New Chapter.
Edge of a precipice.
Ay, on the shores of darkness there is a light, and precipices show untrodden green; there is a budding morrow in midnight; there is triple sight in blindness keen.
John Keats
297AC.
8th Moon.
The Reach.
Highgarden.
The skies were a bright and healthy golden orange as dawn rose with the chippers of birds and the soft billowing winds.
The new moon had finally arrived and Rhaenys sighed where she stood.
Almost 5 moons since she had married Willas.
Well, it would be 5 in but a few weeks.
The clangs of swords meeting drew back her attention as she watched her goodbrother spar against three other opponents at the same time.
No matter how much she watched Garlan Tyrell spar, she was always impressed by his focus especially when taking on multiple opponents.
Aegon would very much have enjoyed his company.
Unfortunately, it seemed they hadn't developed any friendship during the Tyrells stay at the Red Keep.
Little wonder why.She snorted in amusement even as the almost quiet clank of a cane against the ground could be heard until it stopped by her side.
"Your wistfulness is showing, wife."
Rhaenys' lips upturned in light amusement.
"Since your mother has taken it upon herself to ban me from sparing, I shall live vicariously through your brother instead."
Willas chuckled, his brown eyes glittering.
"I believe your mother also sent a few letters to mine as well. Blame both our mothers."
"Hm…"
The Heir to Highgarden stifled a smile at her non-committed response.
Princess Rhaenys had always been a curiosity of his ever since he was officially introduced to her on a more personal level through her uncle and his friend, Prince Oberyn Martell.
A rather corny and suspicious young lady who later grew into the strong and politically trained woman she is now.
Theirs had not been a relationship built on love at first sight.
Like many highborn marriages, it had been an understanding of sorts, and from there came a betrothal contract and marriage.
She was a friend first and foremost and then a lover after.
It was something they both had always known and had been comfortable with.
Lucky for them they were growing into each other's confidants as the days turned into weeks and into months.
And with a child on the way… their minds had never been more aligned as it was.
In less than 7 moons, another generation of Tyrell would be born.
By then he would be 27 name days and Rhaenys would be 21.
Time truly was weaving by fast.
He smiled as his brother signified the end of his sparring session, spotting the couple and walking over even as he handed his practice sword to one of the servants.
"You improve as the days go by, Garlan."
Garlan smiled ruefully.
"Good Morn, brother, good-sister. Whatever are you here for?"
Willas smiled in wry fondness at his wife.
"Rhaenys is feeling particularly woeful today."
The Targaryen princess huffed as daintily as she could.
"I am not woeful. I just wanted to watch a sparring session. If I cannot participate for the coming moons, I am allowed to watch. Of course I do not care for the seeming concern everyone has decided to have for me."
Willas' hand tightened on his cane as he leaned on it further while softly taking Rhaenys' hand with his other one.
"Everyone knows you are no invalid, Princess. It is perfectly normal to worry. And besides, we do not want your father thinking we care not for your safety."
Rhaenys huffed though her eyes glittered with amused satisfaction.
Garlan watched his brother and new sister with an almost detached wistfulness.
All those moons ago, he would still have felt a woman had no business knowing how to use a weapon, and though he still thought there was no need, he had more understanding reasons for it.
For he would never wish so upon his sweet sister Margaery.
He would protect her with his very life just so she could live without worrying about such a thing.
But it did not mean the world was as safe for the rest of the fairer gender.
This change in thought process could be attributed to a particular young maiden he had met but a few moons ago and had found his heart yearning for all through those times.
Even now…Garlan blinked rapidly, taking himself further away from his mind and the past.
He'd had many times to think about 'what if' situations and he found no use for it.
The Lady Dayne was betrothed. To the Prince of Westeros of all people, his good-sister's brother as well.
She would have better protection in any case.
Still though, watching his brother and his wife did put him in such thoughts quite a lot.
The clearing of a throat by their side made the trio turn to a male servant who bowed respectfully.
"My Lords, Princess… your attention has been called for."
Willas raised an eyebrow.
"Any news?"
"Yes Lord Willas, from the Iron Islands."
A grim feeling settled in that moment.
Westerlands.
Ashemark.
2 days.
It had been 2 days since Joffrey's death.
Cersei Lannister ignored the nervous movements of the servants in her chambers as they dressed her in the traditional mourning garb worthy of a Lady.
As the veil covered her face, hiding her beautiful green eyes from the world. Hiding the eyes devoid of emotions, cold and calculating with grief and fury and hatred.
She said nothing as she turned, walking out of her chambers and apartment, towards the Marbrand tomb where just the previous year she had buried her Lord Husband.
