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A Song of Weiss and Fire

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    • Little Bird​

    Winterfell was filled with excitement, with servants scurrying about, dusting and cleaning out rooms left vacant for years. Old banners were dragged out of storage, while the kitchens began to buzz with activity as they started to make an astonishing amount of food for the Royal Party. Sansa had been following her Mother around as she strode around Winterfell, making sure everything was running smoothly. After all, Sansa was a proper lady, unlike Arya Horse-Face. Still, even proper ladies could get nervous at times. Winterfell had never received this many Southron visitors, much less royalty, which meant the party included beautiful, shining knights.


    She took a step closer to Mother, who was standing beside Father as they stared at the entrance to Winterfell's gatehouse. Robb and Bran stood with Father, wearing their finest gray doublets, while Rickon stood just in front of Mother. Sansa straightened her back and smoothed the skirt of her beautiful blue dress. It was one of her finest, with the embroidered direwolf done by her own hand, even earning some praise from her Mother for the needlework. Of course, she didn't do it alone, she had some help from dear Jeyne, who stood a few feet behind her. Joining her friend were the Cassells, her Father the Steward, Theon, and the Bastard, as well as other of their closest servants. A great crowd had gathered to welcome their king, as they should. The last time a King had come up here must've been, according to her lessons, Jaehaerys the Wise.


    Sansa blinked slowly as she heard the thunderous galloping of what must've been King Robert and his southern knights. It sounded like the Warrior riding his steed into battle, and excited her. Her gaze briefly trailed towards her Father, strong and silent, with the gray eyes of a Stark, Arya's eyes. Sansa, along with her brothers, had inherited their Mother's coloring, Tully red hair and light blue eyes.


    "Where is Arya?" Sansa heard her Father mutter under his breath as he gazed around the courtyard. He gave Robb a glance, who shrugged with a slight grin. Father turned to Sansa, his eyes giving her a disapproving look. "Where is your sister?"


    "I don't know." Sansa whined, turning away. She had been busy helping Mother, and making herself as beautiful as possible for the arrival of the Royal Party. Why should she care about whatever mischief her sister was up to? And even then, she couldn't leave to go find Arya. What if the King arrived while she was gone and was offended at her absence? She'd be humiliated, and Father would have to marry her off to those savages on Skagos.


    King Robert must have been a magnificent man. He was one of Father's closest and dearest friends, and was in many of Father's stories about the Vale. The songs said he was strong as an ox, and handsome too, with hair as dark as the night and eyes as blue as the sea. He slew Prince Rhaegar Targaryen during the Rebellion, slaying the man who was said to be the most beautiful person alive to avenge the kidnapping of Sansa's aunt. How romantic.


    Sansa tried to replace her scowl with a pretty smile. The King was coming with his family, and Queen Cersei's beauty was known even this far North. The princes and princesses must look beautiful. She was torn from her thoughts by the sound of giggling and someone running on the hard packed dirt in the courtyard. Oh great, there was horseface.


    Arya rushed past Sansa in a blur, wearing a dark brown dress that Mother had chosen to hide the stains of dirt and mud, both of which her sister seemed to enjoy. She ran towards Father, wearing a steel half-helm that looked too big for her horse shaped head.


    "Hey-hey-hey." Father chided Arya softly as he grabbed her before she could pass him. "What are you doing with that on?" He removed her helm and handed it to Jory Cassel, who stood just behind him. "Go on now."


    Sansa scoffed under her breath as Arya moved to her spot besides Bran finally. She was about to shoot her another glare, when the thunderous galloping grew louder, and turned her attention back to the gate. She could finally make out the shape of approaching riders in the distance.


    The first two through the gates of Winterfell were a pair of knights clad in shining white armor, one carrying a simple white banner, and the other carrying that of the Royal Family, a crowned black stag on a field of yellow. Just behind them were dozens of knights, all carrying various banners and dressed in the armor right out of songs.


    "What sigils do you see?" Mother whispered softly, not daring to turn her head away should the King be next.


    "House Baratheon, House Lannister, House Celtigar, House Estermont." Sansa answered those easily. Septa Mordane had made sure that Sansa's and Arya's recent lessons were centered around learning the sigils of southern Houses, ranging from the mighty Lords Paramount to the ones with barely a keep to their name. "House Lydden, Swann and Wylde."


    "Good girl." Mother smiled, though her voice was soon covered over by the stomps and neighs of the horses.


    The knights moved to the empty space to the side of the gatehouse, though the Kingsguard stayed their course and approached them. Behind the knights rode a girl, slightly older than Sansa, yet with a regal air that reminded her of her Mother. She wore a black dress that just peaked out from the fur coat that was wrapped around her thin frame, and her hair as black as the night was cut short, even shorter than Arya's. Yet, what stood out the most wasn't her expensive clothes, nor the scarred knight that followed her with moths on his surcoat.


    It was the color of her eyes, golden, brighter than that of the yellow field that made up the Baratheon banner. Like one of Rickton's cats, her golden-amber eyes looked disinterested and disappointed as she scanned Sansa and her family. Her gaze lingered for a second on Arya, before moving to the rest of her family. She rode towards the Kingsguard along with the knight that rode just behind her, lining up. The banner the knight carried was that of House Baratheon, though its stag did not wear a crown.


