29 Fire and Ice, Pt. 1

Fire and Ice, Pt. 1

Kings' Landing (a week after the departure of the Northmen)

Lord Arryn offered a smile at Ser Arys Oakheart who stood guard beside the Small Council's chamber. King Robert Baratheon could or could not attend the meeting, as usual, but the Kingsguard remained alert all the same. The white-clad knight gave the Lord Hand a respectful bow and opened the doors for him.

Lord Arryn took a glance of the present members of the Council as he sat down at the table himself. Lords Stannis and Renly were both in attendance, although, they were sitting at the opposite ends of the long table. Stannis, ever the stern one, was grinding his teeth at his youngest brother, Renly who was draped over his chair and quietly chuckling about something or other with the Master of Coins, Petyr Baelish. The eunuch, Varys was smiling in a way that could mean anything and nothing at the same time. He gave Lord Arryn a bow which the older man didn't know was respectful or not at all. Grandmaester Pycelle was wiping his brow with a small piece of cloth and was letting out whizzing coughs at a regular interval. This is the King's advisors to help him run the country – Lord Arryn thought derisively.

As soon as his bottom touched the chair, he had to stand up once again, as, with a loud crash, the doors to the chamber were opened and in strode the King of the Seven Kingdoms – King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. From his stagger, it was evident that the King is already drunk. Ser Barristan walked behind the King. Lord Arryn assumed that it was the old knight's turn to guard the King, and he somehow managed to make the man agree to attend the meeting along with him. He nodded his head at the Lord Commander minutely, every little effort was appreciated.

King Robert slumped down in his seat at the head of the table and as usual, groped for the nearby container of wine and a goblet.

"I do hope you don't have much to blather on today. I am quite busy as it is." Robert spoke with a slur.

Jon Arryn had to fight to not let the frustrated sigh escape his mouth. Yes, Robert, you have quite a busy schedule of whoring and drinking – His thoughts never betrayed the warm smile that adorned his visage.

"Of course, Your Grace," Lord Arryn replied genially, "We have the regular issues about the kingdoms to discuss, but the most urgent ones are the recent missives that reached us."

"What of it?" Robert spoke in between his gulps of wine.

"The last rites of Lord Gyles Penrose." Lord Arryn said somberly.

Nobody had ever seen the King spit his wine as he did at that moment. Eyes wide, beard drenched in the spat wine, he spluttered for a few moments.

"Lord Gyles is dead?"

"Yes, Your Grace. We have received a raven late last night about his passing. His son, Ser Courtney Penrose, at present, is taking care of his father's duties as well as preparing for the rites. He said in his missive that he and his family would very much appreciate it if someone from the Royal family attends the ceremonies. Also, the handing over the charges of the stewardship must be taken care of."

King Robert had set his goblet down and stared blankly in front of him, "How did he die?"

"Old age, Your Grace."

After a few moments of silence, the King spoke again –

"He was there to take care of everything. H-he gave me the courage so I was able to lay Father and Mother to rest. I had to return to Eyrie to my fosterage. He…Uncle Gyles gave me his words that he would take care of my brothers. Stannis was just a lad and Renly a babe. Do you remember, Stannis?"

The corners of the Lord of Dragonstone's eyes had softened minutely. He gave a short nod, "Yes, I do, Robert."

"Will you come with me, brother? Will you stand by my side as they lay Uncle Gyles to rest?"

"Of course, brother."

Robert gave a nod, "Then it is settled. Stannis, Renly and I will visit Storm's End to attend Lord Gyle's last rites."

"But I was about to leave for Old Town to attend the tourney myself." Renly Baratheon said in an almost whiney tone, "I was never that close with the old man and -"

Before he could end his thoughts, he had to hurriedly duck down to avoid a goblet hurtling for his head. It sailed over the lord's head and crashed against the stone wall of the chamber before falling on the ground with a loud clatter. Renly, cautiously and slowly lifted his head to see his eldest brother, the King standing at the head of the table. His face was purple with rage as his eyes were almost bulging out.

"That old man is the reason you are sitting here today. He is the reason you are alive to see your youth, you fucking ingrate. When Storm's End was besieged and Stannis had nowhere to turn for help, it was Lord Gyles' advice that helped him keep his head. You will be coming with us, Renly. You and that little shit son of mine, Joffrey. It is time he visits the lands of his forefathers." Robert sat down heavily back in his seat once more.

Lord Arryn was silently watching the interactions between the Baratheon brothers. While it warmed his heart to see the two estranged brothers – Robert and Stannis, to set their differences aside even for a short while, it was the youngest brother's behaviour that alarmed him. That and the compliments laced with veiled insults Robert gave to Stannis. Everyone present was aware that Lord Gyles was injured at the beginning of the siege and spent almost the entirety of it infirmed, while it was the young Stannis Baratheon who had kept the men alive through that harrowing time. Granted, mayhaps there was a chance of Lord Gyles advising the then young man, but the moral victory of the situation could always be placed at the feet of Stannis Baratheon and his unshakable power of will. But Robert always overlooked his brother's achievements, and it was indeed a slap on his face when he was declared to be lord of Dragonstone when Renly was given the lordship of Storm's End. A punishment – in Robert's words – for being unable to capture the last two Targaryens. Lord Arryn watched on as Stannis Baratheon's features hardened once more from the softness they had acquired in the moments of reminiscing old times.

"What is this about a tourney?" Robert growled as he reached for another goblet.

Grandmaester Pycelle coughed some more before replying, "Ah, yes, Your Grace. A raven arrived from Old Town bearing Lord Tyrell's missive. He has profusely asked for forgiveness for their absence during the King's Tourney. It appears that Lady Olenna, had fallen quite ill and the family thought it better to stay and tend to her. Lord Mace Tyrell, afterwards, arranged for a tourney to compensate and hopes that a representative from the Royal family would deign to grace the tourney with their presence." He was out of his breath with that long a speech.

Robert nodded and thought for a few minutes while he drank.

At much annoyance of Lord Arryn, Petyr Baelish spoke up –

"If Your Grace permits, I am willing to make the journey to Old Town as a representative of the Capital."

It was not only the Hand of the King who had a frown of disgruntlement on their face, but Lord Stannis Baratheon also gritted out, "If you were paying attention to what the Grandmaester was speaking about the missive, Lord Baelish, you would have heard that the Tyrells invited the Royal family. Or do you fancy yourself into thinking that you belong to the Royal family?"

Baelish backtracked, "I, of course, meant no offence, My Lord. I just thought -"

"Well, you thought wrong. My advice to you is to kindly do not get involved with issues that do not concern you. Remember your station."

Suitably cowed, Petyr bowed low, "Forgive me for my assumptions, Your Grace, My Lords. I meant no disrespect."

"Enough!" Barked Robert, "Ask Cersei if she wants to make the journey to Old Town. She can be the representative of the Royal family. It would stop her bitching about her precious Joffrey leaving her side. Stannis, Renly, prepare for our own, I want to leave as soon as it is possible." He heaved himself off of the seat and took stumbling steps towards the exit. Lord Arryn hurried after him.

"Your Grace, may I have a quick word?"

"What is it now, Jon? I am truly not in the state of mind to hear anything more. Let me mourn for Uncle Gyles in peace." Robert looked quite sad to the old man.

"Of course, Robert, I understand. I only want to talk to you about your decision about taking the Crown Prince along with you? Are you sure it is wise?"

Robert frowned, "And why shouldn't it be? He ought to know about the lands of his forefathers, does he not? If you are worried about his bitch of a mother, well, she can't do anything against the King's command, can she? Stop worrying so much, Jon, it's not good for your health. I already lost Uncle Gyles. I do not want to lose you too." He swept up the older man in a massive hug.

I only want to stop you because that boy is not yours, Robert – Jon Arryn thought to himself as he awkwardly patted the back of his foster son.

Robert strode away as steadily as he could in his drunken state. Ser Barristan stopped just short of the door. He appeared to have something he wished to say, but instead, he only gave a curt nod, "My Lord Hand."

"Lord Commander."

"As soon as I am relieved, I will seek you for a discussion of the upcoming travel arrangements, My Lord."

"I will be waiting for you then, Lord Commander."

The others made their way out of the room as well, but Lord Arryn indicated for Lord Baelish to stay back. He was waiting for the Grandmaester to leave, however, the old man was painstakingly slow in his steps. Finally, when it was just the two of them, Lord Arryn rounded to stare down his fellow Vale lord. Petyr Baelish almost squirmed under his glare as a disobedient child.

"What were you thinking, Petyr?" He snarled.

"My Lord, I -" He stuttered.

Lord Arryn raised a hand, "Save it, I do not want to hear your excuses. You are only here because I thought you had a good head on your shoulders. Rumours are reaching to my ears about what you get up to in your brothels, Petyr. I only tolerate you because you are good with numbers. But that doesn't mean that you are indispensable. It won't be even an hour for me to kick you out of this city. Lysa's fondness of you be damned. Watch your steps, and do watch that mouth of yours."

As he stormed out of the Council room, Lord Arryn failed to notice the flash of rage that appeared on Lord Baelish's face before he schooled his features once more.

