New Chapter.
Sorrowful.
297AC. 7th Moon.
Summerhall.
"Who are you?"
She whispered out in command, and the figure finally moved.
A man.
With a shaved head of tattoo, he had a sad face as he held a dagger in hand, glimmering even in the dim lights of the room.
His mournful face settled on her.
"I am so sorry."
And he rushed towards his intended victim.
Lyarra let out a small shout as she dove over her bed, rolling to the other side and getting back to her feet even as her assailant's dagger dove into her bed, sinking into it effortlessly before he yanked it out, sad face on her.
A feeling of dread and irritation settled deep within her.
Why act sad when he was about to kill her??
"Who are you?"
She demanded in a cold and collect voice, her eyes straying towards the door opposite her but just as close to her assailant as he slowly moved around the bed and Lyarra gripped her dagger tightly.
The man said nothing still, sorrowful eyes on hers in the slight golden dim of the room which made Lyarra's heartbeat quicken with fear.
"Tell me! What do you want??"
She purposefully increased the sound of her voice so as to alert her guards by the door.
But most especially… to call in those closer to aid her.
The man must have come in through the windows in her bedchambers which were presently open, blowing in the cold wind of the night.
She let out a startled shout as the assassin dove towards her and she dived beneath the swipe of the dagger, using the opportunity to drag her own dagger across the stomach of the assailant which made him tumble back.
The man's face showed no sign of pain though, even as dark red wetness began to show.
What was he?
She pondered even as the assassin wasted no time moving in for an attack, taking fast and cleaned swipes at her which she vegan to find difficult to dodge in the tightened corner of her room.
Until…
"Argh!!"
She cried out as the sharp blade made contact with her arm and another almost cleaving off a finger if she had been a moment to late.
Blood gushed out and she found herself being glad when she felt no pain.
She grasped her dagger tightly in her unharmed right hand, sweeping herself to the floor and taking his leg with her before tackling him, uncaring of the dagger.
The two wrestled with Lyarra on top of him, and she suddenly realized she was a little bigger than him. He was a tiny man of sorts, thinner even.
But he had strength to back him up even as Lyarra slapped his dagger out of his hand, he grasped at her hair, making her grit in pain as he dragged her head closer to his and have her a headbutt before grasping her harshly and throwing her over, making her slide across the floor, close to the door out of her bedroom.
She quickly used that poor to grasp the door handle, turning it, and as the door opened, the hairs on the back of her neck raised and she rolled away from the dagger to her back with another shout.
Crawling further away from the man who was back on his feet, dagger in hand and a look of sorrow on his face, he held the dagger upwards and Lyarra trembled slightly.
There was no way she was going to go down this easily!
If this man thought she would allow him to—
No!
She bared her teeth out at him, even as he spoke up.
"Illyrio Mopatis sends his regards. I am so sorr—"
Angry screeches filled the air, attracting not just the assassin's attention, but Lyarra's, and the pair watched as the door was slammed open even wider, and the sleek silver fur of Ghost was the only blur she saw before he pounced on the fearful assassin.
"Ah!!"
He fell to the ground as Ghost took a bit out of his wrist holding the dagger which fell to the ground as the man's pained shouts filled the air.
But the dragons stood still, screeching and flapping their wings as Ghost bared his teeth at the moaning assassin hunched in the corner.
Lyarra felt something deep in her hearth… something flaming the anger deep within her in that moment.
This man had almost killed her.
She turned to stare right into the eyes of Reeva who had grown quite bigger in the past few days, much like Aegarax thought the onyx scaled dragon was nowhere near the size of the diamond scaled one.
Lyarra felt something as she stared at Reeva… something that resonated within her as slowly stared at the assassin slowly getting to his feet.
And she understood.
Even as she heard the door into her chamber slam open, she only called out to her dragons.
"Reeva, Aegarax… Dracarys."
The two dragons stopped screeching, and just as the guards busted into the room, the assailant was bathed in flames.
His screams were something Lyarra never wanted to hear again… though at the same time she welcomed the despair as the assassin ran across the room, trying to douse himself even as his pained screams haunted the room.
He finally saw a way to end his pain and suffering as he dove through the open window, falling to his death below.
Lyarra finally felt her adrenaline begin to leave her as she fell to her knees, Ghost rushing to her side as a form of comfort which she leaned into even as the dragons cooed as they toddles over to her, their growing wingspan making it awkward for them.
She heard the guards call out but she didn't care for who they called out too as she closed her eyes, wincing slightly at her left hand covered in her blood.
She could hear the bells of Summerhall castle ringing out in alarm, the steady heartbeat of Ghost and the shrieks of Reeva and Aegarax.
She was safe.
Lyarra winced slightly when she finally opened her eyes that early afternoon.
The bright sun a bit too sensitive for her eyes even as she moved to sit up from her bed.
"Easy…"
She froze for a second, before recognizing the voice, sighing out as she turned to the other person in the room.
"Aegon…"
She breathed out his name, and the Prince of Summerhall smiled with relief as he leaned over, taking her into his arms as delicately as he could.
