A Man Of Honor.

"I have created something and let it loose upon the world. Whether it was my right to do so or not, I cannot say. At times I am filled with love for my creation. At others I am filled with regret and horror. But it is done. It has been created."

--P.J. Parker

10th Month. 296AC.

Winterfell.

It was late at night. He watched as his wife moved slightly in her sleep and a small smile appeared on his face for a second before disappearing.

He should be asleep, but Eddard Stark's mind seemed unable to rest.

He had a lot on his mind, and the royal family's visit had brought them more to the forefront.

Lyarra. His daughter, Lyarra.

Whenever he thought about her, a feeling of guilt usually crept up in his cold heart that took a while to stamp out.

He had broken his promise. His honor was being brought into question, not just by others, but by he himself.

He was never supposed to treat her as he had. He had promised to be fair and a dutiful father. And he had tried, but perhaps not as he should have.

Perhaps he was weak, especially when it came to the happiness of his lady wife, but Lyarra was also his daughter and his responsibility as well.

He loved his daughter. Really, he did. Why wouldn't he? She was of his blood… and the blood of a woman he had once loved. And she made him proud every day, by not letting her bastardy get her down.

He knew his wife had never warmed up to her, but as long as nothing violent happened between them, he was ready to accept her ignoring Lyarra.

What wife would want her husband's bastard in her household?

Even his sister who had been a wild wolf and friendly to all, hadn't taken it nicely when she found out of her betrothal to a man like Robert. How he had a bastard already.

It had taken a lot of pleas, gains and stamped promises for her to marry him, especially when their father had died and she decided to honor his last wishes… like he did.

He knew his sister had not been a fan of Mya Stone the first few years of her marriage to Robert, and so the girl had continued to live in the Vale, but things changed apparently. After the harsh births of her two sons, he didn't know what changed Lyanna's mind, but she had travelled to the Vale and just about invited Mya Stone to come visit her father's homeland.

If his sister who wasn't even raised in the light of the seven had a thing against her husband's bastard, Ned wasn't too surprised when Catelyn had. It certainly didn't help his case that he had fought for her to be raised in Winterfell.

Of course there were some things he'd had to forego when it came to her… and for a time he'd wondered if his rash decision to raise Lyarra in the North wouldn't come back to bite him.

Perhaps she would have been happier in Dorne. Where bastards were at least treated better than in the rest of Westeros. He also knew house Dayne would never harm Ashara's daughter.

But… he'd seen her close relationship with her trueborn siblings, or at least some of them.

He'd seen how loyal she was to Robb who regarded her as his twin of sorts. He'd seen how Arya idolized her and how Lyarra loved Arya just as fiercely in return. He'd seen her handle Bran firmly but with a siblings grip when he went too far in his adventures. He'd seen the little interactions between herself and Rickon and how Rickon seemed to gravitate towards her whenever she got back from town.

As for Sansa, well, she was her mother's daughter through and through and though he mourned her inability to play nice with his eldest, he couldn't punish her for her thinking. She was the one who took to the seven and southron tradition more than her siblings.

In fact, it wouldn't surprise Ned if he ended up having to arrange a Southern match for his beautiful daughter… although he tried not to think of it. His children were too young for such… in his opinion, at least. Although he'd seen her following the prince around all the time. He knew what she wanted.

Speaking of the royal family… he had expected to be summoned by at least the Queen for some time now and he wouldn't deny it that he was wary about such a meeting.

Even Arthur Dayne ignored him except for the occasional stare down which Ned would never back away from.

He would be accompanying the King to the wall in a couple of days and Robb and the prince would also be going with them.

A good idea for his son too. He needed to see the North and one slight regret he had was not fostering his son out. This would help him see the lands he would be controlling in the future.

Arthur would probably approach him during this visit. The man had never liked him courting his sister. Never thought him worthy. Perhaps he was right. He'd led to her death after all.

The one thing Ned feared though, was the possibility of Arthur and the queen taking Lyarra from him, especially now that she was 16 name days and he couldn't really offer her as much as he could.

But he was a selfish man too. He wanted his children around him, and the south worried him. Regardless of being a bastard, Lyarra was of Stark and Dayne. Two powerful houses, and people might sought to use her for their own gain.

