most likely candidates in the Vale were to inform Tywin Lannister. Nothing was done without the command of Tywin Lannister. JAIME LANNISTER Inside the White Sword Tower, Jaime was taking off Ser Arthur Dayne's armour and carefully placed it on its statue; followed by taking off his own and into the chest Ser Arthur allowed Jaime to keep inside the sparse bedchamber to make things easier for Jaime. "Thank you, Jaime." "You're welcome, Ser Arthur," he replied happily. As a squire, there were more things for Jaime to do than just practise with Ser Arthur Dayne, but he would not complain about any of it. He didn’t care that some things were done by maidservants for Jaime at Casterly Rock. He was a squire now and Ser Arthur Dayne was the nicest knight for him to be learning from. He taught Jaime things that made someone a good knight and a good person. He taught Jaime the best ways to move about the Red Keep without crossing paths with the king. Ser Arthur Dayne spent more days than not serving the king, and he always seemed unhappy when duty ended for those days. Jaime made sure he knew when Ser Arthur finished and would visit the knight a little later to talk to him. Talking to Jaime seemed to cheer him up a bit, so Jaime promised to himself that he would be there on the days Ser Arthur had to serve the king. Putting his armour away while the knight left the bedchamber for the floor that had the tub in it, Jaime closed the chest and locked it, pushing it under the bed where he was allowed to leave it. Going to a seat in the bedchamber while he waited for Uncle Gery to come and get him, Jaime was disturbed from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door. It sounded like Addam’s knock. Turning to the door and opening it, he saw that it was Addam and closed the door once the other boy was inside. “Addam,” he said happily. “I hope your day has been good.” “Yes, it has. People keep thinking I’m the page of a minor lord, not Lord Lannister, so they leave me alone,” Addam replied, sitting down in the seat Jaime had almost sat in before Addam knocked. “How’s your squiring going?” he asked with interest. “The best,” Jaime replied without hesitating. “He really looks out for me, so I try to be helpful for him too. When he’d served the king and I’m with Uncle Gery or Father for lessons, I come here with Uncle Gery when lessons are over and Ser Arthur is back here. Ser Arthur likes talking to me about what I did and other things when he’s not serving the king for the rest of a day.” Addam looked puzzled where he sat. “Um…why?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, but he likes it and I get a rest from Father’s lessons,” Jaime explained, wondering why Ser Arthur did like listening to him talk. A scream could be heard coming from somewhere in a nearby tower, and Jaime jumped up to find out what it was. Addam blocked the way out. Jaime tried pushing him aside but the boy didn’t move. “What in the Seven Hells, Addam? Someone needs help!” Addam didn’t move away from the door but nodded where he stood. “You can’t do anything, Jaime.” His voice sounded like a fact, not an opinion. “Why not?” he demanded without being mean to his only other friend here at the Red Keep. “People don’t scream for nothing,” Jaime reasoned clearly. Anyone could figure that out. “It’s the queen,” Addam said sadly and like it was no surprise. Jaime was angry inside, but Ser Arthur had taught him how to get rid of that anger later. “Then why are you blocking the way? It’s Queen Rhaella, Addam!” “Um, well…King Aerys hurts Queen Rhaella a lot and he’s allowed to,” the russet boy said, but Jaime was shaking his head. “No one stops him, Jaime. No one can.” He just couldn’t understand by the queen could get hurt like that when there were knights all over the Red Keep. Especially Ser Arthur, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t! “But, Addam. The Kingsguard. What about them? They protect the king and queen.” Addam just shook his head. “What do you mean ‘no’, Addam? Hurting the queen isn’t right,” he argued fiercely. This was not what he’d read about knights in the books back home once reading was easier for him. Addam swallowed nervously and looked Jaime in the eyes. “They don’t protect Queen Rhaella, Jaime. They’re not allowed to.” That just made fire stir within Jaime. “Why not? They’re knights, Addam.” The russet-haired boy looked like he didn’t want to answer, but he did anyway. “Their oath is to protect the king and do as he commands, Jaime,” he said slowly. “None of their oaths is about protecting the queen.” “…no.” “Yes,” Addam replied, frowning as he looked to Jaime. “If one Kingsguard member decides to protect the queen, his Sworn brothers will have to kill that member. They don’t have a choice, Jaime. I’m sorry, I know you like him, but Ser Arthur doesn’t have a choice. It’s death if he does anything.” Jaime didn’t want to believe it and shook his head. “No, no. It can’t be…it can’t be…he’s a true knight. He’s a good, real, knight. He protects people.” Addam gripped Jaime’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes without looking away. “I’m not lying. I’m sorry.” Swallowing, he turned away from the russet boy who was his age. “Addam? Go, please? Just, I need time alone. Please?” The russet boy didn’t leave straight away and placed a sealed letter in Jaime’s hands. Looking at the seal of grey wax with a trout sigil, Jaime normally would have opened it straight away but now was not the time. Sitting on the end of the bed Jaime wondered by his father would agree to let Ser Arthur have Jaime as a squire if he wasn’t a real knight. Real knights don’t let people get hurt. Not in the mood to see the knight, Jaime left the bedchamber of Ser Arthur and went to his own; Uncle Gery walking with him from White Sword Tower. SANSA STARK It was past the breaking of fast and Sansa was in the godswood of Winterfell sitting on the risen roots of the heart tree. Beside her and sitting in the spring snow was Lady, a position of dignity while enjoying the hand of Sansa running through her fur. At the sound of someone approaching she didn’t move or attempt to conceal what she was doing. Instead, she continued it. She’d been at Winterfell with Cat and Uncle Brynden since arriving ten days ago. She’d spent time with Lady daily and, in the eyes of the Starks and Tullys, slowly grew to trust Lady at a reasonable pace despite Lady’s grown size and untamed nature. Lady lived amongst the Starks here in Winterfell but was free to roam and go where she pleased when she pleased. No one knew that Lady was connected to Sansa like the Starks of old; The Kings of Winter. As well as the siblings Sansa felt she would never see again. She remembered them and would honour them all. It was not long before she saw who was breaking the silent peace of the godswood. Lyarra Stark with a gentle smile and eyes that grew soft upon seeing Sansa petting Lady calmly. Sitting herself down beside Sansa, The Lady of Winterfell was merely watching her as her hands languidly ran through Lady’s fur. Lyarra lightly wrapped her arm around Sansa’s back and rested her hand next to Sansa’s hip. “I remember when you sent your letter here asking if the existence of Lady was the truth,” Lyarra began softly, reaching forward and gave Lady’s neck a brief rub. “I received it one day shy of three moons ago, but I remember the day like it was yesterday.” There was an instinctive urge for Sansa to tense, but she resisted and continued giving Lady’s fur much-caring attention. “She’s an amazing direwolf, Lyarra.” “I was near Lady when I spoke your name, and, by the gods, I truly had not expected it,” Lyarra murmured, her thumb running along Sansa’s side. “She was absolutely excited; tail wagging with energy and eyes bright with recognition.” Sansa did what anyone would have expected her to and looked to Lyarra in false surprise. But Lyarra simply smiled with a glint of amusement in her eyes and focussed her sight on Lady, giving the direwolf a rub. “Would you come with me on a ride, Sansa?” Feeling a little wary of what this was leading to, but with no other choice in the matter, Sansa nodded to who could have been her grandmother once. “It would be nice to see more of my sister’s future home. I will miss her greatly when the time comes,” Sansa replied in the manner to be expected of her. Sansa was a guest here in Winterfell and the reason for the visit at all with Uncle Brynden and Cat was for Catelyn to become familiar to where she would live once she married Brandon Stark. To refuse something as benign as a ride on horseback, and at the request of her hostess, would not only be strange but also rude. While Cat had briefly fallen ill to the cold of the North, Sansa had not, and to feign sickness would be as convincing as saying Joffrey was merciful. She was obliged to go. Copying Lyarra’s rise from the large roots of the heart tree, she could feel dread slowly begin to fill her being. No one knew about her past life, but it seemed like Lyarra had more than one reason to be curious about Sansa. Lady’s reaction to her name was one of them. On the second day of Sansa’s stay in Winterfell, the heart tree in the godswood had released two of its blood red leaves, which landed upon her. Sansa had been on the precipice of throwing them away when Lyarra stayed Sansa’s hand and explained to her the significance of such leaves falling upon a person. Those leaves will maintain their appearance of strong, healthy leaves so long as the person who received them didn’t dispose of them. Allegedly, receiving those leaves from a weirwood was a sign the Old Gods approved of a selfless deed someone was doing. The only time the leaves fell from a weirwood was for people performing noble acts of great proportions. Sansa had never known this, for she’d been a child trying to please her mother in Winterfell, who’d followed the Faith and not the Old Gods. However, for Sansa to be bestowed something that, according to Lyarra, so scarcely