And now…
Her fists tightened where she held her heavy gown, ignoring the guard behind her.
Lucion Lannister was not Jaime, but he would have to do for now. Lannisters were the only ones she could trust at the moment… especially against other Lannisters.
Her long and quiet trek to the Marbrand Tomb ended in the dark and dank and cold of the multiple chambers which held different generations of Marbrand Lords and Kin.
She stifled a curl of fury.
Her beloved son did not deserve to be buried here. He deserved to be treated like the lion of House Lannister he was!
She ignored the Septon and numerous holy men and women as they began the ceremony.
They did not matter.
What mattered were her children.
They didn't care about her! They didn't care about sweet innocent Joffrey! They didn't even care about darling Tommen and Myrcella! Taken from her after her boy was murdered!!!
Cersei gritted her teeth as her vision slowly turned red… but her fury vanished in but a second as the body of her son was uncovered and a sob threatened to burst out of her throat as she stumbled slightly.
Her boy!
She couldn't even see his face!
The silent sisters had bandaged most of his body up as they had tried to reconstruct Joffrey as much as they could though to no impressive avail.
But Cersei had ensured he was buried in the most expensive golden garb he was worthy of, a golden circlet on his head regardless of what the Septon thought of that.
Her boy looked like a king. He should have been a king!
Yet the world was against her!
'Gold will be their crowns, gold their shrouds'
No!
She refused to bury another child!
That witch knew nothing!
But she must be right about one thing.
The Valonqar!
That… that filth!
That deformed pig!
He did this!
He wanted everything she had!
And he had taken her most precious from her!
That pig that sat in Casterly Rock with it's equally deformed progeny!
Cersei Lannister's hands shook with fury under her heavy grab, but on the outside, she was devoid of emotions.
Even as the Septon finished the ceremony and her boy was placed in his tomb.
Here, she stumbled slightly.
It was the last time she'd see her son.
The last time.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked away as they closed it up.
She said nothing as she walked back to her solar. A ghost through the dimly lit halls as respect for Joffrey's passing.
As she entered, a man was already there.
He stood and bowed as she sat down and said nothing, starting at the expensively crafted gold and oak wood table, eyes blood red and while devoid of emotions, she brimmed with malice as she stared at the man.
"Well?"
She questioned as a servant rushed in and poured a cold cup of hippocras.
"My Lady, there were rumors of their spotting. Two young children with dark hair. Possibly dyed and harried looking."
Cersei's hand squeezed tightly against her cup.
Tyrion thought he could take everything from her.
Well, she would take as much as she could from him! His deformed family might be safe for now, but Cersei would do all she could to make him pay.
"Get in touch with Lorch. Lannisport is in need of some lessons."
The man bowed.
Kings Landing.
The Red Keep.
Jaime Lannister wiped his sweat soaked face with a wet cloth as he finally finished his sparring session with his friend and fellow brother, Arthur Dayne.
The skies were beginning to darken, signaling dusk about to settle, but the slightly cold wind brought a sought of relief to him.
"Good practice as always, Jaime. Nice to see you can still move on your toes."
The sword of the morning teased and Jaime's lips quirked in mocking smugness.
"Do you fear me? Are you worried for your title of greatest knight of the Kingsguard?"
Arthur snorted in amusement.
"That title belongs to Ser Barristan but he will never admit it."
"Because to him, it belongs to you as well. How sweet of you both."
Jaime sneered in a playful manner, making Arthur roll his eyes as he waved a servant off and the two began their journey to their tower.
They each had to take over for their fellow brothers at night and needed a little resting time.
"How fares your niece?"
Jaime absentmindedly brought up, remembering it was not long ago the future Princess had almost been assassinated.
It still baffled him but perhaps the threat of dragons flying once more worried many out there.
He was just glad his own nephew was well.
A dark feeling bloomed in his chest.
At least that was one nephew alive.
Hearing of Cersei's boy's death early in the morn had surprised him quite a lot. And then the other children missing… his first thought had been to abandon his duties and run for his sister, just like old times.
Until he remembered just who he was. He was not just Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister anymore, he was now Jaime Lannister, Knight of the Kingsguard. A title he was very proud of.
And though he had never met Cersei's twins, they were still family, and it behooved him not being able to do anything. He feared being in her presence… what feelings would arise in him if she stood in front of him.
That thought alone… it kept him from making any stupid decisions.
"Lyarra is well and healing. They plan their return to the Red Keep soon. I believe they plan to journey by ship to Dragonstone first. Visit the Queen mother before finally returning here."
Jaime nodded at that.