His wife turned towards him, resting her head on his chest and continued her sleep and Eddard Stark sighed softly, rubbing at her bare back.

Perhaps it was better for him to get some rest. The wall awaited in a few days, and even if Arthur demanded a talk with him, he would stand his ground, the Lord Paramount that he was.

He was a Stark.

He had honor.

A few days had passed since Lyarra's spar with the prince, or rather yet, her first spar with him. Over the next couple of days, she'd sparred with him at least two times. Her uncle though, had continuously turned her down when she brought up having a spar with him. Something about how she wasn't ready, even though the prince had praised her on her prowess.

One time, the queen and Lady Stark had watched a spar between the prince and Lyarra from above, with Sansa trailing behind both women. The queen had smiled as they fought, while Lady Stark had kept a blank face on, though she smiled and clapped politely after the prince had won. Sansa had an almost confused look on her face as she watched her bastard sibling fighting like some uncouth person. She'd gasped loudly at one point when Lyarra had hit the prince but the prince hadn't seemed all that breathless and could continue, but it still left Sansa horrified at Lyarra.

The prince had also sparred with Robb too, and Lyarra didn't know why, but she felt like some sort of friendship had come out from those two. She'd seen them ride together once or twice and she'd also heard they'd be accompanying both their fathers to the wall.

Oh how Lyarra had seethed with jealousy. She wanted to see the wall too!

Apart from that, nothing had really changed. Although, Lyarra had slowly began making her bath water hotter than usual.

Perhaps the hot water incident previously had given her a pause, but it didn't change the fact that she'd welcomed warmth it gave her. And that was one of the reasons she welcomed the heat.

Lyarra watched from where she stood as the retinue headed for the wall mounted their horses.

Targaryen and Stark guards surrounded the King, prince, Lord Stark and Robb.

Lyarra smiled as she waved Robb who have her a nod and a smile. Subconsciously, Lyarra's eyes slid over to the prince and waited till his eyes went over the courtyard.

He saw her and gave her a nod which Lyarra returned.

Her uncle would be going with the retinue, as well as Ser Gendry, but Ser Jaime Lannister would be staying back to guard the queen.

He was the only kingsguard Lyarra wasn't familiar with, but not because she didn't want to.

He always had this almost proud smirk on his face and from what Lyarra had heard from some servants, he was a rather rude and cheeky one. But he was handsome though.

Lyarra amusingly wondered if one of the qualities of a kingsguard was to be good looking. The three present in the North after all, were very easy on the eyes.

The Queen stood with Lady Stark close to her as they bid the group goodbye.

It would be a long journey, but at least they got to see parts of the north. Also, she'd heard a thing or two about her Lord Father being a monstrous rider. Whenever he led a movement apparently, they rode like the hounds of the seven hells were behind them and they usually arrived days before expected. She'd heard some of the Northern lords say it would be a hot day in the North before they rode with him next.

Lyarra watched as the retinue rode off, slowly vanishing from sight and she sighed, looking around.

Suddenly, Winterfell seemed more empty than usual.

As she prepared to leave and find something to do, a hand stopped her.

"Lyarra! You've been so busy!"

Arya glared up at her sister who looked at her, confused.

"What do you mean?"

Arya huffed, a moody look on her face that Lyarra recognized.

"You've been playing with the queen or Robb or Theon or even the prince!"

Lyarra stifled a snicker as she looked at her sister's balled up fist and then sighed.

"Very well. I am sorry, sweet sister. How about…"

She looked around before bending a bit and whispering into Arya's curious ear.

"How about I teach you a thing or two in sparring."

Arya's eyes widened as she bounced on her feet.

"Really?! You really mean that?!"

Lyarra quickly shushed her as she looked around warily.

"Try not to blurt it out. I don't want your mother finding out. Come on, we'll go to the godswood. She rarely frequents it except when your father is there. And Sansa never does anyways."

Arya vibrated with excitement as they passed the practice yard, taking two wooden swords instead of blunt ones, and were off to the godswood.

Lyarra spent about an hour with her sister, teaching her how to grip her sword, her stance as well as how to stand firm on her feet as the girl was petite and would probably grow into having a willowy form like their aunt Lyanna was described to have had in her teenage years.