    "She's beautiful." Sansa sighed, her voice low and drowned out by the loud sounds of Winterfell. Behind the Baratheon girl came a boy with golden hair, who quickly drew her attention.


    The two made eye contact, and Sansa felt her heart start to pump loudly. His eyes were a beautiful shade of Lannister green, with hair so blond it could've been mistaken for the sun. Sansa met his stare as he smirked at her. A man in full armor wearing a helmet shaped like a dog's head followed behind him. He joined the Baratheon girl, neither of them giving each other another glance. After him came a wheelhouse that could barely fit through the gate, escorted by another member of the Kingsguard in full armor and a Westerland Knight, judging by the lions on his armor.


    And finally, a man wearing a crown rode in, with several men by his side. Sansa's eyes widened slowly as all of Winterfell fell to one knee in reverence to their King. King Robert was a massive man, with pitch black hair on his head and long beard that likely hid a chin or two. Escorting him was another Kingsguard, and a man with a brown pointed beard, wearing the Estermont turtle. King Robert rode on one of the largest stallions Sansa had ever seen, and soon came to a stop. Two grooms immediately approached, one grabbing the reins of the fearsome beast and the other placing a solid wood box for the King to dismount onto.


    Sansa kept her gaze aimed towards the ground, her heart pumping even faster. She didn't want to offend the king, even accidently. He made his way in front of Father, who stood up to his full height after being motioned to do so. The rest of Winterfell followed suit. Even fat, King Robert was only dwarfed by Hodor in terms of sheer bulk.


    "Your Grace." Father said respectfully. "Winterfell is yours."


    King Robert stared at Father for a few moments with a blank face. Sansa gripped her coat for the briefest of seconds, when he finally spoke. "You've gotten fat." There was a brief pause as it seemed almost everyone in the courtyard, herself included, held their breath.


    Suddenly, the King and Father burst into laughter as the two embraced warmly. It reminded her of Robb and Bran, but older. The two parted as King Robert clasped Father's arms. "Gods, it's been nine years, Ned. Where have you been?"


    "Guarding the North for you, Your Grace." Father answered with a bow of his head. A smile now adorned his face.


    "Bah!" King Robert waved him off as he kissed Mother's cheek. "Cat! Good to see you!" He ruffled Rickon's hair as he passed by the boy. He gave Sansa the briefest of glances and an approving nod. "Well you're a pretty one."


    Her cheeks flushed red. Even the King was wise enough to acknowledge her beauty, and she was sure the south was filled with the prettiest of ladies. Surely she would be able to get a great match down there, in that case. The King approached Robb, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "You look like you'll be a strong man."


    Robb gave a curt nod, doing his best to keep his face impassive even with such an honorable compliment from their King. She could see the little twitches in his face, showing he was struggling a tad.


    "And what's your name?" King Robert asked Arya, who stared up at him with wide, gray eyes.


    "Arya!" She answered, her tone disrespectful. King Robert didn't seem to care nor notice as he moved onto Bran. She inwardly released a sigh of relief. That could've gone so much worse, she had to admit.


    "Show me your muscles boy!" The King commanded. Bran moved his arm out of the cover of his fur cloak and flexed his arm. Nothing could be seen from the layers of furs and clothing he wore. At least, not from her angle. "You'll be a fine warrior,lad!"


    The door of the wheelhouse creaked open, with a young blond boy and girl climbing down the stairs. They, like the older boy that rode in on his horse, wore Lannister red rather than Baratheon black and gold. A woman joined them, wearing a Lannister red dress that peaked from beneath her expensive light brown fur coat that resembled a shade of yellow in the sun. The Queen was beautiful, with high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes so green they looked like grass. Yet, if Sansa was being honest, she was outshined by the dark hair girl still mounted on her horse.


    "My Queen." Father kissed the hand the Queen offered politely. She gave him the faintest hints of a smile. Unlike her husband, Queen Cersei did look like she came out from the songs and stories, as did their children. Truly they were beautiful, one and all.


    "Ned, take me to the crypts. I wish to pay my respects." King Robert's joyful voice was replaced by a serious tone. Ah, she should've expected this, really. His long lost love, her late aunt, was buried here after all.


    "My love, we have been traveling for months. You should rest." The Queen said, raising a lone eyebrow in response to her husband's words. An awkward silence arose as Father glanced between their King and Queen. She could see her Mother carefully shake her head at Father, likely suggesting he not get in the middle of this mess.


    "Ned." The Fat King said once more, not taking no for an answer. With that, Father bowed his head once more respectfully and moved to follow King Robert. Sansa gave her Mother a glance, who kept her face impassive with a polite smile. She followed suit, not keen to get in the middle of what was sounding to be a long-standing argument.


    "Where's the Imp?" Arya whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, earning her a snicker from Theon and the Bastard. The Queen gave her a glare and turned, walking back towards her wheelhouse and children.


    Sansa gave her sister a sharp glare, one that the Horse-Face ignored as she tugged on Bran's sleeve. "Where's the Imp?"


    How annoying.