The seas should be safer, as long as they did not stray from their destination. With the threat of Euron Greyjoy, ears were on the ground and eyes on the Iron Islands. Of course, the North seemed to be preparing themselves and even his own brother was keeping a wary eye on Lannisport.
"Have you received any news from your sister?"
Arthur brought up in tentative concern even as Jaime's shoulders stiffened.
"Well, apart from her letters demanding I come see her, claiming our brother killed her son and took her twins and that everyone is against her, I haven't heard much from her these past few days."
And that was concerning.
A quiet Cersei was a scheming Cersei, and a scheming Cersei was a dangerous Cersei.
Arthur made a commemorative sound at the back of his throat as the Kingsguard brothers entered the tower.
"Take heart Jaime. Perhaps things might turn out for the better soon."
The older man patted Jaime's back before walking off and Jaime stifled a scoff of disbelief.
He knew what his siblings were capable of. This would not settle itself unless one was dead, and he hoped that never happened.
A knock brought him out of his reverie as the tower's double great doors opened and a young child rushed in with a letter in hand as he bowed respectfully.
"Ser Jaime, a letter has arrived for you."
Jaime stifled a sigh even as he took it and sent the boy off with a silver dragon much to the child's awe and delight.
As the Kingsguard member entered his apartment, he sat by the already lit fireplace, relaxing into the seat and opening the letter from his brother.
Jaime,
It would not come as a surprise to me if our dear sister has sent you a letter before I could. But indeed, Joffrey has died and news of it has seemingly spread across the Westerlands these past few days. I would not put it past her to blame it on me.
But that is not why I have written you.
It would seem, Cersei's brand of madness passed onto Joffrey, for I have been visited by the Marbrand twins who apparently fled their home out of fear for their mother, and it behooves me to say this, but an act of kinslaying occurred which led to our nephew's death.
Jaime sat up immediately, eyebrows raising in shock the more he read his brother's letter.
No Arthur, things might not be turning out for good anytime soon.
Casterly Rock.
Few days earlier.
Tyrion sat in his solar that late evening, facing his niece.
This was the first time he was seeing her and her brother in years and all he could say was she was the spitting image of her mother. From the curly hair and emerald eyes, except perhaps for the single dimple he'd spotted at some point which she shared with Tommen and both had gotten from their father.
She was softer in features and had a rounder nose too, but the rest… it was all Cersei. It was like staring into a mirror, or looking into the past, except there was no sneer across her face. No ugly expression.
Instead, she was filled with exhaustion. Her hair which should have been a golden color, was hastily dyed black and not perfectly. Instead it was faded and though the servants seemed to have tried washing it off, it still stayed that way.
Her eyes were sunken in and her skin pale. She sat, facing him across his large oak table and occasionally glanced around in fear and curiosity, her fingers unable to stay still as they scratched against each other without causing any wounds. Her fingers bitten probably from anxiousness and her breath the only sound in the solar.
"Joffrey is dead."
Was the first thing he said, and the flinch she gave brought some sympathy to the Lord of Casterly Rock.
No matter that she was Cersei's get, she was his niece too.
"Your mother thinks I had a hand in it. She also claims I had yourself and your brother kidnapped. We both know that to be false, of course."
He smiled wryly at her and she nodded almost meekly.
Tyrion was finding it hard to believe she came from his shrew of a sister. Tommen included!
The poor boy had fallen to his knees in tearful relief once they'd been brought before him early in the day, hugging a particularly disgruntled cat to himself.
Perhaps they took after his good-brother instead. He could not remember much about the man, but he had been close friends with Jaime and apparently a good man.
Shame he had to marry Cersei.
"I did it."
The quiet but resolute answer from Myrcella Marbrand brought him out of her reverie as he found himself staring into her emerald eyes, his throat constricting in surprise and disbelief.
"… You. You killed your brother."
Myrcella flinched again and Tyrion bit his tongue.
"I had to!"
She finally cried out, tears brimming in her eyes as she slumped in despair and Tyrion fought the urge to bring her into his arms and hug her.
"He… Joffrey was a monster! He was… he tried to—to—"
Myrcella gasped, heartbeat picking up as she tried to find the words, only to feel helpless as she stared at her Lord uncle in fear.
Would he have her sent back home to her mother? Would he have her thrown out of his home??
"I—"
"What did Joffrey do… Myrcella?"
An unknown feeling had settled in Tyrion as he watched his niece closely, a feeling in his chest he did not wish to acknowledge.
She looked utterly disturbed… utterly shaken, much to his growing concern even as he shifted forward in his seat, careful not to fall over.
