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Chapter Text

"What shall we name him?" Lysa asked, voice tremulous and faint.

Bright Tully eyes stared back at Jon, but the nose was undoubtedly Arryn. A piece of me, and a piece of her, come together. “Jasper. His name shall be Jasper.”

“He shall bring honor to us all.”

Jasper 

The banner of the Crowned Stag slowly creeped onward, into the domain of the Starks of Winterfell; along with the hundreds of knights, soldiers, inevitable courtiers and assorted hangers-on. Jasper wound through them, Arrow drumming a steady hoofbeat into the ground.

Only fortnights past, he was merely the Heir to the Vale - his father, the Hand of the King. and the world was a simpler place.

I thought myself ready; I thought myself so wise.

When word came of his father’s demise, he had thought the hour had come - for him to come into his inheritance! Years of relentless training under the Blackfish, till every muscle ached and his mind was rendered a soggy puddle by the Maesters and sword Lords; what was it for, if not to be ready?

I was wrong, so very wrong.

The world wouldn't wait for him to be ready. The Lords of the Vale needed him today.

I needed to be ready yesterday. Arryn honor needed to be maintained, and her position in court preserved. And so, he traveled north with King Robert to visit his northern cousins.

Despite the true reason for the visit, other - lesser - feelings preyed on him. Weak thoughts of a stupid boy. A stupid boy that dreamed of good siblings, kind mothers, noble fathers.

Riding free, beyond all the sheer cacophony of the King’s men had become his favorite pastime. Horses never judged him, and he didn't have to perform for them. It was the only time he really… relaxed.

Before his Lords, he was Warden and High Lord; gallant and knightly, a man of martial courage who embodied the very spirit of valor and skill in arms. He followed the rules and traditions to the letter, for that was what they expected of him.

Even when he was alone, he performed because he had to do it.

I have no choice. Arryns have no choice. All he knew was As High as Honor was his life, even when he hadn’t understood what those words meant.

A Lord of the Eyrie had to be a true lord - yet, how could he be a true lord, when treachery lived around every corner? Harry, Mother, Father. My family betrays me as easily as they breathe.

All save the Blackfish, and Jasper thanked the Father for him. The stubborn old goat was loyal, and the only family he could trust.

Perhaps people like Lord Baelish, or Mya Redfort might count - that reminded him, he should write to Lord Baelish at the next holdfast, and seek news from King’s Landing.

Grand Uncle Brynden had taught him all the arts of war - and how to not be a pampered shit - for that alone, Jasper owed him.

Unlike Jon Arryn, whose face he couldn’t even recall, no matter how hard he tried.

His fathers will and commands were expressed through letters - their contents as cold as the peak of the Giant’s Lance.

Men named him honorable and kind, but Jasper never saw none of it. The only time he had met his father - really met him, was when an honor guard brought his corpse back to the Eyrie. 

It's shameful, I shouldn't think ill of him. He's my father, and he's dead. It was dishonorable to speak ill of the dead.

Yet, now he feared his father was as foolish as the court fool. He had left the great alliance between Arryn, Stark, Tully and Baratheon, rotting under years of neglect. Why were you so… afflicted by sloth, father?

Arrow could sense his discomfort, and neighed gently. "Shhh," Jasper whispered. "Easy Arrow, I'm fine."

He could tell, Arrow believed not a word.

For far too long, they had paid little attention to the men appointed to their positions. Whenever they stopped, he would jot down names that should be appointed towards offices in the king's court. When he arrived in Winterfell, he would offer his counsel to Lord Stark - the last hope of maintaining an honorable realm.

Together, we’ll safeguard the Realm from the ambitious. As High as Honor!

Every other moment, His Grace would command him to ride by his side ( as if Jasper was his son ), jesting and laughing at bawdy jokes. It was - overwhelming, almost, but Jasper could tell what people meant when they said they’d been won over by Robert Baratheon.

It was easy to love the king.

"Caught up in your thoughts, my squire." Grand Uncle Brynden kicked his horse close to Arrow .

" Former - former squire." Jasper replied dryly, commanding Arrow to fly, and by the gods, fly he did. The winds pushed against him as the Northern landscape flew by.

Only when he saw  Grand Uncle Brynden falling behind,did he slow down into a light trot, eventually dismounting. Jasper acquired some apples from the local hamlet with copper stars; Arrow devoured them greedily until his sers tired beast finally came a-clopping up the road.

"Took you long enough, ser!"

Grand Uncle Brynden snorted as he took a drink from his canteen. "Unlike you, I was enjoying a leisurely ride, free of reckless charges."

"It can hardly be reckless if you are good," Jasper smiled. And if there was one thing he took pride in, t’was his lance-work on horseback. Swords and other weapons of war were fine and all; but on horseback he was unbeatable. "Apple?" He offered.

Grand Uncle Brynden mumbled, "No, Jasper - you are a greenboy pissing grass." He snatched the apple and took a bite. "Apple’s decent, though." And then took another bite.

Jasper bristled. "I'm hardly a green boy. I've won tourneys, I've fought Mountain Clansman, and I've hunted fierce beasts. What green boy can claim to have done the same?"

"You'll always be a green boy to me," Grand Uncle Brynden jested as he rubbed his chin. "No matter how many hairs you grow on your chest."

Jasper chuckled. "Impossible to please those standards, ser."

"Pissy squire."

"PISSYYY?! DID SOMEONE SAY PISSY SQUIRES!" King Robert's voice roared as the destrier came a-tumbling after them, the Kingsguard in his dust. "Arryn's a god compared to mine useless band of shits! Taking down that boar was damn impressive lad!"

The voice of the king was good-natured, and warm. Even with the smell of wine upon his breath and perfume that clung to him, he still looked kingly upon horseback. The attention was a bit much, if slightly, flattering.

"My squire Lancel fainted at the sight of blood! Blood!" King Robert nearly fell off his saddle as he laughed. "What a girl he is! A squire fainting at the sight of blood . Ha!"

That did sound girlish; which made his position, and the honors afforded House Lannister, even more troubling. Somehow, all of King Roberts squires wore Lannister red.

Jasper nodded, gladdened by the praise. "Thank you, your Grace," he said. "You flatter me, but I'm only as good because of Ser Brynden's efforts."

A sad smile crossed the king's face. " You are honorable, Jasper, and you were Old Jon’s pride and joy. Gods, he was proud of you." His Grace… sniffled . "Jon was a true man who taught me what was what. He shall be missed."

Jasper shook his head. "I was not his only son." His lips twirled in a practiced, mournful smile. "You were as well, Your Grace. You yet bear the hunting knife he gave you." The kings eyes were tearing as he threw his enormous arms around him, and brought him in close. "Damn you, boy. We'll make Jon proud me, you, and Ned!"

"My king." Jasper was struggling for breath - the King still had his infamous brute strength.

Thankfully Brynden interjected. "And will you crush Lord Stark to death, like our Lord Arryn here?" Jasper was gasping for air.

King Robert laughed and laughed, but at least he let go - Jasper took the chance to distance himself from the possibility of another bear hug. He always had struggled with breathing, especially when he was younger.

The king continued to laugh long after he disappeared from view. "You handled that deftly, squire!" Grand Uncle Brynden said. 

"I only did as expected of a lord towards his king."

Ser Brynden chuckled. "Modesty; a trait of a good knight."

"I'm a lord," he corrected, almost by instinct.

Jasper had once hoped that father would have stronger, and more able sons after him - who could help the Arryns soar high, above all the buzzards circling around the Eyrie, waiting for scraps.

But his mother, Lady Lysa Tully, only bore himself, and his sickly brother Robert Arryn.

And Robert couldn't share this burden with him.

Falcons soar alone, Jasper knew - and he was a dutiful son.

"You well, lad?" Grand Uncle Brynden asked. "You look… elsewhere."

He wished he could share these worries with his ser, but some things even the famed Blackfish couldn't solve. He needed to say something to throw him off the scent - something believable and honest.

"Oh, I'm just thinking of Lord Stark and my cousins." He sighed. "I've yet to meet any of them."

How do you treat cousins, anyway? Harry was a… disaster.

I shall be formal and keep them at arm's length - until he knew what to do with them, at least.

But he knew everything there was to know about Lord Eddard Stark. He grew up on all the stories of Robert's Rebellion; of all father’s wards it was said Eddard Stark truly upheld Arryn honor.

His ser  gave a wry smile, and grasped his shoulder. Jasper nearly flinched from the contact. "Don't worry, grand-nephew; you'll be among your cousins, as should have been done many years ago."

"And if I err?" Jasper whispered, uncertain.

"Then you have a bunch of irksome cousins." He chuckled. "Relax. Don't overthink it, Jasper. You'll get along with them." I hope so.

Jasper gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, I will try - though I make no promises, Grand Uncle."

Grand Uncle Brynden snorted, and Jasper felt his worries ease. With the bravest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, how could he disappoint anyone?

Since he became Lord of the Eyrie, he discovered he could trust only his good uncle to give him good counsel. Even for leal and honorable men, like Lord Yohn Royce, their house came first, before loyalty to their liege.

And mother… Jasper darkened. Best not to think of her. He hoped his cousins would be different - and would be like the happy families they spoke of, in the stories.

"The Crown Prince, though, is an entirely different kettle of fish."

Ser Brynden twisted around. "Quiet, boy!"

"Stilling my tongue will not make it less true, ser."

"Mayhaps, but you shouldn't make an enemy needlessly. Especially one, who will soon be king."

"Perhaps he already sees me as one," Jasper's voice lowered as he recalled the disastrous hunt.

At the crack of dawn, His Grace, and his party of Lannister, Arryn, and Baratheon men departed from the caravan. Jasper saw it as an opportunity to make his acquaintance with Prince Joffrey as the future king of the realm; it was paramount for House Arryn to reinforce its strong ties to the crown.

He steered Arrow beside of Prince Joffrey's white steed. King Robert rode ahead of the party with his nervous squires, who but hovered around like flies. His Grace bellowed at them for more wine to the amusement of seasoned knights. Jasper almost cracked a smile. Several Arryn and Lannister rode comfortably behind them.

“You ride well, my prince.” Jasper offered. “You would do well in the lists, without a doubt.” He could hear the lances shattering against wooden shields; the groans from vanquished foes, as the stands roared.

On the tourney field, a man could soar high - and prove himself worthy of his name. A lord had to be prepared for anything. Constant vigilance. His grand uncle had beaten into his thick skull. How else could a man prove himself in days of peace?

“A tourney?” Prince Joffrey rolled his eyes. “A tourney would be a waste for me.”

Jasper raised his brow beyond puzzled. A tourney, a waste? How?  

“I’m sure you would perform well. You are King Robert’s son,” Jasper said.

“Of course I would best everyone. They are mere gnats to me.”

He knew not what to say to Prince Joffreys boast and only offered a lordly nod.

“But you ride well too, Lord Jasper.” Prince Joffrey said. “Far better than your sire. The slightest exertion winded the Old Falcon.” The mockery in his tone was subtle, but unmistakable.

The slight to House Arryn left him aghast. Have you forgotten who won your father his crown? Father had served House Baratheon with honor and distinction and he dared to dishonor his memory with him so recently laid to rest. Or mayhaps he misheard the mockery? Jasper clung to the hope like a drowning man. Surely King Robert’s son wouldn’t have insulted House Arryn…

Jasper swallowed. “My father served with honor, my prince.”

“He was old and couldn’t serve anyone. My father was far too kind towards the man.” Prince Joffrey laughed. And when a prince laughed, others joined in. He didn’t have the decency to look ashamed for his deeds. How are you Good King Robert’s son?

The shame demanded a response with steel, but he settled with words that cut.  

“I see you have a crossbow, my prince.”

Prince Joffrey’s laughter ended. “What of it?”

”In the Vale a man kills what he hunts with a spear - and so does your Kingly father, I believe. Afraid of a little blood and guts?” Some of his men snorted in agreement and stifled their laughter with clenched jaws. 

Prince Joffrey reddened. “I’m your prince! Not some man of the Vale.” He yelled like a petulant boy, loud enough to send nearby birds to flight.

“A prince who uses a crossbow, whereas his father uses a mighty hammer .” Jasper reminded dryly.   

 Prince Joffrey shook like a leaf, his green eyes burning with hatred and it dawned on him too late what he had done. By the Seven, it was the Crown Prince he had humiliated! An apology lay on his lip, but his tongue refused to obey. The thought of apologizing to the pissy princeling tasted like poison. He insulted my father. What son could let such stand? Arryn honor had to be defended.

"Then be thankful you live high in the mountains. Hard to reach without a dragon." Ser Brynden said.

And the Eyrie was hard to reach. A prison in the sky.

Two squires of Vale houses greeted them upon their return. They nursed over every blemish on his surcoat and cloak, as washerwomen prepared a bath to wash off the dust and sweat of the ride.

Jasper thanked every servant and squire by name. When they spoke their minds he did not censure them, but most often merely listened, and sometimes nodded along.

Minor complaints, minor worries - they were the smallfolk after all, and it was a Lord's duty to listen to his lessers.

However, when Jon Waynwood offered to brush Arrow , he shrugged.

"Nay, Jon, I shall do so myself. Both of you are dismissed."

Arrow was a friend. Hardly appropriate for an Arryn, but there it was.

Every stroke of the golden brush calmed his heart. Arrow's coat deserved to be as unblemished as the Arryn falcon, and he would lose himself in the repetition, till the Warden and the Lord has vanished, and only Jasper remained.

Blistering wind from the Moon door kissed his cheeks as screams echoed -

Jasper's heart raced louder than Arrow galloping.

A twig snapped -

Lord Arryn drew his sword.

Soon, bodies would be dropped onto the grassy fields. He would make his stand with courage -

"My lord." Prince Tommen stumbled backwards, almost taking a tumble - but the Princess Myrcella’s arm propped him back up. They were both flushed red.

"Lord Arryn, we didn't mean to disturb you." She said, with little lack of courtesy. Even afraid she fulfilled her part well.

Jasper hurriedly sheathed his sword - death to bare steel at royal blood, fool! - and offered an apologetic smile. "Those of royal blood need not apologize to a mere lord." His cheeks were hot with shame. "Especially when the lord is in the wrong."

"In that we must disagree," the princess said, kindly. "We disturbed you. Horribly rude on our parts. Isn't that right, Tom?" She gave the pudgy prince a sharp nudge with her elbow. Prince Tommen nodded in agreement.

Still, he could not leave the situation this raw; these were King Robert's children, and courtesy had to be observed. "Come." Jasper offered. "Take a seat. Arrow doesn't bite, I swear."

Any of the stable boys would seethe with jealousy at being granted a chance to brush Arrow . The royals were rather timid at first, but before long they were spoiling his friend, and having a grand time of it.

Sweet children of Summer. Jasper thought.

Atop the Eyrie, the winds were strong enough to almost shear off the skin - yet sometimes, they quietened, as if in acknowledgment of the majesty atop the top of the world.

Even an Arryn could not command those winds. A necessary lesson - have these royals learned it yet?

As the pair warmed up, Jasper and Arrow entertained them till the sun was low on the horizon. Prince Tommen had a kind heart, and his sister seemed both more intelligent, and sweeter of nature; he would have liked to have met them before today. I wonder why I have not? Perhaps their mother shelters them. Jasper turned away from the nauseating thought.

"I'm sorry about your father, Lord Jasper." Princess Myrcella said suddenly. "He was a good man."

"He gave me apples to feed his horses!" Prince Tommen piped up.

Jasper chuckled. "Then I had better keep such traditions alive," and tossed him one he’d acquired before.

Arrow’s eyes widened - he seems miffed enough to commit regicide , Jasper thought.

Princess Myrcella's bright green eyes narrowed as she frowned in puzzlement. "Tis strange you didn't agree about your father. Did I give offense? Were you not close?"

Very keen of her.

"You gave no offense, princess." He put on his public smile. "I only knew my father from letters. He was a good man - a noble man, but in truth, I have never met him."

He knew that was the truth of the matter. Jon Arryn lived their House words, but not with him - and the bitterness lingered under his skin.

I shamed him. I look too much like mother.

He had the Tully look, save for the distinctive Arryn falcon-like nose, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter he was tall with broad shoulders and a strong frame from days' training in the yard. He was ashamed of me.

Prince Tommen bobbled his head as solemnly as a boy of twelve could; Jasper twisted his head up and saw Princess Myrcella nodding in agreement.

"That's very sad." Princess Myrcella said softly. "Lord Jon often spoke of you. I know he must have been proud."

"You are too kind for this world, princess."

Both of them shivered a bit in the cold. He wrapped his cloak around them. "The queen would never forgive me if you both got a chill."

Princess Myrcella said. "How chivalrous!"

"Unlike Joffrey." Tommen whispered hesitantly. He looked as if the Gods would strike him down. Did he fear his brother? What younger brother is afraid of his elder? This is a poor omen.

Regardless, Jasper shouldn’t comment on the affairs of the Royal Family. A lord should not trouble himself, unless beckoned.

"Well," Jasper said." I believe the hour grows late. You should be taken back to your tents."

"But I'm not tired." Prince Tommen suppressed a yawn.

"Ah, then that must be the wind I hear, rather than a princely yawn!"

Taking both of them by the hand, they departed for the Royal pavilion. Prince Tommen looked dead on his feet, so Jasper lifted him up into his arms.

Gods, he’s heavy.

They passed squires tending to suits of armor, knights gathered around fires telling bawdy jokes. Though surprisingly, none of the Queen’s men seemed alarmed. Did they not miss the children? It was negligent and foolish, but not his worry.

Setting Prince Tommen onto the ground. The prince wrapped his pudgy arms around her shoulders." Twas an honor princess." He said cheerfully. "You and your brother both brightened this dreary day."

Oddly enough, she kissed him on the cheek. "And you were gallant, my lord. I know we were imposing."

"Nay-"

She cut him off. "We were." She used a gentle, but understanding voice - and in the face of royal command, all Jasper could do was kneel.

He kissed her knuckles."Mayhaps," He said, taking his rich Arryn cloak from her shoulders. "But sometimes it's a good thing. Otherwise I would not have learned the treasure that is your wit."

Her cheeks became rather flushed. "Now, I promise you a dance in Winterfell. Your grace. A rare honor, I promise." He winked.

Prince Tommen snored rather loudly.

"Oh, that would be lovely, my lord." Princess Myrcella said. Some snowflakes were floating down into her blond curls. In time, she would become as beautiful as the Queen.

Jasper could see His Grace fending off the suitors - from Sunspear to the Wall, with his warhammer.

Yet, all he could see was that fearful look from Prince Tommen. It tore at him. Was she in danger from her brother? Should he involve himself? Formality commanded his tongue remained tied, but honor to the Crown demand he speak.

So many rules.

Princess Myrcella gazed at him curiously. "You look troubled, my lord. Have we truly worried you so?"

Jasper snorted. "Nay princess. It's just…" He paused.

"Just something your brother has given voice to; it has filled me with unease." He sighed. "Please, if you or your brother are in need, please come to me. I shall help, I swear." He vowed. "Anything at all."

"I see your father’s kindness in you, my Lord." She chuckled. "But I must confess, you are a terrible liar  - even for a son of Jon Arryn. I'll pray you shall improve. My family could use good men to defend the Crown."

Jasper shifted uneasily at the praise. "And Prince Joffrey, what sort of man is he?"

"What do you think?"

"He struck me as a prince from some storybook." Jasper lied. "Tall and gallant. No doubt possessing of great courage."

"I suppose he is those things," Princess Myrcella said quietly.

Far too quiet.

Is this who shall be king? One whom inspires fear in his sweet younger siblings. Who insults loyal vassals? Father must have known, but he had said nothing to him.

Jasper could scarcely think of a reason why. How could he let this come to pass? Such a man could not honor the contract between Arryn and the Crown. It would be a pledge of endless blood and ruin.

I see what I must do. If the Crown Prince was truly this wretched, he would have to be removed from the line of succession - through lawful means. If the Seven were just, this was just a misunderstanding, and he would remain a leal man.

Still, the alternative filled his veins with ice.

Only a threat, a true viable replacement, could protect the children and the Arryn name - only the pudgy Prince Tommen remained an option. A far cry from a martial figure whom could earn the love of lords and ladies alike and earn a kings favor. A diamond in the rough.

If they fostered the Prince with Jasper, he could turn him into a prince King Robert would name heir. Surely King Robert wouldn't refuse him? And he had planned to get cousin Brandon to squire…

A second son of the Hand and the spare prince. Jasper mused. How our honor will soar!

Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon had toppled the dragons. House Arryn had never soared higher! Why his father had not continued such tradition for himself, was a constant source of vexation. Fosterings and marriage alliances are the bread and butter of lords - and Jon Arryn neglected both!

"But I've been told that appearances deceive ." His voice was hushed - it would not be wise to speak so brazenly about a prince. "My vow remains the same. All will be well, sweet princess - I swear it." Her green eyes sparkled with weariness.

She doesn't believe me.

"You'll see." He promised again. Whether the princess understood mattered little. She was a woman and couldn't be faulted for such. They had different roles to play.

"Oh, Lord Arryn it's-"

"Are we there yet?" Prince Tommen interrupted, half asleep, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, we are." She answered quickly, and departed with nary a word.

Jasper disappeared back into the darkness of the camp, for the night was coming to a close already, even for the drunks. It was only in his own tent that the brazen consequences of his actions hit him

Gods, am I really plotting such treason? Am I really playing this game?

These thoughts always overwhelmed him, when he broke any rules. Rules were the foundation of the realm. Lords expected Arryns to be as High as Honor. Honor all oaths. Follow the laws of the realm. Be perfect. A paragon of chivalry and decency.

Not plot to undermine the line of succession! But he would not be left in the dirt. He was going to secure the future of his house for the good of the Vale.

As High as Honor!

Jasper did not get much in the way of sleep - when he came out of his dozing, instead of sheets he was clutching sleek fur instead. Arrow . Those big, chestnut eyes held no judgment; rather, it nuzzled him gently. "Thank you." Jasper said weakly. He smelled of straw and grass.

The head washerwoman looked close to tears when she saw him. Jasper only gave a lordly shrug, and waited on his lessers to attend to their duties. They took the hint quick enough, and began scrubbing and washing the dirt away.

His Belmore squire snuck in nervously as they shaved him. "My lord -" He looked down. " - His Grace is expecting your presence at the breaking of fast."

"Thank you, squire." He dismissed with a curt nod, like a lord should.

Winterfell couldn't arrive quickly enough.

Chapter Text

Winterfell was huge.

It easily fit the Kings Party within its walls. Mayhaps the Starks boast isn't empty. Thrice he had gotten lost within the labyrinth of grey walls and halls.

He woke up at the crack of dawn and went for a run in his full suit of armor as the Blackfish made him do as a boy and finished with two hundred chin ups that left him sweaty and slightly sore, but no one would call him weak again. A lord needed to keep himself in perfect physical health! Some of the Stark men gawked, but he didn't mind. As High as Honor! Sweat froze on his skin in the northern climate, but it was worth the effort. Jasper returned to his quarters and dressed for the day, and it was a busy day.

Snow kissed his auburn curls, and he tugged the fur cloak tighter. The courtyard was filled with Stark men watching the Stark boy Lord Bran fighting with Prince Tommen. Robb Stark, a stocky youth, was watching them, as was Prince Joffrey. Robb Stark seemed to hold the same opinion of Prince Joffrey as himself. Quite low. He kept on walking along the bailey, for he had an appointment to heed. And the last thing he wanted was to be late watching Starks and princelings fight. Normally, a simple dinner with a vassal was nothing to get worked up over, but this was family. And Jasper hated the uncertainty of meeting them in such a setting.

What if I'm late? What if Aunt Catelyn believes me slovenly? Something tightened in his chest and he hurried along faster. However, his pace was not as quick as he wished. Lords could not run like heathens especially Arryns. He adjusted his collar as he descended into the lords tower. Jasper paused at the door, arm stretched outwards torn between knocking and waiting. He was a few minutes early, and it was unseemly to impose upon his hosts before they were ready. Sweat formed on his hands and the pit in his stomach grew. Men were always judged for their mistakes.

If I make one now, they'll judge me for the rest of my life.

And he wanted a warm relation with his aunt and uncle. All the stories of the famed Lord Eddard Stark, whom upheld the honor of an Andal. It brought him great pride that House Arryn had a hand in his education. More selfishly, Lord Stark was the closest thing to an Arryn like his father left in this world. If anyone knows how to behave as High as Honor it's him. And Aunt Cateyln looked incredibly like mother before her decent unto madness. Beautiful auburn hair and kind eyes, unlike the raving mad eyes that haunted his dreams. How he wished to embrace her when he first arrived in Winterfell, but that would have been unlordly.

Jasper stood at the door, practically set into stone. Reluctantly, he knocked gently against the oak. The hinges turned and a man wearing the overflowing robes of some steward. "Lord Arryn." His bow was deep. "Lord and Lady Stark are waiting for you."

He gave a curt nod.

A small feast lay before him; some bread, cooked lamb, and soup. And Lady Stark sported a concerned look. "Nephew," she quickly embraced him. "You look well and hale." The embrace was far longer than he anticipated. Something lodged itself in his throat. When she released him, he nearly forgot his courtesies.

Nearly.

"Because of your hospitality, Aunt Catelyn, and for that, I thank the Old Gods and the New."

He twisted and turned to Lord Stark. His grim face was disquieting, but Jasper offered his hand all the same. "And yours aswell my lord."

Lord Stark said dryly. "Wouldn't I be Uncle Ned? Or am I merely a lord to you?" Taking his hand gruffly and Jasper stiffened. Did Lord Stark think I slighted him? His smile crumbled to dust.

"My apologies my lord, I hardly meant any slight." He said quickly, nearly tripping over his tongue.

"Ned." Aunt Catelyn chided. "Stop teasing your nephew." He nearly sighed. Everything was as taut as some bow string. "He was teasing, I swear, nephew. Forgive him. The Gods never graced the Starks with much humor."

"In that we Arryns and Starks have in common." Jasper smiled nervously.

Lord Starks frozen face softened. "Forgive me, it's been many years since I've dealt with southern courtesies." Lord Stark put his hand on his shoulder. "Your father was much the same." He squeezed. "Always tried to instill such into Robert and me both." Few men said he was like his father. He looked more Tully than Arryn and he felt a touch of pride.

"Thank you, uncle."

And when Aunt Catelyn suggested they eat, he agreed. It would be rude to refuse her.

He took small deliberate bites, never eating too much, and quickly dabbed away with a white cloth. "I hope Robb has proved a useful guide for your stay in Winterfell." Aunt Catelyn said warmly.

"Match for Lord Jasper!" The Stark Master of Arms voice echoed across the courtyard. Stark and Arryn men had watched with great interest as the Heir of Winterfell and Lord of the Eyrie jousted in the courtyard. His guard had let out a cheer at his victory while the Starks grumbled. He crushed him with the first tilt this time! Three to nothing! House Arryn soars ever higher! How he dominated him and showcased his skills! Normally, he would be modest and chivalrous, but he was his cousin and he could rub it in! We are having a grand time!

Lord Robb lay on the ground grimacing in pain or embarrassment. He couldn't decide which. Jasper dismounted from Arrow with complete grace. He was in his element here. Rules demanded he offer his hand. "Well met," He said as the Greyjoy boy sneered in the distance.

"I thought I had you that time."

"Of course you didn't! I've won tourneys unlike yourself!" And Jasper expected a barb back and hoped for it like brothers in the songs and they would laugh and maybe they could go on a fine hunt in the Wolfswood.

Bright Tully eyes stared at him, blinking in disbelief before putting on a forced smile. Forced smile? He almost wanted to gawk at him. "Well, Lord Arryn." Putting some emphasis behind his title, which tore at him. "How about we try swords next?" With some heat.

"Tell him Stark." Theon Greyjoy crossed his arms in agreement.

Jasper stiffened at the tone. "Well, I'm better than you! That's how it is Stark! I've done more than you! Maybe after a lot of practice, you could do better." A lot of practice. He was a terrible jouster, and that made sense there were no tourneys in the North. Why was he treating him so poorly? They were cousins, and he was trying to make him like him. He wasn't treating him like a vassal with false modesty.

"Excuse me?" Cousin Robb growled.

"Did I stammer?" Jasper said curtly as his cheeks grew flushed.

"We've had enough of your shit, Arryn!" Greyjoy remarked.

Those from the Iron Islands were not worthy of the title of Lord, and Jasper rolled his eyes at his tone. He looked him over from head to toe. "Brave words from a mere Greyjoy." All Ironborn were cowards at heart, put them against any true knight and they always broke and Theon Greyjoy had not impressed him a lick.

"I'm not afraid of the likes of you." Lord Theon laughed. "You won't last a moment against myself."

"You said similarly about jousting."

The image of Lord Theon falling to the ground, arms flailing, was terribly satisfying. Mainly the disbelief followed by the cursing. Jasper knew it was unlordly, but it pleased him putting an Ironborn in their place. Raiders, slavers, and cowards of little honor. At that, Greyjoy closed the distance between them. "You little shit! Forget it Robb, I'm going to settle this here and now with him! "

It was not going how he wanted it to go, and it made him deeply bitter.

Jasper gave a disinterested look to mask his disappointment. "I suppose we are done for the day. I have to meet with His Grace at any rate. I'm fostering his son Prince Tommen in the Eyrie."

Theon smirked. "See, I told you he's a craven."

"Word of advice, Lord Theon don't be so eager to march to defeat." Jasper said haughtily. "Like father like son, I suppose."

With that, he twisted away. Lord Theon lunged at him like the animal in lords clothing. Cousin Robb held him back. Those two had a strange friendship, especially given he was hostage. The Starks were strange like that. They even treated a bastard, a stain on his aunts honor like some trueborn. With any luck, they would not cross paths, otherwise honor would demand he treat him like the stain he was. And that was not a pleasing thought. Jasper continued to give the proper courtesy and offered light nods to Cousin Robb and the Greyjoy boy, and he thanked Ser Rodrick for hosting the affair. It was well done. Even an Andal Master of Arms could scarcely have done better.

Jasper nodded in agreement. "Yes, he's been most helpful and able. You must be very proud." Yet, Jasper despaired over how things had gone. What was he doing wrong? Why were the Starks so queer did Aunt Catelyn drop them on the head? Or maybe he spent too much time alone in the Eyrie. Jasper felt hopeless. Maybe he should go back to the High as Honor rules. No matter how lonely it made him feel. He didn't really understand what he was doing. Were there some rules he was missing out on? He was trying to be playful with Cousin Robb. Why was he being such a sore loser? In the Gates of the Moon, he spent his training around the men his Grand Uncle selected for him. Septons, maesters, and soldiers. He spent little time around boys his own age. Isn't that how you were supposed to act? When he was at tourneys, he saw brothers acting like that to one another or friends. It was embarrassing, it was embarrassing trying. He was probably just overthinking it and overreacting like his blackfish always told him he did. I'm doing great! Everything is fine! Fake it until you make it. He knows we are just japing around.

"Ser Rodrick tells me you did well with the lance." Lord Stark said,

"Lord Theon performed admirably." He deflected. "And your son has shown great improvement. In a few years he would give the best a run for their money!" It wouldn't do to lie to his uncle and aunt, but he didn't wish to speak the truth either. It was just a small fib.

Jasper saw a small glistening of pride in Lady Stark. "He has Stark blood. A fierce thing." For all the Starks claims at being unfamiliar with southern courtesy, they followed it nearly perfectly. The first few minutes they talked about family and inconsequential things. The Stark family was a good and noble one. Only to turn to politics as servants cleared plates.

"Speaking of the South." Jasper said with a smile. "Congratulations on your appointment as Hand of the King." He took a bite of dessert.

Lord Stark's gray eyes flashed with surprise. "How did you know? His Grace has not announced it."

Jasper lowered his spoon. "His Grace bragged of such to any whom would listen."

"Then you know my daughter Sansa is betrothed to Prince Joffrey."

Jaspers faltered briefly. A Stark for a Queen… That was very bold of his Grace. The Handship and future Queen for House Stark. If the Gods were good, Prince Joffrey would never sit on the Iron Throne. A long betrothal between Cousin Sansa and Prince Joffrey would suit him just fine. It would be more easily undone. Arryn. Tully. Stark. The alliance that won King Robert his throne had to be shored up properly. King Robert meant to bind the Iron Throne with the Starks of Winterfell through marriage. He would bind them with a fostering. And the trout swims away from both of them. Jasper wished to send Robert to Riverrun to foster, but he needed to secure the Vale. Harry the Heir was ever a threat. A dagger poised straight at his heart. Runestone was the only correct choice. Both he and Robert would have to marry in the Vale. Ysilla Royce would be the safe choice. All the plotting of fosterings and marriages made him feel like an old man of fifty name days. This was not something a boy like himself should think of, but he was the Lord of the Eyrie and he would make due.

"Lady Sansa shall make for a fair queen." Jasper acknowledged. "However, I wish to rectify a grand injustice with House Stark."

His aunt made a small choking sound. "Injustice?" She exchanged looks with her husband, whom looked just as worried.

"Yes, we have no Starks in the Eyrie these days." He tried to quip. He had worked on them the entire journey. Somehow, it still sounded stilted. "Mayhaps young Bran could remedy such? His Grace has already agreed to foster Prince Tommen with myself as a page."

"The Eyrie is a noble home." Lord Stark said wistfully. "I have many fond memories of such." His hands entangled with his wife. "I would love to send Bran, but I promised my lady wife that he would with me in Kings landing."

"I feel more comfortable that my children are with family." Aunt Catelyn said tactfully,

Jasper nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "Think nothing of it, my lord. Vows are important. I understand such." You should have made more plans, father. They were faltering behind everyone else.

"But you are our nephew, mayhaps Bran could serve you as a page or squire." His aunt offered, and Jasper could have kissed her for her shrewdness. "Yes, I would certainly find that agreeable. I swear I'll be a noble liege for him to learn knighthood and lordship. I shall work him until he becomes the finest sword in all the North. I-"

Lord Stark chuckled. "Easy nephew. I agree you need not convince me. No doubt Bran will be thrilled."

"Excellent!" Jasper grinned briefly before his lordly facade took over. "However, uncle, I would be remiss in my duty as a Lord of the Eyrie if I did not offer our new Hand of the King some advice and counsel. I know I'm young." He admitted. "But honor demands it all the same."

"And what advice would you give me, nephew?"

"Clean house." Jasper darkened. "You must clean the court of Lannister influence. Sack their lackeys from their positions of power. Ride south with your most trusted vassals and their retinues. You need men you can trust in the capital; it was my father's greatest failing. He tried to placate and conciliate House Lannister. Peace was his aim, but at what cost, my lord?"

Lord Stark was silent. "Jon desired peace." He said. "With peace would come justice."

He grumbled. "You can't have peace with dishonorable lions. They have claimed more than they require and still are not appeased. They are always hungry for power and influence. Only a show of strength will deter them. This peace is false and shall end with fire and steel if we don't act."

When he looked up, Lord Starks face was frozen, and his aunt studied him. "Lord Tywin Lannister would not reply kindly to such." She said and shuddered. "And he is not a man to provoke needlessly."