    Blake​

    Winterfell was disappointing, if Blake was being honest. Disappointing, not because of the architecture, of course. Winterfell was one of the greatest castles in all the Seven Kingdoms, and rumored to be thousands of years old and built with magic. Blake steeled her heart as she dismounted with the help of a groom, her amber eyes scanning the crowd of Northern greeters. Where would Ruby be? Would she be one of Lord Stark's daughters? Or maybe one of the servants? Eddard Stark had two daughters from what Blake could see. One was a pretty redhead who looked more like Nora if she had been reborn as a Tully and was taller. The youngest had the Stark gray eyes that Blake had been looking for her, though her hair was brown, and her face was long, while Ruby's had been more round when she was younger.


    Neither of them were Ruby Rose, of that Blake was certain. Weiss had kept her original appearance, albeit without her signature scar, and Blake looked like she came straight out of her childhood pictures from Remnant. Neither of them was Ruby, though, and her heart sank as she scanned the crowd. Nobody else had the signature gray eyes or the black and red hair of Ruby Rose. Was she some smallfolk somewhere? Weiss had been an heiress, and she had been technically a princess, but Ruby was middle class at best back in Remnant. Maybe Blake had been too confident in assuming that Ruby would be reborn as one of the Great Families of Westeros.


    "Is everything alright, my Lady?" Ser Andrew extended his hand, which Blake took as she carefully dismounted her horse. She climbed off her steed, and inhaled the smell of Winterfell.


    It smelled like snow and mud, with a hint of woodsmoke.


    "Just tired from the journey, Uncle." Blake gave him a strained smile. Weiss was going to be so disappointed that their theory was incorrect. And worried, because she was going to have to start looking anew. "I prefer traveling by ship."


    Uncle Andrew smiled as Blake stepped onto solid ground. Thankfully it wasn't muddy, or her slippers would've started to sink in. As it was, the dirt was hard packed and fine to walk on. "Many ladies would disagree with you, Lady Blake. Now come, we must introduce ourselves to our host."


    Her Uncle extended his elbow, which Blake took as they began to approach the Starks, ignoring Cersei and her children who gathered close to their wheelhouse in whispers. Uncle Robert's wish to see his former betrothed in the crypts of Winterfell as soon as he arrived likely wounded the Lannister Queen's pride. Still, it didn't matter how offended she was, only that Cersei didn't try anything.


    Even if Ruby wasn't here, Blake would protect her Uncle, even if he would never find out what she was doing.


    For the realm.


    A/N

    I didn't expect this chapter to be finished so soon. Writing canon GOT characters POVs is hard, so let us know how we did.


    And an update on our RWBY characters


    Weiss: Lannister

    Blake: Baratheon

    Neo: Red Priestess?

    Ruby: ????

    Yang: ????


    Soon the mystery shall be unveiled as I milk these reveals!
     
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    • Well, there goes my theory, in all likelihood. In theory, there could be absent siblings - Sansa never states that all of them are there - but given that she is focused on Arya's absence, but not that of an additional sibling, it seems unlikely. Quite interesting, especially given that Ruby being in Winterfell wasn't exactly unpopular.

    Krieg Schnee said:
    and the Bastard,
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    Sansa's internal narration, note the singular. This means that there are likely no additional, absent (and thus unseen by Blake) bastards in Winterfell. There could, of course, still be some Sansa doesn't know about, or some not in Winterfell (and thus "the Bastard" simply refers to the only one around), but there aren't additional ones here. Interestingly, she rather awkwardly doesn't refer to the bastard in question by name, but as I pointed out before, canon characters don't seem to get replaced, so it's probably Jon (plus, if it was Jaune, Ruby, or Yang, Blake likely would have noticed them).

    EDIT: Just recalled Stannis called the bastard a "he", so Ruby and Yang are out anyway.

    Krieg Schnee said:
    Was she some smallfolk somewhere? Weiss had been an heiress, and she had been technically a princess, but Ruby was middle class at best back in Remnant. Maybe Blake had been too confident in assuming that Ruby would be reborn as one of the Great Families of Westeros.
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    Well, if that's true, then there is little point in guessing. We hardly know enough smallfolk to make such guesses. Technically, I suppose, Taiyang's equivalent should be a knight (=hunter), as should be Summer's (???). Also, as Raven is a bandit leader, by that logic, Yang's mother should be a female bandit leader. Do we even have someone like that in Westeros? At any rate, given the need to combine traits to get grey eyes and dark hair on one child, and purple eyes and blonde on the other, this would have to be a rather unusual family.

    At this point, I don't really have the faintest idea where Ruby is. Her being Ned's daughter fit very neatly, and (with the Dayne or the Targaryen theory) also worked nicely to explain her relationship with Yang. I think the only other solution that would uphold their relationship (with well-known parents) is if they're Oberyn's daughters, but of course, that runs into the problem that they would know of each other's presence in Westeros, and should have figured out Weiss and Blake being there as well (and should have identified Blake thanks to prominence and name). So yeah, I have no clue.
     
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    Hum... For Ruby and Yang, the dornish piste would be the most probable, i guess. Ruby silver eyes -> daughter of Ned/Brandon and Ashara Daynes, and Yang, indeed one of Oberyn's bastards. Or Yang is a Targaryen/bastard of Aerys with the two little lizards in exile. Maybe. But the dornish piste is more probable, i think.
     