"He was angry… and… drunk. He… he tore my dress and—"
Myrcella shut her eyes to stop hot tears falling even as she heard she sharp intake of her uncle's breath.
Oh how he must feel disgust now.
What he must think of her!
Myrcella scratched at her skin, feeling disgust in herself even further.
Kinslayer!
She was a kinslayer!!
But he had deserved it! He had!!
She heard the footsteps of her uncle even as she sniffed and he came to a stop beside her. She jumped slightly, eyes snapping open as she felt he uncle's warm hand on hers, stopping her scratching against her skin.
His eyes radiated such warmth and sympathy that Myrcella could not hope. She could not…
"Did he… do anything further than that?"
Myrcella sniffled, trying to get rid of the memories playing in her mind even as she shook her head.
"No. He… tried b-but… but I… I fought back and… and then… and—"
Tyrion squeezed her hand to calm her anxiousness even as he inwardly cursed at Cersei and her evil spawn of a firstborn.
What had Cersei been teaching the boy?!
What had Cersei been doing all this while?!
A distant memory from his childhood filtered across his mind in that moment.
When he was but a child. When he grew around Tywin Lannister who hated the sight of him.
The times he hid from everyone, even Jaime who had loved him regardless of how he was.
When he saw Cersei and Jaime in too close a proximity. When he saw them… too intimate for siblings though he had not understood what it meant.
Was it a curse in their family?
No. It could not be.
His own twins were never that close, thank the seven. And it would seem neither was Tommen and Myrcella. Twin blood ran in the Lannister family though occasionally skipping a generation, but Cersei and Jaime had been a strange exception when it came to closeness. And perhaps that madness from Cersei had passed onto Joffrey Marbrand.
Curse the foolish boy!
He found he could not pity the boy any longer for his treatment of his own sister.
"What will happen to me now? Will I be killed?"
Myrcella fearfully spoke up and Tyrion frowned.
"Absolutely not. We shall keep this amongst ourselves. Only Tysha will be informed of the situation. You and Tommen shall be welcome in my halls for as long as you wish. I believe Joanna would love to have her cousins here while her brother squires with the prince."
A look of surprise and relief settled across the youngest girl's face as thankful tears shined in her eyes.
"You do not fear the curse of having a Kinslayer in your household?"
Tyrion let out a snort, smirking wryly.
"Come now niece. Do I look like an overtly religious Septon? I believe I would look rather ridiculous as one if we take my unfortunate height into consideration."
He jokingly winked and a giggle escaped Myrcella's lips, leaving her quite surprised and Tyrion satisfied.
He would leave the rest of the cheering up to his wife and daughter.
Tysha would not mind having more children to care for as it would take her mind off of her family, and perhaps she'd feel a sort of vindictive satisfaction, turning the children of Cersei against her.
Speaking of…
"Myrcella… what do you know of the… disagreement your mother and I are having?"
Myrcella frowned slightly, biting her lower lip in thought.
"I don't know much. I have heard her say she was meant to be the Lord of Casterly Rock, which is silly as she would be Lady, not Lord, but—"
Tyrion stifled an amused smirk at the rather innocent wording.
"—she used to say Joffrey was meant to rule the Rock too. When… Father died… things changed back home. She was more… distant. She invited more of our Lannister kin over and…"
Myrcella shuddered as she remembered her mother in bed with…
"Myrcella… do you understand that your mother and I are at odds? That we can never settle except either one of us ends up punished or worse?"
The 3 and 10 year old girl looked down at her lap, shoulders slumped a bit.
"Yes…"
"And yet, you came to me."
"…yes. Mother… mother has changed. She's different, even more than she used to be. Tommen and I had no one to protect us when we were home in Ashemark. Joffrey is dead now. Tommen should be ruling. If I have to protect his interests, then I will. I will tell you all I know, if only so everything gets better."
A resolute and sad look appeared on the girls face and Tyrion smiled sadly at her.
Myrcella Marbrand would be 14 before the year end, still quite young, and yet she seemed to have a certain wisdom that impressed him in the short time they had come to know each other.
She was strong, and would continue to grow stronger. Her brother's protector, and it would not surprise him too much if she lived the rest of her life in Ashemark with her brother, perhaps marrying a second or third son who would not mind staying there with her.
She was a brave one.
He could not wait to tell Jaime about her.
Perhaps it would do Joanna good to have her cousins with her. A pity Tion was not home.
In any case, having the Marbrand twins was a boon in his favor, but it did not mean he was one step ahead of Cersei.
Wherever she was, she would be mad with fury, and with the power of the Mountain at her beck and call, it would not do to rest.
