Blake
They departed Moat Cailin the day after the much delayed arrival of the Queen and her children. Blake had initially assumed that, with keeps so far apart from each other in the North, that they would've been able to make up for lost time. Of course, that ignored the fact that the North's roads were, to be blunt, anemic. Once one left the Kingsroad, which was fairly basic this far North, there was nothing but sheepherder's paths and basic trails. The Kingsroad turned to mud and dirt the farther North they traveled.
It was a vicious cycle, people didn't travel up here, so the roads didn't get investment, and as a result, people didn't travel because the roads were in poor condition. Combine that with the Queen's large and impractical wheelhouse they were dragging along, and it meant they had to stop every few miles to repair its wheels or axles or change out some of the horses. Uncle Robert and the Queen had many a screaming match over the Wheelhouse, with him threatening to smash it into kindling after its most recent thrown wheel.
That still didn't stop him from sleeping in her wheelhouse every night, since Uncle Robert neglected to prepare a tent that was suitable for the North's climate, even in Summer there was frost everywhere. Granted, she was one to talk, given it was nearly cold enough to start hitting her Aura. The weather reminded Blake of Atlas and how cold it was, minus the horde of Grimm that surrounded the kingdom.
Blake shot the Royal Wheelhouse a sharp glare as she sat beside a fire, imagining the oversized hunk of wood burning, ideally with the Queen inside. If only her issues could be solved that simply, instead she had to worry about preventing a war and punishing the guilty. Uncle Robert would have Cersei's head on a stake, with Joffrey and Tommen sent to the Wall, with sweet Myrcella to the Faith. That would be the best scenario, with Father and Lord Stark hopefully restraining their King from anything more drastic. Of course, that would also leave Tywin Lannister as a factor, one that would need to be dealt with. The Old Lion wouldn't take this lying down at all.
Her amber eyes kept staring into the fire that heated the cast iron pot that was suspended above the flames, and she could smell the aroma of the stew cooking inside of it. The fires licked the iron as the cook stirred what was inside with a long handled wooden spoon.
"I thank R'hllor for the food provided." The Cook, Jon, added, which earned him a frown from Blake. Despite her Mother's attempts, there was a small core of people that had been converted by Melisandre. Numerous knights, men-at-arms, and servants now turned their gaze to R'hllor, Melisandre, and Father. On one hand, she could understand where they were coming from. The Red Faith did have legit miracles to play with, and given the Faith of the Seven was corrupt as sin, it was only logical to change religions. Yet at the same time, Melisandre reminded her of Cinder a fair bit. Sure, she was more caring, and surprisingly good with kids, but something about her felt off.
Mother only kept her around because Melisandre had done what she promised, curing Shireen when no one else could. Even if Blake didn't like her, that was a debt that could never be repaid. She was sure Father felt the same way.
Blake said nothing in response, keeping her eyes trained on the fire. It would ruin her night vision, but she didn't need to worry about that. Her aura would always ensure that her eyesight was better than that of a normal person. The dusk was starting to set in, and soon such fires, torches, and the moon would be their only sources of light.
"The night is long and full of terrors, yet R'hllor's fire protects us." A harsh voice joined them, Ser Richard Horpe. He sat on a log that would soon be consumed by the fire, once it was needed. The would-be Kingsguard wore iron chainmail under a pitch black fur coat, with a longsword strapped by his side. His scarred face seemed to absorb the surrounding light, as he looked towards the fire, with hunger in his eyes.
Blake turned her attention towards him for the briefest of moments, resting her elbow on the armrest of the small stool she sat upon. While he was one of Father's more bloodthirsty knights, his loyalty to him was ironclad. He would've made a fine whitecloak, but for the slattern masquerading as a Queen. "I didn't know you were a believer of Lady Melisandre, Ser Richard."
"I only believe in what I can see." Ser Richard said bluntly. He eyed Jon the Cook, who returned the gaze when he thought the lean knight wasn't looking. It wasn't as intimidating, despite Jon's best efforts. A trained killer wasn't about to be scared by a Cook, no matter how many knives he had on hand. "It's not often that greyscale is cured."
Blake pressed her lips into a thin line. If only Ser Davos had been able to return with Mother's tomes from Oldtown in time, she would've been able to heal Shireen herself. Still, what was done was done, and Shireen lived. It was a frightful display of the power Melisandre had on call, and had kickstarted the burgeoning Red Faith's presence on Dragonstone.