"You gave me quite the scare… Lyarra."
The silvery blonde girl didn't care as she inhaled his very scent, finding herself relaxing even further.
"Where is everyone?"
She finally asked, feeling a nudge against her blanketed leg and turning slightly to see Ghost laid on the bed next to her, staring at her with his blood red eyes.
Perhaps to many, it would seem creepy, but Lyarra only felt a fondness as she stretched out her fingers, brushing her hands through his soft fur.
"Thank you Ghost. Where are the dragons?"
Aegon cleared his throat, pointing at the fireplace in the room.
"It took a while before they allowed anyone near you. And it was only me, I feel honored."
He playfully jested, making Lyarra smile wryly before a frown settled across her face as she glanced at her left hand bandaged up around the shoulder and then two of her fingers.
Aegon softly grasped it, careful not to hurt her.
"You were really lucky. The Maester had to stitch up the fingers, but thankfully you were not cut to the bone, which is a miracle seeing as the dagger you were attacked with was made of Valyrian steel."
Lyarra's eyes widened in surprise before she spoke up again.
"It was Illyrio Mopatis."
Aegon stiffened immediately, eyes intensely on her even as she stared at her bandaged fingers, trying to move them as much as she could.
"The assassin had a tattoo on his shaved head. He was a small man too. He kept telling me how he was sorry, and then he said Illyrio Mopatis sends his regards."
She looked up at Aegon, tensing slightly.
"If Ghost and the dragons hadn't been there… Aegon—"
"No."
The Prince shook his head, bringing her bandaged hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on it.
"There's no need to think about that. You survived. You're a survivor. That's all there is to it."
Lyarra smiled amusedly at his stubbornness but she decided to let him have his way.
He was right. She survived.
"What's happening now?"
Aegon sighed softly.
"Now? Well Summertown is in disarray. Rumors have spread about your intended assassination and the town as well as the castle is being searched for any sign of treachery. The body of the assassin has been collected. He was burnt to a crisp, but with your description now, I definitely agree that he was a sorrowful man."
Lyarra looked up at that, curiosity in her eyes.
"I have heard about them but not as much as the faceless men."
Aegon hummed, pressing soft kisses across her fingers and then the crook of her wrist, making her stomach flutter slightly even as she used her right to rub Ghost across the head.
"That's understandable. The sorrowful men are not as reliable as the faceless me. Unlike the faceless men who will continue sending assassins after a victim until they're dead, the sorrowful men will only send once, and if the sorrowful man dies in the process, they see it as a life being paid for at the end. But people usually pay for the sorrowful men because they collect less than the faceless men do, and the faceless men choose their victims based on what their god tells them. I already sent a letter to my father and mother, informing them of this."
Lyarra swallowed at that.
"What's going to happen now?"
Aegon sighed, sitting up grimly. She found herself disliking the look on his face.
"Now, I let them know who ordered this against you. The time of Illyrio Mopatis has gone to past. No one deals on the royal family and lives to tell the tale."
Lyarra smiled.
"I'm not a part of the royal family though."
Aegon raised a disbelieving eyebrow, making her stifle a laugh.
"If you think I'm not going into find a way to marry you soon—"
"Soon?"
She laughed out and Aegon smiled, his eyes following her every move.
"Of course, my future princess and Queen. No one is taking you from me. In any case, I fear your father finding out. He was already jittery about our betrothal."
Lyarra stifled a groan as she thought about her father. The man really could be a mother hen when he wanted.
A cold feeling settled in her chest.
Too little too late for all that care though…
"For now, the gates of Summerhall will be closed and everyone in the castle must be accounted for. There's also a curfew set in town for the next moon, just so we can be sure this was a one time thing. You will also be staying in here from now on. I do not care if it is inappropriate, we are already betrothed. It shouldn't matter."
He said stubbornly, mostly to himself while Lyarra frowned, looking around.
Now that she did, it certainly was not her room.
It was bigger and a bit darker compared to her previous room. With more Targaryen colors fitted around.
"Where am I?"
She asked unsurely. Adding to the fact that she was in a strange room, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be alone at night anymore, especially with what had happened.
There was Ghost of course, and as much as she'd like the dragons around, they were growing bigger in size.
And for the first time, they'd breathed fire!!!
The power she'd felt… it had been… very enticing.
She could understand even further, why Valyrians grew proud over time if dragons could answer to their calls this way.
"This is a room in my apartment."
As soon as Aegon said that, Lyarra's head snapped towards him where he watched her with an amused smile, eyes glittering.
"Your… apartment?"
He nodded.
"Indeed. My apartment is for the reigning Prince and Princess of Summerhall and though you do not carry the official title yet, this room was always destined to be yours. It is an adjoining one to my own bedchamber, so walking through that door leads to mine."
He pointed at a door to the side and Lyarra's cheeks burned red at how much of an easy access she had to his chambers and he to hers.
Aegon noticed her cheeks and chuckled lowly, leaning down for a kiss which she reciprocated, a warm feeling going through her and settling between her legs, making her cross them as she stifled a moan and he hummed in satisfaction, biting her lip and pulling back.