happened, it meant a lot to Sansa. Sansa was of the North. The occurrence, even if it have been merely leaves, made her feel like the North and her home, by extension, was accepting her back. Sansa still had those leaves on her person; within the breeches pockets of her warm mummer’s gown, and not once had they begun to die or break. Just as Lyarra had told her, they were as healthy, strong and bright red as those still hanging from the weirwoods. With a jolt, Sansa realised that the horses were ready and Hodor, no ‘Walter’, his real name, was lacing his fingers together to assist her up into the saddle. Nimbly doing so, she mounted up onto the horse lent to her and recomposed herself quickly while pretending to be adjusting her skirts. Taking the reins up into her hands, Sansa saw Lyarra ride forth towards the Hunter’s Gate. Following her, Sansa’s eye was drawn to someone moving near a window in the Great Keep. In one of the upper chambers, she spotted Lyanna glaring at her from inside, but she didn’t know why. Paying the younger girl no attention, Sansa hastened her horse. That’s when she felt within herself the presence of Lady drawing nearer while Sansa and Lyarra approached the courtyard they needed to pass through. Sansa’s immediate thought was to brace herself in the saddle, so she wouldn’t fall off when her horse reared in fear. However, her mount didn’t get spooked by Lady’s presence, Sansa relaxed and saw Lady follow them out of the castle and into the Wolfswood. She knew this place, but could never act so. As far as anyone knew, she was a Tully and will be until the day she is wed to Jaime Lannister. But at heart, I will always be a Stark. Now in front of them, Lady was looking around cautiously and moving at a pace that matched their horses. Curious why Lyarra was following Lady’s lead instead of direction the horse elsewhere, Sansa paid careful attention to where they were going. With calm observation, they seemed to be travelling to an area that was rarely ventured. The ground lacked the flattening effect found on roads and the path to the Crofter’s village; created by repeated use to travel to and from Winterfell. But it was Lady leading them, and Sansa trusted Lady as much as she would trust herself, so she didn’t worry. She simply observed. In time, they arrived at a cave, and Lyarra dismounted without preamble and walked over to Sansa and took her hand so she could do the same. With her feet on the ground and her horse tied to a tree, Sansa spoke her curiosity. “What is this place?” Lady sat down within the cave and Sansa followed the impulse to sit next to the direwolf. Lyarra looked a little amused. “You would have to ask Lady, Sansa. For I do not know.” “Unfortunately I don’t speak direwolf,” Sansa japed lightly and looked at Lady, who was calm beside her. At the sound of someone sitting beside her, Sansa turned and saw Lyarra next to her. “But, it is as good a place as any to talk privately,” she commented kindly. Sansa’s stomach knotted immediately, but she didn’t let her face give her away. “What of, Lyarra?” “Sansa,” she began gently, placing one of Sansa’s hands within hers. “What is your deed the Old Gods gave you those leaves for?” Sansa's voice was so small, even to herself. “I haven’t completed it yet. I don't know if I will succeed. I'll simply know, I suppose.” “My offer to help you still stands, Sansa. The gods would never approve of anything heinous,” Lyarra commented, brushing the inside of Sansa’s palm with her thumb. “I have something I want to show you. Lady showed it to me some time ago in the snow. Something I’ve told no one.” Feeling her heart bleed from the care of the grandmother she'd never met, Sansa lowered her gaze to hide her emotions. Arya had always mentioned, and Cat often said, that her eyes were her most telling feature out of everything. “Here,” Lyarra said, giving Sansa a piece of parchment gently. S.S 286 AC - 312 AC = S.T 265 AC – Sansa stiffened at the knowledge that her most precious secret was known and in writing. Lyarra sighed and rubbed Sansa’s back. Gods be good, I’ve given myself away. “Sansa,” Lyarra nearly whispered. “You are a good person. You don’t have to tell me what your name was. Multiple Houses begin with 'S'. Either way, I will help you if you desire me to.” She knows. She knows my name. She’s pretending to not to. That strange woman at the Tourney of Lannisport knew Lady was alive; she knew Petyr has memories of the same era as me; she knew Westeros was defeated by the Others; she knew my name without me telling her. And she said the ally I can tell was ‘one wolf’. Lyarra. She meant Lyarra. Who else could it be? Feeling herself breathe unevenly, Sansa closed her eyes for a moment and got herself under control. Taking one of the weirwood leaves out of her pocket, Sansa placed it in Lyarra’s hand and looked her in the eyes. “I was Sansa Stark,” she said with a tremor and had to look down or cry. “I was once Sansa Stark of Winterfell.” Unbidden, the tears came anyway. Lyarra lifted Sansa’s chin with a finger. “No,” she said softly. “You ARE Sansa Stark. And you will always be a Stark,” she murmured, taking Sansa into her lap and held her close. “Lady and her fondness of you is living proof of that. She is your direwolf. And you are a direwolf.” Lyarra gently pressed her lips to Sansa’s forehead. “In my eyes, you are my granddaughter, Sansa Stark,” she whispered near Sansa’s ear, hand brushing her hair. “My secret daughter.” Wrapping her arms around Lyarra tightly; Sansa buried herself against her and simply let herself feel. A cheek against hers. Arms around her body. Gentle squeezes from Lyarra. Herself being lifted and placed astride soft fur. Opening her eyes, Sansa looked and saw that Lyarra had placed her upon Lady’s back and adjusted Sansa’s hands on Lady. “I will find a way for us to have time together, Sansa,” she promised, stepping away from Lady’s side. “Now…be the Stark that you are.” Swallowing, Sansa felt the calm coming from Lady. But there was also excitement, joy, and an eagerness to run. Tightening her hold on Lady, Sansa took a breath and looked to Lyarra. “Go, sweetling. My Sansa Stark.” Lady walked out of the cave. And ran. She felt like she was flying. Adult Eyes Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes TYWIN LANNISTER Day 1, 7rh Moon, 276 AC An hour ago Tywin heard the sound of a slamming door and had risen from his desk to investigate. However, he hadn’t gotten far before his brother, Gerion, entered the Hand’s solar with a grim expression on his face. Gerion’s role here in King’s Landing was effectively to be Jaime’s escort and ensure the safety of Tywin’s heir while in King’s Landing. He did not trust Aerys or the royal court to not mock and humiliate his son. Genna will join in that role shortly. As Hand of the King, Tywin had little time to spare aside from his duties to the realm, the Westerlands, and the lordship lessons for his son. "What's happened?" "Jaime and I heard a woman's scream for help near White Sword Tower,” the youngest Lannister brother began, giving Tywin a feeling of dread and immediately recalling that Gerion and Genna had never been aware about matters concerning the king and queen. Gerion’s expression conveyed ill fortune. “Queen Rhaella, apparently, but I never knew the king raped his own wife," he said with a grim expression. "I saw Addam Marbrand in the halls shortly before Jaime. And I know my nephew,” he spoke passionately, a conviction in his tone and face. “Jaime normally talks happily about Ser Arthur after visiting the man, but he was silent, upset, and went straight to his bedchambers; the slam you heard," Tywin's youngest brother explained, looking concerned and glancing in the direction of the closed door. Tywin instantly knew this unfavourable conversation meant his intervention would be required. While he was Hand of the King, the court expected him to perform without mistakes or oversights. This he achieved more often than not; House Lannister would not be seen as mediocre. However, there's been an oversight concerning his own son and the known acts of Aerys' brutality towards Rhaella. The Tower of the Hand was positioned as such that there was much distance between the Royal chambers and Tywin's accommodations. Gerion continued on to make a prediction. "It's likely that Jaime was told the true nature of the Kingsguard by the Marbrand boy, including standing by while the King rapes his queen." Tywin’s brother sighed and shook his head. “Our sister is with him now, but he needs his father, Tywin. You.” Why Genna would not be able to fulfil the task of telling Jaime that reality was different to the nature implied within knightly stories, Tywin didn't understand. However, Tywin knew that the bond between father and son was essential for the success of House Lannister. Especially in King’s Landing. Definitely in King’s Landing. He would not coddle his son like a mother would a babe and never had. Being a cold man was the key to lifting House Lannister out of the dirt, where his father had buried it; the coldness was an ingrained nature Tywin would have until the end of his days. A good man does everything in his power to better his family’s position, regardless of his own selfish desires. He needed to calculate every decision and move he makes; be it in court or his family. Acknowledging what needed to be done did not mean he would purely act contradictory to his nature. Nonetheless, he will need to be selective and careful with how he conducted himself in front of his heir, an upset boy of ten. He could not afford less than good relations with his son while in King’s Landing. The slam of Jaime’s door was now an hour ago, according to the sun’s position. Deeming it enough time for his son to have grasped control of his temper, Tywin finished his order for Kevan at Casterly Rock, sealed it for Pycelle to send, and rose from the desk. Walking down the stairs to the next floor, Tywin saw the door of his son’s