    Krieg Schnee said:
    Neo: Red Priestess?

    Ruby: ????

    Yang: ????
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    In retrospective, made sense neither Yang and Ruby would be born at either of the Great houses. Heck, despite her heighest status, Weiss was born into a Cadet house.

    So either they are smallfolk (very tough times for them), or maybe a lesser noble or even kightly ones.

    But at least is confirmed that in terms of importance within the setting, they would be very outranked by their fellow partners.

    Also, wonder how Neo managed to become a Priestess if she is Mute. Kinda difficult to spread the world of R'hllor if you can't talk. Then again, maybe her fate will be better than that multi-color cat possession
     
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    • Blake​

    A grand feast was held in the Great Hall of Winterfell after the Royal Party had settled into their lodgings and recovered from the trip. Blake, as befitting her status as King Robert's niece, was given an apartment on the same floor as the Queen's children, which the Lannister woman likely saw as an insult. Blake didn't particularly care about the specifics, she had grown used to Cersei's glares and veiled insults, which were common whenever she spent time with Myrcella, whose attitude was as sweet as Shireen's. It was such a shame that children would have to suffer for the sins of their parents, yet Blake would do her best to make sure no harm came to Myrcella and Tommen, the sweetlings. Myrcella would be safe in the Faith, while her brother could make for a fine Maester. Now Joffrey, he could freeze on the Wall for all she cared, assuming he made it that far North. Being raised as the spoiled Crown Prince was no excuse for his horrid personality, and she shuddered to imagine what would happen if he took the Iron Throne.


    The first to enter the Great Hall was Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Dressed in a fine gray wool doublet that matched his wife's dress, Lord Stark didn't look as savage as the rumors down south said. But then again, rumors also said her Father was planning on banning whores again and that Ser Jaime ran around King's Landing doling out justice to the wicked at night. Uncle Robert and the Queen entered alongside them, with her Uncle wearing Baratheon black and yellow and the Queen in her usual Lannister red and gold. Following them were the children.


    Robb Stark was paired with Myrcella, and Sansa Stark with Joffrey. The Stark Heir wore an outfit of white with a gray lining, while his sister had in a pretty blue dress that looked like it better suited for the cold compared to Blake's own dresses, despite not appearing too differently made. Following them was Tommen with Arya Stark, who looked more Stark than Tully, with dark hair instead of auburn, and gray eyes instead of Tully blue. Blake had been disappointed by the color of her hair, Arya would've been the closest to looking like Ruby.


    Add in some rumors of her attitudes from the Winterfell servants she'd overheard, and well, Blake was disappointed her trip up here was for nothing. Taking up the rear was Blake, wearing a black dress that covered her shoulders and arms, with gold silk decorating the bodice in the design of a stag's antlers. Her escort was Bran Stark, Lord Eddard's second son. Blake didn't mind, Bran seemed like a cherry boy, and reminded her of Tommen, surprisingly. She made a note to possibly introduce the two of them when she got a chance.


    The Stark was a sweet boy, wearing a fine doublet similar to that of his older brother, with the Stark direwolf sewn onto the wool. He had the Tully look the rest of his siblings, excluding Arya, had, with reddish auburn hair and blue eyes. With her arm holding onto his elbow, Blake could sense his anxiety with every step they took, though the Young Stark did his best to mask it. Rickon Stark was last, wobbling proudly but trying to imitate his older siblings. Sadly, he didn't have anyone to escort, but he didn't seem to mind. After them came the Imp, Benjen Stark and Lord Eddard's ward, Theon Greyjoy. They seemed to be able to co-exist, even if she could tell from the glares aimed at one another, they were not friendly in the least.


    They sat at the high table, with Blake being seated beside Bran and Arya. Robb and Sansa Stark sat closer to the Royal Family, along with their parents. Likely one of their parents, if not both of them, was pushing for a betrothal. Not that she could blame them, of course, but it made her grimace inside. If it happened, well, that would further complicate matters. Keeping her face blank, she eyed her Uncle from her side of the table. Uncle Robert already had a goblet of wine in his hands, laughing and joking with the serious Lord Stark. It was obvious that he was trying to arrange a match, either between Myrcella and Robb Stark, or between Joffrey and Sansa.


    "You look like a cat." A young voice tore Blake's eyes away from her Uncle's reddening face as he gestured with his goblet to Lord Stark. She turned to Arya Stark, who sat across from her, and who had apparently noticed something about her.


    "Arya!" Bran huffed loud enough for his sister to hear, but low enough to not be heard by his Mother. His blush had disappeared now that Blake wasn't holding onto his elbow. Apparently he was nervous being held by a pretty girl his age.


    "I do, don't I." Blake said with the slightest of smirks. She liked this one, she had a real fire in her. Lady Stark and her eldest daughter seemed unnerved, almost disappointed, if she had to guess, by Blake's eyes and short hair. By contrast, Arya seemed enthralled by it and her attitude.