"I believe I very much like this new arrangement. Do you not?"
He grinned playfully, eyes dark at the flustered look on his betrothed's face as he leaned down once more.
She was safe.
Iron Islands.
Pyke.
The past few days had been a strange and frustrating one.
Yara Greyjoy had to be involved with the planning of her father's burial ceremony, seeing as her brother was still in the North.
Probably getting coddled by those fucking greenlanders too.
She snorted derisively, frowning as she sent another letter to her mother.
She'd have thought the woman would come but apparently not. It was too late anyways. The ceremony had already taken place.
She just wanted this to be over with so she could get on her fucking ship once more!
Looking around the solar, she gripped tightly at her quill, emotions flashing wildly in her eyes.
This… this should all be hers.
Everything should be hers. She was the one who stood by her father all these years. She was the one who protected the interests of her people… but because she was a girl, she already knew what others would think of her.
Fucking backwater.
It did make her think of her brother, Theon. She had seen him last when he was but a child. A scared and quiet little runt and nothing else. And then he was handed over to the Stark Lord.
What would he know if the seas anyways? He lived in the heart of Winterfell after all. Probably treated like some prince and having everything provided for him.
Not like in the Iron Islands though…
The knock on her solar door brought her out of her musings.
"Enter."
She barked out and watched as one of the thralls walked in, bowing where she stood.
"Milady. You've been called for."
Yara frowned.
"What authority does the person have to call for me and not stand before me?"
The thrall shifted slightly on his feet.
"It is your Lord uncle, Milady. Lord Harlaw has called for you to join him at the holy sight. Rumors are spreading… a Kingsmoot has been called."
A chilled filling settled in Yara's chest as she slammed her fists against the table in rage, making the thrall flinch.
"What is this? What is going on here??"
Yara marched over to the Lords standing around the holy grounds.
Many houses that had come for her father's burial and were seemingly waiting for any other news on a successor.
Drumm, Blacktyde, Farwynd, Harlaw, Merlyn, Saltcliffe among many others.
Amongst the lords, she was greeted with simple nods all the way to open sneers at her presence which she ignored as she came to a stop in front of her mother's brother who sighed.
"Yara—"
"What is this I hear about a Kingsmoot? Who planned this?? On what authority??"
Rodrick Harlaw opened his mouth to calm his niece, only to be cut off.
"On my authority, niece."
A shiver went down Yara's spine almost immediately at the sound of a voice she never thought she'd hear again.
The mumbles and murmurs died down as well as a path was cleared through the Lords, all watching as Euron Greyjoy lazily walked towards his niece, a too wide smile across his face and single bright blue eyes right on her.
Yara fought the urge to shiver but she wasn't sure she hid it well enough with the way his smile widened even more than possible.
Behind him, Aerion Greyjoy, her other uncle stood as well as the other disciples of the Drowned god.
An unwanted feeling settled deep within her.
"Uncle Euron…"
She breathed out as he came to a stop in front of her, standing a few inches above her with his blue lips gaining even more attention.
"What are you doing here?"
Euron grinned, spreading his arms wide.
"Why, I'm here to attend the Kingsmoot of course!"
Whispers picked up at that but Yara kept her eyes on her uncle as she frowned.
"Kingsmoot for what exactly? The Iron Islands does not produce kings any longer ever since we bowed to the Targaryens. And even if we did, my brother would rule!"
Euron barked out a laugh that straightened the spines of many.
"Ah yes, my nephew. Tell me, Yara… how is he? Are they teaching him well? Training him on just what it means to be an Ironborn?"
He grinned, all teeth as scattered nervous laughs filled the air and Yara stifled a curse as she began to understand just what was going on here.
"Theon is Lord of Pyke—"
"Only if the Drowned god says so."
Aerion Greyjoy finally cut in and Lord Harlaw finally had enough.
"This is a travesty! Balon's line survives and yet you wish to break traditions?? I will not allow it!"
He growled out, eyes moving from Aerion to Euron while many Lords kept their mouths shut.
Lord Dunstan Drumm was not one though.
"And what can a greenlander boy do for us? He's lived amongst our enemies all these years! To hell with him I say?"
Many murmured their assents, eyes brightening.
"You see, niece… everyone agrees with me. And with that, I put myself forth for King of the Iron Islands."
Yara spat at the ground disgusted, but Euron ignored her as he turned to address the other lords.
"For too long, we have had our strength tied down by the other kingdoms. For far too long, we have hidden like wretches, when we can be more! For far too long, they have trampled on us and mocked our traditions! But I say we can be more!!!"
Euron spoke with such dangerous passion that Yara could see it begin to affect many of the men there as she exchanged concerned looks with her uncle, Rodrik Harlaw.
"My brother tried to do the right thing. Really, he did. In fact, he had plans in motion… but he was going to go about it the way that brought our failure all those years ago. But not me! I have traveled the seas all these years! Acquiring knowledge and mysticism! I will do better! I will give you all freedom!"
"And the dragons?"