He just hoped Sandor was able to fulfil his command while he gathered the other Lords of the Westerlands for a final decision on Cersei. At least with proof of everything happening laying at the hands of his sister through the Mountain, he would finally be able to move on from the dark spot against his peaceful ruling, and the hateful Lords who still supported Cersei would die down when they realized how bad of an idea it was to support her and her crazy schemes.
The North.
Winterfell.
While the Westerlands had their own issues to deal with, the North focused on theirs, in the form of a council to discuss their plans going ahead.
With the threat and unease of the possibility of another Ironborn rebellion, many of the Northern Lords and Ladies felt the need to protect what was theirs once more
Lord Stark had already written a letter to the Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands and the Westerlands to inform them of the possible Ironborn attack.
While there was nothing pointing to an attack yet, Yara Greyjoy had made it known that her Uncle was mad enough to send his people reaving regardless of the fact that they hadn't fully recovered their numbers and fleet after the previous rebellion. Of course, Yara herself could not truly say what was on the man's mind as it had been years since she last saw the man.
It led to Ned wondering what Euron could be planning, but he came up with nothing each time.
Euron Greyjoy left Westeros years back and never returned even once if he was correct. And now that he had returned, it seemed he was making moves his brother had not over the past years.
Because of this, Ned would be leaving for the Iron Islands with a small army of the North come the morning, having already sent a missive to the King. It was a good thing many Lords were already stationed at Winterfell with accompanying men at arms. There was less of a need to call for more men to leave their homes which they protected on behalf of the parties that had come to Winterfell.
Ned had also sent a letter to his old friend Lord Reed who would help guard the lands around Moat Cailin in the event of an open invasion. In the words of his people, 'Winter is Coming'. It was better to be prepared for nothing than to not be prepared for something.
A knock on his door brought him out of his reverie.
"Enter."
Robb bowed slightly as he walked in and his father gestured for him to take his seat.
"Robb."
"Father."
"How far the preparations?"
"They are well enough, father. Maester Luwin is helping with other arrangements. I have also been assisting Theon with his packing…"
A morose look appeared on the heir of Winterfell's face.
"T'is really strange father. Theon will be leaving us soon and becoming Lord of Pyke. Everything is changing. First Lyarra left and is now engaged to be future Princess, and now Theon is leaving as well. Only I remain."
His shoulders drooped slightly and Ned Stark smiled in understanding.
He had once gone through this in his youth while fostered with Jon Arryn, rest his soul.
"It is the circle of life, son. We were all young once. We grow and move on to our next journey. Just like you are doing. And remember, it is not the end of your friendship. Theon has a duty to uphold and it is time he upheld it. I am sure he will be glad to have you there on this journey to the Iron Islands."
As soon as he said that, Robb's head snapped up in shock.
"What?"
Ned watched his son with slight amusement.
"Did you think you would be exempt from your own duty? You are heir to Winterfell and future Lord Paramount of the North, your duty is not just to seat in Winterfell and rule, it is to also ensure your commands and that of the Iron Throne are upheld. Your sister will be Queen one day, it is up to you to ensure her reign is peaceful."
He watched the focused and determined look that appeared on his son's face and smiled.
Ned was never meant to be the Lord of Winterfell. He was the second son. His brother should have been the one to rule if not for his unfortunate death.
He never wanted Robb to be in such a situation if anything happened to him. It was why he had steadily been training him for moons now.
"Bran will hold the Pack while we are gone. It will help him start attaining some responsibilities. If he wishes to be a Knight, he should know it is not just fun and games and could be just as similar to ruling."
Robb nodded.
"Of course. We will not let you down, father."
Ned smiled.
"Of course. And you had better use the journey to impress the Greatjon If you want me to bring up betrothal arrangements with him once the Ironborn issue has been dealt with."
As soon as he says that, Robb's face turned pale and then his cheeks reddened, making Ned Stark smirk which in turn made Robb shudder.
He had never seen that look on his father's face before and it was rather disturbing.
"W-What are you talking about? Betrothals?"
Ned laughed.
"Son, you are not very good at hiding your feelings. Many of us have noticed. It would not surprise me if the young Lady herself knew."
And with that, a panicked look bloomed across his son's face and Ned Stark laughed once more.
Later that afternoon, the Lord of Winterfell made rounds around his Keep.
The Journey tomorrow would start at dawn and it would take about 9 days to reach White harbor.
Of course, Ned believed the entourage could make it under just a week and he intended to make sure that happened.
Elsewhere in the Keep, many Lords shivered unexpected, pausing in confusion at whatever it was they had been doing.
