Blake

It took a month to arrive at the Twins, and it wasn't due to the distance involved. No, a faster rider could make it in less time, with frequent horse changes and riding as hard as possible every step of the way. Instead of making for the Neck as soon as possible, Uncle Robert stayed at every keep possible, feasting and laughing as he went. And when they weren't feasting, he was out hunting with local lords and his entourage of parasites. It was a complete waste of time, in Blake's opinion at least. While she could understand being able to check in with his Lords, she felt it was more of a chance to indulge himself once more. She was sure that was a sentiment that she shared with Father. He rarely hosted feasts, and they were generally at the behest of Mother, who convinced him after moons of arguing.

"You're more like your Father than you realize." Uncle Andrew said casually from her side, taking a polite sip of the cheap wine that had been offered to them. The best was reserved for Uncle Robert, who downed literal gallons of alcohol with his supper. Given they were being hosted by the Freys, she was half expecting the Late Walder Frey to try and pass off vinegar as wine for them.

Blake didn't turn her head, though she did give him a glance out of the corner of her eyes. She took a sip and winced at the taste, flat and watery. Typical, even for the Royal party, House Frey skimped on the provisions. "A strange topic to discuss over supper, Uncle."

They sat at the high table alongside Uncle Robert, the Kingsguard, and the Late Lord Walder Frey, who looked more like a dehydrated weasel than a man. A few of his children joined them, all laughing and jesting, as Uncle Robert drank all their wine and ate their food. The serving wenches carrying away empty bottles and plates and replacing them in what must've been a never-ending tide. Thankfully, Blake and her Uncle sat at the far end, away from Uncle Robert and Lord Walder and their crowd of sycophants. Still, with her enhanced hearing and given how loudly they were talking, Blake could easily hear their conversation. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if the sentinels standing watch outside the doors could hear it, given how loud the Hall was.

"And it's one I'm surprised you do not hear more often." Uncle Andrew smirked as he used a knife, decorated with an Estermont turtle, to slice into a nearby meat-pie. As he cut into the dish, steam arose from it, carrying with it an odor of roasted Auroch and vegetables. Not her favorite meal, but it was a fairly common dish at the Red Keep.

Blake shrugged, which was rather unladylike according to her tutors and her mother. Nevermind that she'd seen her Mother do the exact same thing when she thought Blake wasn't looking. "My Mother is the one who I'm often compared to." And they were both called witches behind their backs, and other, less complimentary terms. Mother for her spells, and tendency to ramble about her tomes, and Blake for the intenseness of her eyes. If the public found out she was studying her Mother's tomes, she'd likely end up with yet another new moniker.

"Yet, you have the Baratheon look." Uncle Andrew stuffed his mouth with the meat pie. "Hair as dark as your Father's, though far from being as thin." He said that last part with a light manly giggle. Was he aware of the treason committed by the Queen? Or was this just him making an observation? It was likely the former, given how close he was to Father.

Blake frowned at her Uncle's slight, but demurred. What little hair her Father had atop his head was still pitch black, with no signs of any grays. He may not have been as strong as Ghira Belladonna may have been, but they still had plenty of similarities. A strong sense of justice, for starters.

"I jest." Uncle Andrew swallowed. The main hall of the tower they were in was filled with people. Knights and minor lords sworn to the Freys, along with many of his small army of children by his many wives, long dead. The rest were from Uncle Robert's party, and Blake's. From her spot she could make out Ser Richard and Ser Clayton grimly eating alongside a Frey knight, likely one of Lord Walder's younger sons, or one of his son's sons. "You have his sense of justice."

Blake used her two-pronged fork to stab a sausage resting on a nearby platter and dragging it over to her own plate. Once there, she began cutting it into smaller bite sized chunks with her knife. "I would not have relieved Ser Davos of his fingers."

"Ser Davos is-was, a smuggler, and your Father's a hard man. I would have given him a kiss for those onions and salted fish." Uncle Andrew shrugged in response to her words. The Siege, where Uncle Andrew earned his knighthood, was still a sore subject for Father. Several of Mother's brothers had been there, serving as squires just outside the walls of Storm's End. Despite a rocky start, Father had somehow managed to earn Grandfather's respect, which Blake noticed during her last visit to Oldtown. "No, you have your Father's drive and sense of duty."