[CotW]

Cersei was incensed. She was beyond raging and shouting at that point since she realized that it won't help her. Thus, she was seething in cold fury. How dare that fat oaf to declare to take my son away from me? My precious Joffrey, my dearest son. She knew she was alone, none would come to say a word on her behalf. As long as Robert was alive, he would make decisions for Joffrey and her other children and she could do nothing about it. Even her father, Lord Tywin Lannister wouldn't lift a finger for her. Nursing a goblet of wine, she tried to calm her enraged mind. She could only wait and bid her time.

A gentle breeze came through the opened windows, and along with it, wafted in the stench of the city. It renewed her anger. She was destined to be the Queen of Seven Kingdoms. Her fate had demanded so since long. A shiver ran down her spine unknowingly as images of the past flashed through her mind –

A young Cersei Lannister and two of her ladies in waiting – Jeyne Ferman and Melara Heatherspoon, had given their guards the slip and sneaked out of The Rock. The port town of Lannisport was a hive of activities. A tourney sponsored by the Lord of the Casterly Rock, the Warden of West, Lord Tywin Lannister had always attracted people from all over the Seven Kingdoms, and Cersei was determined to see some of the excitements with her own eyes. Her aunt, the Lady Genna had only told her about the attractions, but she wanted to see them all for herself. It had taken her quite a while to convince her companions and afterwards, it was mere child's play to sneak away from the keep. A couple of Gold Dragons had exchanged hands earlier, and there were three mares saddled and ready at a pre-arranged spot. It was only a short ride from The Rock to Lannisport.

"We shouldn't be here." Whispered Jeyne, she kept looking over her shoulder.

"Will you keep it quiet?" Snarled Cersei, Jeyne was getting more irritating with each passing moment.

"Yes, do be quiet, Jeyne. We won't be long here. We just want to see for a bit." Melara whispered from her other side, excitement was evident in her flushed face.

Jeyne sighed in resignation, "Very well. Where to then?"

"Why don't we go and see the tourney ground?" Suggested Cersei.

The three made their way through the darkened alleyways and stumbled through without attracting attention from the roaming guards. But the tourney ground proved to be a rather waste of their time. Apart from the labours digging holes in the ground and erecting poles for the gallery, there was nothing that could be of interest to the young ladies. Disheartened, they slunk away from the grounds and went the same way they came. Cersei didn't want to return to the confines of The Rock just yet. This was the first time she had ever breathed the air of freedom, free from her guards, free from the gaze of her aunt. She wanted to relish it a little bit more.

"Why don't we go towards the port? Just for a while?" She suggested. Though her companions knew the suggestion was the veiled command from the Lady Cersei Lannister. Without any protest, the three slowly advanced towards the ever awake portion of the port town. The inns and brothels there were overflowing with patrons who had come for Lord Lannister's tourney. It was quite hard for the three young ladies to navigate amidst the rowdy crowd. They ambled on aimlessly for a time before once again Jeyne raised the topic of returning to the safety of The Rock. The other two reluctantly agreed this time. They tried to hurry to the place where they had left their horses. But the night was such a traitorous time that even the well-known paths of the day appeared to be unknown. They took a few unwise turns and found themselves in a rather secluded part of the city. Before them, stood a quaint mansion. Although it looked abandoned, it was apparent that the manse was frequented by people.

"It is the mansion of House Spicer, from Castamere," Melara said, indicating the weather-worn banner that hung in front of the manse – it showed three black pepperpots on a saffron bend, across a field of green and silver stripes.

Jeyne spoke in a trembling voice, "I know where we are. We are at the home of Maggi the Frog!" She whisper-shouted.

"Maggi the Frog?" Cersei never heard of a person named as such.

"Yes," Jeyne nodded frantically, "they say that old lord Spicer had fallen in the thrall of her, because of a love potion. He brought her back with him from Essos. When his family came to know about her, they made the lord abandon her. But by then, the old man had truly been ensnared in her traps. He couldn't just leave her, he made a home for her and made sure she would not want for anything for the rest of her life. People visit her to have their fates read, or to commission potions."

"And you truly believe in that old wives' tale?" Cersei laughed.

"It's not a tale, Cersei, it's true. Mother once told me that she heard from a very close friend of hers that someone she knew had fallen ill because they mocked the witch. We should go from here." She tugged her friends' hands.

Cersei wrenched her hand free, "Come now, Jeyne. I am quite sure there is nothing to be afraid of. We can at least have our fates read. I can pay for us all." She strode forward and opened the rusted gate. Melara was right beside her and Jeyne closely following the two of them while chanting 'we shouldn't be here' under her breath.

Cersei would be lying if she said that she wasn't afraid. But she was a daughter of House Lannister, the first born of Lord Tywin Lannister. She often exchanged places with her twin, Jaime, garbed in his clothes and attended the training yard. None could tell them apart. Her father never put any worth into such nonsenses and she was his able daughter. Stilling her traitorously fast-beating heart, she reached out and knocked on the old, broken door.

There was a shuffling sound, and with a keening wail, the door opened. There stood Maggi the Frog, her skin bore the marks of age, they hung loosely from her body. Her hair was white as bone and her face riddled with warts. But it was her eyes that scared them the most, for none of them ever seen eyes as yellow as them. Jeyne let out a shriek and ran away while Melara gasped and grabbed hold of Cersei's hand in a very painful grip. In a crooning voice, the old woman spoke –

"Are you lost, my sweets?"

Cersei gulped down the fear and raised her head defiantly, "No, we have come here to have our fates read."

"You are young, sweetling. Go back to your home. You will find no knowledge here."

Cersei frowned, did she just refuse her? Nobody refused the daughter of Lord Tywin.

"You will read our fates or I will have my father deal with you, witch. Do you know with whom you are speaking to?"

The witch cackled, "Blood of Lan, there is no doubt about that. It is in your eyes. Very well, come inside, child, and let us see what befalls you in your fate."

Cersei pushed past the old crone, dragging Melara along with her. She took a disdainful glance of the room they were in, none seemed fit as a seat for a lady of her standing.

"Do seat down, child." The old witch slowly put down her lantern and turned to face them.

"You don't have any proper seat for us. We will stand." Cersei sniffed, "Be quick and do whatever it is you need to do."

"As my lady wishes." The witch cackled again.

Is she mocking me? – Cersei frowned at the thought. But soon her mind diverted from her thoughts by the witch's action, in a sweep of her hand, Maggi had unfurled something over the floor that looked like an animal pelt. It surely smelt like one. Chanting in a foreign tongue, the witch threw a handful of something in the air. When they landed, they appeared to be small bones, some were charred, others glinted in a reddish glow. Cersei wasn't sure if it was blood or not.

"I will be needing a drop of your blood, child." Maggi extended a crooked hand, Cersei ignored Melara's trembling protest and grabbed her right hand and extended it along with her own right hand. Maggi grasped both and with unbelievable swiftness, she ran a rusted iron dagger over their thumbs and drew blood from them. Without giving them a chance to protest, the old witch put the thumbs in her mouth and sucked hard. Cersei snatched her hand away in disgust.

"What are you -"

Her indignant yell cut short as the witch started to sway on her feet. When she opened her eyes, they seemed to have become even brighter yellow. In an eerie voice, she began to speak –

"Ask, child of Lan, your fate lays bare for the One, the Many and the Seven…"

Standing straight, Cersei asked, "When will I wed the Prince?"

"Never. You will wed the King."

"I will be the Queen, though?"

"Aye, Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Cersei didn't like to hear such fate. She was the most beautiful in all of Westerlands. Her aunt said she was sure to gain the attention of the Silver Prince. But the witch also said she would be marrying the King. Rhaeger was bound to claim the throne quite sooner then, she happily thought to herself.

"Will the King and I have children?"

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, and when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

Cersei was struck speechless, what kind of a stupid prophecy was that? She would marry the King, but then he would have six-and-ten children against her three? Would the King be disloyal to her? That didn't sound like Rhaeger. And then her children, the witch talked about their golden shrouds. Was she to live longer than her children? Was she to watch them die? And another younger, more beautiful queen to take her place? A valonqar would become her killer?

"What is a valonqar?" She whispered.

"Younger brother, child, valonqar is High Valyrian for a younger brother." The witch cackled once again.

Tyrion! Her mind screamed at her. That little beast not only killed their lady mother, but he would also be the reason for her death? Would he be the reason for her children's deaths too? She won't let it happen. Cersei would kill Tyrion before even he could think of harming her or her children.

In her inner turmoil, she almost missed Melara's question –

"Will I marry Jaime?"

With another infernal cackle, the witch crooned, "Not Jaime, nor any other man, worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

Why was the witch looking at her that way, Cersei thought, she turned to speak with Melara but found her to be gone white in fear. They needed to get out of there, they needed to be away from all of this madness. Yes, all of these were nothing but the madness of an addled mind. But how could they get away from this mad witch? Casting her eyes about, she found a jar of potion just within her reach. She grabbed for it and flung it at the witch with all her might. With a crash, the jar broke open impacting against the witch's forehead. She fell down on her pelt covered floor as Cersei once more grabbed Melara and ran out of the house. They could hear the witch's curses as they ran to find their way back to their horses. When they reached there after losing their direction in their haste more than once, they found only two of the horses, which meant, Jeyne had already been there and had gone back to The Rock. Without wasting any more time, both the girls got up their horses and rode fast.