Jasper scoffed. "It's a farce. Casterly Rock stands alone, my lady. Fear their only weapon. No Great House stands with them. Storms End lies with Highgarden. Riverrun. Eyrie. Winterfell stand together. Dorne is no friend of House Lannister and the Greyjoys are irrelevant opportunists of little worth. Nay." Jasper declared with the certainty of youth. "House Lannister is a paper lion. We only need the resolve to face them."

"This oversteps my authority as Hand. Robert-"

"Needs you to act. The Realm needs you to act." Jasper interrupted. "Don't you see Lord Stark? Only you can do it. You're the last chance for an honorable and peaceful realm." He had to make him see the truth. "You are the Kings closest friend. He'll listen to you. He desperately needs you. Anyone can see that. You were all he spoke off from the Neck up. Make the demands and they'll be granted."

Lord Stark shook his head. "You would have me abuse my friendship with Robert?"

"For his own good." He said, tensing at the insinuation of dishonor, and took a breath to calm himself.

"You would have me behave like the Lannisters. Stack the court with my men. Seek honors like a bloodhound." Lord Stark voiced with unease.

Jasper nodded. "No." His voice quieted. "I don't want you to stack the court with only men of the North." He chuckled. "I'd wish you to add men from the Riverlands and Vale as well. Three is better than one, you know."

"Mayhaps you should consider his words, Ned." Aunt Catelyn said. "They have some merit and it would make you and the girls safer."

"In fact, I'll even lend you my Blackfish. I think he'd make a fine Commander of the City Watch, don't you?"

A thick silence held between them as Lord Stark and Lady Stark shared a troubling look. "He needs to know Cat."

"Not that Ned! Gods, he's barely a man." Aunt Catelyn said, thick with doubt.

Jasper hardened. "I'm the Lord of the of Eyrie, and Warden of the East." He declared with his lordly voice. "I know you northman say I'm a green boy." That pisses grass, Jasper thought, but that was hardly appropriate for a lady to hear. "But I know of honor and duty. I'm an Arryn through my father." His hand was turning white from grasping the silverware. "And I have Tully blood in these veins. I know the words 'Family, Duty, Honor' And the Starks of Winterfell are my kin." He dipped his head. "I know we aren't terribly close…" His voice trailed at that regret. "But I'm more than willing to defend them with steel or words."

Lady Stark nodded with approval. "Tell him Ned."

Every word from Lord Stark had his cheeks turning a brighter red. Hot with embarrassment. Even half a world his mother was causing him grief and headaches. "Did Jon Arryn mention anything of Lannister threats?" He asked.

"Nothing." Jasper said. "My father mentioned nothing." He darkened. "I'm terribly sorry, my mother spoke this madness to you."

Lord Stark raised a brow.

"You don't believe your mother?" Aunt Catelyn said, exasperated. "Something utterly terrified Lysa nephew."

He rubbed his temples. "I know." He frowned. "I wanted to believe her truly. Everything would be easier believing my father had a killer, someone to avenge, but you didn't see her eyes, my lady." Jasper recalled those pits of grief. "She is not well."

"Why are you so certain?" Lord Stark asked gently. "Robert tells me that Jon was well and hale a night before."

"Tis true it was quick." Jasper admitted with a practiced, pained look. "Otherwise, I would have been at his side like a dutiful son. Not in the Eyrie hearing disputes between vassals." He brushed his hair back and shoved his feelings into a chest and buried that chest in the ground.

"Some sickness are quick."

Aunt Catelyn gave him a look of sympathy. "Mayhaps, nephew. But why would she blame the Lannisters unless she had proof?" And those words cut deep. He had thought similarly once. I was a fool for listening.

"Just trust my words to be honest." Jasper said, far too brusquely.

Please, just let it rest.

"I'm sorry for troubling you." Lord Stark said. "But we need to know the truth. I'm aware the Lannisters are no stranger to dishonor, and your mother was a Tully of Riverrun. I struggle to see why she would go through this trouble. Secret letters in the night." Lord Stark grimaced at the thought of courtly intrigue.

"We have your best interests at heart." Aunt Catelyn reached out for him. He batted her hand away.

"You understand not." And he winced at his poor manners. He bit his tongue until blood flowed.

"Nephew," Lord Stark said somberly. "That was ill done."

"It's alright Ned."

"No, it isn't." Jasper confessed. "I'm deeply ashamed." He rose from his seat. "I wish to speak the truth, but I must safeguard my mother's honor. One moment of dishonor should not define her." As if it was only one.

Lord Stark said coldly. "I swear by the honor of House Stark I mean your mother no ill will." And Jasper wanted to trust him. All the stories told him that Lord Stark was the noble lord that could be trusted with anything and his reluctance to pressure King Robert out of love and loyalty touched him. No other lords could be as loyal or honorable. All men would jump at the power and Lord Stark seemed more troubled by it. That is what High as Honor looks like. Jasper thought. He lives and breathes with ease. Why doesn't it come easy to me? Why do I struggle with these words?

"And you Aunt Catelyn?"

She nodded her consent.

"Very well." Jasper conceded, taking his seat. "I promise on the honor of my father I speak truthfully." They gave him looks of encouragement. "I believed once as you did. I believed my mothers word to be truth." And he frowned at the memory. "How could I not? She was my mother and the Lannisters are an ambitious family." He scoffed. "I behave like a boy rather than a lord. I told her I was going to seek justice. I would not let such a crime stand."

"She reacted poorly?" Aunt Catelyn said perceptively.

"Tis an understatement."

"Well, she is a mother." She defended her sister. "Most mothers would not wish their sons to take such risks."

Jasper snorted. "That is not her crime. I would not fault her for that." He recalled the argument it still rung in his ears. The horrible things they said of the other. "I had informed her of my choice and she was deathly quiet, before ranting and raving about Lannister treachery. How I should hide like a coward." His voice dripped with disdain. "I commanded her to accept my choice, and she went into my brother's room." He faltered briefly. I was barely a lord. Jasper remembered. For barely a moon and he nearly failed.

Failed Robert and the Vale.

"He was kicking and screaming, as she dragged him to the Moon Door." He winced as the pain overcame him. "And she threatened too…" He refused to say the dishonor. "Thankfully, I convinced her otherwise."

"This is not Lysa." His aunt protested. "Surely you don't believe such Ned?"

Lord Stark said quietly. "Peace, Cat. The lad speaks the truth. It's too vile of a thing to lie over."

"Nor my mother." Jasper conceded. "But she did it all the same. You must understand, that was not my mother. She doesn't know what she says. I hope her time in Riverrun will prove just and she regains her sense."

Silence held thick between them. For what could they say after that? "My lord, I mislike House Lannister, but I know in my mind they didn't kill my father. I hope you believe me honest."

"I do." Lord Stark said gravely. "And I look forward to working with you in helping Robert." Despite a sharp look, his aunt embraced him and said her farewells. He promised to escort Lady Arya to the Great Feast. A slender girl with a long face of a Stark.

Afterwards, when he was alone, his hand shook. I didn't speak the whole truth… The rambling voice of his mother echoed in his skull. When she dangled Robert over the Moondoor…

"Mother?" He asked as his brother wailed. "Release him this instant!"

A crazed look burned in her bright blue eyes as the winds from the moon door howled. "MOTHER! MOTHER! MOTHER!" Robert cried out.

"As my lord commands."

She tossed him out the Moon Door.

Robert screamed.

Jasper dove, scrapping his knees across hard floors and barely caught him. The momentum nearly taking him over the edge. Wind kissed his cheeks and Roberts tears were overflowing. "Hold on." He pleaded, trying to pull him up. "Hold on Robert. It's going to be alright." Mothers heel made contact with his stomach, and his grip loosened.

"I'd rather him die than become a plaything of Royce." Mothers voice cracked like a whip. "Now let him go! Let him go!" Something cracked when she struck him.

"Mother." He whimpered. Robert was slipping…

Stop thinking about it. Jasper commanded.

Robert is safe. And she'll never harm either of you again. Instead, he thought of happy songs with kind mothers and noble fathers with smiles and laughter. Heroes beating the villains. Knights rescuing fair maidens in towers.

He navigated across the bailey and past the courtyard to the stables. He needed to see Arrow, to feel his sleek fur and gentle neighing. To brush him until he could think of nothing else. None of the stableboys were nearby his private stall. He had made it painfully clear that he wouldn't tolerate a soul near his beast. He trained him to whine when someone was with him that was not himself. Jasper unlocked the stall and was going to give whomever it was a piece of his mind. He was not having a good day.

A boy was with him. Defying him. A mere commoner with lowborn blood.

"You!" He snapped, seething. Jasper knew commoners were stupid, but this was incredible. How stupid are they? Don't they know rules I'm honor bound to follow? You best have a good excuse or I'll punish you for this disobedience. The boy stilled as he yanked him roughly. "What do you have to- " He expected it to be a stableboy, not the long face of a Stark.

"Cousin Arya?"

"Let me go!" Arya said, trying to squirm away. He released her awkwardly, and he beamed at the chance to make an acquaintance with her. "Oh, did you want to see my horse?" His voice became cheerful. "Arrow bow! A lady is here!" Arrow did as bid as he taught him and bowed his head. He loved teaching Arrow tricks. Horses were very intelligent and noble creatures.

"I don't care about your dumb horse! " She pouted her lips. "Your stupid for thinking that!" Her frozen face turned into a scowl. "And I'm not a lady!"

"But Arrow is great. He does a lot of tricks!" Jasper said quickly, trying to stave off disaster. It was the first thing that came to mind to win her over, and he wanted her to like him. "He answers yes or no, jumps on command, he whines if someone is in the pen when I approach. And a lot of other things! You can feed him!" He handed her a carrot. "Or I could take you for a ride!"

Jasper cringed. I'm begging with her like I'm a boy of eight.

Grey Stark eyes looked him over. "Huh? Does he really do all of that?" She asked curiously. Go on, master! Arrow said, his eyes filled with mirth. Jasper wanted to thank him, but Cousin Arya would think him strange if he did that. His eyes widened and his heart beat in his chest as loud as a drum as he babbled about horses. Jasper loved them and could talk about them for hours. "They can even sleep upright! Isn't that amazing? What other creature can sleep standing on its legs!" Jasper finally took a breath and his cheeks were as red as his hair by how childish he must sound. "And they have ten separate muscles in their ears." He thought she needed to know that. Cousin Arya looked at him strangely. It was a look he couldn't quite place, but she smiled. And smiling was good.

"That's interesting cousin." Arya said causally. "Do you know anything about direwolves?"

He shook his head. "Afraid not. Never thought I'd meet one, but they are majestic creatures." And he wondered how intelligent they were. According to legend, they were fierce and cunning true masters of the wild. Not even the polar bear or the shadowcats were their equal. One should respect such nobility.

"I named my Nymeria." She chimed.

"After the Dornish queen?" Jasper asked. "Really? Most girls would have chosen something more girly."

"Most girls are stupid!" Arya retorted fiercely.

Jasper snorted and stretched his collar. "Excuse me, that was unlordly."

Arya smirked. "Huh," she petted Arrow's mane. "Don't know why Robb thinks you're a piece of shit. Well, I guess I know why."

He bristled, as if someone had punched him in the gut. "Excuse me?" He snapped with steel. "Cousin Robb doesn't think of me like that." He crossed his arms and gave an icy look. What does Cousin Arya know, anyway? It was going well as rain. He regaled to him his accomplishments and showcased his martial skill and japed with him. She must have misinterpreted everything like a silly little girl. She didn't understand the rough nature of the courtyard.

Arrow bent his head, allowing his cousin to stroke his mane. "You make light of him in the courtyard and mocked him."

"But I was just horsing around." His voice deflated slightly. "It's what cousins do." He paused uncertainly. "I think anyway." Jasper's shoulders slouched.

"You don't know how to treat us, do you?"She rolled her eyes when he gave a sheepish smile. "I told Robb and Jon that, but they didn't believe me. They just think you're another southern prick."

Jasper leaned his head against the wood. Did he really think I'm some piece of shit? He wanted to groan. How was he going to fix this? You came on too strong. Apologize to him! Oh, and feed me more carrots! Arrow told him. And he was not going to feed him more carrots, it would make him fat, but Jasper supposed he should make amends to Cousin Robb. He wasn't trying to be some shit head.

"If only I knew what to do with you, Starks."

She rolled her eyes. "Gods," His cousin snorted. "That is quite stupid. You think far too much. It's really easy." She touched his shoulders. "Relax, you were fine talking about what you like." Her voice brightened." Just be more honest like that."

"I was being childish." Jasper remarked curtly. "I shouldn't even bother with you lot." It was too awkward and embarrassing. "I suppose it was stupid of me coming here and trying to make something fit together." He came too late to make it work, but he would apologize to Cousin Robb for any slights against him. "I'll just go back to what I normally do." Mindless courtesy and false modesty. "Don't worry, I'll apologize to your brother."

"I'll show you what to do." Cousin Arya promised.

He waved her off with a lords voice. "Tis unneeded, I'm fine." A sinister look formed on his cousin's face. What are you doing? Jasper watched her narrowing his eyes much like a perched falcon does, watching all the creatures underneath him.

He watched with horror as she stuck her hands in the straw and dung."Like this!" Dung and straw smeared all over his face. He glowered with a wroth look at his laughing cousin. Jasper didn't think he stuck his hand into the filth and flung it hard at his unexpecting cousin. It took her straight in the face. She stumbled back, wiping two slits where her eyes once lay and smirked.

"I agree. That made me feel better."

This is fun! Jasper thought happily.

When she flung another projectile, Jasper caught on pretty quick. Arrow neighed mirthfully in delight at the chaos. Soon Jasper was laughing loudly. "Gods, I feel like a boy! This is fun!"

"You still are one stupid!"

Smack! Wack! The stall erupted into a fury of shit and straw. He gave more than he got. "I thought Starks were supposed to be fierce, cousin! Is this the best you got?" He egged her on. Come on, throw it. Give me the best shot Ayra came out of her spot behind Arrow with a wolflike grin.

He flung his missile, ending with a great thud. "Hey unfair?!" It had him beaming like a fool.

"I'll give you a free shot." Jasper said with a mocking bow. Pointing towards his chin.

That wolflike grin faded. Arya's mouth stood agape, and she dropped her dung.

"Cousin, are you alright?" Jasper said, his laughter fading. He rushed to her side. "Arya," He took a knee. "do you need a maester?" Fool! Fool! Fool! Why was he playing such a childish game with her? She seemed to be fine despite an agape mouth. "Gods, whats the matter with you?"

Cousin Robb cleared his throat. "I believe I am the reason." And he stiffened at once. Trying and failing at a lordly look. It was laughable, everything covered in shit and straw. He looked like some stableboy than a Lord of the Eyrie. "Cousin Robb." Jasper said curtly. "I can explain."

How do I explain this?! He was in no fit place to apologize for his earlier acts.

"Oh, I can't wait." Robb said, crossing his arms with an annoyed look.

"Leave him alone, Robb." Arya protested loudly.

Arrow neighed loudly before eating some hay.

Jasper sighed. "It's well." He said, resigned to his faith. "A lord should know better than to hide a lady from her septa." Arya's eyes widened. "What that-"

"Is exactly what happened." Jasper declared finally. Worry not, cousin. I'll take the fall for this one. It was unlikely any ill would come to him. Worst thing, an apology to Lord Stark for the disturbance.

Robb raised a reddish brow. "Is that so?"

"Yes." He twisted over his tongue. "Tis what happened." Jasper ran a thumb over his breaches. Everyone in the Eyrie knew him to be a horrid liar. And Robb certainly didn't look convinced.

"Mother is looking for you." Robb said. "Fortunately, I've yet to find you." He winked, and Cousin Arya took the hint. She gave a cheeky smile and bolted out of the stables. Her departure left him alone with Lord Robb. (And Arrow) How I wish you were my brother, Jasper decided then. He had always wanted a brother like Robb. Someone whom loved all of his siblings and was even willing to lie for them. To protect them and their honor. Robb Stark appearance made it appear they could be brothers. Both favored the Tully line, and that tore at him, he thought so lowly of him.

I wish I could have been more like Robb

Jasper only had one sibling to protect, and he barely knew him. No doubt Robb Stark knew everything about his siblings. Hopes. Dreams. Ambitions.

"You're a shit liar, you know." Robb said.

"I am covered in it." Jasper said, laughing awkwardly. No doubt he looked absurd, with a stupid smile and a stiff back. Not to mention straw and dung in places he didn't wish to think of.

Robb laughed. "Don't feel too bad about getting roped in one of Aryas schemes." He softened his look. "It's given me many headaches and lectures." Robb brushed his fingers through his curls. "I'm surprised she managed with you though."

"Because I'm a piece of shit."

Robb had the grace to blush. "She mentioned that? Didn't she?" Jasper didn't even nod and Robb winced. "I said it in anger. I was simply was frustrated with how you defeated myself." He sighed. "Always prided myself as the best lance in the North!" I hope not. You weren't even average. And that made sense northman didn't have a strong jousting culture like in the Vale. But Jasper figured that would be ill said.

Jasper shook his head. "No, no, no." He waved him off. "I behaved poorly." He brought his hand through his hair, trying to get rid of the nerves that gripped him. "I guess if some lord came into my halls and showed off like that in front of my household, I wouldn't like him much." And he couldn't help but wince as he extended his hand forward. "I apologize cousin, I pray you can forgive me for being a shithead. It wasn't as High as honor of me."

Robb accepted it with strength. He yanked him forward as he patted him once awkwardly on the back and maybe Jasper hoped things would be alright. "Now," Robb said cheerfully. "I would ask you to come on a hunt in the Wolfwood on the morrow." He sniffed. "Granted, you smell halfway decent."

His nostrils recoiled at the thought. "After a bath," Jasper grimaced after a small whiff. "Maybe a dozen." And he felt very foolish for thinking this challenging. I think too much.

"Robb." Jasper said. "Could I ask you for a favor?"

"Name it." Robb said.

"Your brother Bran is to be my squire." Jasper said. "I wish to inform him myself. My ser, Brynden Tully, did likewise." Of all the days that had been one of the happiest. He hoped Cousin Bran would feel likewise.

Robb smiled. "Granted." He gave a puzzled look. "But why do you need myself?"

"Winterfell." Jasper said bluntly.

"Winterfell?"

"It's rather big." Jasper said, his cheeks flushed. "I'm always getting lost. I doubt I find young Bran before the feast." The greyish walls looked incredibly similar and from he knew of Brandon Stark, the boy was half squirrel always climbing the walls.

Robb gave a flash of understanding. "Very well Arryn," He said. "Now us do a favor and change." He offered his thanks and took a left. "Other way." Came Robbs amused voice.

Accursed halls.

After several baths, Jasper was finally a lord once more. He was prepared for the Feast in the Great Hall. Dressed with a cape lined with silver, and a finely stitched doublet of white. A golden broach of a gavel held it in place. It named him the Lord of the Eyrie. Jasper sniffed, and the baths had stripped any lingering smell of straw from him. The simple door of oak creaked open."My lord." Ser Egren bowed. "Lord Brandon of House Stark has arrived."

Jasper gave a small curt nod.

The boy held the auburn hair of his mother. He shifted nervously before him. "Lord Arryn," He babbled. "Robb, my brother wouldn't say to the reason." Those bright blue eyes refused to meet his. "I apologize if I have done something wrong." No doubt how he gets away with any mischief.

"You have done nothing ill." Jasper said, raising his hands to calm him. "Sit." He commanded with a lords voice.

Bran nodded reluctantly.

"I'm told you wish to be a knight. Is that accurate?"

"Yes!" Bran Stark beamed happily. "I wish to be named to the Kingsguard once day!" He launched from the chair. Jasper guessed, like every boy in the Seven Kingdoms, he could name the renowned knights of the Kingsguard. Ser Jaime Lannister. Or Ser Barristan the Bold. Jasper had once been the same.

"Then you know the best knights in the Realm. Name them the best one."

Bran bobbled his head with all the pride of a 12 year boy. "Jaime Lannister is amazing with a sword. Or Barristan the Bold, but I'm told he is rather old." Brans voice remained cheerful. "Ser Loras is brilliant and everyone thinks he'll make the Kingsguard one day. However, the greatest." He huffed with his little chest. "Must be my father. He beat Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning!"

"Remarkable." Jasper said dryly. "You forgot the greatest of them all."

Bran reddened." What?!" He snapped harshly. "I didn't forget anyone!"

Jaspers eyes narrowed. "Does the Blackfish not deserve such?"

His little cousin crumbled like a weakened castle. "Oh, I forgot about him." He begrudged before looking at him with wide, bright eyes. "Why are you inquiring about such?" He saw an intelligent glint in his eyes. The boy was bright and certainly would make for a fair squire.

"You are to be my squire." Jasper said. "I wish to compare heroes."

Disappointment was plain on Cousin Brans face. "Your squire?" He sounded dazed. "That's an honor." His eyes were looking down at his boots. An easy tell. He probably hoped for a kingsuard rather than himself.

Jasper chuckled. "All is well." He said. "I've won little renown, but don't forget the Blackfish is in my employ and if you do well." Bright Tully eyes widened like lemons. "He might even teach you a thing or two." Cousin Bran leapt from his seat. "I won't let you down. I promise Lord Arryn."

"No doubt." Jasper smile soured as his face froze. "But Bran." He lowered himself to his height, bending on one knee. "Your mother tells me you've been climbing. Is this true?"

Cousin Bran shifted before him, unable to lie, nor speak the truth.

"It is." Jasper answered with disapproval. "Such ends. Boys climb, but squires don't. You represent House Arryn and House Stark and I will not tolerate dishonor. Am I understood?"

"Yes." He said solemnly. "I swear it Lord Arryn."

He nodded and departed for a feast.

Chapter Text

Jasper drank another glass of wine, his third for the evening, and he shouldn't drink another drop less he actually gets drunk. Arryns don't get drunk. Unlike King Robert, whom had long surpassed that given how loud he was laughing and swaying in his seat. His behavior was shameful, grabbing serving girls in front of the queen and all of Winterfell. But the slight was not against House Arryn or the Vale so he held his tongue. If Lord Stark complains, I'll support him. Where does he put it all? Jasper wondered. Maybe his gut? And it was certainly bulging out. While His Grace was enjoying himself, he was tight and bothered with all the eyes following him. Everyone had to see him for the fraud he was. His skin paled from gripping the silverware too tightly. All the eyes and conversations he had to endure made him wish to bolt. When offered another glass he accepted, less he look out of place. The Northman were quite boisterous.

If only I could slip away.

He wanted to groan, but he knew better. Lords of the Eyrie didn't groan or bolt like cravens, they acted polite and formal with everyone. Jasper was seated across from Robb and next to Sansa. Cousin Sansa looked like a younger version of his aunt and her attention was focused only on Prince Joffrey, whom didn't even bother to look interested. He spoke sparingly and mainly ate his food in small, controlled bites. However, when Cousin Ayra flung a peach at Sansas dress that had him smiling as his cousin shrieked a high girlish scream. Why am I smiling? He wondered. That was improper and unbecoming of a lady. Is this what being around family feels like? It filled him with an odd sense of dread, as he wanted desperately for it to be true. How he always wanted a family like the songs!

Aunt Catelyn gave a pleading look, and Robb slid his chair back. "To bed for you." He said, picking up Cousin Arya, a smirk etched on her face.

Jasper winked.

That extra glass of wine was helping himself as the music blared and people danced some northern dances. Jasper knew they required a show just like his vassals always required a show. He offered Princess Myrcella the first dance. He had given his word, and he honored it. She was quite the dancer. Shy, he supposed, and there seemed to be something on her lips, but she didn't say it. He switched partners to some of the Queen's Ladies in waiting. Ladies from the Westerlands and the Crownlands. He offered them kind words, and they seemed to walk away, fooled and satisfied by the Lord Arryn act. When he finished with a rather clumsy lady, he twisted his gaze to Lady Jeyne Poole. A petty noblewoman, and of no great consequence, but Cousin Sansa had mentioned she desired a dance from him and he considered it proper form to perform. "My lady." He dipped his head every so lightly and extended his hand forward. "May I have the honor of a dance?"

Jeyne Poole giggled out a response, and he took it for a yes, as he lead her out onto the dance floor. "You are most dashing, my lord." She praised as they swayed to the music. "Very handsome."

"And you are as stunning as the dawn." He winked. "Cousin Sansa has spoken highly of you." He offered a fake dazzling smile.

It was the wrong thing to do as her cheeks became bright red and she stumbled in her heels and ripped her dress. A look of mortification spread across her face as tears formed. "I…" His eyes widened lightly and breached the gap between them. Poor woman, I understand embarrassment. I would have been as red as my hair if I ripped my breaches.

Jasper gave a smaller, more honest smile. "It's fine, my lady." And wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. "Tis my fault. You were a fine dancer." He kissed the back of her hand. "Don't be embarrassed. The fault is mine and mine alone."

She nodded her head. "Thank you." She said as she left the feast white as a sheet.

He felt terrible for it. I'll have to make sure she gets a new dress. He mused. It was beyond dishonorable to have caused a woman such panic, and he needed another drink to steady his nerves as he felt all the eyes on him. It didn't go according to plan. He rubbed his pant legs as he returned to his seat. Cousin Robb was gazing at him with a strange look that he couldn't quite place. He understood Robb was plastered, but the look was unfamiliar. "Are you done already? The night is still young."

"I think so Stark." His eyes narrowed lightly as he kept up that look. "I think I'll leave them to you and gods help them Greyjoy."

Robb rolled his eyes as he patted him on the back. It made him stiffen. "You, shouldn't call it quits after one terrible dance." He gave a wolfish grin. "Wouldn't you agree Sansa?"

"Hmm?" Lady Sansa's cheeks flushed as bright as their auburn hair as her dreamy look crumbled. Prince Joffrey was entertaining a crowd of Lannister men with a brilliant smile. "Oh," she said. "I agree with my brother, Lord Arryn. You should try to enjoy the night. Oh, I know this must be tiny from what you are use too." Biting her lower lip. "Maybe you should ask a lady to dance?"

"Oh, he tried that." Robb said. "He danced with Poole and he needs to get back on the saddle."

She blinked. "Oh." She said, surprised. "I didn't see that."

And Jasper didn't find that hard to believe. They were right. He needed to keep up the accursed performance like a true lord. No one had turned to leave and neither could he. I can't be the first one to leave, no matter how I wish it. He stood, hand extended. "Would you care to dance Lady Sansa of House Stark?" His voice was laced with formality and courtesy. "I'm sure your betrothed won't mind."

"I would love that, my lord."

It was a good move to dance with her. Let us show Arryn and Stark remain close. They swayed and turned to some soft tune. Cousin Sansa was a fair dancer. She would do well in the king's court. He was adequate, but derived no joy or peace from dancing. He was just one mistake away from embarrassment and all the eyes bothered him. "You'll love the balls of the south and the tourneys." He told her. "They are grand and filled with all the pageantry and chivalry of the south."

She squealed happily. "That sounds truly wondrous. I can't wait to witness such valor!" He spun her. "Would you participate in a tourney?"

"I've gone to a few, none in Kings Landing, though." He said. "But everyone knows King Robert loves throwing festivities."

"Well, I think you should." She told him, smiling." Don't you have some lady you wish to impress or Crown your Queen of Love and Beauty? I hope my golden lion wins me a crown." His cousin was very sweet and would make any man very happy. In the distance, he saw Robb twirling with Princess Myrcella.

Jasper shook his head. "Not yet. I fear I'm consumed by more martial pursuits to have courted any lady of noble birth. " He imagined the happiness he wished to claim, but could never muster up the courage to seize. Life could be like a song, right? But it wasn't true. He was just going to hurt himself again.

"Well, I'll pray for you, cousin. I know life can just be as lovely as a song!" She said, completely lost her head in the clouds and Jasper feared for her. The heart is fragile, he wished to say. You must guard yours, my lady. Man is cruel. But he said none of those things.

"And you are lovelier than any song, dear cousin." He smiled. "You'll knock the lords dead. Prince Joffrey is a lucky man."

Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you, my lord." Thankfully, she reacted better than Poole and didn't stumble. I don't think I could handle it happening twice in one evening. They twirled some more, but it had made the statement to the gathered lords and ladies that Stark and Arryn remained united. The Starks are by the kings side. I must be by them. He kissed the back of her hand and retreated to the table and saw a couple Northman leaving the Great Hall. My torment will soon be at an end. He managed a few steps before being ambushed by the blond princess whom snuck up on him like a faceless man.

"Ah, Lord Arryn." She said, giving a light curtsey. "I intend to collect another dance from you." She wore a kind expression. "Unless I've arrived too late. I wouldn't wish you any discomfort." He needed air and space to be away from the eyes and talking, but it would be in poor taste to refuse. A princess deserved a proper amount of respect, and he was fine. I'm an Arryn. I can get through just one more accursed dance. It wouldn't kill him. Yet it irked him he was being entrapped to it.

"It's no bother." He said, offering his hand. "But I must confess, I think I'm not nearly as dashing as cousin Robb. I fear you'll be disappointed."

"Mayhaps, you'll be disappointed. I doubt I'm Lady Sansa's equal."

Jasper paused long and awkwardly, uncertain on how to reply before giving a default lordly nod. He then led her in a dance, hands on her waist, trying to hide the growing irritation at playing this gallant lord. Do they understand how taxing this is? He kept a fake smile on his face, trying to be this Lord Arryn everyone needed. Courteous. Chivalrous. Gallant. Perfect. She pulled away, annoyed. " You're tired. Don't lie. I can see the truth." Her green eyes sparkled, and she seemed to peel away the lordly shield he wore so well. The wine had weakened it, and the duration of the feast had gone on longer than he expected, making his attempts to master his annoyance challenging.

He winced. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, then." But he reached out for her hands. "Though it matters little. I mind not a little discomfort to keep my word."

"Does your word mean that much to you?"

"As High as Honor princess."

"Then will you give me your word that my brother will be safe with you?"

Jasper nodded. He finally understood what this was all about and, for a moment, his irritation eased. "On my honor as an Arryn. I'd give my life for Prince Tommen. You have little to fear." He pulled away and smiled. "Now," His voice showed more life, knowing his night was almost done. "Lets get you a truly dashing lord to spend the evening with. My cousin Robb should serve, I think."

The princess blushed. "I'm sure Lord Robb is bored with me." Her voice chided playfully. " And don't dismiss your talents. You were fine, my lord. You didn't step on my toes."

"Ah, the princess speaks honestly fine, not great." Jasper said, amused.

Princess Myrcella protested.

"Your too kind, princess." Jasper waved Robb over and gave him his last responsibility for the evening. A few souls were already departing, and he felt he could leave without breaking some social rule. I've spoken to everyone needed, and I can slip away. Maybe I could sneak in a midnight ride? Jasper maneuvered his way through the drunken crowd of knights and northman dancing and jesting. Flames of the braziers danced in the background. The doors loomed in front of him and, for the first time, Jasper felt the weights leave his chest and a blanket of peace wrap around him.

And then the tankard of ale spilled all over him, ripping that feeling of comfort to shreds. He scarcely heard the server apologize.

Jasper glowered as all the accursed eyes turned to him and the cause was right infront of him. The stain of his aunts honor had done this. Any sympathy in his heart vanished. Something snapped in his chest at the intentional humiliation. "Bastard." He spat with venom, and the bastard known as Jon Snow turned around. Eyes watery as if he were the victim and not the villain. "Are you crying bastard?" He mocked. " You should. You're nothing but a wretched stain of dishonor! A shame on your lord fathers honorable- "

The fist that struck was heavy as iron. Jasper stumbled back. His vision blurred, and he remembered little else save lunging forward. It took Ser Brynden, and several Stark and Arryn guardsmen to pull them off each other. Jon Snow sported an ugly black eye, while Jasper's nose was broken, and they had more bruises than could be counted.

"You wish to fight, bastard?" Jasper yelled. "I'll teach you honor, I'll teach it to you, damn it! I challenge you to a duel of honor! I shall have satisfaction!"

"And I'll answer it." Jon Snow said with defiance that had his blood boiling.

"Courtyard." Jasper shouted out. "On the morrow."

"Courtyard." The bastard agreed.

And with that Jasper shrugged off Ser Bryndens hand and stormed off to his quarters too furious for words. He slammed the door behind him and ordered no one to disturb him. Not that anyone could stop the Blackfish when he decided on a course of action. I don't need that stern look to know I erred.

"Look, I know I messed up." He said as he paced around the room before settling down on a chair. "I know I'm an idiot. What was I thinking? Challenging the bastard to a duel?" He scoffed. "Even in victory I lose." Lord Stark cared about that fucking bastard, it seemed, and this duel would just cause division when they needed a united front to handle the Lannister influence at court. Hot-headed youths did things like this. Not Lords of the Eyrie. Did father ever do something so reckless?

"I panicked all those eyes on me, looking for my response." He shrugged. "I just reacted." Fury ignited like an inferno, burning everything in its path as his hands twisted into fists. "I'm a dumb fool. I can't back out now, I have to fight." Still, Ser Brynden said nothing, giving a look of total disinterest. Not even the slightest appearance of disapproval. Somehow that hurt Jasper more.

"Well, say something, will you!"

"Your doing a good enough job of beating yourself up." He snorted. "Nephew, you are a lord. Clean up your own damn mess." He chuckled. "And this is a fine mess you've made."

Jasper sunk further into the chair.

"Bastard is good too. I've seen him fight." Ser Brynden stroked his beard. "He's quick and strong and is a natural with a sword."

Defeat? Jasper blinked. Such a thought had never really crossed his mind. Losing to the stain of his aunts honor had him hot and bothered. He shot up. "Well, I won't lose." He declared. "Help me. I can't lose to him."

"I don't think it can be done."

"I need to win." Otherwise he would be a mockery. A jape in the Kings Court and nothing was more important than his reputation as an Arryn. Self-doubt transformed into defiance and he glowered. "Who does that bastard think he is? Associating with his betters like some trueborn." He said, thinking of bastards as dark as sin plotting to take away his cousins birthright. That's all this Jon Snow was a threat in the dark. Some creature of dishonor that pretended to be good and decent. Just like Harry the Heir, a treacherous snake in the grass. Always plotting, biding his time to seize what didn't belong to him. The plain face of Jon Snow became the handsome blond bastard in his mind. A sneer formed at the memory. Harry's smirk standing over him was something he would never forget as he laughed. He's unworthy of the name Arryn.

"I'll teach him a lesson he'll never forget." Battered and broken on the courtyard yielding to a true lord of the realm.

As High as Honor

The blow struck him fiercely, sending him stumbling back into the chair. " What?" He snapped, eyes blazing. "I'M YOUR LORD! HOW-" Another blow to his head that would bruise by morning had him seeing stars.

"Quiet boy."

"Grand-Uncle?" He scowled in disbelief.

"I did not teach you to be some high little shit." Grabbing him by his collar. "Start acting like the lord I know you are."

Jasper reddened. "He's a bastard. A shame to your niece!"

"And he's going to kick your ass. Get over it."

Get over it? Jasper thought. "You mock me so freely?" His voice soured. "If I lose, then so be it. I'll lose with more honor than he'll ever know in his life."

