The Three Houses of Westeros

[LD1449]

Chapter 6:

Edelgard

The tent was remarkable only in its size.

Wide and oval, it could take up a good portion of Illyrio's courtyard if it had been placed there.

Fortunately, it wasn't in Illyrio's manse, but rather several hundred meters outside of it.

Fortunate, because she doubted that the ostentatious gaudiness of Illyrio's wealth and estate would do anything more than make her brother–and by extension herself–seem little more than pampered fops to these men who valued nothing but martial strength.

"Who do these barbarians think they are- demanding we meet them here rather than at the manse!?"

"Do not complain, brother." She chastised quietly. "It's unbecoming of a king."

"I will complain as much as I damn well please." He snarled. "These savages presume far too much!" He eyed her- "As do you, coming out here dressed in men's trousers of all things. Do you wish to be raped by these forty thousand screamers and their fucking horses?"

She was, indeed, dressed in 'men's trousers', along with a form fitting brigandine and longsword.

She was not some dainty wallflower princess like her brother.

Wisely she did not say this to him.

"I have Jeritza." She answered instead, stepping forward to march into the tent. "Come. The sooner we are done the sooner we finalize this whole affair."

Viserys snorted "Come along slave." He barked towards the servant behind them, a thin, bald shaven man who shook like a leaf even as he shambled after them as meekly as possible.

Their interpreter.

Illyrio had volunteered- but she did not trust him.

So she'd found her own and urged Illyrio to handle 'another matter of extreme import' to her, knowing the cheesemonger would be far too curious on what she may have been doing in secret to pass up the opportunity.

He'd find very little.

The tent had no guards out front, showing how little the Dothraki thought themselves under threat here. Fair enough- the displaced scions of a ruined dynasty and one knight were not a threat but if it was a reflection of their discipline on campaign it was not a good one.

Entering the tent, she was assailed by the smell of heavy smoke, fermented milk alcohol, and burning meat on spits. The laughter of the men and guttural language of the Dothrakki died quickly as they turned to look at them.

Khal Drogo sat in the center on a stump by the fire, large and imposing. The firelight made long shadows play across his face as he growled something.

"T-the Khal greets his guests." The slave mumbled behind them, seemingly trying to shrink in on himself enough that people would forget he was even there. "A-and invites you to speak."

Edelgard offered a nod and marched forward, ahead of Viserys, no doubt to his displeasure, but heard the others following behind her regardless.

She took a look around the tent, taking stock of the men there. She saw nothing remarkable. There were eight of them. All mediocre people hanging off the proverbial coattails of the only one amongst them who had a modicum of genuine strength about him.

She was ready to place them all out of her mind when she noted…

There.

Hidden in the gloom and the smoke, towards the rear of the tent, watching Edelgard, her brother and her knight with sharp eyes-

A woman.

A woman that flitted through half remembered dreams and faded memories.

Edelgard knew this woman, and yet had never seen her before today.

She knew her name- and yet they'd never been introduced.

She knew she was a superb fighter- and had never seen her even holding a weapon.

Her eyes were fixated on the woman even as she forced herself to pretend otherwise.

Taking her seat, she noted the Khal's eyes darting between her and Viserys- and she could see that he was immediately reassessing things as he watched the dynamic playing out in front of him.

Still, when he spoke, he spoke to Viserys.

His growled words rumbled out of his chest and the slave behind them spoke quickly, words overlapping over growls.

"The Khal wishes to know why you have called this meeting; he understands the bargain has been finalized."

She felt her skin crawl at the word 'bargain' but she schooled her expression, keeping it blank. "We wished for some… clarifications." She said, the Translator speaking up behind her

Khal Drogo took a deep, slow breath, seemingly digging into his very limited patience.

"The deal was clear-" The Translator said quickly. "You give me the Valyrian girl. I give you the strength of the Khalassar."

"There you have it-" Vyseris dismissed beside her. "Waste of bloody time."

She ignored him. "You've agreed to invade past the narrow sea. But we have not heard when this will happen. Or where you will gain the ships to do so. Or where you will invade as a staging ground-"

The slave translated behind her and she saw the Khal snort in laughter, saying something to the assembled men around them, all of them laughing with him- likely at her expense.

The woman towards the back answered him with a retort and the Khal barked out a laugh, answering back.

"What did he say." She demanded.

"My lad-"

"What. Did. He. Say." She repeated, her voice deadly quiet.

The slave bowed his head. "He-he said that -The girl thinks herself a Khal"

Now it was her turn to snort.

She was far far above the mongrel aspirations of a 'Khal'.

But let him think whatever he wished.

"And the woman in the back?" She demanded, gesturing with her hand for good measure.

The woman stood. Realizing she was the subject of discussion now, stepping forward into the light.

She had the same dusky complexion all Dothrakki had. Braids clinking in her long chocolate brown hair, an almost feline swagger in her step.

And no recognition in her eyes.

She did not know Edelgard at all.

No flicker of anything that ever marked Edelgard's own memories as anything more than… fantasy.

Delusion.

Madness.

The Slave sputtered out his answer.

"The woman t-told the Khal that the only female Khal will be her, when she defeats him. The Khal laughed, saying that he looks forward to the day the gods take away his sword arm to give her the chance."

"Who is she?" Edelgard wanted to ask. But refrained.

This meeting was not about the woman. It was more important.

Her… madness could wait.

Drogo kept speaking.

"The bargain was clear. I will have a son. The Stallion that mounts the world. Once your sister has given me my son. I will get you your metal chair. No sooner."

"Nine bloody months!" Viserys screeched, now interested and leaning forward. "You would have us wait for nine bloody months!"

"I wonder what else Illyrio didn't tell you." She lilted, enjoying his anger. "This is why you handle things yourself."

"I am not waiting nine bloody months for-"

"Do you have another forty thousand men lying around that I've not heard about?" She demanded- then shrugged after he shut up. "The deal is struck already. Not much we can do about it anyway. We're not here to change the terms. Besides, nine months can be useful."

Gathering information, sowing discord, assessing the real state of Westeros, not whatever Illyrio was feeding them, planning, preparing, negotiating.

Nine months was a fine length of time.

"Where will you acquire the ships?"

Pentos. Bravos. Either will give us what we need."

The choice between fighting the Dothraki that they fear or seeing the back of them by sending them off to be Westeros' problem would be a rather clear cut choice.

"Only the ships, or will you make a point to take their sailors too?" She asked archly, one eyebrow raising.

The Khal huffed out a laugh, his lip curling into a smirk.

"We. Take. Everything."

Good. The last thing they needed was a bunch of dothraki drowning in the middle of the narrow sea because they didn't know one side of a boat from the other.

"And where are you planning to land?"

The Khal looked confused, seemingly unsure as to the terminology

"Invade; attack?" She clarified.

"We will cross at the narrowest point. Get off of the poison water as quickly as we can."

The narrowest point, if they were getting their ships from Pentos and Bravos would be

Rocky, craggy, mountainous terrain.

She shook her head. "That will never work."

The Khal looked at her as all men looked at her, a child wanting to play at war. A girl who thought herself above her station as a woman.

"What are you doing?" Viserys hissed beside her-

Again, she ignored him.

"The narrowest point you would have access to would be north of Pentos, sailing directly west. You'll arrive very quickly, it is true. But you'll arrive in the Vale of Arryn. Gulltown. A place of rocky terrain, crags and mountains. No fodder for your horses. No room to maneuver. No fields to reap, no villages to plunder. You'll be forty thousand Dothrakki screamers trapped in a basket just waiting for the armies of Westeros to arrive through the narrow passes and slaughter you."

She reached down, her fingers digging into the dirt to draw a rough outline of two mountains hemming in a stick figure man with a curved sword, a Dohrakki Arkh.

Khal Drogo leaned forward, sneering at the image.

She started forming a new image, her finger smarting as she carved through the tough dirt to make her picture of the narrow sea, the two landmasses separated by "waves" before her finger cut through them again dragging down.

"You will need to head south." She said, "It will be a longer journey, but arriving in Dorne will give you an easier time… but even that is still not ideal."

She kept drawing, kept tugging. Ignoring Viserys again, who reminded her that Dorne is where their allies are.

Down. Past the Stepstones, Past Sunspear.

Past Quorgyle, Vaith, Uller and Dayne…

"Here." She finally said, her long drawn out line circling around the southern tip of Westeros.

Right onto the doorstep of the green and fertile fields of the lands of Hightower

A much longer journey. Weeks rather than the mere days he'd originally envisioned.

His fellow muttered, displeased and sneering and jeering.

The Khal did not. He only growled out two words.

Why there?

—

Hours later they were leaving the tent, and she was far more satisfied with the details than she had been walking in; while the Khal's men looked less than enthused about the possibility of sailing for far far longer than planned across the narrow sea, the Khal's eyes were alight with a conqueror's ambition.

She recognized it.

Like begets like after all.

The promises of wealth, the description of the endless fields of green, of the southlands the wealth of gold and silver of the Lannisters. The steel of stormlands. All these were more enticing than the vague promises of titles and empty words from a meaningless chair.

But while she was more satisfied with it all, she could already sense her brother was not-

Before she even reached her horse, Viserys reached towards her, grasping her by the shoulder to turn her around and face him fully.

Her brother's gaze was alight with fury, the muscles of his face tense with anger. "You will stop undermining my authority!"

She did not have the patience right now to coddle his tantrums. With a put upon air, she took a breath and sighed

"Then learn how to actually wield some of it."

His face went through a rictus of colors, flushing with red. "How dare y-"

Her hand whipped out, slender fingers reaching up to coil around Viserys' slender neck digging her thumb straight into his windpipe mid word- he choked; his own air and saliva going down every wrong pipe as he spluttered and coughed, battering her hand aside -she let him- as he wheezed and struggled to clear his airway.

"I am grateful to you, brother." She said calmly, her hands going behind her back. "You protected me, and Dany during our youth, after Mother and Ser Darry died. You're the reason we've even made it this far. But make no mistake. You. Are. A. Fool. And my gratitude doesn't extend to suffering Fools. Look at you-" She gestured towards the tent where the Dothrakki were still cloistered. "You don't even know the details of your own 'bargain'. You've made no plans to secure ships. No war councils to even inform your… nominal subjects as to where they might land to be effective in their wars. You sit in a cheesemonger's home feasting on charity and living off of his supposed goodwill. Useless. Useless and weak. No one. Especially not I, will be beholden or shackled to your stupidity."

"I-" He hacked, forcing the words out of a ravaged throat. "I am your king" He screeched, lunging for her, one hand outstretched.

It was caught. Jeritza's iron clad fist clamping down hard on his limb, holding him still, her Death Knight's armored form placing itself between her and her brother.

Viserys looked up at the man, his face blanking with fear, and quickly twisting to resentment…

And somewhere behind the window of his wounded eyes…

Realization.

She looked at him. This poor, piteous creature that was her brother in this life.

He probably knew what she would say before she even said it.

"Worthless." She sighed, turning around and marching away. "King of Delusion."

She reached her horse, the translator bowing as he held the reins.

Mounting her horse, she pulled on the reins, turning to head back to the manse. "Come, Jeritza. We have a wedding to prepare for.

—

Lysithea

Lysithea knew, intellectually, that she was perhaps… latching onto her new friend.

Her only friend really.

Very rarely did she leave the manse; even rarer still, was someone who was not a servant being welcome into said manse; or staying for almost any length of time.

Much less the person being her age, and a girl to boot.

So… yes. She understood that she was becoming far more attached far more quickly than was prudent…

But she couldn't help it.

She was happy to have a friend.

Even if she wouldn't be staying for much longer.

Upon hearing of Dany's upcoming nuptials, it didn't take Lysithea very long to decide that she wanted to give Daenerys her own gift. Something to remember her fondly by and perhaps come visit one day if she could; at the very least, exchange letters.

If… the dothraki even knew what letters were…

She hoped they did.

Hanging around the neck of a bust on her vanity, there had always been a necklace. A beautiful thing, inlaid with sapphires, shaped like a crescent moon angled downwards, cradling a central orb of pure, smooth as glass dragonbone.

A beautiful thing. Lysithea herself had never worn it, her father purchased it for her just last year but she was not one for jewelry. Books were her passion.

Besides, her father could always buy her another, and her friend wouldn't marry every day.

So, quietly slipping the necklace into the folds of her dress, she donned her servant's disguise and resolved to go see her friend and enjoy her company.

Dany had been anxious these last few days, scared and worried regarding her 'husband' to be.

She could sympathize if not completely empathize. The Dothraki, from everything she'd read, were a brutal people. Savage was not an overstatement by any stretch of the imagination.

There was very little information on how they treated their women; but she did remember one thing, that the Khalessi, the wives of their Khals, were protected in Vaes Dothrakk once a Khal died.

So, Lysithea hoped, for her friend's sake, that it was indicative that the Dothrakki people on the whole treated their women well.

And if not… well… she hoped her gift would help in some small way.

So checking to make certain her father was not in her path, she made her way through the manse, marching past winding halls to make it towards Danny's rooms, already hearing several of the servants already present, before she got there.

Peeking through the door, she saw Dany being measured, a dress of sheer fabric being formed, her hair of spun silver being arranged by a small squadron of handmaidens and servants flitting about this way and that way.

Lysithea had never been one for much patience.

Opening the door, she cleared her throat, loudly.

When all eyes turned to the door, Lysithea saw Danny smile, the expression lighting up her face, even if it didn't fully reach her eyes. Several of the serving girls recognized her, one did not- but rather quickly realized something was amiss when her fellows bowed and hastily proceeded to do the same.

"I would speak with our guest" She spoke in Pentoshi, seeing the servants bow again before quietly gathering their things and stepping away so as to give them some privacy.

They hadn't left the room, but that was fine.

Stepping towards Danny Lysithea looked the bride to be over.

She never had a mind for fashion, but the polite thing to say was perhaps-

"You look very nice."

Danny giggled, blushing. "An exemplary complement."

Lysithea felt heat creep up her cheeks, embarrassed as she cleared her throat. "Yes well… I have something for you. A gift. I won't be able to go to your wedding itself-" (Her father would never allow it) "-So I thought it best to give it to you now."

She reached into the folds of her skirt, pulling free the amulet, its chain clinking.

Dany gasped as she caught sight of it, her eyes going wide, hands flying to her mouth. "Lysithea-" She almost screamed, reaching for the amulet and cradling it in her hands. "-this is-"

"Don't read too much into it. It's just something nice for your wedding day." She said quickly. "Though, you shouldn't let your husband see it until you're sure he won't just sell it!"

In truth she was more worried about her father seeing it and realizing she'd been sneaking out of her room. Her father wasn't exactly the most observant; but even he would notice if the amulet he gave her was suddenly around Danny's neck.

Danny's wide eyes were still staring at the thing, completely flabbergasted and disbelieving.

It was a nice amulet but she really was resting far too-

Lysithea stopped, realizing that Danny's arms were suddenly coiling around her, pulling her close and tight in a hug that made the younger girl smile just a little bit.