As the Lord of Winterfell entered the Godswood, a feeling of calmness settled in his heart at the familiar sounds that filled the air and the pitter patter of paws crunching against snow brought his attention towards the two wolves colored grey and silvery grey trotting towards him with their tongues lolled out.
Nymeria and Summer.
The wolves had grown past his knees now with Greywind about reaching his waist.
Beings capable of one day tearing a grown man's throat out with their strong jaws and sharp fangs, and yet, they eagerly thumped their noses at his leg in greeting and he smiled.
He was glad his children had such avid protectors who would continue to protect them even when he was gone.
Wherever they may be.
Thinking of his children, Lyarra fluttered to mind omce more.
There was no better protector for one such as her than Ghost and the dragons.
He truly hoped she was well.
Ned Stark turned the corner to see two of his children, one resting by the roots of the giant weirwood tree and the other twirling a needle-thin familiar looking sword.
He smiled warmly before clearing his throat, startling them even as the wolves trotted back to their owners.
"Father!"
Arya crowed as she rushed over to him with am eager gleam in her eyes as she spotted the Stark ancestral Greatsword on his person.
"Father, I've been training. Let us spar!"
She crouched in preparation and Bran snorted where he laid, eyes still closed though a mocking smile sat across his face.
"You wouldn't even last a second against Father."
Before Ned could say a thing, Arya had retaliated by grabbing a handful of snow and launching it with great accuracy onto her brother's face, eliciting a startled shriek from the boy.
Ned basked in the chaos of his rowdy children for a wistful moment before clearing his throat, patting Arya's head fondly before moving to seat where Bran had just vacated so as to begin his routine of cleaning the ancestral sword.
It was always well maintained by the reining Lord of Winterfell and it had become a way of meditation for him over the years.
"Apologies Arya, I do not believe your sword would hold against Ice."
Arya pouted as she grasped her sword tightly, ignoring Bran's glare even as his raven fluttered down from the weirwood it had been napping, to rest on his head, sinking into his hair.
"I bet I could take you father! Let me come with you and Robb and Theon! I'll battle Ironborn scum like you!"
She pleaded, coming to seat at his knee and Ned warily shifted his Valyrian sword from his daughter so as to avoid any unintentional maiming as he cleaned the sword.
"Oh? And have you spoken with your mother?"
Arya frowned.
"You know she'd never let me go with you!"
Ned chuckled in amusement.
So much like his sister.
"You and Bran will have to hold the forth for your brother and I, Arya. Who else would protect the welfare of the North, but you two?"
Arya puffed up at his words while Bran walked over, careful not to disturb the raven resting in his head as he slowly sat at Ned's feet as well, next to Arya.
"Bran must be the Stark of Winterfell, protect the others, and I am sure you will help him, Arya."
Arya nodded eagerly.
"I will! And I'll make sure mother and Sansa never find out about Needle!"
She swore viciously and Ned chuckled.
While he'd found out about Arya's gift from her sister Lyarra, he'd made sure it never got to his wife's ears lest things become chaotic.
"Father… will Theon ever come back to live with us?"
An introspective Bran asked and Ned sighed.
Who would have thought the day would come.
Theon had to return back to his home. He had not expected it so soon.
Over the years, the Ironborn had managed to create a spot for himself in the family and even in Ned's heart.
He knew the boy was still as precocious as ever and had some questionable qualities, but Theon Greyjoy had grown to be the kind of young man he could trust enough to rule the Islands.
The young man who joined his household at just 11 name days was now 19 name days old. How time certainly flies. He had been there to see his 3 youngest either birthed or as babes and they had always seen him as a part of the family.
Indeed, it would be odd for the Stark family not to realize this. In a sense, it was like saying goodbye to another family member. He could not speak for his wife of course, but he could tell Theon would be missed.
"Theon cannot come back, Bran. Only perhaps for a visit. He is a man grown and the Lord of Pyke. His duty is to the Iron Islands now."
Bran frowned slightly.
While Theon had been an annoying feature in his life, he had seen him as an annoying older brother feature. Different from Robb a large majority of times but still a feature.
He would miss him.
Ned smiled at his usually adventurous but quiet child, ruffling his hair, careful of the raven nesting in the boy's hair. Lately, his hair had been darkening little by little.
"And just as Theon has duties to the Iron Islands, you have your duties to Winterfell. Guard and protect our home while your brother and I are gone, son. You will have your mother and sisters to help you when needed. Once I have returned, I believe I can convince the Blackfish to come for a visit."
The two children brightened at the thought of meeting their Tully uncle once more and Ned smiled, going back to cleaning Ice.