The silver haired girl found that she was having fun teaching her sister and perhaps she could teach her a thing or two more as time went by.

"Okay. I think that's all for today."

"Noo! We were just getting somewhere!"

"Sorry sister. But if you're gone for too long, your Lady Mother would have to start a search party on your behalf. If it's found out you're with me, then it's even worse."

Arya sniffed.

"That's stupid."

Lyarra giggled as she moved towards the spring in the godswood, crouching in front of it and cupping some in her hand to rinse her face off.

It was warm, almost hot, as usual, thanks to the hot springs around Winterfell.

As she cleaned the slight dirt on her hands, Arya spoke up.

"Lyarra?"

"Yes?"

"Is it true… that you might leave us?"

The tiny and unsure voice spoke up quietly and Lyarra turned to her sister with a look of confusion.

"Leave? Leave where? What are you talking about?"

She chuckled, slightly confused and Arya frowned, folding her arms.

"Well… I overheard mother saying how the queen seemed to be fond of you. Robb told me your mother was her best friend and lady in waiting."

Arya gave her a sad look.

"You're not going to leave… are you?"

Lyarra sighed, drying her hand and walking over to her sister who hugs her rather tightly around the waist.

She must be worried if she's initiating a hug… was all Lyarra could think before she patted Arya's head warmly.

"Oh Arya. I'm not going anywhere…"

And Lyarra was sad that it seemed true.

"Wait. Really?"

The older girl nodded.

"Indeed. No one's told me about me leaving Winterfell, Arya. I'm still going to be around to teach you the basics of sword fighting."

Arya beamed, stepping back from her sister, eyes shining.

"Good. Because you have to stay here forever, with me and Robb and Bran and Rickon. Sansa can leave, we don't need her."

Lyarra laughed before shooing her sister off.

"Alright, alright. You should go clean up now before someone stumbles on what we're doing."

Arya groaned good-naturedly, though her mood had lightened up significantly.

"Ugh! Fine. Buy we'll continue this tomorrow, right?"

Lyarra shrugged.

"Maybe after your lessons with Septa Mordane."

Arya sniffed as if she'd smelt something horrible, turning to walk off as Lyarra snickered.

"I don't know why I need lessons with that Septa. I am of the north, not some southron boring girl. Why mother even allows…"

She mumbled as she walks away and Lyarra sighed, shaking her head as she sat beneath the weirwood tree.

Her conversation with Arya had brought up hidden worries for her future.

As much as Arya hoped she'd stay here forever… she knew she couldn't.

Even if she did, she wouldn't be able to live as freely as she wanted to. Lady Stark would probably breath down her neck till her old age and she dies. In fact, Lyarra wouldn't put it past the woman to live to the ripe old age of old nan, just so she could stay alive to watch her every move.

No.

Lyarra didn't want to stay here forever. Oh, she knew Winterfell and the north in general cocooned her safe from the true realities of being a bastard, but the Starks were highly respected and the north was loyal to the Starks and she had Stark blood running through her so no one truly said anything to her face.

But she wanted to see other places though and live as well as could be. She wanted friends and to live in a place that wouldn't be uncomfortable.

It was why the fact that her uncle hadn't brought up her letter made her worry that he wouldn't help her out.

She tried not to think about anything negative.

But she truly hoped he would take her with him when he was leaving. Or at least send her to Dorne.

But it also depended on her Lord Father as well. Hopefully he wouldn't mind sending her away if it would make his wife happy.

Lord Stark was a mad man.

That was what Aegon thought of the man at least.

With the grim face that most of the Starks seemed to have permanently engraved on their faces.

A week had passed since their journey towards the wall and Lord Stark had rode them like he was chasing some invisible entity.

Aegon would be an idiot not to admit that his thighs were beginning to hurt a bit.

Aegon turned to Robb who sat next to him, enjoying the warmth of the slightly large fire.

The men were resting after a day of harsh riding and as Aegon drank his soup, he spoke up.

"Your father is… a fast rider."

Robb turned to him with an amused smile.

"You can just say it how it is, Prince Aegon. My father rides like a mad wildling."