"It's just a small gift." She whispered; patting Danny on the back. "I hope you're happy with your new husband."

Danny pulled away, sniffling, and tears forming in her eyes.

Lysithea didn't do tears very well-

"Umm.. Yes. Well." She cleared her throat, hands stiff at her sides. "I'll leave you to finish your dress. We'll speak more… umm… later. Yes." She nodded, turning sharply on her heel and beginning to walk out, offering a nod to the handmaidens who bowed, giving them leave to continue their work as she decided to… head back to her room.

Nominally, she was still cloistered and wasn't allowed to see their guests for whatever her fathers reasons.

Shutting the door behind her she began heading down the halls-

Someone stepped in front of her, standing in her way.

The experience was so odd, so out of place that for a moment Lysithea didn't react, still staring at the ground before realizing whoever this was wasn't stepping out of her way, either not recognizing her or genuinely believing she was a servant.

She brought her gaze up, taking a breath to speak and demand the servant or guard step aside-

Only to freeze as her eyes met the gaze of…

Edelgard.

The Silver haired princess, and somehow, that title was not the right one, she knew, stared Lysithea down, her gaze intense and the young Mopatis felt herself intimidated before she pushed steel back into her spine, glaring right back as she straightened.

Lysithea fought the urge to shake her head. Memories flashing before her mind's eye. Of War, of death. Of a place she'd never seen before and yet knew better than her own home. Of a woman with dark hair. Of sigils she could never remember and yet knew exactly what they were.

A Blue Lion.

A Black Eagle.

A Golden Deer.

Her body went stiff even as her mind reminded her what her nan had told her so many years ago.

"It's just dreams little princess. Nothing but dreams."

Because that's all they could be.

That's all she'd learned to believe they could be.

And then…

The Emperor spoke.

"I… remember you." Edelgard whispered. "And I think you remember me."

Despite herself, despite her pride, her station. The fact that thai was her home and Edelgard the guest… Lysithea stepped back, her eyes darting over towards the man she now noticed looming behind the… the Princess!

Edelgard noticed her gaze. "You've never heard his name have you?" She asked… "Not here. Not… this… time?"

Lysithea shook her head.

The Targaryen hesitated. "Please." She suddenly said, "Tell me I'm… that I'm not mad." She gestured behind her, stepping aside so Lysithea could look at the man in full.. "Tell me his name."

She didn't want to.

Because if she did…

Then maybe she was mad too.

She looked at the Princess. A million and more flashes of something passing through Lysithea's mind.

Enemy. Her mind hissed

Friend. A gente voice reminded.

Emperor. She recognized

Tyrant. She'd seen

Visionary. She believed

Monster… She knew.

And yet somehow… she felt somewhere she owed her this. Owed her this… small shard of peace that she somehow knew Edelgard would never find anywhere else if she denied her now.

"Jeritza…" She whispered.

It was like the word was a physical blow punching Edelgard in the chest as she released all the air in her lungs, her body sagging.

"A-and…" Lysithea swallowed, her throat feeling dry. Her insides twisting. Unable to silence herself now that the door had been cracked open just a bit- only to find itself being torn off its hinges.

Her hands wrung together. "E-emile."

This time, the man stiffened.

"And…" She sucked down a shaky breath. Armor as black as night. A leering skull. "D-death knight."

And she knew she was right.

She turned her gaze back to Edelgard. "And you… are Edelgard von Hressvelg!"

She said the name with complete conviction. Because that is what she remembered. What she knew somewhere locked in the cage of a mind that swam in an ocean of endless dreams. Endless places and peoples and buildings and things Who'd read a million books and once swore that she was a wielder of magic because she HAD been.

Just as Edelgard was… the Emperor.

And the woman with dark hair was always there. Always present somehow.

And she knew she was right.

Even though… perhaps she would have been happier, things would have been simpler, if she had forever remained as a simple, fanciful dreamer.

Tears glimmered in Edelgard's eyes, and she stared past Lysithea, even as she swallowed down whatever emotion was threatening to overwhelm her.

Lysithea didn't know, what the young silver haired woman may have been thinking in that moment. If her thoughts were similar, or vastly different to her own. The realization, the… frightening, impossible, exciting reality of what this must've meant.

Was she feeling relief? Joy? Anxiety?

Or perhaps… like her, after a second her mind fixated on a single question-


Where was the woman?

The one that always always… loomed large in all of Lysithea's dreams.

She wasn't sure.

And she didn't know how to ask.

The Emperor gave a single, stiff necked nod.

"Good." Was all she could force through a choked throat.

Somehow Lysithea agreed.

They had much… much to talk about.

(X)(X)(X)


Hello everyone; New month, new chapter

Its an Edelgard chapter, with more little seeds being planted here and there. I've noticed that Dimitri's chapters tend to have a lot of the "Divergent World Building" but Edelgards are the ones that are beeing seeded with some pretty plot relevant heavy "things" that would take place down the road.

So everyone's having fun

As usual you can find 2 advance chapters on Patreon right now, (A Dimitri and Edelgard chapter this time) where more and more of our favorite three houses cast members keep crawling out of the woodwork.

It's Reyne-ing videogame characters everywhere :3

 

[LD1449]

Chapter 7:


Dimitri:


He couldn't sleep.

The Crown Prince of the realms stared straight up at the dark wood ceiling of his rooms; the lumpy mattress feeling little softer than a rock under him- but that wasn't the reason for his restless night.

Thoughts… memories, swirled within his skull, flashes of things he'd long since thought he'd chased away. An old madness creeping back into his being.

All because of… the woman.

Byleth Eisner.

He'd seen her face before. Knew her face; knew the woman that wore it.

Or at least… he thought he did.

Ghosts and pantomime memories that he'd long since forgotten now crept back-

And he didn't know what to do.

Was it madness?

It would be in line with the cruelty of the Gods; to have Robert Baratheon's son and heir be taken by the same madness of the man he deposed and despised.

Dimitri did not want to be such a thing. A cruel joke made to hurt his own family; he'd decided that years ago when he was a child.

It's why he'd pushed the memories away as best he could. Until they were but distant dreams.

Now the dream had come to life- all because one woman he never believed existed did, in fact, exist.

He sighed, pushing himself to his feet and getting some semblance of clothes on to take a walk.

Perhaps the night air will help him clear his head.

Minutes later, he walked across the battlements of Moat Cailin; the ruin carried a haunting, almost hallowed beauty to it in the glow of moonlight and torchlight. The chorus of insects chirped and trilled through the boggy mists, a sea of fireflies glimmering gold and green in the gloom beyond the walls.

It was… pretty, really.

"Can't sleep either huh?"

Dimitri startled, ever so slightly, turning to look and wasn't entirely surprised to find Claude there; a bottle of wine in hand.

"Connington." He wasn't sure if he was greeting the man, or suddenly, reminding himself what his name was.

The half-dornish lord raised the wine bottle to greet him back. "My prince." He chuckled, taking a swig.

Dimitri dared then, to ask- "What's keeping you awake?"

"I imagine the same thing as you." The lord of Griffon's roost answered, jerking his head in the vague direction of the camp. "Certain lady with a horse named 'Mr. Fish.'"

In spite of himself, Dimitri snorted with amusement.

It really was a ridiculous name.

Still-

That didn't quite answer his question.

He was awake because of too many… things… dreams, memories, visions. All impossible things that could not and never did happen but his maddened mind said that they had. And that it was all true.

The Mad King born again.

He doubts Claude Connington has the same madness.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." Dimitri answered cautiously.

Claude eyed him for a moment; then shrugged with a smile. "Come on- you can't tell me you're not curious my prince. Woman like that- riding a Dothrakki Blood-Steed! I had to ask around after her."

Ahh-

That… made more sense. Certainly more sense than Dimitri's own delusions.

"I was merely clearing my head." He lied… poorly. Turning away; back toward the field of fireflies and marshes. "Still- what did you find out?" He asked feigning only mild interest.

Claude marched up beside him, leaning against the battlements and placing the wine bottle between them, an open invitation.

"She's Jeralt's daughter; though you probably know that. According to everyone I've spoken to- all part of the merc band mind you- I've gotten a few clear, indisputable facts." He raised his hand and counted with his fingers. "One- she's kind. Very nice; but very quiet. Many people say she's touched in the head but… in a good way. If that makes any sense."

Somehow, he could believe it. "Next-" Claude continued, holding up his next finger. "She's the best warrior in the band."

That made Dimitri raise an eyebrow. "Come again?"

He wasn't one to forget his histories. Female warriors were 'rare', but they were certainly known.

But Jeralt himself was a legendary warrior. One who aided Ned Stark in slaying Arthur Dayne and the Kingsguard. To hear his father tell it Jeralt was a man he'd put in the Kingsguard in a heartbeat if he thought the man would accept.

Did Claude's statement mean that the band considered her better than even Jeralt himself?

Claude nodded. "Yup- Best in the band. Apparently she's never lost a single fight against anyone from the second she picked up a sword."

"That's exaggeration." He declared with absolute surety. Everyone lost. Without losing one didn't learn.

"Maybe." Claude shrugged easily. "Either way, she's supposedly damn good. Another woman in the band, lady named Shamir, said that an Essosi priest named her as what you call a 'Savant', someone born with a single skill. One thing the gods gave them to make them better than damn near anyone else. The gods gave her skill with a sword. No one can beat her."

Dimitri wasn't sure what to say to that.

But apparently Claude wasn't done. "And Three-" He declared dramatically. "No one knows why the hell the horse is named Mr. Fish!"

The Prince stared at the lord of Griffon's roost. "Really?" He demanded incredulously."

"You can't tell me you're not curious on why she picked that stupid name."

"I am but it's hardly a priority!"

"I've gotten like six different versions of the stupid story from like three people. Wanna hear em?"

—

Traveling through the North was like traveling through a still moment in time.

Endless expanse of grey and white, snowy fields and quiet stretches.

It was… calm. Even with the hundreds traveling with them, even with the addition of Jeralt's Beasts, who his father had convinced to travel with them it was simply… calm. Peaceful in a way the Capital, or even… anywhere South of the neck never could be.

It was as though this part of the world was content in the quiet. As though it reveled in the ability to simply be still.

He knew, somewhere within that he would miss this place when he left.

The Days were shorter here, camp had to be made earlier; before the sun fell and the cold became too much to bear.

His father traveled alongside Barristan, Dimitri himself, Jeralt and Alois. The King looked as though he couldn't have been happier, his cheeks flush with joy as he roared out his laughs at the head of the column, letting Dimitri see in real time how his father gained the loyalty and friendships of so many during the days of the Rebellion.

It was… good to see.

Still, with his father entertained, Dimitri did take time to ride alongside his mother's wheelhouse, chatting with her, Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey.

No, Joffrey and he were not getting along- but he was pleased to entertain his other siblings, even convincing his mother to allow Myrcella to ride a horse; side saddle, of course, escorted by cousin Lorenz. And even Tommen was allowed to ride in Dimitri's own saddle, much to his youngest siblings' delight.

As the days and weeks passed, Dimitri did take the opportunity to meet and speak with several of the Mercenaries. No doubt his mother didn't approve; but new faces on a road as long as this brought a great deal of interest; even to herself, who looked at the warrior women in the band with what Dimitri could only describe as… mixed emotions. Equal parts fascinated, and scornful.

If he didn't know better he would say his mother was envious.

Not that he'd ever say that.

The woman, Byleth, was always easy to find. Or- to be more clear 'Mr. Fish' was easy to find. A blood-drop cast across white snow.

The horse was a monstrous thing; larger than even the Hound's destrier. The lady Byleth looked almost childlike riding astride it, but she still commanded and maneuvered the beast with all the grace and skill of even a veteran knight.

Over the course of their travel, near all of his companions had approached her- Claude, of course, conversed with her the most, but so did Lorenz, Ashe and even Bernadetta.

In fact; he noted that Byleth herself could be found riding beside Bernadetta more often than not and his friend seemed more at ease near her than most.

He… hadn't approached her.

Not only was he a prince of the realm… but how exactly did someone approach a mercenary woman and say 'I believe I know you from somewhere' without sounding like… well… his father half in his cups with a tavern wench serving him more wine.

Nevermind that the 'somewhere' was his own twisted mind giving him false, impossible memories of her. Of lifetimes and wars that had never and could never happen.

No. Best keep his distance. Best keep the madness at bay.

"You seem distracted."

His uncle Jamie's voice made him turn, looking at the man who was watching him with open curiosity and just a hint of concern."

"I could say the same, you know." The Crown Prince shot back. "In fact, you've been a bit quiet for a while now Uncle."

His Uncle didn't deny it. "Suppose I have. Just… thoughts." He said vaguely.

It made Dimitri's features scrunch up in thought. "What about?" It was rare for his uncle to get 'Lost in his head.'

Jamie didn't answer immediately. "Your Uncle." He finally replied.

"What does Uncle Renly or Stan-" He stopped, realizing. "Oh."

Jamie nodded. "Aye- Oh."

Tyrion Lannister was a subject seldom spoken of.

His mother gave no 'good' impressions of him. If she were to be believed he was nothing more than a deformed little Monster. His Grandfather had given Dimitri a look once, so disdainful that he hadn't the courage to ask again; as though Tyrion was a mistake better left forgotten.

Only Aunt Ingrid spoke well of him- at least in the immediate family. Aunt Genna and Uncle Kevan also held him in high, if melancholy regard.

And his Uncle Jamie… well… Uncle Jamie only ever grew sad when he thought of him.

"He was lost in the Riverlands wasn't he?" Dimitri asked.

"It's where we lost his trail." His uncle corrected. "But yes. By and large."

Dimitri had heard the story before. Or at least- the broad strokes.

Tyrion, taken with a peasant girl, eloped with her… and ran away.

By the time Casterly Rock, or more accurately, Grandfather Tywin had heard and had gone in pursuit of him alongside his uncle Jamie… he was gone.

Some tales asserted he left for Bravos or the Free cities. Others said he traveled north, to the vast expanse of ice and cold to live far away from his father's reach in isolation and obscurity. Others still said he hid in the Riverlands itself.

Whatever the truth. No one had found him.

"I introduced them, you know." His Uncle Jamie said solemnly. "Every time I think about it…" He trailed off.

"I can imagine." Dimitri answered with empathetic understanding.

Jamie, directly or indirectly, had caused his brother to disappear.

He might be dead now, for all anyone knew.

And even if he was alive… was he happy with his lady love? Were they well? Healthy? Did they have food in their bellies every day? Hurt or crippled?

It was a great many dangers that could take a man.

And Tyrion had never, not once been heard from or sent word to anyone in the Westerlands or Westeros itself at all.

As he said… dead for all they knew.

Even so- "I'd like to think." He said quietly, hoping to not misstep. "That wherever he is, that he is happy."

Uncle Jamie didn't say anything, his eyes growing sad and melancholic.

Dimitri was happy to let the conversation fade away then, leaving his Uncle to his tumultuous thoughts.