"And that sneer, boy? Was that honorable?"

Jasper flinched. "I-" How could he defend that? That wasn't as High as Honor. His shoulders slouched, and he felt like a little boy being chided. Boulders were on his chest, and his throat tightened. "I'm trying…" His voice was filled with disappointment. "These expectations of me are overwhelming and I have no one to help me." A loud sigh. "I suppose that isn't an excuse…"

"Afraid not."

He lowered his head and felt shame.

If I lose, will people whisper that Harry should be Lord of the Eyrie?

"Your not alone nephew." Ser Brynden gripped his right shoulder. "I'm here."

Jasper smiled weakly. "I fear even the Blackfish can't help right my mistakes."

"Piss on that." He snorted. "Show some gull. There have been worse lords than you. Many better ones too. I've seen both. Good and terrible. Just do better. Be better. Win or lose on the morrow, show courage and that's all a lord can do."

Jasper steadied. "I promise. I'll try."

The next day, two of his squires fastened his suits of armor: the lanky Jon Waynwood, and Adrian Belmore, and handed him a dull tourney sword. Young Bran Stark was in the gallery with what seemed like was everyone from Winterfell and King Roberts party. It would have been cruel to make Bran squire for this. They had assembled a makeshift throne for King Robert, whom sat surrounded by three of his Kingsguard dressed in white plate. Prince Joffrey at his right side with a sneer on his face that nearly made Jasper glower at the prince while Lady Sansa, his betrothed, was by his side. She wore a simple northern dress as icy as winter, but they styled her hair like a woman from the south. Polite and attentive, her tully like eyes were devoted to Prince Joffrey. There were the Queen and her Lannisters brothers: Lord Tyrion and Ser Jamie. Of the royal family, only Princess Myrcella gave him a small smile that was genuine. Prince Tommen nervously gave him his shield. The flying falcon was painted on the wood. The symbol of House Arryn.

He ruffled his hair. "Thank you, my prince."

Prince Tommen smiled timidly.

The Stark family gazed at him with cold, stoic eyes. Robb, by Lord Starks side was distant. The cold face of Lord Stark seemed solemn and disappointed by everything. Ayra was staring at him with venomous daggers, and that stung more than he thought it would. Rickon seemed confused, and Bran was conflicted. Only Aunt Catelyn shot him a look of encouragement.

At least she understands what I'm doing.

,In front of him Jasper saw him dressed not even in the colors of House Stark for he had no right to wear such. The armor was unornate in simple northern fashion. Jasper's anger grew just at the sight of him. He fought to keep a sneer off his face, trying to keep to his Arryn ideals.

They both approached the center. "Are you ready, Lord Arryn?" the bastard asked him. A hint of anger on that plain face.

"Naturally," Jasper said, eyes narrowing. Any regret for this challenge vanished at how he walked with such cockiness. What did they see about him? Couldn't they see him for what he was. A spoiled, arrogant, ambitious bastard that didn't know his place. Just like Harry. Suddenly, his uncles words vanished from his mind. He wanted to win, and badly at that.

Ser Rodrick announced. "Both of you understand this is until honor has been settled."

They both nodded.

Jasper saluted to his grace, unlike the bastard whom just took a fighting stance.

Swords clashed, and Jasper quickly gave ground to the deliberate strikes. Powerful and quick Ser Brynden wasn't wrong despite his more slender frame he could place power behind his blows. The bastard was good. Very good. Sweat dripped along his brow as the crowd gasped with every exchange. Jon Snow matched him blow for blow. Jasper had a slight advantage in strength and could feel Snow finally give ground to him. Everything blurred save the figure in front of him, but even with his strongest blows he couldn't batter down his guard. A blow as quick as lightning struck his shoulder, and he bit his tongue in pain as their shields clashed shaking his frame. He pressed him back with a little less strength than before. I'm fading. Jasper knew he couldn't beat him by being a knight of the vale. The mere thought of defeat to him made his cheeks hot. I won't lose to him. He's a villain like Harry. Blades locked together, and he sent his left elbow flying and felt it crumple Snows face. Blood streamed, and he saw he was disoriented. This was the moment…sweep under the legs and then finish him off. And yet he didn't press it, it was too shameful. Grand Uncle Bryndens tricks were meant for actual fights on the field of battle. A duel of honor was no place for them. Oh Gods, I'm sorry Snow. I shouldn't have done that. And he wanted to tell him, but the words were stuck in his throat. Grey eyes burned as his blood flowed to the cold ground. The fight was over and they both knew it. Jon Snow's slash was a blur and caught him in the ribs before he could parry it. He stifled a yelp. Blood flowed from biting his tongue as his counter was parried to the side. Three more blows, and his sword flew, landing with a distinct thud. Jon Snow hammered at his shield until it shattered. Then he slammed him to the ground. Jasper's head was ringing like a bell. Dozens of Snows stood above him. "Yield?" All of them said his arm was raised as the world spun and darkened.

A younger boy with auburn hair swung his training sword and a taller blond boy parried it lazily and laughed. "Ah, a weak falcon just like your brother." Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fell to the ground with a savage kick. The tall boy smirked. "Will you die before him, I wonder?"

"That's unchivalrous Harry, I'm the heir of the Eyrie and you speak of my brother." The smaller boy said, crawling away from him. He was trying to hide his fear, but it was as plain as day. The small courtyard was abandoned only a few torches dimly lit. No one would intervene.

"I told you." His boot pressing against the boys hands. A loud cry of pain and the tears truly flooded down his cheeks. "You are a laughingstock. The weak, coddled son of Jon Arryn hiding constantly behind the skirts of women." The blond boy smirked. "That's why I'll be name heir. I don't look like the git of a trout." He paused and lifted his foot while the boy nursed his hand.

"I'll-I'll…" His voice trailed.

"You'll what? Cry to your mother? Shes not here. Complain to a father that never returns? I wonder why. I certainly wouldn't return with an heir like you."

Winterfell returned and the crowds shouting was louder than a drum. After that fight, he begged Ser Brynden to teach him how to fight. The next time they fought, he smashed him to the ground with satisfaction. He stifled a groan. I must have blacked out for a moment. Jon Snow was turned away from him as his aunt was shouting in the distance. A few feet away was his sword. For a moment he considered rolling for it and hitting him unaware. However, that wouldn't be as High as Honor and he had already shamed himself enough for one day. Ser Brynden would hardly approve of such a trick in only a duel of honor. It gnawed at him as he remarked. "I yield." He tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he removed the straps of his helm. The crowd quieted as it saw him stir. "I yield Ser Rodrick."

The Master of Arms announced the victory to the cheers of the Stark guardsman.

Jon Snow twisted around and his grey eyes glared at him. Go on, mock me. Laugh you've won the day. The bastard did none of that and offered his hand. By the Seven, why would he do that. What game was he playing? I did not behave honorably with you. Jaspers chest tightened and froze for a moment, studying the outreached hand like the dishonest action it had to be. He should accept it, but bitterness overwhelmed him and stood up on his own.

"Our quarrel is at an end. Good day Snow." Jasper said.

Jon Snow said nothing and gave a single nod.

The Starks hardly seemed concerned about him. They don't see you as family, you're stupid for thinking that.

"WHAT A FIGHT!" King Robert stood red faced, deep in his cups. "Your coming south with us, boy." The king declared, and Jasper stiffened before continuing his long walk to his squires. Tired. Bitter. He still glanced back. Jon Snow was a bastard from the north, but he went to his knees at the kings words." Arryn is good, but Gods, you remind me of myself! Tell me Kingslayer wasn't that fine swordsmanship!"

Ser Jamie replied, but Jasper couldn't hear it.

"I'm going to the wall your grace, with my Uncle Benjen." Jon Snow said.

"WHAT?" He snorted out the wine. "A black cloak? Nay, you are going to have the white. I won't have you freeze your cock off at the wall." The king twisted to Ser Jamie. "Barristan has no squire. He shall take the boy."

Words that infuriated the queen. Her icy face glowered. "My love," Her smile thin. "the boy is a bastard, and he so wishes to join his uncle at the wall."

"THE BOY IS COMING!"

And when king wishes something he gets it.

A slight flash of pain, as the stark maester slipped on one of his stitches. "Sorry my lord." He offered. Jasper gave a small nod of understanding. His mind was elsewhere anyway. Beyond the small amount of pain from his fall and the maesters stitches. None of his cousins visited him, and that hurt more than anything the bastard could do to him. Aunt Catelyn came and such was dutiful of her and he appreciated it, but he understood that once more he had chosen honor over happiness. If only he had never walked towards that door. Why did he always do this? As High as Honor came the bitter thought, and those words were as bitter as death. Jasper sighed and accepted the truth. Falcons soared alone, and that would be his faith. Coming to Winterfell was not a mistake, but trying to be Jasper with them was. To his cousins he would never be family, simply a stranger, and for too long he had been a lonely falcon. Maybe if he had come sooner, things would have been different? Now, he didn't even know how to be Jasper any longer. But when he flung dung in the stalls, he believed otherwise and it was a beautiful feeling, more beautiful than any song he had ever heard. Now, only the songs would remain to him, and he accepted that. Duty and honor were the only things an Arryn needed. Not Family. Not love. A few songs and dreams were enough for him.

I have my role to play. The Vale needs, Lord Arryn. Not Jasper.

"My lord, are you well?" the maester asked.

"Naturally, it was a minor wound." He smiled. "Thank you maester. Take care."

Chapter Text

A field of blue roses rotted before him as a wolf howled. "You promised me! You promised me Ned."

"I did." Ned whispered. "I kept it."

"Liar!" she wailed, and the wolves howled. A pack of them with fiery red eyes and he stumbled back as they circled him and lunged with teeth and claws. Ned lifted his arm up as an antlered stag gutted the wolves.

Ned closed his eyes, and when he opened them he saw the vaunted Iron Throne. "Dragonspawn!" Robert roared across the throne room, wearing the antlered helm of House Baratheon. Two crimson cloaks. Two babes that resided underneath. Ned winced.

"Robert, they were children."

"Not that one." He pointed with his war hammer and laughed. "Now Lyanna is avenged."

Maggots grew out of the stark like corpse, as crows pecked at his flesh, his grey eyes plucked clean. "Jon," He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as Robert laughed and laughed. "You thought you could hide the dragonspawn from me? What a fool you are Ned!"

Ned woke up hot and bothered. The nightmare had his heart racing like a horse. Oh, why did you have to want Jon to come south, Robert? He unentangled himself from the furs and Cat, whom still dreamed. He tied a robe around himself and opened the door to the balcony. Cool, brisk northern air kissed him. This is where I belong. Not in the South. If only Robert had never ventured up North. If only he could keep them all in Winterfell. Robb and Jon crossing swords in the training yard. Sansa and Arya quarreling with childish pranks. Bran climbing every nook and cranny of Winterfell. They were sweet days of Summer and Winter was Coming.

Starks didn't do well in the South. He thought of Lyanna as free as northern air and fierce as a northern blizzard, and Brandon as wild and crazed as a wolf. Both had never returned to Winterfell. Both had died young. Lyanna barely a woman grown. Now, he was expected to head south with Robert and his family into a den of Lannisters with Jon. Jon would be safer in Winterfell, not Kings Landing. Even the Wall would be better. An oath of a watchman would protect him. What if someone recognizes him in the capital? His nephew needed to know, but he couldn't tell him.

Once spoken, it couldn't be unspoken.

It would mean war. Dead children. Oaths broken.

Yet, he dare not rely upon the men of Roberts court to keep him safe from the kings wrath should it be uncovered. I need Stark men. Ned thought. Those that would heed his call to battle should that day come that Robert called for his head.

, For a long moment he stood thinking of these things as arms wrapped around him. "Come back to bed Ned." Cat said and when he stayed, she sighed. "How long have you been out here?"

"Not long enough."

"You know the king won't just leave if you hide out here."

"If only." Ned smiled and shook his head. "Gods, when did he get so fat?"

Cat chuckled and their fingers interlocked as she rested her head on his shoulder. She was as naked as her nameday and snuggled against him in the cold northern air. "I think I know what ails you." Seventeen years they had been married. Then they had been two youths doing their duty to win the war, yet those light blue Tully eyes he had grown to love. If anyone understood him completely, it was his dutiful wife.

Ned nodded and squeezed her hand. "Hows our nephew?" His voice softened thinking of Jon's son.

"As well as to be expected." She said. "He tries to handle his loss with grace, but it bothers him as it would any young lord." The duel was a fierce one, and it filled him with great grief watching them fight. Ned tried to forbid the fight, but Robert was enamored with the idea. "Let the lads fight." He said. "Gods know, I often did with my brothers and look at us now."

If only I had, Jon would be safe and not going into the vipers den.

"It's Snow isn't it?" Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled, surprising him. He pushed her a foot away, and the smile faded. "I know not why, though. The Kingsguard will knight the boy, and will probably take up the white cloak at the next opening. It's perfect Ned. It really is. He'll father no children and will be kept far away in the South. Away from Robbs children."

Ned rubbed his temples. How can she be so cruel to the boy? It always surprised him how much she hated him. You did this to them. If you only told her…

But that was a bridge he chose not to cross, and it was too late now.

She bristled at his displeasure, and he didn't wish to fight with her about it. Not when he was heading south with Robert. "It's not that Cat." He said defusing the tension between them.

"Then what Ned? Tell me."

"I spoke with Luwin about the kings court. Positions. Titles. Offices that need to be seized. Our nephew was right. I need men around me, I trust. I can't rely on the men around Robert." He remembered his dream and his voice turned to ice. "I'm not going South otherwise." Ned sighed loud and bothered as he rubbed his temples. "It's all vexing me, Cat, the favors and alliances. What position is best suited for who. And Gods, I have to include river lords and men of the vale. I scarcely have knowledge of either, and I'm meeting with Robert in the morning and he does not know." He finished tired. "I need to be prepared, Cat."

Cat gave him a sympathetic look. "My poor foolish husband." She chided. "You should have to come to me. I would have helped you with coming up with names of good men from the Riverlands, and my uncle can certainly give you some good advice for the Knights of the Vale."

Ned raised a brow. "Not our nephew?"

"Let the boy rest Ned."

And he nodded in agreement.

"My uncle is a night owl." Cat told him. "He'll be up. We'll send a servant to fetch him."

Ned looked at her from toes to head and raised his eyebrows with some humor. She blushed lightly. "Ned! Yes, I was going to get dressed, you silly man." He chuckled as he rubbed his chin and she swatted him playfully.

True enough, they didn't wait long for Ser Brynden to be ushered in. Gruff and austere. The man was a weathered solider and, despite the silver in his beard, still a formidable knight. "Little Cat." He said as they embraced a tender expression formed across his stern face. When they were finished, Ned offered him a nod.

"Tully." He said.

"Stark." Ser Brynden replied, as they shook hands and took their seats.

Some amusement flickered in his eyes. "Now, tell me what you could need an old man for? Dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night."

"You were already up, uncle." Cat said, chuckling. "And you are still young, as always."

"The kink in my neck says otherwise."

"I think Ser Rodrick would agree with my wife." Ned said dryly.

At that Ser Brynden lips twirled up slightly, and he gave a soldiers snort. "Maybe I still have a few tricks left in me." The amusement left his eyes as they became as hard as stone. "But the hour is late for the two of you. Tell me to what this is about."

And they told him. Told him of their proposal they intended to send to His Grace, and Ser Brynden nodded along. "Makes sense. The Lannisters seized too much and you want good men around you, but-" Anything before the word, but his horseshit. Ned thought. "I don't see why this concerns me."

"Uncle, we hoped you would provide us some names from the Vale." Cat said, her hands folded over her lap like a perfect southron lady.

Ser Bryndens eyes narrowed as tight as arrow slits. "And not Jasper?" His voice hardened, taking them both aback.

"The boy is young." Ned said. "Surely you understand that."

"We meant no slight towards our nephew." Cat added on.

That appeased Ser Brynden, whose shoulders relaxed with a sigh. "Aye. Jasper is young." He said. "Forgive me Cat, I know you meant nothing by it. I'm just defensive of the lad."

"There is nothing to forgive uncle." Cat said. "In fact, Jasper offered your service as Commander of the City Watch. Would you be willing to consider that?"

Now it was the Blackfishs turn to be taken aback. "Foolish boy." He grumbled. "I can't Cat. The boy needs me. He's young, as they say, and still has much to learn and despite his many good qualities, he still needs me by his side." Ser Brynden paused and lifted his hands up to soothe Cats concern. "He has the makings of a good Lord of the Vale, dutiful and knowledgeable of his vassals and mindful of Arryn tradition, but he's too impulsive, and acts rashly and harshly when angered. I fear he's made some enemies needlessly, but he'll learn given time I think."

Cats face cringed with alarm. "He's a very distant boy, isn't he?" Her voice lowered. "Is he truly well? How I wish he were raised amongst his cousins. I know not what Lysa was thinking."

Ned had seen the boy during his stay at Winterfell and he was so unlike Jon Arryn. Distant where Jon had been, warm and personable. Judgmental where Jon had been understanding. He shared his courtesy, and he saw hints of Jons kindness in the boy, or he would not have sent Bran to him, but they were few and fleeting like storms of summer snows. It always surprised him. How Jasper Arryn had turned out so differently from Jon was beyond him.

"I told Lysa this." He admitted. "But she would not listen. Nor would she let anyone be fostered in the Eyrie."

"And Jon went along with this?"

Ser Brynden nodded.

"That doesn't sound like Jon." Ned said in disbelief.

"Believe what you will. It's what happened."

Ned pondered this. Robert turned fat. Jon neglected his son and heir. How had this happened? He had no answer. Jon Arryn wasn't a negligent man, and Robert should be a peerless warrior. Had the Iron Throne, and the Handship changed both of them so? What would it do to him? He swallowed those ill feelings.

They turned to the business they had summoned Ser Brynden for. For the North They decided on Ser Tallhart, on Commander of the City Watch. Ser Brynden had suggested Lord Jason Mallister, but he wanted a Northman. Several officers from the Watch of White Harbor would be summoned under his command. Three hundred men of arms from the North. (Not including his one hundred guardsman as Hand) One Hundred from the Vale and Riverlands a piece. Five hundred men of the City Watch would be retired and given small plots of land in the Crownlands to maintain the Watch standing of 2000 men. Of the seven commanders of the gatehouses. Five would be off the North: Eddard Karstark, Arnolf Karstark, Ser Wendel Manderly, Mors Umber, Hother Umber. One of the Vale, Ser Vardis Egen. and one of the Riverlands, Ser Mooton. Each would be expected to bring a small household guard and retinue and given a position for them and their families should they wish it at court. Donnel Waynwood for Master of Arms. Albar Royce for Royal Huntsman. Ser Marq Grafton of Gulltown for Harbormaster with twenty-five sergeants from White Harbor and Gulltown to serve as custom officers. Warden of the Kingswood and Crackclaw Point would be offered too Ser Marq Piper and Ser Ronald Vance, respectively, with the twenty knights and wardens they would bring with them. Overall, they would collectively have seized two-thirds of all titles and offices for the North, Vale, and Riverlands. The Small Council would remain the same.

The North shall have the majority of swords and security with the Vale and Riverlands in charge of more courtly and trade positions in Roberts court.

If the Lannisters wished it to come to blows, they would have the upper hand in any fight for the capital. And if Robert discovers Jons secret, we would have enough swords to fight our way out. It would make Ned sleep more soundly, knowing his position in the capital was strong.

, With a quick farewell to Ser Brynden, he and Cat retired for the night. Ned dreamed of falling snow and howling wolves.

The next day Ned walked to the kings quarters, the sun well overhead them and thanking the Old Gods the Kingsguard on duty was not Ser Jamie. He wouldn't have to deal with his irksome quips. Ser Arys offered a nod. "Lord Stark." And peered his head through the door as Roberts voice boomed.

"LET NED IN YOU DAMN FOOL!"

Ned let himself in and gave a sad smile at the sight of his old friend. Kingship has not treated you well, Robert. Robert could barely fit in his doublet without sending buttons flying and it was barely midday and his breath was already thick with wine and beer. "Your grace." He said, giving a slight dip of his head.

"Ned, you bastard, don't just stand there!" Robert said with a wave of his hand. "And no your grace nonsense, you hear me! Or I'll have your head!" He japed.

"You may wish to Robert with what I've come to speak of." Ned said, as solemn as a statue.

Robert raised a brow, and his laughter ceased as his face darkened. "And what's that Ned?"

Ned handed him the parchment and watched the storm that was Robert unfold. At first, he looked in disbelief as he scanned over every word. The calm before the storm. "You can't be serious Ned!" He said, taking a long drink. "Seven Hells! This must be at least half of my court you wish to replace."

"Two-thirds." He corrected. "The price for my Handship."

"Now is not a time to develop a sense of humor Ned."

Ned didn't blink, and Robert scowled.

Robert paced, his face growing redder as he shook his head. "Ned, Ned, be reasonable about this." He pleaded. "I can't just replace this many. My wifes family would not be pleased."

"Then you must return south for I shall not be your Hand otherwise."

"Jon-"

"I'm not Jon, Robert." Ned said. "You told me you wanted me to rule your realm while you drank and whored your way to an early grave. I can't do that without men I trust."

When they were wards of Lord Arryn and Robert was told no, he would laugh, and try to cajole the answer to yes. Failing that, he would anger and start shouting and would try to back you down like a charging stag. After that, normally came a fist fight that would leave them bloody and smiling. Then acceptance and Robert agreeing with whatever was asked of him.

This time they skipped the fighting stage, as Robert knew he wouldn't hit back, and tossed the goblet of wine against the wall. "I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT NED! YOU HEAR ME! I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT!" And he overturned a table in his fury, causing a concerned Ser Arys to peer his head in. "OUT! THE HAND AND I ARE TALKING!"

Ser Arys fled like a ghost at the kings fury.

Robert jabbed a finger towards him with a simmering anger. "Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell, I command you to serve as my Hand."

"In this I must disobey Robert. I could not be a good hand to you without this." The words left his mouth, but he felt shame in asking this of his friend. It was dishonorable, courtly politics he liked little. This politics was something Lannisters partake in and thats how they had grown in power around Robert. He steeled himself. For Jon. For the Realm. And that was worth the price of this dishonor.

The fight left Roberts eyes as he took another large drink and sat down rubbing his temples, and laughed. "I'm surrounded by lannisters and their blond curls. Ha! Now, you'd have me be surrounded by wolves."

"You'll find wolves have better manners than lions." Ned offered a small smile.

Robert roared with laughter. "Gods help those poor bastards. It's the Hour of the Wolf come again."

Ned frowned. I'm not taking heads like Cregan.

"Alright, Ned. I can't accept every name on this list." He lifted his hand up to placate. "But you shall have the majority of my court, I promise you this." Robert poured a drink and shoved it into his hand. "Drink Ned. You owe me that much."

And Ned shoved the bitter beer down his throat as Robert leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Though Ned, why did you only ask two thirds of the court. Why not the whole damn thing?"

"That would not be honorable Robert." He said. "The Queens family deserves that much and your brothers as well." A nice middle of the road approach he favored as Lord of Winterfell. His nephew wanted him to seize the whole damn thing or as much as could be seized, but Jon believed we could placate them and he had to honor that. A stronger position gave him enough to keep Roberts peace. Why would they fight me when I had more men?

"Ah, Ned. You, honorable fool, how I missed you." Robert smiled and pinned the broach of the Hand on his chest. It was as heavy as a burden as the realm itself. I'm really leaving the North. My fate sealed. "Now that we have the matters of state covered, I want to kill something Ned. Gods, I want to kill one of these Northman bears. Ya coming?" He grinned like a boy.

Ned gave a chuckle. "Always Robert."

A Hand of the King always followed his King.

Chapter Text

Myrcella

Normally, the wagon wheels croaked along the dirt roads. A desperate squeal that made her ears bleed. It was agonizing how slow it was. The caravan of banners moved slowly: Starks, Arryns, Lannisters, and Baratheon traveled at a snail's pace. They would get a few hours of traveling before stopping. Father wished to go on some hunt. Or they stopped in some lordlings holdfast to feast. They had recently arrived at the Trident. Several weeks of traveling remained to them at this rate. Now, the wheels didn't move as father had gone on some bear hunt. In a few days, Lord Arryn and his wards would depart the party for the Eyrie.

I suppose it's better than the Red Keep.

Joffrey was more busy with his betrothed to pay her much mind and if Mother wasn't accompanying her, it would have been pleasant. Empty countryside and no one to please.

Poor girl. Myrcella thought sadly. Lady Sansa had gushed much about his gallantry, utterly blind to him. If she was braver, maybe she would have warned her more directly. But no matter her words, it was unlikely to change much. She's in love. And only Lady Sansa could shatter the delusion she had formed of her golden lion.

His heart is as dark as a villain.

Her bright green eyes gifted from her Lannister mother stared a bit too intently out the window. "And what are you thinking, I wonder?" The sweet voice of her mother chimed. "Surely you aren't thinking of that Stark boy?"

"No, mother." Myrcella said softly. "I was thinking of home." She tried to paint a picture of the red walls. Instead, it looked more like auburn curls. Her cheeks reddened at that. When they had danced in the Great Hall of Winterfell, it was truly magical. Bright blue pools and a handsome face made it easy for fondness. Her mother granted a sharp look. "Oh sweetling." Mother said. "Come here." She patted on the cushions next to her.

Myrcella did as bid.

Mother brought her in close like a lioness and her cub. Fingers graced her shoulder, feigning warmth. "My sweet daughter, you shouldn't set your sights so low as Robb Stark." Stroking a strand of her blond hair. "You deserve so much more. A princess deserves more than the Heir of Winterfell."

I wasn't thinking of Robb Stark.

"I know mother though he was a kind host." She said, nodding her head.

And mother gave a satisfied look as Myrcella held her silence before she dared to show some courage like a princess should. "And when shall I marry mother?" Her voice high and girlish. "Joff is marrying Lady Sansa. When shall father decide on my match for me?"

"Why the rush, my young cub?" Her smile was paper thin. The displeasure plain as day to her. "You are among family in the Red Keep. A marriage is a terrible thing, my little doe. The nature of men is terrible and rotten." As if your nature is any better. Myrcella thought. Though she wished otherwise. She wanted mother to truly love her as she did Joffrey, but such was nothing more than a dream. All of her love went to Joffrey and little was left over for the rest of them. They got the scraps of her affections like runts in a pride of lions they ate last.

Myrcella sighed. "Yes mother, you are wiser than I." she lied with a smile. "When are Lady Sansa and Lady Arya arriving again?" Another of mothers 'brilliant' plans. Why she thought the four of them in a wheelhouse together was a good idea was beyond her. Sansa Stark and Arya Stark were as different as two sisters could be, and putting them in this cramped wheelhouse was a recipe for disaster. They would quarrel like cats and dogs, but she guessed that was the intention. I suppose I know after all she would be caught in between them as mother played her game. If only mother would tell the poor girl to run for the hills while she still could, but mother wouldn't do that. Sweet, naïve Sansa was perfect in her eyes for Joff. Easy to control and no threat. That was life in the capital, or so mother had taught her.

It was a very miserable way of looking at the world.

Before her mother replied Ser Preston of the Kingsguard appeared at the window and whispered some words to mother whom frowned. "Change of plans, my little cub." She told her. "It seems we'll have to reschedule tea with Lady Sansa and her sister."

"Oh, how sad mother."

Mother said nothing else, already forgetting about her as she left, for whatever matter, was more pressing than the little game with the Stark girls. Boredom seized her like the Stranger. Normally, she would have taken Tommen out and they would have done some exploring, but Tommen was with Lord Arryn at his section of the encampment, taking up his duties as his squire. The few moments she had seen him he seemed happy, beaming with excitement. Being around boys his own age had improved his mood greatly. Freedom from Joffreys painful shadow.

The Vale shall prove good for him, making him into a knight like Uncle Jamie

Two choices lay before her, staying in this moving golden cell or see her brother and Lord Jasper.

, With a small huff, Myrcella made her choice.

Brandon Stark and Adrian Belmore were cladded in thick padding to prevent any serious injury swung practice swords at each other. It wasn't eloquent swordsmanship like Ser Arys or Ser Barristan, mere basic slashes of boys. Ser Brynden was overseeing the match, arms crossed, shouting out instructions to the combatants. The Stark boys direwolf was gnawing on a bone, bored by everything., By the large white pavilion fit for a king, banners of the flying falcon fluttered in the wind. Tommen and the Waynwood boy were cleaning a suit of armor with a falcon helm at the entrance while Ser Arys, his sworn shield, watched dutifully. How mother would rage if she saw. She scanned the field, looking for Lord Jasper. It wasn't hard to find him. Tall and handsome with broad shoulders and muscular arms from time spent in the training yard, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Lord Jasper was speaking with some of his knights down the field, organizing some trip. They had gathered horses along with bows and spears.

Lord Jasper must be departing as well. Myrcella thought.

Tommen saw her first. "Cella!" He cried out, throwing the rag to the ground and wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "You missed my fight, Cella, with Bran. I lost, but it was still great fun." He grinned. Oh, my sweet baby brother.

Myrcella giggled. "I'm sure it was quite the bout."

"Lord Arryn says I shall make a great knight one day."

"In that I agree." She leaned over and rubbed some dirt off his cheek to his groans and complaints.

Myrcella finished with a smirk at her work. "Well, do you think I'll be able to borrow you, Ser Tommen, to be as an escort?"

Tommens bright smile crumbled, and his shoulders slouched. "Tommen?" She asked, worried. "Whats the matter?"

Before he could reply Ser Brynden gruff voice announced. "Brandon Stark has won the field." The Stark boy gave a wolfish grin in reply. Adrian Belmore hand curled into a fist and hit the ground once before he lunged like a snake screaming while Bran Starks back was turned. The boys tumbled into the dirt. Ser Brynden was quick as a cat and had them both by the cuffs of their collars before too much damage could be done. The direwolf lifted its head up briefly before returning to its meal, unconcerned. The commotion had Lord Jasper rushing over with a stern look as cold as ice as Ser Brynden dropped them before him. Tommens fingers interlocked with her own as his face fell.

"Explain Adrian." Lord Jasper said.

"HE CHEATED!"

"NO! I DIDN'T!"

The rest was unintelligible to anyone save perhaps the Gods and Jasper Arryn's unamused voice snapped. "Quiet." He said, turning to Ser Brynden. "Did you see anything, Ser?"

Ser Brynden snorted. "Horseshit. The claim is horseshit."

Lord Jasper hardened. "You have shamed and dishonored yourself, Adrian. First, in your deeds and second in lies and deceit with me." Every word was filled with disdain and laced with disappointment. "Now shake Brans hand Adrian as befits a man of the Vale."

"You didn't with the bastard."

Brans eyes blazed with fury. "His name is Jon!" Only Ser Bryndens iron grip kept him from hitting the Belmore boy.

"We speak of your conduct, Adrian. Not my own. Do not blame me for your actions." Jasper said, gripping the boy's chin. "And I do regret mine. I should have taken his hand. In that, my actions were dishonorable and I have to live with that, as you will live with yours. A true mark of a man is taking responsibility for his misdeeds." In moments like this, Myrcella really believed he was Jon Arryn's son, as noble as the old falcon was.

Lord Jasper released his grip and said. "And you shall shake his hand or you'll be sent back to your father. I shall not tolerate this conduct."

Adrian Belmore's scowl crumbled, and he mumbled out an apology as he extended his hand half heartily to Bran. The Stark boy scowled at it. "Bran." Jaspers voice lowered.

Bran grumbled and they shook hands.

"As punishment, you shall collect all the arrows shafts fired today." Jasper continued. "Alone."

"But that will take all day!" He wailed.

Lord Jasper showed no sympathy. "Then you best get started."

And when he looked back to the white pavilion, they made eye contact and his handsome face look mortified that she had witnessed the affair. He thinks it reflects poorly on him. Before he schooled his features and offered a kind smile as he made his way over. "Princess." He said. "I beg your pardon, I wasn't aware you were with us this day."

"Nor did I expect to be. I see I've interrupted you though and for that I extend my apologies."

"My lady, it was a slight affair of little worth." He swore. "You've interrupted nothing. In fact, I think your arrival has improved this day. Still, how may I be of service?" Jasper said without pause. His lordly look had certainly improved since Winterfell. Whatever conflict that had afflicted him, he had settled it. A fact that disappointed her. She was rather curious about him and how much of this courtesy was an act. When he placed the cloak around her shoulders and pledged to help them, should they ask like a knight from a song, she couldn't tell if he was brave or foolish? Mayhaps, both. Only Uncle Tyrion had made similar offers.

Joffrey can charm when he wishes to. A small voice warned.

"You may be of service, Lord Arryn. I wish to borrow my brother from your service this day." Tommens hand had fallen from her own when Lord Jasper arrived.

Tommen whispered. "I don't think that's possible, Cella."

"Why not?"

"Well, we are joining His Grace on the hunt." Lord Jasper said. "That makes it rather challenging, I fear."

Sweet Tommen on a hunt? Myrcella was dazed. Tommen couldn't handle the sight of the killing of a doe and he thought to bring him on a hunt was wise? Were they not hunting a bear as well?

"He'll be fine, princess. I remember my vow I made to you." His voice hardened at the insinuation of breaking his honor. "Prince Tommen will be well protected by several knights in the rear, but it's good for him to watch and learn."

Tommen asked hesitantly. "Could I not Lord Arryn? I'll be leaving Cella soon, and I'd like to spend the day with her." His big green eyes widened as he puffed up his chest. "I wish it as a prince my lord."

For what felt like a long moment, Lord Jasper thought about it before bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose.

He sighed. "Alright," His voice softened. "I understand the importance of family. I give my leave, but you'll have to go on hunts in the Eyrie, my prince."

Tommen made a solemn vow in agreement.

Something flashed in Lord Jaspers eyes and he turned around. "Brandon." He gestured for Lord Brandon to join them.

"My lord?" Lord Bran asked as he joined them with a confused look. The wolf was at his side, meat dripping down its fur.

Lord Jasper smile. "It would do you well to spend time with Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. If neither of you are opposed?"

"I don't mind Bran is my friend." Tommen said.

Myrcella nodded. "I find that agreeable, my lord."

"But I want to go on the hunt." Lord Bran mumbled.

"You'll go on the next one." Lord Jasper promised him. "I just need Jon for this affair."

"Alright, you two." Lord Jasper said. "Stay out of trouble and behave honorably in my absence, and be polite to the princess." He motioned for the quiet Waynwood boy to join him as he made his way to the gathered party at the end of the field.

"Happy hunting my lord." Myrcella called out.

"Oh, I doubt we'll find the bear."

Jasper

The bear was large and mean as sin and despite the storm of spears surrounding it, aggressive as the Warrior himself. Hounds circled around, barking. Biting. Tearing at flesh. It smacked one hound into the tree, unmoving, as the bear roared a fierce cry. The rest of the hounds scattered into the wind. Two knights in the kings employ moved forward and drew first blood and the cry grew louder and more desperate. Several tons of muscle and furs charged forward and Jasper met it head on with a savage thrust of his spear screaming. "As High as Honor!" It tore through fur. Muscle. And pierced the beast's heart in a perfect thrust, as he had done dozens of times before. The bear's eyes went wide and the giant of a beast tumbled backward with a thud.