The prince quirked his lips slightly.

"So, this is no new thing then?"

Robb shook his head.

"The Northern Lords talk amongst themselves that it would be an hot day in the North before they willingly ride with him, except for something important."

"He certainly is a strong rider. My uncle Oberyn would be very impressed."

He truly would be. That man was a mad rider too. Aegon in fact had expected his father to have something against the harsh riding, but the man seemed to have taken it all in stride, keeping up and occasionally having conversations with the Warden of the North.

Perhaps his father wasn't so different from his brother after all. Their oddities just showed in different ways.

"My aunt Lyanna is just as much, if not a better rider than my Lord Father."

"Lady Baratheon you say?"

"Yes, My Prince. Her husband is said to be a great warrior but apparently he can't even hold a match to her abilities."

Aegon hummed, slightly in thought.

"Seems like the ladies of your house are quite the special ones."

Robb puffed up at the compliment.

"Yes. My sisters are just as amazing."

"I see that."

The silver haired young man said absentmindedly and Robb turned to him curiously, a wary look on his face.

"You seem to be impressed with my sister Lyarra's fighting prowess."

Aegon blinked a bit, nodding.

"Indeed. She reminds me of my sand cousins. The sand snakes they're called. Never get their attention unless you absolutely have to or you will definitely find yourself in the thick of very weird things."

Robb nodded, amused, before going back to his food.

Aegon thought about the girl, Lyarra Snow.

He had been rather curious about her when it was announced that they would be going to the North.

His mother had always told him about Ashara Dayne. A beautiful and fierce woman who he probably would have regarded as an 'aunt' if she lived.

She had been very excited at the thought to meet the woman's only child. Arthur also had a lot to say on her and her character.

And he definitely hadn't been disappointed when he saw her and had the chance to know just who she was.

A duty-bound lady, he'd call her. Much like the Starks and their obsession with honor.

Lady… well, she preferred to be called by her name.

From the little things he'd seen, she didn't seem all that happy in Winterfell. His mother hadn't said anything yet, but he had a feeling she'd be doing something about that.

She was a nice person too, once you got past the grimness that usually stayed on her face. A Northerner through and through.

And a beautiful one at that. She could easily pass off as a Valyrian, though there were a number of things that also made her stand out from Valyrians as well.

He welcomed interactions with her especially because she seemed like a brilliant girl who had respect for herself and like he'd said earlier… she reminded him of the sand snakes, but where the sands were like the Dornish deserts, Lyarra was like the Northern land of ice.

If they ever met, he wondered just what would happen. A day he'd surely welcome. He smiled, amused.

Bran Stark breathed in and out as he slowly moved along the little cracks of the wall which he used to hoist himself as he climbed across the walls of his ancestors keep.

It was a new obsession to everyone's frustration, but the young boy cared not.

He enjoyed climbing to the highest places he could find and enjoying the cold air and feeling like he was on top of the world.

They wouldn't understand.

If only they tried it, they'd know just what it looked like, what it felt like, standing so high up in the air, like he was flying.

He'd left his direwolf, the newly named Summer in his room and he was presently taking a nap.

It was so weird.

Last night he'd had this weird dream of moving around in the kennels where the pups still slept in, and he was surrounded by what he felt were his brothers and sisters.

But they were just his siblings' wolves!

He'd woken up feeling odd. He'd never had such a dream before. But he ignored it anyways. It didn't matter.

He let out a small cheer as he reached the top of the broken tower and sat there, staring ahead and enjoying the scene.

"Caw!"

Bran jumped slightly in fear, turning to his side where three crows saw, staring at him.

He looked away for a moment, before looking back at them as one cleaned under it's wings and one twisted its head a bit awkwardly.

"Corn!"

One croaked put and Bran giggled quietly.

"Sorry Lord Crow… or is it Lady? But I have no corn. Maybe when I come visiting next time? I could sneak some out for you guys. What do you say?"

"Caw!"

Bran beamed, looking as if he had gotten the right answer.

"I won't forget! Believe me."

"Stark! Stark!"

It cawed out again and the others joined it.

"Stark! Stark!"

Bran stared in awe, never having heard crows call out his name before.