    "Yes!" Arya exclaimed. Her hair was cut shorter than the average ladies, coming down to her shoulders, while the tip of Blake's pitch black mane just barely passed her chin by an inch or two. It seems Lord Stark had a bit of a tomboy as one of his daughters, in contrast to his other one. She pitied him, she could guess those two did not get along. Blake was lucky, her and Shireen got along fine, but that was mostly due to sheer luck.


    "You look like a direwolf." Blake said in return as the servants started to serve them their first meal, roasted venison with wild onions. It smelled delicious and fresh, even if it wasn't her preferred fish. She turned to Bran so he wouldn't feel left out. "And you look like a wolf-fish."


    "A wolf-fish?" Bran questioned, his eyes wide. His sister mimicked his expression, as she tore into her venison as if she had never eaten before. Not that she could blame the girl, the smell was enticing enough to make her mouth water. Winterfell had some good chefs, it seemed.


    "A wolf-fish." Blake confirmed. She wished she could eat like Arya, but she did have a reputation to uphold, as King Robert's niece. And she was pretty sure Uncle Andrew would inform Father the moment he had a chance to. "Fish with teeth the size of a wolf."


    Arya's thin lips turned into a grin at the image, ironically reminding her of the fish. "Can they eat a man whole?!"


    Blake shook her head slowly. "Not whole, they're far too small. But a pack of them could eat a man straight to the bones. I've seen them in the markets of Dragonstone." They were delicious too, once she picked out all of its tiny bones, with a sweet flavor and a nice firm texture. They also made for good leather, sea wolf leather gloves were a common item for sale in Dragonstone's market.


    "I want to see one!" Arya exclaimed, earning herself a glare from her older sister from the other side of the table. Sansa Stark was engrossed in some conversation with Joffrey, who had an arrogant smile on his face. She worried about the poor girl, if Sansa wound up betrothed to him, she didn't think it would end well for her. It struck her, that this is what her relationship with Him must've looked like from the outside. She took a small sip of wine at that image, resisting the urge to shudder at the memories.


    "Perhaps I'll arrange for the teeth of one to be sent to Winterfell, as a gift." Blake suggested with a wry smile. It felt wrong acting like a politician, that was always Weiss' specialty, but allies were needed at court, and the Starks were currently Father's best option. Uninvolved with the current political mess, loyal to Uncle, and well, underestimated by everyone in King's Landing. Yes, they would make for great allies, if properly briefed.


    "I want one too!" Bran added. The rest of the tables had been served, and the musicians that Lord Stark had hired started to play, drowning out the rest of their conversation with yells, cheers and music.


    Blake formed the smallest of smiles. "Of course." Wolves and stags were always meant to be friends. Now all she needed to do was convince Lord Stark to join them, that their actions weren't treason.


    That was going to be hard.








    Stannis​

    The port of King's Landing was filled with a flurry of busy sailors and harbormen preparing for the departure of the Royal Fleet, on top of the usual traffic a port generated. Hundreds of galleys of various sizes, some with one deck and others as large as four. Stannis stood upon the deck of the Fury, his personal flagship, running his calloused hands over the railing, finding not a splinter in the smooth wood. The Fury was a fine ship, one of the first constructed when Robert had him named Master-of-Ships, and had been his flagship when he assaulted Dragonstone in the middle of a hurricane, and when he smashed the Iron Fleet off of Fair Isle. That wasn't even mentioning the campaigns he had done in the Stepstones, clearing out pirates to allow honest merchants and tradesmen to sell their goods in the Seven Kingdoms. He had many good memories aboard this vessel, and it seemed like it was a part of his family at times.


    "The fleet is almost ready to set sail, my Lord." Ser Aurane Waters said, approaching the Lord of Dragonstone from behind. Stannis didn't bother turning his head to give the man a glance. With Ser Andrew sent North to escort Blake, Ser Aurane would have to fulfill his duties until Stannis' former squire and cousin returned. He didn't envy the man, every man had his duty, yes, but taking on multiple duties wasn't a fun experience.


    "We sail with the tide." Stannis grunted. The bulk of the fleet would head for Dragonstone, while others with handpicked captains would make for the Free Cities, to hire men and ships for the war to come. Ser Davos would be one of those men, taking the Black Bertha and a dozen more galleys with him. Hopefully he could acquire sellsails in sufficient quantities. Failing that, at least he could gauge how many the Lannisters could theoretically hire if they chose.


    "As you command, my Lord." Ser Aurane bowed his head as Stannis finally turned to look at him. The Velaryon bastard was taller now, no longer the boy he had been during the Greyjoy Rebellion, with long white Valyrian hair that fell past his shoulders. Despite Stannis' tutelage, the boy dressed like a peacock, with a cape the color of the Velaryon sigil and a wide brim hat so ostentatious that not even Renly would dare wear it. Still, his dashing looks made him popular with the sailors, and the man did have a keen eye for navigating by the stars.


    "Ser Aurane." Stannis said simply. He still towered over the young knight and he knew it. He might be a knight, but Stannis was a Lord, and that difference was stark.


    "Yes, my Lord?" The Bastard of Driftmark had a natural cockiness to him, it was annoying. Stannis wasn't surprised he got along extremely well with Ser Justin Massey. It was a good thing the man never met Ser Jaime, the two of them would either hit it off or try to murder one another.