Theon sat in the Smoking Log, which was the local inn/alehouse in Wintertown.
He nursed a cup of mead and occasionally biting down on a loaf of bread so dry it felt like punishment just putting it in his mouth.
Today would be his last day in the North. He had no idea when he would be able to step off the Iron Islands again.
He watched as the residents of Wintertown went about their businesses as a bard sang an old Northern song nearby. The Inn was warm, with lit lanterns giving light to the room.
He would miss this.
"Ugh. If I didn't know any better, I'd proclaim you a Stark, what with that look on your face."
Yara Greyjoy flopped on he seat opposite her brother without having been told to.
The future Lord of Pyke grunted slightly as he downed his mead and motioned a barmaid over, his sister ordering for the same.
"Why are you hear? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Yara sneered mockingly.
"Busy. Of course. Pouting like a little girl about to leave her home. Well sorry, but your real home is Pyke."
Theon gave her a look.
"I know that. But I have lived here for almost a decade. 8 years, so forgive me for actually drinking a toast to the end of it."
It was quiet between them except for the chattering, music and occasional loud laughter of the Inn even as the barmaid returned with their mead.
"I never did finish my story."
Yara absentmindedly said as she crossed her legs, leaning haphazardly against her seat and looking like the male version of Theon.
"What story?"
"About you being a terrible baby, screaming like a dying pig as a baby in the nursery we both shared."
Theon let out a groan of embarrassment even as a shit eating grin grew across his sister's face.
"I really wanted to strangle you, you know?—"
"Please… stop—"
"—Anyways, I marched over to your crib one night, ready to rid the Greyjoy family of the screaming banshee—"
Theon glared at his unconcerned sister.
"—when I looked into the crib, and you suddenly stopped screaming. Very surprising. But you looked up at me through tear stained eyes… and you smiled."
Theon blinked at that.
It wasn't like he could even remember what she was saying, but as he looked at his sister, really looked at her, he thought he saw fondness in her eyes for just a second, but it was gone as she snorted, rolling her eyes.
"Anyways, you… are a brat. You will always be a brat to me. And I don't think you've experienced any hardships nor do I still think you'll be a good enough Lord."
Theon rolled his eyes, mood worsening.
But Yara wasn't done.
"But… Just because you'll be Lord of Pyke, does not mean I'll let you do what you want. I'll make sure to beat our ways into you if I have to."
Theon snorted, making a grab for his mead.
As he brought it to his lips, he heard Yara sigh softly and whisper.
"In any case, I'm glad you didn't due so far from the sea… even if it is for mother's sake."
The two siblings said nothing as they downed their mead, and the fuzzy feeling in Theon's chest would be attributed to the drink and nothing else according to him.
Later that night, Ned and Catelyn lay in bed, both bare and tired out from an early night of passionate love making.
Catelyn laid on her Lord Husband's chest, a wistful smile across her face.
"Come home safe, Ned."
Ned Stark smiled fondly at his wife even as he brushed his fingers through her red hair.
"I will."
"And bring my son back with no injuries."
Ned chuckled.
"I shall endeavor to try. I believe he will try to impress the Greatjon though."
Catelyn huffed.
"He has no need to impress him. Robb is the heir to Winterfell. Any man would be lucky to have him as a goodson."
Ned nodded in agreement. His son was growing into the kind of man that would be great for the North.
"Greatjon enjoys shows of strength and bravery. And Umber women are rare to come by, even amongst the Umbers themselves."
Indeed. Lady Arrana was the 1st Umber lady of her father and his father's generation. Her late grandfather's brothers had sons and no daughters.
Catelyn sniffed.
She had watched the 18 name days old young lady for a while now.
A Northern beauty, no doubt about that. 6 feet tall and a wielder of an axe as long as Catelyn's arms.
She had noticed her youngest daughter's attachment to her immediately after they were introduced. Catelyn tried not to be too chagrinned seeing as Arrana Umber carried herself in a dignified manner and did not showcase any wild tendencies.
Perhaps she could tame the wildness out of her daughter. She would not mind Arya being a lady of the North though she did hope a great Southern match could be provided.
Then again, it was to be expected of Arya to cling to the Umber lady… seeing who she once used to be close to.
Banishing forbidden thoughts from her mind, she glanced up at he husband in thought.
Sansa had finally become a woman just a few days past with the coming of her moon blood and truly looked forward to her betrothal now more than ever.
The possibility of her wedding in the coming year was very high, seeing as the Vale was in dire need of heirs, and once the betrothal was finalised, there was a possibility of Sansa going to the Vale in preparation of her wedding.
