match the nightmare he was in. He recognized some of them being from Ser Symon and Syrio, yet for what seemed to be ages, he could not react to them properly. He could feel Ghost close to him, in the same room, so he mustered the last bits of strength he had in him and used it to travel into his wolf's mind and escape the horrors he had just seen.

"How is Lord Jon?" the grey-robed man asked as he entered the room.

"Still out to the world." Symon sighed.

"I made sure to give him the proper dose so he would not suffer much during the procedure."

"You gave him too much! I told you it was not a good idea to let him have this…this poison." Syrio grumbled, visibly agitated.

"It has to be done, Master Forel. The pain of putting his shoulder back would have been unbearable without it."

"The Maester is right, Syrio. We did not want him to suffer unnecessarily."

"Pain is part of life, my friend. This, This, is unnatural. He hasn't awoken since he fainted!" Syrio exclaimed, and Jon wondered if he'd ever seen the Water Dance Master this concerned ever since knowing him.

"This is the side effect from the Milk of the Poppy, Master." the maester intervened. "He needs to recover and the dose I administered gives him time to rest. 'Tis no small injury he sustained back then. His body will adjust in due time. If it can ease your mind, I will do as you request and water down the milk of the poppy so he would be more alert."

"I thank you, Maester, for tending to my Lord as much as you do given the circumstances." Ser Symon said before leaning over Jon's body.

His pallor shocked and worried him. Was it the effect of his injury or the milk of the poppy?

Ghost let him know through their shared mind that he believed it was the latter.

"You have to wake soon, lad." Symon's soft voice reached him stronger this time. "The Gods know how you will react to what is happening right now."

What is happening? he wondered, his mind still troubled by the nightmare he previously lived. Ghost, show me what happened.

Images blurred into his exhausted mind, none of them making sense. He could see Loras being agitated about something and barely caught the words his friend was saying. His mentor's reaction, however, was difficult to miss.

"I don't understand. How did this happen?" Symon asked.

"No one knows why, only that he struck her. She didn't say more either, though we all suppose it has something to do with the prickly Prince since he was present."

Jon's heart skipped a bit. The mention of Joffrey led him to believe that Margaery had been involved too. Was she hurt? Was Joffey the one to strike her?'

"The King is furious and wants Theon to lose his head," Loras said, confusing Jon even more.

'Why would Theon lose his head?' Jon thought as the conversation went on.

"If he does this, the Ironborn will retaliate." Symon pointed out.

"Lord Stannis has asked for the trial to take place on the morrow. I'm afraid things do not look too good for Theon right now." Loras said sadly.

"I cannot believe he would try to strike a girl. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, but she was the one who received the strike and her mother is now calling for his head."

'Margaery was hit by Theon? This makes no sense!'

"Usually Jon is the one to figure things out, and I had hoped… How is he?" Loras asked in, looking behind Ghost where Jon's body lay.

"Hurt, but not as much as he will when he awakens. His troubles are only beginning, fool that he was." Symon growled.

"I don't know what went through his stubborn head. He should have yielded as soon as he felt the pain in his shoulder." Loras sighed.

"His pride got the best of him. I have been remiss in my teachings, it seemed." Syrion sighed.

"'Tis not your teaching at fault here, Syrio. Joffrey Baratheon has been a nuisance to him and those he cared about ever since he arrived. Jon has simply been blinded by his temper." Symon said, and soon Jon felt ashamed of disappointing both his mentors.

"Father and Margaery wanted to see him, but –"

"That's not a good idea. Lady Margaery will worry too much seeing him like that. Moreover, Jon isn't in a state to appreciate any visit." Ser Symon cut Loras off, to which Jon was grateful. The last thing he wanted at this moment was to see his betrothed.

"I pray he won't be too hurt by all this. First losing the joust, then getting hurt, and now this…"

"He takes things to heart when it comes to his loved ones, and Theon is Asha's brother."

"Aye, I know. I hate this. I wish we had never come to this tourney. Jon wouldn't be hurt and Marge… Marge would not have her reputation questioned."

