Blake

The mornings in the North were rather pleasant, in Blake's opinion. Even if she had been born and raised in the rather tropical climate of Menagerie, Blake enjoyed a nice chilly breeze on a dry day. It was the sheer contrast to what she was used to, in her mind, that made it so appealing. Her Aura would protect her once the Summer ended and Winter arrived, though she did have to wear fur coats to lessen all the work her Aura had to do. Wearing a dress made out of wool that had been dyed black, Blake ate silently beside her Uncle in the Great Hall of Winterfell. Uncle Andrew, Ser Richard and Ser Clayton were amongst her companions, breaking their fast several tables away from the Lannisters, who sat at the opposite end of the Great Hall.

"You disappeared last night." Uncle Andrew said plainly, nursing his hangover with a mug of steamed brew. Ser Clayton, seated at the far end of their table, tore into a turkey's leg like a savage animal. Around him, the others followed suit, dining on a pair of turkeys and fresh bread that was still warm from the oven. She'd never really appreciated the simple beauty in a loaf of freshly made bread before her arrival here.

Blake dipped her spoon into the thick stew, likely made up of leftover venison that hadn't been cooked for last night's feast, and raised it to her lips. She blew on it softly before stuffing it into her mouth. Stews and soups always tasted the best on a cold day, which the North seemed to have plenty of. "I went to my room."

"You're a worse liar than your Father." Uncle Andrew shook his head in disbelief. "You should have learned from your Mother."

Hm, Uncle Andrew had been well in his cups by the time Blake decided that she needed fresh hair, as had many of her escorts. Her Father's knights had been granted rooms in the barracks of Winterfell, while the lower men-at-arms stayed at an inn in Wintertown, just outside the walls. Who had the strongest will to avoid drinking as much as they could, and not get distracted by a serving woman's embrace? Apparently that was not Uncle Andrew.

Her eyes drifted towards Ser Richard, who opted to dip a piece of dried bread into his stew. He had his lips pressed into a thin, serious line, with eyes as cold as the weather outside. Horpe noticed her gaze and soon met it, with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. Unlike Uncle Andrew and the rest of her Father's sworn knights, he didn't look hungover, though he had dark spots under his eyes from a lack of sleep. It reminded her, oddly enough, of Yang when she had to wake up for some of their early morning classes. At least, before they'd thought ahead to just install a coffee machine in their room, courtesy of Weiss.

"My Mother is many things, but not a liar." Blake said dryly. Ser Richard had been the snitch then. The rumors did say that he preferred the pleasure of killing, rather than spending time with any woman or whore. She found that a bit disturbing, but hey, her taste in men had been a bit off.

"Ye she is still a better liar than your Lord Father." Uncle Andrew countered easily. "Be on your guard, my Lady. The Starks may not be our enemies, but neither are they our friends."

"As you say, Nuncle." Blake's voice was softer now, finishing the rest of her stew in silence. She allowed her gaze to drift across the Great Hall, stopping upon every table that she could see.

Skipping the Lannister table, which had a miserable looking Queen struggling to eat her meal, Blake's eyes landed upon the table full of Northmen. Robb Stark sat in the middle, laughing as he tore at a slice of thick cut bacon with his teeth. He laughed at a joke the Greyjoy boy made, earning him a scowl from Jon Snow. The young bastard boy sat at the end of the table, away from the other noblemen who had joined his half-brother. Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard's younger brother, joined him, dressed in the traditional black of the Night's Watch. Despite being sworn to never father any children or hold any lands, to forever stand watch at the Wall, Benjen Stark's leathers looked expensive and new. Guess even up North, all men were created equal, but some were more equal than others. Jon Snow, who sat across from him, was scowling, as he kept sliding pieces of meat from his plate under the table, likely to Ghost.

She sniffed the air softly. It was Ghost, his smell masked by the mulled alcohol and seasoned stews that filled the air. Strange, why was he allowed to have his direwolf with him in the Great Hall? Blake had heard that all the Stark children had one, yet the only direwolf she had seen was Ghost. Then again, she'd only been here for a short period of time. Stuffing her mouth with another spoonful of meat stew, Blake narrowed her eyes in thought.

Highborn bastards were still invisible, it seemed, but they could be useful. Many had even risen to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It would be a shame if he followed his Uncle's footsteps, but who was she to question his decisions? As nice as he was, Jon Snow was hardly her friend, as bleak as that sounded. The Night's Watch was an honorable organization, somewhat, and while he might appreciate an offer to join the Royal Fleet, he might just as easily take it as an insult, even if there was a precedent. Ser Aurane Waters had been her Father's squire, and was now one of his most loyal captains.