"Justice is important, without it, we would lose ourselves." Blake angled her head in her Uncle's direction, looking past him, towards Uncle Robert. "I am not unyielding, unlike my Father." She truly did love him, but Blake had to admit that he often went to the extremes. Still, she had to admit, while he did go to some extremes, he was incorruptible and loyal. Both of which were rare traits in Westeros.

Uncle Andrew took another bite of his meat pie, crumbles of the pastry getting stuck in his brown beard and a few pieces of ground meat and roasted vegtables tumbling to the table. He followed her gaze down the table to Uncle Robert, who was roaring with laughter at some crude joke by one of Lord Walder's sons. She thought it was Aenys, but the man had so many sons, they all blended together.

Her Uncle finally swallowed and set down his dagger on the table, leaned closer to her, his voice low and gentle. "Your Father is unyielding because he has to be. At Storm's End, he had us eat boot leather, to hold our King's seat and home. At Dragonstone, he had us assault the Keep in the middle of a storm, with him taking the van in his flagship. Whatever your Father asked of us, he would not hesitate to do himself."

Yet, Father yielded when Blake threatened to run away with Uncle Robert's party on his journey to Winterfell. Blake nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she pondered his deeds. She knew that side of her father all too well. Father's sense of duty was as heavy as a mountain, a weight he carried with no regard for how it might bear down on him or those around him. Blake admired him for it, yet at times, it felt as though he'd sacrificed parts of himself on the altar of duty. Her gaze lingered on the rowdy king and then drifted back to her Uncle Andrew.

"Perhaps we are not as similar as you imagined, Uncle Andrew." Blake said softly. "Father follows his duty with his every breath, unchangeable. Justice should be more than just a duty, more than just loyalty." She picked at her food absentmindedly. How wasteful were all these feasts? The ones in King's Landing had dozens upon dozens of different courses, a waste of money and food, with anything left uneaten simply thrown away. Meanwhile, the poor smallfolk were starving just outside the walls, to the point the King's Landing's infamous 'Brown Stew' was hinted to be human in nature. "Justice should protect the innocent and punish the wicked, the highborn and lowborn alike."

The smallfolk were always forgotten about in times of disaster and war. Yet, it was through their efforts that the entire system rested upon. Without them to plow the fields, there would be no Game of Thrones. Uncle Andrew listened intently, ignoring the jape from another Frey that was seated closely. "Perhaps, but your Father will not always be the Lord of Dragonstone. Soon, that title will be yours, should your Mother not give him a son. You will have to forge your own path."

Uncle Andrew only treated her like an equal because he knew the truth about her skill at arms, and 'supernatural' abilities. Blake was sure he'd dismiss her 'fantasies' if it wasn't for that knowledge. It was monstrous, and yet, Westeros's biases ran deep. It didn't help that the Dance of Dragons had ripped the Kingdoms apart, in part due to such a question.

"Perhaps." Blake murmured, her voice barely audible over the clamor of the hall. Any further conversation with her Father's former squire was interrupted by a weasel clearing his throat and speaking loudly.

"Your Grace." Lord Walder Frey croaked, lifting a goblet of Arbor Red. "I hear that your Royal Niece is, as yet, unwed. Perhaps I should offer one of my own fine sons, or grandsons. I am sure she'll find one she fancies."

Blake narrowed her eyes and shot the human weasel a sharp glare, which Uncle Andrew noticed with a sly smile. Uncle Robert roared in laughter, red wine dripping down his many chins, soaking his royal doublet. Surprisingly, a woman wasn't sitting on his lap as his companion for the night. Heh, he had standards after all.

Uncle Robert boomed as his many chins shook in response to the Master of the Twins words. "That's the funniest joke you've said all night, Frey." Huh. Guess even Robert didn't think that would be a good matchup for her.

Only a fool would marry a Frey.

They departed the Twins after two nights of feasting and drinking. Thankfully, the northern parts of the Riverlands were rather desolate, especially as they drew closer to the Neck. The black bog reminded Blake of Remnant, with half-drowned trees, and quicksand hidden beneath the muddy waters, with white fungus dotting the trees like polka dots. Here, the Kingsroad became the only dry safe route to the North, as the Royal Party traveled along the narrow causeway.