Lord Farwynd cut in cautiously. The small man looking around as if surrounded by mad men, which he was.
"Or have we suddenly forgotten about the girl who was said to have walked through flames and brought them back? Have we forgotten that they grow even now and have been tied to the Targaryen king?? Do we wish to turn the Iron Islands into another Harrenhal??"
He thundered out and some lords slumped at the question while some hissed in anger and distaste.
As for Euron though, his smile stayed on his face the more he listened, until he finally spoke.
"Ah yes… the wonderful Stark bastard. Do not worry yourselves. The dragons are still young and easily malleable. And besides, I have not been idle all these years. Dragons? Young dragons? They mean nothing. When I get my hands on the fair beauty, I will make he my saltwife and she will birth more dragons for me."
Many jeered at that while Yara tightened her fists, about to match up to her uncle when Lord Harlaw held her wrist tightly.
"No. Quiet!"
He hissed at her, making her grit her teeth in anger.
"I saw it!"
Aerion finally cried out, looking to and fro.
"I dreamt of it! The Drowned god showed me our future! A bright future free of the idol seven and the tree demons! We will be unstoppable!!"
"Join me! Make me your king! And I will provide what my brother never could. I will make you sit upon gold and lavish between women! I will make you feared and I will raise you high!"
"Leave. Now."
Lord Rodrick whispered harshly into Yara's ears, startling the girl who frowned.
"What?"
"Leave! You have to report this somehow. Whatever Euron has planned will never work! He is mad… mad as the warlocks of Qarth. Look at his lips, he has drunk with them! This will be the complete destruction of us all. We cannot let this happen."
"Bu—"
"You will win no support from these Lords. Many wish for the old days once more. You alone can do nothing."
Yara stifled an angry shout before breathing in and out.
"What must I do?"
"You sail. Sail now. And sail as fast as you can. Sail for the North where your brother is. Meet with Lord Stark and tell him to get the King's attention immediately. Perhaps then… perhaps we just might save the Iron Islands before it is too late."
As Yara quietly snuck off, the cheers of the Lords of the Iron Islands boomed into the skies as they hailed Euron Greyjoy their new King.
The North.
Winterfell.
Lord Stark sighed in his Solar that early morning as he went through all he could for the arrival of the Lords of the North in a few hours time.
Ned had always been a more private man. Quiet and prone to being in his mind. The thought of playing host to the Northern Lords made him shiver… and not from anticipation either.
The Lords of the North were a very… boisterous lot. Prone to loudness and craze.
And they would all be here… for a week of celebration.
Ned bent his head over his table stifling a groan.
He paused at the knock on his door.
"Enter."
"Ned? Is all well?"
The Lord of Winterfell fought down a wry smile as he looked up at his wife.
She really was a true beauty. Her luscious red hair packed behind her, making her bright Tully blue eyes shine brightly. She'd worn a dark grey gown with a protective fur lining around her neck, hands and feet.
"You look beautiful, wife."
Catelyn smiled as she moved to sit opposite him.
"Thank you, Ned. But you still haven't answered my question. Are you well? Should I call for Luwin?"
Ned shook his head.
"There is no need. I just needed to gather my thoughts before the Lords arrive."
Catelyn's eyes widened in understanding as she stretched her hand over her husband's great oak table and took his hand in hers, massaging it softly.
"You have no need to worry, Ned. I will shoulder your burden with you. And if the lord's become too rowdy, I'm sure the children's direwolves will have a thing or two to do."
She winked playfully at her slightly surprised and amused husband who chuckled.
"Of course. Why was I worries in the first place… are the children ready?"
Catelyn nodded.
"Robb is making sure Arya doesn't muddy her dress. Bran and Rickon are with Old Nan for the moment, while Sansa is in her room, finishing some touches on her face."
Ned smiles softly at the mention of his older daughter.
"If she looks any better than she already usually does, it might be difficult for me to turn down all the numerous betrothal discussions from the Lords of the North and their heirs."
He japed and Catelyn huffed half-heartedly.
"You just have to inform them you have an agreement with the Lady Arryn. Impeding on such would be a dishonor to the house of your foster father."
She reminded him and the Lord of Winterfell sighed, knowing it was true.
He really was not enjoying all this talks of betrothals much. But it was better to be involved now before getting blindsided like he was during Lyarra's.
"And what does Sansa think of the idea?"
At this question, Catelyn smiled softly.
"She is positively ecstatic. The fact that she might end up Lady of the Vale appeals to her very much. She also seems very curious of the land you fostered in."
Ned smiled at that, pleasure filling his chest at that.
His time at the Vale was indeed some of the greatest times of his life. Growing up and adventuring with Robert who has now become his brother by marriage.
He sighed fondly before rearranging the papers on his desk. He had quite the number of discussions to make with the Lords. They would be opening their home to them all for a week and he could already imagine the stress it would have on him and his preference for silence and privacy.
Most especially, he needed to inform them of Theon's ascendance to Lord of Pyke and what it could mean for the North.
They probably would celebrate Balon's death too. Hopefully not in front of the lad. He might not have grown up around his father, but he was his father still.