—

When they were finally, finally approaching Winterfell, Dimitri could almost feel his heart quicken with ready anticipation.

As the crown Prince, he'd traveled throughout most of Westeros and had seen many of the grand, storied castles of the realm and each one had something that made them stand out. Something that characterized them above all the others.

Storm's End was Dominant. It was the only word that fit. It towered over the sea of storms and the jagged peaks of the ocean rocks. An Overlord, or a General, overseeing those under its command.

The Eerie was Proud. The Falcon atop the tallest peaks, looking down upon the world that crawled in its shadow.

Highgarden- was Grace and Beauty given form. Its endless gardens, flowing waters; its soldiers, glimmering in the sun with plate polished to a mirror sheen.

Casterly Rock was Regal; Royal even. The King of beasts resting in prestige above its subjects.

King's Landing stank with the lack of sewers…

…

One. Day.

But still, as he approached and finally crested the hill to behold the mighty structure along the horizon… it was hard to think of a descriptor that really fit.

In this cold, grey land- Winterfell felt… odd… contradictory. Lonely, and yet somehow warm, mighty and yet sleeping, welcoming and foreboding.

A wolf curled in on itself to brace against the cold, and yet sitting calmly, confident in its strength to weather any storm.

"Ahh." His father breathed, the warmth of him visible in the air that escaped his mouth. "We're here- finally."

The King reached over, slapping Jeralt along the arm. "You ready to meet Ned again? Gods, it'll be good for us all to be together at long last."

The Mercenary leader nodded, smiling- "Aye. It's been too long by half."

"Haha." Robert laughed in agreement before kicking at his horse, sending it forward on its final canter- to finally reach his friend after the months long journey.

—

They rode into Winterfell with all the pomp and ceremony needed of the Royal party.

Banners were unfurled, armor that had been polished that morning gleamed- His father at their head, he behind him, the Kingsguard behind them, his mother's wheelhouse after that and so on and so forth.

The Courtyard was a massive space, and waiting for them was, of course, the Stark household.

Dimitri could identify the Stark family immediately, each dressed in fine clothes, the grey Direwolf present in some fashion on their clothes, either in their cloaks, their broaches or some other article of clothing.

Behind them, other minor nobles, cooks, servants. The Northern people dressed warmly for their clime of course; but each of them looked full and genuinely well taken care of within the castle. It spoke well of their lord, if not the Starks as a whole.

His father dismounted from his horse, Dimitri following behind him, standing two paces at his back and one to his right; where a Prince should stand by his father the King.

His father didn't say anything, his face stern as he overlooked the whole of the crowd before beckoning with nothing but his hand for the Lord Stark to stand.

It was unlike his father, this seriousness; Dimitri watched.

As the Lord of Winterfell reached his feet, he looked at his father-

And his father greeted him.

"You've gotten fat!"

It took every ounce of Dimitri's self control to not groan.

The Lord Stark raised an incredulous eyebrow, looking pointedly at his father's rotund belly.

And that was all it took for his father to break. "Hahahaha!" He laughed with a simple, childish joy, spreading his arms wide as he and his oldest friend hugged one another.

"Nine years-" His father breathed. "Why haven't I seen ya? Where the hell have you been!?"

"Guarding the North for you; your Grace." Lord Stark answered with a polite nod. "Winterfell is yours."

"Ahh-" Robert waved him off, turning and beckoning Dimitri forward. The Prince obliged, smiling as pleasantly as he could towards the Lord of the North as Robert clapped his hand over his shoulder. "-Ned- His father said with what was indeed, a bright, proud smile. "I'd like you to meet my Son!"

Eddard, or Ned as Robert called him, offered a respectful bow. "Your Grace."

"My Lord." Dimitri answered, reaching forward to shake the man's hand.

Eddard's grip was firm, offering a steady shake as the Wheelhouse rode in behind them, the array of Knights and Guards, taking formation before it as the doors were opened.

His mother stepped out first- and behind her, Joffrey, his features, thankfully, neutral. He was dressed in finery, a sword at his hip. Behind them, Tommen, Myrcella and Bernadetta marched out. Even she would not wish to arrive in Winterfell to meet her cousins in riding leathers

His father, thankfully, did manage to keep the smile on his face as he looked at his mother, Cersei too smiled pleasantly for the Starks sake, the family coming up behind her.

There were a handful of gasps, and murmurs cutting through the crowd, Dimitri caught sight of… 'Mr. Fish' reflected opaquely off of a Guardsman's polished breastplate.

It seems Jeralt's band had finally entered the courtyard.

"Ned- you remember my lady wife of course." Robert introduced, ushering Cersei by his side; "Joffrey- My girl Myrcella, and my youngest Tommen!"

The royal siblings bowed and received bows in return.

And that was about as formal as they got before-

"Well, I've shown you mine, show me yours" Robert laughed bawdily at the joke, and Dimitri was certain, somewhere behind them Alois was chortling.

If that man had given his father that joke… well… Dimitri wasn't sure what he'd do yet but it would be… unpleasant.

Lord Eddard, luckily, laughed rather genuinely, though Dimitri saw his wife going scarlet- he could only imagine his own mother's smile was now more grit teeth being ground to powder than politeness or amusement.

The Lady offered a demure, precise curtsy as Lord Eddard placed his hand at her back. "My wife, Lady Catelyn."

The Lord stepped past her, towards the young man at her side; his father moved with him, gesturing for Dimitri to come along- quickly he fell in step beside the King, just in time to fully see the young man with Lord Stark's 'face' but Tully coloring with his auburn red hair. "My firstborn and heir-"

"Robb!" The King interrupted with a smile, winking at Ned. "Told ya I'd remember- heh."

As if to prove the point he looked to the young woman standing beside Robb. "The Beautiful Lady Sansa."

The young woman blushed, going as red as her hair.

His father moved down the line and Dimitri… froze.

A ghost was staring back at him.

First the lady Byleth and now-

"You must be Felix!"

Though he answered Robert his cold, glacial eyes were fixed on Dimitri. "I am your Grace."

"They say you're the best damn sword in the North!"

Why?

Why was his madness choosing now? This trip to make itself known once again?

"I'm not-" He heard Fraldarius' voice like a distant echo. Warbled under the water that swam through his skull. "-My brother Jon is better."

Memories flashed past the crown Prince's mind, the world and words becoming a distant static as he shut his eyes- trying to breathe steady and calm his suddenly racing heart.

His hands twitched, and he had to clench them into fists to try and stop the trembling

'By-'

A hand was at his back.

"Is the Prince alright?"

Dimitri opened his eyes, the gentle voice that was so familiar and yet so alien, yanking him free of his spiraling, ailing mind, he found a shock of blue hair standing just behind Felix, a set of worried eyes framing a face he shouldn't recognize.

Somehow he knew her name.

Marianne.

He turned his head, finding the woman, Byleth standing behind him, her hand at his back as though to steady him, with a collection of worried eyes looking his way from all directions.

"Son?"

Then his father was there, standing in front of him with his expression and eyes more worried than Dimitri could ever remember, two big meaty paws planting themselves on Dimitri's shoulders.

The crown prince forced himself to swallow, forced his own voice to work once again.

"Forgive me Lord Stark-" He smiled. "I think your summer snows might have hit me a little harder than normal this morning." He joked, as Byleth stepped away, his Uncle Jamie interposed himself between Dimitri and the Mercenary woman who retreated without complaint.

"It's known to fell even the mightiest of men who are unused to it, my prince." Eddard nodded.

"Ned- call your Maester, have him look over my son." Robert said immediately.

"Father, it was nothing but a dizzy spell. I pro-"

"You will do as your father says." Cersei cut him off immediately in a tone that would brook absolutely zero argument.

His parents seldom agreed on anything.

This, or rather, -he- was the exception to the rule it seemed.

"I'm fine, truly-" He tried again.

"My King, My Queen-" Uncle Jamie bowed. "Permission to accompany the Prince to the Maester?"

"Granted/Do it."

His uncle planted one armored hand on his shoulder.

So much for making a good first impression to their Northern hosts.

—

Jeralt:

He breathed a sigh of relief as Byleth stepped back to be at his side, mounting her monster of a horse to sit next to him.

He was friends with Robert, but that didn't exactly mean he was comfortable with his daughter taking the very oblivious and stupid risk of approaching the Prince.

Nevermind that he had no idea how she knew the young man needed some kind of help- but regardless, it was done and nothing major had come of it, thankfully.

Gods if Byleth had touched him and the boy chose that moment to collapse…

He didn't even want to think about it.

He cast his eyes over the assembled families before him, Robert's were well known to him by now, Ned's he hadn't ever met. But he and his wife seemed happy judging by the number of them. Good, healthy children.

Still, his eyes found one among them that let him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Jeralt?"

He smiled at old Ned who gave a single incredulous laugh, Robert noticing at his side and smiling as well.

"Yeah, found old Jeralt at the Moat!" The King said. "Convinced him to come on up here! Get all three of us legends together one more time in our old age. Hehehehe!"

Jeralt dismounted, bowing respectfully and waited for Ned to approach him and initiate the greeting he was comfortable with. The Rebellion was many years ago- and he didn't want to presume anything.

But Ned's hand clasped firmly around Jeralt's wrist and pulled him into a fast hug. "It is good to see you again my friend."

"It's good to see you too Stark." Jeralt smirked.

Ned turned his head, looking up. "A Dothraki Blood Steed…" The man had a hell of a poker face; he didn't even bat an eye. "And might I ask your name My Lady?"

"Byleth." Jeralt answered for her. "My daughter."

"My Lord." She said, bowing from atop her horse.

The Horse stomped and clomped its front hoof, shifting its stance.

"I think he wants to run a bit more before being placed in the stable." Byleth noted neutrally. "Father, My King, My Lord. Might I have leave?"

Jeralt's instinct was to say yes, but, again; this was not his castle, and he was not the 'Boss' right now.

"Go on-" Robert nodded. "See to your beast."

Byleth nodded gracefully, tugging on the reins and Mr. Fish whirled around to march out.

Soon she would be galloping. And that Horse would look as little more than a streak of red as it vanished over the horizon.

"A gorgeous beast." Ned noted with admiration in his voice. "Where'd you find it?"

Jeralt sighed, rubbing at his head.

His two friends gave him odd looks.

"Bernadetta?"

Before he could answer his friends, the lady Catelyn's voice made him and Ned turn, finding the older woman standing in front of the younger niece now being introduced to her. "Is that you sweet girl!?"

"I-Umm..Oh-I… Yes a-au- Lady Catelyn. I'm Bernie- Ber-Bernadetta Arynn."

"Ohh!" Catelyn's cry made Bernadetta jump, but it was clearly a cry of joy.

Jeralt had seen enough children abused by their parents to recognize the signs. He hoped, for the girl's sake, that her extended family was kinder to her than whatever haunted her back home.

"Oh we must see you to a room and introduce you to all your cousins as soon as we can." Catelyn declared.

"Ned." Robert called, rather uncharacteristically quiet "Lets go- I'd like to pay my respects."

It didn't even take a second for Jeralt to understand what the man wanted.

Lyanna…

Quiet as it may have been, it was a demand.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to settle Robert?" Ned asked.

But Robert shook his head. "Near twenty years, Ned… I'd rather not act as though there are other things more important."

Ned nodded. "Very well. Let me simply make certain that my Castellan knows to see Jeralt and his men to their rooms properly within the castle."

"We were simply going to stay in Wintertown, Ned." Jeralt answered.

But Ned Stark shook his head. "No. You are guests in my hall. I'll hear no different."

Jeralt nodded, knowing better than to argue with his friend, or a Lord. Much less both.

"We would be honored."

 

[LD1449]

Chapter 8:

Edelgard:

She would say this at least about the Dothraki,

If nothing else, they knew how to cover a great deal of distance in a very short amount of time.

Danny's wedding to Khal Drogo had not been a quick, or dull affair; the celebration had taken place over the course of two entire days, with the third spent resting, and by the fourth they were leaving for Vaes Dothrakk.

The journey should have taken at least a month or even two, but the reality was that, at their current pace; if Dany's navigating and map reading skills was anything to go by… weeks at most.

And yes, that was taking into account the occasional raid and detour- the horde moved that fast.

It was barely two weeks now, and they'd already passed Norvos and were well on their way to Qohor

Honestly it was… somewhat distressing, for a variety of reasons, but most importantly many messages needed to be sent out immediately and all she could do was pray that they arrived in time or that at the very least none took offense if things did not proceed according to plan.

Targaryen's could scarcely afford to offend what few allies they had.

Not that her brother seemed aware of this.

"He is traveling in the wrong bloody direction."

Edelgard struggled not to roll her eyes.

"Dany will not be giving birth for months yet brother." She answered him, seeing him turn in his saddle to face her. He looked very much as though he wished to tell her something in a tone that was likely to be less than courteous, but one challenging stare from her, and Jeritza at her back had him reconsidering the idea.

Instead he scoffed, turning away to look back towards the front, where the Khal marched at the head of the army, Danny riding just a bit behind him.

Her elder sister rode with grace, and hadn't once looked back, no matter how nervous or frightened she must've been, even in the earliest of days.

"So we must travel for nine bloody moons to Vaes Dothrak and then Nine moons back- IF she births a boy as the first child? It's absurd. He should simply march his army now and the conquest will be finished by the time the little brat is pushed out."

This time, she did roll her eyes

Her brother just kept proving his own stupidity. If he thought the conquest of Westeros would take nine months he had absolutely no mind for warfare.

Memories or not, lifetimes experience or not; she could still read, even the Conqueror himself, riding on the back of three dragons- three dragons more than they had at the moment mind you -it took two years. And even then, he'd never conquered Dorne

No. She suspected that barring certain things going just right; the struggle for the Throne would not be a short one.

Speaking of past memories however, she would have to make certain to maintain a correspondence with Lysithea- their conversations past their… initial meeting had been… extensive, and… concerning?

It was clear not all of their dreams or memories 'lined up'; certain things shifted or altered with very few constants.

There was one thing that was a constant though.

The woman; sometimes of dark hair and blue eyes. Sometimes with Green hair and green eyes.

But still, they both knew her. She was important.

Sometimes, the name was on the tip of Edelgard's tongue, only for it to slip past her grasp like water between her fingers. The ache that came with that feeling was almost like a genuine mourning, a loss.

But neither of them could recall. For all of her prevalence in both their minds.

A ghost of their pasts.

Edelgard didn't know if that made it better or worse.

Pushing the melancholy out of her mind, she distracted herself, or at the very least, set her eyes on an objective to distract herself with.

She kicked at the flanks of her horse, speeding him up into a light canter, gesturing for Jeritza to hold back, and ignored the curious look she received from Viserys.

She rode up about half the distance between Viserys and Jeritza to where Dany and Drogo rode, reaching beside the Khal's enovvu.

His sister.

The young woman turned, curious and surprised. A known name… a known face.

But there was no spark of recognition there, no widened eyes. No moment of realization.

Not like Lysithea.