Handing over the reins of the horses to the stablehands were not a problem at all, for their silence was already bought, very generously in fact. Quietly, the two young women made their way towards their chambers.

"We shouldn't tell anyone about the witch." Melara broke the silence once they were in the inner courtyard.

"But won't Jeyne tell otherwise?" Cersei was sceptical.

"She ran away before we asked for our prophecies. Even if she says anything, we could tell that we also ran away soon afterwards." Melara continued, "We will give power to the prophecies if we let them dictate our lives. If we ignore them, they will lose their potency."

Cersei was suffering from a terrible headache. She couldn't think properly anymore. Her thoughts were running rampant – Rhaeger was to become the King. She would be the Queen. Rhaeger would be unfaithful to her. She would give birth to three children, but they would die before their time. She would be replaced by a younger, beautiful woman. Tyrion would be the cause of her death.

Melara didn't stop speaking all the while, "What I meant to say is, my lord father is prepared to bring up the betrothal discussion with Lord Tywin. If it bears fruit, we could become sisters, Cersei. Won't that be fun? I could come with you to the Capital as your Lady in waiting. And then, when Jaime ascends to become the Lord of The Rock, I will become the Lady Lannister."

What is this bitch blathering about? – thought Cersei, Jaime is mine. We are one soul in two bodies. Even if I am to marry the Prince, nay, the King, Jaime will remain mine and mine only. None can have him save me.

Melara didn't notice that Cersei had stopped walking. She was engrossed about thoughts of naming her future children, she was thinking out loud what would be the proper names for heirs-heiresses of Casterly Rock. She was just in front of the well… a single push, that would be all to make her stop –

"Your Grace."

Cersei was brought out to her senses by the sudden call.

"What?" She almost yelled.

The cowering maid tried to make herself even smaller, "Pardon me, Your Grace, but Prince Joffrey demands your presence right away."

"I'll be there shortly." She dismissed her with a negligent wave of a hand.

As soon as she was alone, she sauntered over to her vanity and brought out a small, ornate chest. Its key never left her person, she carried it always in a chain around her neck. Inside of it laid her most precious possessions. She fished out the key to open the chest. There was the emerald necklace of Lady Joanna, her mother. Underneath it, lay an old piece of parchment. She brought it out and very carefully opened the folds. It was a childish drawing. One that she had made when she was but a mere eight namedays old lass. It depicted a golden dragon with red wings, astride it was a man with silver hair – her Silver Prince. In front of the Prince, sat a beautiful golden-haired woman whose eyes were of bright emeralds. Cersei mournfully brushed her fingers over the drawing and let out a sigh. A lifetime of unfulfilled dreams and desires were imprisoned within that piece of parchment. Yes, she married the King, she indeed became the Queen. But true to the prediction, Robert truly had been unfaithful to her. She had three beautiful children, also true, but they were not the fat oaf's. They were not Jaime's either. She hated failures. But she still had time on her side. She was the most beautiful woman in the realm. She would win Jaime back. She set the parchment aside and brought out a single dried rose. She had stolen it from her daughter. Myrcella could never appreciate what this rose represented. It was meant for her and her alone

"Don't worry, brother dearest, till I can have you on your knees before me, I will try to indulge myself with a direwolf instead. After all, dragons and direwolves – both are magical, aren't they?" She giggled to herself.

She locked and put away her chest once again. She needed to prepare for the journey. Father had told her to cultivate the roses. For Joffrey's future, she would suffer the separation. She was needed to test the Tyrells. And also, there was a certain White Wolf to tame.

*Line Break*

Winterfell

Wade knocked on the doors to the lord's solar, the guards who stood at the side only gave him a slight nod. He didn't know why Lord Stark had sent for him this morning. Was it about him putting salt into the baker's pie? That couldn't be it, could it? He wasn't so sure. It did sound like a very clever idea when he thought about it. Almost the same as the time he thought he could breed the most delicious animal by making a sheep mate with a chicken. But the fucking things didn't listen to him no matter how much he coaxed them. Nobody ever listened to him, save for little Kurt. Now, that was a good lad.

His musings were cut short by Lord Stark's bid to enter the room. Wade straightened up and strode forward. By the Old Gods, he would deny everything.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat behind the lord's desk. Both gave a short nod as Wade entered the room.

"Good morning, Milord, Milady."

"Morning, Wade," began Lord Stark, "I asked you here because -"

"I didn't do it." He blurted out, cutting Lord Stark in mid-sentence.

"Very well, I -" Lord Stark frowned, "Wait a moment, what did you do?"

"I don't know, Milord. I certainly didn't put salt into the baker's pie." He nodded with assurance.

"It was you?" Lord Stark was looking at him incredulously, "The baker complained that someone ruined his pies. Sansa was most upset about not having her pie, and I punished Arya thinking it was her fault. Why did you do such a thing, Wade, at your age, no less?" Lady Stark put a hand over her mouth. It sounded to him as if the lady was trying to stifle a laugh.

Wade wanted to deny, but he was also very afraid of the lord, he decided that half-truth was the way to reply.

"I didn't try to improve the ritual of bread and salt by offering a salty pie instead, Milord."

Lady Stark leaned towards the lord and hid her face into his shoulder, while the lord had his head in his hands, massaging his brows. Wade could swear that he had heard the lord mutter something that sounded like 'why me' over and over again. And from the shaking back of the lady, Wade was quite sure that she was weeping at his sheer brilliance.

After a few moments, the lord cleared his throat and the lady was once again composed, there was a little tear at the corner of her eyes from her weeping, but Wade decided to not notice it.

"Forget about the pies. I have received a raven this morning from Greywater Watch. Lord Reed suggested that it would be better if you start your journey back to your party in three days' time. You must reach White Harbour within two weeks. There will be a messenger waiting for you with a missive for the lads, and Lord Manderly was informed to have a ship ready for your journey to Old Town. Could you be ready to leave in three days' time?"

Wade put his fist across his chest, "Of course, Milord. Me and the lads are always ready to depart at a moment's notice."

That earned him a pleased nod from the lord.

"What about the little lad who came with you? Kurt, I believe is his name?"

"Aye, Milord."

"Will you be taking him with you, or will you prefer to leave him behind at Winterfell?"

Wade opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find suitable words to say. What was he to do about Kurt?

With his brows furrowed, he started to speak –

"Wolf intercepted a missive between some individuals. Now, we were not sure who they may be, but Wolf and the lords thought one of them is the eunuch. Underneath his powdery self, lies a vicious bastar…er…man." He took a surreptitious glance at the frowning Lady of Winterfell, he needed to watch his words. "At first, they thought the wee lass they stumbled upon, would be dead with her entire family. But then they found out that by the Gods' will, Kurt lived. Wolf took him in and handed him over to me. I am supposed to look after the lad. In writings, he is Wolf's page, but we both look after his education. It wouldn't have mattered if we stayed in one place, but we are to set off for an unknown amount of time. The roads aren't fit to rear a lad. To be honest, I don't know what I am to do with the lad, Milord."

"He may find a home here in this castle…" Lady Catelyn commented.

Lord Stark shook his head, "It is not as easy, My Lady. You have never been to fosterage, but I have. To leave behind everything and everyone you know, only to go and stay with people you've never even met before, is quite hard for a young mind. This was the reason why I was against sending my children to fosterage. It was only Jon's very compelling arguments that made me send him and Robb away. For a lad like Kurt, it will be even harder yet. Not only because of his age but also because of how he was brought up. He was not of noble birth, My Lady. He will always doubt himself and that would hinder him from flourishing. Not to mention, he is a young lad, hence, he is bound to make a mistake or two. And when we are to punish him for his misdeeds, it could become unconstructive for him. What with his probable thinking of him not being able to lead a life within a keep. He is a bright young lad, and from what I understood by his interaction with Wade, or with Arya, he will feel stifled here. His changes in life are quite enormous than what any of us could have experienced at that age.

He sees Jon and Wade as his elder brothers. He worships the two of them. If we are to keep him here apart from them, he may grow resentful towards us. It is not quite an easy decision to make."

Wade felt his head was about to split open, it was not fit to think so much, "What am I to do then, Milord?"

Lord Stark let out a deep sigh before answering, "I think we should talk with the lad before making our decision."

"And the opinion of a lad who is yet to see his thirteen namedays should matter?" Lady Stark asked with narrowed eyes.

"It shouldn't, no, but it will definitely help with our decision." Lord Stark called out for a guard to fetch young Kurt. Wade stood aside, patiently waiting, and trying to avoid the lord's eyes. He was deathly afraid of the man.

Soon enough, there was a knock on the door, and after Lord Stark's bid to enter, young Kurt shuffled inside.

"Y-you asked fer me, milord?" He mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the floor.

"Aye, lad. A situation has arisen concerning you, and we would like to hear your thoughts on it."