His knights surrounded him, offering their congratulations. Patting him on the back. “You got the bastard!” One declared.

Jasper offered his flashy tourney smile. “We brought the bastard done, brave men every last one of you.” And their chests puffed up with pride. “Especially yourself.” He pointed at the Baratheon man.” You drew first blood! The fucker never stood a chance.”    

I earned back some of their respect for me, lost in Winterfell. Jasper thought.

King Roberts laughter was louder than all of their voices. "GODS WHAT A THRUST!" He said as he patted him on the back with a blow stronger than a bear sending the air out of his lungs. "A true hunter just like your father."

"You honor me your grace, but all the praise should go to Ser Brynden without which we would have lost it back at the ford."

"Aye!" the king boomed. "Both of you shall eat at a place of honor for it." At that, the rest of the party joined with them. Lord Renly Baratheon recently arrived from the capital wearing a handsome green cloak despite the amiable smile he seemed uncomfortable in the woods. Several knights of the Kingsguard among them the famed Ser Barristan the Bold followed by the bastard Jon Snow. Dark curls and a long plain face of a Stark. He looked just like Lord Stark as Harry looked like his father, or so men claimed. When he gazed at him, those dark curls turned blond, and his grey eyes sky blue. A direwolf with fur as white as snow at his side. A feeling of bitterness mixed with regret remained at the sight of the bastard of Winterfell.

Why didn't I take his hand? Jasper wondered. He dreamed about it some nights. I should have taken it. Would he do it if offered a second time?

But the mere sight of him had him simmering with a dull anger, gripping the spear more tightly. All he could remember was the laughter and the feeling of humiliation Snow afflicted against him as the eyes bore into him, judging him as a weak falcon.

Does he think I enjoyed that? That I wanted to insult him? I had no choice. He humiliated me the stain on my aunts honor. Maybe if no one was around, he could have forgiven him. But he did it in front of everyone, just as Harry would, and claim it an accident.

It was no accident. Deliberate. Cruel. Callous.

Yet, he offered that hand to him in the courtyard.

Why did he offer that damn hand?

Somehow that day a mere bastard had shown more honor than a Lord of the Eyrie and that made him feel shame.

Instead, Jasper had thrown himself into his lordship responsibilities overseeing his squires, riding with his grace, and preparing for the arrival in the Vale. It dulled out the bitterness and shame he felt, and the boys were progressing well. Adrian was progressing with a bow. Jon and Bran had taken to swords well, and Prince Tommen had shown heart despite his lack of training and always came with a bright smile. Despite the setback today, everything was progressing well. It was good that Prince Tommen and Bran Stark stayed behind. Having those two as fast friends would serve them both, and House Arryn.

Arrow took him down the woodland trail with only the silent Blackfish behind him. Away from bastards, kings, lords, knights. Jasper breathed in the fresh air and relaxed from everyone. He was as free as air, but the Blackfish sported a stern look. A lecture is upon me.

Jasper let out a sigh. "Alright, say your words, grand uncle."

"What were you thinking, boy?"

"I know not what you-"

"Cut the shit." Uncle Brynden barked. "Those hapless knights may be fooled, but I'm not so old to believe you acted in the moment. It was deliberate. So tell me what you were thinking."

Jasper twisted the reins around and turned Arrow to face him. "I was thinking I had to wash away the memory of Winterfell from their minds." He said with growing frustration. "I need my knights to think of me as a man grown. An Arryn worthy of my name. Capable of impressive feats of courage and bravery. Not a boy humbled by a bastard." How could he defend the Vale otherwise? If his men didn't think him capable of it.

"I've done that same thrust a dozen times with you." Jasper reminded. "I did exactly as you taught me." And the bear fell, and he earned the praise of a king and all of his knights? Didn't that count for something? The plan worked, and he secured the Honor of House Arryn. Who knows what honors the king may bestow upon him in the future! For the good of House Arryn and the Vale. His knights would forget about the bastard and his duel. King Robert would think him a true Arryn, just like his father was.

Uncle Brynden scoffed. "You've missed once or twice before."

Jasper snorted. "And if I told you my intentions, you would have tried to stop me."

"Your damn right." He replied. "And failing that, I would have been in place to save your miserable life. By the Seven you are impulsive."

Jasper paused and winced. That would have been better… "Whats done is done. I can't change the past." He said curtly. "Please, grand uncle, I don't wish to quarrel with you. You're the only one I trust."

"You have a shit way of showing it." His voice thick with dry scorn. Worry, he's still worried about me.

Jasper whispered. "I just want to be a good Lord Arryn." He said, lowering his head. "That's my only wish. I know I erred at Winterfell. I wanted something I should not. That's my shame. My dishonor. And I shall answer it for the rest of my life."

"Nephew-"

"No, it's true." Jasper said, thinking of Winterfell and the dead dream it represented. House Arryn may have earned honor with the gaining of two wards. A son of Hand and a King, but it would always be a place where he finally killed that stupid boy that dreamed of something foolish. "I know my role and what needs to be done. I'm Lord Arryn and that's all I shall be. I can't do both, and I shall not fail. You. My brother. And everyone depends on me." Still, he thought of the fun in the stables and it dug a deep hole in his chest filled with sorrow and regret. If only I could have controlled my anger towards a bastard, I might have had something.

The boy still lived inside of him, but he was weak and shackled.

I'll never let him out again. I'll be perfect. A perfect Lord Arryn. Jasper vowed.

"There is no shame in wishing to be around family."

But he no longer wished for that. The Starks were his kin, and by the laws of Gods and Men he would still defend them as a Lord Arryn should, but they were not his family. He was a stranger to them. Lord Stark had treated him with courtesy since Winterfell, but he had made no further attempts to get to know him or any of the Starks. Brandon, he treated like any squire. Cousin Sansa hardly noticed him and Cousin Arya, whom he felt he had liked the most, hated him with a passion.

Yet another thing his parents had denied him.

It's for the best. Falcons soar alone. Jasper mused,

He waved a hand to avoid further conversation, "I will speak no further, of bastards, bears, and Winterfell." Jasper twisted Arrow to move and he obeyed him. They rode together for some time in silence before his uncle asked him what he planned to do in the Vale upon their return. He mentioned his intention to host a grand feast celebrating House Arryns new wards. It would show his vassals the strong position House Arryn found itself in. The new positions his Blackfish had secured for the Valeman in the Kings Court would strengthen his personal position amongst his vassals and would be celebrated as well. But the only way he could finally wash away the whispers of being the son of Lysa Tully was marriage and so he told him his intention to court Lady Ysillia of House Royce.

"There is one thing you have not spoken of." His uncle counseled. "Your heir. The Lords of the Vale would prefer Harry to Robert."

"Robert is my brother." Jasper declared. "By the laws of gods and men, he shall be my heir. Harry shall never sit on the Weirwood Throne." Imagining him on the throne of his father nearly made him scowl. That blond bastard isn't worthy to kiss my boot. He should be on his knees thanking the Gods he shares my blood, or I would throw him through the moondoor.

Jasper chuckled. "You'll be his regent. I've decided this should any ill befall me."

"Myself?" His uncle shook his head. "Lord Royce would be a better choice."

Jasper shook his head. "He's focused on the honor of his house. A good man, but only you." He pointed at him. "Would be focused on Roberts well being."

"I'm too old for regency." Uncle Brynden said dryly.

Jasper laughed. "Well, thankfully for you. I have no intentions of meeting my father just yet."

When they rejoined the main company, King Robert bade him to ride by his side like he was his son, hailing him as a superb huntsman. It was flattering, but he didn't enjoy being the center of attention like this. "What a hunt this was Ned!" He wrapped his arm around his Hand and Lord Stark nodded along as His Grace boasted about the conquest. "And you, Barry old boy, are you enjoying that squire of yours?"

"Indeed, I am, your grace." Ser Barristan said.

Jasper simply gazed ahead, doing his best to forget about Jon Snow that rode with them. He concentrated on the trees, and the stones counting them as it had been taught to him to avoid making a fool of himself again.

Three twenty four

A party of horseman approached from the north, baring the banners of Lannister and the Crowned Stag. King Robert bellowed for them to halt in his name.

"There has been an incident on the Trident, your grace." The knight wearing the crimson of House Lannister said, bowing his head. "Involving your children and the Lord Hands."

Lord Stark looked cold as ice. "Robert."

"Aye Ned." King Robert darkened.

Prince Tommen and Cousin Bran, a hint of concern flashed over his eyes, and he saw similarly in Jon Snow's grey eyes.

Harry had never shown a look of concern for him as Snow showed for his half siblings. You love them, don't you? If he had been raised with Harry, would they have loved one another? Or was it him? Would Harry have always hated him? For the first time, Snow didn't awaken any dull anger inside of him. Me too, Snow. Me too. Jasper thought as they galloped into the wind.

Bran

The rock landed a good three paces away from him and Bran hung his head back, bored out of his wits. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella walked with him along the Trident. Instead of hunting bears with Lord Arryn and father, he was walking with the two royals. It's not fair! Tommen was a good friend and normally he did like his company, but Princess Myrcella was terribly bossy and took charge of their expedition. When he suggested they go on a hunt of their own, she put her foot down and said they would look for Prince Rhaegars rubies instead. Tommen supported his sister, and he followed them, kicking the rocks along the way.

Dawn was running ahead of them. "To me, boy." And Dawn came running with an enormous grin and he scratched underneath its ears. The name came to him after speaking with Lord Arryn about the Kingsguard. Dawn was the sword of House Dayne and it seemed the right name for him. I couldn't keep on calling him wolf or I'd end with a name worse than Shaggydog.

"Come on Bran. Are you still upset about the hunt?" Princess Myrcella asked, ankle deep in the water, ruining her dress.

"No." Bran grumbled, looking down at his feet.

The princess giggled. "I'm sorry you are having such a poor time." And splashed the cool water at him.

Bran reddened, but refused to move only for Dawn to grab his pant legs and yank him towards the water. "HEY! STOP IT!" He called out, but Dawn ignored his orders and shoved him into the water with a giant grin.

"See, even your wolf tires over your brooding."

"Oh, I think I found something." Tommen piped up.

Bran's heart stilled. Had he truly found something? He and Princess Myrcella raced over to Tommen, pulling and tripping over the other in a mad dash. "Tommen," Princess Myrcella laughed. "It's just a rock."

Tommens face fell. "Oh," His voice soft as a whisper, but Bran didn't care. He was smiling and grinning. It really was a lot of fun being in the water looking for the rubies.

"Come on Tommen we'll find something I know it!" Bran declared and started his search. All of them did, and under the southron heat the splashing of water was nice. It was cool, and he smiled.

In the distance, something cracked loudly, and the faint sound of voices echoed. They stopped splashing and Tommen piped up. "Do you hear that?"

All three of them nodded their heads slowly and Bran was the first one to press forward with the royals close behind him.

It was just Ayra and the butchers boy, Mycah, hacking at each other with sticks. Oh, no, we should certainly go… He gulped. But Arya ruined that when she saw the three of them soaked to the bone intruding upon them. He wanted to turn around, but the princess didn't seem bothered by his sisters scowl. "Shouldn't you be with Lord Arryn?" She said, thick with mockery that had his cheeks burning.

"He's on a hunt." Bran grumbled.

"Good. I hope a bear gets him."

Bran glowered. "Arya!" He said. "Take that back!" As his hands curled by his side. The royals and the butchers boy faded from both of them, as they snarled at the other. Even Dawn and Nymeria circled each other, growling. They were worse than their direwolves, though glaring at the other with daggers.

"No, he deserves it!." Arya snapped. "He insulted Jon. He hurt our brother over an accident and didn't even have the courage to apologize. Arryn is a coward, a craven, and I hope a bear takes him!"

Bran grimaced. He loved Jon with all his heart, and what their cousin did would always trouble him, but Lord Arryn had taken to his knightly education seriously. Don't you see how important that is to me! I could be a Kingsguard! He would go to the Eyrie where father was fostered with the king. The Blackfish had already told him some stories of the War of the Ninepenny Kings and he claimed Jasper was the best jouster he had ever seen, and Bran had seen him throw off Robb like it was nothing.

He could teach me to do that!

"That's not fair! I love Jon too!"

"Liar!"

They were both in each others faces, their noses practically touching. A hand squeezed between them. "Do you think we can join?" Princess Myrcella asked. "It looks like a lot of fun! What you were doing with those sticks." She gestured towards them with a disarming smile.

Arya gazed at the princess, and noting the ruined dress, grinned. "You want to play with sticks? Are you not a princess?"

"I still wish to have some fun."

Mycah and Tommen were looking away, pretending to be elsewhere, before smiling at them. Tommens smile was a wide beam. "Me too!" Tommen said with great enthusiasm.

Princess Myrcella set up the groups. Mycah, the biggest of them, would face Tommen and Ayra, while they would pair him with the princess. "Why me?" He asked, puzzled.

"Your Lord Arryns squire. I know he would have taught you chivalry towards a princess." She winked. "You'll go easy on me, won't you?"

And he made a solemn vow to do just that. A good thing too, because she was quite terrible. No strength behind any of her blows and she often shrieked if he got too close. Bran still had a fun time. After some time, he shouted. "I'm King Torrhen! Kneel before me, dragon princess."

"Never!" The princess was giggling. "The dragon shall never yield. Feel our fire!"

That day it was the Age of Heroes come again. They had Daeron the Young Dragon fighting Visenya Targaryen, Cregan fought Rhaenys, Aemon the Dragonknight fighting the Night Queen. None of them made much sense, but they didn't really care. Sweat dripped down their brows, and in the heat of summer they were swinging sluggishly. Brans arm felt like stone as Princess Myrcella gave him a painful whack. "Ha! I got you!" She cried out.

Bran groaned and dropped his stick. The princess pressed her weapon against his chest, smirking. If Arya saw she'll never let me hear the end of it.

"Thank you Bran for lifting my spirits by letting me win. How gallant!" Princess Myrcella said, making him swallow something heavy. That's not what happened… She offered him some water that he drank desperately. Arya and Tommen were still hard at work, avoiding the butcher boys' powerful blows as he swatted at them like they were gnats. Nymeria and Dawn had gone off hunting, probably after some rabbit. What a wonderful day? Bran thought. Would the Eyrie be this much fun?

"Tommen!"

"Arya!"

Sansa and Prince Joffrey said both horrified and, according to the sneer on Prince Joffreys face, disgusted. Their sudden appearance stunned Tommen, whom lowered his stick only to be punished by Mycah with a late hit.

Tommen yelped and rubbed his arm.

"Go away!" Arya shrieked.

"That's my brother you hit. Who are you now?" Prince Joffrey said.

"He's no one, just the butchers boy." Sansa answered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Princess Myrcella's sweet demeanor became guarded as she went to her younger brother and wrapped her arms protectively around him. "Joff," she said. "We were just having some fun. A childish affair." What was the problem? Bran didn't understand a lick of what was happening. Why would Prince Joffrey care? We are just playing with sticks.

Prince Joffrey scoffed. "It was quite childish, sweet sister." He chuckled. "Don't worry, I shall rectify that. Cross swords with me butchers boy. Don't you fancy yourself a knight?"

"It's just a stick, milord."

Prince Joffrey drew his sword, castle steel. "I'm not your lord. I'm your prince."

"Please."

"That was my brother you hit." Prince Joffrey frowned. "I must be a just prince." He lifted the sword up and cut at Mycah's flesh. Crimson red cried out as he screamed in pain. Princess Myrcella was covering Tommens eyes. It was wrong, very wrong. Prince Joffrey was enjoying himself like he did when he climbed the towers of Winterfell. How can you enjoy hurting a butchers boy? Father would never have stood for something like this or Lord Arryn either. Brans hands curled into fists, and when Arya struck him knocking him down, Bran charged screaming.

Only to fall back as if struck. Something wet poured through his tunic, and he collapsed onto the cold ground. Someone scooted him into their lap. The fabric was soft and warm. Mothers hair. Wolves howled. Tears poured over him. Why is someone crying? It's a wonderful day.

Or was it raining? That wouldn't be fun.

Brans vision darkened, and he saw no more.

Chapter Text

Jasper

Jasper’s fingers turned white as he gripped the edge of his desk of cedar wood, trying to calm the pulsing anger that burned. No one save Uncle Brynden remained with him in the pavilion, otherwise it was as empty as a tomb. For three days all I’ve wished is to see Prince Joffreys blood on my blade and Arryn honor to be upheld. He nearly killed his ward, a son of a great and noble house, as if he were no more than an animal in the woods. It was appalling and demanded swift justice. Any other man and Jasper would have rallied Arryns guardsmen. Waynwoods. Royces and Starks to redden the Trident with the blood of another villain like the vile Prince Rhaegar, but it was a prince of the realm and that demanded caution. It was a prickly problem that needed to be handled deftly, as his grand uncle advised him.   

And my Blackfish is almost always right. Jasper thought.

There was no doubt in his mind that Prince Joffrey was to blame for what happened. Prince Tommen had told him the truth of the affair and the lad was no liar. It infuriated him to have done nothing, but he saw the opportunity to see they removed Prince Joffrey from the line of succession. If I play my cards right, and I hold fast with Lord Stark, we can pressure His Grace to see recompense. House Arryn would soar high for this attack on their honor. King Robert couldn’t afford to alienate two Great Houses bound by blood to a third. House Tully, House Arryn, and House Stark are well beyond even the wealth of the Rock. And His Grace knows this. As long as they hold a united front, they’ll win the day.  

Prince Joffrey deserved to be tossed piece by piece through the moondoor for what he did to Cousin Bran, a ward of the Vale and son of a Hand. Would you scream on your way down? Harry would scream on the way down and Prince Joffrey was of the same character. Jasper wondered and smiled, picturing him pissing himself in fear as he begged for a reprieve. It pleased him, but it was little more than a fantasy a prince shouldn’t be slain in such a fashion. A prince, even a wretched one like Prince Joffrey, deserved a clean death by sword.  

And he would finally secure House Arryns position with the naming Prince Tommen as heir. Should I tell the words for Prince Tommen to speak? Jasper considered it, but it would be best for him to speak honestly from his own voice. I only need to keep his courage up. And he was confident of seeing it done. Nothing would happen to Prince Tommen as long as he drew breath, and the lad seemed to trust him, to see him protected. I swore a vow and an Arryn must honor his word.  

It shamed him as the worry for Cousin Bran slipped his mind.

His grand uncle said Cousin Brans injuries were serious and possibly fatal. "I was told he lost a lot of blood." What if Cousin Bran died? Jasper couldn't think like that. It would mean he failed as a Lord of Arryn.

Have I failed you Bran like I failed Robert? Jasper wondered worried.

Jasper was tired, with sags forming under his eyes. For three nights he had been out leading search parties looking for Arya Stark. They scoured over every rock and tree, but had yet to find a trace. Arya Stark had vanished like a whiff of smoke. Hounds. Horseman. All failed as of yet. Even he and the Blackfish couldn't find a single trace of either her or the wolves. Not a broken twig or trail to follow.

Jasper grimaced and poured himself a glass of water.

What did Bran name his wolf? Jasper wondered as he poured. He couldn't recall it didn't seem important, but he would learn its name. Brans wolf would always have a place in his halls for defending him.

"They found her nephew. The Lannisters have brought her before the king."

Jasper flinched at his gruff voice and twisted around. "She is well?" He asked with too much eagerness.

Ser Brynden scoffed. "I thought you didn't see her as family nephew."

His eyes narrowed as tight as arrow slits and scowled. "I don't." He said. "Now gather a guard ser I have need of one and secure Prince Tommen. We shall have need of him I think." And dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

A single snort and the Blackfish left him, and he sighed and leaned into his chair, rubbing his temples before bringing his fist crashing against the desk toppling the goblet of water to the ground. He seethed. Jasper had behaved like a fool in daring to think this was anything like a song. I wanted to be the dashing knight rescuing her. It would have been perfect, and maybe she would have forgiven him after rescuing her from the woods and the Lannisters. Winterfell would just be a poor memory and they could be more than distant kin. Why did he hurt himself like this? He should accept that he had blown that chance and accept the role he had to play, and Jasper had accepted that. Every day he had accepted that since the duel in the courtyard.

I thought I did...

Jasper calmed with a few deep breaths, wrestling with his irritation. Whatever his feelings, House Arryn had been slighted, and he had to defend its honor. My wards have been attacked. My honor impugned and my cousins of Winterfell required Lord Arryn to defend them with words and deeds. One more deep breath, and he push through the flaps straight as an arrow taking charge of the honor guard his grand uncle had assembled for him. "Thank you, sers." He said, wearing his lordly mask. "Let us be off and see honor is done."

Robert

Wolves. A pack of wolves and a flock of falcons surrounded him. He shifted in Ser Raymun Darrys chair as they all gazed at him. Manderlys. Stark men. Tallharts. Royces. Waynwoods. Arryn men crowded into these cramp halls. The heat was unbearable, and he was sweating through his doublet. A sea of gray and blue drowned the crimson red of the Lannisters out. Not that it dimmed the vaunted Lannister pride whom prowled as if they owned the halls. His queen bore icy eyes as Neds girl was brought in. A small, thin, scrawny girl. It was hard to imagine that she had truly caused this must trouble. He refused to hear a single word from his son or wife until Neds girl was found and they could settle this once and for all. It gave him three days of peace.

"Mayhaps we should start, husband? Lord Stark is taking his time." Cersei asked.

"Quiet woman! We shall wait for Ned!" He said, wishing for something heavy to drink.

Jasper Arryn bristled along with most of the men in the hall at his queens words. It was a tinderbox waiting to light, but his damned wife seemed oblivious to it all. Two Great Houses and their banners had been slighted by his dolt of an heir. The Vale and the North and both of them had most swords in the halls. Ser Barristan stood at attention in his white plate along with the rest of the Kingsguard save the kingslayer whom was still out searching for Neds girl.

When Ned entered, it relieved Robert that they could finally put this behind them. Neds girl wrapped herself tightly around him, disappearing into his old friend. "Whats the meaning of this Robert? Why was my daughter not brought to me? My son lies on deaths door and you do this?" Ned said, looking up from his daughter.

"You dare speak to your king in such a manner!" his wife said.

"Silence woman!" Robert said, darkening. "I'm sorry Ned. I just thought this better to get it over with and all of us wish the very best for your boy." He twisted his gaze to the girl. "Now, tell me to it true, girl, what happened. It's a grave crime to lie to a king." She had barely started when Joffrey yelled, calling her a liar. It gave him an annoyed headache, and he twisted towards his son. "You will get your turn, boy. Now hold your tongue."

Joffrey paled at the rebuke.

When she finished, his son started. They were as different as night and day, and he had to settle it in a room filled with wolves, falcons, and lions. "Seven Hells!." He groaned. "He says one thing, and she says another. How am I supposed to settle this?"

Ned urged his other daughter forward, the pretty one whom he betrothed to his heir. Her face was red with tears, and eyes sunken low with messy hair. "Please father, I want to go back to Bran." she said, shaking her head. "Please, father?" Ned gave her a look of encouragement and she strolled forward.

"You were there, child? Go on." Robert said. "Speak the truth."

The girl burst into a fresh round of tears. "It was so fast, and Bran was bleeding. I don't know what-"

"LIAR! LIAR!" Neds other girl shouted and attacked her like a wild beast, punching and kicking. Ned, the poor fool, had to separate them. His wife and son were smiling those smug smiles. Damn you both, I know you did this.

"Look, Robert, shes as wild as that beast of hers. I want the girl punished."

Robert scoffed. "What? You want me to whip her through the streets. Children fight. It's over."

Ned gave a look of disgust and disappointment, and he felt a pang of regret. Sorry, old friend.

And that should have been the end until Jasper walked forward with his hands resting on Tommens shoulders. "My King," Jasper said, offering a lordly bow. "Prince Tommen was there as well. I think you'll find his words insightful."

Robert blinked and glowered. Tommen was there, and no one told him! His hands tightened around the armrests. "You as well, boy?" He urged him forward.

Tommen gave a timid nod and shifted uneasily. "Yes father," He said meekly. "I was there with Bran and Myrcella. We were just playing with sticks and Joffrey came." He paused. "I couldn't see anything. Myrcella covered my eyes when it started. But I heard the screaming. I tried to go to Bran, but Cella wouldn't let me."

"You little shit!" Joffrey glowered. "He's a liar!"

Tommen whitened, as Jasper hand fell to the hilt of his sword and pushed Tommen behind him and, unlike his son, Jasper knew how to use it. Jasper was strong and well built for a boy of seventeen from days hunting and fighting. That's a son any father would be proud of. Ser Barristan watched him warily.

"My love," Cersei said with a thin sneer. "This is clearly a lie. Lord Arryn has made Tommen say these falsehoods."

"You question my honor?" Jasper said, abashed. "Your Grace, will you let this dishonor stand? Your son attacked my ward the son of a hand, and your wife slights the honor of House Arryn! I demand justice!"

"Aye Robert justice." Ned said in agreement.

The North and the Vale stood united behind one another. Stark and Arryn. Both stalwart in their demands.

"WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?!" Robert rose red faced. Blood was flowing in his limbs and he wanted to kill something. "Why is she not here?" The stoney eyed look from his wife told him everything that he needed to know. He waved a hand to silence that irksome voice of hers. "Ser Barristan, fetch my daughter and bring her here." Robert sat backing on the small throne for a lord half his size.

"As you command your grace."

The room settled into an uneasy calm until Ser Barristan returned with sweet little Myrcella. She carried herself like a princess, poised and collected, and curtsied before him and smiled kindly. "Yes, father? What do you require from me? I fear Ser Barristan wouldn't say the reason."

"I'm told you were at the Trident during this affair. Tell it to me true my sweet daughter."

"Is this a command father for I can not speak otherwise?"

"Why not?" Robert darkened.

"I cannot speak ill of family otherwise." Myrcella said.

"Robert, she's but a girl I-"

"Quiet woman." Robert said, glowering. "I just want to know the truth, daughter." Before I piss myself.

Myrcella nodded. "As you wish, father." She said before launching into her tale with a voice as soft as silk. "It was terrible father, oh it was so terrible. It was a fine day of summer and we were just playing a childish game when Joffrey came. He attacked the butchers boy, and Lady Arya defended him with nought, but a stick. She was little threat father that a boy like Joffrey couldn't handle, but he kept swinging his sword wild and crazed at anything that moved." She sniffled, teary-eyed. "Poor brave Bran tried to protect his sister, and Joffrey cut him down without mercy or shame. All I could do father was hold tightly onto Tommen for I knew if he got any closer Joffrey would cut him down just like poor Bran, but I fear I was too close." Myrcella rolled her sleeves up and undid a bandage of fine silk and unrolled it.

Robert winced and looked away, along with every man in the halls at the skin marred by a sword. My daughter wounded by my flesh and blood.

"Fath- "Joffrey got no further before he struck him with the same force that collapsed Rhaegars chest plate. It struck his son in the jaw. Teeth went flying and blood flowed from his shattered jaw as he rose fists curled, and delivered a kick to his pathetic excuse of a son whom curled up whimpering.

"YOU WOULD HAVE MADE YOURSELF A KINSLAYER!" Robert roared. "You tried to kill Neds boy and his daughter like animals to the slaughter! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!" With one hand, Robert lifted his son up by the throat, and he backhanded his queen, whom wailed behind him. "See her out of here!" He gestured to Ser Preston and Ser Mandon, whom they took kicking and screaming from the halls. How he wanted to crush his soft throat beneath his hand and rid himself of this problem, but that would have made him a kinslayer and Neds quiet grey eyes brought him back down and he dropped him on the floor like a sack of flour.

Robert sighed. That was not kingly. What was he going to do? He couldn't kill him, but he had insulted two great houses and himself. Joffrey couldn't become king, but if he punished too harshly, it would earn the ire of the Lannisters."OUT ALL OF YOU SAVE NED! ARRYN! AND RENLY!" All of them scattered like leaves into the wind. The Kingsguard escorted his children out, including Joffrey as they sent for a maester. He couldn't bare to look Ned in the eyes when they were alone. "Oh, Ned. I'm sorry for what happened to your children. By the Seven I am, I swear what justice would you have of me?"

"The Wall Robert." Ned said. "Send Prince Joffrey to the Wall."

"That's far too lenient." Jasper retorted. "He shed the blood of your daughter, and attempted to murder Lord Starks children. Death is the only option."

Ned looked dismayed. "Nephew, mercy is not a weakness. Prince Joffrey is still just a boy. He may yet find some honor on the Wall."

"It's the only just option, my lord. I insist on it. His crimes are too great and must be dealt with by the swing of a sword."

Robert laughed. "Both of you are damned fools. I can do neither." The Lannisters would never stand for it and he was married to one.

"But I will not have Maegor for an heir." He grumbled out and turned to his brother, whom didn't have an amused smile for once.

Renly sighed. "I see your points my lords, I understand such anger." He lifted his arms in a placating gesture. "But my brother speaks honestly. Exile him Robert from the realm. Strip him from the line of succession. Make Tommen your heir. The crime is significant enough that the Lannisters shouldn't complain too much. Send him with his Uncle Ser Jamie. Permit him the rank of prince as a kindness. If the Lannisters wish to pay for them, they may, but no royal funds shall cover the costs of his household."

Robert rubbed his chin and pondered over his brother's words. " Huh. Exile, eh." He wouldn't have to see him and it was severe enough it should mollify Ned. And Jasper he had another option to bring him back into the fold. "Three years of exile from the Realm, and permanently barred from my court. Tommen shall become the Crowned Prince, and will be betrothed to your daughter Ned and shall remain as your ward Arryn."

The lad gave a stiff nod.

"And you shall marry my daughter Princess Myrcella as recompense." He declared.

Jasper Arryn looked agape and blinked twice before going to his knees. "That is a grave honor my king." He lifted him up. "Bah, your father told me the seed is strong. His last words to me, and Gods, he was right. You are strong Jasper and shall make for a fine son-in-law." Arryn Stark Baratheon united. Nothing could stand against them.

"This fine with you Ned?"

"If it is your command, I shall see it carried out. I am your Hand."

Robert smiled and wiped the blood off his hands and bellowed for wine.

Myrcella

Something loud and breakable shattered in the distance and she could hear mother and father screaming. Myrcella nursed her reddened cheek where mother had struck her for her words against Joffrey. It still stung, but she didn't regret her actions. I had precious little choice.

"No Arya, you musn't!" Myrcella pleaded, throwing herself over Joffreys body.

"Get out of my way! He hurt Bran! I'm going to kill him!" She held the sword that was much too big for her with confidence, and her grey eyes shined with steel and vengeance.

Myrcella shook her head, as Joffrey moaned and whimpered beneath her determined body to keep everyone from harm. "They'll kill you Arya. I'm sorry for your brother I am, but you must leave! You and the wolves need to go!" Brans wolf Dawn showed the most sense, and grabbed her pant legs with his teeth urging her to leave. With a loud frustrated scream, Arya flung Joffreys sword into the Trident and went off running with the wolves. Myrcella turned to Joffrey and stroked his blond curls. His two wormy green eyes dug into her, and his hand found its way around her throat while Lady Sansa was sobbing over her brother.

"You shall never speak of this." Joffrey said lowly, as he tightened his grip. "Nod if you understand."

Myrcella nodded as her heart stilled and he released her. She fell, gasping for air.

Joffrey would kill her eventually if she didn't act. She had seen him weak and saved his life, and that would be something he'd never forgive. Myrcella knew once they found Lady Arya father would have her summoned to explain the events. Lord Arryn would use Tommen to speak the truth, and father would call her because of it, but her words wouldn't be enough. I needed them to see the blood to believe. Myrcella found an unclaimed knife around the encampment and cut herself. Tears came down her cheeks, and she whimpered at the pain when the jagged edges cut through skin. But it was worth it when father shattered Joffreys jaw and exiled him from the realm. She could sleep more soundly at night.

She would be safe. One day Tommen would be king, and she was going to be the Lady of the Eyrie. Myrcella blushed lightly, thinking of him. When she showed her wound before all the lords and knights, Lord Jasper's hand shook with fury, and she saw the emotion that overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than skewer Joffrey where he stood and if she had asked, he would have jumped at the opportunity regardless of the Kingsguard. It was very gallant of him. Myrcella bit underneath her lip. She felt poor for deceiving him so with such a falsehood.

Myrcella sighed. I had little choice. She would never let Tommen grow up in this world alone and Joffrey would have meant the death of all of them. Now he was gone. Yesterday, Joffrey had been disinherited before the entire party and stripped from the line of succession and that evening a wagon and two dozen men among them her Uncle Jamie had departed for Maidenpool, where they would catch a ship to the Free Cities. For three years he would be gone and by the time he returned Tommen would be nearly a man grown, and she would be married to Lord Jasper.

A door slammed shut and Myrcella lifted her head up to see mother entering her chambers. An enormous bruise resided on her cheek. It was a nasty purple. "Mother- "She slapped her. Hard, and dug her fingernails into her arm as she dragged her away with any iron grip. "Your hurting me, mother! Please stop!" As she flung her into the wall.

"You little whore." Mother seethed. "I told you to go before your father and plead for Joffrey to stay." I would sooner die. Myrcella thought.

"I couldn't mother." She lowered her head submissively. "I'm sorry. Father wouldn' listen to me if I tried and he would just hit me if I said the wrong word." She sniffled. "I swear I didn't know he would exile Joff. I just got so scared surrounded by all those lords and knights." If only he killed him.

Mother gripped her chin and tilted it up and studied her. "I'm very sorry, I'm such a stupid girl." She said, tears forming.

"Oh, my sweet little doe, look at what you make me do." Mother said and brought her in for a warm embrace. Myrcella softened and rested her chin on mother's neck, soaking in all the warmth she deprived of them. Will you love us more now that Joffrey is gone? Myrcella wondered.

"Very foolish." Myrcella parroted.

"And you'll have to wed that deceitful Lord Arryn. A murmurer of chivalry."

"Dreadful." Myrcella said after a second too long of a pause, and mothers eyes glistened like a lioness. Her hands tightened around her shoulders. "I'm not deceived, mother by such pale tricks and empty words. I'm your daughter."

Mother smiled and chuckled. "Yes, I think you are my beautiful daughter." And kissed her on the brow. "Oh, Myrcella, just remember."

"Yes, mother?"

"When Joffrey returns as king. You are a Lannister first. One mistake can be forgiven. A second shall not be."

Mothers words sent a shiver down her spine. Joffrey as king. Mother still wouldn't give him up. Myrcella wanted to roar and make her hurt for it, but she left with a dutiful nod. Tommen would be king, not Joffrey and Myrcella would see to that.

That night, she dreamed of knights and falcons.

When Myrcella awoke the next morning, got dressed, and hid her marks and prepared for a boring ride in the carriage trapped under mothers watchful eye. She was daydreaming about a white knight riding up to the carriage while dragons soared around them. Uncle Tyrion would have appreciated such a thing. Would he have approved of her choices? If there was one person in the capital she trusted save Tommen, it would be Uncle Tyrion, but he was off visiting the Wall. Half a world away.