He found it highly fascinating. But how did they even know—

"Bran Stark!"

A screechy voice resonated around and the crows cawed as they took to the skies and he looked down with a groan to see his elder sister, Sansa, glaring up at him.

"I'm telling mother if you don't get down now! She already warned you not to climb anymore!"

Bran huffed, slightly angry as he began his slow descent to the ground and shouted out at her.

"You just want lemon cake rewards!"

Sansa blustered a bit, her cheeks turning red before she walks a way with a huff.

"I'm still telling mother."

She murmured under her breath, slightly embarrassed.

Theon let his arrow fly and pierce into its destination and he grinned in satisfaction.

It had been close to two weeks since Robb accompanied Lord Stark and the King to the wall.

He had wanted to go, but had been turned down. As a ward, there were certain times he was allowed to leave Winterfell and now was not the time apparently.

Oh how angry he had been, to be rejected. As a child, when he had been taken from his home, he remembered feeling like he was matching to his death, but now in a way, he had slowly integrated himself into the Northern life.

He was still an ironborn though, and he wouldn't be changing that for anything in the world.

"Not bad."

A familiar voice spoke up behind him and he turned to see Lyarra staring at where his arrow had embedded.

"I know, right? I am just amazing."

He smirked and Lyarra huffed.

"A bow and arrow is easy work, Greyjoy. I'll have you know."

A mocking grin grew across his face, knowing he had her now.

"Oh? Are you just saying that because of how you never hit the right mark?"

He internally cheered at the glare she threw his way. Oh how he so loved to rustle her feathers.

When he had first been brought to Winterfell, he had been strangely fascinated with the silver haired girl who Robb had called his sister but Lady Stark referred to as the bastard. Perhaps it was because she looked so different from what he was used to, but he'd quickly learnt that she reminded him of his elder sister, Asha, especially when she'd punched him for calling her a stupid little girl with no future.

Theon had been a little satisfied when she ran off crying though, even though his nose had been hurting in that moment.

He and Lyarra had an almost passive-aggressive relationship. Who was better at this or that, who had the better way with mocking taunts, who was the better warrior.

Lyarra was the better sword fighter, that he could agree on… albeit grudgingly. But Theon was the better archer, and he never let her forget it.

Said silver haired girl huffed, yanking the bow from his hand and grabbing an arrow behind him, as she set them and raised it slowly.

She waited for a moment, and then fired… only for it to embed itself on the very edge of the target circle.

Theon laughed out, crowing slightly even as Lyarra's face turned slightly red and he thought it suited her.

"You ass!"

She slapped his shoulder rather harshly and his laughter quietened.

"Fine. Come here, let me teach you."

Lyarra sniffed and he smirked.

"Come now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Learning from the great archer himself. Many people beg to learn from the teacher, but the teacher has more important things to do."

Lyarra scrunched her nose.

"You are so full of yourself."

He did see the small quirk of her lips and he shrugged, holding onto her shoulders and turning her towards the target as he grabbed another arrow and handed it to her.

She drew and anchored it and he stopped her.

"Not so fast, Snow. Your stance isn't right."

"This is how I was taught."

Theon snorted.

"Hm, I'm not sure I believe you. Stand at a right angle to your target. Like this… and then your feet should be like this…"

He helped her with the stance before stepping back in satisfaction.

"Are you comfortable?"

Lyarra tilted her head in thought before nodding.

"Yes, I suppose I am."

She drew the bow again and he snorted, shaking his head.

"Not so fast, Snow."

He moved to stand behind her, and then slowly moved her elbow a bit higher, and as his other hand moved to her other elbow drawing the strings, he felt a bit lightheaded as he realized just how close they were.

His heartbeat quickened, even as his breathing increased a bit at the feel of her rear in the breeches she wore, pressing into him for a second.

"Like this?"

She asked, focused, not noticing the way she seemingly drove Theon up the wall.

Clearing his throat, he answered.

"Yes. Like that. Perfect."

After a couple of seconds, she released the arrow and it flew, landing close to Theon's perfectly aimed own and Lyarra cheered, a grin on her face as she turned to the quiet boy.

"Oh! I actually did it. You might be a great teacher after all, Greyjoy."