"Did she do the things they accuse her of?"

"She swears she did no such thing."

"Do you believe her?"

"I know my sister, Ser. She may be unsure of whom she wants her future tied to, but she would never compromise her virtue."

Jon tensed inside Ghost, thinking about what had transpired lately with Margaery. He too had heard rumors about her coming close to Joffrey, which did not surprise him regarding what Loras had previously told him regarding her ambition of becoming Queen. Though her attitude with him, as well as the moments he caught her while warging through Ala, didn't match the ones she had with the outside world.

At first, Jon had compared it to the equivalent of his Lord face. A mummery of sorts to get to her goal. For the Margaery that he had come to know throughout the years and during the short correspondence, they had after Lady Lynesse's disappearance had shown a different side of her. One that matched Loras' tales of her and seemed to be the honest part of her. Or Mayhap it was that he hoped that was the truer part of her.

His conversations with Mira Forrester too had solidified his opinion about Margaery and her family. The Tyrells' family dynamics were so different from Jon's. While he was still at odds with his Uncle Benjen, Jon could understand his reluctance to see his children and nephew tied into loveless marriages. Especially given what happened with Jon's mother and the consequences of her not wanting to wed Robert Baratheon. Jon knew that his uncle's intentions were not malicious, as he thought he was doing his best to protect his kin, but the same couldn't be said about Olenna Tyrell.

Though she was only the Warden of the South's mother, her word was law amongst her family. Everyone did their best not to be on her bad side, and going against her wishes was almost inconceivable. Her family was a means to an end for her and had to follow her plans without complaining. The affair with Lynesse Hightower only proved this even more true.

"I feel it would be best if they never find Aunt Lynesse." Loras had confided after Jon had received Margaery's pleading letter.

"Do you fear we would judge her too harshly?" Jon wondered.

"Oh, I know how unprejudiced Lord Benjen and yourself are when dealing with trials. It's my family I am afraid of."

"For true?"

"My Grandfather is wroth with my Aunt, and so is Grandmother. I fear they would judge her far too harshly for shaming them."

"If her motives are understandable, mayhaps –"

"Her motives matter not, Jon. Not for Grandmother. My aunt forsook her duty and now Father will have to pay a compensation to Lord Mormont."

"What if we do it instead? Pay the compensation? After all, we were the ones who failed to find her." Jon suggested.

"This will only make things worse. Grandmother will think you pity us, and she doesn't like owing debts to anyone."

"So, what should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do, only pray for the best outcome."

"Which is?"

"That we will never find her."

That conversation had marked Jon to the core. Seeing how Loras behaved when faced with his Grandmother, how dismissive the Queen of Thorns was of her son or anyone she thought unimportant, made him understand more of his friend's wariness and admire Margaery's spirit.

The young lady had been made to follow the rules, like the other members of her family, yet something made her question her grandmother's motives regarding her future. She had been made to believe she would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day, only for her grandmother to seemingly change her mind without explaining anything and order her to marry someone she disliked.

Jon felt sympathy for Margaery as she was unaware of Olenna and Mace's true motives in insisting on their betrothal. The prospect of being stuck in a loveless marriage was what prompted his mother to be reckless, Benjen would say. Her stunt in Harrenhal was not something premeditated, but she wouldn't have minded being found out by Robert if it meant his opinion would have changed to the point of breaking their betrothal. Only the fear of Aerys retaliating made her stop competing since Jon's paternal grandfather thought her as an enemy out to get to him. So looking at Margaery trying her best to distance herself and get closer to Joffrey, then made Jon think of his own mother's attitude.

If Margaery was a Stark, they would say she's wolf-blooded. She looks as stubborn as Beth when she wants something. He thought fondly.

Part of him thought about telling Margaery the truth of his birth, yet he doubted it would change things between them. Had he been the only one impacted should his identity be found out, he probably would have, but he didn't know if he could trust her, even less so as her father didn't seem to do so. Jon couldn't break the betrothal either because of Olenna and her ruthlessness when it came to people she held a grudge against. Her own broken betrothal with a member of his House had never truly been forgiven by the wizened older woman, Jon wagered.

