Chapter 13

"Good evening, Lord Stark," a striking redheaded woman purred. "Welcome. Your usual table?"

Brandon nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, thank you, Lolla."

"Right this way, my lord."

The establishment was bustling as always, nearly every table occupied. Musicians played lively tunes, filling the air with an infectious energy, while the girls flitted between patrons, serving drinks and exchanging flirtatious banter. Tyrion's brothels were renowned for their exceptional quality, luxurious surroundings, attentive service, and the most beautiful women in the realm.

These women weren't merely entertainers; they were skilled in engaging highborn patrons with witty conversation and the comforting pretense of companionship. And tonight, that illusion of companionship was exactly what Brandon sought.

His private table, tucked away in a quiet corner, offered the perfect retreat from the lively crowd.

"Is Gysella free?" Brandon asked as he eased into his seat.

"Yes, my lord," Lolla replied with a sweet smile, her tone practiced yet pleasant. "I'll send her to you right away."

"Thank you."

Brandon sighed as the redhead walked away, her hips swaying in a way designed to draw attention. He barely noticed. For a fleeting moment, all he felt was exhaustion. What was he even doing here? There was a mountain of work waiting for him at home.

Home.

The word lingered in his mind, heavy and hollow. His house, one of the finest in King's Landing, was everything a man like him was supposed to desire: grand, elegant, and imposing. But on nights like this, it felt like nothing more than an echoing, empty shell.

Yes, he had servants, but they weren't what he wanted tonight, not that he'd admit it to anyone. He was Brandon Stark, after all, the man who knew how to enjoy life. A man who had it all. Wealth, power, women. Everything he could possibly want.

"Good evening, my lord," came Gysella's soft, honeyed voice. She approached with a practiced grace, carrying a bottle of wine and two cups.

"Good evening, Gysella," Brandon replied, letting his gaze linger on her for a moment. Her dark, silky hair framed her face, cascading over her shoulders, and the light dress she wore accentuated her curves in a way that was both deliberate and artful.

She smiled as she poured him a glass of wine, then slid into the seat across from him, her movements smooth and measured. "I've missed you, my lord," she said, her voice lilting with warmth.

A lie, Brandon thought, but it was one he didn't mind hearing. Or perhaps there was some truth to it, after all, he always paid her generously for her company.

"You seem tense," she observed, tilting her head slightly as her dark eyes studied him. "Is something wrong?"

Brandon let out a quiet sigh. "I just feel… stressed."

"Oh. Perhaps a massage would help?" she offered, her tone teasing yet inviting.

"Not just yet," Brandon replied, lifting the glass of wine to his lips. The rich aroma filled his senses as he took a slow sip. "I want to enjoy this fine bottle of wine first."

"Of course, my lord," Gysella murmured, her warm smile never faltering. She leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but attentive, as if waiting for him to guide the evening's pace.

"And you?" Brandon asked after a brief pause, his voice quieter than before. "How are things?"

"Better now that you are here, my lord," she replied smoothly, her tone carrying a practiced warmth. "Do you want to talk about what's weighing on you?"

"Not really," Brandon admitted with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I have a lot of work to do. And… there are other things."

"Are you speaking of your mystery woman, my lord?" Gysella asked gently, her dark eyes searching his face.

"No," Brandon murmured, though the word carried little conviction.

Gysella tilted her head, studying him for a moment before offering a soft smile. "Well, I think you deserve far better, my lord. Only a foolish woman wouldn't appreciate you."

"It's not that," Brandon said, shaking his head. "Things are… more complicated."

"Not tonight, my lord," Gysella interjected, her voice low and soothing as she raised her cup. "To a relaxing night."

Brandon hesitated for a beat, then allowed himself a faint smile as he raised his own cup in return. "To a relaxing night," he echoed, though a shadow of doubt lingered in his eyes.

Yet, he found himself relaxing as he listened to Gysella's lighthearted chatter. Her company was exactly what he needed right now.

"Good evening, Lord Stark," came Tyrion's unmistakable voice.

Brandon turned quickly to face him. "Lord Tyrion. Good evening."

"May I have a word with you?"

Brandon nodded. "Of course."

"Would you excuse us for a moment, Gysella?" Tyrion added, gesturing lightly. "And bring Lord Stark another bottle of wine, on the house."

"Certainly, my lord," Gysella replied softly, flashing Brandon a warm smile before standing and stepping away.

"I apologize for disturbing your evening, my lord," Tyrion began once she was out of earshot.

"It's no trouble," Brandon replied, taking a sip from his cup. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," Tyrion said, swirling the wine in his own glass, "I, as well as everyone else in King's Landing, have been concerned for your nephew, my lord. I was wondering how His Grace is faring."

"The prince is fine," Brandon replied, his tone firm. "He will recover fully."