He nodded, before turning to walk away and she frowned, confused.

"You're leaving?"

"I have something to do. Continue practicing and you may just be a worthy adversary in a few decades."

"Fucking idiot!"

She shouted at him and he passed one of the guards who gave him a knowing look which made him scowl as he rushed towards his room, ignoring Bran running past him.

He locked his door as soon as he closed it, yanking his trousers down and holding onto his member as he pumped it briskly, a certain silver haired girl on his mind… as usual.

As he shot his seeds out, he sighed in frustration and relief. This wouldn't be the first time she was a subject of his fantasy.

Ever since he noticed not just her beauty, but her growing figure when she turned 14 and he had been 16.

The now 18 name days old ironborn knew he had no chance with the maiden.

And not because he was ugly or some such nonsense, no.

Theon Greyjoy was a lean and handsome young man, with black hair and dark eyes and he knew he got stares from quite a lot of women, which in turn led him to obsessing over sex.

He wouldn't deny that he was a promiscuous and vain man, much to Lady Stark's annoyance, but for someone like Lyarra, she would never bother with someone like him.

She was just too pure, and even he knew she deserved better than the life she presently had. Perhaps when he became the Lord of the iron islands, he would be worthy enough to ask for her hand and marry her.

No one would dare say anything. He was the son of Balon Greyjoy and he was no weak greenlander as well.

As of the moment though, the best he could do was watch her from a distance… let her star in one of his many fantasies and make sure no other admirers could get close enough to her, because he knew she had quite a lot. But no one would approach the daughter of their Lord Paramount. Also, Lady Stark was a scary woman, and everyone knew how she felt about the silver haired beauty. No one wanted to be on her bad side.

Theon breathed in through his nose, slightly irritated once he realized the slight mess he had caused.

He'd come back to it. For now though, he needed some satisfaction.

And he knew a certain redhead named Ros would be able to give him what he needed.

Meanwhile…
Dragonstone.

It was a slightly sunny day.

Rhaella smiled as she left the gardens of the castle, after having enjoyed the fresh air and sun rays on her skin.

Oh how she loved the outdoors.

Past experiences made it so.

Her life hadn't been the best. Being forced to marry her brother and have a child at just 13 name days.

And then loosing her children during or after their births. It had been a painful number of years under Aerys' rule. The things she went through… she still shuddered sometimes thinking about them.

It was why she avoided the Red Keep most of the time and spent her days here in Dragonstone with her son, Viserys.

She still visited Kingslanding every now and then, but she never stayed for long. There were just so many dark memories.

The only other seat of her family she visited was perhaps Castamere, and just twice. The Westerlands were full of scheming old men and women looking to foist one of their numerous sons and daughters on either her unwedded son or grandchildren.

She did make an effort to visit Summerhall whenever her grandson was there. It looked so different yet similar to the last time she had been there.

A beautiful castle that the sun seemed to favor. It always glowed a golden hue and was the beauty of the Stormlands. The first few times she had been there, the horror of the fire plagued her mind, as well as the horrific birth of her firstborn. But overtime, the warmth, beauty and the air of Summerhall and it's surrounding towns got an appeal to it that she stayed longer than a week… and then two weeks became a month sometimes.

Speaking of grandchildren, Rhaella was expecting a letter from Rhaenys sometime soon. She was the only one not to have gone North. Not that she blamed the girl. She'd heard of how chilly the place was, and Rhaella worried over Elia most especially.

She was quite the delicate woman and she hoped she took care of herself. Her ladies in waiting hadn't followed her after all, but she took her trusted servants. And Rhaella believed the Starks would do well by their King and Queen.

Rhaella especially wanted to know how Ashara's daughter was doing.

Poor girl.

How she had mourned the loss of the Shining Star of Starfall, as she used to be called. She knew Elia still missed her greatest friend, and the opportunity to see her friends daughter was one she'd take, no matter where she had to go.

It had been over a month since their departure and the occasional letters she got at least put her at ease.

Her family was the only thing she had in this world, and she was very protective of them. Ser Bonifer thought that at least.

And then, there was Viserys.