But something in seeing Margaery get closer to Joffrey irked him. He wasn't sure what it was, but every time he saw them together, his anger rose.

Joffrey Baratheon was not a good man and Jon would be loath to let Margaery tie herself with someone as bad as the prince. Moreover, as he accepted the inevitability of war, the last thing Jon wanted was to see Loras' loyalty being torn between him and his sister.

No, Margaery may very well want to break the betrothal and he wouldn't mind her doing so either, but Joffrey Baratheon was not the one for her. He would have to talk to her about it without looking as if he wanted to infringe on her personal matters. His thoughts were then interrupted once again by the far-off voices.

"The rumors about your sister will fade with time, lad. That cannot be said for Theon's fate if he loses his head." Symon declared, bringing back the subject to the main focus.

"He struck the king's niece. If what I saw of the King is anything to predict what is about to happen, then he is but a dead man walking." Syrio sighed.

Panic swirled in Jon's mind as he thought about the Ironborn and what it entailed. He was still confused and could not comprehend what had prompted Theon to hurt Cassana, as he now realized that she was the girl previously mentioned.

I need to wake up. He willed himself, though unable to do so when his mind traveled back to his body.

The strength he felt he had gained when in Ghost all but vanished under the pressure of the intense pain. He could feel the effect of the milk of the poppy dulling all his senses and plunging him into another troubled slumber.

No… please, no more…

Ghost might have felt his panic, for Jon was soon back in the Direwolf's mind, staring at his broken body once more by the side.

He felt strong in Ghost's body. Stronger than he had felt ever since he'd been hurt. His mind was appeased by his direwolf's presence and he realized he had not felt that serene in a while. Being in the South had tested him in ways he never thought it would. He had longed to see Ashara and to get over what he had perceived as the least evil solution to deal with the Tyrells knowing about his truth, yet by doing so he isolated himself from everything and everyone who felt like a safe place to him until then, Ghost included. He had lost himself in watching Margaery every day through Ala's eyes and had wished for nothing more than to fly away, neglecting his bond to his direwolf which was the strongest he had nurtured over the years.

'I'm sorry, Ghost. Truly I am. I lost myself to my fears and worries.'

'I understand. There is nothing to forgive.'

'Still, you've been by my side as loyally, if not more than anyone else.'

'You saved me. You are my brother. You may feel different in these lands, feel you have to be someone else to survive, but you are still you, my brother. You are a wolf and we are pack, always.'

Jon needed to hear this. Ghost was his anchor, the part of him he was certain would always remain, though he did not feel worthy of his familiar's words of comfort. So afraid was he to be found out as a Dragon that he almost forgot he was a Wolf. Though his pack might dislike him much these days, he also did all he could to protect them. This was what he needed to focus on, not on the disturbing feelings he could not comprehend.

Jon tried to ignore the hurt and confusion whenever he came back to his body to face his nightmares, though by the time he returned for the fifth time he felt strong enough to do so, the scenes in which his family lay dead in front of him had given room to memories of his last joust. Joffrey's smug face as he ran toward Margaery, who smiled brightly at the Prince when she received the crown of flowers while Jon himself was sent to the Maester, alone and hurting.

It felt wrong on so many levels. The last time he'd watched over Margaery through Ala's eyes, she'd seemed somewhat repulsed by the thought of having to spend time with Joffrey. Jon even heard his name being spoken fondly when she tried on the jewel set he had gifted her. Her later appearance to wish him well in the tourney while sporting his gift had pleased him greatly, though he did not know which out of the good wishes or the sight of her he appreciated more.

Was there something he didn't know? Did something happen between them? Was Margaery's infatuation with Joffrey more than a political one?

Was this tourney a repeat of Harrenhal, with him paying for his parents' action by being the one slighted this time?

He would get no answer to his questions. Not if he was stuck in this never-ending hell.

So he willed himself to wake up, this time forcing his mind to react to the pain he felt to open his eyes. His sworn sword's name was the first thing he'd managed to say before being barraged with a lot of questions and a scolding he'd known was to happen for his recklessness.