Myrcella perked up as a company of riders approached from the north. The banners of a falcon flew proudly. Lord Jasper didn't ride a white steed, but one as black as night. Two dozen knights behind their lord wearing shiny suits of steel looking fierce. Still, her heart raced. If he asks me to ride with him, I doubt I could refuse. The wheelhouse came to a slow stop as they cut them off. Jasper dismounted gracefully as Mother walked down the steps with a false smile. "Lord, Arryn what an unexpected honor."

"My queen." He said with greater courtesy. "Always a delightful sight, but I fear I've arrived to speak with the princess."

"Whatever for?"

Jasper reached into his pockets and pulled out some parchment. "Her lord father and king of the realm have granted me permission to begin a correspondence with Princess Myrcella, as is custom in the Vale." He offered a kind smile. "I've decided to deliver my first letter in person. I shall strive to do two letters a moon." At that, Myrcella peered out the entrance of the wheelhouse. His bright blue eyes widened slightly, and he rushed to kiss the back of her hand.

"How thoughtful, my lord." Myrcella said the words, and he returned with a lordly nod.

"Only the best for a princess." Lord Jasper replied.

But she dared not do more than a customary smile and his hands fell a bit awkwardly to the side as he kept that fake smile on his face. "I apologize princess. I fear I'm more suited as a hunter and knight than a lord of great courtesy. "His voice softened. "I only hope that in time, you'll see me more than a stranger when I drape my cloak around your shoulders."

"I'd like that very much." Myrcella said. "Will you please give my brother my love and affection for me?"

The cracks formed as he stumbled, uncertain on how to reply. "Ah," He coughed. "I shall certainly extend your esteem to Prince Tommen." And gave a perfect lordly bow to her. "Until we meet again, princess." And gave the smooth parchment into her hands as mother watched with icy eyes. How she wished he would sweep her onto his steed and gallop off into the sun, but she was still bound to the Iron Throne. Her place remained in the Red Keep still.

When Jasper had long disappeared down the dirt road, mother chuckled. "What a foolish man of honor he is." And kissed her on the brow. "I'll handle him, my sweet doe. Don't you worry."

Myrcella muttered her thanks, and returned to daydreaming, but this time she imagined what she would write to him. I'll never see what's in his first letter. Mother had crumpled it up and tossed it out of the carriage. What did he write? How long did it take him? Was it honest, or more idle courtesies, and she did the only thing possible in the wheelhouse and dreamed.

Jon

Bran was as pale as milk and underneath a mountain of blankets, each thicker than the last. Dawn Brans direwolf was curled up at his masters feet. He had returned shortly after Arya, with Nymeria trailing behind him to his sister's joy. Jon sat at his normal spot and sported a brave smile. You should be up and running around Bran. Not stuck in this bed. After some training with the famed Ser Barristan, easily the greatest swordsman that he had ever seen in the North or South, Jon was tired and ached everywhere, but he always came to see Bran no matter how much it pained him. Normally, Sansa stayed with him working on her stitches in the corner, but he found her asleep her hand entangled with Brans. Jon wrapped her arm around him trying not to wake her.

"Jon?" Sansa stirred awake, rubbing her eyes.

"It is." He said. "I'm taking you to your bed. You need sleep and you won't find it here."

Sansa nodded her head and yawned. "Okay, Jon. Will you wake me if Bran wakes?"

"I promise." Jon said, carrying her out of the pavilion. What happened to Bran had brought him and Sansa closer together. Of all his siblings save little Rickon, Sansa was always the most distant to him, but now she called him brother and Jon. I'm still a bastard. A shame to our lord father. On the trip, he had felt more a bastard than in Winterfell. His lord father kept him close throughout the expedition, watching over him like a lost duckling. They always rode together. Only when Ser Barristan arrived was he permitted to be without his fathers attentive gaze. Am I that much of a shame to him? Ghost and Lady followed them both. The guardsman nodded at him as he entered Sansa pavilion and tucked her into bed as Lady curled up next to her. "Sleep well sister." He said. The moon was high above them as Jon made his way back to Bran. He opened the flap and saw him sitting in his chair holding Brans hand. Red-haired like Robb with the bright blue Tully eyes, but they were distant with judgement where Robbs were lively.

Lord Arryn twisted up and stood, fists curled and glowered.

Jon bristled and replied in kind. You cannot make me leave my Lord Arryn. I shall never leave my brother, no matter what you wish.

After what felt like a long moment. Lord Arryns shoulders slumped, and he returned to the chair. "I thought you had left to sleep." He grumbled, annoyed. "I didn't want any quarrel."

Jon raised a brow and crossed his arms. "You won't find any from me Arryn."

Lord Arryn shrugged and went to his default strategy of pretending he didn't even exist. Any time they had the misfortune of being near the other, he ignored him.

"You must wake Bran. Your family is worried sick about you." Lord Arryn said. "I'm sorry I haven't visited until now, but you should be around family. Not a stranger you barely know." A mournful smile crossed his face. "You know, when I was a boy a little younger than you, I ran off for Winterfell. I wanted to meet my cousins and to meet my family." He said with a longing in his voice. "What an adventure that would have been. I didn't get very far, my grand uncle found me and returned me to my duty. My lord father didn't wish me to go. If I arrived, I like to think we would have been as close as brothers. You would have taught me how to climb and I would have raced with you in the woods." He brushed his auburn curls and his voice became choked. "I should have been there for you when you needed me. I swore a vow that I would keep you safe and make you a knight and yet you lie here."

Jon shifted uneasily. "It wasn't your fault my lord."

Lord Arryn tensed and took a deep breath. "Don't speak to me bastard." He mumbled. "I can't stand your presence and I shall not quarrel here. You care for Bran, so I'll tolerate you, but by the Seven don't speak to me." He said with the thinnest of civility.

He could feel his anger boil over, just like in the Great Halls. "If you won't quarrel here. Then let's go elsewhere." He snapped. If Lord Arryn wants a second beating, I'll give him one. No matter what, Ser Barristan had tried to teach him about southron chivalry.

"You dumb bastard." Lord Arryn said hotly that had him advancing about to swing. "We can't quarrel. It's not good for Stark and Arryn. It undermines the ties between Vale and the North. They must remain to keep us all safe."

Jon paused and swallowed thickly. His words had merit and it would better protect siblings with the knights of the vale bound tightly in friendship and kin. Is that why he's avoided me like the plague? For the good of the alliance between the North and Vale? "Silence then Arryn?" He said.

"Silence." Lord Arryn agreed. "If I were a better lord, I would find it in my heart to forgive you, but I can't and for that I'm sorry." He looked more awkward and high-strung than haughty and arrogant. Lord Tyrions words echoed in his skull.

"He insulted me! Called me a bastard and insulted my honor in my lord father's own halls!" Jon raged.

Lord Tyrion chuckled. "And you embarrassed him in front of his knights. Most lords don't like that."

"So I'm in the wrong?" Jon scoffed in disbelief.

"If you had done the same to me, I would have had you killed bastard." Lord Tyrion said. "Without the duel of honor, of course, but I'm a Lannister and I care little for honor like Lord Arryn. Don't forget bastard, you shall always be one in the eyes of the world and men like Arryn will always see the worst in you. To him you're an ambitious threat in the dark."

Jon shook his head, red faced. "I'd never betray my siblings."

"That makes you a good man, Snow. " Lord Tyrion smiled. "Good luck tomorrow. I'll be rooting for you."

A thick silence held for a moment as Jon finally came to an understanding with him and made his peace silence suited him fine, but then Dawn howled a fierce cry and Jon saw movement on the bed. Bran stirred. "Bran!" Jon yelled and a grin as wide as any formed, and he was crying tears of joy. "He's waking!"

"He's waking up?" Lord Arryn blinked in disbelief.

"Yes! Look!"

And when Lord Arryn looked, a large stupid smile formed, and he was laughing like a boy.

They were both so overcome with emotion they embraced like brothers, laughing and smiling. Eventually, the laughter subsided, and they shoved away from the other. Lord Arryn twisted away and declared. "I shall fetch a maester, Snow. Stay with your half-brother." With a distant lordly command.

But Jon didn't care he was too happy.

That night the entire pack was in Brans room. All the direwolves, and his sisters crying and laughing over him. Father sported a relieved smile, and the wolves howled into the night. The pack was whole again.

Chapter Text

Sansa

Kings landing was everything she had dreamed of as a girl. A large city more impressive than the gray foreboding walls of Winterfell. The Red Keep boasted beautiful red walls as brilliant as any song. The Great Sept of Baelor on Viseynas Hill already a distant memory. They had arrived through the Dragon Gate and passed by the famed Dragon Pits on Rhaenys Hill. Everything was bright and vibrant despite the foul smell. Jeyne Poole was gushing over every detail. She sat in silence, feeling as cold as ice as the coach moved down the streets towards the residence. My dream turned to ash. All she could muster was a weak smile and small nod with every word from Jeynes mouth.

Sansa tried to ignore her.

At night, she would dream of blood. Blood and cruel green eyes. Fool! She thought, tasting the bitterness down her throat that the memory inspired. The day along the Trident had started like a storybook: Prince Joffrey was as gallant and true as any prince from a song. Just like Aemon the Dragonknight or Prince Duncan. It was an adventure! Sansa saw it all clearly: marriage, children, tournaments, balls. Everything was going to be so marvelous!

Then he cut down Bran smiling. Sweet harmless Bran and the dream turned to ash. He was a monster, and she was a fool for not seeing it. How can I trust myself if I was so easily misled? Sansa wondered and had no answer. All of her dreams of gallant princes and handsome knights spilled away along with Brans lifeblood. She begged father to let Bran come back with them, but he said. "His place is in the Vale my sweet daughter."

Lady licked her cheek, earning a small giggle, and she stroked underneath her chin. Lady could still bring a smile to her face and make her feel bolder. What would I do without her?

"Sansa, are you even listening to me?" Jeyne asked, annoyed.

Sansa blinked and froze. "I'm sorry Jeyne, I was elsewhere."

Jeyne rolled her eyes. "I was just asking what dress do you think you'll wear during your first day of court!"

The world spun, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. A court filled with potential Joffreys. Something lodged deep in her chest as she stiffened. "I won't be going." She said with some bite and her friend stumbled back, speechless.

"But Sansa!" Jeyne recovered with enthusiasm. "The Lords! The Knights! Balls of Splendor!"

"I have a betrothed." She reminded. Plump Prince Tommen, he seemed very sweet offering flowers before he left, but Joffrey had seemed all too gallant as well. "And I shall not go." She had no intention of leaving the residence save when she must as a daughter of Winterfell. The only thing she looked forward to was a pleasant warm bed and safety of being under fathers protection with the swords wielded by Stark men.

I won't be deceived ever again. Sansa vowed.

Jeyne looked to complain, but a rare hard look from Lady had her as white as a ghost. She all but bolted when Jory opened the door. "My lady," He offered his hand.

She accepted and gazed at everything and sighed. It was everything she had once wanted and now she just wished they were back in Winterfell.

Sansa retired early to her quarters that had been prepared ahead of time and curled up on the bed with a book only stirring when summoned for dinner. Arya was stabbing her meat with a kitchen knife savagely to the exasperation of Septa Mordane, whom looked close to tears. "Stop that, Arya dear. You are a lady, not a savage. If only you were more like your sister." Those words once would have made her feel pride, but now she knew better. Arya lifted her head up, glowering. She still blames me for the butchers boy. The Hound cut him down and Arya still hadn't forgiven her for not defending her before the king.

"It's the Prince! And his no good dog!" Arya said.

"Arya Stark!" Septa Mordane said, horrified. "You should pray for his blackened soul that he may find the Mothers forgiveness. Not wishing for something so wicked!"

Sansa nearly snorted, but kept her vow of silence. I hope he dies painfully. He almost killed Bran. The maester told her father. "He should regain most motion in his limbs, but his left arm will always be slower. I fear the scarring was intensive." The large cut over his small body requires dozens of stitches. Only the small mercy of the Gods that it could be hidden away, unlike the gruesome burned marks of the Hound.

But Prince Joffreys death was unlikely. Ser Jamie was one of the greatest knights in the realm and the Hound frightened her. No doubt they would frighten others whom wished Joffrey harm.

I should have spoken up. Sansa lamented. But Joffrey was going to be her husband and she couldn't speak against him so brazenly. A tense silence descended between the two of them as she ate small bites. A small meal of steak and fruit from Highgarden: peaches, oranges, and apples. When father arrived, he looked worn and weary from his first day as Hand of the King, but he offered them a kind smile. Jon was behind him grinning before offering their lord father a small bow and took his seat. The South agreed with him. Sansa thought. In the distance servants tossed enormous slabs of meat for Nymeria, Ghost, and Lady to consume and ran for the hills, less they lose a limb.

Arya brightened immediately at Jon's arrival. "Tell me everything about sword fighting with Ser Barristan!"

"Well, you know the basics, little sister. Stick up with the pointy end." Jon said, ruffling her hair.

"I know that, Jon. Tell me something I don't know."

"Sword fighting is not appropriate for a lady to speak of." Septa Mordane chided before looking to father for support.

Instead, an amused look crossed his face, and he chuckled. "I see little harm in it." And with a wave of his hand dismissed her worries. Jon and Arya launched into a conversation, and she toyed with her food. Her appetite was lost as guilt gnawed at her. What if Bran and Arya died? It would have been her fault. Maybe if she had just gone a different way? Maybe if she spoke against Joffrey, King Robert would have killed him? She analyzed that day over and over, too little avail. It always ended with her thinking of blood.

"I have something for you, love." Father said, handing her a beautiful doll. "I got it from the same toy maker that makes Princess Myrcella's toys."

"That's thoughtful of you, father." Sansa said with a forced smile. She could barely look at it. Only father could think me worthy of gifts. Even if I no longer play with dolls.

Father frowned.

"Are you well, daughter? You've barely eaten. You haven't even touched the lemon cakes."

Sansa swallowed uneasily and stood up. "I find I have little appetite. May I be excused, father?"

Father sighed and nodded his consent.

"Now, remember dear to pick out a nice dress for the morrow. King Robert shall host court and your lord father shall be at his side." Septa Mordane said.

Sansa paused and mumbled. "I'm not going."

Jon and Aryas conversation halted. A spoonful of mashed potatoes flopped onto Arya's plate as her sister went wide eyed. Father placed down his goblet of water from his lips and the Septa just prattled on, ignoring her trembling hands.

"Don't be silly, dear, as the eldest daughter of the Hand. You'll be expected to attend. It's your duty-"

"My duty is to marry Prince Tommen for House Stark. Nothing more!" Sansa yelled, heat rushing to her cheeks and stormed out of the room, too angry for words and on the verge of tears. "Lady to me!" she commanded.

Lady nudged what remained of her slab of meat to her littermates and jaunted to join her. She ran to her quarters, slammed the door behind her and collapsed on top of the soft sheets and wept bitter tears. They can't make me! No breath would come to her lungs and her body shuddered. Lady licked the tears away, and she buried her face deep into her soft fur coat. She wanted to be back in Winterfell in her room. Not here. She wanted mother to brush her hair until it glistened and tell her everything would be all right. She wished to dream of something pleasant, not blood and monsters.

Sansa wanted to be home.

Two other balls of fur jumped on top of her as heavy as stones. Licking and drooling all over her. "Get off!" She demanded. "Stop it!"

"I don't think they are going to listen." The blunt voice of her sister made her wince.

Sansa turned around and saw Arya and Jon carrying plates of food. It burned her nostrils and made her eyes water. Jon told her with a warm smile that father permitted them to finish dinner with her. "You came." She sniffled. "I thought you hated me." Sansa pointed at her sister.

"Your stupid!" Arya said. "But still my sister!" And hugged her tightly, and she returned the embrace. I'm still part of the pack! Jon stood aloof in the distance. That filled her with shame.

Sansa giggled. "You can come Jon. You're our brother."

"Half-brother." He corrected.

It was her fault she had treated him too poorly, as a lady should. But when she had wept over Bran, he held her. When she stumbled into camp covered in their brothers blood, he hugged her despite the mess it made to his clothes. Blood was hard to get out. Every night, he made sure she found herself in her own bed. Jon was her brother as much as Robb was and as gallant as any lord. If there was a heroic prince that existed, it was Jon, and she snarled at him. "Get over here Jon or we'll come to you!"

Jon reddened as the wolves howled, scaring whatever ghosts roamed the halls.

Afterwards, they laughed and talked the rest of the night away. Arya told her she was going to be taking up dancing and asked her to join, but she declined. She hardly felt like dancing. Jon told them about his day as a squire and the honor it would allow him to earn. "I'm already better than some of the Knights of the Kingsguard." He bragged. "A bastard can earn a lot of honor here. Even if I don't wear the white cloak, Ser Barristan shall knight me and mayhaps I could earn some keep in these tourneys. Barristan the Bold himself said I was a good lance and gifted sword for a melee. I have a lot of options here, sister." But not in Winterfell? Sansa wondered.

The next morning, father said she didn't have to go to court if she didn't wish it and the week passed blissfully. Arya went dancing (How odd). Jon fulfilled his duties to Ser Barristan, and she spent her days reading, practicing her stitches, and taking walks with Lady. The sun was up halfway in the sky when Fat Tom permitted a messenger, inviting her to afternoon tea with Princess Myrcella in her gardens. It would be a slight to ignore it and that would embarrass father and House Stark. I could feign illness, but a second invitation would eventually come.

Sansa had to rip the bandage off and she replied it would be her honor to attend. When she arrived, Princess Myrcella greeted her like a lost sister and threw her arms around her, giggling. The princess had hair that shined like gold, with slender shoulders and dainty hips. She was beautiful. They had set a canopy up for them, along with an array of biscuits, lemon cakes, and cups of tea. "Oh, it's simple delightful for you to join me!" the princess said.

"I'm thrilled at the invitation, princess."

She looked around and noticed only two chairs with velvet cushions. Shouldn't there be more? Sansa wondered. "Did I arrive early, princess?"

Princess Myrcella shook her head. "No, right on time!" She said cheerfully. "I just wanted to meet my future good sister. One on one. I wanted to ask you in person at court, but you never arrived, and I fear I'm terribly impatient. I hope that's alright?" Princess Myrcella bit underneath her lip and fidgeted with her hands.

"No, I have no complaints." Sansa replied, taking her seat, biting into the sweet lemon cake and dabbing away with a napkin.

"Excellent, I even ordered some bones from the kitchens for Lady! I wouldn't want her to be left out."

The princess shot of question after question that she had barely touched her tea. Sansa felt weary of the inquiries and tensed.

"And I- "Princess Myrcella stopped and blushed prettily. "I'm sorry Lady Sansa, you must think I'm interrogating you. Go on, ask anything of myself. I swear on my honor as a princess I shall answer honestly."

Sansa placed her cup of tea down. "What did Joffrey say when he had his hand around your throat? I couldn't hear."

Princes Myrcella tightened before her shoulders slouched with her left hand gripping her right arm nervously. "Oh, you saw that? It's not for civilized company I fear." She admitted as she tried to disappear into the seat. "In truth, I've wronged you my lady."

"You wronged me?" Sansa asked in disbelief. How could the princess have possibly wronged me?

"Yes, I knew my brother's nature, and I didn't warn you. I was worried you wouldn't believe me and they would punish me for speaking the truth." Princess Myrcella sighed. "It was cowardly and a princess should show greater courage."

"No, no, no." Sansa said. "There is absolutely nothing to apologize for. I should be the one apologizing." She grasped the princess's hand and squeezed. "I've treated you with such suspicion. You must think me wretched."

Princess Myrcella laughed. It was a bitter sound. "You should suspect me, for I have my motives no matter how well intentioned they may be. My mother has plots. Everyone in this court has plots though I strive to be kind."

Sansa withdrew her hand, and suddenly she wished to retire back to the safety of the residence.

"Oh, it's nothing so terrible." Princess Myrcella said. "I simply wanted to befriend you for my brother's sake. I care little for Joffrey, but I adore my little brother Tommen and I wanted to get to know his future wife. Love and peace are my only true plots, my lady."

"Is that why you threw yourself over Joffrey? For love and peace?"

Princess Myrcella shuddered from the memory even in the heat of the summer. "It would be terrible for our families coming to blows. You love your family, don't you?"

The bloody form of Bran came to her and the tears she shed over him. She thought of Jon and his comforting hands. Robb teasing her. Arya annoying her and even Baby Rickon. Fathers warm smile and mother brushing her hair.

Sansa was aghast. "Don't all daughters love their families?"

Sweet laughter erupted from Princess Myrcella. "Oh, no. But I love you do!" Every word out of her mouth was making her head spin. She spoke of Queens. Hands. Plots. Intrigues. All the things that they could do together. "My lady, one day you shall be Queen. Myself Lady of the Eyrie, and mayhaps the wife of a Hand of the King. For the good of our families, it would do us well to support one another. What better way than through friendship?" A sympathetic look glistened in her bright green eyes. "You grew up in Winterfell and I understand things are different in the North." She grasped her hands. "Listen, I understand this may be overwhelming and I apologize for that, but you need to be prepared. I cannot have you influenced and swayed by my mother."

What did the Queen have to do with anything? "I don't understand." Sansa said. "This makes little sense to myself. You oppose your own mother? Why would the Queen try to use me?"

Princess Myrcella looked vexed for a moment before offering a warm smile. "We'll start slow." She promised. "But you must promise me not to trust her."

Sansa was uncertain about everything. Doubt gnawed at her, but then Lady licked her hands. Lady liked her, and she never liked Joffrey much. "Okay." She whispered, nodding her head.

"That's enough of courtly intrigue!" Princess Myrcella said, stifling a giggle. "Worry not. We are still both very young and have many years to grow into our roles. We can still have fun. No need to be so dour like Uncle Stannis." She offered to take her sailing, walking through the gardens or the maze, even a session of sewing, though she claimed she detested it. "I would have invited your sister, but I think she would be more suited for a day of falconry! She doesn't strike me as the tea and cakes sort."

Sansa smiled. "I think that would suit her fine princess."

It was easy to talk with Princess Myrcella. She always seemed to have a warm smile and a kind word to say. Somehow, the conversation arrived at Cousin Jasper. Did I bring him up, or did she? Sansa couldn't remember and she said only the good things as a lady should. That he was a wonderful dancer and seemed very kind. He offered her a handkerchief when she wept before the king. Even if a part of her would always hate him. Jon didn't deserve what he did.

"Anything else?" Princess Myrcella asked, her girlish voice higher and disappointed.

Sansa struggled to recall anything else. He rarely spoke with her, save idle courtesies. "He likes songs I think and happy stories." She said with some uncertainty.

"Songs?" Princess Myrcella brightened. "You certain?"

She shook her head. "It was very long ago" I was a foolish girl blinded by a prince's love. "But I think he mentioned something of the sort, but I wasn't paying much attention." Too focused on him and the life she would lead in the south. Princess Myrcellas hand intertwined with her own and she gave a warm smile.

"Think nothing of it Sansa."

Cersei

Cersei tightened her grip on the pale throat as it turned fat and thick like Roberts pathetic round neck. Skin turned blue and purple. The pale copy of her twin was withering underneath her touch and she showed she was every bit a powerful queen strangling her enemies beneath a lions claws. Hear me Roar! A daughter of the great Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. She imagined Lancel was Robert, but her ire changed to Lord Arryn. He was more irksome than the old falcon ever was. How dare he take my child away from me?

The business on the Trident was his fault, not her Joffreys. My innocent boy. A diabolical plot to make Tommen into an Arryn King filled with the mummery of Vale chivalry. Lord Eddard Stark was too simple and dull to come up with such an intricate plot. Robert loved Jasper Arryn, calling him a true knight and valiant hunter, but Lord Arryn had orchestrated this by playing the gallant knight to her husband and bullying Tommen into spreading such falsehoods. The Stark girls his pawns through the boy Brandon and the butchers boy to blame if things went awry. The claims exaggerated. Joffrey would never hurt his blood. Myrcella was an accident. Now, Tommen was his puppet and her fat oaf of a husband had pawned of their daughter to him as well. Tommen was weak as a kitten and no lion unlike Joffrey. Joffrey was strong and would have made an amazing king. The people and the lords would have feared him and feared the name Lannister.

Now Tommen will become a falcon, and they'll be mocked from here to Sunspear. Cersei raged.

Lancels fingers tapped against her, trying to pry fingers away as he arched up and spilled his seed.

She roared and released Lancel whom fell back gasping and wheezing before her. I'm the Queen. All bow before me. Falcons. Wolves. Stags. Lions. All will bow before me.

Jamie, her twin and perfect reflection of herself, had been sent away along with her eldest son and the true king. Exiled like common thieves in the dead of night and humiliated before the court. Joffrey carried off in a cart, his mouth wrapped in bandages of silk while men laughed and mocked." The Fallen Stag." the fools said. They had stacked Roberts Court with Northman, Valeman, and Riverlords per the audacity of Lord Stark, as if a wolf could steal everything that was hers. A few positions remained to them and the gold of Casterly Rock could always buy friends, but now all she had was meagre wimpy Lancel Roberts squire in place to act.

She sucked him dry to his groans and moans.

Before she would have killed Robert, but she had no king to crown "He who controls the king controls the realm." Her father once said. But if Robert died, Lord Arryn would hold Tommen and would likely declare himself or Stark Regent. They would march down with his banners behind him and send her away. Already, they had taken charge of positions in the City Watch. Barbaric north man flooded the streets. Vale and Riverlords held more positions in the court itself. Robert couldn't die until Tommen returned and he could summon his brother back to take up the crown.

I shall not endure that fat drunkard for another 6 years.

"Ah, my sweet cousin. You're beautiful." Lancel said with what he thought was a winning smile. It paled to Jamie. Even that vile Lord Arryn had a better smile.

"And I shall be in your debt forever." She whispered, drifting her hand down his thighs. "For helping me with brutish Robert."

Lancel gasped. "Anything, for my queen."

It was pathetic how easy it was to seduce him. A true lion should have shown more spine. Lancel was little more than a house cat, but even cats have claws and with Jamie gone, she needed Lancel to carry out her plans with utter obedience.

The path was clear as day. Lord Arryn must die. Cersei smiled, thinking of how pretty he would look dead. Yet, she had no one in the Vale to carry out the deed. A dagger in the Eyrie would be hard pressed and would likely lead to that oaf Stark deposing her. I need him to come to the capital and for it to look an accident.

Lancel groaned and Cersei smiled as she glanced at that part of him. I'll use Myrcella to get Arryn flying down from his nest in the mountains. She thought. Lord Arryn might be a man of honor, but he had the same thing between his legs as all men. The titles and honors of marriage to her lovely daughter would have him coming for this tourney. Lord Baelish, the little charming fool, had hinted Lord Arryn fancied himself a tourney knight. Such a tidbit of information would lead to his death. Would Baelish remember how such words led to the death of his patronage? It wasn't likely the man was good for a cheap jape and collecting coins little more. He even hinted at the money troubles and mocked the ambitions of Ser Hugh of the Vale Jon Arryns former squire being in his debt. The man would be just as easily swayed as Lancel was. A perfect catspaw, he would have access to Lord Arryns tent and stables as his fathers former squire. Lancel would make for a fine match for Myrcella, weak and under her sway.

Her cousin brushed against her, desiring more, but she would leave him wanting and dressed. "Robert is drunk. Not dead." She said.

"I'm not afraid of that fat man." Lancel declared haughtily.

Cersei almost laughed. Robert would crush you.

Instead, she kissed him on the brow and called him brave before sending him on his way and drank the moon tea Pycelle supplied her. The rest of the day she spent with her ladies-in-waiting. Weak simpering women gushing about like the sheep they were while she acted like Roberts docile and dutiful queen. Only for Vylarr to stick his head into the solar. "Your daughter is here, your grace." Why was Myrcella here? What could she possibly want from her? The stupid girl had much to answer for and she wanted to deny her, but her heart softened.

"Sorry dears. I think we'll have to cut this day short."

They departed with false smiles and promises of friendship.

Her beautiful daughter curtsied before her. "Mother." She said, lowered head soft and submissive to her.

My good sweet daughter, why do you anger me so?

"My doe, come closer to me. Shouldn't you be in your lessons?"

"Oh, they ended some time ago, mother." Myrcella answered. "I'm here as a daughter to you."

The graceful smile faded, and a frowned form. "Whatever do you mean, Myrcella? I think you've done enough as of late."

Myrcella twisted away shamefully. "I'm so sorry about Joffrey mother. I want to help make things right. I want your permission to befriend the Stark girl and make her ours."

Cersei scoffed. "And why would I involve you, my sweet daughter?"

"Look at her mother. No one has seen the girl in court despite gushing about it all throughout the trip. She's scared. I'm the perfect one to pry her open for the good of our family. She'll trust me for the words I spoke on the Trident. You she'll only suspect your intentions and we need Joffs future wife to remain pliable." Myrcella's voice was filled with desperation. "Please, mother let me help. I know I can do it."

The Stark girl was too valuable to be trusted to Myrcella, but it would be a good way for her to prove herself to Joffrey. Her brother would hold her words against her, and she would have to soothe them away with her contributions.

"Only if you tell me everything you learn." She relented and her daughter brightened.

"Thank you, mother!" Myrcella gushed. "I won't let you down. Naturally, I shall tell you everything I learn of her and Stark family secrets. Anything to right my wrong." How did I make such a sweet and dutiful daughter? Maybe Jamie was right, and she would make a good wife for Joffrey. The Targaryens were wedded to brother and sister to keep the line pure. Why not Lannisters? She stroked her blond curls as delicate as her own, only letting go when the fat oaf came stumbling in with ale on his breath, determined to claim his rights with her.

"WHATS OUR DAUGHTER DOING HERE WOMAN!"

"She's just leaving Robert." She said dully.

She seethed as she fulfilled her duty and imagined Robert a corpse. It always made it easier.

Tommen

Bran hated him.

Every time he rode down the caravan of Vale knights on his white pony named Ser Gallop to speak with Bran, it was the same. Cold stoney silence and a scowl. Brans mood was worsened by the fact he was riding in the wagon still and not on horses like them. A maester with a portly belly constantly overseeing his care. Tommen had tried to cheer him up by offering to ride with him. His shoulders drooped at the memory and the harsh refusal. Would you have forgiven me if Joffrey struck me down too? Do I need scars of my own for you to see? Tommen wondered. The scars he bore were harder to see, but he had them all the same. Ser Arys white cloak always a distant shadow behind him on these trips. The Reachman Knight was good and always smiled at him, unlike the Hound whom frightened him. It made him feel braver with a knight of the Kingsguard behind him.

Jon and Adrian treated him differently as well since the Trident. They were deferential to whatever he wished and always asked him to take part in whatever mischief they got themselves into. I'm the Crown Prince. Not the spare. Everyone looked at him differently now as well. When father declared himself heir to the Iron Throne, Tommen thought he was dreaming and could scarcely say the words as oaths were sworn by every knight, lord that traveled with them. In the eyes of Gods and men, he was now the Crown Prince and when father passed, he would be king.

If only I knew how to be one

"Lets go racing Tommen!" Adrian said with an enormous grin. The Belmore boy was always brash, eager for adventure and trouble. "I can beat the both of you to the stream!"

Quiet Jon Waynwood snorted. "I think not. Too slow Belmore."

"I'm fine." Tommen mumbled. "It wouldn't be right without Bran."

Adrian groaned. "He's a bitter wolf. You don't need him, my prince."

Tommen reddened. "Don't call him that!" Something flared in his chest, and he gripped the reins more tightly. He wanted to hit him.

Before he could respond, Jon Waynwood mediated between the two of them. "Peace, Adrian meant nothing by it. Right Adrian? A poor jape on your part." And glowered. The Waynwood boy had a dead look in his eyes that sent a chill to his heart.

Adrian mumbled in agreement and Tommen told him they both should race to the stream, but he wasn't going with them. They both share a glance before departing with. "My prince."

If Joffrey were here, he would have done something cruel to Adrian for his words. Myrcella would have come up with something clever, but he was neither cruel nor clever. He missed Myrcella terribly and wept when then departed down the Kingsroad. He even missed Joffrey and shed tears for him as well. Joffrey knew what he was doing. Mother always said he did.

"Are you well, my prince?" Ser Arys asked with a smile.

Tommen shook his head honestly. "But I don't think this is something even a brave man of the Kingsguard could solve."

"May I speak freely?"

He nodded.

"It was noble of you to defend your friend. Many would have forgotten him. It speaks of your character." He praised, and praise from a Kingsguard could not be taken lightly. For a moment he smiled, feeling like before when he was still a spare and Lord Arryns squire. Life was simple then. Those weeks were happy ones. Perhaps, the happiest of his life. Running. Training. Laughing. Bran was unhurt and had an easy way about him he envied. They were friends and no one else really noticed him, and that was fine. He only needed one friend. How he loved him for it!

When they stopped for camp, Lord Arryn summoned him to sup with him in his personal pavilion. They always alternated between the four of them. He was ushered in. A small feast lay before them that had his stomach growling fiercely and his eyes watery. Lord Arryn sat on a wooden chair without a cushion wearing on his surcoat the cream-and-blue in the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn, with a handsome sky-blue cloak draped around his neck. "Sit my prince." He said with a lords voice. "Eat and tell me of your ride." Something softened in Lord Arryns eyes when he talked of his day.

"It was a fine ride, my lord. I hold little complaint."

"And you went to see Brandon again, did you not?"

Tommens hand tightened around his silverware. "I- "A cat had his tongue, and he dared not speak.

Lord Arryn smiled wistfully. "It's okay. We need not speak about that, but I wish to speak of your princely duties. You're behind in everything a crown prince should excel in. Swords. Horses. Sigils." Lord Arryn's voice became curt. "Not your fault and at the Gates of the Moon you'll learn from a maester, a master of arms, master of horse, and a septon. The same men my grand uncle summoned for myself. I'm confident you'll catch up and do yourself great honor, but I'm worried for you my prince. You seem despondent since the Trident and that troubles me. Is there anyway I can help you?"

He swallowed something heavy and sighed. "I'm sorry for troubling you, my lord. I've enjoyed being your squire, and I find brothers in Bran, Jon, and Adrian. But I don't think I shall bear the crown of my father well. I believe you shall all be disappointed."

"Your Small Council then. We'll start there. We shall master that until you feel comfortable."

Tommen blinked in confusion. "My Small Council?"

"Start small and work our way up, and whats smaller than the Small Council."

It took a moment for him to realize he was telling a joke, and Tommen laughed awkwardly. "I still don't understand my lord."

"When you become king, whom do you want on your Small Council. You know the posts, don't you?"

Tommen nodded. "Yes, there is the Master of Laws, Hand of the King, Master of Coin, Grand Maester, Master of Ships, Master of Whispers." He shivered at that last one.

Lord Arryn gave an approving look. "And who would you name? You'll be king, my prince. Everyone will look to you to name the men to these posts."