"Erm…I know nothing, milord." He pitifully looked towards Wade, hoping for some help for him. Wade wanted to help his acolyte, but he couldn't.

"Your Maester Wade," Wade looked up in a shock, only to see a smirk on the lord's face. He wanted to dig up a hole in the ground and hide. He never wanted Lord Stark to call him a 'Maester'. "was instructed to leave Winterfell in three days' time and once more meet up with the Wolf Pack. But he is undecided about what to do with you." Lord Stark leaned forward and put his chin on top of his closed hands.

Kurt was trembling, "Yer leavin' me behind, Maester? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

Wade once more looked towards the Lord of Winterfell, pleading to him with his eyes. He couldn't stand to see the boy he came to care for as a little brother in distress.

"No lad, you did nothing wrong." Lord Stark tried to placate the young boy, "You are the proper 'acolyte' any 'Maester' could wish to have. But, Wade and the men will be leaving these lands for a long time. They plan to go to the far lands of Essos and travel around. This is, however, is not a proper way for a lad of your age to grow up. So, I proposed an alternative for you. You can stay here at Winterfell and train with the men. Ser Rodrik will be happy to take you under his wings, so to speak. And once Maester Luwin returns, he can help you with the lessons that you are learning now." He stopped and looked at the boy expectantly.

Kurt raised his eyes to seek out Wade. He gave him an encouraging nod.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt spoke in a small voice, "If it's all the same ta ya, milord, I want ta go with Maester Wade an' Ser Jon."

"Don't you wish for a safe life, boy?" Lady Stark leaned forward with a frown.

"Pardons, milady, but I ain't suppose ta live." Kurt shuddered as he remembered that fateful day. "I jus' turned me head, an' it was all it took for them ta gone forever…me da…ma an'…an' Anna…"

"She was your sister, lad? Anna?"

"Aye, milord, wee li'l thing, she was. Sometimes…I forget how she looked. An' then Ser Jon sings, an' I feel she's standin' next ta me…" Kurt wiped his eyes, "Nobody cared I lived, milord. I was same as a dog ta them. Bu' Ser Jon took me in…fed me, gave me clean clothes…I wanna become like Ser Jon, milord.

Lord Stark got up from his seat and walked around his desk, he came to stand before Kurt, "He is our son, you know, your Ser Jon?" He indicated both himself and the Lady, "We can help you in becoming like him."

"Aye, milord, but you ain't Ser Jon…"

Wade had his eyes tightly shut, he wanted to strangle Kurt. Now both of them would face the wrath of Lord Stark. But the sound of booming laughter accompanied by a lady's giggle was not something he was expecting to hear.

"Let us face the facts, My Lord," Lady Stark said in between her giggles, "You have become old, and your son is now a more promising figure than you are."

Lord Stark let out a suffering sigh, "I am not that old…" he mumbled to himself before once more looking down at Kurt, "Very well, lad, you may go with your 'Maester' Wade. But you must give me your word, you will become a man of whom Ser Jon and us can be truly proud of. Will you do that, lad?"

Kurt stood with a straight back, "O' course, milord."

There was a resounding crash along with a shriek of "What?" as the doors of the room burst open and Arya Stark stumbled upon the floor.

Lord and Lady Stark, with frowns on their faces, rounded towards their wayward daughter.

"Arya Stark! Were you listening in your lord father's conversation?"

"Aye, Mother." Arya was scuffing her booted toes on the floor.

"Why are you such a disobedient child? I never had such problems with your brothers or sister. Why do you try me so?" Lady Stark took a deep breath to calm herself, "You will go to your room and stay there. I will come along shortly and then we will decide on your punishment. You are to have no visitor to your room, neither are you permitted to leave till I am done with you. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Mother."

"Go on, then."

Arya looked up with rage, "It's not fair. Why does he get to go and be with Jon? I can be a better page for Jon than him! Why can't I go with Wade?"

"Now, Arya!"

As Arya stomped away from the room, Kurt timidly raised his head, "Erm...milord?"

"Aye, lad?"

"It's not Lady Arya's fault, milord. I kinda baited her when you called fer me…she din't do it on her own."

Lady Stark sniffed, "While I appreciate what you are trying to do, boy, I know my daughter better than you. Even if what you said are true, she knew better than to eavesdrop on her father's conversation. Do not try to shift the blame away from her."

"Aye, milady." He lowered his head once more, but he didn't keep his mouth shut, "Ser Jon once told me that we are ta be the knights fer our sisters. None of us was a knight then an' Anna is dead before I coulda protect her. But now Ser Jon is a knight. I want ta grow up an' be a knight like him, so this time, I ain't be failin' me sisters." His eyes shone with determination as he looked meaningfully towards the door through which Arya Stark just left.

The Lord and Lady stood there speechless, looking down at the young boy. Wade shook up from the trance he found himself in and said, "Er, with your permission, Milord, Milady, I will go now. I have lots to pack for my journey. Come along, Kurt, you need to pack too, there's a good lad." He hurried the boy out of the room.

"What just happened, Ned?"

"I don't know, love." Lord Stark was still staring at the doors, "But somehow, our daughters have gained another fierce and protective brother."

*Line Break*

Old Town

The Northern party slowly rode their horses through the Rose Road. The city that lay ahead of them was one of the most populated cities of the Seven Kingdoms. The ambient was almost the same as Kings' Landing, save for the shit stench. The same crowded roads and alleyways, bustling marketplace full of cacophonies of buyers and sellers, people from all the kingdoms and faraway lands, and amidst of all, the giant tower that gave the House Hightower its name, loomed over all.

Asher had his head craned as he took in the enormity of the tower. Shifting his head back, he shook it a little. Reaching over to Jon who was riding beside him, he nudged him to the said with a wink, "Well, the tower of the Hightowers is truly high. Do you think they are trying to tell us about something? Compensating for some lacking, mayhaps, for commissioning Bran the Builder to erect something so huge?"

Jon couldn't help but snort hearing that. Robb and Torrhen looked at him askance, so he told them what Asher just said. Both of them roared with laughter. Even Lady Madelyne had her hand cover her mouth to stifle her giggle, her brother, on the other hand, was laughing along with the Northern lords. However, Asher's snickering came to an abrupt halt by Maester Luwin's rebuke, who had overheard what Jon had said to his brothers.

"Please, My Lord Asher, do think a little with your head before opening your mouth. Not only do we have a lady present among us for such crude languages, but we are also not in the North anymore. You are representing not only your houses but your realm. Be mindful about what you say, for feuds have been declared for far less than loose tongues."

"Forgive me, Maester Luwin, I will be careful henceforth." Replied a thoroughly chastised Asher, causing another round of snickering from his friends for the tongue-lashing he just received.

"And you, My Lords, shouldn't laugh at your friend's expense. All of you are equally at fault."

The Stark boys had grown up under the strict discipline of Maester Luwin. They had immense respect for the wise, old man. They too wiped the smiles off their faces and apologized to the Maester. Only Asher now had a mile-wide smile on his face at his friends' discomfort, which earned him fierce scowls from the three.

"Look alive, lads." Robb called out to everyone, "It seems Lord Hightower has sent a welcoming party."

Indeed, there was a group of men who were waiting for them. Their banner depicted the sigil of House Hightower – a white tower crowned with flames on a field of smoke grey. At the forefront of the group, stood a man in full armours.

Maester Luwin leaned forward on his garron, he had forgone his cart for the favour of the horse because he was suffering from the constant motion and bumps that the cart ride was prone to do.

"It seems Lord Baelor has sent one of his brothers to greet us, but I am afraid I cannot recognise which brother he is."

"We will found soon enough, Maester, won't we. Let us hurry." Robb spurred his horse forward, the others followed his lead. Reaching the meeting point, they dismounted from their rides.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Honour the Lost Daughter!

Find the Unsung Song of the Lady Mary Reed!

Find her earthly remains and give her a proper funeral!

Ping!

Quest Alert!

The Raven's Chick!

Find the truth about one of the disciples of Bloodraven!

Jon wasn't prepared for the seemingly slumbering system to come alive as soon as his foot touched the ground. His step faltered and he grabbed Midnight's flank to steady himself.

"Jon? Are you alright?"

"Aye, Torrhen. I didn't realise that my leg has become numb, that's all."

Torrhen nodded and went to join their companions. Jon rested his head against Midnight's neck to gather himself. The horse turned his head and nudged Jon's shoulder. A weight against his leg made him aware of Ghost's presence.

"I am fine, boys. No need to be concerned." He brushed his hands against the mane and the ruff of his familiars. The sound of fluttering wings made him look up and he saw Gale sitting at the roof of a nearby house with her head cocked at him. He could only send a sense of peace through their shared link. He truly couldn't wait till the time he was able to show his first-ever familiar to all, but now was not the time.

As Jon neared his friends, he heard the Hightower knight's greetings to Robb.

"Welcome to Old Town, My Lord Stark. I am Ser Gunthor Hightower, heir to Lord Leyton Hightower. My brother, the acting Lord, Lord Baelor Hightower, wished to convey his apologies for not greeting you in person. I am here to lead you towards the manse that has been prepared for you for the duration of your stay in Old Town."

