Weiss

Lannisport was a fine city, great even, despite not being as well known as the other major cities. While it may not have been as large as King's Landing, or been the center of knowledge and learning like Oldtown, Lannisport was well organized, rich and clean. It was home to the best precious metal smiths and jewelers in all the Seven Kingdoms, and likely the world. That wasn't being arrogant or anything, Lannisters really loved gold and other valuable minerals, so there was a readily availible surplus of material to work with. This meant there were always some master smith or even an up-and-coming smith trying to experiment with different patterns and shapes to curry the favor of the local nobles. Weiss was one such local noble, walking down the Street of Gold with her elbow interlocked with the smaller and younger Rosamund, who was gazing around in a sense of wonderment. Already, Weiss could smell the heady odor, a unique mixture of earth and fire rolled into one, and hear the clanging of hammers on anvils. Alis joined them, walking alongside Rosamund in a pretty green dress.

Behind them were their escorts, Cedric and Ser Robart, Rosamund's sworn sword since her birth. The former man-at-arms had grown older and fatter since his survival during the Sack of Lannisport, yet his eyes were still sharp as ever. He reminded her, oddly enough, of Ser Tylan, in how he acted around her. Both wore fine leather armor and had their longswords strapped to their sides, more as a show of force rather than for protection. Today, that duty belonged to the four Red Cloaks from the City Watch that joined them, courtesy of Ser Jacelyn Bywater, and an additional four men-at-arms from Ser Bonifers Holy Hundred. It was overkill, in Weiss' opinion, but that was Father's wish. He had grown paranoid over something happening to them since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Between Weiss's own skill, and the fact that Lannisport was a safe town, it was more a formality than anything, really. Still, it was touching, Weiss much preferred an overprotective father then one who wouldn't care if she had been maimed or killed outside of it impacting his stock price.

"We should commission a new necklace, Rosamund." Weiss said with a small, real smile on her face. Mother had commissioned a Myrish seamstress to sew her a new set of dresses, which meant they were going to need new jewelry to match. Weiss had graciously volunteered to take her sister around Lannisport to find a jeweler. The fact it got her out of the castle and let her see how Lannisport was growing was just icing on the cake.

"Really?" Rosamund looked up at her with wide eyes. Her blonde curls framed her pretty face, as pale as Weiss', with the Lannister nose.

"Of course." Weiss looked up into the sky, admiring the stone buildings that surrounded them. Life was starting to become more interesting for her. She turned her gaze to the silent Alis. "And I'll commission a bracelet for you, Alis."

The Peckledon girl brushed a lock of her loose hair behind her ear and shook her head slowly in response. "M-My Lady Weiss, you are far too kind. It is too much."

Weiss waved her off with her spare hand. "Nonsense, you are one of my dearest friends. See it as a gift of my appreciation for your companionship."

The Peckledons were a House of landed knights, and were far from being one of the richest Houses in the Westerlands. Alis may have been a 'lesser lady' to most people of Westeros, but she was loyal and kind. And as one of Weiss's few friends, she deserved to be rewarded for her loyalty.

Alis formed a shy smile and nodded her head. "You are very kind, Lady Weiss."

Weiss' smirk would likely not leave her face for the rest of the day. Their small group entered a small smithy, with the guards from the City Watch and the Holy Hundred taking their positions outside. Perhaps Weiss should commission something for Blake, something inconspicuous like a ring or bracelet.

After all, what was the point of wealth if she didn't spend it on her friends?

Blake

The Godswood of Winterfell was beautiful. Sure, the Red Keep had a Godswood, but it wasn't as well maintained or as peaceful as this one. The multitude of trees formed a dense canopy, with Blake being able to spot various different species at a glance. Ash, chestnut, elm, oak, and even ironwood just to name a few, all dotted the Godswood's grounds. Blake took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of old packed earth, humus and moss wafting through the air. It was refreshing, unlike the piss, sweat and shit and worse of King's Landing. Now that was a smell that Blake's sensitive nostrils were not looking forward to upon her return south. The Royal Party would likely head south within the week, once Uncle Robert finally received some sort of answer from Lord Stark.

Her velvet slipper clad feet gently followed the trail of broken stones, old and covered with moss. Blake's amber eyes wandered the Godswood, spotting the squirrels that lived in the oak trees, scurrying and looking for nuts to eat, chattering with one another. Joining the band were the birds, small shrikes that chirped as they sat upon the higher branches of the canopy, resting from the sun, now high in the sky. The Baratheon girl kept following the trail until she reached a small clearing, with a lone tree at the center.

Blake's eyes widened slowly in awe at the sight she beheld. An ancient weirwood tree stood at the center of the grove, with a melancholy face carved into the wood, standing over a pool of cold black water. That must've been the heart tree, the center of the Godswood, she had read about those. Weirwood was rare down south, with the heart tree in the Godswood of King's Landing being a grand oak. Staring into the wooden eyes of the face carved into the weirwood, Blake approached slowly.