bedchamber was ajar. He entered to find Jaime standing at the window that overlooked the yard of the Red Keep; no doubt watching someone train in swordsmanship or the like. “Jaime.” Turning his head from the window slowly and looking to Tywin with dull eyes that spoke of devastation, his son replied in a sad tone “Father.” "I'm aware that your view towards the knights of the Kingsguard has been changed drastically." "Yes...," Jaime murmured in response with a small nod. "Why am I a squire to someone like that?" he questioned in disgust, conviction bleeding from his posture. "Arthur Dayne asked you for me to squire for him, Father, and you said yes," Jaime pointed out factually then his face crumbled. "Why? The Kingsguard are fake knights. You've been here for as long as I can remember." Reminding himself that he was with his son and not the royal court that regularly mocked him, Tywin sat down in the chair within Jaime's bedchamber to reduce the intimidation Tywin's height and stern face had over people in Aerys’ absence. He was with his son. Not Aerys. Gesturing for Jaime to sit on the bed, he waited as his son hastily obeyed. "Most of the Kingsguard are rather aged, Jaime, and began service with King Aegon V. A more acceptable man; not cruel to his queen like Aerys. The Kingsguard cannot choose to leave a Targaryen king. Neither can they choose to deny a summons to the service by a king," he explained, laying the groundwork for the rest of this conversation. "By the Targaryens, it's considered treason to object the call of service." Jaime nodded and looked at his hands, wringing them slightly. "Ser Arthur started serving this year, but King Aerys is the king. Addam told me that Arthur chose to serve in the Kingsguard." Looking up, Jaime's eyes had a searching expression for help. "Why would he choose to serve if he isn't allowed to protect the queen? Why would people call him a true knight?" His son had gone straight to the matter of Ser Arthur's circumstances, not looking surprised by Tywin's words. Unusual that he wasn’t drawn to the objection of serving, most people would since its uncommon knowledge. The boy did not seem to consider that members of court carried out acts of deception to get what they want, but Jaime hadn't been in King's Landing long enough for the thought to occur. Tywin waited and made sure his son was looking at him before returning Jaime’s searching gaze with a serious one. "With a knight as renowned and skilled as Ser Arthur interested in the Kingsguard, Jaime, do you believe the king would have given Ser Arthur a reason to change his mind before swearing the vows?" Suspicion began to slowly show in Jaime's eyes. "Umm...no?" "No," Tywin confirmed. His son was almost hopeful while having a look of resentment. "So King Aerys waited until Ser Arthur swore the vows, and started hurting Queen Rhaella again when it was too late?" His son concluded with a slither of uncertainty. "He tricked him?" "Yes, Jaime,” he told his son and saw Jaime’s eyes shift to simply sad, not devastated. “The queen ceased her screams until Ser Arthur had sworn the vows. That same night, Aerys continued his abuses towards the queen." Nodding with an expression of relief, Jaime faltered and made eye contact with Tywin. "On my way here, people said King Aerys was taking his rights with Queen Rhaella again. What do they mean?" There is no place for naivety and ignorance in King's Landing. "A husband's right to bed his wife against her will," Tywin explained, knowing it would be clear enough for a boy of ten due to the vulgarity of Robert Baratheon. “Typically this hurts a woman.” Joanna would be horrified I'm telling him this. But it's better he hears it from me than anyone else. And the potential lies from members of the court; someone would exploit the opportunity. Jaime looked to the door in disgust. “It’s not right.” Joanna, he has your heart. Tywin remained upright in his seat, watching his son. “Right and wrong have no meaning to King Aerys, Jaime," Tywin told him clearly. "Remember my words, Jaime; to speak against the king has dangerous consequences for both of us. Only within your bedchamber, low and alone will it be safe to do so.” Nodding, Jaime was downcast when he sighed. “Yes, Father.” Aware he needed to appeal to his son; Tywin knelt in front of the boy and watched as Jaime looked to him. “Ser Arthur did not know about King Aerys and Queen Rhaella before joining the Kingsguard, son. The king will continue hurting the queen no matter what Ser Arthur does; do you expect Ser Arthur to choose death while knowing this?” Hesitantly, Jaime reached forward and with both hands pulled Tywin’s hand into his lap. The lord resisted the urge to reclaim his hand; affection was not his forte, and foreign coming from someone other than his late wife Joanna. Jaime had yet to answer him, so Tywin asked with fewer words. “In Ser Arthur’s position, would you choose death, Jaime?” He saw the green in Jaime’s eyes turn sad. His son replied in nearly a whisper. “No. I’d hate it though.” Jaime’s eyes showed the fire within. “I’d hate every day of it,” he said resolutely. Satisfied that his son had a grasp of the situation, he nodded once. “He is a good man who was tricked, son.” Jaime gripped his hand with both, looking into Tywin’s eyes. “I understand, Father,” he spoke clearly and let go of Tywin’s hand so he could fidget with his own. “I understand…” Choosing to perform an act strange to him, Tywin rose to his feet and placed a hand atop his son’s head briefly, and walked out the door. ARTHUR DAYNE Within his sparse bedchamber, Arthur stood staring at the statue which his armour rested upon. Normally after performing his Kingsguard duties, his squire, Jaime, would assist Arthur out of his armour before the knight left to bathe, and stay until he returned. The boy would wait to talk about his own day, lessons with the Lord Hand, and asking eager questions about their next swordsmanship lesson; the companionship was a balm to each day Arthur had to serve the king. Training Jaime and protecting Jaime was his secret redemption. If he attempted to protect Queen Rhaella from the king, he would be slain in an instant and King Aerys would continue taking his rights from an unwilling woman. Protecting the queen was beyond his reach, but to protect an innocent boy from making Arthur’s mistake was not. Arthur would teach him, and he would be a friend. And when the time came that Jaime, once a knight, drew the king’s eye, Arthur would send him to Casterly Rock with a false errand and beyond the immediate reach of the king’s arm. When he’d met the boy at Lannisport for the tourney, Arthur had seen a boy of good manners and a dedication to knighthood that clashed with the stories about his sister. Jaime was undeserving of what Cersei Lannister had done to the family name and Arthur knew a way he could help a boy who, clear to all, desired to be a true knight. Arthur could help him achieve that with guidance as his squire, so approached the Lord Hand to request Jaime Lannister to squire for him. Upon meeting the boy again in King’s Landing, he dreaded awaiting the day he would have to tell Jaime Lannister he was not the knight the boy’s obvious admiration implied he was believed to be. Today was that day. While bathing, the moment he heard the scream of Queen Rhaella, Arthur knew Jaime would hear it from within White Sword Tower and learn the Kingsguard would not help. Upon returning to his bedchamber, it had been no shock to Arthur to find the chamber void of Jaime. Jaime’s heart was too pure for this place; this castle. The Red Keep. All I can do is chase off the bitterness that could ruin his spirit. In fresh breeches, tunic, and doublet of white and swordbelt strapped to his side, Arthur knew what he needed to do and left his bedchamber, giving a nod to Oswell Whent as he passed him on the first floor; the circular, white common room of the Kingsguard containing a large shield-shaped weirwood table, upon it rested the White Book, which held records of every deed by members of the Kingsguard since conception. Venturing the length of the Red Keep, and far away from the ceased screams of the queen, Arthur reached the Tower of the Hand and saw the door of the Small Hall was open and no one inside it. This was a rarely used hall since Tywin used the Throne Room to receive and handle petitions and the like in Aerys’ absence. Climbing the stairs he knocked on the door of the Lord Hand’s apartments. The second floor was the common area for the Lord Hand and family. The third was bedchambers for the family. The top floor was the Lord Hand’s solar and bedchamber. It was the duty of the Kingsguard to know the layout of the Red Keep; dungeons, towers, all of it. His knock was answered by Ser Gerion Lannister with the flickering expression, who was with his sister, Lady Genna Frey but no one ever called her such. “Ser Arthur,” Ser Gerion addressed, his eyes betraying nothing. “I’m assuming this is about my nephew,” the man said, not beating around the bush. He nodded slowly. “If he will receive me, Ser Gerion,” he answered politely, silently praying that the boy would. Lady Genna did not rise from her seat. “He will receive you whether he likes it or not, Ser Arthur,” she told him while Ser Gerion ushered him in. “We’re a house with pride and will demonstrate such,” she commented in a tone that would brook no argument. “He’s in his chambers, second on the left upstairs.” “Thank you, Lady Genna, Ser Gerion,” he replied to each and nodded turn. “Much appreciated.” Walking pass to the next portion of stairs, Arthur climbed them slowly while wondering what awaited him in Jaime’s bedchamber. Will he let me explain? Will he listen? Will he despise me? There was an ongoing torrent of questions and concerns that only one person, one boy, could answer. Squaring his shoulders, Arthur reached the floor of bedchambers and approached the second door on his left. Hand shaped into a fist he hesitated, but