"Well met, Ser Gunthor. I thank you for your hospitality. Please give my gratitude to Lord Hightower." Robb gave a bow back.

"Thank you for your words of understanding, My Lord. If you please follow me, we will reach your residence shortly."

"Very well, lead the way, Ser."

[CotW]

"After you have a chance to rest and unwind, My Lords, I was directed to lead you to the High Hall. The Lord Paramount of Reach, Lord Mace Tyrell is also present and he has arranged for a small feast to welcome your party, My Lord Stark." Ser Gunthor had taken them first to the Citadel where Maester Luwin would be staying before guiding them to their residence.

"We will be glad to attend the feast, Ser Gunthor. Permit us an hour to freshen up and rest for a bit, then we will go with you. Please convey our thanks to Lord Tyrell."

"I will, My Lord. With your permission, I will be taking my leave now. I will come after an hour to guide you myself." Ser Gunthor bowed to them and left with his men.

The residence the Hightowers had arranged for the Northern party was a sprawling manse. The three-storied building had several lavish rooms for all of the nobles in the party to live comfortably, in addition to that, there was quite a sizeable barrack within the boundary of the manse for the men to stay. The Pryors wanted to find accommodation for themselves, but Robb invited them to stay with the Northerners as their guests.

As he promised, Gunthor Hightower was present at the manse after an hour to lead the Northerners towards the main keep of the Hightowers, the high tower itself. The tower was said to be even higher than the wall at its eight hundred feet of height – against the Wall's seven hundred feet. It was the tallest manmade structure of Westeros. The square fortress, that was hewn from black stones laid as the foundation of the tower. Some legends claimed that the black stones were the same as the black wall of old Ghis and the stone path constructed by the dragon lords of Valyria. Ser Gunthor guided the Northmen through towards the main hall of the lord of Old Town, the High Hall. At the high table, sat a tall and muscular man in Hightower colours. On his left, sat a rather opulent man in Tyrell colours, easily identifiable as Lord Tyrell. An old lady with her head covered in clothes sat on the other side of Lord Tyrell along with a young man with broad shoulders and brown hair. On the other side of the Hightower Lord, sat an old lady clad in Hightower colours. On her other side sat a lady in Tyrell colours with a young man and woman around the age of the Four, also in Tyrell Colours. There were others present at the table also, from their appearance, they were the other sons and daughters of Lord Leyton.

"My Lord Stark," Ser Gunthor started the introduction, "kindly allow me to present to you, Lord Baelor Hightower, eldest son and heir of Lord Leyton, and Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of South and Lord of Highgarden. Beside My Lord Hightower, is our lady mother, the Lady Rhea. On Lord Tyrell's other side, is his lady mother, the Lady Olenna and beside her is Lord Tyrell's second-oldest son, Ser Garlan Tyrell. Beside Lady Hightower is Lady Allerie, eldest daughter of Lord Leyton and wife of Lord Mace. Beside her, is her daughter the Lady Margaery and the youngest Tyrell heir, Lord Loras."

Ser Gunthor continued with his introduction, but Jon paid half an ear to that. His eyes were trained at the centre of the high table, evaluating the occupants. The Hightowers seemed to be in a rather festive state of mind. But it was the Tyrells who interested him. Lord Mace Tyrell, he had noticed, seemed to puff up a bit when introduced. He had heard many referring to him as the 'Pompous Rose' back at Kings' Landing. A rather idiotic lord with an overblown sense of self-importance – was the consensus of the man.

It was the gaze of old Lady Olenna Tyrell that intrigued him the most. Even at her age, her eyes were as shrewd and calculating as that of Tywin Lannister. Jon mentally agreed with the assumptions of her being the mind behind the 'Pompous Rose'. She was measuring the Northerners with an inscrutable face, weighing them to see if they were worthy of her attention.

Lady Allerie had the same expression as her Hightower kin, that of festive mood. She was basking in the attention of not only being the eldest daughter of the hosting lord but also being the Lady of Highgarden.

Of the Tyrell siblings, Jon was well acquainted with Ser Garlan's expression. He was watching the Northerners with that of a warrior's gaze, listing their strongest and weakest points in his mind. The Lady Margaery seemed to be taking lessons from her Grandmother as she too tried to put forth an unassuming visage, but her interest was evidently apparent on her face. The last one, Lord Loras, however, had the minutest sneer on his face. If Jon wasn't aware of the young man, he could have mistaken him as a maid dressed in a man's garb, so alike was he with his sister.

A squirming Asher beside him broke Jon out of his concentration. He looked at his friend to find him staring at one of the lower tables. Those were the seats of the lesser houses and the retinue of the lords of Hightower and Highgarden. Amongst them, sat a young woman who had the same facial features as his friend. That must be Meera Forrester, Asher's sister – thought Jon. The Forrester daughter was fostered at Highgarden, as one of the Ladies in Waiting for the Lady Margaery. From Asher's recount, Jon knew that the siblings had not seen each other for nearly half a decade. But neither he could go to her, nor she could get away from her place – such was the burden of noble's proprietary rituals. Jon shook his head sadly, he could easily place himself in Asher's place and thought about him being apart from Arya. He was sure if it was Arya instead of Meera Forrester, then the lass would have been running towards him the moment he entered High Hall – protocols be damned.

After the lengthy introduction, Robb, as the heir apparent of the Lord Paramount of North, was led to the high table and towards a seat between Ladies Allerie and Margaery. On his way, he turned his head towards Jon only to receive a wink from his brother. He couldn't do anything but scowl back at him.

You know how I hate all these, Snow!

Better you than me, Stark!

With the minutest smirk on his face because of his brother's apparent ill-fate, Jon followed Ser Gunthor's direction towards their own seats. By luck, or mayhaps, by design, they were to be seated at the same table where Meera Forrester was situated. The said girl couldn't keep it together anymore and sprang from her place towards the three.

"Sheree!" She flung her hands around Asher's neck with a soft cry. Asher laughed as he caught his sister and twirled her about.

"I've missed you too, sweet sister."

"I've been waiting to see you since I've received Mother's raven. She told me you are coming here. It's been so long, Sheree."

Asher seemed to become flushed, he cleared his throat as he got out of his sister's embrace, "Er…aye, Meera. Let me introduce you to my companions." He half-turned to indicate Torrhen and Jon, "This is, as you've heard, Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold. And forget everything you've heard before, but this here lad is truly my squire, Jon Snow. He's been learning how to properly hold a sword from me."

Torrhen let out a snort while Meera slapped lightly on Asher's arm. Jon just chuckled at Asher's comment.

"If that was the truth, Forrester, then I would have been dead more than ten times over since the Gods cursed me with your presence." He bowed to Meera and placed a kiss on the knuckles of her offered hand, "My Lady Meera, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. It is indeed the truth that you have inherited all of your lady mother's beauty." He stood back up and gave the blushing lady a conspiring wink, "Which also explains why Asher is so ugly. Did your parents ever tell you if he was adopted, mayhaps?"

Meera could only giggle in reply.

"Oh, fu…piss off, Snow! And hands off my sister."

Meera scowled at her brother, "Don't be rude, Sheree."

Jon smiled viciously at Asher, "Aye Ser Sheree, don't be rude to your supposed squire."

Asher dropped his head and whined, "Could you lot not call me by that name? We are not small babes anymore, Meera!"

"Oh no, no. We can't possibly do that, Ser Sheree." Torrhen too was wearing the same smile as Jon, "My Lady Meera, you can't possibly know how happy you've made us this evening."

"Not you too, Torrhen!"

They were introduced to Margaery's other companions, they were daughters from the lesser branch of the Tyrell family. The girls were enamoured to have the White Wolf at their table. They became incoherent enough with their blushing and giggling to make Jon very uncomfortable about the situation. The meal was dwindling when the doors to the hall suddenly opened by a pair of guards.

All present stopped whatever they were doing to see who had decided to join the lord's feast this late. Lord Baelor's face had taken a very distinct frown at the audacity of the said unknown person.

However, none was prepared to see the man who slowly walked in. Lord Leyton Hightower was said to be confined within the upper parts of the tower, along with his youngest daughter, Mallora Hightower. She was named the 'Mad Maid' because rumour had it that she was suffering from mental illness. People said that Lord Leyton had sequestered himself with his daughter and spent his days pouring through old tomes for anything that could cure his daughter. To see the lord walking among them after more than a decade was quite a shock to his family as well as the present guests.

Lord Baelor and Lady Rhea were out of their seats and climbed down to meet the elderly lord halfway. The whole hall had gone quiet so even though they conversed in low voices, they heard each word they spoke.

"Father, what are you doing here?"

"I am still the lord of this keep, aren't I, boy? I don't require your permission."

"Forgive me, Father, I was only -"

"Save it, I don't want to hear it."

"My love, Baelor only wanted to-"

"I said I don't want to hear it, didn't I, woman?"

The lady and her son stepped away to let the elderly lord pass. He stopped for a moment at the front of the high table and gave a courteous nod to Lord Tyrell, "My Lord Mace."