"Interested in the Stark boy, eh?" Uncle Andrew interrupted her thoughts with a sly grin. Blake rolled her eyes as she finished the last drop of stew by soaking fresh bread in her bowl. Better he thinks that her interest is romantic, vs that of strategic. Besides, she preferred girls. "The Princess has her eye on him, though such a match would be useless, considering his Grace's wish."

Marrying Joffrey to Sansa Stark would bring the North into a tight alliance, a second marriage would be useless, especially with many other powerful Houses being much closer to King's Landing and possessing real benefits. Myrcella would likely be sold off to another powerful house, to ensure their loyalty.

"I have no desire to marry." Blake said bluntly, ending the conversation by stuffing the stew soaked bread in her mouth. Left unsaid was that if Father chose to, she could be married off very quickly.

She had work to do.

The Quiet Wolf

It was obvious why Robert had traveled all the way to Winterfell. Ned had known the moment he heard word of Robert traveling up the Neck, and when the raven with word of Jon Arryn's death came. Even a man that was blind and deaf could tell the man was up to something, much less someone who had been fostered alongside him.

"It's good seeing you, Ned." Robert groaned, his face red and fat. He didn't look like the warrior he had been in his prime, during the war against Aerys and even the Greyjoy Rebellion. Time changed everyone, and in this case, it seemed not for the better. "Gods its been far too long."

"It has, your Grace." Ned said with a small and neutral smile on his face. Catelyn wishes for him to reject the appointment, and he agreed. The last time a Stark went down south, they returned home to be laid in the cypt beneath Winterfell. And that wasn't considering he'd be taking on the most powerful role on the Small Council. Everyone clamored for that pin, and would happily kill one another for it.

"None of that 'Your Grace' shit, Ned. You're my brother, in arms if not in blood." Robert said sadly in a tone he hadn't heard from him in years. He sat in Ned's seat in his solar, nursing a goblet of wine from White Harbor. Ned sat across from him, looking across the desk at his sovereign. "If only Lyanna had lived, then we would have truly become brothers."

"We are brothers, Robert." Ned said, ignoring the pain that he felt in his heart at the mention of his sister. No, Robert must never know the truth. Not just because he would kill Jon, but because it would rip his friend's heart in twain. No, it was best this way. No one needed to know the truth.

The two sat in silence, nursing their wine with small sips, until Robert stood up from Eddard's chair. Ned followed suit, standing carefully as to not spill the wine over his letters. Petioners, correspondence from his Lords, even some fools suggesting insane notions like building a great canal across the Neck to connect one coast of Westeros to the other.

"I need you South, Ned." Robert stared into Ned's eyes, storm blue versus Stark gray. "Lord Eddard Stark, I mean to name you my Hand."

Eddard was never meant to rule Winterfell, no, it should have been Brandon, not him. Yet, at the same time, the Gods acted and men reacted. He went down on one knee. Robert tapped his shoulder, making him rise. "I am your Warden of the North, Robert. It would be remiss of me to abandon my duties here to ride south. We aren't boys anymore."

"Damn it Ned!" Robert roared, his anger flaring up for the briefest of seconds before he reined it back in. "I'm not asking you south to play and ride in the Kingswood, I'm here asking you to help me rule. You're no use to me up here freezing your balls off."

Ned's lips turned dry as he took a sip of the wine. "I belong in the North. The Stark words remain true, winter is coming, and we must prepare for the last harvests. You know as well as I do, this Summer was exceptionally long."

"You helped me win that bloody throne, more than almost anyone alive. We were meant to rule together, and with Jon dead, there's nobody I trust more." Robert continued, ignoring Ned's refusal. "If your sister had lived, we would've been bound by blood by now. Yet, I have a son, and you have a daughter. Through them, our Houses shall finally be joined."

A more than generous offer. To be the Lord Hand was to rule the Seven Kingdoms, second only to the king, and depending on the King, maybe even more powerful than them. And a marriage offer, a royal one at that, if Robert meant the boy Joffrey, then Ned's eldest daughter, his beloved Sansa would one day be queen. It had been a long time dream of the North, ever since the Pact of Ice and Fire had been signed, to marry one of theirs to the King. Eddard hardened his face and his heart. Robert may have been his friend, his brother, yet refusing him to his face right now would result in dire consequences. And yet, this was a major decision on multiple levels to be considered. No, he had to stall for time.

"Your Grace, grant me time to decide." Eddard said neutrally. "I must discuss this with Cat." It wasn't even an excuse, it was the truth.

Robert grinned and downed the rest of his wine, slamming the empty goblet on the desk. He then reached over, and embraced Ned, his still strong hands gripping the Northman's shoulders. "I know you'll make the right decision, you're a good man, Ned."

Eddard gave him a forced smile and nod of his head.

If only Robert knew the truth.