Edelgard remembered her.

She did not remember Edelgard.

"Yes?" Even her voice was the same. Although; the accent was rougher, likely due to the different language.

Edelgard offered her a smile, however small and spoke in her own, somewhat hastily learned Dothrak. It would not do to be traveling for months on end with these horselords without knowing their tongue.

'You are the Khal's sister, Petra, yes?'

Her one time friend nodded, smiling.

"Yes." There was a twitch in her expression, a hesitation. "If… you teach me your Westerosi, I will teach you Dothrak"

Edelgard let herself smile. "Is my accent that bad?"

Petra let herself laugh just a bit. "No worse than my Westerosi."

"It's a deal then." She promised.

—

By the time they arrived at Qohor; Petra had indeed become a friend, as far as that concept went with Dothrakki.

The core of the young woman, the friend Edelgard remembered, was there: the desire to learn, the martial prowess, the devotion to family and the unbreakable pride, even the soft naivete and trust at its center.

She was there and yet she was different.

She'd seen Petra challenge a man who raped one of her servants and leave him disemboweled and dying in the sun. She'd seen her propose soft or easy targets for raiding by the fires when speaking to her brother.

She was Petra.

And yet she was Dothrakki.

She had to reconcile that within herself. And remind herself, however changed, it was good to have her friend back.

They arrived and began to make camp outside of Qohor by nightfall. No doubt as a way to intimidate the civilians. To go to bed one night and wake up the very next morning with a horde of Dothraki outside your gates would frighten anyone.

She doubted the Guard or the city leadership would be caught quite so flatfooted, no doubt scouts and sentries had seen them approaching days ago. But by morning; the tribute would be paid and the Horde would leave the day after next.

"You are tired." Jeritza observed.

She nodded, staring out across the expanse of land. Not quite a 'swamp' but damp and balmy regardless. There was no point in hiding the truth from him. "I'm almost tempted to ride into the city to search for an Inn with an actual bed.

He turned, looking to her with a question on his expression before she shook her head.

"No. You don't have to ride into the city to find me an inn." She clarified.

The Dothrakki were already making camp around them. A practiced, efficient machine. Even her own tent would be set up in a matter of mere minutes. The nomadic people could establish and break camps with a speed that was downright terrifying. By her count, thirty seven minutes.

Just thirty seven minutes for a Horde of nearly twenty thousand to be up, on its feet and moving was… mind bending really.

All of it without shouted orders, or cracking whips or even lieutenants. A single Horn was blown in the morning and… that was it.

Whoever didn't keep up was left behind.

And being left behind meant Death in the Grass sea. Or so she'd heard.

She'd never seen the grass sea.

She wondered if it was dreadful, or beautiful.

Jeritza moved suddenly, placing himself in front of her. Edelgard knew better than to startle, especially when she saw him place his hand over his sword hilt.

Peeking over his shoulder, she saw that a rider with a wagon was approaching through the gloom of night, a tiny little lantern hanging off the front of the cart, jostling with every bump. She could see two people riding at the front of it, though not much beyond there being two of them.

The Dothrakki began to take notice too; for all of their efficiency in making camp, they had a feeling of invincibility that made them lax in their own security. No rider, let alone a rider with a wagon of all things should have ever gotten this close without alerting at least a single sentry.

Many of the Khalassar stepped forward, Torches and arkh blades in hand, some jeered and laughed, hollering that the merchants were just giving them the stolen goods now without needing to be chased down.

Edelgard saw someone, the driver stand up at the front of the cart and from their silhouette they were… waving?

"~Yooo-hooooo~"

The voice was… not something Edelgard was expecting at all, truth be told.

It was definitely a woman's voice, high and… almost manic. Its tone a joyful cry.

"My lady please" an elderly voice called, she could hear the dismay in his voice as the Dothrakki reached them. "This is not the time to be careless."

"Nonsense Rogier, I can see the princess there! We're perfectly safe! Hallo Gentlemen"

The words made Edelgard obviously start. This woman was… looking for her? Here?

"Be on your guard." She whispered; Jeritza nodded quietly.

It very likely could be an assassin sent by the Baratheon King; but if it was it was certainly a… unique one.

In a much louder and commanding voice she spoke up, calling down to the Dothrakki in their tongue. "They seem to be searching for me, or your Khaleesi,"

The blood riders eyed her, either with leering disdain, suspicion or dismissal, but a few recognized it would not bode well to potentially anger the Khal's new bride, and so they backed off.

The wagon riders kept approaching.

"Who goes there?" She demanded of them. "Name yourself."

Someone stood at the front of the wagon, at last coming into the light.

It was indeed a woman, pale skinned, blonde hair. She smiled brightly at Edelgard and offered a stage worthy bow.

Edelgard knew her.

"My warmest greetings Princess of house Targaryen. I am here to pledge my service to your house and claim, in the hopes of restoring both our houses to their rightful places!"

"My lady-" The old man at her side, her servant, or her driver, or both groaned. At which part exactly she wasn't sure, but likely a combination of all of it.

"I see-" She raised a slender eyebrow. "And you are?" Even knowing her name, she still needed to confirm.

The woman's smile grew, as if just waiting for someone to ask the question.

"I-" She pressed her hand to her chest. "Am Lady Constance. Constance Reyne!"

—

Even all the way across the narrow sea, she'd heard the Reyne's of Castamere.

The entire house, and the Tarbecks, slain overnight by Tywinn Lannister.

It was a famous event around the world, not just in Westeros, rarely had a house, let alone two, been so absolutely destroyed in just a single night.

And yet here she sat, sharing tea with someone who claimed to be the last living descendant of both houses.

"Do you have any proof of what you claim?" Viserys demanded; for once, not insensible.

"My lady Constance bears records of her lineage-" The servant, Rogier answered, sitting next to and behind his mistress. "Her grandmother was the lady Rohanne Tarbeck."

"Rohane Tarbeck never married." Edelgard pointed out- at least, not in the records she'd read.

"After the destruction of our house my Grandmother went into hiding; for safety, she never contacted Grandfather. Too close to the King; and thus, too close to Tywin. For both courts come to think of it" The woman answered with little in the way of hesitation.

"A bastard then." Viserys sneered, scoffing. "And you would use us to lay claim to House Reyne?"

"No more than you are using… everyone you can get your hands on to get you back on your Iron Throne." Constance shot back with a sunshine bright smile.

Viserys turned red, blue and purple with rage. "How dare-"

"Say that we were to entertain this notion of an alliance of mutual restoration-" She interrupted. "It's clear what we can offer you should we be successful. But what can you offer us short or long term?"

The lady Constance gave a high, almost airy laugh. "Well, for starters; funding. I'm no Illyrio Mopatis, but my house still commands a respectable fortune. Grandmother and Father were quite savvy when it came to making coin. Furthermore not everyone in the Westerlands is very adoring of the Old Lion of Lannister. More than a few resent him. It's simply that there's no other lion to contest the Gold. Place a red one as an option-" She grinned. "They'll come around."

"That's a lot of supposition." She countered. "Unless you have letters to back up these claims of support; we might simply solidify the Westerland rule under Tywin by introducing a would be usurper and a baseborn one at that.

"My mother and father were perfectly and legally married I'll have you know."

"Your father was a baseborn." She corrected. "Your grandmother never married your grandfather."

"Oh- yes. That's one thing I can bring to the table, or at least pull off the board." Constance grinned. "Grandfather dearest."

That made Edelgard raise an eyebrow. "He's still alive in Westeros?"

"And important enough that we should care?" Viserys dismissed taking a long gulp of his wine. "Well. Out with it. Who is this alleged grandfather?"

Constance's grin grew very large indeed.

Then she answered.

Edelgard's eyes widened. Even Viserys did a double take.

"If that's true…" She worked a muscle at her jaw. "If-" She stressed again, reminding herself of it as much as Viserys and warning Constance. "Then that changes things."

—

It had been a very long night of discussions, by the time she got to bed it was late, and a bedding of horse furs and dirt didn't help her mood much.

But when she finally opened her eyes and noticed that the sun was very very bright outside Edelgard balked, shooting up to her feet. "Jeritza!"

Her Death Knight marched in from the outside, awake and clad in his armor.

"Why did you not wake me?" She demanded. "We're about to be left behind!"

"Camp has not broken." He answered simply.

"It… hasn't?" She scrunched up her features. "Did Qohor not pay?"

"They have paid." He said. "We have visitors. Your Sister is seeing to them."

"My- Dany?" Sleep was causing a fugue to settle over her brain that she was struggling to shake off. She shook her head. "Who came for a visit? A bloody Gardner?" She huffed out a sardonic laugh.

Jeritza didn't share in her humor, he rarely did.

"Oberyn Martell and his daughters arrived early this morning."

Never in her life had she dressed so fast.

—

"Ahh, the fair Princess Edelgard joins us."

Oberyn Martell was a handsome man. Fine silks, bright clothes. Flamboyance and opulence had clearly been in his upbringing but his gaze had a sharpness to it shared only by his smile.

She noted four girls with him and a lady that was by his side.

She struggled for a moment to remember how many daughters he had. Ten? Was it ten or was it nine?

Dany sat beside him, her dress was simple, as she'd 'preferred' (or her husband preferred) since she'd been married. It was still an elegant garb of fine material and she wore it well at the very least; she looked nervous but it was to be expected given their guests.

She bowed to Oberyn. "Prince Oberyn, forgive me for keeping you waiting." She looked around. "Where is Viserys?"

"He looked tired-" Danny answered just a hair too quickly. "I ordered that he not be disturbed- I… called you. Surely we can entertain Prince Oberyn until Viserys wakes."

She could almost kiss Danny right now.

The last thing she needed was Viserys being left unsupervised with their most important ally.

"At the very least we should make him aware." She answered diplomatically before turning to Jeritza. "Could you go and inform Viserys? Tell him precisely who our guests are. I'm sure he'll make all due haste."

Translation- tell him exactly who this is and how little she would tolerate him screwing things up while they were here.

Jeritza nodded. Planting a fist over his chest before turning and marching away.

"That is the famous Jeritza Velaryon." She heard Oberyn whisper to his paramour, Elaria. "They call him the Death Knight. Do you think I can beat him?"

You can't. She didn't say, plastering on a pleasant smile.

"At the very least, until Viserys arrives introductions can be made." She said. "I've heard of your daughters but never met any of them."

"Of course." Oberyn nodded happily and proceeded to go down the line of girls.

The first was a larger girl, muscled, with a brutish face who's nose had been broken at least once before, likely more than once.

"This is Obara. My firebrand warrior." He grinned, pride shining through his eyes.

"Princess." The girl grunted, lowering her head. The courtesies of nobility were clearly not her strong suit.

The next girl was a dark haired beauty with purple silks who smiled at Edelgard with her father's silken charm.

"Nymeria; my fair but vengeful flower."

The young woman rolled her eyes before she too lowered her head demurely. "Princess."

The next girl- Edelgard recognized.

Her skin was the dusken dark of the Dornish, but her hair a flaming striking red, like red flowers in full bloom, chains clinked around her wrist and neck in a sort of jewelry.

Yes. Edelgard remembered this one very well.

Oberyn smiled like a child. "Hapi- my lucky charm."

"Irony doesn't suit you papa." Hapi deadpanned- she, unlike her previous two sisters, was still standing, so she offered a formal bow. "Princess Edelgard."

"And lastly-" Here he introduced another dark skinned girl, curly hair that was so different from the Dornish waves. "Sarella- my little Maester."

—

"While we certainly do appreciate you coming Prince Oberyn; it couldn't have been easy." She said, one leg crossed over the other.

"Oh it was not." He assured. "Once we heard of the Princess' marriage to the Khal, we knew enough about the Dothraki to understand that they would be headed to Vaes Dothrakk, so we made all haste to intercept you here, made it just in time too it seems."

"Like I said, it is appreciated-" She nodded. "But the question remains- why?"

"Well it's simple" He grinned. "Dorne has been funding you, as our rightful rulers for some time. But now that it's clear you yourselves are beginning to make certain… moves. We would like to… be at your side for them. Show our support early, and assist you more… tangibly. To ensure your success."

"Translation. They want to make sure they're not backing three children who'll get themselves killed from stupidity or madness… Rumors of Viserys, or even myself must've reached them."

She thought for a moment; grinding her teeth ever so subtly.

"Is this Oberyn's will? Or Doran's? One is a whim, the other is a calculation."

"On that note, Oberyn continued, before anyone said anything. "I have heard of your proposal for the Dothrakki to invade through the Southlands, Oldtown specifically."

"Didn't you just arrive this morning?" She questioned.

Oberyn smiled and then spoke in perfect Dothrakki "Word travels faster than sound Princess."

So it did.

"As such, I might already have a means of helping with such an undertaking."

His smile was all arrogance and self assuredness. A man utterly secure in his plans and skills. She could respect that.

However, while confidence was a weapon; overconfidence was not.

"And what might that be?" Danny was the one who asked, brave enough to chime in.

Before more could be said or specified, the tent was opened and Viserys, clearly out of sorts, all but stumbled in.

"Prince Oberyn-" His eyes cast over the assembled 'Sands; and she glared at him fiercely where their guests couldn't see.

Whatever Jeritza said or did seemed to be sticking for now, because her brother schooled his expression into one of placid neutrality. "Forgive my lateness- I was… occupied."

"Not at all my King." Oberyn smiled easily. "I was just about to suggest an addition to your sister's plan to invade through Oldtown."

She noted the pointed words, no doubt Viserys did so as well. Her brother's expression twitched, but, remarkably, he did control himself. "Oh?"


The man nodded. 'Sarella." He called.

One of the sandsnakes, the one with curly hair, stood, silks of yellow and gold slipping to their full length like watery cloth.

"The Maesters of Oldtown, as you know, control a great deal of Westeros, house Hightower itself is very powerful. However, they are overconfident. They wouldn't expect an infiltrator."

Viserys raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between Oberyn and Sarella. "And… what? You're claiming you would infiltrate them?"

I already have." She answered easily; and then gave a bow. "Allow me to introduce myself, My King, Princesses; You look upon Alleras the Sphinx; acolyte of Old Town studying to be a Maester."

"And what exactly does that get us?" Viserys demanded. While Edelgard did not like his tone, the question was a legitimate one.

"Knowledge is power." Saerella smirked. "And the Maesters and Hightowers do very little to guard it well. For instance, do you know by chance where the Hightowers store their grain? How many fighting men they have? When are their harvest times? Which lords give the least taxes, indicating which are unsatisfied or disloyal? Perchance which lords have received a new Maester who might be… malleable to a Targaryen return? Because I do."

As she spoke, Edelgard felt her smirk tugging more and more upon her lips.

"I… I see." Viserys swallowed his tongue, even he could see the potential benefit when laid out like that.

"All of this and it's just our first day of collaboration." Oberyn laughed. "Of course- to continue such; I would love to join you on your journey to Vaes Dothrakk. I've never been; and I would indeed love to see it before I leave this world. You understand of course. And it would give us a chance to truly become good friends."