Rhaella loved her boy. Really, she did… but perhaps there was indeed some madness of some kind in the Targaryen line. Jaehaerys was probably right that a coin was always tossed at their births.

For Rhaegar, she used to wonder about his moodiness and the way he looked like he carried some dangerous secret that seemed to take so much out of him. Over the years, it had reduced, and he'd taken to being quite the king. A beloved one at that.

Viserys was an odd boy with odd qualities and odd ideas. He saw life differently and was almost whimsical about it and the pleasures it held. She still loved him that way… better than the madness of his father's.

He was 23 now, and she felt perhaps it was time for him to actively search for his bride.

He was the Lord of Dragonstone, awarded to him by his brother, to create a Targaryen seat for a new Targaryen family of Dragonstone which would be directly under the Targaryens of Kingslanding and lead Dragonstone on their behalf.

Rhaella thought the granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell would do quite well for her son.

She was presently 16 name days old. Perfect marriageable age. The Queen Mother had always been against young marriages due to what happened to her. 12/13 was too young to marry. Most girls nowadays married at the age of 15/16 and that was quite okay for Rhaella, though she preferred 16. 15 was appropriate for a betrothal. But of course not all noble ladies married at that age. Rhaenys was 19 years of age. But she'd heard the Tyrell heir was pursuing a betrothal with her. A nice boy from what she'd heard, and future Lord of Highgarden. Good enough for her granddaughter, regardless of his little accident during that unfortunate tourney she heard about.

She had been worried at first about her granddaughter's safety in the hands of the Tyrells, what with it being Oberyn Martell who had unknowingly caused his injury, but in a way… this could be seen as a payment of sorts to the Tyrells.

Willas Tyrell was good looking 25 name days old young man who was still yet to be married, regardless of the fact that he was a Lord Paramount's son.

A gentle, pious, and good-hearted man from what she had secretly gathered. Different from his father. Intelligent, studious, educated, and renowned for breeding the finest hawks, hounds, and horses in the Seven Kingdoms.

His sister would hopefully be like him. A flower she was called. Beautiful and attentive. Loyal and well learned under Olenna Tyrell. That alone worried her a bit. She knew the Tyrells were interested in marrying into the Targaryen family, but she suspected they still had their eyes on Aegon. She would leave all that to Rhaegar. He loved his children. He would never lead them astray.

As for Viserys, he was her responsibility still, no matter how much he claimed to be a grown adult. He would always be her baby. And besides, there was still the Velaryon girl… even though she was well past her marriageable age according to the nobles of Westeros. Presently 26… and rumors said she scares the suitors away and so they stopped coming. A strict and headstrong young woman who suffers no fools, she was told.

She was from the Velaryon family too. A loyal lot, ignoring the nasty business of Lucerys supporting Aerys over Rhaegar and dying standing for a mad man. His son had been the better sort, standing for Rhaegar instead. The man didn't seem that much troubled over his daughter's situation.

Ah well, only time would tell.

Now, where was her son—

Rhaella paused mid-step, her handmaiden stopping as well at the sound of a lute playing and someone singing.

She had no idea a bard had come to Dragonstone.

She turned to her handmaiden who bowed respectfully.

"It is the prince, my Lady."

Rhaella shook her head, following the music till she opened the door to a large room Viserys liked to use for his… work.

She paused, staring at what she saw.

The lutenist danced around as he sang and another drummed. A young maiden sang along with the lutenist and her son was right in the middle of the room, a painting canvas on an easel while he held a painting palette, a grin on his face as he painted away, looking at his… muse.

Rhaella looked around the room once more, before turning and walking away. She had other things to deal with than wondering how her son had acquired an exotic animal to paint.

For right there, on a red, fluffy sofa, was a sloth, slowly munching on a twig as Viserys cried out.

"Marvelous! Absolutely spectacular! This will indeed be one of my best works!"

She was too old to deal with this type of situations.

The Journey to the wall will be focused on in the next chapter, i just wanted to put some POVs out there, see how Winterfell is with the King off to the wall and give Rhaella a cameo as well... and Viserys too. He's not some mad dragon in my fic, obviously... he's just... the Targaryen crazy uncle, lol.
Next chapter is the wall, meeting Aemon and strange dreams.