Said causeway was a wood and log road that was rotting and made quite a nasty smell. Yet, it was the only way to cross the Neck. It was one part a deliberate form of defense on the North's part, and one part simply the difficulty in constructing anything in a swamp. Blake stared out of her small wheelhouse, her golden-amber eyes staring at the swamp. She saw what looked like a log drifting in the swamp, but then she noticed what looked like it was an eye, but it could just be a knot. It blinked, slowly. Guess was one of the infamous Lizard-Lions of the Neck.

The Crannogmen lived in the bog, ruled by House Reed of Greywater Watch, loyal to House Stark, and the first line of defense for the Neck. Crannogmen were said to be smaller than an average human, sneakier too, according to one of the books Blake had brought along. The maesters said that they often fought with knives and frog spears, and that all of their weapons were poisoned. Others said that the Crannogmen had the ability to breathe underwater, and had webbed hands and feet. Blake had no idea how accurate her books were, but if she had to guess, most of the rather extreme ones had to be exaggerations.

"If my Lady wishes to see a Crannogmen, give the command, and I shall see one brought before you." Ser Clayton Suggs boasted to her. He rode on a black stallion beside her wheelhouse. Ser Clayton was a short and burly man, with a bald head and brown teeth. With pig eyes and nose full of blackheads, he was easily one of her Father's ugliest knights. Yet, his skill with the battleaxe firmly attached to his hip was without question, as was his loyalty to her Father.

"You'd be eaten alive by a Lizard-Lion, or drown in your own shit, if you leave the causeway." Ser Richard Horpe, just behind Ser Clayton, spoke up. The Knight of Moth's was the opposite of Ser Clayton. Tall, and lean, with dark hair and eyes of a killer. His formerly handsome face was covered in pockmarks and old scars from Father's campaigns in the Stepstones. His weapon of choice was a cutlass he had claimed from a pirate captain's body.

Both also had longswords strapped to their horses saddles in addition to their usual weapons. It was a bit excessive, but in her mind, she supposed it was better safe than sorry. And if nothing else, having spares on hand in case they needed a further reach would be useful.

The two were some of Father's finest knights, brave, loyal, and deadly with a blade, even if they would never be as skilled as Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan. Still, Ser Richard had been a candidate for a White Cloak, so he must've been skilled enough to give both at least some form of challenge. Of course, at the same time, given some of those who wore the White Cloak, well, it was questionable if skill truly was needed.

"I'd skin the lizard where it lies." Ser Clayton snarled, shooting a glare at the nearby trees. His hand drifted towards the hilt of his battleaxe. She doubted it would help, melee combat with something like that would mean having to fight it in a swamp. Not exactly a good environment to face it if one wanted to live.

"If the Crannogmen wish to not be found, they won't." Ser Richard said darkly. "They're likely watching us, even now."

And he would be correct. Blake could sense that they were being watched, but as a human without her faunus features, she couldn't tell if it was the wildlife, or the Crannogmen keeping an eye on them. There were just so many possible things that could be watching them. Especially given how the lizard-lions had proven to be especially sneaky creatures.

"Perhaps on our return, or when we camp at Moat Cailin." Blake said dryly. She would easily be able to sneak out of Moat Cailin unspotted, even in her personal armor. Even deaged and without her normal practice, Blake's aura made her stronger than any man and further enhanced her senses. Weiss was likely the only person in this world who could put up a decent fight against her, and likely win depending on the conditions of a practice fight.

In a swamp such as this, the trees could make up for Blake's lack of Dust, and help her avoid the Lannister's glyphs. An open field would be another story, with Weiss' glyphs not needing Dust to actually be useful. On the other hand, that would require Blake being foolish enough to engage in a standup fight with Weiss.

"As you command, my Lady." Ser Clayton said smugly, having been given 'permission' to hunt down a Crannogmen. He'd likely forget, distracted by the bosom of one of their camp followers. It would probably be a good thing, they didn't need the local guides to accidentally lead them into quicksand or some other nasty part of the Neck.

Blake turned her attention away from them, to give the Royal Banners that flew high in the air a brief glance. The black stag on gold, with a crown around its neck, the symbol of her family. She touched the pendant with the same stag that was attached to her necklace. Lord Eddard Stark would need to be a wise man to keep the realm from falling apart. If he wasn't, then she was afraid the only answer left would be war.

Blake was tired of traveling in the company of death.