It was said in the south that the Northmen worshiped the trees, with many of such weirwood trees having faces carved into them by the children of the forest, creatures long extinct. Blake was inclined to believe such theories. After all, dragons used to roam the world centuries past, and she had seen the skull of Balerion the Black Dread in the dark cellars of the Red Keep. If dragons were real, what else was real, but relegated to myths? History would slowly evolve into legends, and legends would become myths after long enough.

Blake stopped by the edge of the black water pond, careful to not wet her slippers. She tilted her head to the side staring at the carved face, her eyes scanning every crack, every chip, every dip in the wood. How long has this weirwood been alive? How many Starks had it seen come and go? If only the trees could speak, what would they say?

"What are you doing here?" A voice asked, it was young and familiar, and not one that sounded like an old tree. Without even a blink, Blake turned her head to the side and after a second of looking and seeing nobody, looked down.

Gray eyes met amber-golden. Little Arya Stark was staring straight at Blake, wearing a dirty, brown dress. Strange, the only times the former faunus had seen the Stark girl in clean clothes was during their arrival and the feast. The little girl likely ran away from her handlers several times a day. She was oddly reminded of when she was a little girl, and would lead her own handlers on a merry chase.

"Exploring." Blake answered, forming a slight smirk. The Starks seemed like a nice enough family, and Arya appeared to be close to Jon, from what Blake could see. Plus, it wasn't like she had anything to hide. At least, in this regard.

"Why?" Arya asked again.

"I have never seen a weirwood tree before." Blake shrugged and turned back to the wooden face. It appeared to be smiling at her, almost. "They're rare south of the Neck, and I don't know if I'll ever get this chance again."

It was the honest truth.

"You're interested in the heart tree?" Arya pressed, taking a step forward and turning her attention to the carved face. "I heard your southron people had them chopped down or burned."

"Thousands of years ago, when the Andals arrived in Westeros." Blake said softly, remembering her lessons with Maester Cressen. The old maester's hips weren't as good as they used to be, he was likely training his replacement by now. He'd helped to raise her father after he witnessed his parents drown in front of him, and served as a surrogate grandfather to her and Shireen.

"And the Kings of Winter stopped them at Moat Cailin!" Arya suddenly formed a grin on her face. The bones of such ancestors were buried deep within the crypts of Winterfell.

"So you do pay attention to your lessons." Blake snarked, which made Arya's pale cheeks turn a shade of red. She was pretty sure the Wolf Girl was missing most of her lessons. Still, she couldn't talk, given she'd skipped her fair share of lessons growing up, both in this world and in her last.

"Only the ones about fighting." Arya said wistfully. "I wish to be like Princess Nymeria, or even that Lannister Lady-Knight from the South!"

Ah, so the rumors of Weiss winning Joffrey's nameday tourney had spread so far, even the Starks in the frozen North had heard about it. That day still replayed in Blake's dreams whenever she fell asleep, making eye contact with Weiss for the first time in over a decade, feeling her fingers gently brush her hair as the Schnee placed the crown of lilies upon the dark haired girl's head. It was quite literally, the best day of Blake's life.

"You think that's silly and foolish, don't you." Arya turned away. Judging by the brief interactions Blake had noticed between the Stark sisters, Sansa likely didn't get along with her. It was natural, given Westeros' view on women. This world was misogynistic and cruel.

"Of course not." Blake said, tearing her eyes at long last away from the weirwood tree. "During the Siege of Storm's End, even the women and ladies had to learn how to fight. My Father has had me train with a crossbow since I was a child."

Arya turned back towards her, with wide eyes, brimming with hope. "Really?"

"Indeed." Blake gave the younger girl a reassuring smile. It was an easy white lie, Blake wasn't going to tell a stranger the whole truth, as nice as the Starks were. Besides, it was nice to find another girl who was interested in fighting. Maybe she could see if she would be interested in fostering down in Dragonstone? That would be a great first step in gaining the trust of House Stark, and win them to her Father's cause.

The Stark girl opened her mouth to speak once more, when the sound of leather boots running on the trail of broken stone caught Blake's attention, her ears twitching slightly. She turned her head towards the path that led to the heart tree. A Stark guardsman, wearing a mail shirt and coif, ran towards them. He had a worried and serious expression on his rather comely face.

"Alyn?" Arya questioned, her face a display of bafflement. The guard came to a stop a few feet before them, his mail coif pulled back. His face was red and sweaty, taking several deep breaths to get air back into his chest.

"My Lady." Alyn said in between the breaths. "Young Bran has fallen from the Broken Tower."

W-What?

A/N

A much shorter chapter than usual, but for good reason! The next update is already 50% finished so you won't have to wait long.