"What were you thinking, fighting while injured?"

"Have you learned naught with us? You wolfblooded fool!"

"You let yourself be led by your anger."

"I don't know why I did what I did." Jon finally admitted. "I let my anger blind me and I learned my lesson."

"No, you didn't." Syrio retorted. "Your pride will be the death of you, boy. You are in luck that the God of Death didn't claim you yet."

"I'm sorry I worried you."

"You'll be more sorry when your Mother and your Aunt hear news of this," Symon said, making Jon shiver.

"I have no time to dwell on that now," he said, shaking his head. "I heard… Theon… Was it a dream?"

His two teachers looked at each other before shaking their heads in turn.

"There's to be a trial by combat. To the death." Syman said.

"I must… I have to –" Jon managed to say, scrambling away from the sheet before Ser Symon blocked his path. Not that he would be able to get up by himself anyway.

"You are in no shape to help him, nor would it be wise to witness his fate."

"Yet I must. For Asha." Jon insisted.

"Might as well go with you, else you would hurt yourself." Symon surrendered as he helped Jon get out of bed, the latter trying and failing miserably to hide his discomfort while dressing up.

The Trial and its aftermath.

Cassana Baratheon bore an ugly bruise on her face. She looked frightened and out of place. Her mother stood protectively beside her, her eyes showing all the disdain and hatred she felt for the accused that instant. As for the royal family, Robert and Joffrey's giddiness throughout the whole fight mirrored theirs in the dreams Jon fought hard to forget about.

They want him dead. As much as they would me if they knew…

He shook his head, trying to push the images away. Now was not the time to let his fear get the best of him. He had to focus on the fight and not on the people surrounding him, which he found difficult given the circumstances. He had been flanked by Symon and Loras, grateful for their presence since Ghost was not allowed to leave his room as the Direwolf's very presence unnerved Catelyn Stark as much as Jon's, if not worse.

The fight was uneven, Stannis leading it from the start and punishing Theon for every opening the Ironborn gave him. Though Theon fought hard, it was evident he would lose even to Jon's exhausted self. The Lord of Storm's End was out to impart a lesson, playing with his former prisoner and not going for the kill. Still, Jon sent a prayer to the Old Gods and the New that he was right and that Stannis had no wish to end Theon's life. Time stretched and Jon pushed through the pain, not wanting to leave his friend's brother to face this alone even if he could not truly offer Theon any aid or comfort.

The end came and the outcome relieved Jon immensely. Stannis, as the young lord had hoped, spared Theon's life and sentenced him to the Wall. It was not ideal, yet better than death, and Jon resolved to write to his uncle to make sure Theon would be, if not rescued, at the least looked after until he could be. The Ironborn also seemed relieved, and Syrio's words echoed Jon's thoughts as Theon was led back to his cells.

Not Today.

"Don't smile, Jon. People will talk if they see how relieved you are." Symon whispered in his ear, making him tense.

He did not even realize he was doing so. Something prevented him from controlling his emotions as he used to be. Was it the pain? The milk of the poppy they gave him? Either way, he did not like this.

His gaze traveled around the crowd and fell over Margaery Tyrell. His betrothed was staring at him too, destabilizing him. Images of her receiving a crown from the hands of the boy he knew now he truly despised came to his mind, and he quickly averted his gaze before asking Symon to bring him back to his room. On the way back, his path crossed with Stannis' and he could only nod, not trusting himself with anything he could say at that moment.

The Night after the Trial by Combat and the Morning After.

Jon could not remember much after this, the need for numbing the pain overwhelming his reluctance to be plunged into the realms of nightmares once again, though that night, his dreams were less monstrous yet still disturbing.

He saw Little Ben roughhousing with Magnar while Brandon and Beth were laughing, and he felt his heart long for his family.

He saw his Mother's statue in the Crypts while whispers intensified around him, calling him out and telling him he was not welcome in this sacred place.