"My Mother's spells are real." Blake said dryly. "As are mine." Left unsaid was that it was not her Mother's spells that had saved her younger sister, but rather Melisandre's Red God.
Ser Richard's face remained impassive for a few seconds, before he bowed his head. "As you say, my Lady."
He was her Father's man through and through. Blake narrowed her eyes as she gave the man a glare. She wished Brienne was here, but the future Evenstar was back on Dragonstone with Shireen, serving as her handmaiden and guard. Brienne had made no secret of her friendship with Shireen, and it was likely the woman would be her sworn sword one day. At least, until she took over as the Lady of Evenfall Hall on Tarth, that is. The sound of approaching footsteps caused Blake's ears to twitch ever so slightly, an old habit, even if it was with the wrong ears.
"My Lady, Ser Richard." Uncle Andrew approached, a brown fur cloak wrapped around his tall form. It matched the shade of his beard, which hid his frowning lips. He ignored the cook and Ser Richard after his greeting, leveling his disapproving eyes in her direction. "You should be inside, Lady Baratheon, you shall catch a cold if you stay out here."
And if she went inside one of the tents, she'd likely end up having to spend time with the Queen and her children. Hence, why she was sitting out here in the first place.
"I enjoy the cold air, Ser Andrew." Blake said softly. Atlas had been extremely cold, to the point it actually caused her Aura to flicker, especially the day when everything went wrong and the great Kingdom fell to Salem and her Creatures of Grimm. The day they failed. "The wind kisses my cheeks, like the breeze from the Narrow Sea."
The Estermont's frown never disappeared, but in the end he was no match for Baratheon stubbornness. "Your Father would have me gelled if you caught a chill. I shall have a servant bring another fur cloak, and more kindling for the fire."
Blake said nothing else as she turned back to Jon the Cook, still stirring the stew. The aroma from the iron pot slithered its way into her nostrils, causing her stomach to grumble silently, hidden by the loud noises of men drinking and eating around the camp.
The shadows caused by the fire grew longer as night fell.
After several more days of traveling, repairs, and cold weather, Blake could finally make out the outline of Winterfell, which drew closer with every passing hour. A pit started to form in her stomach, which Blake tried to ignore by focusing on the book she brought along that discussed the Northern Houses. House Stark had ruled the North for over a thousand years, until House Targaryen came with fire and blood, and Torrhen Stark bent the knee before Aegon the Conqueror.
"Quite a boring book you have there, my Lady." A voice snarked, coming from the open window that Blake kept propped to circulate the air. She gave the newcomer a brief glance out of the corner of her eyes.
Green eyes, long blond hair, a sarcastic smile, and a white cloak. Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer trotted alongside her wheelhouse upon his stallion. He fit the stereotypical image of a knight for both Westeros and Remnant, objectively attractive, good with a sword, and superficially charming.
"History is never boring, Ser Jaime." Blake said bluntly, closing the book. History would show that Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were his bastards born of incest. His reputation would be further sullied, hopefully enough to overshadow his infamy as the Kingslayer. "Without it, we are doomed to repeat past mistakes."
"Yet I always fell asleep during my lessons." Ser Jaime continued, in a brash tone. "How dull, just like your Lord Father."
Blake turned her head quickly to shoot him a sharp glare. These Lannisters always overstepped their boundaries. It was a miracle Weiss was able to survive and prosper among them. Then again, the Schnee was one of the strongest people she knew, mentally at least. And it was oddly fitting for her to wind up there.
"I'm sure you have better things to do than insult my Father, Ser Jaime." Blake narrowed her eyes at the Kingslayer. "What business do you have with me?"
Ser Jaime ignored her glare as his stallion kept pace with the slow wheelhouse. "His Grace requests that you ride beside him when we arrive at Winterfell."
A great honor, one that made Blake nervous. It took all of her self-control to not jump out of the stands when she was reunited with Weiss, if Ruby was here as she suspected, Blake didn't know how she would be able to react. She best start preparing herself, steeling her face and eyes. If she was right, and Ruby was one of Lord Stark's daughters, then she really couldn't act on impulse. She needed to be calm and collected here.
"Very well." Blake reopened her book, turning to the section about Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell during the Dance of Dragons. "You may go." She used her best impression of Weiss, channeling all the heiress's detachment and disdain from her early days at Beacon.