Lord Mace Tyrell was clearly unprepared for the sudden presence of Lord Leyton, he was lost watching the drama unfolding before him. When his good father greeted him and the discreet elbow he received from his wife as he was the only one still sitting down, he bumped the table in his haste to get up on his feet.

"My Lord Leyton, I am relieved to see that you are feeling well enough to join us this evening."

"Just about, My Lord." Lord Leyton's eyes roamed over each occupant of the high table. He gave small, pleasant smiles to his grandchildren and a bow to Robb.

"It is quite rare for our friends from the North to visit these lands. When one of them is an honoured guest under my roof, I just couldn't stay behind. And he is not any Northerner, but a Stark himself."

A low hum of muted conversation could be heard around the hall. A scowl formed on Lord Tyrell's face. It wasn't hard to understand what the man was thinking. His good father had just snubbed him. Lord Leyton didn't bother to be present while Mace Tyrell, his liege lord and Lord Paramount of South had come in any time during the past decade, but he had chosen to make an appearance the moment he heard that Robb Stark, the heir, not the Lord Paramount of North, was a guest under his roof. The old lord was all but relishing the effect he had unleashed this evening if the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth was of any indication. Jon's jaws tightened at the display. What are they trying to do here? – The thought ran through his head.

"I am a Stark by only name still, My Lord," Robb was the personification of humility, "I have yet to etch a mark for myself to be called a true Stark."

Lord Leyton gave him a wide-toothed smile, "A humble young man, eh? Another rare thing to find under this roof."

This time, his comment made almost everyone in the room frown. But he paid no attention to that as he continued, "But aren't you already known far and wide as the Young Wolf, My Lord?"

Robb could only lower his head in acceptance.

Lord Baelor once more approached his father, with an obvious frown that stated his displeasure of his lord father's earlier comment, "Please, Father, won't you take a seat?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I should sit down. These old bones of mine aren't the same as they once were." He slowly started to walk around the high table to reach the seats, Lord Baelor was walking alongside him with his hands out and ready to help his father if he stumbled. As he reached the centre of the table, he once more took a look at the people around him. "My Lady Olenna, would you grant us the honour of dining with Lord Stark and me? I am sure that both of us will enjoy your lovely and witty company."

Old Lady Tyrell had been sitting quietly all along, Jon could see that she was thinking very fast, none of them had expected Lord Leyton Hightower's rather unnatural behaviour. Jon didn't believe the whispers of senility that arose from around the room any more than he believed the Others to be gone forever. He had seen the gleam in the old Hightower lord's eyes, they were as sharp as he would imagine they had been in their youth.

While he was mulling all these, Lady Olenna had gotten up from her seat and approached Lord Hightower with the help of her attendant. The woman was another shock that Jon received in such a short time. He hadn't spotted her before, probably because of her position amongst the servers, for which Jon chastised himself, for he knew better than to not acknowledge the seemingly invisible people. Jon couldn't unsee the woman now.

As everybody had taken their seats once more, this time Lord Leyton having the seat of honour at the centre with Lady Olenna and Robb at his sides, everybody else started to go back to their meals, but stopped when Lord Leyton once more spoke in his booming voice, "Where are the friends of yours, Lord Stark? I have heard that you are all rather inseparable. Are they here as well?"

"Uh…aye, My Lord, they are here." Robb took a glance in their direction.

"Do invite them over, lad, I would like for a chance to chat with you all."

Another hum of whispered conversation ensued, but this time it had an angry tone to it. It was one thing for the lord of the house to claim his seat in the middle, and then almost chase away the liege lord from his seat in favour of his mother and his own heir for a visiting lord, but to invite heirs of other lesser lords and a bastard to the seats of honour and thus further snubbing the heir Hightower and the heirs Tyrell didn't seat well with the crowd of nobles.

Fuck! – was all Jon could think to himself as Robb turned his gaze towards them, giving them a short nod. A subtle indication from Jon had Asher take the lead and the three approached the high table.

"My Lord." Asher bowed to Lord Leyton.

"Ah, if I am not mistaken, Lord Asher Forrester, son and heir of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath, famed as the Iron Shield. Is it not?"

"Aye, My Lord, though I am not so sure of the famed bit." Asher gave him a small smile.

"And you, My Lord, are Lord Torrhen Karstark, son and heir of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold, famed as the Bright Sun."

"Aye, My Lord." Torrhen bowed his head.

"And then we have Ser Jon, the White Wolf; Protector of the Innocents; the Sword of Justice; natural son of Lord Eddard Stark."

"My Lord." Jon could feel the familiar hateful gazes burning through to the back of his skull for his audacity to come forward and claim a seat of honour despite his station.

"Do sit down, lads. I invited you over to have a nice chat, didn't I?"

"Aye, My Lord."

The three friends took their seats opposite the likes of the Lord Paramount of South and his family, all of whom were trying to light them on fire by their mere gazes, save for the Lady Olenna and the heiress, the Golden Rose of Highgarden, Lady Margaery Tyrell.

"Barristan was built sturdier than you, a bit stockier. You are rather slender than him."

"Pardon, My Lord?" Jon asked confusedly.

"Your frame, lad. You four are among the noteworthy warriors of the coming generation. And you, White Wolf, is the most prominent among them." A sound of a derisive snort was heard from the direction where Loras Tyrell was sat but Lord Leyton paid no mind to that and continued with his speech. "How old are you, lad?"

"I reached my sixteenth nameday about a month back, My Lord."

Lord Leyton nodded, "And you have earned your spurs before that, from someone who himself is a prodigious swordsman and had attained his knighthood quite early as well. It is very impressive, wouldn't you say so, My Lady?" He turned his head towards the lady who had been watching the three with a calculating gaze since the moment they sat down.

"Indeed, My Lord," Lady Olenna replied in a feeble voice, which sounded quite faked to Jon's ears. It also proved his opinion about the Tyrells deliberately avoiding the King's Tourney. "However, the most intriguing thing is how you managed to befriend the Lannisters." Her eyes took up a severe look at that point.

Robb, after receiving a glance from his brother, spoke up, "That was indeed quite intriguing, My Lady. It would definitely not have been possible if Jon here was not so quite an inquisitive mind. He had scoured the library back at Winterfell for any subject that tickled his fancy. When we were at the Capital, he couldn't stay away from the Royal Library and formed a sort of friendship with Lord Tyrion Lannister, based on the fact that the both of them being kindred souls, what with their love of dusty, old tomes."

"How did you manage to find the dragon eggs, Ser Jon?" Lady Margaery leaned forward, eager to hear his reply.

Jon kept his gaze down, "It was during one of our discussions between Lord Tyrion and I when we figured out the possibilities of there being some hidden treasures of old underneath the rubbles of Dragon Pit. Not necessarily dragon eggs, but just treasure of some sort. Neither Lord Tyrion, nor I ever expected to find anything, to tell the truth. We just wanted to sate our curiosity, but the Gods had chosen to bless us with good fortune instead and we found a clutch of eggs." He shook his head ruefully, "But the sad thing is that the eggs had become inert for being buried for over a century. No dragon will hatch from those eggs."

"Do you want the dragons to return?" Mace Tyrell asked with incredulity. Jon made a note that the Hightowers too had quite an eager look on their faces to know his answer.

"I have not honestly thought of that, My Lord, but as every child of Westeros, I too was fascinated with the tales of those majestic beasts, I reckon I still am. But do I want them to be back, I don't know for certain."

"That was not an answer one would hope to hear from the Northmen, someone of the Stark blood nonetheless." Lord Leyton mused.

"Quite true, My Lord," Lady Olenna pounced, "and then we have your knighting by Jaime Lannister. Just after you have cleared his name."

"Aye, My Lady."

"Wasn't your father, Lord Eddard Stark, the man who dubbed him as the 'Kingslayer'? What does he think about your honouring the same man?"

Jon took a deep breath to centre himself, he knew that they would come under scrutiny, but by no means, he was prepared for this inquisition. In a calm voice, he reiterated, "I didn't honour Ser Jaime. I am but a nobody to honour the son of Lord Tywin Lannister." He looked up and set his eyes straight into the old lady's own biddy little ones, "But as people say, I am the protector of innocents. Ser Jaime was innocent of the blames he carried on his shoulders for the past decade and a half. What I did, was simply point out his deeds during those times and appealed to His Grace so he would receive the justice he deserved.

As for Lord Stark, did I dishonour him by proving him wrong? Mayhaps, or not, I won't even presume to know what he thinks. But he had brought us up with the lesson of performing our duties and being honourable to it. I did what I was taught, if I am wrong, then I would accept the punishment from him."

Robb latched onto Jon's reply and added his own, "But as far as we know, Father will do no such thing. He has taught us brothers that we Northerners put the value of deeds before the value of mere words. Would he be wroth because of Jon's supposed dishonouring him? I think not. Rather, he would be proud that his son has undone his wrongdoing. Because, after everything said and done, Ser Jaime did kill the very man who had burned alive my lord grandfather, the previous Lord of Winterfell, Lord Rickard Stark; and his heir, my uncle, Lord Brandon Stark. We Starks do know how to aid those who have proven to be our friends and allies."