"That is excellent news," Tyrion sighed. "I was just curious, as Rylen mentioned that His Grace has been declining the company of the girls. I thought they might lift his… spirits during his recovery."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at Tyrion's remark, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I appreciate your concern, Lord Tyrion, but I think my nephew's spirits are well enough. He has his mother and his betrothed to tend to him. I doubt he's in need of additional…distractions."

Tyrion chuckled, swirling the wine in his own cup. "Ah, yes, Lady Faye. I've heard she's been quite attentive. A dutiful bride-to-be. Though, if I may, my lord, a man in Aegon's position might still prefer a touch of variety."

Brandon's smirk faded, his tone growing more serious. "Aegon's priorities have shifted, Lord Tyrion. He's grown quite attached to his betrothed."

Tyrion arched an eyebrow. "I see. That is… surprising. Wonderful news, of course, but surprising."

Brandon leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady on Tyrion. "It surprised me as well, but it's true. Lady Faye seems to bring out a side of him I didn't think I'd ever see."

Tyrion tilted his head, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his features. "Love, perhaps? Or at least something close to it?"

Brandon hesitated, considering the question. "I wouldn't go that far, at least, not yet. But there's respect growing between them. That's a foundation stronger than fleeting passion, wouldn't you agree?"

Tyrion chuckled softly, lifting his cup in a small toast. "Indeed. Though fleeting passion has its own merits, as I'm sure you're well aware, my lord."

Brandon rolled his eyes but couldn't help a faint smirk. "Always the romantic, Lord Tyrion."

"Always the realist," Tyrion countered. "Still, I'll admit, the notion of our dear Crown Prince settling into a steady relationship is heartening. It bodes well for the realm. Stability in marriage often leads to stability on the throne, or so the poets and maesters like to claim."

Brandon nodded, swirling the wine in his cup. "Indeed."

Tyrion regarded Brandon thoughtfully for a moment. "And you, Lord Stark? Have you found your own source of stability? Or is that what brings you to my establishments tonight?"

Brandon's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're a sharp one, Lord Tyrion. But no, I'm not seeking stability here. Just a bit of quiet in the company of someone who won't ask too many questions."

Tyrion laughed heartily, raising his cup again. "Then you've come to the right place, my lord. Enjoy your wine, your quiet, and your company. If you need anything more, you know where to find me."

With that, Tyrion gave a courteous nod and made his way back into the lively crowd, leaving Brandon to his thoughts.

As Gysella returned, bottle in hand, Brandon sighed inwardly and reminded himself again: A relaxing night. That was all he needed.

Highgarden

"Time to go to sleep, Genevieve," Rhaenys said gently. "We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow. You and I both have a fitting for our gowns for Uncle Aegon's wedding."

"I like Uncle Aegon," Genevieve announced proudly.

"I'm sure you do," Rhaenys replied, giving her daughter a warm smile. "He loves to spoil you rotten."

"He does not," the five-year-old protested. "He gives me gifts because I'm his favorite niece. He said so."

Rhaenys laughed, not bothering to point out that Genevieve was Aegon's only niece. "Time to go to sleep, little one."

"I can't go to sleep. Father hasn't told me a story yet."

"Oh, sweetling, your father had a very busy day today…"

"Never too busy for my ladies," Willas' voice said from the doorway.

Rhaenys turned to give her husband a smile as he limped toward Genevieve's bed.

"Father!" Genevieve cheered.

"I'm glad you're here," Rhaenys said warmly. "Apparently, I can't tell a story as well as you can."

Willas chuckled as he settled into the chair beside Genevieve's bed, his cane resting against the edge. "Ah, but your mother has many talents, little sparrow. Storytelling is just one of mine."

Genevieve grinned, pulling her blanket up to her chin. "You tell the best stories, Father. Can it be about Nymeria and the Rhoynar tonight?"

Willas glanced at Rhaenys, who gave him a knowing smile. "Nymeria and the Rhoynar again? You must have heard that story a hundred times."

"It's my favorite," Genevieve insisted, her voice small but resolute.

"Well, then, who am I to argue with my favorite little lady?" Willas said with a playful wink.

Rhaenys settled into the corner of the room, watching as her husband began the tale. His voice was calm and steady, weaving the story of Nymeria's bravery and the Rhoynar's journey across the seas. Genevieve's eyes sparkled with wonder as she hung on every word.

"She was so brave," Genevieve whispered when Willas paused for effect.

"She was," Willas agreed, his tone thoughtful. "But bravery isn't about never feeling fear. It's about doing what's right, even when you're afraid."

Genevieve nodded solemnly, her little face serious. "Like Nymeria. Like you, Father."

Willas blinked, his expression softening. "Well, I wouldn't put myself in the same league as Nymeria, but thank you, sweetling."

Rhaenys smiled, her heart swelling at the exchange. "And now," she said softly, rising to her feet, "our little lady needs her rest."

Genevieve yawned, her eyelids drooping. "Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Father."

"Goodnight, my sweet," Rhaenys said, kissing her daughter's forehead.

Willas leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Genevieve's hair. "Sweet dreams, my sparrow."