Blake

After breaking her fast, Blake was invited to join the young ladies as they practiced their stitches. Myrcella, Sansa and Arya Stark, along with a few of their friends and their Septa, a dour woman named Mordane. Blake had a little experience with stitches back home, the most she could do was help tie up a wound of someone whose Aura got too low and ended up with a nasty gash. Upon her arrival in Westeros, she'd never really been made to practice needlework, instead relying on her time in the training yard or other, more useful practices. Father was never the biggest fan of Septas and Septons, and never required that one became in charge of her education. She turned down the invitation as politely as she could, to the visible disappointment of Arya.

Instead, Blake found herself on a covered bridge that overlooked the courtyard, watching the boys spar under the tutelage of Ser Rodrick Cassel, a stout man with large white whiskers. A Northern Knight was strange and rare, most of the Houses north of the Neck worshiped the old gods rather than the Seven, with the Manderlys of White Harbor being an exception. That wasn't to say they weren't good warriors, just that they didn't call themselves Sers. It was a reminder that there was a stark difference between the North and the rest of Westeros. She paused for a minute, realizing Yang had somehow infected her with her punning, and it'd survived this long. Weiss was going to make fun of her if she found out.

Robb Stark was in the middle of a duel against Theon Greyjoy, who's Uncles had been smashed by Father during their ill-planned rebellion. Blake crossed her arms over her chest as her amber eyes watched the fight. Both boys wore well-worn leather armor and wielded blunted tourney swords that would still leave a nasty bruise if they were able to get a hit in. Yet, to her eyes, they appeared slow and unskilled. Not that they appeared to have been trained poorly or anything, but simply because they appeared to have never truly been in a fight.

A dark figure appeared beside her, accompanied by a mass of white fluff on his left side.

"M-My Lady." Jon Snow said in greeting, bowing his head. Ghost was beside him, panting softly as his red eyes stared at her. She reached down, and let him sniff her hand once more. Once he took a whiff, he licked her hand, causing a smile to appear on her face for a moment.

"Hello Jon." Blake said in reply, giving him a brief glance before turning her attention back to the spar. Robb Stark slammed his sword against the Greyjoy's shield. They had been trained, but their lack of real combat experience made them rather sloppy, in Blake's opinion. "Will you be sparring today?"

Jon shook his head softly, his black-brown curls framing his youthful face. "No, my Lady. It is not the place of bastards to cross blades with royalty, only the sword of a trueborn can."

"More than a few bastards have risen to become the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Blake said, just as Theon Greyjoy charged Robb with a battle cry that he thought sounded fearsome. "And in the Royal Fleet. Many have risen to command a galley, along with a knightship."

"I worship the old gods, my Lady, not the Seven." Jon Snow said solemnly. What a stubborn little boy. That or he was just obtuse enough to not quite get her subtle hint. It was too early to tell.

Robb and Theon's blades struck once again, sending a hum through the air. The sound of steel clashing on steel reverberated. Blake was grateful she didn't have her other ears, the sound would've been painful to endure.

"That matters little, any knight can name another." Blake shrugged. She wasn't the biggest fan of religion, though she wasn't a skeptic like Weiss. And she wasn't exactly an expert on the Seven, maybe she should have kept her mouth shut, in case someone accused her of heresy. On the other hand, it wasn't like anyone up North was invested enough in the Faith of the Seven to actually accuse someone of being a heretic.

Jon Snow remained silent, his gray eyes focused on his half-brother and his Father's Ward. The spar came to an end without a victor after Ser Rodrik gave a sharp yell. Up next were Tommen and Bran Stark, two sweet boys that wore leather armor filled with so much padding, the two could hardly walk. They were too busy to see that there were additional observers above them.

"I'd like to see you spar, before I leave." Blake said suddenly, and without thinking about it. The tips of Jon's ears burned red as he gave her a curt nod. Were all Starks, or at least the male ones, as shy as he was? She would need to have a conversation with Robb and Rickon Stark to see it that theory was true.

"As my Lady commands." He said politely. There were too many eyes within Winterfell for Blake to practice her own skill at arms. She didn't need Ser Richard reporting any other news to Uncle Richard. Fortunately, there were plenty of wide open spaces in and around Winterfell to use.

Blake gave him a small smile, when she heard the sound of something sliding against the rock. She turned her head carefully and slowly, giving an intruder a brief glance.

It was Arya, wearing a boy's clothes that seemed way too big on her waif like frame. The Stark girl quickly hid behind a piece of carved stone, made into the shape of a wolf, complete with bared teeth thrown into a snarl. Her small smile slowly grew as she turned her attention back to the duel between fat Tommen and sweet Bran. Behind her, she could hear Arya move back into position.

If only Arya was Ruby.

A/N

Another chapter that came out much faster than I had expected.