And then there was Lord Bolton as well. Having heard of the news of the distress the man's bastard son had caused around his lands, and yet Lord Bolton had done nothing against it. And now the boy was dead after some kind of run-in with his trueborn brother.
He never brought it up with Catelyn either, so as not to fill her head with delusional parallels between Lyarra and possibly Sansa.
Things had been wonderful in their household for moons now, and he would like it to stay that way, although any mention of his firstborn still affected the woman.
He absentmindedly wondered how Lyarra was doing. She seemed to be settling into life as a growing woman. Perhaps he had no right to feel proud, but he was.
A knock on his door interrupted him from his discussion with his wife as Maester Luwin's voice sounded from behind the door.
"My Lord, guards have spotted banners from up ahead."
Catelyn immediately got to her feet with a smile.
"It is time. I will go gather the children."
The Stark household and guards stood outside as they awaited the first group of Lords to enter.
House Manderly seemed to have started their journey earlier than many others as they were the first to arrive.
Robb watched next to his father as the familiar fat man walked over to his father with a respectful grin.
"Lord Stark! It has been a while!"
Ned grinned as he clasped hands with the man.
"Ser Wylis. Good to have you here."
Wylis Manderly, heir to the Manderly seat grinned as he nodded firmly.
"House Stark called and we answered."
Times like this, Robb felt pride in not just the loyalty his house held amongst the North, but also the steadfast Lords as well.
The man's wife stood a few feet away with his daughter. Wynafryd Manderly. She was close in age to him, with long brown hair in a Norther braid as well as pale skin like every Northerner.
She was quite beautiful too, and it made him ponder if she was here to try her luck with the heir of Winterfell, but he remembered his lessons with Luwin and his father.
Lady Wynafryd wash heir to the heir of house Manderly. She would take over after her father's time. She could not marry another heir. So perhaps she was here for some second or third son.
"Those direwolves sure are mighty looking!"
Ser Wylis marveled as he stared at the family of direwolves on one side, all standing at attention with Grey Wind at the forefront. The leader of the pack.
Robb smiled.
Soon enough, more lords arrived.
The Karstarks and their sons and daughter. The Mormonts and their bear-like women. Robb almost winced at the strong grip Dacey Mormont had and he noticed the girl smirked at that. The Forresters arrived soon enough. The Glovers behind them. And then the Umbers whose voices already gave them away even before they could be seen.
"NED!!!"
The Greatjon's voice shook the whole courtyard and Robb exasperatedly wondered whose voice was louder between the man and his Lord uncle, Robert Baratheon.
Probably Lord Baratheon. The man embodied his Storm ancestors down to his monstrous voice.
How his father survived that fosterage, he would never know.
Greatjon was a giant of a man, closer to 7 feet in height and twice as wide as Hodor, monstrous hairy and heavily muscled arms like his sons seemed to have inherited, the man was a formidable warrior with fists as large as hams and the younger version of him by his side seemed to have inherited everything of the man, even down to the growing beard and brown hair. Their faces were of the jovial type though, even as the Greatjon clasped his father's arm and patted his back.
He idly wondered what that felt like with a wince. It seems his father was already used to it though.
"Greatjon. Good to see you're well."
Ned smiled fondly at his friend. No matter how time passes, Greatjon never seemed to change. Only perhaps a couple of grey in his full beard and that was all he could see.
Greatjon laughed out.
"Well indeed, my friend! And those wolves of yours are looking particularly hungry for blood. They haven't grown completely have they??"
Ned shook his head with a slight smile as he looked at the pack. Shaggydog seemed to have grown tired of doing nothing with his siblings as he howled into the skies, hackles raised and sharp wide fangs frosting in the bright morning light gleaming for all to see.
Smalljon whistled where he stood next to his father, awe in his eyes as it brightened with idea.
"Perhaps I could wrestle them?"
Robb threw him a look of shock, but then the Greatjon slapped his son over the head, making the giant stumble slightly.
"Wrestle direwolves, boy?! Just tell me you're ready to join your grandfather in the great beyond why don't ye! Ye great big bag of—"
"Why don't we take this inside, Jon? I'm sure you'd enjoy some mead in your belly."
Ned watched in amusement as the angry look on the older man's face turned to one of hunger, same as his son's.
Smalljon's younger brother, Harmon's, snickered where he stood behind with his elder sister Arrana ignored the commotion.
Now she was a true Northern beauty.
Many seemed to watch the giantess in curiosity as well. It was quite rare to see an Umber woman around, mainly because the men tended to be awfully protective, much to the Umber women's exasperation.
It did not mean Umber women did not know how to use their weapons though.
At 18, Arrana Umber was a woman grown and seemed to have attracted Robb Stark's attention.
She was 6 feet in height, with a muscular but curvy body which attracted eyes with the fitted fur gown she wore which had a slit by the side, showing legs covered in tights.
On her waist rested a slightly large axe that did not seem to slow her down, similar to both her brothers in style though Smalljon's was abnormally huge.