He saw himself running toward the halls of Storm's End, ignoring the yells of the servants and the distraught faces of guards, as he sensed danger for someone he cared about. He saw the Prince standing in front of him, seemingly shocked by his sudden apparition, and smirked as he looked down on the boy, sensing the boy's fear coming out of his skin while Jon stood his ground.

He saw Meera spar with Edric and his young cousin whine as she used underhanded techniques while Ashara scolded them for being outside this late.

He saw his Aunt Barbrey praying in front of the Heart Tree, and soon the silence of the place felt too much to bear.

He saw himself through Ghost's eyes, tossing and turning in his bed, and wondered how much of what he saw had been real and how much had been wishful thinking.

"I fear I am losing my mind…" he confessed to Symon not long after he had woken up. "I cannot distinguish what is real and what isn't."

"Milk of the Poppy can do that to you." the knight explained. "I've seen people talk to others who weren't there under it. Some were talking about vivid dreams."

"No more of it for me, then," Jon stated firmly. "At least not until I am sure I am not losing my wits."

Symon frowned and was about to say something when a knock at the door changed their focus.

"Ser Davos is here, Ser." Lucifer announced, to Jon's surprise.

"Good Sers, my Lord Stark. I am glad to see you more alert than yesterday."

"I thank you, Ser Davos." Jon said, confused.

"I came to inform you that your request has been granted, Ser Symon. Arrangements have been made and you will be able to depart on the night's tide."

"Oh, I thought we would have a day or two to prepare ourselves."

"Lady Catelyn thought it best to arrange your departure quickly, given what happened yesterday, she felt it is for the best for all if you left as soon as could be arranged." the Onion Knight said, almost apologetically, and Jon's confusion grew.

"I see. We will make haste then, for the Lady's sake."

"I wish you good fortune, my Lord, and a fast recovery," Davos said, bowing his head, to which Jon responded the same.

"It could have been worse, I guess…" Symon sighed loudly.

"What was he talking about? What happened yesterday?" Jon finally asked.

"Nothing of import, Jon."

"Did I do something to bring Lady Baratheon's ire down upon me." he insisted, his anxiety at having acted in an unseemingly manner, now overwhelming him.

"I swear on the Old Gods and the New that you didn't. But I rather not talk about Catelyn Baratheon's pettiness right now. We have some packing to do while you, lad, get some rest."

"I don't want to go to sleep." Jon sighed.

"Just lay in bed, then. We will take care of the rest."

Jon did not argue, the pain in his shoulder left him no choice but to do as he was told. He barely managed to eat, feeling both nauseous and under the weather. Yet sleep did not last long and he had much to do before he left, including saying his goodbyes to the king and his family. To Loras and to Margaery and their family, which he looked forward to not. Simple words spoken in public though were ones he felt up to, unfortunately, the gods had other plans for him or so it seemed, as Loras came to him as he was taking a last look around the grounds of the keep before leaving.

"I know you need to get your things in order before leaving, Jon, but my sister wishes to make sure you are truly well. She was badly shaken up last night and I believe she made up her mind about a lot of things…" Loras started, and Jon couldn't help but look behind his foster brother with a frown.

There stood Margaery, surprisingly looking distraught. For a moment Jon wondered if the outcome of the trial by combat had affected her as much as it did him. He nodded at his friend, his eyes still fixated on his betrothed, and his heart skipped a beat as he realized she was still wearing his gift.

The words she said felt like a balm to his heart, though he found himself lost in her eyes, trying to read her expressions. She was usually more closed off in public near him, wearing a sort of mask he would equate to his Lord face when she spoke to him. Part of him wished he could see her true self as he seemed to do when sharing a mind with Ala, though the constant sadness she bore inside of her echoed his own.

He had heard her talk about their betrothal and how she was resolved to accept it, yet the tears in her eyes made him pause as he tried to find the truth of her words.

Had it been a dream? Was it something he wanted to believe, rather than the truth? Was it another hallucination induced by the pain?

Both of them were in a position they did not wish to, hers seemingly more difficult as she had no choice in the matter of who was chosen for her. He felt guilt for not being the one her heart had wanted, for not bringing her happiness as he was reminded of his own mother's predicament.