took a breath and knocked. I will accept the outcome and respect it, whatever that might be. Jaime’s voice was muffled by the door “Come in.” Opening the door but not crossing the threshold, Arthur saw the boy carefully locking a polished wooden frame of mahogany and glass containing a drawing of a majestic creature, some kind of large wolf. The artist had put much effort into the details. “Jaime?” he spoke cautiously, witnessing the boy turn around to face him with the frame in hand. “I’d like to speak to you,” Arthur began, going down to one knee so their eyes were nearly level. “But I shall leave if you wish it, Jaime. I want to explain,” he said gently, watching Jaime’s reaction. The boy had no look of hate that Arthur anticipated. “Ser Arthur,” Jaime greeted, gingerly walking up to him. “You can stay,” he told him with a nod. A flood of relief rushed through Arthur; he honestly hadn’t expected Jaime to give him a chance so freely. “Jaime. Thank you,” he sincerely spoke, and the youth just nodded. Looking at the picture in Jaime’s hand, Arthur commented on it to fill the void of silence for he didn’t know what else to say. “That’s an admirable picture, Jaime. What creature is it?” “A grown direwolf,” Jaime answered, gazing at it with a fond smile. “Sansa promised to draw me a picture from the North. It’s The Direwolf of Winterfell. The Starks talked about it in the Vale.” Arthur had never seen such a creature and watched as Jaime carefully placed the glass and wood frame on his desk. Needing to get to the heart of the matter, Arthur sighed waited until Jaime was facing his way again. “Jaime,” he began softly, closing the door behind himself and making himself level with the boy once more. “I should have told you before, but I feared what you would think and do.” Jaime nodded then looked him in the eyes. “Father said you were tricked.” It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. He already knows. Thank the gods. Arthur released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Yes, Jaime,” he replied in nearly a whisper. “Yes, I was.” The eyes of Jaime were watchful while the boy sat on his seat. “How were you tricked?” he asked politely, those green eyes showing he was truly listening. Daring to take the boy’s hand and experiencing no resistance, Arthur held it carefully within his own while looking into those Lannister green eyes. “I came to King’s Landing to bring to my house honour by serving in the Kingsguard. When I arrived there was estrangement between your father and the king, but that was all,” he began to explain and Jaime hadn’t moved away. Taking a breath, he continued quietly. “King Aerys was a little eccentric and a king that I wouldn’t be ashamed to serve, so after a sennight here I swore the vows of the Kingsguard.” He dropped his gaze in memory of what happened but looked up to meet Jaime’s eyes. He must believe me. “The night after I swore the vows, and was guarding the Royal chambers with Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, I heard Queen Rhaella scream.” Arthur blinked and swallowed his shame, but didn’t look away. “I tried to enter to protect her, but the Lord Commander held me in place,” he said and adjusted his voice to that of the Lord Commander’s. “‘We serve the king, Ser Arthur, and only the king. Stand down and serve the king as you have sworn so.’,” he mimicked and sighed. “He warned me, his voice spoke of striking me down if I proceeded. That’s when I realised just what I’d truly sworn to do.” Arthur looked away and closed his eyes, shame soaking him like water. “Ser Arthur-“ “Over and over again, I am subject to hearing the queen scream when King Aerys rapes her. None of the Kingsguard will intervene and never will because they will be killed and replaced.” He opened his eyes and looked back to Jaime. “Each time I must stand guard, I’m forsaking my true knight morals and vows; bringing shame to House Dayne and all the Swords of the Morning before me.” A tear escaped one eye but he didn’t try to hide it. “The Kingsguard is the worst and most shaming decision I’ve ever made.” Little arms wrapped around him, young Jaime holding him close, the sound of his breath in Arthur’s ear. “You were tricked. You were tricked, Ser Arthur.” Not pulling away and thumbing Jaime’s shoulders, Arthur let his tears fall, pride be damned. “I don’t know how you stand to do it, Ser Arthur,” Jaime murmured. Swallowing, Arthur took a breath. “Please don’t call me that, Jaime.” The boy pulled away to look into Arthur’s Dayne purple eyes. “What?” “Ser Arthur,” he specified, watching Jaime’s gaze. “I’m not a true knight anymore. I’m not a knight. Not to myself.” Jaime bit his lip in uncertainty. “What do you want me to call you?” “When we’re alone in a chamber or outdoors, I want you to call me ‘Arthur’.” Jaime had an expression of surprise and gripped Arthur’s shoulders like the passionate boy he was. “You’re doing everything you can, Arthur. You were tricked and you’re trying, and that’s what matters. If you weren’t a knight you wouldn’t be trying.” Letting go of Arthur’s shoulders and hugging him again, Jaime murmured into his ear. “You’re a knight to me…Arthur.” Returning the embrace, he let the silent tears fall, he felt overwhelmed by the kindness of Jaime, who respected his wish but expressed faith in the Kingsguard knight. “Thank you, Jaime…thank you.” “I was tricked once...with a laced goblet,” Jaime divulged quietly, voice tinged with loathing. “By… by a close friend in Lannisport and she knew I was betrothed to Sansa. She didn’t want me betrothed to Sansa. Sansa found out what happened before I could explain my friend tricked me.” Arthur heard Jaime take a breath and shakily let it out. “Being tricked is horrible. I don’t want to talk about it, Arthur.” He could tell that Jaime was hurt by the incident and held the boy close. “I understand, Jaime. You don’t have to,” he told his squire kindly. “Thankfully Sansa has forgiven you if that drawing makes you smile. But unlike your friend, I can’t leave the Kingsguard. Don’t join the Kingsguard, Jaime. Don’t make my mistake,” he urged the boy, pulling back and rest a hand on each shoulder. “Please.” Jaime Lannister stood straight and looked with determined eyes. “I promise,” the boy said sincerely. “I won’t.” Smiling, truly smiling, Arthur rested onto his heels from where he knelt and placed his hands onto his thighs. “Would you like to go for a ride?” “I love riding!” Chuckling and not fighting Jaime’s pull towards the door, Arthur replied, “I know you do.” LYARRA STARK Sitting in the clearing containing the cave within the Wolfswood, Lyarra was speculating on the truth of Sansa Tully. The girl had entrusted Lyarra with the truth of who she was; Sansa Stark. With that revelation, it answered many questions. Sansa’s appearance was an immediate answer of who her mother had been; Catelyn Tully. They couldn’t look any more alike, with the exception of Sansa’s Northern skin. The girl’s interactions with House Stark over the moons since first meeting them told Lyarra much. Any time Sansa was near Brandon or Lyanna her behaviour was that of a genuine stranger, but near Ned…it was an entirely different story and the hidden grief was so much of a tell now in this new light. My son…my daughter...death took them before Sansa was alive. 286 AC was Sansa’s original nameday. Gods…that’s only ten years…so soon. That’s too soon. I won’t let that happen. Not again. And Ned, she was his daughter and lost him. She wept upon the realisation of House Stark’s fate, for Rickard and herself wouldn’t have stood by and done nothing to protect them. I must know how. Mayhaps I died in childbed. Or was it more sinister? But Rickard? Wiping her tears and walking over to the horses, Lyarra petted the mane of her horse to try and comfort herself. She stood there long enough that she lost the sense of time, but Lyarra knew Sansa and Lady had been gone for a significant time. Hours. Walking back over to the cave and perching herself on the edge of the stone surface, Lyarra took the gifted weirwood leaf out from her pocket. One of the two that the Old Gods have freely bestowed upon Sansa Tully. Such a thing will be framed and displayed in the bedchamber later. I need to be strong. For myself and for Sansa. She is in an era where her mother is her sibling and her father is someone she can never be too close with. And Minisa Tully is dead. All Sansa has for a parent is Lord Hoster now. No. I will be the mother for her that Lady Minisa, my goodsister, would want of me. The determination to save her own children setting in within her mind, Lyarra looked to the weirwood leaf Sansa had gifted her and silently vowed to be the support Sansa would need for her deed. In the process, she could save her children from their premature fates. Looking up at the sound of Lady’s gait, Lyarra witnessed Lady enter the clearing with Tully blue eyes, not Lady’s yellow. Atop Lady sat Sansa, hers were white. She’s truly a Stark. The colours of Sansa’s and Lady’s eyes were returning to normal, and once Sansa regained her bearings she slid off Lady’s back and looked at the grown direwolf in amazement. “Lady…” Sansa murmured, lifting a hand to rest it beside a yellow eye. “We were together,” she breathed, an unrestrained smile on her face; Lady lowering her face and nudging Sansa’s shoulder. “Gods, I love you too.” She looks so much younger than she ever has. Sansa stood tearful but happy in front of Lady for a moment but a second later she was buried in the fur at the base of Lady’s neck. The direwolf rubbing its maw against Sansa’s back. Lady lifted her head to the sky and howled in joy for a minute, Sansa listening and rubbing Lady’s neck. Genuinely laughing and smiling. The smile on Sansa’s face was contagious. Lyarra could feel it spreading on her own. Once Lady ceased howling and lowered her head, Sansa threw her arms around Lady’s neck and spoke sweet nothings to the lovely grey direwolf. Lady, proceeding to sit