She had long brown hair braided down her waist with bright brown eyes, much like her kin, and she must have felt Robb's eyes on her as she suddenly turned to him, eyes glittering in amusement as he blushed and looked away.
Robb turned away in embarrassment, hoping no one had seen his misstep.
A few feet away, he spotted Theon who seemed to be in his own world.
Ever since the letter from the Iron Islands arrived with news of Balon Greyjoy's death, his friend had been quiet.
Not that he could blame him. Aside from the fact that the man was dead, it meant Theon would have to become Lord Reaper.
His friends time in the North was coming to an end… and he found himself haring the thought of what seemed to be a final goodbye.
Shaking his head, he turned back to his duties.
Now was not the time to think on such things. This week was to be one of festivities. He would ensure it stayed that way too.
As the first wave of Lords slowly arrived and settled in their various apartments, Ned let himself relax a little bit more.
Later that night, the festivities began proper. More Lords had arrived at different times of the day and the hall was full of dancing and singing and celebrations.
Sansa seemed to be positively vibrating with excitement. This was her type of scene. Arya on the other hand mostly entertained herself away by sneakily throwing peas at those around her and snickering at the confused looks on their faces afterwards. For the first time in his 10 years of life, Bran was finally allowed to attend a feast, and he wasn't so sure he would like to attend more.
Who cared about stupid dancing and shouting and drinking till mead ran down the side of one's face?! He would rather prefer enduring sparring practice with… Arya of all people, than watching his father's bannermen talk about thing he didn't care for.
Lucky Rickon.
Next to him, Robb watched In an amusement, the brooding look on his brother's face and nudged him.
"Chin up, Bran. It'll be over soon. If you stay about an hour, I'm sure mother would let you leave. It is your first feast after all."
Bran perked up at that, beaming.
"Really?"
"Of course. Although, I really don't know why you're in such an hurry to leave. It is not as if you'd go sleep."
Bran glared stubbornly at his brother, ignoring his sisters bickering.
"I really am off to sleep! There's many things that can happen while you sleep."
He kept his mouth shut after that, leaving Robb to sigh exasperatedly before looking back at the loud scene around the hall.
Theon had decided not to attend which had left Robb alone. He would have gone off to socialize with the heirs around his age like the Karstarks, but it was probably better for him to stay where he sat. He had after all noticed the many eyes on him from the younger ladies around the hall.
Although…
"BAHAHAH!!!"
Smalljon's voice resonated over the loud music and jeers as he forcefully danced around with one of his distant kin who wasn't looking impressed as he yanked his hand out of the bigger man's grasp, landing a punch on the drunk heir to Last Hearth and eliciting more laughs around their table.
Robb chuckled quietly as he took a sip of mead, watching as Smalljon shook his head slightly, punching the man in return who fell to the ground in a faint. He let out a laugh, raising his hand up as many cheered him on, only for his younger sister, Arrana to get up, grab an empty cup of mead and smash it across his head, leaving the young man to stumble over a bunch of passing ladies whose screeches could be heard from a mile away.
Robb couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips at the commotion, especially the unconcerned look on Aranna's face as she sat back down to eat, ignoring the wary looks thrown her way.
The heir to Winterfell jumped, a little startled as he suddenly found himself staring into the eyes of said lady as she raised an eyebrow and he quickly looked away, ignoring his now reddening cheeks.
Hopefully no one saw that—
"Your cheeks are red, Robb."
Oh for the love—
"Quiet, Arya."
But of course, Arya never listens as a creepy smile grew across her face.
"I saw you looking at Arrana Umber. Robb… do YOU like her?"
She wiggled her brows much to Robb's exasperation.
"No I don't. And what do you even know about liking someone? Is there something I should know?"
He smirked, trying to shift the teasing back to her and Arya shuddered in disgust.
"Shut up Robb! S'not like Arrana would like you anyways. She'd beat your ass into nothingness."
She brought her tongue out and Sansa cleared her throat as she stared at the Umber daughter.
"She's quite beautiful. Not particularly womanly though."
Arya turned to glare at Sansa before Robb could as she sneered, taking offense.
"Well what would YOU know?! Little Miss perfect!"
Sansa blushed red.
"I only speak the truth!"
"You're only jealous!"
"I am not! I already have a betrothal—"
"He hasn't even accepted you yet!"
"How dare—Agh!"
Sansa screeched as Arya threw a pie down the front of her chest before running off with a vindictive grin, a screeching Sansa behind her.
Robb watched as his mother finally noticed and he stifled a grin as he watched her get up and leave the hall in a huff, after her rowdy daughters.
He really was glad not have been born as a lady. He would probably have killed himself, wearing all those dresses and spending hours on your hair alone or the face paints… he wrinkled his nose before turning to Bran with a smile, ruffling his head.
"What are you thinking of, I wonder?"
Bran smiled wryly before turning away from his brother, seemingly staring and nothing and something all at the same time.
"Dreaming."
"Huh."