After a few moments of contemplation, Lord Leyton spoke again, "How did you manage to fell the Mountain? Even Barristan the Bold licked the dust when he entered the list in his youth."

"It was an accident, My Lord. I did my best to try and save Ser Gregor, but his wound was fatal."

Lord Leyton had a smirk on his face, showing to all that he was all in favour of Gregor Clegane's death, "I am not talking about his death, I am talking about his loss against you. That man was enormous. It defies reason that you, with your stature, have managed to fell such a man."

Asher piped up from Jon's side, "Pardon me for saying so, My Lord, but Jon is stronger than he looks. The first time I met him was when he was fighting against the leader of a wildling raiding party. That man was as huge as the Mountain, and our White Wolf here fell him with just a wooden cudgel. He was a lad of thirteen namedays then"

From his other side, Torrhen added, "And a few months before that, my brothers and I have taken Jon out to celebrate our sister's nameday and returned home drunk out of our gourds. When we regained our senses, we have found out that our home was attacked by a horde and Jon, literally jumped from above and fought like a demon. He also killed the leader of the attackers with a hand axe."

"Weren't you afraid, Ser Jon?" Asked Lady Margaery.

Asher cut him off before he could answer back, "My Lady, did you, perchance, have heard the song called 'The Prowling Wolf'?"

Margaery nodded.

"That was based on true events, My Lady. I was one of the men who went along with him. We swam in frigid water, captured the Ironborn ships, crashed them aground burning and then stood against the raiding party, just us six against them. Jon doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fear'."

Asher bit down a yelp for having Jon's foot stamped on his.

"Please don't pay any mind to this idiot, My Lady. I was afraid each time, but I reckon my sense of duty has overwhelmed my sense of fear every time."

"Will you be partaking in the tourney here, then?"

Jon sighed inwardly, he wondered for how long he had to endure the evening, "We have come here for Maester Luwin, My Lady. He has to submit his research and I am to aid him. I have not planned for partaking in the tourney."

"But you must." Lord Tyrell spoke up in indignation, "Both my sons – Garlan and Loras, will be partaking in it. And I have received words from Dorne." His mouth curled in distaste, "Prince Oberyn Martell is coming for the tourney as well. Westerlanders, Vale knights as well as Riverlanders are on their way. You must represent the North in the tourney."

Robb gave Jon a pained look, "Then we will partake in the tourney, My Lord, provided it doesn't interfere with Maester Luwin's presentation, of course."

Jon swore inwards - What kind of hell will Uncle Arthur bring with him? Do I have to face another inquisition before the Red Viper?

[CotW]

The Four retired at Robb's chamber when they came back to the manse after the feast.

"Hvat gerþúr hugsa, bróðir?" (What do you think, brother?) Jon asked as he kept watching the night sky out of the window.

Robb sighed as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, "Þat var sem tiresome sem þú hugsa. Hightowersrinn vóro quite pleaseð til hafmajorityinnr ór kingdomanthrongr til þeirlandsr réttr eptir konungrrinn's tourney. Ek gather fran þeirbehavioursr ok expressions, þat var smárr victory against baratheoninn rule. Though þeir gerði eigi komútr til segðhvatvetnar til discriminate þau sjálf, en þat var evident til einnhverr maðr hverr var looking fyrir sumr sort ór sign." (It was as tiresome as you think. The Hightowers were quite pleased to have the majority of the kingdoms throng to their lands just after the King's Tourney. I gather from their behaviours and expressions, it was a small victory against the Baratheon rule. Though they didn't come out to say anything to discriminate themselves, it was evident to someone who was looking for some sort of sign.)

"Þeir vóro einn ór ardentinn supporters ór dragonsrinn. En ek gerði eigi hugsþarr munu munu þessi mjök posturing. Ok til visþatr inn fyrir ór þú, sonrrinn ór konungrrinn's beztr vinr. Nei, things eru eigi hvat þeir appear, bróðir." (They were one of the ardent supporters of the dragons. But I didn't think there will be this much posturing. And to show it in front of you, the son of the King's best friend. No, things are not what they appear, brother.) Jon had a deep frown on his face.

"Hvat gerði þú hugsumr lordrinn's sudden appearance?" (What did you think about the Lord's sudden appearance?)

Jon sighed from his reclined position, "At er annarr ór mysterrinn at vér gerði eigi jafn hugsumr. Hvat indeeð gerumk lorð leyton komniðrr fran hans self-isolation? sem far sem vér veit, hann hafði secludeð hann sjálfr með með handóttirr. Þessi dóttir, mallorhightowerr, er segðumk til munu insane. Lorðrinn supposedly spends hans tími pouring um tomes ór magic til try ok vitar leið til kure hana." (That is another of the mysteries that we didn't even think about. What indeed made Lord Leyton come down from his self-isolation? As far as we know, he had secluded himself along with her daughter. This daughter, Mallora Hightower, is said to be insane. The Lord supposedly spends his time pouring through tomes of magic to try and find a way to cure her.)

He sat up with a deep frown on his face, "Ef at er truth,inn þá hví gerði hann komtilr feast?inn hvat gerði hann gain með seemingly slighting hans own sons ok bannermen, eigi eingþaur, en hans góð sonr hverr er ok hans liege lord? hvolerinn table kontradicteð þeirmjrök own opinions allr um út mealrinn. Þeir vóro trying til trip oss með okkarr svara. Ek var gerumk aware ór gamallinn lady tyrell, en þat seems gamall lorð hightower er kut fran samrinn kloth." (If that is the truth, then why did he come to the feast? What did he gain by seemingly slighting his own sons and bannermen, not only them, but his good son who is also his liege lord? The whole table contradicted their very own opinions throughout the meal. They were trying to trip us with our answers. I was made aware of the Old Lady Tyrell, but it seems Old Lord Hightower is cut from the same cloth.)

Each was lost in their thoughts as they kept watching the flames performing their dance. Asher sat up and put his hands around his knees before putting his chin on them, "Hvat gerþúr feel um quite literally munu sterkr armeð til participate inn tourneyrinn?" (What do you feel about quite literally being strong armed to participate in the tourney?)

Jon chuckled at his friend's question, "Gerði þú truly hugsatr floweranmunur gerhvatvetnar differently? andlit factr,inn bróðir, vér fjórir eru sourceinn ór every nýr rumours ór sjauinn kingdoms fyrir okkarr adventures. Fatrinn flower var bounð til fá oss inn í hans tourney með einnhverr leið hann knátta, ok hann gerði svá. Þat er eigi hann hverr worrr mik though, þat er hans gamall móðir. (Did you truly think that the flowers would do anything differently? Face the facts, brother, we four are the source of every new rumour of the Seven Kingdoms for our adventures. The fat flower was bound to get us into his tourney by any way he could, and he did so. It is not him who worries me though, it is his old mother.)

"Aye, gamallrinn lady var too hvass, vætki seems til fá með hana." (Aye, the old lady was too sharp, nothing seems to get by her.)

Jon tore his eyes away from the fire and turned to look at his brothers, "Eigi eingatr, hon hafsumrr designs fyrir oss. Gerði þú eigi notice hanattendantr?" (Not only that, she has some designs for us. Did you not notice her attendant?)

Both Asher and Torrhen frowned and exchanged a look, "Aye, vér gerði. Hvat var svá important um at víf?" (Aye, we did. What was so important about that woman?)

This time Robb spoke up, "Ek gereigir blame þú fyrir eigi recognizing hana, eðhanar features á leastrinn. Þú hafneverr seen einninn vér erum speaking um. En oss tveir, kertainly gerði recognize hana… eðhanar features." (I do not blame you for not recognizing her, or her features at the least. You have never seen the one we are speaking about. But us two, certainly did recognize her...or her features.)

"Munu þú minð telling oss um þessi mysterious víf þá?" (Would you mind telling us about this mysterious woman then?)

Robb scowled as he took out his dagger from its sheath and a small whetstone, as he worked to sharpen the dagger, he kept clenching his jaws. Asher and Torrhen didn't know what suddenly came over him, they looked at Jon askance. Jon sighed and got up from his seat to go beside his brother and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned his gaze towards the other two and said –

"At víf bjarnar strickingr resemblance með vífrinn hverr hafði munið septarinn aptr á winterfell ok var inn kharge ór mrinnæar' lessons." (That woman bears a striking resemblance with the woman who had been the Septa back at Winterfell and was in charge of the girls' lessons.)

Their eyes widened, "Einnrinn at lorð ok lady stark drove away fran winterfell því at hon var disrupting þeirlessonsr?" (The one that Lord and Lady Stark drove away from Winterfell because she was disrupting their lessons?)

"Eigi disrupting, nei. Hon var training þau upp til munu proper wives, en eigi fyrir lords eðprincesr, en fyrir kommoners. Þeir vóro eigi learning hvatvetnumr hvernig til manage lordr's household, hvernig treatr ok deals eru gerumk, politicsrinn - eðhvatvetnar truly useful. Ef þat hafði hverfeinnhverrr longer, þeir munu hafbecomer vætki betri þan fishwifer, mayhaps. eigi lordr's daughters." (Not disrupting, no. She was training them up to be proper wives, but not for lords or princes, but commoners. They were not learning anything about how to manage a lord's household, how treaties and deals are made, the politics - or anything truly useful. If it had gone any longer, they would have become nothing better than a fishwife, mayhaps...not a lord's daughters.)