down onto her side, brought Sansa into the snow as well, Lady licked her cheeks making Sansa laugh with abandon. Lyarra felt a tear escape as she watched such happiness. Even Benjen hadn’t been this affectionate with Lady. Resting her face against Lady’s cheek, Sansa closed her eyes with a beautiful smile. “I love you, Lady.” All fell quiet as direwolf and child rested together within the spring snow. For a moment, Lyarra didn’t intervene and peacefully watched the pair. The joy in that moment ago was undeniable and something Lyarra wouldn’t dare ruin today. Not today. There are only a few reasons she would have such a reaction. The poor things…but they’re together again. Wait a moment. Are they… Asleep? Rising to her feet, Lyarra ventured forward and peered at Sansa’s relaxed and happy face. Watching the pace of her breathing and seeing that it was slow, Lyarra carefully lowered herself onto a nearby log so she could watch over Sansa. Winterfell and Lady are healthy for Sansa. She will heal the grief within herself here, and I wouldn’t want my own children bearing such a burden alone and unnecessarily. Like with Catelyn, Sansa will need to grow accustomed to the reality about Ned. I won’t let the grief eat away at her. She needs to stay in Winterfell until her heart has healed. Sansa, Catelyn and Lyanna will clash with their contrasts. But, in time, I believe with Rickard and myself disciplining Lyanna as well things will improve. I’ll suggest it to Rickard and enquire with Hoster about an extended stay. Temporary fostering mayhaps. I will do everything I can, Minisa, for our granddaughter. You were a good friend. Sansa and Catelyn had been such lady-like girls since arriving ten days ago. The type of daughter every mother would desire, and the same was true for Lyarra concerning Lyanna. Her only girl but one that resented Lyarra for acting like a lady and dared to call her weak for it. Looking to the sleeping embraced pair, Lyarra walked over and pecked Sansa’s temple to stir her into waking. “Come on, sweet girl, you’ll be cold when we return to Winterfell.” “Lyarra…” she murmured while sitting herself up, Lady rising to all fours shortly after. Sansa looked at the moisture on her skirts and turned to Lyarra in disbelief. “I fell asleep?” “Indeed you did,” Lyarra replied in amusement from the expression. “It was a beautiful sight to see you so happy,” Sansa blushed in embarrassment and immediately started straightening her skirts. “I didn’t realise you were here. I’m-“ “Shhh,” Lyarra interrupted, placing her index over Sansa’s lips. “There’s no reason to be sorry, Sansa. It was a special moment for the two of you and we’re alone. Don’t ever be sorry for being happy, Sansa,” she instructed the child. “I want you to be happy, and so would your mother. Lady Minisa loved you greatly and told me in her letters to me.” Sansa’s mouth was slightly agape before she swallowed. “Mother did?” Lyarra brushed Sansa’s cheek with her fingers while smiling at the girl. “She did.” Lyarra witnessed Sansa’s eyes become moist and Lady touch her nose to Sansa’s cheek. She honestly views Minisa as her mother. Good, good, she’s embracing this life. Taking the girl into her arms Lyarra rubbed her back. “We wrote to each other regularly. And when I travelled she sent her response to my next destination. Crossroads Inn and houses of nobility along the way.” “I miss her,” Sansa murmured, resting her cheek on Lyarra’s middle. “She loved you and would want you to be happy, sweetling. I have no doubt she saw your moment with Lady,” she reminded Sansa, who blushed and closed her eyes. “And it would have made her happy, confused, but happy for you.” Stepping back and lifting Sansa’s chin with a single finger until their eyes met. “Never be ashamed of happiness, Sansa.” Sansa nodded and the joy faded from her eyes. “I haven’t been happy for a long time.” Guiding Sansa over to the mouth of the cave, Lyarra sat down to listen. “The Others breached the Wall and defeated the living of Westeros in 305 AC,” Sansa began, looking away and into the woods sightlessly. “The Others turned it into a land of ice and everlasting winter, which became a hunting ground for the rich men of Braavos, Pentos, and Tyrosh.” Lyarra took her hand and laced her fingers. This was clearly painful for Sansa. “For seven years, I had to listen to the cheers of men in Braavos every time they returned from Westeros. Near empty quivers of obsidian - dragon glass - tipped arrows. Sometimes a corpse of one of the Others’ minions; the corpse burnt in a bonfire the same night in celebration of their journey. Westeros, my home, was entertainment for them. Dangerous entertainment, but entertainment all the same.” Sansa shook her head, but Lyarra didn’t interrupt. “I don’t know how, but there have been changes already. Winter lasted until 282 AC before, yet it thaws and spring is emerging now. Eight years early.” That is a significant change in seasons, but not today. I shall, however, suggest to Rickard that the vassals build glass gardens for food purposes. “Sansa,” Lyarra said during the lull of Sansa’s explanation, refusing to let Sansa ruin her happiness with sad memories of her past. “You have me to help you, and I swear to the Old Gods I will,” she swore, taking Sansa into her lap once more. “And you have Lady. We’re here for you.” The child had an expression of scepticism and licked her lips. She was also a little sad. “But I can’t stay in the North, it will look suspicious if I do. I’ll have to return to Riverrun or go to the capital.” “Not necessarily,” Lyarra reassured softly, causing Sansa to look into her eyes. It was an almost desperate gaze. Lyarra felt a squeeze on her hand but didn’t break the gaze. “How?” the child almost whispered, a hint of hope in her face. “Your sister would benefit from staying here. Winterfell will be Catelyn’s future home, just as the Casterly Rock will be yours,” she told Sansa gently, brushing a copper lock behind Sansa’s ear. “I don’t see a reason that your father or Rickard would object to the pair of you staying for temporary fostering. Catelyn can adjust to life here, and your presence and support would help her achieve that.” Sansa appeared to be keeping herself from being too hopeful. “You would do that?” she asked in a small voice. Lyarra gave Sansa’s forehead a lingering kiss. “Yes, sweet girl. I will,” she promised, holding Sansa close. “Winterfell and Lady make you happy, and you deserve it. You deserve to be happy.” Sansa’s response was a tight hug and not letting go with murmurs of ‘thank you’. “Of course, my girl.” While holding Sansa, Lyarra thought about an effective means of travel on the western side of Westeros by sea. She mentioned the matter to Rickard at least once since the fiasco of Lyanna and Brandon riding from Riverrun. Rickard had commented on commissioning the construction of a shipyard in the deep lake beside Torrhen’s Square to prevent such events again. Torrhen’s Square was a few days from Winterfell by horse and had a wide river that went out to Blazewater Bay. A river wide enough for a slim, fast ship purposed solely for travel. The safest way to avoid the Ironborn was to skim along the coast of Cape of Eagles and make port at Seagard, a Riverlands fortress and the seat of House Mallister, who had a fighting naval force to protect the Riverlands. And according to Minisa’s last letter, the home of Lysa’s future betrothed, Jeffory Mallister. Flint’s Finger was an ideal location for construction of a shipyard to build a Northern fighting naval presence. But enough of that. Lyarra thought and looked to Sansa and taking note of the red eyes. Removing her necklace, Lyarra rested it in the cold snow so she could rest the pendant against Sansa’s eyes once the metal was cooled. Brushing her fingers through Sansa’s hair and looking at the way it shone like rich copper, Lyarra smiled as she gazed at it and nearly jumped when Sansa spoke. “Mother liked my hair too.” Taking Sansa’s hand and leading her to the horses, Lyarra replied. “It’s a beautiful colour.” Helping Sansa up into the saddle and resting her pendant against Sansa’s closed eyes for a moment, Lyarra mounted her own horse and followed Lady’s lead back to Winterfell. “Lyarra?” “Yes, Sansa?” Lyarra looked to Sansa beside her. The voice of the secret Stark sounded wistful. “Will we go back there again?” “Of course. It’s a place where you can truly be yourself and tell me anything you wish. I’ve never seen another predator dare go near it since Lady arrived.” “Thank you,” Sansa replied softly with a modest smile that reminded Lyarra of Ned. “You’re welcome, Sansa,” she spoke with a smile and reached over to thumb the back of Sansa’s palm. “We best hurry. It will be the midday meal soon.” Prompting her horse into a canter, and hearing Sansa’s increased pace Lyarra followed Lady’s lead until they reached the Hunter’s Gate of Winterfell. In short order, the horses were returned to the stables and she leads Sansa to the Dining Hall where the maidservants were bringing out their food. Everyone except for Lyanna was already there, and Sansa took her seat with grace as did Lyarra beside Rickard. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Did I betroth my son to the wrong Tully?” he japed softly and straightened himself in his seat. “Rickard,” she scolded him quietly, and under the table slapped the outside of his thigh. Her husband just smiled with a glint of mischief, making Lyarra shake her head lightly. Moving on, she took the opportunity to raise the idea of temporary fostering with Rickard. He had been quick to quietly agree with the idea, saying it would benefit both families. Rickard didn’t waste the opportunity Lyanna’s absence presented. “Ser Brynden,” he spoke clearly but politely. “Lord Stark,” Brynden Tully replied with respect. “Would you say Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa are enjoying their stay?” Unsure of where the conversation was going, Ser Brynden remained polite. “Yes, Lord Stark. Indeed.” “Would you meet me in my solar after this meal to discuss matters further?” Seeming to understand that the Great Hall wasn’t the right place, Ser Brynden nodded. “As you wish, Lord Stark.” “’Rickard’ would be acceptable, Ser Brynden,” her husband offered Ser Brynden. “I’d prefer not to stand on ceremony.” Ser Brynden appeared to receive the request well and had a small smile. “Drop the ‘Ser’ if you wish, Rickard.” Pleased her suggestion seemed to have taken root in Rickard’s mind, Lyarra glanced over to Sansa and watched as the child kindly conversed with Benjen, but Sansa appeared to sense Lyarra’s gaze and met her eyes. I will be a mother to her, Minisa. I promise. It will take five days for a letter to arrive at Riverrun. I will have an answer in ten minimum, but most likely twelve days. HOSTER TULLY In the privacy of the Lord’s solar in Riverrun, Hoster Tully was once again looking at the geography of the Riverlands upon his desk; the castles and holdfasts of the riverlords marked to provide clarity. Before departing Riverrun to complete the journey to the Vale, and later the North, his brother, Brynden, had taken him aside in the Lord’s solar for a private conversation late the night he'd return from the tourney with Catelyn and Sansa. Most of House Tully and its guests were asleep or in bedchambers. “Hoster. House Tully needs stronger command of the Riverlands’ vassals,” Brynden had begun bluntly the night he returned from the Tourney of Lannisport. Hoster had a solution for that, but it was a topic they’d fought about repeatedly since the end of the Ninepenny Kings. Brynden was a wilful brother who would never bend to what Hoster demanded of him, despite their eventual reconciliation following each fight. Curious, Hoster said nothing and waited for his brother to speak once more. “You know what people say about retinues,” Brynden continued seriously. “The bigger the retinue, the bigger the force at home. Ours was by far the smallest. No other Great House was as pitiful as us.” His brother brought this up for a reason unless he desired a fight for the sake of it; Brynden, however, always kept their disputes hidden within the Lord’s solar and away from the ears of too many people. Riverrun was currently serving as a large host for multiple Great Houses, and he wouldn’t humiliate House Tully thus. “What do you want, Brynden?” Hoster questioned, lacing his fingers and watching his brother. “The Riverlands need strong alliances. You know how that’s done,” he reminded Brynden who didn’t overly stir where he stood. The Riverlands’ military was weak and spread thin between the Houses of his vassals, Hoster knew this. Year after year, Brynden refused to marry; the only solution to this weakness. His brother was stubborn, blunt and had no qualms making his opinions known. Until Edmure, Oswell and Joseth were men grown and Lysa married into the vassal house Mallister, the Riverlands would be limited to only ten thousand swords of its own available for ready command. Brynden didn’t immediately reply, instead looked Hoster in the eyes with an expression that spoke much volume. The message Hoster received from it was clear; Do not interfere, or I’ll marry a fucking Frey. Brynden would never marry a Frey. He’d rather be a bachelor until the end of his days despite verbally threatening Hoster with the comment once. Hoster held a similar sentiment about the Lord of the Crossing and had no trust towards House Frey. Walder Frey was a prickly vassal who ambitiously wanted respect he would never earn. There hadn’t been a single Frey at Catelyn’s betrothal feast, but a Frey wheelhouse passed through Riverrun on route to the Tourney of Lannisport; a heavy insult from Walder Frey to his liege lord’s house, House Tully. He was curious about what his brother had in mind enough to bring up alliances within the Riverlands. “I’m listening,” Hoster prompted without looking away. “I want Stoney Sept,” Brynden spoke clearly, sparking Hoster’s mind. “Unprotected towns. No vassal lords to squabble with. It would be ideal to strengthen the Riverlands.” It took Hoster no time at all to deduce what his brother meant. Brynden wanted his own castle, not the home of a sonless vassal. As Lord Paramount of the Trident, Hoster knew his geography of the Riverlands; overall an exposed region with few opportunities to make worthwhile improvements. Considering the area his brother had all but demanded, he couldn’t fault the choice Brynden made. It had protective mountains to the west and south, the headwaters of Blackwater Rush slightly to the east ideal for crops and moats, and to the north were – unfavourable to a siege force - rocky hills, as well as vassal lords a couple of days’ march away, who could render assistance if necessary. Sentries could be built on the mountain range. The only flaw in the location was the requirement of a road and sturdy stone bridge to join up with the Gold Road; such an investment would provide eased travel for trade. The mountain range protecting the Stoney Sept was shaped like a tilted ‘L’; part of it within the Westerlands. The mountain range separated The Stoney Sept from Riverrun, but easily resolved with a road after smoothing out the skinniest part of the range; east of the Mummer’s Ford and within the Riverlands. As a couple of towns who paid their taxes to Riverrun, Hoster had never considered the location worth the trouble of a new vassal lord’s castle; the ongoing disputes between Houses Bracken and Blackwood kept him occupied enough as it was. A Tully presence in the southron part of the Riverlands would also prove beneficial in controlling the squabbles of Riverlords nearby. In turn, their forces and trade would improve in unity and size from reduced disputes. If this is what it will take to strengthen the Riverlands, I’ll make this costly investment. Brynden is a capable commander and wouldn’t waste the potential from being handed such a role. “Done,” Hoster replied without hostility and witnessed Brynden’s shoulders lose their tension for only a second. “You shall have it, Brynden. You have a layout for a castle, I expect?” Brynden didn’t tarry and soon handed Hoster rolled parchments. The ink was dry, and the writing sharp with precision; he could see Brynden had been putting deep thought into this. Looking it over, the detailing made it clear this was not the first time Brynden had altered the design. Easy-made flaws didn’t exist, sentries were included, and a moat and drawbridge were included despite the nearby rivers. It was thought out and effectively a fortress to withstand a siege. Opening his mouth to comment on it, Hoster was cut off by Brynden before he’d even begun. “One whisper or meddling about whom I wed and the Others take you, Hoster; cost be damned.” Sensing that his brother was prepared to remind Hoster that he was a wilful man of independence, Hoster slowly nodded his head so it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. I need the cooperation of my brother to strengthen the Riverlands; especially if he believes we are so weak compared to the Seven Kingdoms. He’s made a valid suggestion where a castle could be built, and if he was to be the vassal ruling it, all the better in the end. Walter Whent in Harrenhal, myself in Riverrun, and Brynden in the Stoney Sept would create a triangular ring of established influence. What does he intend to call it? Stoney Sept wouldn’t be appropriate once all is said and done. “Brynden,” he called out to his brother, who was about to leave the Lord’s solar. His brother was silent but stopped. “What would you call this new castle?” “River’s Head,” Brynden replied clearly, watching with careful eyes for a reaction. Hoster simply nodded and watched as Brynden walked out of the Lord’s solar. It was a fitting choice given the headwaters of Blackwater Rush that resided there. Hoster counted himself blessed there was no relation to Brynden’s alias of ‘The Blackfish’. Looking at his ledgers solely containing information and correspondence about River’s Head, Hoster recalled that that conversation had occurred almost four moons ago. Day twenty four of the Third Moon, to be precise. Since Brynden’s decision to finally wed, no doubt once River’s Head was built to replace Stoney Sept, Hoster felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Trying to balance the priority of vassal lord disputes within the Riverlands was no easy feat. With Brynden’s presence in the southron portion of the Riverlands, it would quell the occurrences of petty disputes and assist in unifying the Riverlands as a whole. Word from the other lord paramounts during their stay in Riverrun had it that Brynden conversed with a Darry daughter, Cynthea, during the tourney. If he wedded the woman and took her to River’s Head, that would secure influence within the eastern portion of the Riverlands through House Darry. Adding Lysa’s Mallister betrothal to the equation would reinforce Tully presence in the northern portion of the Riverlands and prevent the Freys from becoming too bold at The Crossing. Riverrun had secure influence in the houses along the Red Fork. Wanting this to be a success, Hoster did not intervene or let on his suspicions about Brynden and House Darry. Simply, he ensured no expense was spared in the construction of River’s Head; trustworthy stonemasons, quality resources, and a moderate garrison to protect and assist the many smallfolk building the castle. The last report informed him that the foundations and the first half of the ground floor were complete, experiencing no hassle from bandits and the like. Hoster had delegated some of the labour to sentries on the range that ran between Riverrun and the Stoney Sept, soon to be River’s Head. The beginning of the castle meant that the sentry towers were complete, providing sufficient eyes on the land around the Stoney Sept. Brynden was finally going to help House Tully stabilise its hold on the Riverlands. All it took was