And like that; the smirk slipped from her features.

Two- likely more months… with their greatest ally, in a camp with Viserys…

"I… what about your daughters and paramour?" She asked… not desperately. "Would you not worry about them returning alone?"

"The only one who need return is Sarella; back to Oldtown, Obara and my guards will escort her well. No, Ellaria and the others are all coming with…" His smile was all sharp teeth and knowing wickedness. "I trust you don't mind."

He knows… or at least suspects that Viserys is unfit.

She scrambled, searching for a way out, a reason, however flimsy however false; it would be better than-

"You may." Viserys nodded. "A King should know his future subjects, especially the loyal ones."

She was going to kill him.

"Marvelous!" Oberyn's delight was saccharin and guile all wrapped together into a package.

Edelgard's despair was genuine and her fury immense.

"Lucky charm." Hapi mumbled, just loud enough for Edelgard to hear.

(X)(X)(X)

And so, some new members join the party for Edelgard

Betcha none of you thought Constance would be a Reyne

Advance chaps will be up on Patreon in a few hours, so join us there if you'd like to get the next few months updates ahead of time.

Now... who do you all think Constance's Grandpappy could be? :3

 

[LD1449]

Chapter 9:

Dimitri:

"It seems to have been little more than a brief winter's chill my Prince."

The Maester's hands were soft. Dimitri had always heard that healers had soft hands; he never gave that statement much weight, he'd been examined throughout his life by many Maesters, from King's landing to Lannisport, Casterly Rock, Highgarden and damn near everywhere else.

Their hands, much like the people who had those hands, varied.

But with Luwin he perhaps began to understand what those old wives tales were getting at.

The Maester nodded calmly, pulling away as he seemed to finish. "It is not unusual for bodies to take time to adjust to the climate here in the north. I suggest, my prince, that you stay within the castle, and dress perhaps a bit more warmly for at least five days until your body fully acclimatizes to our northern snows.

Dimitri smiled, almost sardonically. "If my duties allow."

But Luwin didn't seem deterred. "Should I inform the King or Queen if that will help my prince?"

It was a rare man indeed who would brave the potential displeasure of the King or Queen of Westeros without batting an eye.

"No I-"

"Inform the queen of what?"

To Dimitri, and his uncle Jamie's complete surprise his mother stepped round the corner, having entered the Maester's chamber as quietly as he'd ever heard her.

"Mother/Your Grace." He and Luwin answered at once, the both of them standing even as the wide eyed Jamie bowed lightly.

Cersei turned her eyes towards Luwin, raising an imperious eyebrow. "I am not one to repeat myself, Maester." She warned.

Luwin bowed. "I was merely informing the Prince that his spell in the courtyard was likely caused by his body being unused to the chill as of yet. A mere four to five days of his stay he should take care to remain within the castle walls where it is warm, or to dress with heavier clothes if he should need to head out."

His mother's jade green eyes narrowed "And you needed to ask to inform me; Why?"

Dimitri winced, ready to intervene on the poor Maester's behalf, but Luwin deftly handled the situation.

"Merely trying to ascertain and respect the crown Prince's wishes your grace-" He bowed "-forgive me if I've erred"

His mother wasn't happy but she did accept the answer.

Somewhat anyway.

"He's my son-" She answered. "-if his health is the subject I'm to be informed immediately."

Luwin took the offered escape with a bow. "As your Grace desires."

"Leave us-" She ordered.

"Mother." Dimitri's voice held the barest level of reproach he'd allow himself against his mother. "We're kicking the Maester out of his own chambers."

Cersei's lips pursed with displeasure. "Not for more than a moment-"

It was the closest thing to an apology anyone, even he, could pry out of her.

Again, Luwin took the offered escape with nothing more than a bow before quietly marching out of the room.

And so they were left, the room was a spacious one, with scrolls and books, velum pages, the smell of ink and medicinal concoctions making for a strange, eclectic mix of smells.

"I thought you would be settling in your rooms, or taking a tour of Winterfell with our hosts."

"The servants can settle our things in our rooms, and the tour can wait." She answered, before reaching forward to place a hand on his cheek, as if trying to take his temperature. "How are you feeling?"

In spite of himself, he smiled at her fussing. It was good to see. "I'm fine, mother. I promise. Nothing but a dizzy spell" He lied.

"You've rarely been sick-" She mused, almost thinking aloud really.

For lack of anything better to say, he shrugged. "Sorry mother."

She released a breath through her nostrils, sighing, but not quite before straightening;

"Your father-" Her features soured considerably. "Is down in the crypts with Ned Stark.; I have a feeling I know what they're discussing."

That made him raise an eyebrow. "The handship? It's what we came here for." He answered.

But that answer seemed to be the wrong one, because his mother gave him a very disappointed look shortly before scoffing derisively "No, Betrothals." She spat. "Specifically yours. I have no doubt that oaf is waxing Nostalgic about a ghost and is fully planning on getting you in bed with the Stark girl."

Dimitri winced. That… made a lot of sense actually.

He remembered his father's 'promise' of course, to let him marry who he wished, but no doubt this visit, with the haunting phantom of Lyanna Stark that loomed so large over his life was going to… color his emotions a bit.

"That is… less than ideal-" He conceded.

"I'll not have you marrying some insipid half wildling from the north. She's like to run off with the first man she sees like his precious Lyanna did."

Dimitri winced again. "Mother- The Starks are our closest allies." He said gently.

"Lannisters and Starks are hardly allies."

"I am a Baratheon-" He reminded her with a smirk even as her features soured again at said reminder.

He shook his head. "Even so, like I said it's not ideal-" Not because he held any particular animosity towards the Northerners, so far, they seemed a solid bunch. But, again, his hand was far too valuable to reinforce a solid alliance. "A Betrothal would be a good thing… just… not with me"

His mother's cat green eyes snapped to his and she very nearly seemed ready to hiss before his Uncle came to the rescue.

"Why nephew-" Jamie cheekily smirked. "I never thought you'd throw your cousin Lancel straight to the wolves quite so literally."

In spite of herself, his mother let out a sharp, unintended bark of laughter at the thought, Dimitri could have kissed his uncle right then.

"There's a thought." He joined in on the joke before shaking his head. "But no- The Starks are our closest ally, and Ned Stark lost much during the war that placed father on the throne and myself in line to succeed him." He made a point to be speaking to his uncle. His mother was usually more receptive to ideas when it didn't look like you were quite arguing with her but rather with someone else. "Loyal service should be rewarded, and the North must be secured for the future. The North is by far the most 'independent' and isolated of the seven Kingdoms. Quite frankly, affairs below the Neck rarely involve the North, as affairs above it rarely involve the south. And what few times the North has descended below the neck- it always affects things. The Hour of the Wolf, the Rebellion, even the Greyjoys. We'd be fools to embitter them by acting as though they need no reward."

Out of the corner of his eye, in spite of herself, he could see his mother beginning to consider the idea.

—

Jeralt

It had started innocently enough.

Two lads stepping up to the archery range for a bit of practice.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, you know, as bullseye after bullseye was hit. One boy maybe stepped back a bit farther than the other one. Maybe for the next shot they stepped past the safety fence for the most distance, or for the other they did a quick turn around for a "quick draw" shot.

All without saying a word.

Now there was a betting pool forming, Two sets of quivers emptied, bullseyes that looked like pincushions and a rowdy crowd of Winterfell guards, Lannister bannermen, Baratheon Soldiers, and a motley crew of mercenaries cheering and howling around the training yard as arrow after arrow was nocked and loosed in ever more ridiculous ranges and distances.

Even Jeralt himself had to laugh when… Connington, hung upside down by a tree branch to fire off a shot that landed perfectly in the bullseye, only to have Greyjoy quietly one up him by climbing to the very top of the Winterfell battlements at double the distance to hit his target just as perfectly.

And still, neither boy had said a single word to each other, or even acknowledged each other's existence. Still pretending they weren't competing.

If this were a play, they'd sell out to a full house in seconds.

Honestly, at this point he wouldn't be surprised if one of them decided to show off by doing their next shot one handed.

"What a bunch of idiots."

Jeralt huffed out a laugh at Shamir's annoyed voice. "Let em have their fun while they're young." He said.

The Mercenary woman leaning over the railing at his side grunted. "Are you calling me old?"

"You act like you're older than me-" He shot back.

Shamir's red eyes narrowed. "I can and will cut you."

Again, he laughed, the sound mingling in with the cheers as Claude landed another bullseye, this time from horseback.

Where or when the hell he'd gotten a horse saddled and ready he had no idea. But points for showmanship.

"You gonna tell me what's the history between you and Stark?"

He didn't react, too practiced, and he knew her well enough to have been half expecting it anyway. "Fought in the war. Old friends"

"Uh-huh. That why you look so stiff when you, Stark and the King were talking?"

He shrugged, still staring out towards the show in the courtyard. "Little Mercenary like me talking to some really important nobles- Gotta be a little nervous. Make em feel important, ya know."

"I take that non answer to mean you want me to drop it?"

Still, he didn't glance her way, though his eyes did dart towards one corner of the arena below. Towards a certain youth clad in black. "Like a hot iron poker."

Luckily, she didn't catch his slip from her angle. "Hmm. Must be bad. You're acting even weirder than when I asked you why you hate Mr. Fish."

Jeralt's features turned dark.

He'd get back at that giant red bastard one day.

—

Dimitri:

Winterfell was an immense castle.

Of course, it looked immense just from the outside, but inside is where one truly could grasp the enormity of the scale.

Especially when he and Uncle Jamie got lost.

…Twice.

Luckily, they happened upon one of the guardsmen who graciously offered to lead them towards Lord Stark, which is where his father was.

A few minutes and far too many dizzying turns later, they arrived at one of the many halls.

It wasn't the main hall, he knew, with its large, elevated table and its room to sit all the Lords of the North, it was something smaller, easier. If he had to guess it was a family hall, with one Long table in the center and smaller sitting chairs and tables along the side.

His father and Lord Stark sat in one of those now, drinks in hand, and as the door opened, both men turned to look, his father immediately placing the horn of ale on the table as he stood.

"Ahh, there's my boy!" Robert declared as though he wanted half the castle to hear, marching toward Dimitri to place his hands on the blonde's shoulders. "What'd the Maester say?"

"Just a Winter chill." He answered. "Nothing to worry about."

"Aye." Robert nodded. "Neither you nor your siblings have ever seen Winter. It's no wonder. We'll get you some nice northern furs for our stay. Ned. You must know a good fur trader, or coat maker or what have ya in Wintertown yea?"

"Several." Lord Stark answered easily. "I'll send a message to him immediately, Your Grace. I can summon him to take your measurements as soon as you like, My Prince."

Dimitri tried to wave off the concern, "Please I-"

Tried was the operative word.

"Tomorrow morning!" Robert declared over his son's protests. "First thing."

And Lord Stark nodded. "Of course."

His father smiled, clapped Dimitri on the shoulder and proceeded to almost pull the boy beside him to sit at the table.

"Join us son, Join The King and the King's hand." He declared heartilly, sitting down.

"I haven't yet accepted Robert." Lord Stark reminded his father as Jamie took his place beside Ser Barristan.

But his father just laughed it off, grabbing hold of the horn of ale again as Dimitri took his seat.

"Now son-" Robert called, pulling free a third horn and beginning to pour some ale from the flagon, clearly he'd been waiting for Dimitri. "Me and Ned have been talkin-"

"I imagine so." The prince answered with a cheeky smirk. "It has been a few hours, no?"

The Lord Stark nodded with a small, barely there smile, his father huffed something into his cup as he gulped down another mouthful.

After that, in typical Robert Baratheon fashion, the King dove right into the subject. "Well son, I told Ned here 'Ned, I promised my boy he could marry anyone he likes-"

"You did." Dimitri acknowledged semi cautiously.

He was suddenly glad his mother had sought him out in the Maester's chamber. If he'd had stepped into this conversation a bit more off guard he probably would have been caught flat footed and made things worse in some way.

"But in order to like someone you've got to get to know them." Robert said with what passed for a sagely nod. "So while we're here, why don't you spend time with the lady Sansa?"

And there it was.

Robert continued. "You two are of an age, She's a good northern girl I'm sure Ned has raised right. And you're a good lad who'll treat her right too."

He could almost see the painting his father was making in the confines of his own mind as the Baratheon King nodded. "I think it'll be good for you."

Dimitri darted his eyes to Lord Stark who's features were neutral, even unreadable.

So… he decided to risk the question. "And how does the Lord Stark feel about such?" He asked.

"It would be an honor of course." The Warden of the North said with that same placid neutrality.

Dimitri fought the urge to frown. Yes, should have guessed that answer even if Stark were opposed to the match he'd hardly say so.

It looked like he'd have to thread a needle most carefully here. "I'm not… opposed to the idea on any particular principle, father."

Robert smiled, looking at Stark with a triumphant glint in his eye, as though he was a great genius for proposing the idea.

"I would love to get to know the Lady Sansa while we're here, of course. But-" He continued quickly. "Getting to know her is not a firm commitment, you understand."

He'd been addressing his father, but it was Stark who nodded. "Of course my prince."

Dimitri, again, quickly shook his head. "No- no. What I mean is. It wouldn't do for us to make dealings as though it is a commitment. As in, I speak with the lady Sansa and then should things not turn out well, the Crown leaves house Stark with nothing for their loyal service."

Now, Robert paused, his flagon halfway to his lips. "Wait." Great black brows knit together in thought. "Are you proposing we make a firm betrothal agreement with your siblings?"

Now, Lord Stark looked intrigued, and again, Dimitri was eternally grateful he'd had time to think on this beforehand with his mother and the walk down here. If he hadn't; there was no way he'd be able to navigate the situation as deftly as he hoped now.

"As I've said," He addressed both of his seniors seated at the table. "My getting to know Lady Sansa is no firm commitment, and I would not wish to leave House Stark feeling slighted if it doesn't pan out into a betrothal-"

It wouldn't.

He was sure Sansa was a wonderful young woman… he had no reason to think otherwise.

But his hand was just… too valuable to… waste. On a secured alliance here in the north.

Dorne, Highgarden, Hightower; even the Crownlands. Any of these could be brought firmly into the fold with nothing but his hand in marriage as an offering.

The North, Lannister, Arynn. These alliances would need to settle for siblings.

"Myrcella with your Robb." Again, Robert's brows knit together, eyes narrowed in thought as he threaded his fingers through his thick black beard, scratching at his neck. "I can see the potential."

"Ahh-" Dimitri cut in again with a nervous laugh. "Not… quite Myrcella, father."

Robert blinked, and then his eyes narrowed… dangerously and Dimitri could see the misunderstanding there instantly.

There was no way; his father would ever consent to Joffrey jeopardizing his friendship.

"Tommen." He yelped before his father could erupt in fury.

And like that the fury was gone, replaced by gobsmacked confusion. "Huh?"

Lord Stark however, still only looked curious, neither approving, nor disapproving.