After an entire week traveling slowly across the causeway, Blake being thankful none of her wheelhouse wheels had decided to break, the Royal Party finally arrived at Moat Cailin. Despite being a shadow of its former glory, the ruined stronghold still held command of the causeway, easily being able to hold off a much larger force with fewer men. According to legend, it had never fallen, and allowed the First Men to fend off southern invasions for over ten thousand years. Only three of its original towers still stood, all covered in green moss and white ghostkin.

As befitting her status as Uncle Robert's Royal Niece, Blake was quartered in the room beside her Uncle in the Gatehouse Tower, the largest of the three towers. A gnarled tree grew sideways from the stones on the northern side and reached towards her room's window with a twisted branch. If Blake didn't know better, she would have assumed that Moat Cailin was a Grimm stronghold, filled to the brim with the beasts of darkness.

"When will that blasted woman arrive?!" Uncle Robert grumbled as he broke his fast in the hall. They ate at the massive table, carved out of dark stone that the rest of the tower was made out of. Torches and the smallest of slits to allow in air dimly lit the large room with high ceilings. Yet, for all the gloom of the place, there was a sense of purpose there, of history. It reminded her of her home at Dragonstone. This wasn't some dilapidated ruin barely kept intact.

"A raven from the Twins arrived upon the morrow, your Grace." Ser Andrew spoke up, having joined them. He was still Uncle Robert's kin, even if he was closer to Father than the King. "Her Grace's wheelhouse suffered several broken axles and wheels, and will take some time to repair."

"Ah fuck." Uncle Robert groaned and cursed. "I should have allowed that bitch to stay at Casterly Rock with the Old Man. We'd be at Winterfell by now."

Ser Jaime Lannister was the Kingsguard on duty, standing a few feet behind her Uncle in full white armor. If he was scowling at the insult to his sister, his full-helm hid it. On the other hand, well, it was really hard to argue with. She had to suppress a grin at the image of Cersei's monster of a Wheelhouse trying to cross the causeway and failing. Maybe she'd fall into the swamp?

Blake said nothing as she silently chewed on her piece of hard-bread coated in a thin layer of warm duck fat. It was strange, knowing the truth about her 'cousins', yet not being able to say a word. Even if the Lannister features were more dominant than a Baratheon, at least one of Cersei's children should have some features from Uncle Robert. Blue eyes, pitch-black hair, anything! In the end, all three of the Queen's children looked pure Lannister, from head to toe. And yet, nobody said anything. Sure, one or two would've been fine, but nobody else found it odd that all of his kids looked like Lannisters? Or did they just not want to get involved in the resulting mess? After all, if you made that accusation and were wrong, well, the results would be very messy and bloody for you.

With Jon Arryn dead, that duty would fall upon Lord Stark. Hopefully he had learned from his ancestor, Cregan Stark. It'd worked pretty well at the time, to be fair, but here, in this delicate situation, it might not go well.

"Bah! We'll set for Winterfell without them." Uncle Robert grumbled as he drank his mulled wine. His supply would have to be rationed until they finally left the Neck. Maybe that would get him to somewhat sober up? Hah, and snarks and gumpkins would frolic around them!

"The Queen will find that to be a grave offense." Uncle Andrew said respectfully and bluntly. His eyes briefly drifted towards the Kingslayer before turning back to Uncle Robert.

"That woman can find an offense in my chamberpot for all I care." Uncle Robert scoffed before turning to Blake with a sly grin. "Perhaps I should arrange a marriage between you and one of Ned's boys."

It took all of Blake's self-control to not react outwardly, keeping her blank stare as she bowed her head politely, swallowing her toast. Still, it would be far superior to a Frey. At least the Starks were honorable and had a long and respectable history. And weren't somehow a pack of weasels that had learned how to walk upright. "My Father would be deeply offended, should you make such an arrangement without his consent, Uncle."

Uncle Robert groaned loudly and threw his head back. "Fuck, I already hear enough shit from Stannis' mouth."

Blake narrowed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something she shouldn't. She joined her Uncle's journey to keep him safe, and to see if Ruby has been reborn as a Stark. Admittedly, the former was mostly an excuse to get a ride up to the North, but there was some merit to it.

"Fine, we'll wait for the Lannisters." Uncle Robert sighed as he raised his goblet in the air. "More wine!"

It took another week before the Queen arrived.

A/N

Just want to say one thing, since I know a few comments about this will appear in the future.

Weiss is still the MC, even if the spotlight is briefly given to other characters.