As they left the room, Rhaenys slipped her hand into Willas'. "You're wonderful with her," she murmured.

Willas gave her a warm smile. "She's easy to love. Just like her mother."

Rhaenys chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked toward their own chamber. "She's lucky to have you. We both are."

Willas squeezed her hand gently. "And I'm lucky to have you."

Rhaenys gasped softly, her hand instinctively moving to her belly as she felt a sudden kick.

"What's wrong?" Willas asked immediately, concern etched on his face.

"The babe is kicking," she said, a radiant smile spreading across her lips. "Quick, give me your hand."

Willas's eyes lit up as he gently placed his hand on Rhaenys's rounded belly. His fingers were warm and steady, and he waited with a mixture of awe and anticipation. A moment later, he felt it, a small, distinct movement beneath his palm.

"There," Rhaenys said softly.

Willas's expression melted into pure wonder. "That's… incredible," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He's strong," Rhaenys said with pride, resting her hand over his. "Just like his father."

Willas chuckled, his gaze fixed on her belly as though he could see the life growing within. "Or her mother," he countered. "If this little one has even a fraction of your spirit, the world had better watch out."

Rhaenys laughed, the sound light and full of joy. "Perhaps a bit of both of us. A perfect balance."

Willas leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her belly. "You hear that, little one? We're already rooting for you."

Rhaenys watched him with adoration, her heart swelling. Moments like this made her feel whole, as if the love they shared had grown too vast to be contained and now spilled over into their growing family.

Willas straightened, his hand lingering protectively over her belly. "Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"

"Just you," she said softly, lacing her fingers with his.

"Then you'll always have it," he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

Winterfell

"Margaery?" Robb called as he entered their bedchamber, finding his wife with two maids still sorting through the clothes and jewelry she planned to take to King's Landing.

"Well, it seems like we'll need one more carriage," he said, unable to hide his amusement. "Just for your clothes and Sansa's…"

Margaery looked up, offering him a sweet smile. "Surely you want me to make a good impression at court, husband?"

"You'd make a good impression no matter what you're wearing," Robb replied, returning her smile.

"You're too kind. But I truly want to do this right. It is the royal wedding, after all."

Robb nodded, though he didn't share her enthusiasm. He was looking forward to seeing his aunt Lyanna and uncle Brandon, but his cousin Aegon was another matter. It had been years since their last meeting, and Robb had always found Aegon to be spoiled and arrogant.

His thoughts often drifted to Faye ever since he heard she would marry Aegon. Robb felt sorry for her. She was a sweet, intelligent girl who deserved better than his cousin. Lord Arryn and Ned had once planned for her to marry Robb, but the King had intervened. The reason for that was clear now.

"Robb?" Margaery's voice drew him back from his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are your clothes packed already?"

"Yes, they are." He paused, giving her a teasing smile. "I wasn't planning on bringing my whole wardrobe."

Margaery laughed, the sound delicate as a crystal bell. Her beauty never ceased to amaze Robb. He still couldn't believe she was his wife.

Margaery stepped closer to him, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Well, my dear husband, you'll forgive me if I want to be prepared for every occasion. The court can be…demanding, as you know."

Robb wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her gently toward him. "You'll outshine them all, Margaery. You always do."

She smiled up at him, resting her hands on his chest. "You're biased."

"Perhaps. But it doesn't make it any less true."

Margaery leaned her head against his shoulder, her playful demeanor softening. "Are you still worried about Lady Faye?"

Robb's expression darkened slightly, and he sighed. "She's strong. Stronger than most give her credit for. But Aegon…" He trailed off, his frustration evident.

"I'm sure she will be alright," Margaery said gently. "She will be the Queen one day. Many women would do anything to be in her place."

"I'm sure that's true, but Faye never wanted that kind of life. She… I don't know if she can ever be happy at court."

Margaery studied him for a moment before replying, her tone thoughtful. "You still care about her."

Robb nodded. "As a friend, yes. We spent some time together when our fathers were planning a union between us."

Margaery tilted her head, studying his face with an expression that was equal parts understanding and curiosity. "It must have been difficult when that plan changed."

Robb shrugged, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of regret. "At the time, I didn't think much of it. But I got to know Faye well enough to know that she's not the kind of woman who thrives in a place like King's Landing."

Margaery reached up to touch his cheek gently, grounding him in the present. "She's lucky to have a friend like you, Robb. And I'm sure she'll appreciate your support when we're there."

He smiled faintly, leaning into her touch. "Thank you. I just hope Aegon has changed. For her sake."

Margaery raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Change is rare in men like Aegon, but perhaps Lady Faye's influence will bring out the best in him."

"Maybe," Robb said, though his tone lacked conviction. "But to be honest, I doubt it." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I'll leave you to finish your packing. Let me know if you need help finding another carriage for all this."

Margaery laughed again, the sound lifting the somber mood. "I'll keep that in mind."