Protecting his family demanded sacrifices out of him, and poor Margaery had been collateral damage in securing the Tyrells' loyalty. Could he truly do this to her? Could he demand her to do what he would not ask of his lady cousin or adoptive aunt?

A tear fell down Margaery's cheek and Jon's instinct was to brush it off, only for the pain of his shoulder to stop him. She seemed to pick up on his discomfort and walked closer to him, or was it he who bridged the gap between them? He could not say, so lost was he while staring at her.

Her skin looked perfect, and he felt happy to see the jewels he had commissioned with his mother's help to enhance the lady's features. The gold somehow highlighted her brown eyes, and would it not be for the tears in her eyes, this moment could have been perfect.

He might not comprehend fully what she was saying, but he could see the sincerity in her eyes. Was it concern for him that he could see, or was it just wishful thinking? He tried looking more into those brown eyes, to decipher what she could not say out loud, for words were wind until his mind picked up a name he did not want her to utter.

Joffrey…

Her face blurred for an instant, his mind trying to listen to what she tried to say while he was desperately clinging to her gaze for support. He knew what was happening, had tried his best to keep them away, and he could not bear the thought of going there once more.

Joffrey Baratheon was a plague, someone who would destroy everything he touched, and the simple mention of him plunged Jon back into the very nightmare he had tried to escape.

Soon the light in Margaery's eyes dimmed, the colors of her face disappeared, and there was nothing left of the lively woman in front of Jon. Nothing but a corpse whose lips moved still.

You did this to me. You made me what I am. You doomed my family and yours. Dragonspawn.

Next to the specter of Margaery stood those of his loved ones. Beth, Benjen, Barbrey, Brandon, Little Ben, Ashara, Edric, Allyria, Vorian, as well as the faceless ones of his paternal side. His breath hitched and his mind swirled, knowing he was once again brought back into his personal hell.

He had to get to Ghost before he lost his mind completely, but the ghost of Margaery didn't seem to want to let him go. It clung to him, much to his dismay. He knew this was not real, that he was losing his mind and he begged Ser Symon to help him leave without making a scene.

"I would like to visit Winterfell again, mayhap when you return from Starfall?"

If he had any doubt that this Margaery was not real, now he had none. Never would the Rose of Highgarden want to come North by her own volition. The tempting nightmare tried once again to lure him into its grasp by praying on his desire to find common ground with his betrothed. He could not give in, could not be swayed by this horrible vision.

"Some Roses wilt in the North. It would be for the best if you stay South, where you belong."

The vision paused and the lifeless eyes seemed to gain their color, enough for Jon to turn around and flee back to his quarters. There, he found solace in Ghost, who hadn't been allowed to walk with him.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this lad," Symon said gently, while once again Jon felt his sanity slip, and the young lord knew his sworn sword's comforting words would not be enough to make it question it.

Storm's End 296 AC,

Ser Symon Lake.

That the lad had kept his head was some comfort to Jon. Seeing him be sent to the Wall allowed for other possibilities and while they'd not been discussed, Jon was in no condition to do so, they were ones Symon pondered on. Not least of them being whether or not once he took his crown, Aemon Targaryen would release Theon Greyjoy from his vows. Would that be a price his king would pay, or would Jon Stark hold to the honor of oaths sworn being oaths that needed to be kept? Symon knew not which way it would go in the end, though he believed that due to the nature of Theon's sentence, and who sentenced him, the former was more than a possibility.

The truth of why Theon had ended up in the situation he had, was one that he and Syrio now knew fully. Joffrey Baratheon had provoked the lad into lashing out and then like a craven, had allowed another to suffer the blow he had more than earned by his actions. Given who the one was and what status the other possessed, the result was all but inevitable. However, Stannis Baratheon had then surprised them all by his intervention. Symon was unsure how to take the actions of the Lord of Storm's End, and only after a conversation with Mace Tyrell of all people did he see why it was the Wall and not death that a father sought in recompense for a daughter's hurt.