Catelyn's heart broke slightly at the thought. But her Sansa was becoming a woman. Just like she herself had been before. Of course, Sansa would turn five and ten in the early moons of the coming year and she hoped to still have her daughter by her side for some time.
Perhaps… she could go with her daughter to the Vale… maybe even with Rickon. What better way to get to know Jasper Arryn.
Of course, all of these was still many moons away. The Vale could wait for the time being.
As she snuggled into Ned's side, and old memory fluttered through. An old memory of when she was still a child. In a room with two other children, younger than her but of similar coloring. A boy and a girl. Her siblings.
And of another boy, this one a foster son… with a playful but sneaky smile.
Catelyn's face hardened significantly as she snapped out of her thoughts once again. It would do her no good to think of such things.
For now, she just had one hope.
Catelyn just hoped Ned returned home safe. If not for her sake, then at least for their children.
Iron Islands.
Pyke.
The hall was rowdy.
Lords and soldiers from all parts of the Iron Islands had congregated in preparation for their uprising.
The spirit of the Ironborn were raised as they chattered, laughed and jeered amongst each other.
Of course, it was not all the Lords of the Island that stood with Euron Greyjoy. A respectable number of them and turned their nose down at his offer and made their way back to their homes.
But Euron Greyjoy did not care.
Oh no he didn't.
He smirked where he sat at the Salt Throne, legs crossed haphazardly as he drank a thick blue concoction which color seemed similar to that of his lips.
Every once in a while, a drunk Ironborn would stand up and raise a goblet in his name.
The new King of the Iron Islands.
Amusement brimmed in Euron's chest as he stood up and excused himself from the room, taking stairs down and walking further and further, out of the castle, into the light drizzle and further more until he got to his ship.
The Silence stood as beautiful as it was ominous. An unnatural quietness that seemed almost impossible to attain. Even as he walked aboard and his boots clicked and clicked against the deck.
His crew as quiet as he liked, as they bowed in submission while he passed. Amusement still brimming in his chest at the thought of the Ironborn Lords that supported him.
The Lords that left for their Keeps were smart.
They saw him for what he was. They knew what he was capable of. In fact, he respected them.
Too bad… he would come back for them afterwards.
But they were smart indeed.
The others though… who laughed in the halls of his forefathers. Who laughed and celebrated in his name.
Oh how his brother must be screaming in the hallowed halls of the Drowned god.
For at the end of the day… Euron Greyjoy had no business fighting a war against the other Kingdoms.
He did not care for them, nor did he care for the Iron Islands particularly.
He had toured the world and he had been exposed to power.
Ultimate power.
Power capable of making a man like him unto a god.
Euron heard a thousand hissing whispers in his ears that only he could understand, as they whispered seductively in his mind. As they told him everything.
He walked into his chambers, shrugging off his jacket and removing his shirt as whimpers filled his ears.
Euron Greyjoy did not come back for the Iron Islands.
He did not come back for the Salt Throne.
He did not come back for any of the Ironborn.
But he would use them, oh yes he would.
Let them fight.
Let them sacrifice their life's blood for him.
For as the eyes of the kingdom laid tentatively on the Ironborn and the possibility of a war, they would not focus on what he was after.
On what he wished to claim.
On what he demanded as his. What would become his by the name of the Drowned god, as he had been promised.
While everyone watched the Iron Islands, Euron Greyjoy had his eyes on the Stormlands instead.
The Mother of Dragons who would be his to claim.
He laughed in amusement, before turning towards the whimpering maiden tied to his bed, mouth bloodied and tongue gone after he had gifted her with silence.
The fear in her eyes grew as he approached her with a lustful grin on his handsome face.
Wow!
Look who decided to post a chapter after a whole dang year.
Hi guys! It's been a while hasn't it?
Things have been crazy. Things have gone crazy and things are still crazy. But a little bit of my muse dropped by for a visit and this chapter came put of nowhere.
Like I had once said, this story is not and will not be abandoned regardless of how slow updates may be.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter though and let me know what you all think!
Tyrion and Myrcella was sweet to write and the North is preparing to make a VISIT to the Iron Islands and if possible, anoint Theon as Lord of Pyke by force, lol. I also enjoyed writing him and Yara.
Euron is a warning on his own but don't worry, he's not going to be some sort of final boss or whatever.
Next Chapter, Lyarra and Aegon prepare to head o Dragonstone by ship, the Clegane brothers come face to face with each other after a long time. The Ironborn prepare in vain. Rhaella tries to matchmake Viserys once more, and Euron finally meets the Mother of Dragons.