Robb wasn't so sure he truly understood what that meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Another dang began, this one a fast dancing song and Robb watched as many paired up for the dance. It was a rather popular Northern song after all. He watched as new pairs moved to dance, including Wynafryd Manderly and Torrhen Karstark, one of the son's of Lord Karstark. He wondered whether or not there would be a betrothal before the week was out.
Thinking about betrothals made him shiver slightly as he remembered his discussion with his own father.
Robb was almost 17 now and apparently, he needed to secure his House… according to his mother.
He grunted slightly, his mood darkening as his swept his gaze across the room that probably contained his future bride.
He certainly was not interested in any of these girls—uck!
He choked on his drink when he caught the eyes of 15 name days old Alys Karstark who had been sending him googly eyes all this while apparently.
She startled slightly at being caught in the act, quickly looking away with red cheeks while her other lady friends giggled with her.
He turned away slowly but surely. There was no way he would find himself betrothed to someone who reminded him of his sister, Sansa in character.
Subconsciously, his eyes sort the Umber table once more, but no one caught his eyes this time and he turned away with a sigh.
Next Day.
"Ned! Good to see you again!"
Benjen called out as he jumped off his horse, moving to hug his brother and happily clap his back.
"You too, Benjen. You look well."
Ned searched his brother from head to toe, making the younger Stark smile amused, his grey eyes glinting much like his brother's.
"I am well. The wildlings haven't killed me yet."
Ned glared at him.
"That is not something to joke about."
Benjen laughed, slapping his brothers shoulders.
"You are still the same! Take a joke, brother. Now, where's Cat?"
Catelyn smiled as she moved forward to hug her good brother.
"Wonderful to have you here, Benjen. Mayhaps you can calm him better than I."
Benjen chuckled.
"This is the man you married, Cat."
"Uncle Benjen!"
"Robb! Look at you! A grown man already!"
Robb laughed as Benjen patted him fondly.
"It is not so long ago you last saw me."
Benjen grinned.
"And yet, you seem to have grown even taller. Now… where are the rest of your brood?"
Catelyn and Ned exchanged exasperated sighs at the mention of the rest of their children.
"Arya is nowhere to be found at the moment. Bran is with Old Nan, he seems to be fatigued this morning. Sansa is doing her duties as daughter of House Stark of course."
"Of course. And there's no need to ask of little Rickon. The wild wolf that he is."
Ned chuckled.
"Indeed. Come. Let's get you inside and feel your belly with something warm."
"I would like that very much."
Arya was bored.
Her mother had been positively wrought with her after last night.
Stupid Sansa!
The 11 name days old girl seethed as she angrily stomped past the guards, towards the godswood where she was sure no one would be at the moment.
It was early afternoon, and many of the Lords seemed to have been busy with her father while me faces had arrived along the line.
Everyone just seemed so busy!
Sansa was following their mother around like a lost little duckling, with Jeyne right behind her. Or at least that was where she last saw them.
But now, Arya was bored!
No one her age had come for the feast! All of them were either Sansa's age or Robb's age and they didn't seem to have time for her either. And then Theon who would have kept her company, if only to tease her, was somewhere moping about who knows what!
She stomped into the godswood, kicking angrily at the snow and ignoring how they gathered around her boots. She didn't care if her mother complained later on. It was her boot and she'd dirty it how she liked!
As she walked past some trees, she heard quiet and familiar giggles and she craned her neck slightly, eyes widening in surprise as she spotted her sister and Jeyne, clearly peeking at something on the other side, wistful sighs escaping them occasionally.
She sneered slightly as she marched up to them, suddenly hearing the soft melody of a song being played as Nymeria ducked into the woods to play on her own while Arya came to a stop behind the older girls and she frowned.
"What are you two doing?"
She demanded, startling both girls into shrieking as they jumped away from their hiding place, red faced.
"Arya!"
Sansa cried out, looking behind her back and flushing even more before grabbing a mortified Jeyne and running off.
The younger girl watched them leave, confused, even as the melodious tune came to a stop and she heard a soft sigh.
"You chased my audience away… granted they had no idea I knew they were both there."
Turning at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Arya found herself staring at a boy.
He was obviously older than her but younger than Robb. With dark brown hair to the nape of his neck, slightly covering his face, pale skin and eyes so clear they were almost creepy to stare at, and yet, rather than making him cold looking, he appeared warm looking instead. He was quite handsome with an almost humble feel to him while he held a lyre in hand as he stared at Arya curiously.
Arya glared at the interloper.
"I don't care. You can go away then."
She huffed and he chuckled, brushing his hands across the lyre and the sweetest of sounds filled the air, making Arya's ears perk up subconsciously.
"I guess I'll just have to make do with you as my audience then."
An angry frown appeared across Arya's face.
"I'm not interested in some stupid boy playing music! Go away!"
But the boy does nothing, much to her increasing ire.
"How about if you let me play a song and I'll tell you about the Vale?"
The younger girl stared at him disbelievingly.
What could he know about the Vale anyways? And who was he? Some Lord's son?
"Fine."
She acquiesced, curious to find out whether or not he knew about the Vale. Arya was particularly interested in finding out more about the Knights of the Vale and of they were as good as her father used to tell her.