"A father would go to war for the death of a son. Especially one who is his last remaining heir, do you not concur Ser Symon?" Mace Tyrell said as the Lord of Highgarden stood outside Jon's room.

"I would imagine so, Lord Tyrell," Symon answered distractedly.

"Yet, Theon was held hostage to his father's good behavior and now is not, war may very well be inevitable." Mace continued.

Syrio walking out of the room to say that Jon was resting had put an end to the conversation or the beginnings of one that he and Mace were engaged in. The Warden of the South then bid them both farewell and asked Symon to pass on his best wishes to Jon for a quick recovery, before then taking his leave. It had been only later that night as Symon sat by Jon's bed and watched him sleep that Mace's words truly hit home and it made him wonder if he'd underestimated the Oaf of Highgarden. Symon then waved that thought off as he imagined that Mace was simply repeating some conversation he'd had with his mother at some point or other. It was something that he'd already heard Lord Rowan say about the man during the Tourney of Highgarden.

"Mace Tyrell doesn't have a clever thought in his head that's not first been spoken countless times by his mother."

Asserting to himself that it was indeed one of his mother's thoughts that Mace was expressing, allowed Symon to give that thought far more consideration. Death or a lifetime at the Wall made no difference truly when it came to Balon Greyjoy or his legacy. Without a son to bring forth an heir, his line would end with him and given the pride that the man had shown with his rebellion, it would not be something he'd easily accept. This meant that war was mayhap inevitable or it would take a show of force by the Crown to forestall that war and end it before it truly began.

Symon much welcomed these thoughts as he sat by Jon's bed, as it allowed him not to be forced to turn his mind to others. Not least of them just how much pain his king was truly in. The physical pain was something that was far more easily endured than the mental or emotional suffering that he knew Jon would put himself through. Firstly, over Theon's fate and how that would affect Asha back in Winterfell. Secondly and mayhap even more taxing, his betrothed and her actions both perceived and not. For at times, Jon would speak words that made little sense and lined up not with how events played out. None more so than his insistence that Margaery had accepted the flowery crown most happily when it was offered to her by Joffrey Baratheon.

"It was not offered nor accepted, Jon, I speak no lie."

"I saw it."

"No, Jon you did not. It was Lady Cassana who was crowned, not Lady Margaery."

"I…it matters not."

It was for things such as that which made Symon worry that too much Milk of the Poppy had been given to his king. The at-times clouding of Jon's mind that in turn brought even more pain to his heart that Symon grew ever more concerned with. So he'd insisted the Maester water the draughts down and had then done all he could to stop Jon from speaking words he'd later regret. As he had too in making sure that Jon was never alone nor anywhere near someone untrustworthy who may hear him speak his truth aloud.

Had it pained him to see just how much concern Jon's betrothed was showing over his injuries, somewhat. Yes, it had. Yet Margaery Tyrell's behavior and attitude at times towards Jon had made Symon almost enjoy denying her leave to speak to him. Not that he'd truly done so for that reason, mind. As given how much Jon's mind was clouded, there was a good chance that a betrothal would be broken for reasons it mayhap should not be. Symon understood better than most just what breaking a betrothal would mean to the boy he named his king and he would not let Jon follow too closely in Rhaegar's footsteps if he could avoid it.

'Even if it was not his own betrothal that his prince had broken.'

To give the girl credit, she refused to take no for an answer, and no matter how many times he'd told her that Jon wished to see her not, Margaery returned to try to do so regardless. Symon believed that the look of hurt in her eyes when she was once again refused, to be genuine, or if it was not, then he'd name Margaery Tyrell the best mummer he'd ever seen. As for Jon, each time his eyes alighted on his betrothed, Symon would see the battle that took place within. A battle that thus far had been won by the voices in Jon's head that bid him deny the one he may very well have in his heart.

"You truly believe there to be something there between them?" he asked Syrio as they watched the joust. Symon always had. Yet at times, he sought other's opinions to make sure he was not simply seeing what he wished and not what was truly there.