It stumped him. How do you know who to pick for each role? Loyalty? Ability? Family? It was very daunting, but Lord Arryn was looking to him for an answer. "I'd name you Hand of the King just like your father." Tommen said a bit sheepishly.

A loud snort and Tommen thought the Blackfish had snuck in with them. Lord Arryn was chuckling. "You humble me, but I'm still too young. If I were you, I'd keep Lord Stark on the post. He would be your father by law. An experienced man, a proven battle commander of two wars and the Hand of your father."

"What about my grandfather? Lord Tywin?" Tommen asked.

"Ah, Lord Lannister. He is your grandfather and would defend you well, but Lannisters are ambitious, give them a taste of power and they'll desire more. They'll snatch up as many seats as they can, and shall leave the rest out in the cold."

Tommen groaned. "Why don't you just decide for me?"

"Because I'm not king." Lord Arryn said. "You'll be, and I may offer counsel, but justice flows through you, not myself. You rule seven kingdoms. Myself only a modest one." He sagged his shoulders. "But worry not, we shall make you a fine king!" He finished with such confidence that Tommen believed him.

"Well, what qualities determine a good Hand?"

"Good question." Lord Arryn praised. "Some would say blood is important. Competence. Others loyalty." He rubbed his chin. "And I think that's the most important. You need someone you can trust."

They spent all dinner talking about Starks, Lannisters, Arryns, Royces, Dondarrion, Tullys. Dozens of lords for the positions. His head was pounding from all the words and names. The candlelight was fast fading and Tommens voice was hoarse when Lord Arryn said they should both retire for the evening. His shoulder slumped. "But we still don't have a Small Council!" Tommen said.

Lord Arryn gripped him by his shoulder. "We have many years to make your perfect small council and we've made significant progress."

It was true and for the first time since the Trident; he didn't feel entirely hopeless and did the first thing that came to mind and hugged him for his efforts. Lord Arryn stiffened, patted him once, and then pushed him away. "Get to sleep." His eyes hardened and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Chapter Text

Ned

"I Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King hearbye sentence you to die."

The grey banners of House Stark fluttered in the wind carried by his guardsman as the Crowned Stag flew proudly on the red battlements. Three men kneeled before him. Guilty of attempting to bribe the Commanders of the Dragon Gate and Iron Gate. Eddard Karstark and Ser Wendel Manderly had informed him at once and he issued warrants for their arrest. Death or the Wall his judgement. Five other men had agreed to be sent to the Wall resided in the Black Cells this day. They all spoke of men with crimson cloaks whom gave them coin and whom to give it towards. But no names, and the words of watchmen, stableman, merchants would mean little to Robert, anyway.

Jory handed him Ice, the sword of House Stark, and he swung. Three heads rolled in little time.

Ned hoped this would finally send a message. All the Lannister gold in the world won't save you from a sword. And he had the most in the city. The first few days in the city, he had overseen the replacement of Watchmen and the installation of his men into position. But the Lannister Queen did not seem easily deterred, and he doubted it would sway her to his growing dismay. How much more will I have to do to get you to yield?

"See that they give the bodies to the Silent Sisters for burial."

Jory bowed.

Tomard and Alyn flanked him in the hallways as one of Roberts squires, a boy with the golden hair, appeared with several red cloaks behind him. "Lord Stark," He said with the haughtiness of youth. "His Grace has summoned you to the Iron Throne to answer to charges brought against you by Queen Cersei of the House Lannister."

Ned nodded. "If that is Roberts command." What whispers is she feeding you, Robert? I'm your Hand overseeing your realm.

Robert adjusted himself upon the Iron Throne as he entered. Court was not in session, but five white cloaks remained with them. An annoyed look lived on Roberts face. Beside him, the Lannister Queen was as cold as ice, wearing a dress of crimson red. Ned offered a light nod of his head. "Your Grace," He said dutifully. "I'm yours to command."

"Ah, Ned." Robert said. "My wife tells me you are executing men in your own name without my leave."

"I'm your Hand Robert. I speak with your voice and you've informed me you don't wish to be involved with the small things of ruling."

"You overstep your authority, Lord Stark!" the queen said, her green eyes burning. "Men will mock you husband in their cups that Stark wears the Crown and not you."

"It's justice Robert. Every man is guilty of his crimes. I swear it by my honor." Ned said. "And everyone has blamed men with crimson cloaks. Tis the only reason Her Grace has levied these charges against me."

"Now he slanders House Lannister! Will you stand for such my king?"

Robert was vexed and let out a loud groan. "Gods, I should be drinking, not dealing with the two of you." He laughed and turned his attention to him. "Alright Ned, have you slain any man with noble blood?"

"No, your grace." He answered honestly.

"If you bring any men with noble blood, you shall summon me before deciding their faith. This isn't Winterfell Ned!" If only it were.

Ned nodded and swore he would do that. The Queen eyes became as tight as arrow slits. "Is this your idea of kingship? The man mocks you with every breath and accused me your queen of crimes."

Robert laughed. "It's Ned. Simple honorable Ned. The thought of dishonor would never cross his cold Stark heart." He sighed and grumbled, "I'm not happy with either of you. This damn quarrel ends with the both of you. YOU UNDERSTAND ME! I SHALL NOT HAVE MY QUEEN AND HAND QUARRELING!"

"I serve you Robert, I swear."

"That remains to be seen." Queen Cersei remarked.

Robert glowered. "Yes, my king." She agreed with a thin smile.

With that, Robert walked down the steps of his throne and threw his meaty arms around him. "And you Ned! You damn fool, you shall join me for drinks in my solar punishment for making me walk all this way." He looked red faced and out of breath. Kingship had not treated his old friend well.

"Robert-"

"I command you Ned! You'll drink with me!"

Ned nodded and followed his king, that he scarcely recognized. Over a couple of drinks and Robert was smiling and laughing, talking of the days in the Vale. Ned couldn't keep a smile from his face. Ah, Robert, you still live. This man was his friend whom he marched to war with. A good man that cared deeply for his friends and family. That was the man he saw on the Trident when he carried out justice against Prince Joffrey, his own flesh and blood. He didn't speak of matters of state. Robert would just ignore him about counting coppers. How Jon Arryn allowed Robert to spend all of that gold was beyond him? Oh, Jon, you had to tell him no.

Instead, he allowed the debt to grow with House Lannister. The Lions claws were still deep into the Crown and it would take him years to lean them off the Lannister gold.

"It was fucking terrible what happened to Jon. Gods, I loved the man, but I think he was a fool, Ned. This marriage is terrible as hell. I know that woman is lying, but she comes with a lot of gold and one needs gold to run the seven kingdoms."

"We need to cut spending, Robert. Allow me to make some modest cuts."

"And give up my feasts, tourneys? Jon Arryn argued the same, but I didn't listen to him. Why would I for you?"

"When you wish, tourneys inform me and I shall come up with a more sustainable course. I know this isn't the North Robert. I'm still overseeing plans for the Tourney of the Hand, but we need to get this spending under control. The Lannisters hold too much power over the Realm." Did it matter that he had seized the majority of court? This debt was crippling a sword hanging over them all. Lord Tywin had Robert with his claws and he needed Robert to see it and the dangers it represented.

Robert laughed. "That's funny, I believe I see more gray cloaks than red around my keep."

"Swords are not the only form of sway." Ned sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've spoken with your brother Renly. He informs me that Lord Tyrell will offer a generous loan. I'd suggest you accept it and use it to repay some of the Lannister Debt. Your realm will be better for it."

"That fat fool?" Robert scoffed. "You know, he claims he's the only man to beat me in the field. It was Tarly, not that fat flower, but I suppose it makes little difference where you get the funds. Produce the coins to fund my wishes, you know the saying about the Hand and King." Robert was grinning like a boy.

"The king shits, and the hand wipes." Ned said after a sigh as Robert laughed and laughed.

Later that evening, after supping with his family and household with some northman joining them, Ned retired to his quarters surrounded by walls and walls of parchment. Damn it Robert, why must you be so negligent. The Tyrell loan would be a saving grace for the Crowns finances and would allow him to sleep more soundly at night. For a moment, he shoved the quill away and thought of Winterfell and Cats arms. How he missed her and his children that remained scattered in Winterfell and the Eyrie. Leaving Bran was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Honor and duty called me south with Robert. Ned sighed. At least his household was at peace. The conflict between his daughters had ended. Jon had played a hand in that. The boy was taking well to the court despite the stain associated with being a bastard. Ser Barristan had told him he would make a fine knight one day.

Not a king. Of all the people in the capital Ser Barristan worried him the most. He spent the most time with Prince Rhaegar of any man in the city and his oaths sworn him to Robert. Would he betray Rhaegar's son to him if he discovered the truth? Honor would demand it. Yet everyone said he loved Rhaegar. But the Old Gods favored him and Ser Barristan simply saw him as his son. Not Rhaegars. The memory of Rhaenys and Aegon made him shiver. Promise me, Ned, promise me. Lyanna had begged. Jon would be fine in this city and if need be, the option of a sword would remain to him. It did him little good thinking of unlikely roads that would be traveled. He picked up the quill and started his battle. The battle was still being raged when Jory appeared, saying Lord Baelish wished to see him.

"Send him in Jory."

Lord Baelish was an amicable man with a quick wit that he liked little. His eyes were always scheming. Both his wife and nephew had told him to trust him and his talents. Jasper Arryn pledged to him he would serve him well, per his wish as his bannerman. Yet, he merely wanted to skewer him and his insolent eyes. The way he speaks of Cat…

"Busy at work, I see Stark. The king has left you with much, it seems."

"Speak your words Lord Baelish." He said far too brusquely as he rubbed his temples. "Forgive me, for my tone."

"You should watch it. I've come here with a warning Stark. One you would do well to listen too." He sighed. "Why I bother is beyond me. Keeping my promise to sweet Cat is such a tedious thing."

The game of words and quips, Ned liked little. "Then say the warning." He said with a frown.

"Very well Stark," Lord Baelish said. "I've been told through my contacts in the Westerlands Ser Kevan Lannister is riding with some two hundred knights among them the Mountain that Rides for the Tourney of the Hand. Lord Tywin has not been pleased with events in the capital. What he means to do, I fear I can only speculate, but Ser Kevan is Lord Tywins right-hand man. He speaks for Lord Lannister. Mayhaps they shall demand some of the debt the Crown owes for the slights to House Lannister? Something I shall remind you we won't be able to do. We would have to default."

Ned chuckled. "Well, then it seems we already settled such a problem. I shall be able to pay a down payment if asked."

"Oh?" Lord Baelish asked with a curious glint. "How is that I wonder?"

Ned told him about the offer Lord Renly had brought to him from Lord Tyrell. "Ah," He said. "Then you seem to have matters well in hand, Lord Hand. I shall take my leave from you then."

Would Lord Tywin truly take such a drastic step? One day his grandson Prince Tommen would sit the Iron Throne. Lannister pride, He thought, but he was certain he could keep the peace. If it came to war, the Lannisters would stand alone while Robert could summon the entire realm against them.

He fell asleep heavy at work. The smell of perfume greeted him when his eyes fluttered open. He squinted. "Varys?" He said, aghast. He could scarcely recognize him in his garb. How had he got passed his guardsman? Was Robert's Master of Whispers truly capable of sorcery as men whispered?

"Pardon me my lord for disturbing you at this late hour, but I fear the Realm is heading to catastrophe and you are the only servant of the Realm left." Varys smiled sadly. "Yes, the only friend left to Robert I think."

These plots gave him a headache. The Lannister Queen. Littlefinger. Varys. All playing some murmurs' farce. "What do you mean Varys?" He saw no apparent danger hurdling towards them. "If there is a threat, we must warn His Grace."

The Spider giggled. "Oh, he wouldn't listen to me. But you, my lord, he would. His boyhood friend. Yes, I think he would listen to you."

"Speak the threat then and I shall tell Robert." Ned said.

"The Tyrells and the Lannisters will arrive in full force in the capital for the Tourney of the Hand. Lord Mace Tyrell has just left Highgarden with his lovely daughter, Lady Margaery. I wonder why. Mayhaps, the faith of Prince Joffrey has encouraged them to take a more aggressive stance in Roberts Court, aided by Lord Renly. You are the reason as well, I think. Stacking the court with your men has declawed the Lions, and that means they can rise high on the Lannisters corpse. A fine move, I may add. Securing the court with your men it'll help you in the days to come." Varys giggled. "The Lannisters will dislike what the Tyrells do. I fear blood may flow if you don't act. Prince Tommens future would be in jeopardy."

Ned was aghast. "Why would the Lannisters care about Lady Margaery? She'll be wed to Lord Renly, the Lord of Storms End. And how does Prince Tommens faith play into this?" And that made perfect sense to him. Renly had spent much time in Highgarden with the Tyrells, and he had yet to wed. The Rose and the Stag would be a good thing for Roberts Realm. What concern could the Lannisters possibly have to that?

"You must think my lord with Prince Joffrey removed. King Robert now only has one son, and the world is often so cruel, and you've seen that the King and Queen bear little love for the other."

"Robert would never." Ned said, realizing what Varys implied. "Setting aside his Queen for no crime? It would be madness." Would he? Once Ned would have been certain, but this King Robert was almost a stranger to him. If he saw a pretty maiden from Highgarden and was offered riches and gold to fund his feasts and tourneys, would he do so? Some doubt gnawed at him.

"And if you accept this loan, I assure you the Lannisters will assume that is exactly what is planned. Blood will flow in the streets and the realm as well." Varys said. "You must deny the offer and speak with courtesy to Ser Kevan when he arrives. Convince him that no threat resides to Lord Tywins grandchildren. That Cersei shall remain Queen of the Realm."

"You ask me to serve the Lannisters the butchers of children."

"I ask you to serve the Realm, my lord." Varys said.

Is that why Lord Renly offered the generous loan? Ned wondered. Is he part of the plot? He couldn't believe that Renly wouldn't undermine his own niece and nephew purely to put House Tyrell by Roberts side. The Lannisters held a sword over Roberts realm, and according to Varys, if he removes it'll lead to bloodshed. Dead children. Could he risk that? Sansa had spoken kindly of Princess Myrcella, and Brans recent letter spoke highly of Prince Tommen as a good friend. Or was this another lie? Did Baelish speak the truth, and no threat existed save that of Lannister ambition? These were the hard choices of a Hand of the King.

Brandon would have known what to do.

"I shall think on this Varys." He promised.

Ned thought about it all night and made a choice.

Jasper

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?”

The High Road had narrowed to support only rows of four horsemen and droplets of rain pelted against the company as heavy as stone. It soaked to the bone even with the heavy cloak protecting him. Over the two battlements the sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon, on a sky-blue field stood proudly amid the storm. Behind him some one-hundred guardsman and knights, along with his squires. Brandon Stark was riding a small shaggy beast. Maester Roland had said it would be fine for him to ride short stretches. Maybe I should have overruled him? His cousin looked weary and tired. Thankfully, they would find some respite here.

“I, Lord Jasper Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, have returned home to the noble Vale with two new wards. Crown Prince Tommen of House Baratheon and Lord Brandon of House Stark. “

The Knight of the Bloody gate undid his helm. “And we are glad to have you, Lord Arryn.” Ser Mychel Redfort said. “Your men shall find food and shelter from the storm here.”

Behind him, his grand uncle snorted.

Every man in the party was wet and tired and eager for a warm fire to heat them and crunchy bread to eat. “And for that ser, we are thankful. I shall break bread with you and Mya.”

Ser Mychel smiled like a man hopelessly in love. “That we shall Lord Arryn.”

Stableboys saw to their mounts and Jasper followed Ser Mychel up to the main battlement, where the Knight of the Bloody Gate slept and ate. Grand Uncle Brynden was behind him. Two deep blue eyes widened when Ser Mychel opened the door of ironwood. She had dark raven hair and wore a red dress where once it was leather and breaches. The boy Jasper had named her a friend, but he was the Lord of the Eyrie and he did not embrace her. A single lordly nod of acknowledgment.

“Look who tumbled their way up the trail.” Ser Mychel japed.

Mya smiled. “Lord Arryn, and Ser Brynden, I trust the road treated you well.”

“Like an ugly old wife. Constant nagging and complaining and the irksome squires quarreling the entire High Road made it the Seven Hells.” Grand Uncle Brynden said.

“In good humors I see.” Mya said.

Jasper shook his head. “My grand uncle exaggerates. It was a fine trip, but we are glad to be in the Vale.”

Bread and a warm porridge was served and while famished Jasper only ate in controlled bites. Ser Brynden and Ser Mychel were discussing the Mountain Clans and the trouble they still poised. Jasper listened along.

“They are becoming bolder. I think we may have to ride against them in the coming moons.”

“Poor tidings then.” His grand uncle snorted. “We’ll have to do it right. A half ass job and it’ll only encourage further raids.”

Jasper nodded along. “And that we shall. I will defend the Vale and my people.” He vowed. “With the Blackfish and the Knight of the Bloody Gate by my side! We shall drive those savages back into the hills.”

Ser Mychel’s chest rose with pride at his words.

Mya was strangely silent just watching him with a curious look that had him bothered. Still, he smiled, complimented Ser Mychel on his swordsmanship and pledging a quick spar before they left, praised Mya for her beauty and wit. His grand uncle gave a nod of approval at his behavior and he kept a fake outgoing smile on his face the entire supper. Listening intently to Mychels concerns about the clansman and the security of the Bloody Gate. By the end, he could feel the irritation grow and his need for a respite. He retired for the evening, shaking Mychel’s hand and giving Mya a chaste kiss on the cheek as if she were little more than another lady of the vale.

Jasper retired for the evening after sending his grand uncle to check on his squires and make sure they all still lived. They are going to give me gray hairs. I was never that bad.

And he allowed sleep to claim him

The howling wind screamed around him. His mothers pudgy neck was turning purple and Jasper’s eyes burned. “You tried to kill us! We are your sons!” He said, intent on choking the life out of her. “Why are you like this? You should love us!”

“FLY! FLY! MAKE HER FLY!” Robert said.

“Son.” she said through clenched teeth.

She mumbled incoherently, trying to pry his fingers away from her throat. But he would have his justice. Justice of an Arryn and the Lord of the Eyrie.

Jasper dragged her to the edge of moondoor the wind kissed them both. She struggled like a floppy trout, but he held her down and tilted her head to look down to the oblivion that stared back. Tears streaming down her cheeks. “ARE YOU SCARED?! NOW IMAGINE HOW ROBERT FELT!”

“I-“

“NO!” Jasper said. “You don’t get to speak. You’ll listen to me and suffer my judgement. Pray to the Gods Mother for they shall show more mercy than I.”

Jasper awoke from the dream covered in sweat. He dressed quickly for a midnight walk to calm down. The midnight walk turned into a rigorous exercise to sweat out the terror. He pressed down and pushed himself up, using his chest until he felt on the verge of collapse. I need to keep myself in peak form. The nightmares got worse the closer they got to the Eyrie. A few guardsmen wandered the wall carrying torches, but Jasper didn’t need one to see. The crescent moon was above them the sigil of his house. When he was a boy, the moon comforted him and even now it soothed his heart, but he thought of the weeks ahead. Lord Yohn Royce, he would have to keep close. It would do him well to keep him in good counsel. Nestor Royce still held his position as High Steward, but he would strip him of his post as Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. That title he would bestow upon his grand uncle. A loyal man and well respected by the Valeman. Albeit, it would be ceremonial. He had no intention of ascending up to that white marbled cage save his wedding day. But on days when he left to visit his vassals, he wanted Ser Brynden to be watching his wards and not Nestor Royce.

I’m taking something from him. I’ll offer him a soothing gift. The title Paramount Knight of the Vale for years of honorable and dutiful service should suffice. Most of the men in his household were his fathers men, and he had been slow to replace them. I want men I pick around me dependent upon me, but I have to honor dutiful service.

Jasper rolled onto his back, sweat streaming across his brow. Thank you, grand uncle. Some men in his household had already departed for King Roberts Court to take up positions, freeing him to replace them with individuals connected to him. It was a strategy his grandfather Lord Hoster had employed to help tie together the quarrelsome Riverlands. The Master of Arms Ser Edmund Redfort, a distant cousin of Lord Horton. The Captain of the Guard Marywn Belmore. Belmores, Redforts, and Royces, the principal three, he rewarded.

The welcoming feast for Prince Tommen and Lord Brandon would be a grand affair. The entire Vale needs to see it. Jasper thought. Only problem was all the talking he would have to do with every lord and lady and how taxing it was being outgoing and gallant. But he would plan out his day and would have to structure some breaks in between the dancing and speaking.

“Not sleeping well, my lord? Mind if I join you?” Mya asked, appearing next to him.

His stomach twisted into knots, and he fought the urge to groan. Put on the show and offered his flashiest smile. “And I’m grateful for that, otherwise I would not have your company this night.” He rose from his sweaty position on the ground and kissed the back of her hand, as the show required. He wished it fooled her. But she was as stubborn as the mules she once oversaw. For a moment, she didn’t speak, and he almost believed she would give up.

“You put on a great show at supper, as you are now. Very courteous to Mychel.” She chuckled. “Though that’s easy. Praise his swordsmanship and he’ll like you, but you smiled far too much. You’re unhappy.”

Jasper laughed. “Show?” He raised his brow as if puzzled. “I’m no actor fair lady. My smile is as real as the esteem I hold for you. Ser Mychel is a lucky man.”

“They are false smiles.” Mya said bluntly. “I’ve seen your actual smile as a boy when you fed the mules carrots. You’re much like Ser Brynden. Your smile is a smaller thing.”

He did a flippant wave of his hand. “If that is what you wish to believe, my lady.” And tried to shift the conversation to her marriage with Ser Mychel. But she held a stubborn glint in her eye like a mule and he expected she wouldn’t let this go. “Do I have to give Ser Mychel a stern talking to my lady?” His voice turned into his lord’s voice. “And remind him how a man should treat his wife? Why else would you be out this night?” Eyes narrowing lightly as he watched her like with everyone with a sense of dread.  

“Tis unneeded Jasper.” Mya smiled. “Mychel is a sweet husband.” She was by his side, shoulders brushing. “I’m out this night for the moon. It’s a beautiful one.”

I find that hard to believe. You wish to meddle. Jasper thought. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Mya under the moonlight and saw what Mychal appreciated in her. A pretty, but loyal woman as stubborn and unmovable as the rocky cliffs of the Giants Lance. Those were the qualities the boy Jasper valued. Without her loyalty, I would have been a pampered weakling. The Vale owes her a great debt.

I owed a great debt and repaid it with a plot to see her happy, but she thinks it Mychel my part she remains unaware.

Jasper preferred it that way. I couldn’t be seen as favoring a bastard and he couldn’t afford to be the soft boy.

“A better night than when you smuggled me out of the basket.” The winds were fierce that night with rain heavier than the past few days, but he wasn’t afraid. Maybe he should have been.

Mya’s voice was with great cheer. “It was a straightforward thing hiding you with the turnips.”

Jasper gave a genuine smile. “Made for a good snack.” He said before giving up trying to be Lord Arryn this night and turned. “It’s good to see you Mya, I’m very happy seeing the life you’ve made here.” And it was no mindless courtesy from himself. He meant every word. “You and I have come a long way from those days.” He smirked. “Look at you, you’re a Redfort! It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

“And yourself, my lord. Do you have what you want?” The words cut at him. No, but I’m incapable of ever achieving it.

He snapped his fingers. “Forgive me. I forgot to give you your gift. Damn myself!” He thumped his forehead. “It’s always the small things, but worry not, I shall rectify my err. It’s in my quarters.” Jasper was pleased to take the conversation to a location that afforded him greater control and security. I wish to give her the gift though. I hope she’ll love it.

“And pray tell, what is it?” Mya asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I dislike surprises my lord.”

“Unfortunately for you, I love them and I’m the Lord of the Eyrie, so I win.” He winked and enjoyed the small victory over her as she bristled. Not such a pleasant feeling. Is it having someone under your skin? He offered his hand as he did in the courtroom with an exaggerated flair. “Lady Mya Redfort shall you accompany me?”

A single unladylike snort and her hand entangled with his own, she leaned into his ear. “You know you’ll make the men gossip terribly.” She whispered.

He scoffed. “My conduct is beyond reproach. I would not do that with a married woman, but if you worry over your honor, I could send for Ser Mychel.”

“It bothers me not. I’m used to such speculation.” Mya said. “I was just teasing my lord.”

They attracted a few stares from the sentries, but Jasper didn’t pay them much mind as he led Mya to his quarters. It was scant compared to most of his accommodations, but it was serviceable. A warm feather bed, and a desk of oak with a few chairs and a single table of chestnut. Everything he needed. He had hoped Mya would stay at the doorway while he rummaged through the desk looking for the gift, but she was bold and sat on top of his desk, legs crossed. “My surprise is on this desk?” She huffed a loose strand of hair.

“Yes,” He grumbled. “Give me one moment. I have a lot of parchment to sort through. I was going to give it to you on the morrow.”

“I thought you forgot to give it to me at the dining table.” And he felt like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A nervous laugh left his throat as he stretched his collar.

“I must have misspoken. My apologies, tis a crime to fib with a lady, especially a friend.” And dipped his head apologetically. Jasper thanked the Gods for Ser Orryns Book on Proper Manners and Virtues of a Knight. I would be beyond hopeless without the book. He had committed it to memory, and it was the wisest thing he had ever done. I would babble like an idiot otherwise.  

Mya didn’t look too convinced, though.    

Her hand was rather curious and stumbled upon the letter that had him hot and flustered.

“A letter from the princess?” She grinned. “Are you truly courting her?

Jasper snatched it out of her hands.” It’s a political match, nothing more." He said with ice, trying to silence that amused expression with a harsh look. Princess Myrcella was sweet, but it was just politics. He would not try again like a damn fool. I can’t do it, I’m too bad at it.

Mya laughed, clutching at her sides. “As you say, my lord.”

“It’s for the good of the Realm. For the Vale.” He believed those words, but Mya didn’t look convinced, which had him scowling as he finally found it.

“Ah, one letter from King Robert to Mya Redfort congratulating you on your wedding.” Jasper offered the letter to her with a smile. Her features turned serious, and she glared as if it were poison. The moment dragged on and he raised his brow. “If you don’t-“ She snatched it out of his hand, but made no move to open it. Studying the wax seal of House Baratheon, and sighed. “Maybe one day I’ll open this, but I’ve little desire to see his words today.”

Jasper stood awkwardly. “My apologies.” He mumbled. “I shouldn’t have asked.” King Robert had penned the letter with only a little prodding. Apparently, he wished to bring her to court once, but said it would not be a good place for her. His Grace swore him to silence and he would keep his oath.

“It’s fine my lord.” Mya said. “It was thoughtful of you to ask.”

Still, he felt he had to make amends. His grand uncle told him the best way was over a drink. His book said otherwise, but he figured the Blackfish was a better source of information. “Mya,” He said. “Before I send you on your way, let me offer you a drink.” He poured them two goblets of whatever wine they provided him with.

“And what shall we toast too?”

Jasper chuckled. “To a good night sleep!”

“To your betrothed Princess Myrcella!”

“To good King Robert!”

With that, the goblets clanged together, and Jasper drank the sweet contents down his throat. It warmed him and he smiled. She let out a small giggle as he asked about Mychel and how marriage was treating her. Small-talk he normally hated, but it brought him some happiness seeing her content living life like a song. I did this. I secured this for her. If nothing else, I did that one thing right.

“Oh, Jasper, promise me you’ll try to find love with your betrothed as I found with my husband.”

Jasper shook his head. “I will not make a false promise, my lady. It’s a political match, and that’s all it shall be, but I shall treat her well as befit her rank and status.” Dreams and songs floated in his mind and he wanted it more than anything, but it just wasn’t in the cards for him.

Mya snorted, annoyed. “When you fell off of your horse, you got back up. This is the same thing. You must try. Winterfell may not have gone as you wished-“

Jasper reddened, deeply embarrassed. “Don’t speak of Winterfell.” He twisted away.

“My lord.” She said with some force.   

“I won’t speak of it.” He said and sulked like a boy being chided by his older sister. “It was stupid. I was as stupid as the dumb boy with pet rocks trying to find a brother in Cousin Harry.” And she knew the boy and not the knight or the lord he had become. Mya Stone knew the soft boy with his head in the clouds. I killed him, I killed him, damn it. I restored my honor.     

“My lord-“ She tried to reason, but he would hear of no further words from her.

“Thank you Mya for the company, but it’s best you retire.” He said with his lord’s voice. Leave me alone you meddlesome woman.

“Then I name you a craven and a coward.” Mya said bluntly.

Jasper gawked. “I’m no craven!” He snapped with steel at the challenge of his honor. “How dare you call me that! I’ve killed men, I’ve won tourneys, I’ve brought down great beasts. By what right do you name me such?” His body shook with fury. “Answer me.” It was wrong to speak to a woman with such a tone, but she got his blood hot and fiery with her prodding.

“Oh, Jasper, you are lonely. You're still the same lonely boy I’ve always known.”

And his anger left him as he chuckled, failing to drown out the bitterness. “Falcons soar alone. Falcons soar alone.” He repeated. “I’m the Lord of the Eyrie. I’m the knight, and that’s all I shall ever be. And by the Seven.” Jasper vowed. “I shall fake it until the day I die. It’s all I’m good for.” He spent too much time in his golden cage, floating high above the world to do anything else.

“Your only hurting yourself.”

It was the only life he knew, and he was terrible at trying to be something he wasn’t. Jasper sighed. “It’s fine Mya.” He grabbed her shoulders.”I’m fine, as long as you and my fellow Valeman are happy, I shall find contentment in that and I want you to be happy. You were a good friend.” He rubbed his pant legs, uncomfortable by such declarations. “I think we were friends. I’m uncertain.” His voice turned awkward.

Mya’s gaze softened. “Yes, we are.” She answered. “And you need to try again. You can’t fake it your entire life. Tis not the way men are supposed to live.”

But he was an Arryn and he offered his fake public smile. “Of course I can. I’m fantastic at it!” His voice turned slightly haughty. “Arryns soar above normal men.” And before she could say a word of protest, he entangled his arm with her own. “Now, you silly woman, let me get you back to your gallant husband. No doubt he misses your company. Some knights have all the luck.”  

And when he returned, he shut the door behind him and slouched against the stone. He brooded on the floor, staring at the letter on his desk and what is represented. Love. Happiness. A chance to discover those things and to be Jasper again. Should he try again? Jasper simply stared, with no answer. No, I have an answer, but I like it little.

Wolves had packs. Lions had prides. Roses grew together. But Falcons soared alone. Anytime he got close to anyone, they were sent away. A sharp lesson to remind him. Mother would suffer no competition while she was away, and she was never in the Eyrie. Stories and songs his only true companions in his floating cage high above everyone. Cold roaring winds that howled. My prison. How I hate the Eyrie. He learned to be distant as they wished, but he still wanted families like the songs. When he wrote begging his father to send him playmates or to foster him in Runestone or Winterfell. His father Jon Arryn, the most honorable lord in the Seven Kingdoms, wrote to him. Falcons soar alone Jasper. Your place shall remain alone in the Eyrie, as is my command.

For a time Jasper accepted it, thinking he was doing great honor to his name. Then Cousin Harry told him the truth. What they thought of him. Weak. Coddled. Pathetic. Then he saw the white marble walls for the bars they were. Father was setting him up for failure because he looked like a Tully. He hated me; I embarrassed him. Harry was the Heir he wanted. Blond-haired and blue eyes, not auburn hair with light blue eyes. My father, the honorable Jon Arryn, judged me unworthy. Did he see something dark and evil in my conduct? He was probably right. Everyone in that castle was sworn to his mother or father and would never let him out to prove himself. To prove himself an Arryn worthy of his name. If it wasn’t for Mya agreeing to deliver a letter to his grand uncle at the Bloody Gate pleading for him to return to the Eyrie, he would have failed badly.

He wanted me to fail. Strip me of my birthright. And honor says I must keep my silence.

He held his tongue.

Brynden Tully took him as a squire and taught him everything he knew. And he threw himself at his studies until every muscle ached and sleep took him, but he could never connect well with anyone. People were strange with so many rules and he did not know how they worked, save what he noted from observation or his book on how a knight was supposed to behave. He needed to be a perfect Lord Arryn and prove them all wrong. To make his father proud of him, but Jon Arryn died and died thinking him a failure. Or maybe he earned enough respect to keep being his heir? When they brought a raven of his death, he thought it would bring word he had been disinherited. That never happened. He could still make the Arryn name something to be proud of as beautiful as any song.

As High as Honor!

Jasper went to bed, and knew he would soar.

Chapter Text

Casterly Rock -Kevan

When he returned to the Rock at the head of a party of fifty knights and twenty-five men of arms, they swirled around him, baring the crimson red of House Lannister. It was lifeless. Even in the heat of the day, the Rock held a sense of dread. Servants hustled with sunken eyes and quick steps. It afflicted everyone, from the knights of his brothers household to the lowest pauper. Tywin was displeased, and no one wished to be at the receiving end of a Lion's claws.

Tywin had summoned him back from the Golden Tooth with a single word by raven. Return Kevan obeyed. His brother was the elder and his liege. Duty demanded he serve him in all matters. Whatever it was, it had been something terrible.

The slights from the Reynes came to his mind or the insults of the Mad King. A similar feeling had descended upon the Rock. Both now resided dead and forgotten, living with the maggots in the dirt. Who had pulled the Lion's tail? Kevan wondered. It was not anyone in the Westerlands. Not even the greatest fool of a bannerman would dare, even in the safety of his mind, to insult his brother. Even outside of the Westerlands, a simple playing of the Reynes of Castamere earned compliance.

Servants ushered Kevan into his brother's solar. His brother was sitting nose deep in parchment. Tywin didn't even look up as he uttered. "Sit."

He obeyed and observed. No visible signs of exhaustion on his face or annoyance. Simply calculating green eyes that had brought House Lannister from the cusp of ruin. Eventually, Tywin finished his foe and looked up. "Here Kevan read this." Tywin extended the parchment to him, which he grasped and read. Each word filled him with a sense of war. The words carried a sense of mockery and embarrassment, neither things Tywin would ever forget, nor forgive.

"A new heir to the Iron Throne? Your other grandson disinherited. A new court being formed filled with the Vale, Riverlands and the North. Poor tidings." Kevan said. "What do your sources say? Is this some plot of Lord Arryn and Lord Stark?"

Tywin chuckled. "I thought the same, but they all say that Prince Joffrey marred Princess Myrcella and nearly slew his own brother. My legacy nearly destroyed in one petulant act of a spoiled boy." His brother shook his head with a cold grimace. "Madness and stupidity. The boy is no grandson of mine. I care not for his faith. If my son was not with them, I would let him starve in the squalor he earned."

Kevan nodded. Kinslaying is a terrible thing such a prince could never be king.

"But it's my daughter that is the biggest disappointment. I've told her to send me my grandson Prince Tommen to be fostered here at the Rock.

"Tyri-"

Tywins eyes blazed with fire. "I have need of an heir, but she wouldn't be parted from the boy and now he shall be raised in the foolish honor and chivalry of the Vale. Our future king a falcon instead of a lion or mayhaps a trout pretending to be a falcon."