"Think of it, father. We are making talks with the possibility of my betrothal to Sansa being, exactly that, a possibility. Just as I'm proposing this betrothal in the event such a possibility doesn't come to pass, we must think on the eventuality that it does".

He'd lost his father, but Lord Stark seemed to be following his logic.

"Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrcella are too valuable in the event that you take Sansa as your bride." He noted.

Dimitri nodded. "Yes. Exactly. We would be showing house Stark too much favor with both a first and second son, or first son and first daughter of the crown.

"But a fourth son wouldn't be seen as a great boon." Stark finished shrewdly. "In some eyes, he'd not even stand to inherit much."

The crown prince nodded.

Robert, now scratching at his head, seems to have followed the explanations.

Loosely.

"The Lady Sansa is a bit older than him, but a seasoned girl is always good for a young lad." He laughed bawdily only to choke it down remarkably quickly as lord Stark gave him a very dry look at the dirty joke and he seemed to remember that the "seasoned girl" was, indeed, Sansa Stark.

But once more, Dimitri had to… correct things.

"Ahh… I wasn't thinking of Tommen and the lady Sansa." He laughed.

His father blinked. 'Oh right- the other girl, little Arya, right Ned? Ned?

And right then Dimitri too seemed to notice that the lord of Winterfell had gone remarkably pale.

—

Arya:

Today had started incredibly!

There were so very many new people and things in Winterfell. The King, the Queen, the Kingsguard, Lannister and Baratheon Soldiers, Mercenaries! Even Women Mercenaries! Arya had seen them! Two of them. A woman with two swords and many daggers! And another who'd rode out of the gates on a blood red horse the size of carriage!

And even Theon had gotten into a contest with one of their guests! A Dornishman archer! She heard the competition stopped when one of their bows broke. She wasn't sure who's. Too many people said different things.

She'd ask Theon later.

…

She'd ask Jon later. He'd tell her true. Theon would brag.

But still, the day had started incredibly and already by the time supper was being served she'd made at least six different plans on how to skip lessons with stupid Septa Mordane tomorrow to try and follow one of the women mercenaries and see them fight or train

Father and mother were seated at the high table of the main hall alongside the King, the Queen and the Prince; Robb, Sansa, Felix, Bran, Rickon, herself, cousin Bernadetta, Marianne, Theon and lord Bolton, alongside the other princes and princess were seated just below them

She didn't know what to think about Lord Bolton. He'd been residing in Winterfell for weeks now. He was quiet, and snuck up on everyone, even her. Always watching things with those cold eyes. He reminded her of those stories Old Nan would tell them of the living dead.

Now he sat at Robb's side, between him and Theon, those black eyes of his always watching everyone, especially the Royal family.

He stayed with Robb a lot; if she guessed he was trying to be Robb's friend. That made sense because he was, or would be Robb's bannerman now that his father, the previous Lord Bolton, was dead alongside his brother.

She knew she should feel bad about what happened to him but truthfully, rather than feeling bad, she just hated the fact that he made it so much easier for mother to hate Jon!

Just because Hubert had a Bastard brother who was everything her mother was afraid of didn't mean his Bastard and Jon were the same!

Felix didn't like him, but Felix didn't like anyone.

Actually; come to think of it, Felix seemed to be acting much nicer towards cousin Bernadetta.

Arya didn't know what to think about their Arryn cousin. She'd only been around Winterfell for less than a day of course but she seemed stupid. Scared of everything and only really talking to Sansa or mother

She'd just stuffed herself in the guest room mother provided and didn't go out to explore Winterfell at all. Hadn't even left until she was called down for supper.

Bloody weird.

Only bit of good sense she saw was that her cousin shied away from risen dead Lord Bolton. So that was something.

Still, weird or frightened cousin or not; the King's retinue had brought women warriors, cousin Bernadetta could stay stuffed in her room if she wished. Arya had much more fun things to do tomorrow.

The next tables were all the assembled Lords of the south. Northern lords hadn't arrived yet for the most part. Arya had gathered that the Prince's cousin, Stannis' son was there, he had a fancy purple shirt that must've been cold, even in the castle, the Dornishman that Theon had been competing with, another Stormlander house, Dondarion or Connington; she couldn't quite remember.

Odd that he looked Dornish while being a Stormlander…

Huh.

Anyway, there were some Lannister lordlings sprinkled here and there of course. As the Northern lords arrived that table would fill up right quick, especially if Lord Manderly or the Bear Islanders brought all their daughters.

Ohh, she hoped the Mormonts came with their daughters. They fought too; so maybe they and the mercenary women would fight in the training yards!

The only reason Lord Bolton wasn't there and was seated with her family and father's wards was because he was an honored guest or something.

After that came the tables filled with soldiers and guards, and those were indeed full. She could see the Prince's squire, a boy who's name she remembered as Ash; she remembered because his hair looked like ash, of course. So that was convenient.

And he was seated beside several of the Mercenaries, who were given a seat, also as honored guests.

If she understood the story correctly, the leader, Jerard, or something had fought with Father and the King during the Rebellion and they were good friends.

She liked him. He had women fighters…

Maybe he'd let her join. She'd have to ask father.

One thing, or one person rather that she didn't see… was Jon.

"MY LORDS!"

The shout came from Robb of all people and Arya whirled her head around to look at her brother with a bit of shock.

He wasn't normally one to draw attention to himself; especially like this.

A hush fell on the hall and Arya darted her eyes over towards father and mother, seeing no alarm on their faces, so whatever was happening was happening, probably with their blessing.

"Let us show our southern guests good northern merriment!"

Several cheers arose from the crowd, Stark men, yes, but also southerners too.

"Bring out the music!" Robb laughed.

And like that the bards and Skalds began to play in earnest.

It was a jaunty, merry tune that one could dance to, and Robb wasted no time in asking Sansa for a dance which, the perfect little lady accepted, on the high Table, Prince Dimitri descended in order to ask his own sister Myrcella for a dance, which the princess also accepted.

Soldiers danced with serving maids and minstrels soon enough in the center of the hall, twirling around the fire. She saw some of the Mercenaries dancing too; the large one that laughed all the time looked downright spry as he took the hand of the dark haired woman with two blades and led her round the room; the leader, Jerard danced with a merry smile with the other one, the one that had ridden the red horse.

Theon coaxed Jeyne Poole to a dance, and Marianne took Bran's hand to join in. Even Felix- Felix of all people- joined in on the dance managing to convince little scaredy Bernadetta to step out of her seat.

Partners were exchanged as the music progressed, The Prince danced with Jeyne, then a serving girl, then Marianne and the two Mercenary women.

Lord Bolton danced with Bernadetta and she had to suppress the urge to laugh at her cousin's terrified face. Lord Hubert seemed to find it amusing as well, judging by the rather frightening smile on his face shortly before exchanging partners again to dance with a blushing Princess Myrcella

Bernadetta looked ready to run back towards her table before the Mercenary horsewoman grabbed hold of her hand and kept her dancing with narry a word. Women dancing with women? Was that allowed?

Arya saw her sister dance with Robb, Theon, the Jolly Mercenary, Ash- The Prince's squire, even Bran.

But when she danced with the Prince, even Arya had to admit; her sister looked radiant.

The two of them danced perfectly together and even to Arya's scrutinous eye and not jealous irritation… they looked beautiful.

Even thinking the word brought up a well of nausea.

Even the King himself joined in; though not with his wife. The ruddy cheeked Baratheon made his way to the dance floor and joined in on the circle of merriment with a serving girl, Arya passed a careful eyes towards the Queen who sat with a mask cold enough to chill the wall, but otherwise made no move.

The entire hall filled with laughter and good cheer, and even Arya herself found that she couldn't help but sway in time with the music and the beat of stomping feet.

"Might I have this dance?"

She turned, startled. "Father?"

Ned Stark smiled down at his youngest daughter, his hand extended.

Arya scowled. "No. Dancing is stupid."

Her father laughed. "Please, just one for me?"

Arya resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. In her heart of hearts, deep within, she had been feeling left out ever so slightly. And so, it wasn't a hard concession to make as she held out her hand and took hold of her father's fingers, letting him lead her to the dancing space.

Clearly, her father was taller than her, but still he spun and turned her alongside the others as best they could, even she could tell they were not in time with the music as Septa Mordane instructed, but before too long she found a smile creeping up on her.

They bumped and bullied their way through the Dance floor with so many others, but father laughed, and that made her laugh too. She caught Robb's eye and he smiled as he traded Marianne for her, and that made Arya smile just a bit more as father danced with his blue haired Ward and Arya danced with her big brother.

By the time the music began to end, Arya could barely hear the laughter in the hall over the pounding of her own heartbeat. Her hair, so neatly done up by her mother earlier was out of sorts she knew, sticking to her neck and forehead, But still she laughed as her brother escorted her back to the table.

"AYE! Our Northern hosts know how to throw a FEAST!"

The men roared and cheered at the King's voice while Arya herself was halfway back to her seat.

King Robert laughed, a horn of ale in hand as the dancers either encircled him or returned to their own seats.

"Aye, we've come a long way to visit the North; always, Ned has stood by me when I needed him. Piss on Dragons and Squids, put a wolf at my side any day!"

Now the Stark men roared their agreement, their voices consuming the whole hall, but Arya noted something… odd, her father, speaking hurriedly with the Prince before his eyes darted around the room and found… her.

He began to make his way over, quickly. The look on his face worried Arya.

The King kept talking.

"And such loyalty deserves its due! For no truer friends do we have!"

"Father?" She asked as he reached her, kneeling beside her seat.

"Arya-" Her father's fingers reached, threading through her hair. "I need you to keep calm, love."

"Calm for what?"

"And so-" The King slurred, raising his horn to the air. "A BETROTHAL!"

Lannister, Baratheon and Stark men cheered, and Arya understood.

Sansa would be marrying the prince.

She knew it would happen, there was no need for father to worry. Why on earth would he think she-

"My son, Tommen Baratheon, and the lady Arya Stark of Winterfell!"

Later, much later, Arya would remember the cheer half dying in a semi shocked almost there silence before it was taken up with gusto again.

At the moment though, she didn't quite hear it.

'Whut?'

There was a ringing static in her ears, and she was sure that she was dreaming suddenly, because this made no sense. Like her dream of Felix wearing a dress and Sansa being a swordswoman.

She looked around, desperate for something–anything–to clear up the confusion; because she must have heard wrong.

But all eyes were on her, eyes that were shocked and wide with disbelief and stunned surprise.

King Robert smiled as though he'd just won the grandest of tourneys, and Princess Myrcella clapped enthusiastically, a beaming smile on her face, Prince Dimitri stood at his father's side with a smile that seemed almost apologetic as he clapped along with the others.

Of all the southerners; The Queen was the only one who made sense! Her face scrunched up like she'd swallowed a lemon– because of course she wanted Sansa and not Arya Horse-face as the betrothed for her child!

She looked to her mother, who stood at the high table, wide eyed and shocked, but delight quickly overtook that. Her eyes found Arya's but the youngest daughter didn't miss the moment her mother's gaze darted quickly towards Sansa and then back to her. And Sansa…

For all that Felix had managed to curb the most unrealistic aspects of his twin's daydreams of Southron honor and gallantry, she still fantasized about being swept off her feet by the handsome Prince Dimitri.

And it had happened! It had happened right there on that dance floor! Even Arya thought they looked beautiful together!

What… WHY was this happening!?

Sansa's eyes met hers, and her sister spent several moments gaping like a fish before tears began to gather in her eyes, Even Felix stood slightly behind her next to Robb and he looked worried.

And then- Sansa shut her eyes, visibly swallowed down… everything she was feeling and joined in the polite applause with the stiffest of hands, utterly unsmiling and staring dead ahead of her, not looking at anyone.

Arya heard the cry of a wolf outside, Lady's cry. It was so rare for the sweet and gentle wolf to act out that whenever she did, it was noticeable.

Arya stood on shaking legs, feeling the urge to run before her father took hold of her hand, seemingly reading her mind and stopping her.

She managed to steal a look towards the… well… her betrothed. Prince Tommen, small, plump Tommen looked wide eyed- it didn't look like anyone had told him either, and his brother Joffrey was laughing at his side with a wicked looking smile, that was cowed quickly as Prince Dimitri drew close with a warning look.

"A TOAST!" The King roared. 'To the Union!"

The hall roared back.

"Of Stark and Baratheon!"

The men roared again and King Robert's face was sheer joyous triumph. "Long overdue!"

And as the hall filled with laughter and cheers and music, Arya had never wanted so badly to run away and hide in the whole of her life..

—

"GO AWAY!"

She screamed at her door, the knock giving way to a mournful sigh.

"Open the door little wolf."

It was her father's voice and Arya glared at the door, tears burning at her eyes as she sat on her bed and hugged the pillow to her chest.

"Why!?' She sniffed. "You have the key anyway. It's not like I can choose anything!"

Her father sighed.

"I do have the key. But I would like it if you opened the door instead, Arya; I don't think you want to speak through a door"

After a moment, in spite of herself, Arya did move to the door, unlocking it with a heavy turn of the key.

Quietly, it creaked open, allowing her father inside.

His look was gentle, but his voice didn't shake.

"It was not meant to be revealed how it was." He nodded. "I would have come to you tonight. Spoken with you, your mother and Sansa. The King was too enthused and into his cups."

"Why did it even happen!" She shouted, the tears coming back to her eyes. "I'm not- I don't even want to be betrothed to anyone! Why not Sansa!?"

Her father knelt in front of her, his hands rising to touch her arms.

"I know it's not what you wanted, or what you thought would ever happen… But all girls need to find a husband. As far as I've seen, Tommen is a kind and good boy, one that can grow into a kind and good man that will treat you well."

"Why can't I just stay like this!?"

Her father smiled. "Would that we could all be children forever." He said, before his smile fell away. "Give the boy a chance, Arya. A real chance. See if you like him, if you can be friends with him. He can be good to you, and you to him."

"And if I don't like him!?" She pressed.

Her father opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the door opened behind him.

"One does not say no to a King sweetling." Her mother answered in place of her father, entering the room and shutting the door.

Her father frowned, "How is Sansa?"

Of course, her mother went to Sansa first…

"She must hate me." Arya mumbled, realizing only as she heard her own voice that she'd spoken aloud.

"She was… surprised. She is sad. But she is happy for you." Her mother said with a look Arya recognized as her trying to be polite.

The youngest Stark daughter snorted in disbelief.

Her father sighed. "Sansa will forgive soon enough. She knows it wasn't your fault, or your decision." He reached up, passing a hand through her hair. "You're a Stark." He said. "So please, promise me, as a Stark, that you'll try at least to get to know little Tommen. You might find a friend."

Arya looked down, staring sullenly at her own feet, feeling trapped and cold, but knowing somewhere in her mind that not many other girls, not even Lords daughters ever had even the chance to get to know their betrothed before they were wedded.

…

Maybe if she didn't like him she could get him lost in the Wolfswood and he'd be eaten by a Bjorn.