"The boy I trained uses that training for but two purposes, Symon".

"Which are?"

"One serves his House and his family, the other his heart," Syrio said as Jon unhorsed his opponent and looked to where Margaery Tyrell sat with her mother and father.

"Yet the girl likes him not."

"Does she not?" Syrio smirked.

Truly he understood it not. Symon knew not the truth of what lay in a man or woman's heart. He'd not known it for true when it came to his prince and so he believed he knew it not when it came to his prince's son either. As for what lay in the heart of a woman or girl, well that was a mystery to even the gods themselves, or so he believed. Yet the more he had pondered on it, the more he became somewhat certain that it was more than just the politics of the match that Jon wished for. So, with that in mind, he did all he could to ensure that even after they'd left Storm's End behind, the match itself would remain in place.

Alas, it may have done so but it was far from intact. Jon's words spoken to the lady denying her leave to travel to Winterfell had truly hurt Margaery Tyrell. Jon too, he was later to find. Their departure then followed quickly on the heels of it and though he was hurting, Jon by now had refused to take even a little of the Milk of the Poppy. Symon was stunned to find out that his concerns about the effect it was having on him, had been heard by Jon even through his dazed and confused state. Not even his words that too much pain can cloud the mind just as much as a little had then been listened to.

"Pain is good, Ser Symon. Better to feel than to not." Jon had said, not long after he'd told Margaery Tyrell that she'd wilt in the North.

They said their goodbyes to Robert Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, and their children. Jon was friendlier to the youngest two while putting on a decent mummery of acting the same with the oldest one. Even managing to congratulate Ser Joffrey on his knighting and naming him a worthy recipient of the honor. Something that brought a true smile to Robert Baratheon's face and a superior shit-eating grin to Joffrey's.

With Lord Stannis and Lady Catelyn, the words spoken seemed truer to Symon. Jon thanked them both for the invite and their hospitality. Even going so far as to proclaim that the outcome of the Trial by Combat showed to the realm why it should always be justice and not vengeance that actions were answered with. He then named the Lord of Storm's End a good and true man and one that all should do their utmost to live up to in their own rule. Words that some may take as an insult to the king and yet it seemed they were taken as praise of his brother instead.

Words were spoken to Lady Cassana which were heard by none but the two of them. Jon later told him that he wished her a quick recovery and that it pained him that she'd suffered at all. Before then decrying the fact that he had not stayed to see her being crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty and that she was a most worthy one at that.

With the Tyrells it was friendly until it was very much not. Loras was the recipient of Jon's true sadness at parting from, while, Mace, Alerie, and Margaery were simply wished well and a safe return home. Then, with their goodbyes spoke, with nary a glance back at the keep or the young lady who stared forlornly at the carriage, Storm's End was left behind.

Three days later, they were at sea. Jon was finally able to hold Egg without anyone speaking of him doing so and whatever hurts his king was going through, were soon lessened by the comfort the dragon's egg brought him. Though Symon would wager that they would return before too long and it would take a mother's embrace to truly soothe Jon's pains.

"We'll be at Starfall within the week, Jon," Symon said as they stood on the deck of the ship.

"Aye, thanks be to the Old Gods."

"Jon, Lady Margaery…."

"I wish no words spoken on her, Symon, no mention of her to be made."

"Jon…"

"I said no words did I not!" Jon said angrily before walking away.

Anger may be better than the confusion of the Milk of the Poppy, yet Symon welcomed it not. He would need to speak to Ashara before Jon truly did so. The well could only be poisoned so much before others would make the decision that truly was only one man's to make. If a betrothal was to be broken, then Jon and Jon alone would decide it. Symon would do all he could to ensure that while others spoke their minds on Margaery Tyrell, there would be only one mind that was truly listened to. One that was followed and that the heart that guided much in these matters was listened to too.

A/N: Once more I can only apologize for the delays to my updating. This site wouldn't allow me to upload a document and I couldn't figure out why, which I now have. So again, I'll be updating all my stories in short order. This one will be getting 2 more chapter updates by the weekend. Thanks for your patience.