"If she couldn't stop the fostering, she should have sent a Lannister cousin with him. Impress the need of him to be around family." Kevan admitted.

Tywin gave a single nod. "My thoughts exactly and the madness does not stop." What more could have transpired? Kevan was in disbelief by the change of fortunes already and there was more?

"Read the words of my granddaughter."

Dearest Grandfather, I intervene only out of a sense of duty as a princess of the Iron Throne, and duty to my brother Crown Prince Tommen. Still, I beg your pardon for interfering out of my place. I fear I have little choice. Mother refuses to give up Joffreys claim to the Iron Throne. She plots to see him renamed. I fear such would be disastrous for our family should this come to pass. A mothers madness has befallen her. Joffrey, despite the love I bare him cannot be king after the Trident. My words hold little weight with her, but I know you to be wise and dedicated to our future. If any man in the Seven Kingdoms may help us prevent such a disaster, it would be yourself. I pray you find my words truthful and honest, but if any doubt remains merely ask her yourself and I'm confident you'll see the truth in her eyes. Even here in the capital, everyone knows you cannot successfully lie to Lord Tywin Lannister. I've written this letter despite the risks to myself should mother discover my treachery, but I remain dutiful to my family and will bear such uncertainty with grace.

Sincerely Princess Myrcella of the House of Baratheon.

Kevan coughed. "The folly. Just pure folly." He said when he was finished. How could Tywins daughter be that incompetent? It was a jape of the gods. She was trying to return Prince Joffrey to the line of succession. The plot was laughable. Slandered and disgraced Prince Joffrey, whom men would mock underneath their cups. His jaw shattered by the kings anger groveling before the court like some pathetic cat. It was not the interest of House Lannister to seat him on the Iron Throne. What was she thinking? The madness of a mother it seemed. Though he found it curious that Princess Myrcella was the one to bring word to Tywin.

"At least she has some wits about her." Tywin said with almost a hint of a smile. "She knows I'm the only one who can bring her to heel and we shall or more accurately, you will bring my daughter to cease this folly."

"And how will I do that? She is a Queen and I'm not you. She'll ignore me." Kevan reminded. His niece was a proud woman and would not listen to reason, nor counsel save from her own fathers lips.

Tywin nodded. "Indeed. Inform her of the unpredictability of sell swords. The ones that guard the spawn she calls a son. That should do the trick, I think. She'll understand the meaning. The love she bares it will allow us to tame her."

Kevan understood the threat well, and Cersei would as well. Tywin is only as harsh as he needs to be. He gave a nod of agreement. "And my other orders." He knew Tywin would have other tasks that needed to be accomplished.

"Secure the interests of House Lannister in the capital by whatever means necessary. Our position in court has fallen because of the inability of my daughter to make the king forget a woman whom has been dead for a decade and a half." He scoffed. "My daughter should have made friends and rehabilitated the image of House Lannister and she has failed. Only the conciliatory nature of Jon Arryn has permitted us this position we enjoy. Now, the daggers will be out to finish us. Tyrells, Starks, Arryns, Tullys. They circle around us like vultures, as if we were little more than a dying carcass. Keep my daughter as queen Kevan and maintain Lannister influence in court as long as we hold the queenship Crown Prince Tommens position is secured. Make Stark an ally if you can. Despite being an honorable fool, his daughter shall be queen and it does us well to keep him close."

Only one question remained to him. "Why am I going and not yourself?"

"Subtle preparations must be made if things go awry. Plans I must oversee from here."

War. Kevan thought.

He thought of his children and his wife. Sweet, dutiful Dorna and the children she had born to him. Lancel was in the capital. It had been two years since he had seen him. Martyn and Willem, two sweet lads and his beloved daughter Janei, were with his wife. Dread filled him at the thought of war. His children had grown up in a long summer without conflict or strife. Peace that Tywin provided the Seven Kingdoms.

Tywin has never lost a war. He won't lose this one. And Kevan would do his duty and left with a bow.

Riverun-Lysa

Liquid as sweet as honey was shoved down her throat. She fought. She clawed like a beast at the maester and his servants as they pried open her throat. The blood she drew when she bit the maesters stubby finger was sweeter. Pain and darkness overwhelmed her, and she slept peacefully. Sleep. Liquid. Cries. Blood. Every day blurred together since Jons son ripped her away from her little boy Sweetrobin, sending him to that wretched Lord Royce.

He has his fathers dark eyes and should have been born first. Lysa lamented.

,In brief moments where she dreamed she could taste his sweet lips against her. "Lysa," He would say with love. "My sweet Lysa, please hold on a little longer. I shall rescue you." And her Petyr was always so clever and brilliant. He would make everything right. He would see Jasper thrown through the moondoor and would reunite Sweetrobin with them both. Then she would marry him and they would sire more Sweetrobins safe in the Eyrie. It would be the perfect ending and her Petyr would see it come to fruition.

Days became weeks and weeks months as her hope faded. More sweet liquid. More sleep. Cries and screams wore her down. She had lost weight. Her eyes sunken into pits of despair. She realized they had forgotten her in this tower. Why would her love abandon her? It shouldn't have taken this long to rescue her from her old decrypt father and foppish brother. Why was it taking this long? Lysa kicked the bucket of waste, seething and weeping. Cat, you whore, you stole him, didn't you? Lysa knew this had to be true. She received everything before her. Everyones praise from visiting lords and ladies. Father's love and admiration.

"My pretty Cat." He would say. "How beautiful you look."

Never her, despite how she outshined her. My hair was brighter and shined as brilliant as the stars. Cat was stupid and couldn't even see the love Petyr bore her, and she abused him, always stringing him along like some puppy. But for the first time, she won something over Cat and made him hers. When he took her maidenhead, it was the sweetest thing. Only for the son she carried in her womb to be murdered by father. I didn't know it was moontea. Father lied to me.

Now Cat had stolen his attention again. Tears overwhelmed her as footsteps entered and the mess was cleaned up. More sweet honey and peaceful sleeping in soft blankets of silk. She dreamed of what her boy would have looked like. He would be older than Jon's son. He would have been tall and slender with beautiful Tully eyes. But she birthed the Arryn. The boy robbed her beautiful son of the life he should have lived, and she had never forgiven him for it. If only I drowned him. But Jon Arryn would have had her killed for it. She pretended he wasn't his son. But whenever she looked at the falcon's nose, she saw him for what he was.

Jon Arryn's son, not my own. A mistake that should never have been made.

When she placed the poison in her husband's wine, she had been happy watching his last pathetic gasps and the life leaving his frail body. My happy ending was just around the corner. When she arrived in the Eyrie, she would tell Jon's son about Lannister treachery and, like dear Cat, would demand justice and call for war against House Lannister. The boy would march off to war where he would die and her Sweetrobin would become the true Lord of the Eyrie. It was a perfect plan, but then he ruined it by sending him to Lord Royce. The look in his eyes was as cold and calculating as father has ever been. Sweetrobin would never survive without me and I won't share him with anyone!

Bitterness overwhelmed her. Forgotten and betrayed by her lover, her only son taken away from her. I have to make them hurt and feel my pain, but I can't do that like this.

"Mi lady," a soft voice said, undoing the curtains. The sun peered through. "You must eat." Several servants behind her along with two men of arms.

For the first time, she nodded and smiled. "Yes, I suppose it is. Whatever have you brought?" She smiled.

"Porridge milady if it pleases you."

"Thank you." Lysa demurred.

Lysa smiled. "I think I can eat for myself this day."

They shifted uneasily before nodding and granted her a spoon. For several days, she played the part of a sweet, submissive girl. They slowly restored freedoms to her. The honeyed medicine that made her sleep stopped. They permitted her walks under supervision. Eventually, her brother Edmure visited her, still sporting a missing chunk of his nose where she bit it clean off. These visits brought her news of the outside world. Cats husband, Lord Stark, had been named Hand of the King. Jasper was now betrothed with the Lannister queen's daughter. Petyr remained Master of Coin and had done nothing to bestir himself. He loves Cat now. Not me.

"You look better, Lysa." Edmure's voice interrupted her musings. He sported a weak smile, like the fool he was.

"Thanks to being around family." She said, without the venom and hatred in her heart. "I'm terribly sorry about your nose, brother. Do you think father will come soon?"

Edmure laughed. "Worry not. I've told everyone it was a training accident with a mace." His face became serious. "You wounded him sister trying to attack him at dinner and the letter from your son speaks of terrible madness. It'll take him time to come around. He has a right to be weary, but have patience. He'll see your progress as I do."

If only I could have plunged that steak knife into the murderers heart. Lysa thought. She imagined bathing in his blood and it was a sweet dream.

"I understand Edmure. I was in a poor place when I arrived. Do you think I could write to Cat? I long to tell her sisterly things."

Edmure raised a thin reddish brow. "Father doesn't want you sending letters Lysa."

"Please Edmure. I long to talk with my sister. Cat would understand my plight well."

Her brother held firm for a moment before weakening. "Just Cat?" He asked a little above a whisper.

Lysa nodded.

Edmure rose from his seat with a broad grin. "Well, I'm all, but acting Lord of Riverrun, I suppose I can allow it. Family Duty Honor. I would be a poor brother to refuse you."

She hugged the dumb fool, allowing him to think she cared for him. I care only to see my Sweetrobin again and to see Cats love for Petyr die a painful death.

Does he not fear a woman's scorn? And her scorn was going to be something fierce.

That night she wrote the letter and upon the morning sent it by raven to Winterfell, smiling at the pain it would cause.

Highgarden – Olenna

"You're an oaf."

"Mother!" Her son Mace bemoaned, his fat cheeks reddening. "I will not be spoken too like this! It's a good plan, very sound in design. Lord Renly came up with it, the brother of the king."

"Oh, if Lord Renly came up with it." Her voice dripping with mockery. "If you had the wits, the Gods gave a turnip, you'll see how stupid this plan is." Trying to set aside Queen Cersei for their precious rose would stir the wrath of the Old Lion out of his den. Even if Lord Tywin did nothing and Margaery became queen, they would still have to deal with not only Prince Tommen but also Prince Joffrey. Prince Joffrey may be disinherited, but he was not dead and could easily be a puppet of the Westerlands or anyone that wishes to topple a Tyrell babe princeling. Not to mention the prickly honor of the Starks and Arryn. They wouldn't take too kindly to such dishonor and naked ambition.

"Speak sense to your grandmother, Willas!"

All of House Tyrell lay crowded in Maces solar well furnished with silk rugs and beautiful tapestries. Trays of cakes and glasses of sweet arbor wine for all of them. Mace and his wife Alerie. All of her grandchildren, including Garlans wife Leonette Fossoway.

But it was not Willas who spoke, but her most foolish hot headed grandson. "Lord Renly has always looked out for our interests! No truer friend of House Tyrell lives anywhere!" Loras shot off with passion.

You love sick fool, Olenna thought.

Her buffoon of a son was nodding along. "That he is my boy." He crossed his arms with a look of satisfaction. "See mother, your worries are for nought. Lord Renly is a courtly man and understands these things."

"The only thing he understands is how to tell a good jape, but so does the court jester. We are hardly setting our houses future on his counsel."

Loras reddened and tensed like one of those damn rattle snakes in the garden.

"Mother!" Alerie said, abashed. "That was ill said. Lord Renly is a good man."

Before her youngest grandson could explode, Willas leaned on his cane and rose. "Peace brother."

"She-"

"Means well." Willas said calmly and everyone listened. He sighed. "It's high risk and high reward father, that has not been our traditional strategy, however this is a unique opportunity however, House Lannister has never been weaker. We have a new Hand whom has brought with him new actors to the stage." Willas stroked his chin. "Still, I think it ill advised father to pursue this action without two considerations. One we should not openly pursue to topple the queen. Instead, it must be Lord Stark that does this. A man of honor punishing her for some egregious crime. I'd imagine the queen has engaged in something ill. All we need it to uncover it and let Lord Stark do the work for us and then they'll send for our Margaery. Our hands clean by the honorable reputation of the Lord of Winterfell."

Garlan put down his goblet of wine. "And secondly brother?"

"Glad you asked Garlan how gallant of you to remind me!" He winked. "Second, less prove to be good friends of the Crown. Offer generous loans with better conditions than the Lannisters. Use Renly as our middleman to butter up King Robert. Send Margaery with father to attend the tourney and make King Roberts acquittance. Let him see our beautiful rose. Prove ourselves friends to the Iron Throne and see what it reaps us."

Olenna was pleased. At least my grandson isn't an oaf like my son.

"Ah!" Mace declared before scratching his head. "So you agree with me, son?"

"To a degree father."

"Grandmother should come with us." Margaery chimed. The beautiful rose of Highgarden, but she had a sharp mind as well. "Since you'll have to stay behind with Garlan in Highgarden Willas."

Olenna snorted. "Hours spent in a stuffy wheel house. How delightful. You'll have to be with me dear or I'd be bored to tears."

"Gladly, grandmother!" Margaery smiled.

Mace was beaming with pride as if he had just carried out the coup of the century. Garlan improved Loras mood by offering to joust with him in the morning to help him practice as she took a bit into a very sweet lemon cake and licked her fingers. At least it wouldn't be too dull. If nothing else, seeing Lord Stark and getting a measure of the other man behind the rebellion would be entertaining.

Sunspear – Doran

"Did you really think you could have fled without my knowledge?"

"No." Oberyn said. "But I wanted to test your reflexes, brother, as sharp as ever. The men whom mock you are rather stupid." He poured himself a glass of arbor wine and relaxed on a velvet couch stretched out lazily.

A small smile graced him at his younger brother's boldness. He was young and strong and swift and deadly as a viper, but he had a lively sense to him he loved. Both he and Elia had loved that brashness, and if she were with them, it would have made her smile. She would hate me for not avenging her. Indeed, when Jon Arryn came south to foster peace, he had bent the knee to the usurper and spoke words of fealty. Dorne was in no position to fight the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, despite what Oberyn wished to believe.

It did not mean he had sat idle while Elias murderers still breathed. They had made a pact between the dragon and themselves. Should Viserys cross he shall marry Arianne By then squabbling and rivalries would break the Usurpers alliance? Already it was cracking. Starks quarreled with Lannisters while the Roses wished to see the Lion replaced.

"Still, I wish to seek your leave to cross the Narrow Sea and seek a worthy prize."

"Ah," Doran said. "You wish to hunt the white lion and the golden stag?"

"Just the white lion." Oberyn smiled. "I don't kill children despite the sins of the uncle."

Doran nodded and tapped his fingers against his wheelchair. He had considered every angle. Calculated the risks and rewards of the action. "I don't know if you'll like the answer, Oberyn."

"I've listened to you." Oberyn said hotly. "For 17 years I've listened to every cautious word that comes out of your mouth, but now you'll deny me my hunt? The Old Lions son, his precious Jamie, lies outside of Westeros and the protection of the capital." The anger boiled over and he jumped from the velvet couch, poised and deadly. Areo's grip tightened along his axe. "Elia, our sweet sister demands justice! At night she comes to me in my dreams and asks why do they still draw breath, the men whom butchered my babes whom forced themselves upon me. Don't you love me? I can never answer her and you'll deny me this? Are you so cruel Doran?"

Oh, brother. Doran wished to weep for him. "I love Elia too."

"Do you, brother?"

Doran gripped the armchairs until his skin turned pale, and he chuckled. "You goad me." He said. "But you still haven't heard my answer."

His brother ceased his pacing and laughed. "Then say it. You know my opinion on this."

"Three years Prince Joffrey shall be exiled. "He reminded with a ghost of a smile. "We have three years to maximize this blow, Oberyn. In a year from now, the Starks may be at the Lannisters throats or two years from now, the usurper may be dead and the boy Prince Tommen shall become a king. We should wait before we strike. The perfect moment shall appear."

Oberyn laughed. "All we do is wait, brother. There shall never be a perfect time to strike, and if we wait we shall lose the opportunity to punish our sisters killer. If Ser Jamie had proven true, our niece and nephew may yet still draw breath. Instead, he slew the Mad King and did nothing else."

"Very well." Some sweat dripped off his brow, and he wiped it away. "You have my leave to order a strike, but." He waved a finger forward with command. "You shall remain in Dorne. I will not have this traced back to us. Should you leave, Lord Tywin shall blame us and a Lannister Queen still sits on the Iron Throne."

His brother grimaced. "Fine," He said with heat. "I'll remain here. Justice would feel better coming from my spear, but I'll accept your wisdom. I still have some contacts from my sells word days that shall proof useful. They'll stalk him and kill him and mayhaps Elia will smile in my dreams afterwards."

"I hope so, brother."

Winterfell - Catelyn

The days had passed slowly since King Roberts party left Winterfell. She had helped Robb with the transition of becoming acting Lord of Winterfell. They went over positions to the household that had to be filled since Ned took most of the household with him down south. Robbs direwolf Grey wind constantly by his side. A symbol of House Stark and the favor the Gods had bestowed upon him. Still, Winterfell felt empty without Ned and her other children. She missed brushing Sansas hair and holding Ayra close to her. She even missed the sight of Bran climbing all the towers of Winterfell.

If only they could come back

When word came of Brans injuries on the trident, it took every ounce of self-control not to rush south and retrieve her hurt boy. But Ned wrote he would recover and Robb still needed her here. She wrote to Bran at least a dozen letters to the Bloody Gate. I probably embarrassed him. But she found she cared little. It was her idea to send him to Jasper Arryn. She had yearned for her children to be close with Lysas boys and Jasper was ever courteous. Uncle Brynden's presence also made it an easier choice.

Still, it unnerved her just how distant her nephew could be. He should have grown up with family. Jasper would have made better company for her children than the Greyjoy boy or Snow. She walked to Rickons room to check up on him and his wolf. A fierce beast, much like her youngest, but both were being soothed by Old Nan and her stories. Stories of the Long Night and the children of the forest. Strange things that she understood little.

With Rickon taken care of, and Robb was out in the training yard with Theon Greyjoy crossing swords under Ser Rodricks careful tutelage. Catelyn retired a bit early to prepare for supper. She wanted to look over some sums the steward had provided them. Under the candlelight she sat in Neds chair in his solar. It was there Maester Luwin appeared in his long, overflowing robes. "From Ned or Bran?" She asked with hope.

"Neither my lady." Maester Luwin said. "It comes from Riverrun. It bears the seal of House Tully."

What news was coming from Riverrun? She wondered.

"Very well." She took the letter from his outreached hands and opened the wax seal. She noticed immediately it was Lysas handwriting and her heart quickened.

My dearest whore of a sister. How much you prattle on about your honor and precious family, and you've stolen the man I love like a no-good harlot. You couldn't stand my happiness and had to take advantage of my misfortune by confusing him with your advances. But the sad thing is you still see him as an innocent boy with an amiable smile. Petyr is now a man. Did you know he killed Jon Arryn to be with me? Myself! Not you! You can't beat me at everything! Has he mentioned such to you? I think not he pretends to be decent around you, but he's so much better when not constrained by your memory. So dangerous and powerful, a true romantic in every sense of the word. How I wish he poisoned my eldest boy as well. I asked for that, you know, but he refused me said the time wasn't right that it would be better for him to die in battle and make him a hero for the Vale in a war with the Lannisters. Do you see how brilliant he is? He would have your husband fighting House Lannister. He's wasted on a dullard like yourself. I needed to let him free from his delusions about yourself, for he is weak by your memory.

With love,

Lysa

Catelyn felt faint and could feel the bile in her throat as she stumbled and supported herself on the cold stone as Maester Luwin watched her. By the Seven. A cold shudder went through her body. Lysa, what have you done? She had refused to believe what her nephew had uttered in these halls. That Lysa could be capable of such horror, but these were her own words written by her hand. Was it true? Did Petyr really kill Jon Arryn? Or was this some fit of madness? Another lie. Then she thought of the words about her nephew and she was thankful that she had yet to eat supper. How could you write that about your own son? Catelyn could never even think about any of her children from her loins like that.

I told Ned to trust him like a brother. She remembered feeling pale and sick. What have I done?

Ned was in the capital unaware of the potential danger with her daughters, and her nephew was unaware that his father might have been murdered after all. She stumbled in the lords quarters screaming at Maester Luwins concerned face. "Robb, I need my son."

"My lady?" Luwin asked, alarmed. "Your shivering. What could possibly have been said? "

"Robb." Catelyn voice cracked like a whip. "I need my son here."

Maester Luwin offered a small bow, but she hardly noticed collapsing on the edge of the bed, reading over the letter until her eyes ached. Every line cut like a dagger to the heart. Tears wanted to flow, but she needed to be strong for her family. For Ned. For Robb. Family Duty Honor, she still lived by her family's words even if Lysa had forgotten every lesson they were taught. This was how Robb found her. Her beautiful boy stood tall and strong, and yet his voice was soft. "Mother? You're trembling." He asked, grasping her shoulders, supporting her with his own body.

"That matters little. You must read this." She shoved the parchment into his hand. "Both of you read this."

Robb hardened with every word he read just like her Ned as hard as the North itself. "Is this true?" He asked, handing it to Maester Luwin, whom read quickly and grew pale as a ghost.

"I know not Robb. It could very well be true. The words about myself are false. You know I love your father.

"Father must be warned and Cousin Jasper as well. They are in danger."

Maester Luwin finished and gulped. "This is grave news. Very grave, if true. Lord Baelish is Master of Coin and likely holds great sway in the capital, and this deceit with the Lannisters played brilliantly. It would have pitted you against House Lannister, for the aim I cannot say." She could scarcely understand the motivations of either of them. But she knew Ned needed to know what had transpired, and Robb and Luwin needed to understand the full truth.

"I must confess a truth to you. I didn't believe such, but Lord Jasper confessed to myself and your father that she threatened to kill her youngest son Robert Arryn."

Robb blinked vexed and swore. "I'm sorry mother, I know she is your sister, but-"

"I understand Robb. I feel similar."

Luwin stroked his chin, pondering. "But the question remains: how do we warn Lord Eddard?" Raven and messenger were out of the question. Who knows who has ears in the Eyrie or Kings Landing. The capital was a rats nest. It had to be one of them to bring the truth to Ned. They couldn't send anyone to the Eyrie without causing suspicion. Jasper would only believe it from Neds own mouth, and no one else.

"It has to be myself." Catelyn said. "I'll head south."

"Absolutely not!" Robb declared. "I'm the Heir of Winterfell. It's too dangerous for you to go, mother."

Cat shook her head. "All the more reason for you to remain in the North. This is your place."

Robbs shoulders slouched. "Fine, but you shall travel with a guard.

"It would be better to travel alone."

"No, mother you shall travel with six guardsman and Ser Rodrick himself." Robb used his lords voice to end it. "Take a ship from White Harbor. If the Gods are good, you shall arrive before the tourney."

If the Gods were good. They seldom were.

Chapter Text

Yohn Royce

He flew and hit the ground with a light groan. Jasper Arryn was good with the lance. He thought as he rose to his knees. Some men claim he was better than Denys Arryn, and he could attest that on horseback he was truly one of the greats. Both he and Robar had tilted against him and he had sent both to the ground, and if they did so again, the outcome would be the same. Jon Arryn had been a fair rider in his youth, but he was never great. The Old Falcon's strength was his honor and his son had brought honor to the Vale. All the appointments to King Roberts Court spoke of great promise. Why Jon Arryn never appointed more men of the Vale to court always rankled them.

We bled for King Robert before anyone. Our liege was Hand and yet the Lannisters achieved the spoils for slaughtering babes.

"Well, fought Lord Royce." Jasper Arryn said, already dismounted. He offered a casket of water that he took with a light chuckle.

The water cooled his throat. "Ser Brynden taught you well."

"He tried his best."

In the stands, he saw the spectators clapping at the display. His beloved daughter, Ysilla, was clapping with everyone. She would have made a perfect Lady of the Eyrie. But he wouldn't fault the boy. A royal marriage was not something one could turn down easily, and with a single grunt, he rose. Yohn still had a few inches on his liege when he stood up in his dented suit of bronze. Despite his age, he could still crush most young men with his bare hands.

"If you can manage it, come south Lord Arryn dare I say, but you could win the Tourney of the Hand."

"You flatter me Lord Royce." He said with perfect courtesy. "But what need do I have to go south? It can't compete with the Vale. Our knights are the best in the Seven Kingdoms."

Yohn chuckled. "I suppose not my lord."

Latter when the sun was vanishing over the horizon him and the memory of the training yard behind him. He and his household were dining with Lord Arryn and his wards. They had prepared a fine meal for them that had his eyes watery. Sweet Crown Prince Tommen and his blond curls. The story of Prince Joffrey dishonor had taken him aback, but it was best that the future king was here and away from the Lannister tit. Brandon Stark, much like his liege, held the Tully look. Auburn hair and deep blue eyes. He looks more like Jasper Arryn than his own brother. Sickly Lord Robert had thin spindly arms and constantly was weeping. Attempts to lean him off the maesters aid had failed. Still, he had a slightly healthier shade to his skin some progress at the least.

House Arryn entrusted him to you to make him a man grown. A hopeless task.

"You are some jouster, Lord Arryn. Few have bested my father in under three tilts." Robar said.

Brandon Stark beamed. "I saw him toss my brother Robb like it was nothing!"

Lord Arryn waved him away. "I take that as the highest praise. Everyone knows of the talents of the Lord of Runestone. It's why I sent my brother Robert to be fostered with him." He twisted his gaze towards him and lowered his goblet of wine. "How fares my brother Lord Royce?"

"He's made some progress. Not as much as I wished." Yohn answered gruffly.

Lord Arryn nodded. "You still have my full confidence, my lord."

You shouldn't. The boy would likely not survive into manhood. Yohn thought with some shame. Lord Arryn needed to name another his heir. Lord Robert may be Jon Arryn's son and his lawful heir, but the Vale would suffer under his tenure. Honor demanded he speak the truth. Not here. Not so publicly.

When the plates were cleared away, he followed his liege to his solar. Lord Arryn ordered Ser Brynden to see his wards to their quarters, kissed Ysilla chastely on the cheek and grasped Robar by the shoulder, naming him a fine knight. Deep in the bowels of the Falcons tower, Lord Arryn offered him wine he accepted with a light nod of his head.

"You wished to speak with me in private, my lord? Well, you have me. Say your peace." Lord Arryn said.

Yohn was considering his words as he drank the sweet wine. "Listen, my lord, I fear I was not being forthright about your brother and his progress at dinner this night."

Lord Arryn chilled, and his smile dimmed. "Speak the truth, then. I will not fault you for it."

"I question my ability to make him into a lord. The boy doesn't take well to swords, nor books. He's frustrated my master of arms and maester alike."

"You'll see it done." Lord Arryn said with conviction. "He is my heir. My fathers lifeblood flows through his veins. He's a late bloomer, nothing more with your help he shall truly soar." Dark blue eyes widened lightly when he lowered his head. "You think I should name another?" His voice raised a pitch. "I honor you sending him to foster and this is how you repay me? You wish me to disinherit my flesh and blood!"

Yohn held stalwart. "You'll do your brother no kindness, nor the Vale either. Honor demands I speak my counsel."

"And you've spoken. I admire your dedication to honor, but I only have one heir to name. If I had another brother, mayhaps I'd name him."

"You have another choice." Yohn whispered.

Lord Arryn snorted. "I have no other choice and I shall speak of this no further." He waved his hand and his voice turned curt. "I think it best you retire this evening. I wish you well."

Yohn gave a dutiful nod, knowing he had failed. They never should have grown up hating the other. He walked through the courtyard where Talons of Falcons crossed in a duel of live steel while they watched. Now, men called him Handsome Harry in jape. Lord Jasper badly scarred his face with steel, taking off his left ear. Harry had unwisely japed about Lord Roberts health in Jaspers hearing. Lord Arryn exploded and tossed his gauntlet at his feet. "You dare insult my brother in my own halls! My father so recently laid to rest!" Jasper Arryn yelled. "Meet me in the courtyard with your sword or name yourself a craven falcon Cousin Harry!"

"Run from you?" Harry scoffed. "I suppose you never learned your lesson. Mayhaps we shall have another funeral after all?"

It would have better for him if he had.

The fight was brief and ended when Lord Jasper slammed his shield into Harry Arryn's face and the boy's knees buckled, sending him to the ground. His aquiline nose shattered, gushing out a stream of blood. He attempted to lift his sword hand, only to be silenced with cold steel pointed at his neck. "Drop it." Jasper Arryn commanded. Harry complied and shoved it away. Lady Anya Waynwood was helpless to intervene. Everyone wondered the same thought. Would the son of Jon Arryn make himself a kinslayer? "Who's the Lord of the Eyrie Harry?" He asked him.

For a moment, Harry refused to reply before grinding his teeth. "You are."

"Say it louder Harry with more meaning!"

"You're the Lord of the Eyrie my lord."

Jasper Arryn nodded. "You dishonored my family with your words. You dishonored the Vale and the name you boast so proudly. Arryn is a name of honor and you shame it. I should kill you, but we are kin bound by blood. Apologize and I shall welcome you back into my peace."

"I'm-"

Lord Jasper sneered, laughing. "Oh, no. Kiss my boots Harry, I care not for the words of a sniveling snake."

"You-"

"Kiss my boot Harry, I won't ask again."

Harry kissed his boot and was sent away. The Waynwood boy joined Jasper Arryns household afterwards. Still, he was the best choice for the Vale should anything happen to Jasper Arryn. Speak to the other lords. Speak with one voice. But he liked the notion little. It stunk of dishonor and treason. Maybe Lord Robert would improve over time? Not likely. At least Lord Arryn was young and healthy. It was likely that he would sire a child, and then this matter of succession would be meaningless. It was still summer and peace held over the realm and he held Lord Robert in Runestone and he could do what was right for House Arryn and the Vale if the day ever came.

Yohn prayed it never would

Tommen

The Vale of the Arryn was beautiful.

The small clear streams and fields of meadows lush and green were amazing to behold! There was much to see and explore. Unlike Kings Landing, it didn't smell foul, but filled with life. When his father boasted about his days in the Vale now, he could understand the wistfulness in his father's voice. It filled him with wonder and joy. Even if the Gate of the Moon was a disappointing castle. Strong and stout, but ugly against the pretty landscape. It was out of place. Tommen even voiced this thought to Lord Arryn, whom grew quiet and grim.

"It's closer to the earth." He told him.

It made little sense why being close to the earth mattered, but Lord Arryns gaze was piercing and he made no further inquiries. He could be as cold as ice when he wished. Tommen thought. Servants draped a golden cloak around his shoulders, pinned with a broach of a stag. They had seen him cleaned and dressed for the welcoming feast. Dirt from the courtyard had been washed away and his hair combed. For once Tommen believed he looked like a crown prince. Maybe I'll do better than Joff.

"What do you think Ser Arys? Do I look well?"

"Like a prince." Ser Arys said with a smile. His white cloaked draped to the stone floor as pale as snow. Whenever he went anywhere, his guardian in white plate was never far off. In the courtyard, he watched while he fought with wooden swords. He even gave him pointers on his fighting stance. Ser Arys eyes looked tired and Tommen frowned. I can't make him suffer so.

"You don't have to come with myself." Tommen declared. "I'll be well protected in the Great Hall." All of Lord Arryns guardsman and their sky-blue cloaks would protect him.

Ser Arys bristled and frowned." My place is by your side. I've sworn an oath." He said. "Why the inquiries?"

Before Tommen could reply, the door to his chambers threw open, revealing one annoyed Bran Stark and Dawn at his masters side. "I hate this Tommen!" He complained tugging at his high collar. "It's too tight!" Bran leaned against the stone walls, groaning. "They are dressing us up like my sister Sansa dolls! This is not what I thought going to the Vale would be like! They even perfumed Dawn like he was some southern lady!" He went wide eyed as he always did when he saw Ser Arys and his white cloak. His knight ruffled his hair and left to attend his post outside his chambers.

Tommen laughed. "I don't think Dawn minds being pampered."

Dawn whined in agreement. The direwolfs coat shined in the light. Claws trimmed as he sat stalwart by his masters side. The beast had grown larger than any dog, and Maester Colemon suggested he may grow to the size of a horse. Maybe Bran could ride him one day? That would be amazing to see! Bran had told him his dream he wished to be named to the Kingsguard. I could name him one someday! And Tommen had promised him he would do just that when he was king. That way, Bran would be by his side in court. I want my friend by my side now and always. Bran had been the only one to befriend him when he was only a spare. Tommen even considered offering Dawn a white cloak as well. The beast was smart and fierce. What other qualities did a kingsguard need? When he was king, he could knight anyone, and why not Dawn? His name was even fitting. Bran had chosen well. He would be the first king to have a direwolf in his kingsguard.

Bran scowled.

"Don't worry Bran, it's just one night. Then back to the courtyard we go."

"Aye, just one night." Bran snickered. "Do you think Adrian is miserable as rain? I hope he doesn't embarrass me again."

Tommen nodded. "Is he still bothering you?" His voice tightened.

"Not since the Bloody Gate."

He grinned. "Good."

Tommen remembered the Bloody Gate well. It was not a fond memory. They had just received letters from home and Bran had a stack of them from his mother, in Winterfell. Adrian taunted him for it and he found his courage and said. "Enough!" His voice was more a plea than a command. "Leave him alone." The bulky Belmore boy two years his elder merely rolled his eyes and shoved Bran to the ground and called him a weak wolf. Tommen surprised even himself when he swung his fist, colliding with Adrian's soft nose. The older boy stumbled to the ground and Tommen was on top of him, raining down blows, screaming. Blood kissed his knuckles, and it sickened him as he enjoyed it. I felt like Joffrey. Both Bran and Jon had to wrestle him off. Later, that evening when they were dragged before Lord Arryn to explain Adrians broken nose, Tommen had been about to confess when Bran said he broke it and displayed bruised knuckles. He had bruised himself to give life to the deceit. Tommen couldn't mumble a single word in otherwise. Jon held his tongue as he always did and Adrian enjoyed the fact Bran was being punished as well. Why did they hate each other so much? Tommen wondered. Afterwards, he wanted to tell the truth to Lord Arryn, but Bran swore him to silence.

Tommen had his friend back.

Maybe it was a fonder memory than he recalled? He mused.

"One look at Dawn or yourself and he would piss himself." Bran japed.

He blushed. "More Dawn than me." He lowered his head. I was just like Joffrey. Only Myrcella would understand, but she was still home in the Red Keep and unable to soothe his worries away. She always had a way of making everything better.

Bran punched him on his shoulder playfully. "Alright Tommen, let's get this over with! You got my back?"

"Always." Tommen promised.

They were seated just underneath the high table suited on the dais with the children of the Lords of the Vale and more minor lords. Above them Lord Arryn sat in the center of the high table, on his right Ser Brynden groomed and tailored for once. Beside him, Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone and Lord Horton Redfort. Tommen didn't like the way they looked at him. He found the company beside him more interesting. Jon Redfort was friendly, telling him and Bran about the Vale. "Lord Arryns hunts are always quite fun! My brothers always said so. This will be my first!"

"Well, I hope we find a bear. Dawn would rip its throat out!"

"With one dog?" Lord Jon said quizzically.