Ser Jaime dipped his head slightly, his laid-back smile never leaving his face as he urged his horse onward, leaving Blake alone once more with her thoughts and book. She turned a page, getting to the Hour of the Wolf, which made her smile a little.
If only Yang was here to join her.
Winterfell was a grand keep, with two huge walls and numerous towers from what Blake could see. Guard turrets that sat upon the outer and inner wall made the Stark ancestral home look as impenetrable as Storm's End. If the legends were true, Brandon the Builder constructed Winterfell with the help of giants and magic long gone. Just outside the main gatehouse, sat the winter town, with rows of plain log and stone houses. It was a fantastic castle to see, not as grand as her Dragonstone, but amazing nonetheless.
"Bah! Look at her!" Uncle Robert said with a large grin. He wore his crown that seemed to be made out of antlers, and wore a black doublet decorated with the Baratheon stag in yellow. "Much prettier than Dragonstone, eh?"
Blake gave her Uncle an impassive glance, riding alongside him. She wore a black dress that covered her shoulders and arms, with a matching fur coat that wrapped around her slender form. Several feet behind them rode Joffrey, along with his lackey, the Hound. Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Andrew joined them, though they rode closer to Blake than the Crown Prince as part of her entourage.
"Dragonstone has its own charm, your Grace." Blake said dryly and with a hint of homesickness. Ahead of them rode the members of the Kingsguard, with Ser Jaime holding a white banner, and Ser Mandon Moore the Royal Banner, both wearing their full set of white plate armor and decorated helmets. A dozen other knights from the Crownlands, Westerlands, Stormlands joined them as Uncle Robert's honor guard. Ser Boros Blount joined the Queen, riding alongside her wheelhouse further back.
"A shame your pretty eyes are blind, Blake." Uncle Robert laughed at his own joke, with Ser Andrew joining in. Uncle Robert urged his stallion faster, the beast gradually picking up speed in response to his spurring. "Come on! I want a warm bath you fucks! Ride faster!"
With that, the knights urged their horses onward at a gallop, with Blake matching her Uncle's speed. Holding onto her reins tightly as her hair whipped with the wind, Blake took a deep breath as they rushed into Winter Town.
All she could do was hope that her prayers would be answered.
Weiss
Weiss' armor felt like a second skin, and after her debut in King's Landing, Weiss no longer had to hide her skills, nor her glyphs. Wielding the blunted copy of Kalimeris, she lunged forward, scraping her opponent's shield with a screech of steel on steel. The knight was as armored as she was, with full plate and helm, yet Weiss danced around him as if she wore nothing at all. Another slow strike was directed towards his helm, which he blocked by moving his longsword to intercept.
The training yard of the Gold Keep was full, filled with spectators as Weiss and her opponent continued their duel. Rosamund in particular yelled the loudest, standing beside Alis and Septa Loria. Father and Mother sat beside her, with a third seat unused by her little sister. Some of her previous victims stood there, shouting encouragement at her current partner, either out of actual sympathy or because they bet money on him winning, the poor saps. Podrick was the only one actually cheering for his distant cousin.
"You're slowing down, Cedric." Weiss snarked as she relaxed her grip on her blade. Cedric turned to face her, keeping his shield close and sword at hand. He'd learned to keep an eye on her at all times, this was just a remedial lesson since he had grown lazy. "All of Lannisport is watching, you best not embarrass me, you're my sworn knight."
"Of course, my Lady." Cedric refused to move, his feet planted on the ground like a tree. Either he was too tired to try and dance around her, or he was playing to his advantage by making her come to him. "However, I wish to be able to sleep tonight without any bruises."
Weiss smirked underneath her helm as she aimed her blunted blade at Cedric. "It's a pity, then, I'm afraid that simply isn't possible."
Cedric adjusted his grip on the longsword, slightly dipping his head in response. "Fuck."
Her smirk turned into a grin as Weiss bent her knees slightly to launch herself once more. She could see Cedric taking a nervous step back as he raised his shield in expectation of an impending attack.
It was good to be home again.
A/N
Another week, another chapter. Now that its almost the end of the year, several GOT/ASOIAF fanfic competitions have started! A Song of Weiss and Fire has also been entered, so feel free to go vote and check out the other amazing stories.
Voting links will come as they open.