building the man a damn castle. Rising from his desk, Hoster shook his head as he left his solar and proceed walking towards the area his eldest son and the Lannister dwarf tended to play together. Brynden did the Riverlands a favour in a roundabout manner. Leaving the Stoney Sept as merely a town for years was a strategic mistake, the land and loyalties of the people could be easily swayed without a lord to rule them. It was a welcome favour despite the major expense incurred. Hadn’t Brynden witnessed the contrast between retinue sizes Hoster imagined they would still be having an annual fight about Brynden refusing to take a woman of Hoster’s suggestion to bed. Walking along the ramparts of Riverrun, Hoster found Edmure and the Lannister toddler soon enough and positioned next to gap of the half wall that overlooked the people passing through the north-eastern drawbridge. Maintaining some distance from the pair and listening to them talk amongst themselves, Hoster settled himself against a place on the ramparts and watched them hatch their plan. The Lannister boy was peeking out to the River Road from one side of the walkway above the drawbridge while Edmure was holding a bucket barely bigger than a goblet. “No one coming, Edmeer,” Tyrion Lannister said disappointedly, walking away from the outer side of the ramparts back over to Edmure. It was clear to Hoster what they were doing, but the water within that little bucket wouldn’t be too upsetting, so he didn’t intervene. Edmure suddenly got excited. “Look, look, Tywion. Theee seconds?” “Hmmm. No. Five seconds.” His son had such a mischievous expression that Hoster hoped Minisa was watching from her rest with the gods. “Okay. Okay. Five seconds,” Edmure replied with a big grin. “One. Two. Four.” “Not yet! Three,” Tyrion said, stopping Edmure from pouring the bucket. “Four.” “Five!” Edmure cried, together tipping the water through the gap in the wall with Tyrion. A woman shrieked from below. Tyrion looked horrified. “Edmeer, that was a girl. We don’t tip girls.” It seemed the stunted boy had some decency…And was teaching Edmure how to count time properly. “Oops…Say sorry?” Tyrion Lannister went to the other side of the drawbridge. “She gone, Edmeer. She gone. Can’t say sorry.” “Oh…Hmm, more water?” “Yes.” The pair of roughly equal height scurried off like the little critters they were, leaving Hoster on the ramparts to chuckle at what he’d witnessed. “A small bucket and only on boys,” Hoster murmured to himself shaking his head in wry amusement. “I better watch myself.” Finishing his walk along the walls of Riverrun, Hoster spotted the boys coming from the general direction of the kitchens, handed a refilled bucket by a servant. The servants are helping them do it. Gods be good. If the bucket was any bigger I’d be talking to the staff about it. His mind returned to the matters of a different castle. Hoster had brought many smallfolk under his employ to build Brynden’s castle, and sent a raven to Kevan Lannister, the Castellan of Casterly Rock, requesting to purchase the stone he required. The Lannisters were pleased for more trade after the incident with Cersei, which made the Westerlands’ purchase of food more expensive than desirable. The Riverlands buying stone had certainly cost Hoster a notable amount of gold, but thankfully with so many quarries in the Westerlands, it made their price cheaper than anywhere else for quality stone. Seeking his youngest daughter, Lysa, he witnesses that she is doing well with Jeffory Mallister; a bannerman’s heir he and Minisa had planned to betroth her to once she’s old enough. The boy is well mannered and still was after spending over a moon here. He seems to be influencing Lysa to have more confidence in herself and it greatly pleased Hoster, especially the improvement in Lysa’s manners as a lady. “Hello, Father, how was your day?” Lysa, pretty in her dress with a smile, asked, her arm linked to Jeffory Mallister’s “Hello, my Lord Tully,” Jeffory spoke politely with a bow of his head. Looking at them both, Hoster replied in kind. “Quite well, Lysa, quite well. Jeffory, pleasure.” “How are my brothers, Father?” Lysa asked kindly. “Do Oswell and Joseth still need to get stronger against illnesses?” Hoster made eye contact with first the Mallister boy, then Lysa. “Indeed, sweet girl, I’m not taking any chances with them. Enjoy the rest of your day. I shall see you both at dinner.” “Until then, Father.” “Thank you, my Lord Tully.” Walking away, Hoster began his return to his solar. Despite what he’d seen from the Mallister heir, Hoster wasn’t entirely trusting. Catelyn and Sansa are betrothed to the heirs of two Great Houses, Lysa would be the heir of Riverrun it anything happened to Edmure and his two infant sons. The original guards protecting them moons ago are still present and keep a watchful eye on the condition of the twins. Edmure is in the company of Tyrion Lannister more often than not, the dwarf is a smart boy who has a good impact on Edmure. A guard tailed both boys to ensure their safety. Hoster had been reluctant about fostering such a young child here, he’s not even eight yet, but the decision paid off. The youngest Lannister can read and count, and seems to like sharing his skills when the two boys were together. Hoster didn't not want his son to feel ignored by his father, so spent time teaching him basic speech each day and read him a story before bed when Edmure wasn’t up to mischief and bonding with the Lannister boy. Lysa wasn’t doing all of the Lady’s duties of Riverrun, because she hadn’t been properly taught. Despite the extra work and teaching her, Hoster made sure he had time every day to spend as a father with his sons as well as Lysa. Once inside his solar again, Hoster looked at the accumulated open letters without a sigil or identity addressed to said daughter, Hoster remembered with an ease that the content was of coaxing and flattery in a flourished font, nameless and the written voice of a grown man he didn’t know. He won’t dispose of them, but Lysa will never see them. It seems the writer is unaware that Lysa is betrothed to a vassal’s son, but his daughter would be swayed by the attention from these letters. Deciding the potential trouble wasn’t worth it, he burns them all. Satisfied with the letters as nothing but ashes, Hoster goes to the stables to talk to Henric, the master- of-horse and walked alongside him while the man held a pregnant mare’s reins exercising the horse. Hoster’s stallion was bred with this mare and he was hoping the foal would inherit the strong legs of his. “We don’t walk her too far these days, Mi’lord. She’s about to burst, so we keep her near the stables as a precaution.” “But you believe the foal will be a healthy at least?” “Certainly, Mi’lord. She’s eaten everything given and walks every day. Those are good signs.” SPLASH! Water dripped from Hoster’s hair onto his doublet. “Mi’lord! Are you alright?” Henric asked in a fluster. Hoster waved him off and listened to the tiny voices above. “Not a girl, Tywion.” “Good. Not a girl.” “Not good. Not good. Fatha.” “Your father?” “Run.” Hoster sighed. “You were saying, Henric?” “It can wait, Mi’lord.” “I’m a sight, aren’t I?” “I’m not sure how to answer that, Mi’lord.” What’s the saying about the Riverlands? The Seven Kingdoms piss and the Riverlands change clothes. Chapter End Notes Hope it wasn't too long, but there were parts I wanted included. I'd like to thank AngelQueen for her help in naming River's Head. History of House Stark RICKARD STARK Day 8, 7rh Moon, 276 AC The bedchamber was still dark with no morning light peeking through the curtains when Rickard was stirred into waking. “No…No…Brandon…Look out!” Lyarra. Immediately turning to face his wife, Rickard took her into his arms and tucked her tousled hair away from her eyes. What troubles you, sweet wife? “Lyanna…Ned…No, no, Rickard…Rickard!” she cried out, tossing in the throes of a nightmare. “Shhh, Lyarra,” he spoke clearly, hoping to bring her to waking within his arms. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.” It didn’t seem to be enough and she sobbed in her sleep. “Rickard…no…run…run!” Sitting up and bringing Lyarra with him, Rickard held her close and rubbed her back, deliberately thumbing where her hip was ticklish; his callused thumb against her silky skin. Hopefully, it, along with gentle kisses to the top of her head from him, would bring her out of the hellish dream within her mind. “Lyarra. We’re in Winterfell. Our children are safe. I am safe. You are safe. All of us are safe. Come back to me.” The pace of her breathing and struggling slowed enough that she was no longer tossing within his arms. It allowed him to plant lingering kisses upon her brow. “We’re safe, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “We’re safe.” He felt her fingers curl slowly against his stomach and watched as her eyes fluttered slightly, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Lyarra?” he asked gently, running his hand along her side. “Sweet one, what is it?” Kissing away the tear, he looked to her again and saw her slowly blink as she released a long breath. “Do you want to talk about it?” Finally, Lyarra was responsive and wrapped herself around him entirely, sitting within Rickard’s lap and nuzzling his neck with her nose and lips. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me alone in this world,” she pleaded, still waking from the nightmare. The words shocked him and he barely registered himself holding Lyarra securely within his arms. “Lyarra, I’d never choose such a thing.” Good gods, what were you imagining, sweet wife? “Good,” she murmured from within his arms. “Good,” she repeated, lifting her lips to meet his, her eyes now fully open and awake. “I love you, Rickard.” “And I you, sweet one.” As she kissed him, Rickard was gentle and unhurried with his wife; his partner in life; the mother of his children. A caring woman he treasured and looked after to show her what she meant to him. Right now she needed comfort and comfort she will have. He was not a man to spurn his wife on the matter of interrupted sleep from a nightmare. Rickard would help her find solace, no matter how that may be, so she could feel peace once more. Never did he make demands in moments such as these. “Rickard. Kiss me as a husband would.” She made them. Matching her fervour, his hands roaming her body as hers did him, Rickard lowered his lips to the pulse point of her neck and held her steady when Lyarra’s eyes slid closed while she breathed out and bared her neck to him. Peppering the skin of her neck, he ran one hand through her hair while he skimmed his fingers just below her collarbone, making her sigh. “…Rickard…” Gently laying his wife onto her back and resting himself beside her, he looked her in the eyes before anything else. “Sweet one?” She brought his hand to her lips and held it under her chin. Calm in her eyes and no shaking in her hand that rested on his waist. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. We all have them, sweet one,” he told her, pulling the furs up and taking her into his arms. “Rest, Lyarra.” “You’re precious to me…,” Lyarra whispered as she slipped back into sleep, but Rickard pondered her nightmare for a while before his eyes landed on the framed blood-red weirwood leaf that resided on his wife’s bedside table behind her. He hadn’t noticed it there until now; always assuming it was a drawing. For what have the Old Gods bestowed you a sacred leaf? Saving the life of Lady from my hand seems too simple. What is your deed, sweet one? Is it the source of your nightmare? He didn’t know the answer or if there was a connection, so didn’t fight when sleep finally took him. SANSA STARK Sitting in the godswood of Winterfell with Lady resting next to her in the early morning light, Sansa looked at the Lannister sigil pressed into the red wax and written beside it was her name in Jaime’s hand. Her first letter from Jaime since arriving at Winterfell. He must have written it within days of reaching King’s Landing. It takes a fortnight for a raven to travel from Winterfell to King’s Landing. I hope he receives the drawing soon. She’d received Jaime’s letter this morning from the maester when he’d spotted her roaming the balcony that wrapped around the courtyard side of the Guest House. Sansa looked down at the sealed letter in her hand and remembered how life had been at one-and-ten before leaving Winterfell as Sansa Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. A different king; a different family; a different betrothed. Lady nudged Sansa’s hand which pulled her thoughts away from the past and back to the letter within her grasp. Turning to the direwolf and petting her large nose, Sansa smiled gently “Thank you, Lady.” Lady lightly bumped the hand petting her nose in response. The presence of Lady as a grown direwolf was a living reminder that she must grow and thrive. Just like Lady’s shining fur and agile grown body, Sansa needed to embrace life as it was so she could grow and thrive in the new life both of them had been gifted. Lady loves and lives in Winterfell. So, in a way, I always will too, despite where I am. Running a finger over Sansa Tully on the parchment, she remembered the love of Mother and Father, she opened Jaime’s letter and began to read what he had sent her a fortnight ago from King’s Landing. Day 24, 6th Moon, 276 AC Sansa I just finished getting settled in King’s Landing, and it’s amazing here. Except the smell. When my ship came into the harbour Father wasn’t there to see me; there was a Small Council meeting. But you’ll never guess who was! It was Ser Arthur Dayne! The Sword of the Morning. The best knight alive and he was there waiting for me. I still can’t believe it. We went to the yard and started training in swordsmanship. Practising forms and he was really testing me, but nice about it too. Father had armour made for me. Like the Lannister soldiers at Casterly Rock. Ser Arthur Dayne was brilliant. I’m so happy to be his squire. I’ll never let him down. I can’t wait to train again. Ser Arthur Dayne won’t always have the time but I’ll never waste what time he has for training me. I’ll be the best squire for him that I can be. I guess you’d definitely be in Winterfell now. What’s it like? Does it still snow in the North? How cold is it? And the Starks’ direwolf? Is it friendly with everyone or just Starks? Did Brandon and Lyanna stop singing that song? Please tell Ned I say ‘Hello’. Hoping you’re having a nice time in Winterfell. Jaime. Sansa folded the letter back up and placed it within her pocket as she remembered her amazement of King’s Landing early on in the beginning. The smell of the city went unnoticed after a time. The sights of the Red Keep, the ocean that could be seen from flourishing gardens, the bright colours of the place, and the opulence of knights at the tourney held in honour of…Eddard. The pretty silk and satin dresses courtiers and Queen Cersei had worn. These days Sansa favoured something she could run in; a mummer’s gown. The top half of a normal dress laced at the front, but breeches concealed by a lightweight skirt of identical or darker colouring, easily pulled up into a cloak using the laces if she needed to run; she could cut the laces swiftly and dispose of the skirt completely, if necessary. Although the letter was one of pure joy, Sansa’s memories tainted the blatant happiness. Ignorance was bliss, so she hoped that Jaime’s about King Aerys would remain blissful before he learnt the horrible truth of what went on in the Red Keep. Just as he’d hoped she was having a nice time, she desired he was having the time of his life for a long as possible. Walking into the courtyard with Lady by her side, Sansa wandered along and gazed at what once was her home. She loved Winterfell and never wanted to leave it. But…but like her mother leaving Harrenhal for Riverrun when she married Father, Sansa would follow in her footsteps like every lady. Once her steps took her to King’s Landing before The War of the Five Kings broke out. This time her steps would end at the entrance of Casterly Rock. She was always inevitably going to leave Winterfell, but it will always have a place in her heart. Reaching the First Keep as they walked, Sansa came to a stop where Bran had fallen all those years ago. Not fallen. Pushed. Massaging Lady’s leg absently with a thumb, she recalled the question Brienne had posed to her during Sansa’s anger and pain upon hearing the Kingslayer’s private admission of what he’d done to Bran; he’d pushed him out the window. Sansa had wanted justice at a time when numbers mattered more and Sansa knew it. She’d been hurt by the new information and, for a moon, Sansa went about battle preparations and avoiding the Kingslayer when possible. When the battle was nigh, Brienne, her sworn shield, had spoken a question that she remembered to this day. It was early morning and within Sansa’s bedchamber, a handmaid was lacing her dress. “My lady, if you had to make a choice between saving your brothers and Arya from certain death at the cost of a stranger life’s, what would you do?” Brienne had asked respectfully. “Your siblings, or the stranger?” The choice sounded almost foolish and not a choice at all. “My siblings,” Sansa had promptly answered. “They’re my family and I love them. I’d do anything,” she replied passionately. She paused for a moment. “Brienne, why ask such a question now of all times?” Brienne said but one thing. “Just remember that answer, my lady.” Blinking away the memory, she recalled the moment she’d realised the reason for Brienne’s question a short hour later. She’d pondered the question over the breaking of fast that day and came to truly realise what Brienne alluded to earlier on. She’d been leaving the Great Hall to go about her tasks and noticed a gold shimmer coming from one of the seats of the long tables. Turning around she approached and picked up the source of light; a circular gold pendant of the Lannister lion on a chain of gold. Myrcella’s necklace, it was. Sansa remembered how kind the girl had been and she’d always worn it. Myrcella Baratheon was a girl of both beauty and kindness, who was sympathetic of Sansa’s suffering in King’s Landing at the hands of Joffery before being sent to Dorne for the Martell betrothal. Had Myrcella remained in King’s Landing for longer than she had, Sansa imagined they would have become friends behind closed doors. The only reason for it to be here was the presence of a Lannister who’d been close to her. And there was only one person in Winterfell who filled the criteria; Jaime Lannister. Myrcella’s father by blood. During the War of the Five Kings, Stannis Baratheon made his belief about Lannister bastardy no secret and proactively spread it across the Seven Kingdoms. The lack of Baratheon features was damning evidence. Her attention was taken from the necklace shortly after picking it up, the sound of boots echoed in the hall which made her turn around. Her eyes met those of Jaime Lannister, whose own eyes dropped to the necklace resting within Sansa’s hand. His expression was one of deep solemn, reminding Sansa that the girl was reportedly dead. “Lady Stark,” he acknowledged with a bow of his head. “Myrcella…,” he murmured, dropping his eyes to the necklace. “I would do anything for Myrcella to have another chance. And Tommen. They were kind and did not deserve their fates,” he told her, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Not what Westeros is now; something better. But there’s no point dwelling on it. We’re about to die after all.” King’s Landing had been a place of opulence and pain, few things were positive or worthy of memory. “Of the two,” Sansa began slowly, suspicious that this conversation had been engineered. “I remember Myrcella the most. Given the chance, she and I would have become good friends; in
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