    "Your sister, she's married to a Lannister, is that correct?" Stannis continued. He remembered the woman, and her cursed daughter, from the feast in Lannisport before he sailed to smash the Iron Fleet. The Lannister Witch had requested that he choose a song for her to sing, drawing him into that mess.


    "Aye, my Lord. My trueborn sister was married to a Lannisport Lannister, the Lord of Lannisport himself." Ser Aurane answered. That meant that the Lannister Witch was his niece, even if he was born a bastard. His cloak rippled with the seawind, bringing with it the King's Landing stench mixed with the salt air.


    Stannis started to grind his jaw. Yes, he remembered now. He gave his former squire a curt nod and turned to look at the crew of the Fury, preparing to cast off. "Did you get a chance to meet with your kin during the tourney, Ser Aurane?"


    "No, my Lord. I am a humble bastard, and would not dare to presume that my trueborn sister's daughter would wish to meet me." Ser Aurane placed a hand on the top of his head, to prevent his gaudy hat from flying away. "If she had requested my presence, I would have no qualms meeting her."


    Stannis gripped the railing once more, deep in thought. Where did the Lannister girl get her power from? If it was the result of Valyrian blood, then perhaps her Uncle's descendants could as well. Robert should have a bastard girl around his age, in the Vale if Stannis remembered correctly, which he always did. Yes, Baratheon and Velaryon blood could result in another child with magic like Blake and Lord Tywin's toy. If not, he could find a Hightower bastard, Malora had plenty of cousins. Yet, at the same time, was there something else to it? If it was just Valyrian blood, then the Targaryeans would still be sitting on the Iron Throne, and Dragonseeds would be in high demand. No, there was something else he was missing.


    "Finish the arrangements to set sail. I shall be in my quarters if needed." Stannis released his grip on the railing as he headed towards the stairwell, not even giving the young bastard another glance. An arranged marriage with one of the King's bastard daughters, now that was an offer that some Houses would find hard to refuse. Especially if they had a bastard of their own they wished to shuffle out of sight. Yes, that would work well. That idea did little to stop a frown from forming on his face. Stannis hated dealing with politics, despite his years in King's Landing.


    He should let Malora handle this.







    Blake​

    The feast lasted for hours, with several courses of Northern cuisine. Not as many as a Southern feast would have to offer, of course, but enough that it still felt like overkill in Blake's opinion. While the Starks were far from being the richest of the Great Houses, they were still well-to-do. Of course, at the same time, with what was said to be the longest Summer starting to come to an end, it made sense to celebrate before the coming Winter. After the Seventh course, the dancing started, while servants cleared away the dishes and food from the tables. Lord and Lady Stark shared a dance, as did their children. Robb Stark danced with his sisters, and even shared one with Myrcella, whose cheeks glowed as red as his hair. Joffrey only danced with Sansa Stark, who seemed to worship the very ground he stepped on. Blake danced with Bran, who shyly almost stepped on her feet several times, and Robb Stark, who seemed to only ask her out of politeness. The Greyjoy danced with Myrcella once, before moving onto dancing with a brown haired girl.


    Once everyone's feet were sore and tired of dancing, the drinking started, which Uncle Robert seemed to lead everyone in. The Queen left to her assigned quarters with her children once a serving wench was seated upon their King's lap, escorted by her brother, Ser Jaime. Lady Stark followed suit, though she left behind her eldest son as he was almost a man grown.


    Lord Stark was forced to stay by Uncle Robert's side, who was now joined by Uncle Andrew, who nursed his own goblet of beer or wine. Her nose twitching ever so slightly, Blake stood up from her seat and silently moved to leave the room. She wished to see more of Winterfell, and with much of the keep drunk or asleep, now would be the best time to walk around unaccompanied. Uncle Robert would be fine, he was surrounded by some of the most loyal supporters of his, and the rest of the Kingsguard.


    Taking a deep breath once she was in the yard, Blake allowed her eyes to wander, taking soft steps. She still hadn't gotten a chance to see the Starks direwolves, of which she had heard plenty of whispers. Blake was pretty sure most of them were exaggerations, she'd seen wild wolves in the past, and they were larger than actual dogs, yes, but not that big.


    "You're a strange bastard." Blake heard the faintest hint of a familiar voice in the distance and turned towards it. Luckily for her, she was a curious cat and had memorized the rough layout of Winterfell. She followed the whisper of a conversation when she arrived in what was almost a deserted courtyard. Her aura enhanced eyes allowed her to spot three figures, talking in the shadows.


    One was short, as tall as a child, yet had the shape of a grown man. With mismatched eyes and thin yellow hair, Tyrion Lannister, the infamous Imp was bundled in expensive furs to better withstand the cold. A young boy was with him, at least a year or two older than Blake's current body. Next to him was a white mass that resembled a pile of snow. The Imp noticed her approach, to her surprise. The Imp was more aware of his surroundings than she suspected. Granted, she wasn't exactly trying to conceal her presence, but it was still an impressive feat.