The boy smiled before tapping his chin in thought and having seemingly decided on a song, began to play it.
Arya grunted internally as she listened to him play.
He wasn't bad. At least he knew how to play… not like stupid Robb always bursting everyone's eardrums whenever he got it in his head to play.
Meanwhile, Ned who had finished entertaining the lords that afternoon decided on a little quiet time by heading to his favorite part of the godswood when he came to a stop where he stood, the sight of his daughter watching a boy play almost giving him an heart attack.
Arya!
Arya of all people!!
No!!!
Never! Not Arya too!! As if Sansa was not enough already! No!!
He marched forward, making his presence known as the boy stopped playing and Arya turned to him.
"Father!"
"Lord Stark."
Ned came to a stop next to his daughter, placing a protective hand on her shoulder as he stared emotionlessly at the boy.
"Domeric Bolton."
As soon as she heard his name, Arya perked up.
"Bolton??"
She whispered out in awe and curiosity.
"You're a Bolton?? Is it true Boltons learn to flay when they're 5 name days old?"
"Arya!"
Ned chided her sternly but Domeric chuckled, shaking his head.
"5? 5 is too young an age, my lady."
He then playfully winked at her, cutting off Arya's angry tirade about being called a lady and making her eyes widen.
Ned Stark could only watch in consternation.
The Vale.
The Lady Regent of House Arryn sat in her late husband's solar as she waited for her son to arrive.
She reread the letter she'd gotten from Lord Stark once more, a look of consideration appearing on her stern face before she looked up at the knock on her door.
"Enter."
She called out as the door opened and her son walked in with an exasperated sigh across his handsome face.
"Why have you called me so early, mother? Couldn't you have waited till afternoon perhaps? Maybe dinner?"
He sighed exasperatedly as he slumped into his seat, ignoring his mother's look of distaste.
"If I had waited till dinner, you would have left for town before I had the chance. Now sit up and act like you are meant to!"
She snapped at him, making him sit up immediately, even as he rolled his eyes.
"Whatever do you want, mother?"
He groused and Rowena Arryn sniffed.
"You are now 17. I cannot be your regent for longer. The Lords have began to talk. Lord Royce also reached out to me about discussions of betrothals—"
Jasper Arryn sat up at that, a look of panic in his eyes.
"Wait, betrothals?! Absolutely not! I am 17 still and—"
"And the only direct heir of your father! I will not allow you to destroy the Arryn legacy! You must marry and provide heirs! And not the bastard ones you seem rather good at creating!"
She glared angrily at her son who rolled his eyes, unconcerned with her issues.
"Look mother, I do not care for marriage. I do not care for any woman—"
"Then count your blessings, for one has landed in your lap. Your father's foster son Lord Stark has sent a letter on behalf of his eldest daughter."
Jasper Arryn raised an eyebrow.
"His eldest daughter? Isn't that the one betrothed to the prince? Beauty that she is…"
He smirked wistfully. If only he had gotten a chance with her during the feast last year… oh the things he'd had in mind—
"Not that one. I mean his trueborn daughter, the Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell."
Her son stared disbelievingly.
"Isn't she supposed to be a child?"
Rowena Arryn stifled a sigh for the thousandth time.
"She is 14 name days old. She will be 15 by next year and this is a great opportunity for our house. The Vale lords will be very satisfied with such a match. The daughter of Ned Stark will also foster connections for us with the Lady Lyarra Dayne as she is Lady Sansa's sister. This should keep the murmurs of the Vale lords to a minimum for the time being."
She finally looked up at her son who looked unhappy with everything.
"I will be sending your bastards and their mothers to another town where I can keep an eye on them. They may be girls, but they may have their uses later on in the future."
Jasper shrugged uncaring. It wasn't like he'd ever met them anyways. His mother was the one who dealt with them after all.
And besides… it was better not to inform his mother about the possibility of a 3rd bastard just yet…
"Do whatever it is you want, mother…"
He sighed mournfully.
"I do not care about your decisions, but do not suddenly think I will care about this girl you have selected for me. I will do my duty and act how you want me to, but my life is mine alone to live."
He leaned forward with a glare, making his mother nod stiffly as he stood up and walked out.
Rowena Arryn watched her son leave in disappointment.
She would not allow the line of Arryn to die in her own time. Not when that Hardyng bitch is poking her nose around.
She didn't care if her son didn't come to love Lady Sansa, all she needed was the joining of both families and a couple of children down the line.
Jasper was an idiot and a womanizer, but at least he knew how to keep his business quiet… at least he NOW knew how to.
Staring back at the letter, she decided to give it a few days, and then she'd pen a letter back to Lord Stark.
Now she only had to inform Lord Royce.
End chapter for now!
This month has been so stressful and busy! And the next 2 will be as well. But this fic certainly keeps me going, lol!
So a lot of things happened as well as introducing other characters into the bunch.
Next chapter, Yara arrives in the North. The King and Queen ensure Lyarra's attempted assassination is kept quiet, Euron Greyjoy continues his plans and in the Westerlands, things continue to move.