Robb flung the dagger he had been sharpening. It embedded into the door with a loud thud.

"Jon let faðir ok móðir veit um hvat hon var doing. Ef þat var ek, hon wouldn't hafhanar kollr á hanshouldersr fyrir trying til ruin minn systira' lives." (Jon let Father and Mother know about what she was doing. If it was me in his place, she wouldn't have her head on her shoulders for trying to ruin my sisters' lives.)

Jon forcefully turned Robb around to face him, "Ok hvat munu at hafaccomplishedr, bróðir? gerþúr hugsatr minn hands hadn't itcheð til relieve hanórr hankollrr? nei, at munu hafgerumkr faðir andlit konsequencerrinn. Hugsumr þat, ef vér hafði hankilledr, þá þat munu hafmuniðr klaimeð sem tréinn worshiping savages killeð einn ór sjaurinn's faith. Þar munu hafmuniðr pititions til konungrinn fyrir okkarr punishments.

lords hverr viljtilr hafNorðriinnr til fall fran konungrrinn's grace munu hafgottenr leiðr til sjá okkarr ruins. Ok þat wouldn't munu too harðr fyrir sumr ór flestrinn wily ones til leggjuppr false kharges - faðir, þú ok ek forceð til taksvartrrinnr. Lady stark til silentinn systira. Sansokr aryforceðr inn í marriages til sumr ór gamallinn lords at munu hafþaur shackeleð ok act sem broodmares hvile bran ok rickon höldumk sem hostages."

(And what would that have accomplished, brother? Do you think that my hands hadn't itched to relieve her of her head? No, that would have made Father face the consequences. Think about it, if we had her killed, then it would have been claimed as the tree worshipping savages killed one of the Seven's faithful servants. There would have been petitions to the King for our punishments, colouring it as religious righteousness.

Lords who want to have the North fall from the King's grace would have gotten a fairly secured and safe way to see our ruins at none their expenses. And it wouldn't be too hard for some of the wiliest ones to bring up false charges - Father, you and I forced to take the Black. Lady Stark to the Silent Sisters. Sansa and Arya were forced into marriages to some of the old lords that would have them shackled and act as broodmares while Bran and Rickon held as hostages.)

Robb averted his gaze from Jon's, a furious scowl still adorned his face.

"Þú eiggefar mik þinn words, bróðir, at þú won't gerhvatvetnar foolish ef með sumr miracle vér komtilr sjá septmordaner hí." (You must give me your words, brother, that you won't do anything foolish if by some miracle we come to see Septa Mordane here.)

Robb hadn't moved a muscle.

"Þinn word, robb!" (Your word, Robb!) Jon snarled.

Robb gave the minutest nod, but Jon sighed with relief. "Thank þú. Vér megeigir afforð til let oss munu leiðumk með okkarr boiling blooð. Sem þú eigheardr, konungsson oberyn er koming hí. Lady minerveingar veitir hvat nýr shits eru inn okkarr future. (Thank you. We cannot afford to let us be led by our boiling blood. As you've heard, Prince Oberyn is coming here. Lady Minerva only knows what new shits are in our future.)

[CotW]

The next morning, the Four went down to the yard for their daily training. Asher and Torrhen were asked by Jon to look after Gendry's training for the day because he would be busy with Robb. His brother had a lot of pent up frustration from last night's conversation that he needed to get out of him. After a rigorous spar with blunted swords, the brothers engaged each other to practice their 'Karhold'. This was where Maester Luwin found them. Seeing him approaching the yard, the brothers stopped their pounding of each other mercilessly.

Maester Luwin frowned as he looked over the two sons of Lord Stark standing before him. Both were exhausted and breathing hard. Mud was caked in hair both raven and crimson as well as their naked torso. Also, both brothers were sporting multiple bruises and small, bleeding cuts here and there.

"I do hope that you lads do not have plans for injuring each other too much. I simply have not the time to tend to you if you do so." The older man let out an exasperated sigh.

Jon tried to give the Maester a winning smile, "These are just normal bruises, Maester. Nothing we never had before, and we still have the salve you've prepared for us. We will be right as the rain come next morning."

"I sincerely hope so, Jon. I have just been informed that the Seneschal has accepted my petition and will convene the court quite soon. I need you to be present with me when I submit my studies. You are vital for my theories."

Jon rubbed his neck sheepishly, "Do you have any idea when exactly the Court will convene, Maester?"

Maester Luwin frowned, "No lad, I have no idea about that. The Archmaesters do not share their thoughts with me. Why? What more pressing issues could you have?"

"Er, only participating in Lord Tyrell's tourney," Robb mumbled.

Maester Luwin gave them both a piercing look, "Do not mumble, Lord Robb. How many times do I have to tell you to speak clearly? And I thought you lads had no plan to participate in the tourney. I mentioned thusly at the Citadel."

"We didn't, Maester, but last evening Lords Hightower and Tyrell made all of us give our words that we would participate in the tourney."

"Ah, I can see Lord Tyrell wanting his tourney to be a success, but I didn't think Lord Baelor Hightower to force you as well." Maester Luwin thought out loud.

"Um…not Baelor Hightower, but Leyton Hightower."

The poor old man's jaw slackened with that bit of information, "Lord Leyton Hightower descended from his rooms? Truly?"

"Aye, Maester."

"Oh, that changes things quite drastically then, I am afraid." Maester Luwin brushed the front of his robes, "I will need to ask for an audience with Archmaester Norren. The Court must convene either before or after the tourney. I hope the Archmaester will hear my plea since Lord Leyton is now involved." He shook his head, "I must return to the Citadel with all haste. Do take care of yourselves, lads. And let me know if you need me. Ask any acolyte and he will give me the message. But try to not call for me if it was something truly mundane."

"How did you travel, Maester?" Robb asked

"I came by a mule, Lord Robb. I try to avoid horses as much as I can. In my age, horses are quite the bother."

"But your cart could be ready at a moment's notice. In fact, I insist you take the cart back to the Citadel." Robb turned and asked the nearby man to run to the stables and have Maester Luwin's cart prepared. The old Maester tried to deny, saying that he was fine with travelling back the way he came. But the Stark lads didn't listen to him. They cared for the old man as their own grandfather. If they could manage to lessen his stress even a bit, they would do everything in their powers for that.

Soon, the Four were standing at the gates, sending Maester Luwin back to the Citadel in a mule-drawn carriage and two guards. They all promised to try and not injure each other too much to pry the Maester from his already hectic schedules. They were about to return within the house when a retinue of men carrying the Martell banner rode past them. Jon could see that four young women rode at the front of the procession, flanking a very beautiful lady in between them. Jon thought the young women to be the daughters of Prince Oberyn, infamously known as the sand snakes, and that would make the lady in the middle be Ellaria Sand – the Prince's paramour.

As the party rode past them, one of the Sand Snakes – the one who was riding closest to the four – turned her head towards them. She took in their muddy and dishevelled state and a slight sneer formed in her face. Jon was taken aback, the young woman seemed very familiar to him, yet he couldn't think of anywhere he would have seen her. He prided himself on his memory, and it irked him very much to have that feeling inside of his head screaming at him that he should know her. Her wavy, almost curly long raven locks; her olive coloured skin; her high cheekbones, her eyes – They are purple?! – he thought with a start, who is she?

"The Martells are here." Torrhen made his observation known.

"Aye, but I didn't see the Prince there," Asher replied.

"Aye, I didn't see him either."

"He could have stayed behind at the Tower to finish his conversation with Lords Hightower and Tyrell and send his retinue ahead of him."

"True, the ladies wouldn't have received a warm welcome because of their status. Prince Oberyn mayhaps wants to avoid the awkward situation by sending them ahead."

"If that was the reason, then where is Ser Eric? Wasn't he travelling with the Prince too? I don't think he would've stayed behind with the Prince."

"What do you think, Jon?"

Not receiving any reply, the two turned their heads towards the unresponsive duo. They found them both rooted to their spots, staring after the way the Martells had gone, speechless.

"Jon? Robb?" Asher moved forward.

"Are you two feeling alright?" Torrhen put a hand on Jon's shoulder. That seemed to break him out of his trance.

"Hmm? Oh, aye, Torrhen. I am quite alright. I was just lost in thoughts."

"Robb?" Asher spoke softly, also placing his hand on the unresponsive Stark's shoulder, but Robb still didn't move.

"Robb?" He called again, this time shaking him by his shoulder, "What is wrong, brother?"

"Wrong?" Robb shook his head and removed Asher's hand from his shoulder, giving him a mile-wide smile, "Why, nothing is wrong, Asher, my brother. Everything is alright. Dare I say, more than alright."

"Robb," Jon had become quite concerned by his brother's rather unnatural attitude, "what is the matter, brother?"

"Jon, I think I am in love!"