    "Hello there, Lady Baratheon." He said, causing the boy to whip his head around in shock. Sloppy. He should be on his toes, even in a safe place such as a castle. Gray eyes stared into her amber ones, shock contrasting with her casual, cool facade. The boy had dark brown hair that was almost a shade of black that framed his youthful, yet rather handsome face. The white mass perked its head up, revealing itself to be a wolf, and its red eyes were locked on her form. Yet there was no growl or curl of the lip to reveal its fangs.


    "Lord Tyrion." Blake said politely, holding her hands in front of her as she approached him. She turned to the boy, looking him over. He looked like a Stark, yet he wasn't seated with the rest of Lord Eddard's children. Who could this be? "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you."


    The boy licked his dry lips and bowed his head, in shame, she thought. "I'm Jon Snow, my Lady." Ah, so he was Lord Stark's infamous bastard, the permanent mark on his honor for which the Hero of the Rebellion was so famed for. Out in the cold, away from the closest thing he had to a family, while they feasted inside a warm hall.


    "I was teaching the boy the way of the world, my Lady." Lord Tyrion added. He was holding a book, which looked oversized in his hands. She was not afraid to admit, she was a bit surprised at the Imp choosing to hide himself away from a feast, to read with a bastard out in the cold. Guess he would know what it's like to be judged, she supposed. She expected him to be in bed with a whore or serving wench.


    "A pleasure to meet you, Jon Snow." Blake extended her hand, which the young man took after an encouraging nod from her. He kissed her knuckles, after which Lord Tyrion did the same. Even if Dragonstone was considered worthless by the realm, she was still the King's niece.


    "See boy? The King's own niece allowed a bastard to greet her." Lord Tyrion winked with what sounded like a drunken laugh. Yet, she noticed, his grin didn't meet his mismatched eyes. Curious.


    "Children shouldn't take the blame for their parents' mistake, Lord Tyrion." Blake narrowed her eyes. He was one of Weiss' relatives, right? Blake had seen the two of them spend some time together before she left King's Landing. The Imp would stand out in a crowd, ironically, given his stature.


    "You are very kind, Lady Blake. It's a miracle considering who your Father is." Lord Tyrion's eyes held no malice towards her, at least. "Stannis Baratheon isn't known for being a kind man. Bastard, did you know he once meant to place a ban on whores throughout the realm?"


    "My Father's a just and honest man, even if he tends to do too much." Blake admitted. It wasn't exactly that big a surprise people thought of him. They only saw one facet of his personality, after all. Especially a Lannister. "And a bastard he may be, but he still has a name, don't you, Jon?"


    Jon Snow's sullen cheeks reddened as he nodded. The poor boy was getting more embarrassed than his brother inside was. Was being nervous around pretty girls genetic or something else? "Aye."


    Blake turned her attention to the direwolf, who kept staring at her. Weirdly, despite the fact that he was already nearly the size of Ruby, she was unafraid of him. She squatted down, staring back at the animal's gaze,and briefly turned to Jon Snow. "What's his name?"


    "G-Ghost?" Jon answered, much to Lord Tyrion's amusement. Weiss would've been freaking out over how cute he was, and how his coat matched her hair and so on. Blake wasn't the biggest fan of dogs, though wolves could be an exception in the right circumstances. And apparently Direwolves counted, it seemed. Learn something new every day.


    "Ghost." Blake repeated with a small smile. The direwolf was still growing, perhaps within a few weeks or months they would finally know if it's not just a normal wolf. Admittedly, she was pretty sure it was, just from the actual size of it. Unless it was a wolfdog or something. "May I?"


    Jon rubbed the top of Ghost's head and nodded after a few seconds. "You may, my Lady. He doesn't bite."


    Not yet, at least. Odds are with the kind of fangs he'd have, they could rival a Beowolf's bite. Now granted permission from his partner, Blake extended one of her hands towards the direwolf. She made sure that the back of her left hand was towards Ghost's snout, like she'd seen some of the men do to the dogs roaming the docks.


    "Careful my Lady." Lord Tyrion quipped. "He seemed to want to try the taste of dwarf earlier."


    Blake ignored him as the tips of her fingers brushed against the fur that sat on top of Ghost's head. His fur was soft and white as snow, truly a fitting name for such a majestic beast. She smiled as ran her hands through the animal's fur. A small, sad smile formed on her lips. She missed Weiss very much. It pained her that the two had to be separated. Even with the lack of hair products in this world, the former Schnee's hair was still silky smooth and soft.


    "Thankfully, I'm no dwarf, Lord Tyrion." Blake said dryly, yet it still earned her a laugh from the Lannister dwarf and a stifled giggle from Jon.


    Blake decided that she liked wolves now.


    A/N

    Krieg: Ruby being a Stark was too obvious, so we picked a better role for her.


    Night: I should also add, Yang isn't Yi-tian. And Dornish? Eugh. Honestly, some of your guesses are quite amusing to read.


    Krieg: And some of you have gotten dangerously close to guessing correctly.
     
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    • Krieg Schnee said:
    Blake decided that she liked wolves now.
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    And suddenly, Zwei the Wonder Dog appears out of nowhere through a magic portal (because why not, it's funny) and tackles Blake Baratheon to give her a piece of his mind by constant licking on her face!