Or Nymeria.

"I promise." She mumbled, her father giving her a grateful kiss over her head.

(X)(X)(X)

I bet none of you were expecting THIS particular betrothal/Pairing in this fic were ya?

 

[LD1449]

Chapter 10:


Jamie Lannister:

Jamie Lannister had… never been the best person; that he could admit easily.

Beyond the title of Kingslayer dogging his every step to the eyes of the world, beyond his long, long list of sins, he was self aware enough to understand that he was- at best- a man standing on the righteous side of hell at the very best of estimates.

But, one thing he was- was protective of his family.

Granted, his view of Family even in this respect was somewhat… limited.

Tyrion, before he went missing. Cersei of course. And his nephew, Dimitri.

Beyond that the list grew very thin very quickly.

Yes, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were all family as well; but given the… complex nature of their relationship he preferred to keep them at a significantly longer than average arms length.

No need to have anyone looking too deeply at their hair and eye color.

Even if that weren't the case, Joffrey was an insufferable brat at the best of times.

Myrcella was… well… a girl. Beyond his skill with a sword–which he could not help her learn–Jamie was useless for most things.

And Tommen was a kind, gentle boy- one that was a bit too young to really have a chance of learning sword skills either. Not that he seemed to have much interest in such yet; Perhaps he would take after Tyrion. Enjoying books and the company of kittens rather than the steel of a broadsword in hand and the weight of armor on his body.

Oddly, he hoped so. If Dimitri was to be a good King, he would need a brother like that, like Tyrion. Someone who could be the voice of kindness and reason in a room with men that wanted blood sometimes.

Gods above knew that Joffrey could never be that.

Either way; regardless; getting back to the point, Jamie was protective of his family. And given the rather… exciting developments from last night he, for once, thought he might be able to contribute something to this situation. The seven above knew that Dimitri would be busy still trying to smooth things over with the Starks themselves given Robert… crashing into everything like an overgrown bull ramming into a carefully arranged table.

In all of the excitement; it would be easy for Tommen himself, like Tyrion before him, to be somewhat overlooked.

He'd been the last to find out about all of this after all. There was no reason to think that sort of careless dismissal would change from last night.

It'd never changed with Tyrion.

And so it was, in one of his rare requests he tapped Oakheart in the morning before they were both to take up their shifts; and he asked his fellow Kingsguard if he would be kind enough to watch over Prince Dimitri today for him.

Oakheart had looked confused, but acquiesced easily enough, allowing Jamie to come and find himself standing here.

Right outside Tommen's door.

Blount had guarded him during the night. Not exactly ideal, but Barristan, Oakheart and Jamie were the only Kingsguard worth their swords, and only two of those three were worthy of the white cloak at all.

With Six Royal family members, they couldn't be everywhere at once.

"Lannister." Blount nodded, bags under his eyes. "The Prince and Princess are resting still."

"I can see that." Jamie answered. "Head off to sleep, I'll be watching them for the day."

Blount frowned. "Not Oakheart?"

"No. He's with the prince today." Jamie nodded. "Go."

Blount shrugged carelessly, turning and marching away down the same hall Jamie had come from, no doubt ready to sleep the day away.

He waited until he heard his 'Fellow Kingsguard' well beyond earshot before he stepped forward, quietly opening Tommen's door and slipping inside.

The little Princeling was still asleep of course, head of golden curls standing out from his grey fur bedding.

Jamie stepped closer, kneeling at his nephew's bedside

Reaching, he gently shook the young boy's shoulder.

"Hmm? Uncle?"

His voice was groggy, still sleepy and pudgy hands rubbed at his eyes, blinking blearily up at him.

Jamie smiled as gently as he could. "Good morning Nephew." He said. "Feeling better."

The boy was confused by the question, blinking. "Why wouldn't I- Oh."

And last night's events seemed to catch up with him. The young boy's eyes going wide, staring slightly past his Kingsguard uncle. "I'm married." He mumbled.

"Betrothed." Jamie corrected with a chuckle. "Don't get too ahead of everything, nephew."

The boy sat up, fidgety and nervously shifting in his bed

Jamie let him, kneeling patiently on the cold stone floor at his side. "No one else here, nephew. Just you and me. If you want to talk about it- well… now's the time."

Jamie was not his brother, not his mother and not… well. Robert. But maybe that might make things easier given the context.

Tommen turned, looking at him, his expression a complex tapestry of conflicting emotions that looked… odd on a child's face.

"I don't… know?" The boy asked. "I… don't ummm."

He trailed off.

In spite of the lack of clarity, Jamie nodded.

"I've never been betrothed, nephew." He grabbed hold of his white cloak, holding it up to emphasize his point. "But… if it were me in your shoes. Mayhaps a good first step would be to break your fast, and then maybe go and meet with your bride to be? You don't have to be… well… her husband yet. So you have the chance to start off as friends."

Tommen blinked, then grew nervous. "I've… never had a friend before either."

Jamie tried not to wince. Even as he was reminded of that truth. "Well." He said with only a somewhat forced cheer and brightness. "Well, what better time to change that?"

—


Dimitri:


Having Oakheart as his guard was… odd. Most days it was Uncle Jamie of course, barring those rare occasions where he was sick or on duty elsewhere, but that wasn't the case today, so it had certainly caught him off guard. But after hearing that his uncle was guarding Tommen and Myrcella he could guess that his Uncle was perhaps, comforting his little brother. Which was certainly a welcome thought and something that, perhaps somewhat guiltily; Dimitri could mark as a 'lower priority' for his morning; which let him get his morning started in smoothing things over with Lord Stark.

"I do apologize again my Lord for my father getting ahead of you being able to explain to your family."

The Warden of the North shook his head, he'd only just exited his study, no doubt going over the early morning accounts for how much the Royal party had consumed to see how much they should allocate for their stay.

"No my Prince there's no fault in it, I've known Robert for many years. I should have expected once he got into his cups his excitement would get the better of him."

"Still; I could see that it caused your family significant shock, young Arya especially."

"As much shock as young prince Tommen." Ned remarked, inviting the prince to walk with him. "I believe I saw he was not exactly informed before everyone else either."

"He was not." Dimitri admitted, walking beside the man, Arys following behind them. "I still haven't found time to properly speak with him. Did you manage to speak with lady Arya?"

Stark huffed, and Dimitri wasn't sure if the sound was a laugh or a scoff. "I did. She was… less than pleased with things, if you'll permit me, My prince. But she's agreed to give the betrothal an honest chance."

"A young lady not wanting to marry a prince?" The heir asked with a small smile. "Most girls would leap at the chance."

"My youngest would sooner leap into the training yard, or the stables with a ready horse to ride off into the wilderness."

Dimitri let himself chuckle, though… another part of him wondered why the Lord Stark was telling him this. Most lords would never admit that their daughter was ready to spurn a potential match. Had the talk with lady Arya truly gone that badly?"

"I have not spoken to the young prince. Though he seems a good lad." Eddard continued. "Perhaps, during your stay here he might deign to spend time with Arya. A betrothal built on friendship would be a strong one."

"I'm sure that will come to pass." Dimitri said easily as they rounded the corner to reach one of the dining halls, where already several of the staff were arranging the tables with food.

There were enough seats for the Stark family, their wards and the Royal family. No doubt many of them would be arriving soon. There were two other, smaller tables but they hadn't been set quite yet. It seemed Lord Stark wished for a less crowded venue to break his and the royal party's fast.

As one of the serving maids curtsied, carrying some linens for table cloth, Lord Stark held out his hand,

"Ahh, Lyra-" He called gently.

"Yes M'lord?" The woman answered quickly.

"Please set the second table, and inform Ser Jeralt that he and at least four of his company are invited to join us."

The woman curtsied and bowed again. "O'course M'lord."

Dimitri did not comment, the image of the dark haired woman riding her Blood Steed flitting through his mind briefly.

"You and my father hold Ser Jeralt in great esteem."

"I do." He answered easily. "Ser Jeralt saved both our lives at one point."

"The battle of Ashford. Or shortly thereafter." Dimitri recalled. "He was in the counter attack and fought Randyll Tarly." His father had certainly recounted the story enough times. Each re-telling became ever so slightly more embellished.

But the accounts were still largely accurate from what he could gather. Jeralt drove forward with Eddard and some heavy Cavalry, driving straight into Randyll's formation and exchanging blows with the Huntsman Lord directly before the Southlands host was driven back.

Ned nodded. "Yes. And me too. Though that was no battle of which the bards sing." He answered. "As long as I am Lord of Winterfell, he shall have a seat open to him at my table. I hope that does not offend."

Again, Dimitri's mind flashed onto thoughts of the woman, who he knew and yet never did. "Of course not my lord."

—


Arya:


It was weird… and… very bad; to wake up more tired than you were when you fell asleep… if you fell asleep at all.

Arya genuinely thought about hiding in her room for the rest of the day. Maybe at night she could sneak out and hide in the Godswood until the royal party left. Or the Wolfswood.

But then her stomach began to growl, and her own frustrations and disquiet grew until she huffed and forced herself up, out of bed and made herself ready to face… everyone.

Old Nan came in soon enough to help her dress, smiling with missing teeth as she forced Arya into a dress to head to breakfast. The royals would be there and her mother, nor her father would ever let her be dressed in trousers and comfortable clothes in front of the royals and her… betrothed.

So stupid…

Even so- stupid or not -she felt a real pit in her stomach as she approached the place where her family usually broke their fasts. She could see some Lannister and Baratheon men guarding the room, hear the King's laughter and she knew that she wouldn't be dealing with her family alone.

But still- as one of the guards caught sight of her, with all the determination she had Arya Stark squared her shoulders and marched forward.

Entering the hall, she saw her Father, her mother, her Brother Robb and her brother Felix already present from her family. Hubert was present, seated beside Robb. Of the royals-

"There's the lady of the hour!"

The Stupid King and his stupid voice and his stupid smile were all there. She saw the queen, the Prince and all of his siblings. Two of the Kings-guard and the Hound. None of the others that had been in the party.

"Arya." Her mother smiled, her expression almost glowing with a joy Arya had rarely seen, nevermind seeing it directed at her.

"Good morning M-" She stopped herself from saying the word 'Mother' instead remembering at the last moment to direct it towards the King with a hasty, if clumsy curtsy.

If the King noticed her poor curtsy, he made no mention of it and Arya began to quickly make her way over towards her seat, hoping that she'd simply be able to sit down and be ignored for the rest of the meal.

"Arya." Her father called this time, gesturing towards the empty seat she only now noticed between him and mother. "Please, sit beside me." He said.

She felt nervous, but on the other hand, her father and mother would keep her safe, keep others away and be able to handle any stupid questions.

So, though nervous, she did smile at her father with gratitude as she diverted away from her seat towards the new one at her father's side.

Breakfast consisted of eggs, thick strips of bacon, pork sausages and baked bread

In spite of her queasy stomach, Arya did help herself to the extra servings of bacon her father snuck her way, noting that Bran and Rickon joined them too; as had Theon.

Jon should have joined but mother was probably being stupid again.

Sansa hadn't joined them yet.

Arya had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't join them at all today.

That… probably explained why Marianne hadn't joined them either. She was probably with Sansa, helping as best she could.

She snuck a glance towards Prince Tommen seated beside his elder brother, Prince Dimitri.

As soon as he caught sight of her she saw his cheeks flush, darting his eyes down and towards his food. She looked away too, but not before she noticed the crown Prince smile a bit in her direction.

But then, much to her surprise; the mercenaries were the next ones to walk into the chamber.

"Jeralt!" The King laughed, happy as can be. "You've joined us, old friend!"

The man, Jeralt, smiled, crows feet wrinkling the edges of his eyes as the other man, Alois and the two women. The women warriors, Shamir and… the other one. Arya didn't quite get to learn her name yesterday as she rode off with that horse. Marched in behind them.

Gone were their armors and travel clothes. But even so, neither of the women were wearing anything approaching 'Dresses. And that made Arya smile. Shamir and the other woman were both in trousers, and they looked a lot more comfortable than the Queen or Arya and her mother in their silly dresses.

"How could we turn down the invitation?" Jeralt nodded. "My King, Lord Stark. Thank you for having us."

"Of course." Her father nodded, gesturing to one of the lower tables with plates and food at the ready. "Please. Join us."

As the Mercenaries bowed and made their way to the table to receive their food and break their fast Arya heard the King laugh.

"Aye, these are the good days." The man slapped a meaty hand over the crown Prince's shoulder. My sons. My Brothers and friends, all under one roof. Jeralt-" He pointed a meaty finger at the mercenary leader. "I think it'd be a fine time for you to teach my son some of that spearwork you're so famous for!"

And as the Prince laughed with a modest 'Father please' the beginnings of an idea began to tickle the back of Arya's mind.

The idea morphed and took shape, almost undulating in her thoughts as she began to feel a smile tugging at her lips.

She was a genius!

She shoved her chair back, ignoring her mother's startled calling of her name, and before she could think of… anything that might stop her, Arya hopped off her seat and made her way over towards the Prince.

Prince Tommen that is.

She felt more than a few eyes following after her but the prince didn't notice until she was practically behind him, turning in his seat, a bit of bread in his mouth mid chew, Arya grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Let's go train with Ser Jeralt!"

"Arya!" Her mother called, and just by the tone of her voice Arya was sure her features were either horrified or shocked beyond all reason.

The Prince was staring at her wide eyed, his head turned towards his brother, then the Kingsguard beside him, who she only now realized was Ser Jamie.

Arya turned towards her mother with the most 'innocent' smile she could put on her face.

"You and Father said I should spend time with the Prince- a-and the King wants Ser Jeralt to train his sons. This way we can do both!" She hastened to explain her smile widening ever so slightly as she saw her mother straighten.

Again, the silence fell over the hall, so all encompassing you could almost hear the snow falling outside.

Then, there was a sound, a chuckle.

It took a second for her to realize it was her father.

The lord of Winterfell was apparently trying to hold in his snickers, but was losing the battle as the snickers turned to chuckles and then from there to peals of genuine laughter. She couldn't remember the last time her father laughed like that.

The King joined in. "I guess she got us all there, eh Ned!?"

"It is not proper for a lady to train with swords." The queen muttered beside her laughing husband.

"Oh let them be children yet." The King huffed, before leaning forward to look across the table towards them, or more specifically, Prince Tommen.

"Well son; your Betrothed has asked ya to spend time with her. What say you?" He laughed again.

The prince's hand was almost limp in her grip, he stammered, then sealed his lips shut before again looking to his big brother and Ser Jamie.

She caught both of them nodding.

Arya could feel her smile pulling at her lips, her plan coming together perfectly as Prince Tommen turned to look at her and offered a shaky, nervous nod.

The King beat his meaty fist against the table. "That's my boy. Good Northern girl's what you needed! Jeralt. Looks like the little lady wants you for a job! What say Westeros' finest band of mercenaries."

Arya leaned up on her tippy toes, looking towards the table full of Mercenaries.