    On the other hand, Blake Baratheon meets Jon Snow, Ghost and Tyrion Lannister. I wonder if she can convince Jon to join her house instead of the Night's Watch where he can earn his place through merit which her father Stannis cares about, citing Ser Davos Seaworth who became his loyal right-hand man despite his smuggler's background.

    For Tyrion, he might probably ask Blake if her magic was real than a mummer's farce and want to see it. And that I can imagine the hilarity of an odd friendship between the daughter of Mad Malora and the Lannister dwarf from the perspective of Westerosi nobles.
     
    Warmachine375 said:
    On the other hand, Blake Baratheon meets Jon Snow, Ghost and Tyrion Lannister. I wonder if she can convince Jon to join her house instead of the Night's Watch where he can earn his place through merit which her father Stannis cares about, citing Ser Davos Seaworth who became his loyal right-hand man despite his smuggler's background.
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    Not a bad idea, and certainly sounds like something Blake would do.
    But she currently doesn't have the authority to make such decisions, and where Stannis be here he wouldn't be very...flexible, with the matter
     
    Indeed Blake doesn't have quite the autority to make Ion one of her household... But she might have a casus belli in inviting him on Dragonstone as part of the escort of one of his cousins, if, say, Arya or Brandon are sent to Dragonstone instead of the capital. It's close by, in possession of a man of high reputation, one which Brandon could act as page then knight under. Not speaking about potential friendship and friendship with the young Shireen Baratheon. A young one without friends of her age... But which Arya could be a peer. Arya who would be a mess in the capital bit might do well under the unorthodox tutelage of one such as Blake or Brienne.

    And Jon is there as company, escort and might maybe get to do something on the Navy. After all, door Stannis the Mannis is publicly preparing important manovers on the Stepstones isn't he ? An occasion for a bastard to get sope glory. Maybe even a knighthood. He might even jump the boat to fet there instead of the Nightwatch, forgoing the risk to displease door Ned. After all, Whote Harbour isn't that far....

    Also : direwolf. And Mya Stone (bastard of Robert in the Eyrie).
     
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    • 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.
     
  • New
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    • I like to imagine how in background Cersei is seething. First she was showed by Weiss at Leffords, where Weiss ended up sleeping together with a beautiful girl and generally live Cersei' dream. Now, Blake is almost as charming as her uncle Robert.

    I wonder if Ned has deduced everything by looking at Blake and then looking at Robert children. And Blake has unknowingly derailed the canon.
    But there is a wilder idea - 3eyed crow already told him that secret
     
    Centergg said:
    I wonder if Ned has deduced everything by looking at Blake and then looking at Robert children. And Blake has unknowingly derailed the canon.
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    I think it's more likely that Ned's "If only Robert knew the truth." refers to Jon Snow Targaryen - Blake alone might be a bit little to come to that conclusion. But he does seem oddly uninterested in the betrothal a way that is hard to explain with what he ought to know. His reaction in the books seems positive, or at worst neutral:

    A Game of Thrones said:
    "(...) If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as
    affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your
    Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."

    This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven."

    Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a
    few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you."

    "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated.
    "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my
    wife..."
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    Also, interestingly, "tell" Cat rather than "discuss".
     
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    Jon Snow, captain in the service of his highness Stannis Baratheon, Lord protector if the Realm.
    Jon Snow, scourge of the Stepstones, Winter of the Iron Born, the Wolff of Lannisport, breaker of thraldom, slaver's butcher, freebooter of the Mander, corsair of the Blackwater, champion of the old gods and first of the Freefolks, friend of the giants and vainquisher of the Thenns.
    "The coming of the Hungry wolf" and "the white death", in Essos.
    Made Magnar of Bloodstone, governor of the march of the Stepstones Liberty Islands, first of house Greystark Blackfyre Whitefyre.

    Yes, we can only dream. But that's not a story centered around the prettiest one of the North. ^^
     
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    • 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.
     
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    • Centergg said:
    So, would Stark call for some magical halp?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    There's Blake Baratheon using her method of unlocking the Aura to heal Bran's injuries. I mean she tried it with her little sister Shireen who have a greyscale problem.

    Depends if she do it without Catelyn Tully getting in the way and knowing that woman, she might not be receptive of the daughter of Mad Malora using "magic" on her child.
     
    Warmachine375 said:
    There's Blake Baratheon using her method of unlocking the Aura to heal Bran's injuries. I mean she tried it with her little sister Shireen who have a greyscale problem.

    Depends if she do it without Catelyn Tully getting in the way and knowing that woman, she might not be receptive of the daughter of Mad Malora using "magic" on her child.
    Click to expand...
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    Remember that Blake tried to unlock Shireen's Aura to heal her Greyscale

    Didn't worked

    RWBY cast arrived with Auras. Can't give them to any of the locals
     
    F.I.M.M.98 said:
    Remember that Blake tried to unlock Shireen's Aura to heal her Greyscale

    Didn't worked

    RWBY cast arrived with Auras. Can't give them to any of the locals
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I know but Blake Baratheon would try if it works this time around. Of course it would be in vain and Bran's canon event cannot be averted as he must become the successor of the three eyed raven and probably future King of Westeros that already splintered after the Iron Throne gets melted down in the future.

    Not that I was being specific about it or anything.
     
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