Jeralt turned towards the dark haired woman. "By?" He called. "You always like teaching. How bout it?"

The quiet woman with the blue eyes didn't answer with words, but she did offer a very wide smile.

Jeralt nodded.

"We'd be pleased to take on the Job Your Grace."

The King laughed- and Arya's mild disappointment that their teacher wasn't the Lady Shamir was quickly quashed at the realization that she was still getting exactly what she wanted! She was going to be training with real women warriors!"

"Ummm."

She turned her attention towards the red faced Princeling who's wrist was still in her hand.

His other hand was holding out a small little plate.

"Lemoncake?" He asked, staring down at his feet.

They weren't her favorite, but her mood was too good. She plucked it out of his hand and stuffed it in her gob. "Thnkrms" She mumbled through a mouthful of confectionery.

"Arya!" She heard her mother somehow hissing from across the table as the King roared with laughter.

—

The Hound:

Marching across the cold courtyards of Winterfell, Sandor knew well enough that this little… venture of Joffrey's wouldn't end well.

Not that many of the little shit's ideas ever ended well.

But it wasn't his place to tell the little cunt that.

He just needed to guard him.

It took a long time to figure out why he had this assignment; rather than guarding the actually important brat, the Crown prince; but it made a certain kind of sense.

Keeping an eye on Joffrey meant keep an eye on Joffrey.

Two parts guard.

One part executioner.

If the brat ever got it in his head to kill or do something against his brother that is.

There was no doubt that Tywin knew exactly who and what Joffrey was. And he much preferred the older brother to be sitting on the Iron throne.

The old Lion didn't want a "Dance" writ small now that he'd gotten his blood on the Throne.

The little shit didn't even realize. Neither did his mother. Tywin just told them that the heir had Jamie, the spare needed his own sword; and they ate it up.

And so here he was, assigned here… to this miserable fucking prat of a boy.

As the cold kissed his cheek; a fleeting wonder of just what his brother was doing crossed his mind. The only brother he cared to think about at least.

Raphael.

He barely remembered the babe that had been sent to Casterly Rock years and years ago. But Raphael always made a point to write to him at least once a moon's turn.

His handwriting was shit. His letters were dumb as hell to boot.

"Brother Sandor; I'm strong enough to carry four boulders up the hill now!"

"Brother Sandor; did you know that the Maester says you need to eat your own weight in meat every day to gain muscle! I'm trying, but cooking the whole cow takes a while."

Brother Sandor; I asked Trevor to make my axe heavier. You know, for the biceps. He looked kinda horrified though. Lady Ingrid said I was being an idiot too.

But still. He did write.

Sandor had little doubt that Tywin was all but moulding the simple idiot to be the Lady Ingrid's sworn shield. Dumb dogs were loyal dogs.

And Raphael was as dumb and so probably as loyal as they came.

Not the worst role one could land on in this world. As long as the fuckin princess didn't tire of him.

Maybe his little brother would stick Tywin's precious Lannister princess with his cock and Tywin would put the auroch's head on a chopping block.

Sandor hoped not. But fuckin hell's the Lion's face would be hilarious.

Making their way to the yard, Sandor had to hold back a snort as he caught sight of the Princeling.

Tommen was wrapped up in enough padding that a carriage could roll over him and the boy wouldn't feel it.

Little shit could barely even waddle properly.

The Stark girl wasn't nearly so armored and looked to be grinning ear to ear, wooden sword in hand.

The practice area had been emptied; likely on the Queen's orders. No doubt she didn't want anyone seeing anything regarding her youngest or his supposed betrothed. If Tommen lost a sparring match against his future 'bride to be' the world would never let them hear the end of it.

Dumb as a sack of rocks and vicious as a snake the woman might be- but she valued reputation.

Sandor turned his eyes towards the mercenaries.

Jeralt Eisner.

He knew of the Black Spear; if only by reputation.

The man was kneeling in front of Tommen, patiently correcting the boy's foot placement and his grip on the practice sword.

His experience, his skill and strength. Those were beyond question.

The woman though.

His daughter.

Sandor watched her. He'd been watching her.

It was like an itch… between his teeth.

The feeling of staring at something that could kill him.

She was half his size. Half his weight. He had more reach, more strength, more rage and willingness to kill.

But all of his instincts told him-

This woman…

This woman could kill him.

All those shits in their white cloaks. The Lannisters, the Stormlanders.

Put them all in front of her…

If she had a sword in hand, he'd put his money on her.

"Look Dog." Joffrey needled as he reached the edge of the practice area. "Do you think we can sell tickets for this mummer's farce? Pay off the Kingdom's debts?"

Sandor didn't answer as Joffrey laughed at his own joke. Tommen turned to look at his elder brother. "Brother, don't be mean!" The younger prince complained.

"Would Prince Joffrey like to join us." Jeralt asked, though Sandor noticed the older man's features were flat and neutral, not a hint of the typical easy going smile he normally sported.

Joffrey scoffed, turning away. "I'll hardly waste time with second rate mercenaries. Your skills should be enough to teach Tommen how to hold a sword after a few weeks' instruction though. And the girl is probably completely hopeless! No wonder father assigned this to you. He always enjoyed a good joke."

The boy snickered, never noticing how the woman began to approach, her stride purposeful and her grip on that wooden sword firm-

She stepped closer and Sandor wondered what exactly she was about to do when he saw her arm rising, seemingly determined to grab hold of the princeling and forcibly turn him around.

Sandor's eyes widened, freezing where he stood in pure, stupefied disbelief at the sheer… lunacy.

Was the girl touched in the head?

Touching a prince could cost her her hand, or her head..

Before the absolute catastrophe could take place Jeralt had seemingly developed the speed of the stranger himself to suddenly appear at his insane daughter's side, grabbing hold of her wrist and yanking her back.

Tommen and Arya's eyes were wide behind them Sandor's breath wheezed out of him. He wasn't sure whether it was a laugh, a gasp or what exactly the sensation was.

Joffrey finally realized something was off behind him, rounding on the two Mercenaries who were now much closer.

"What the hell are yo-"

"Joffrey!"

Sandor's charge stiffened, his features darkening before he turned, looking up to the upper rafters where the Prince, Dimitri stood, staring down at them from above.

With him, his cousin, Lorenz Baratheon, staring down his nose at Joffrey.

Had they been there the whole while?

Sandor hoped so. It was always amusing when Joffrey had to answer for his stupidity.

"Is there a problem brother?" Dimitri asked, with a tone that was flat and warning in a way that only Joffrey could seemingly bring out of the Prince.

Joffrey glared.

Dimitri leaned over the edge of the railing, glaring at his younger sibling. "Is. There. A. Problem?"

Joffrey glowered. "No." He finally spat. "I'm done wasting time here. Come dog."

His charge marched away, Sandor passed one more eye over the group, including the insane girl before turning and marching away.

—

Dimitri:

As Joffrey walked away; the hound dogging his steps, Dimitri allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to cause a scene in front of anyone… well… more of a scene.

He heard cousin Lorenz release a breath behind him. "She was really about to chastise him."

"It certainly seemed like it." He admitted, eyes following the dark haired woman, his heart still doing flops and flips in his own chest.

He turned toward his cousin offering a smile. "I'm surprised though cousin; I figured you'd be up in arms about the impropriety of it all."

Cousin Lorenz snorted "I think you and I both know Joffrey can use more than a stern word."

Dimitri sighed. "No doubt." He said, turning his eyes back towards the yard where Arya and Tommen were squaring up to practice against each other; with Jeralt instructing Arya, and Byleth instructing his little brother.

"Would you think it odd, cousin-" Lorenz suddenly continued. "That I… almost feel like she was completely in her rights to?" His cousin's eyes were fixed on the woman. "Like… a teacher scolding a student?"

No… No he wouldn't think it odd.

And isn't that just pure madness?

—

Ned:

"I tell ya Ned. He'll be a better King than I've ever been, that's for sure."

"You haven't been a bad King Robert." Ned spoke easily, sitting beside his friend.

His solar was quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth, the large chairs seating both of them comfortably in the gray gloom of the darkened room. "The Realm has been peaceful for many years. The harvests are good. The lords quiet."

"Quiet and peaceful doesn't mean at peace Ned." Robert rumbled darkly. "There are still far too many lords that would call me Usurper. Smiling at my face while planting daggers in my back. My son's back."

His king's features darkened, scowling darkly before he took a swig of his ale.

He leaned forward in his seat, reaching across the space to plant a hand on Ned's shoulder.

"That's why I need you down there Ned. Not for me. For him. He needs an honest man at his back, a Good man, Not more of those serpents with their poisoned tongues and viper fangs. You're the one I trust to do right by my boy."

"You're not dying anytime soon Robert." Ned answered, reassuring him again.

Robert frowned, and then gl`anced around as if checking the walls themselves for prying eyes and ears.

Ned's heart flopped in his chest, a sudden worry overtaking him as he carefully watched Robert's expression.

"Robert?" He asked, carefully.

Robert leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands nursing his cup.

"I'm going to be honest with ya Ned." The great Stag Lord rumbled. "Only reason I haven't abdicated… is because I don't want him shackled to that fucking chair."

Ned felt his breathing stop.

Robert didn't seem to notice.

"I've put a lot of responsibility on him already." He said. "When he's in the Capital, he runs the small Council. He's the one thinking about…" His hand made vague, circle-like movements. "Trade deals, treaties, road repairs, tithes, politics and alliances… But I see that it gets to him. And so he leaves. Takes a tour of a Kingdom. Heads out of that fucking pit. Me being King. It lets him do that. About the only thing I'm good for."

He brought his eyes up, staring straight at the Lord of Winterfell.

"I might be alive for a long time, it's true… somehow… I'm feelin that's less and less likely."

"Why?" Ned demanded. "You've never been afraid of anything."

"Not afraid…" Robert shook his head. "A feeling." His hand rose, fingertips brushing the back of his head. "Fate's breath… on the back of my neck Ned."

The Lord of Winterfell watched his oldest friend, Robert's features were… unnerving… disquieting. He'd rarely been a serious man, especially outside of War councils.

But here- now. Robert's face was carved from ironwood bark. Stoic and grave as the Stranger's himself.

"There are very few good men I can trust to help my boy and not themselves; Ned. You're one of em. Top of the very short list. Stannis; insufferable cunt is right behind you and that's it."

"Not even Renly?"

Robert frowned, the lines growing deeper on his face. "I'd like to think so… I really do." He drank again. "Renly's in bed with the Tyrells. And we know the Tyrells loved their Dragons more than me."

Ned winced. He remembered Renly; years and years ago. A flighty young man, but kind and charming, in his way. "He would turn on his nephew?"

"We've both seen worse things, Ned." Robert reminded. "You know that." He took another long gulp, then reached for the pitcher to refill his cup. "Like I said. I don't wanna think it. But you never know. You… and Stannis. Those are the men I want at his side more than anything."

Somehow, Ned doubted he'd told Stannis any of this.

If he did. Perhaps for once, the Baratheon brothers would get along.

Ned took a breath, releasing it slowly as he closed his eyes.

He was still uneasy. Starks did not do well south of the Neck.

But… his friend needed him.

And Starks did their duty.

—

Jeralt:

Jeralt had to try and hide his laughs as he helped Tommen stand up, again.

The boy would never be a great warrior; by his estimation. He didn't have the drive for it. The talent. Not like Byleth, or his father, or Jeralt himself or even Arya- that girl could become decent with a sword, with enough nourishing and practice. She certainly imitated Byleth's instruction enthusiastically enough.

But Tommen was a good lad, kind hearted and uplifting. As many times as he got knocked down in his ridiculously padded suit and needed help getting back up, he always got up with a smile on his face, happy to be participating.

Jeralt got the impression he'd led a very lonely existence so far.

Youngest of the royal children, the third son that few ever even looked to, being so far from the throne, growing up in that snake den.

Yes. Jeralt could imagine it was indeed very lonely.

And even though he was a little shy around his… betrothed- it didn't take long for the little Prince to be swept up in the Wolfling's energy and enthusiasm.

If he didn't watch out, she'd have him wrapped around her little finger before he knew it.

"Alright, that's enough for today, you two." He said gently. Both children were covered in sweat, and Byleth pulled the helmet off of Tommen's head as Arya grinned broadly from ear to ear, even as her hands shook and trembled with overtaxed muscles jumping and twitching under her skin.

She'd be feeling that in the morning and the days after most likely.

If she wanted to come back… well… who knows. Byleth might enjoy teaching a new student.

It was always when she was happiest.

He looked to his daughter. "Take them back to the castle, I imagine both of their mothers would want to make sure they bathe properly."

"Yes." She said simply; "Come."

The demand was met with immediate obedience, with Arya chattering excitedly with Tommen as they walked alternating between him and Byleth in rapidfire questions and word vomit that made Tommen's head spin even as Byleth somehow kept her answers to single words.

Jeralt chuckled. Removing his own glove and moving to leave the training grounds ready for its next users.

Putting away the practice weapons, it didn't take long for the castle guard and men to hear that it was open again- others soon began trickling in.

Jeralt nodded at various men, marching past them, content to make his way towards the exit.

Just there- he spotted someone, pausing mid stride as the word slipped past his lips without his conscious thought.

"Jon."

The pale, grey eyed boy stopped, surprised as he turned, looking at Jeralt. "I… I'm sorry ser, do you know me?"

He'd messed up.

Still… No point in lying.

"I do." He smiled as calmly as he could. "Lord Stark has told me a lot about you."

Jon looked surprised. "Has he really? I'm… surprised."

The lie came easily and Jeralt let himself ease into the facade as he exchanged pleasantries with the young man.

(X)(X)(X)

I'm back, ladies and gentlemen

The Hiatus/Break is over!

Updates shall resume!

There are of course more chapters available on Patreon if you wish for early access.

Now regarding my own personal project/Book- Good news and bad news.

Bad news first- I sort of took a longer break than I expected; because I didn't realize how close to burn out I actually was when I took my break, I figured I'd take off 2 maybe 3 weeks and then get back into the swing of it afterwards.

Yeah. My... whatever you'd like to call it, my muse or even just my mind was like 'Nah brother; we aint doing this writing thing *at all* for a good long while.

I physically could not bring myself to write for nearly 7 weeks. So aparently I needed the break.

Late December, Early January, my brain was like Ok. We can do this.

So I sat down and got to writing finally.

All of the progress on my Original work has been done mostly through early through mid January, and then these last couple of days I took to organize the fics into the promised release date.

I don't think we'll be approaching burn out again- But I'll keep an eye out for it so to speak.

BUT good news, after seven weeks hiatus/break, my muse kicked in so A LOT of progress was indeed made, and the book is nearly done in its entirety, so I'm HOPING by late Febuary or Mid March; to send it out to editors for final touch ups before finally looking up publishing options.

If anyone would like to share knowledge on that particular subject I'd appreciate it.

Now, nevermind all of that- Feel free to discuss this story if you like it, dislike it or speculations for the future

Next chapter is an Edelgard one