Jon Waynwood piped up shaking his head. "It's a direwolf not a dog." He sighed. "But I don't think it could take down a bear."

Soon they were arguing over if he could take down a grown bear. It grew more and more outlandish. Tommen was smiling and laughing the entire night.

Tommen continued to feed Dawn scraps underneath the table. Currently, he was gnawing on a chicken bone. Voices in the great hall dimmed as Lord Arryns voice echoed. "My lords and ladies, a moment of your time." He raised his golden goblet above his head. "I wish a moment to recognize the appointments of the sons of the Vale to King Roberts court fine and good men every one of them. Once more we shall bring honor to the rest of the realm with us leading the way." He paused and smiled. "A former ward of my father is now Hand of the King. Lord Eddard Stark an honorary son of the Vale! My lords, the day is ours! We now stand in our rightful place! To the Noble Vale!"

"The Noble Vale!" lords chanted.

One Lord Redfort fell out of his chair red faced. "To House Arryn! Long may they soar above!"

"To House Arryn!"

"Arryn! Arryn! Arryn!"

"To King Robert Baratheon First of His Name!" Lord Arryn said loudly. "Our noble king! Long may he reign!"

They chanted out his fathers name, as some knight bellowed. "To our future king! Crown Prince Tommen!"

At that, he reddened like the beats he hated so much. Even Dawn took part howling into the night, sending the table roaring with laughter. "Even the wolf takes part!" someone with the sigil of candles said. Afterwards, Lord Arryn took Lady Ysillia to dance, starting off the dances for the evening. Tommen danced with a few girls. Though he found the attention a bit off-putting. They were sweet enough. Never trust a woman, they are all liars.. Tommen recalled his mother telling him. He hoped that wasn't true. He rather enjoyed dancing with them. Lady Myranda had even told him of her pet kittens. She offered to let him name one. Even Bran got roped into it, though he was scowling the entire night. When he looked towards the high table, Lord Arryn had already retired for the evening. A few people had already retired, it seemed. And he wanted it to last longer, but when he saw the sags under Ser Arys eyes, he thought it would be best.

Tommen said his farewells and went to bed.

Jasper

“I’m hopeless. I never know what to say.” Jasper groaned, lightly tapping his head against the wooden post in the stables. Among animals, he always found his most comfort. “I don’t understand the rules, but lords don’t babble.” He embarrassed himself yet again in the courtyard, going on and on about stupid things that made people gawk at him like he was stupid.  

“Your not hopeless.” The warm steady voice of his grand uncle told him. “enough of that dammed talk. It ends today.” And he looked at him, failing to see how even the famed Blackfish could drive away his feelings of awkwardness. Grand Uncle Brynden squeezed his shoulder. “You have great attention to detail, and a great drive for excellence. You simply need structure.” In his hands, he carried a book and Jasper grabbed hold of it. Ser Orryns Code of Knightly Conduct. “Memorize this.” He told him. “Septon Layne suggested such to myself, and I think it makes sense.” Could the book really teach him everything he needed to know?

“But what if I still don’t know what to say?”

“Then watch what I do.” He winked. “And copy me.”

Jasper believed the strength in his voice and vowed to do it well. “I won’t let you down ser, I’ll do my best.”

Grand Uncle Brynden snorted and ruffled his hair. “Now get back out there and do your laps. There will be no slacking around here.”

And the words he heard in boyhood he followed his entire life. The book is my lifeline. And every book he read on proper courtesy had added to the superficial role he took up in public. A group of lords and ladies surrounded him and he entertained them following the rules to the letter. “Your voice was wonderous, my lady.” He praised Lady Redfort. “I don’t think there is a dry eye in the room.”

Lord Horton Redfort swayed deeply in his cups. “It was very plain. Not at all good. Sorry my lord, for my halfwit of a wife.”

“Sorry lord husband.” Lady Redfort mumbled meekly.

“Well, I thought it was lovely, my lady.”

“Bah! Don’t give her leave to prattle anymore than she needs too!”

“I’m surprised you're standing, my lord.” Jasper smiled. “Redfort constitution. Your son Mychel has it, a damn good knight, that one.”

Lord Redfort blushed with pride. “He gets it from me!”

He kissed the cheeks of maidens. Regaled with his lord’s days of valor and promises of spars in the yard. “tomorrow, we shall go on a fine hunt, and mayhaps, we shall bag a shadowcat! I want a fourth one mounted on my wall.” He smirked. “The other three are lonely.” He gave his practiced haughty laugh and when he laughed, they all did likewise. And after a few individuals had departed the halls, it was permissible for him to make his farewells.     

He fell face first into the soft pillows and blankets. Disappearing into the comfort. Jasper didn’t even bother to change out of his attire, even his silver leather boots. The feast and all the talking and dancing with every pair of eyes in the great hall looking for him to make a mistake exhausted him. I’d rather be on a ride or in the training yard. Instead, he had to be outgoing and lordly before every vassal. It was draining, and he groaned into the pillow, thankful it was behind him. For three days he had prepared that speech by practicing it in the mirror, and it still felt stilted. Though he gave it after the men were drunk. His grand uncle was right men were best inspired after they had several cups of wine and ale. It made them more foolish and easily impressed. Soon they would leave him and he could settle back into his normal routine. After a long moment of just breathing slowly and forgetting everything, he stirred and lit the candle by his bedside.

The flickering flames illuminated the pages of the tome. He didn’t need to read it for he had already committed it to memory. A knight must speak little that would give cause to offense. He must always have a kind word to utter. Praise Lords and Ladies for what they are skilled. If unskilled, do not mock unless they have treated you with discourtesy. A knight must be gallant towards women at all times. They are of a gentle disposition and there is no honor in their discomfort. Dances are expected of a knight towards a lady of appropriate birth and station. Three dances are permitted with any one woman, anymore and men shall think you are courting her. Praise them for beauty or ability of hands or voice. If unable to find a kind thing to say, a lordly nod shall suffice. Women are of gentle disposition and will not make light of you for misdeeds. You must observe your actions. If they are clumsy, don’t make light of them. Offer to escort them back to the table with a smile. Bend your head for only ten seconds. It signifies acknowledgement of the affair and promise another dance in the future.

Jasper read until his eyes became heavy and sleep claimed him.

A nightmare had him tossing and turning. Once more he was at the moondoor, but this time Robert fell because he was too slow, disappearing forever behind the white clouds, his screams silenced by the roaring wind. Tears flowed down his cheeks as his mother laughed. The tears dried up and his eyes turned to ice as he rose with judgement. “Guilty.” His voice echoed throughout the hall. Jasper cut her down with one swift slash and she fell headless into the oblivion. In the dream, he smiled. What monster would smile? Lysa Tully, despite her sins, was his mother and yet he smiled. Why did he smile? What son would smile at killing their own mother? Even in his nightmares, he shamed himself.

It was just a dream and meant nothing. He had dreamed worse things.

Jasper rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rose to get ready for the day. A grand hunt with several lords and their sons afterwards they would make their way back to their seats or to the capital. It would be Prince Tommens first hunt and he had promised him he would ride with the Blackfish. He’ll toughen him up as he did me. And he needed to get dressed.

As he finished, Ser Humphrey bald head peered in. “My lord. Maester Colemon requires your audience.”

“Send him in.” Jasper said with indifference, pouring himself a glass of water.

The sound of the maesters chains rattling pierced his ears. Maester Colemon offered a stiff bow with his long, thin neck. “My lord, I bring word from the capital.”

Maester Colemon wilted when he gazed at him. Guilt and fear lived in his eyes. I blamed him for not saving my fathers life. If he had, maybe he could have reconciled with his father in the end. Still, they both had duties they followed and he wouldn’t dishonor him by requesting a new maester. The mans talent was adequate and it would be unkind to damage his reputation.

“My uncle the Lord Hand?” He asked. It couldn’t be Princess Myrcella. Her letter had arrived yesterday. The memory made his lips twirl upward in a near smile. She was very sweet asking if he wished a gift for his nameday and if he would come south for the Tourney of the Hand. It was tempting to crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty like a song. Jasper knew he would prevail against any knight in the seven kingdoms. How could they hope to stand against him when he had a princess to crown! And he had an intense desire to prove himself once more on the field. No one is better than me, I’m the best and I’ll show everyone that. But duty demanded he remain since he had been away from the Eyrie too long and this was his place. Jasper regretted that his response would quash that hope. I’m tied here to the Vale.

“Lord Baelish.”

True enough, the wax seal of a mockingbird stained the parchment. “You may leave maester.”

“If you wish my counsel, I’m more than able to offer some words.”

Falcons soar alone.

Jasper smiled. “There is no need for such Maester Colemon. Good day.”

, In the corner of his eye, he saw him bow and depart his solar. Jasper waited for the door to shut before he read.

Lord Jasper, I regret to inform you that the Roses are sharpening their thorns. Lord Tyrell is traveling from Highgarden, bringing his beloved rose to court. The lion lays wounded and Lord Renly has taken advantage of their woes by finishing them off. Rumors and whispers speak of the Queen being set aside for a Tyrell bride. Lord Eddard Stark, I fear, is out of his element. Despite my counsel, he has not taken to the capital well. The man doesn’t trust me and that will be his damnation. His Grace needs you, my lord. I-

Jasper could read no more. His hands were shaking. Those worthless up jumped stewards! He darkened. They were trying to undermine House Arryns position by making a Tyrell Queen. A Second Dance of Dragons or a Dance of Stags with Lady Margaery taking the place of Alicent Hightower. Prince Tommen, his wards life would be in danger from Reach daggers in the dark. I swore an oath to keep him safe. Then he thought of sweet Princess Myrcella and his promises he made to her. Would they try to see King Robert set aside the match? Marry her to that crippled. Jaspers hand curled into a fist. Did they think he would just sit aside and let this sickness grow? That he would permit them to forge a realm of dishonor. Honor demanded he defend his ward from hidden threats. The future belonged to the falcon and the honorable realm he would forge. Lord Stark needed to understand the threat to handle it. Queen Cersei must remain queen.

I hold no love for the queen, but we need her to remain for the good of House Arryn.

House Tyrell had forced his hand he would travel to the capital under the guise of attending the tourney. When Ser Brynden arrived with his muddy boots fresh from the hunt, Nestor Royce and Maester Colemon were around him making quick travel plans. It would be faster for him to take a ship from Gulltown to Kings Landing then taking the Highroad and the Kingsroad. A smaller guard of fifty would have to suffice, but it would be respectable enough.

“Grand Uncle.” Jasper smiled.

“Ser Brynden.” Both of his councilors said and offered nods.

“Leave us.” Jasper commanded with a wave of his hand. “Thank you for leal service, but I shall speak with him alone.”

Lord Nestor bristled at his dismissal. He thinks too highly of himself. But he offered a dutiful nod all the same and left with Maester Colemon.

“So this is what you meant when you said you were indisposed, grand nephew.” Grand Uncle Brynden’s voice was dry with dismay. “Planning a trip?”

Jasper nodded. “I apologize, tis was unexpected, but I have to travel south for the Tourney of the Hand.”

“You told me you were staying here. Whats changed?”

“Here, read for yourself.” Jasper said with a clenched jaw.

After a quick moment he tossed it on the table and said, “You would be better served to send a raven to Lord Stark. Traveling to Kings Landing would be unwise.”

“I trust not the quill. It must come out of my lip. I need to make him see honor demands it.”

“I think you are trying to play hero, boy. Going down south like a noble lord from a song when you would be better served staying here.”

“That’s not my reasoning. I must do this duty demands it. I know I can be impulsive-“

Grand Uncle Brynden snorted.

“But I know I have to go. This is a threat to my ward and I must do everything in my power to see him away from harm. You trained me to always handle a threat decisively.” Jasper reminded. “My father would have done the same and I must do as I did on the Trident. I must defend their honor. If this comes to pass, I wish to say I did everything in my power to prevent it.” He finished trying to sound like the lord they all wished him to be. Strong and decisive.

“You need to remain here.” Grand Uncle Brynden counseled. “You are the Lord of the Eyrie and have already spent several months on the road. Men will call you negligent should you leave. Send me if you must. Write whatever words to Lord Stark and I’ll be your champion.”

Send the Blackfish? Jasper thought. It had never crossed his mind to send his grand uncle. An Arryn always went himself. Did his father send other men to carry out justice? Honor said it had to be him. Still, for a long moment, he pondered his words. Jasper always tried to listen to him often enough he was right.

“You would do well.” He agreed. “And I trust no man more than you, but I’m still the best choice for success. I have a better relationship with Lord Baelish and blood relations with Lord Stark. I can set up a good relationship between the two and that is needed to maintain our position. Eventually, I’ll have to leave and I need to make sure those two work well together to prevent any further threats. In the long term, I gain more than the short-term loss of reputation.” With Lord Starks influence over King Robert and Lord Baelish formidable talents navigating court, they would secure his position from Roses and Lions.

“Stubborn boy.” His grand uncle said with a sigh. “When do we leave?”

Jasper shifted and gave a sheepish smile. “You’ll be staying here. I’m not taking my wards with me and I trust no other man to keep them safe than yourself.” He couldn’t take Prince Tommen to the capital less he suffer some accident and if he didn’t take Prince Tommen, he couldn’t take the others or men would talk.

His grand uncle reacted better than he thought and only called him a stupid fool.

The next day, in the courtyard, they gathered his household to see him off. His wards dressed in fine cloaks. “Why won’t you take us?” Cousin Bran asked him again, to his annoyance.

“I wish to go as well!” Adrian claimed.

Jasper wore his lordly face. “Your education will be better served here.” And he chuckled, amused. “See? You can agree on something after all.”

Both of them reddened as Prince Tommen gazed solemnly at him, his eyes almost teary. “I still haven’t come up with a Small Council.” He told him.

“Worry not, my prince. You shall accomplish more than you think.”

Jasper hardened. “All of you better be on your best behavior in my absence.” He waved a finger at them. “Don’t give my grand uncle any more grey hairs.”

After they pledged to be good, Jasper twisted away from them. His grand uncle gazed at him with old weary eyes that cut him down. It made him feel tiny, like a little boy playing a lord. He grasped him by the shoulder. “Remember squire, Kings Landing is not the Vale. Think before you act. “

“I promise.” He whispered and pulled away.

, For the first time, some doubt filled him. Am I making the right choice? Was this wisdom or the folly of youth? Would Jon Arryn have traveled to court? Maybe his grand uncle was right. He should remain, after all. This is where he belonged, not in the capital where his father died. The mountains of the Vale is where a falcon soared. How could he hope to accomplish an act of a great lord? He was Jasper Arryn, not Jon Arryn. But in every story, the hero always had doubts at the start that plagued them. Don’t think like that life isn’t a story. You’re no hero.

Duty still demanded his obedience.

As High as Honor.

Jasper rode out of the gates with his knights and didn’t look back once.

Chapter Text

Renly

The smell of roses freshly picked from Highgarden combated the foul smell from Flea Bottom outside. Roses always make everything sweeter. This part of the city was foul and unclean and made his skin crawl just like the sight of blood or trampling in the woods on some damn fool hunt. Septon's Reginald's eyes went as wide as peaches when he handed him a pouch of coin. "My lord, this is very generous."

Renly offered a winning smile that eased the Septons unease. "Nonsense, you shall take every coin. You do the Seven's work here and by the Mothers Mercy it's my honor to help you."

"This will help us greatly my lord with meals for the orphans."

It was a squat building that housed too many children with too little space. Simple mattresses of straw and one tunic of linen cloth per child. Not as starved as the gutter rats outside the orphanage, but they lived on bread and occasional bowls of porridge. Little monsters with foul smells and annoying words spewing out of their mouths, but coming here served a purpose.

Image was everything. Renly knew. If Stannis understood that, he would have been much happier with more friends and allies around him. Instead, he was constantly grinding his teeth with that ugly greyscale daughter of his on some dark, desolate island. His image of the generous and smiling brother of the king had taken a painstaking amount of effort, but it paid off. The commons loved him for these acts of patronage, and the Faith appreciated the devotion. The Faith could be a powerful friend. Septon Reginald was close with the High Septon and supporting his initiatives would help smooth things over for deposing the Lannister Queen. Lord Jon Arryn had been a great fool tying the realm to the Lions instead of the sweeter Roses. More agreeable and amiable, it would be easier to run court with Tyrells rather than Lannisters.

Septon Reginald was shaking his hand vigorously, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks, and was to overcome with emotion to say anything.

Renly waved him off and kissed him on the brow, and left the filth and squalor. One of those parasites touched him with their grubby little hands and he wanted to wash it away. Water would cleanse the corruption and the stench from being in such a lowly place with foul dirty creatures. They were nothing like spending his day with a glass of wine in hand marveling at Loras Tyrells perfect form and his lazy brown curls laying naked on velvet cushions.

No one is more beautiful than him.

Soon he would be in court, and they would be together again.

What good friends the Tyrells were!

Renly sighed and adjusted the clasp around his cloak. Instead of a good meal with Loras, Lord Stark had summoned him to his tower for whatever reason. Probably wishes to accept the loan offers. Eddard Stark was a dour, if simple, man. Renly found him predictable and a fine placeholder Hand of the King until the last remnants of House Lannister influence could be eradicated and replaced with men from the Reach and Stormlands.

Mace Tyrell would make a better Hand of the King. Renly mused, thinking of sweet peaches from the Reach and summer wine. When Robert saw Margaery, he would become besotted with her and the wealth of the Tyrells. Every argument with Cersei would weaken his resolve to keep to her bed.

Now, it was still the Hour of the Wolf and the honorable Lord of Winterfell needed to be appeased, and his honor considered. The Honor of Falcons and Wolves hinders Roberts realm. Honor had to be considered in maintaining a good image, but to listen to its commands to their detriment was the utter folly of fools. Men like Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark were relics of a bygone era where laws and rules mattered. Robert showed the truth when he smashed Prince Rhaegars chest on the Trident.

Jory Cassel, Captain of the Hands guard, offered him a nod and opened the door. "My thanks Cassel," He said clasping him on the shoulder.

"My lord."

Behind his desk sat Eddard Stark, his long, frozen face glaring at his entrance. Studying him with his grey eyes. It was unnerving, Renly thought. However, it was the other man sitting that had his attention, who wore a quilted wool doublet the color of charcoal with a crimson cloak clasped around his broad shoulders. Balding with thin remains of blond hair. He was the constant shadow of the Old Lion of the West.

"Ser Kevan?" Renly chuckled. "What fine company you keep, Lord Stark."

"Please take a seat, my lord. We have much to discuss." Lord Stark said, his voice heavy and grave.

Ser Kevan nodded. "Indeed Lord Stark."

Renly raised his brow in puzzlement. This is not what I predicted with Eddard Stark. Renly thought. Lord Stark, speaking with Lannisters mayhaps he had underestimated his abilities to forgive Lord Tywins legacy and the Kingslayer's shame. How long had those two spoken? What did they speak of? Questions that would soon reveal themselves. Still, he offered a disarming smile and seized some wine from the tray. "I await this eagerly."

"My lords troubling whispers have reached my ears. Whispers of discord that I shall not abide. I am Roberts Hand and I shall keep his peace and justice. Yet, I fear potential misunderstandings over recent proposals to ease the realms debt threaten my kings realm. Both of you will state your positions and by my honor as a Stark of Winterfell I shall judge and see justice done."

"What troubling whispers? You can hardly trust the whispers of a Lannister my lord." Renly said with mock concern.

"I didn't need to say a word." Ser Kevan retorted. "A halfwit could see the dangers."

Renly laughed. "The only danger Lord Stark is Lannister ambition."

"I think my lord meant to say Tyrell ambition." Ser Kevan voiced dryly with a raspy chuckle.

"Enough!" Lord Stark said, rubbing his temples. "No more barbs shall be uttered." He sighed. "Speak the position of House Lannister Ser Kevan."

Ser Kevan rose with all the false pride of a Lannister standing like a dignified lion without his golden mane. It made him look old and a walking relic. Mayhaps he'll need a cane soon. "Lord Hand, my brother understands and appreciates efforts of the Iron Throne to repay the debt owed to House Lannister. The source of the coin is the issue. Tyrell coin is unacceptable and regrettably, would demand retaliation. We would raise our rates of interest as is our right given up by the Iron Throne in previous agreements and shall encourage other options to refuse to do business with the Iron Throne."

"You dare threaten us so openly." Renly said, hoping to widen the gulf between Lannister and Stark.

"I'm merely being frank, Lord Stark." Ser Kevan said, not evening gazing his way. " A man from the North you would appreciate blunt conversation."

Lord Stark nodded once. He's considering his words! Renly couldn't believe the man was even considering the words of Ser Kevan. "Lord Stark," He said, growing annoyed. "House Lannister threatens you. Threatens my brother the king that is not the action of a friend, but a brigand. You need not to be so intimidated. There are other options to consider."

Calloused hands waved him off, "This would not be good for Roberts Realm," Lord Stark said. "The realms finances have to be put to order and I shall find another path than Tyrell coin and I find myself less worried about Lannisters these days."

"Lord Stark." Ser Kevan said. "As a gesture of goodwill and commitment to His Grace, we shall lower the interest rates of the most recent loan."

Renly knew he lost with that trick. I thought he would never work with one.

"Good. Robert and I both appreciate that. I shall see spending gets under control, I swear it." He offered his hand and both Lannister and Stark shook on it. How flexible was Lord Stark? Was the court changing him? Lord Arryn always held to his dogmatic honor. It's simply one deal. Renly knew. Eventually, the honor and the ruthlessness of Stark and Lannister would clash and would shatter whatever partnership might have been forged. It was unfortunate that he had sent dutiful stalwart Ser Kevan mayhaps the only Lannister that could come to terms with Lord Stark. Ser Kevan departed with a small bow and a pledge to clear up any further misunderstandings.

"I fear you've made a mistake, Lord Stark." Renly admitted.

Grey eyes glowered at him. "The whispers went beyond loans and coin. Do you really seek to remove the queen and replace her with the Tyrell girl?"

Renly shrugged, unbothered by his bluntness. The northern dolt is amusing. Renly thought, almost laughing. "Would that be such a terrible thing?" He continued, despite the horrified look on Lord Stark's long face. "Why should we suffer them? For the sake of honor and law? Traditions sake?" He scoffed. "Such notions should not constrain us. Robert would be better served with Tyrells by his side. Help me, Lord Stark, and we shall not fail. Roberts greatest friend advocating for it and Queen Cersei will be sent away and we will finally vanquish the Lions from the city."

"That would be unlawful and tainted with dishonor."

"Yet you would work with a family that sacked a city and smashed babes heads against the walls. Or drowned thousands of women and children?"

Lord Stark flinched from his words. "For Roberts realm." He said with his stoic voice. "I'm his Hand and I shall do my duty, my lord, despite my feelings against Lord Tywin. I'm warning your Lord Renly stop this plot or you shall find an enemy in myself. Queen Cersei shall remain queen." He declared with a certainty.

It was narrow minded and simple, just like the northern barbarian he was. Dogmatic fool Still, Renly knew time would be his friend and that honor would weigh down Lord Stark in the end like a suit of iron. On that day, he would think of this day and wished he had listened to him. Lannisters were nothing more than vipers that would always bite the hand that fed them. Renly offered a contrite look. "Your right, my lord. I shall end such a plot at once." And the dumb fool actually believed him and gave a sigh of relief.

"Good." He said. "This is the right way. I shall see you in the Small Council chambers on the morrow then."

Several days later and the Tyrells arrived through the River Gate and Renly told Loras everything that had happened since he had been away. They made love, and he enjoyed the feel of Loras warm flesh against his own. He could stare at Loras for hours. My knight of flowers. Currently, he wrapped his arms around Loras and could feel the strength in his arms, but it was his eyes that he loved. Beautiful golden eyes. "Your beard love its unkept." Loras said with a seductive smile that him groaning. He reached for the hunting knife on the dresser by the bed. "I'll fix that." He promised.

"I can't believe Lord Stark sided with a Lannister." Renly complained even days later his words rankled him as Loras carefully trimmed the loose hairs.

"It's the king that's the fool. You would have made a far better Hand of the King. Brilliant. Wise. Courtly." Loras whispered and he felt himself harden with desire with every word. "I think you would even make a finer king than his grace. You have the right temperament for it."

"Your seducing me."

Loras smiled. "I am." And finished with his beard and gave him a sweet kiss before he pulled away. "Doesn't make my words any less true."

Renly loved that he encouraged the ambition in his heart. Don't I deserve it? Renly thought. Unlike Robert, he wasn't some drunk, nor was he a lifeless dullard like Stannis. He wasn't a weak child like Tommen or a simple girl like Myrcella. He could make a court of song and beauty lifted by Tyrell and Baratheon swords. He made friends easily and isn't that what makes an excellent king? But that path was filled with so much blood and how he abhorred blood and death. I won't betray Robert. It's his throne, despite everything.

"You worry too much over Stark. My brilliant brother has a plan to handle his pesky honor."

"Tell me then Loras." He whined.

Loras kissed him instead.

"Loras!"

"Can you not understand through that?" Loras japed. "I suppose words will suffice. My grandmother shall uncover some foul deed the queen has committed. You know how she is." An annoying sharp woman with a wicked tongue. He loved her, though she had her charm. He loved anyone who was part of Loras's family. "And she shall see our honorable Hand sees the evidence and proof you as Master of Laws will gather what she seeks." It was smart, he could admit. How better to earn an honorable man than to provide proof of injustice and Robert would listen to his old friend.

Renly stroked his beautiful curls like a man drowning. "What a clever notion." Then they would have a Tyrell Queen whom would give Robert many sons and a simple accident to Tommen and would be like the Lannisters never happened.

"My brother is clever." Loras said, lowering his chin with some insecurity.

The storm was upon him, and he turned him over and kissed him hard. "Your my Knight of Flowers! I love you with every ounce of my heart. Never speak with doubt again!"

Renly always loved beautiful things, and what was more beautiful than Loras? Nothing, He thought as they kissed some more.

Kevan

When he had last seen Lancel, he had been a mere boy with childish fat on his cheeks. Now, he almost reached up to his shoulders his son was growing up into a young man of seventeen. Lancel left his care with a cheerful smile eager to see the Kings Court and earn a knighthood from the Demon of the Trident. The legend of the man whom ended the dragons slaying Prince Rhaegar on the Trident was far reaching. Dorna had begged him to keep their eldest boy home. Kevan loved his wife, but he had a duty to House Lannister. To Tywin his brother and liege and sending his eldest boy to squire with the king would best serve House Lannister and for Lancel too. In Kingslanding he would learn knighthood from the best. His niece Cersei would see the boy well adjusted and would navigate him through the viper pits.

If only I listened to her tender heart. Kevan mused with disgust. The young man standing before him was an embarrassment to the name Lannister. He stood with pride and arrogance, with no accomplishments to show for it. From his brief stint in the city, he had uncovered much about his education and the state of his heir. King Robert treated him with shame and dishonor, and every pretty sycophant had him by the ear. Lancel was a cub still, and he didn't even know it. A simple tool of others. My son a tool of others. No friends or allies gathered around him of any worth. He doesn't understand what the name Lannister means. However, it was the glance at dinner as he reached for the buttery scones. His green eyes gazed with hidden lust at his niece and twisted up in a slight smirk.

Forgive me Dorna.

"Fath-"

Kevan struck him with a fierce blow that had him stumbling to the crimson carpet of the apartment. "Do you think me blind boy? Hapless mayhaps? An old senile fool incapable of thought."

"Fath-"

He struck him again as he rose again. Both blows would leave nasty purple bruises on his cheeks. "You will speak when I give you leave. I am your father and you will bend to my authority and will. Nod if you understand."

Lancel nodded.

"I sent you here to become a proud, strong lion to seek glory and do the Lannister name proud. When I sent you I told you not to be a spineless fool and what do I find, but a spinless fool spluttering before me."

Kevan wanted to twist away in disgust, but he held his gaze. "My fool of a niece was supposed to watch over you and she has corrupted you, has she not?" Lancel's eyes gave him away before his voice ever did, confirming everything he feared.

"Don't speak of the queen like that!" Lancel voiced defiantly.

He nearly struck him again, but seeing the purple welts stayed his hand. Dorna had made him. Our son. His hands fell to his side and he mumbled. "You think she loves you?" He laughed. "You're a tool, nothing more. No doubt she asked something from you."

Lancel blinked rapidly and shook his head, tears in his eyes. "King Robert is a brute. He mistreats her, and she needs me to help her rid herself of him." He pointed a finger at him. "You told me I should always listen to family. Lord Tywin commanded me to adhere to her wishes for everything. I did as bid." She asked him to commit regicide? Why? Kevan wondered. There was no love between her and His Grace, but actively plotting his death why now. Anger grew in his chest. She used my son like some pawn on her board.

"What have you done, son?"

"I laid with her." Lancel sputtered out, reddening with shame. "I know it was sinful, but she has a way of making you seeing things her way." He brought his hands to his face. "Oh, father, what have I done. What will happen to me?"

Kevan embraced him as he wished to do the first moment he rode through the gates. "You'll be fine." He vowed. "You are my son. A Lannister of the Rock. I shall handle this, but you'll ignore her. This affair ends."

"Yes, father. I swear it by the Seven."

It brought him a tremendous amount of pleasure, destroying her entire network of spies and informants and making them his. Cersei should have realized that they answered to her because of her father, not her own talents. Precious little of that. The Red Cloaks swore once more to him their oaths to Lord Tywin. From lowly servants to handmaidens, all of them bent the knee to his requests to cease any activities she had ordered them to engage in. Now, all of them did as he bid. The position of House Lannister in the capital had dwindled and shivered under Cersei's stewardship. While she was off on some foolish crusade to restore that spawn of hers to become heir, the Tyrells had entered the city, going after the only thing that remained to them. Our hold over the realms of finances.

Gold remained to them to secure the position of Tywins grand children. Thankfully, Lord Renly wasn't a gifted political agent and was easily side stepped by going directly to Lord Stark. On parchment, they should never be able to make common cause, but both of them wished to get spending under control. Kevan gave up a little in order to push out the Roses from taking over as the Crowns new benefactors. Eddard Stark was a man of honor and worried him little a working relationship with him was manageable. It was Renly and the roses that gave him sleepless nights. Their ambitions were grand and growing.

They smell blood in the water. Our blood.

Kevan smiled as he gazed at the summons on his desk. She wanted me to come to her instead. His niece was going to have to pick up her skirts and come to him. He was in charge and she would figure it out sooner than later. Probably latter. He chuckled. How she had messed up their position so decisively was beyond him. She relied too much on old Jon Arryns conciliatory nature. Grand Maester Pycelle had spilled his guts of the goings of the capital and confirmed this to him.

The sun was setting when his niece appeared at his door with a thin smile on her sculpted face. " Uncle, you ignored my invitation, or did you not receive it? I suppose servants are terribly dim creatures."

"Of course I ignored it. I would do so again. I don't answer to you."

Cersei sneered. "You forget yourself, I'm the queen."

"Could have fooled me." Kevan said dryly. "And your father doesn't share your opinion. That's why I'm here to clean up your mess and what a mess it is. Letting the Starks shuffle the court in his favor. Allowing that boy of yours to nearly make himself a kinslayer and you plot to return him to the line of succession instead of dealing with the Tyrells at our back door."

He caught her off guard. She blinked in surprise, swallowing her words. "I know not what you mean."

Kevan chuckled. "End the murmurers farce, niece. It'll earn you nothing."

"You are mistaken as well as father. Deceit from our enemies to divide us."

His lips twirled upward slightly. "Well, I'm here to bear a message to you. Stop the plot to return Prince Joffrey to the line of succession or sadly, your spawn will die." Kevan said, as her eyes blazed with fire.

"Joffrey is his grandson. My father would never harm him."

"He's a disgraced prince whose shamed his legacy long enough." Kevan reminded. "This mothers madness ends today or he shall pay with his life and I'll know your men are now mine. That's why you are here, isn't it?" He finished with smug satisfaction at a proper display of power.

Cersei seethed. "You can't do this. I'm the queen! The daughter of Lord Tywin."

"And I'm his brother." He said. "Now, you are going to do your duty and make King Robert love you. You remain young and fertile and shall breed with him some more sons. Most men will dote on their wives when they become with child and we need that."

"A broodmare!?"

"It's a task I think is suited for your talents niece and you shall do your duty per your fathers wish or you shall suffer his wrath."

"And what of my wrath, uncle?"

"The spawn will die. Comply or lose what you love most in the world." And those words earned him her capitulation and her head bent in submission. I'm being too harsh. But it was for the best. She needed some tough love to bring her down where she could do no harm. One day she would thank him for helping her secure Tommens birthright. For the moment, he would bare her hatred and anger with patience.

She kissed him on the cheek. "I'm yours always, uncle."

The kiss surprised him. Maybe one day she could be that sweet girl again? Time away from power shall help with that. Kevan thought. The situation in the capital was dire, but fixable if he kept his head up and played the game well enough. Still, his heart ached to see his other children and hear their laughter. It had been only a few weeks since he left them in the courtyard, but he thought of them every night. He thought of his twin boys and darling little girl and yearned to see their smiling faces again. Tonight he would dream of Dornas gentle embrace.

After I restore order here, I shall return home.

That day couldn't come soon enough.

Myrcella

"She got it!" Myrcella squealed with joy as Alysanne, her falcon, returned with a white hare. The beautiful bird soared as quick as an arrow.

Ser Albar inspected the prize and nodded with approval. "Well done, princess. A fine catch."

She giggled with pride. "Did you see that?" She asked Sansa, jumping with excitement. "I did it!"

"Nymeria could bring down a stag!" The other stark girl replied. Lady Arya was an opinionated girl and stubborn, but she rather liked her all the same. She knew how to have a fun time. Arya was a free northern spirit. Even if she didn't like them, it would be well served to get to know both of her future good sisters. Arya wasn't a threat, nor Sansa either, with some hidden angle. It pleased her greatly that neither of them did. They could become marvelous friends as a result and she was doing her best to get Sansa ready for her role as queen. Her education was rather sparse on the subject and she would not stand for Tommens queen to be a liability. Now, we have fun! Not everything in life had to be some game or training for some goal.

"Arya!" Sansa wailed with embarrassment. "I apologize princess."

Myrcella rolled her eyes and stifled her laughter. "Do you think so?" She pondered, unsure. "Well, I'm sorry Arya. Not everyone has a massive dire wolf like yourself!" She learned Arya hated the term lady and she wouldn't wish to upset her by upholding formality so strictly.

Arya smirked.

"It's fine Sansa, we are going to be sisters one day! I've always wanted one, and now I have two! I can handle a little teasing."

"Alright, if you say so."

A party of huntsman led by the recently appointed Ser Albar Master of the Hunt surrounded the three of them. He had offered his talents in overseeing this falconry expedition in the Kingswood. It was very chivalrous, but she knew it was likely to please herself. One day she would be the Lady of the Eyrie and he would seek her favor, but it was still thoughtful of him. A company of Stark guardsman joined them as well. The two direwolves were with them, as well as Nymeria and Lady. Myrcella had considered inviting some of the Northern Ladies to accompany Lord Starks Household along with some women of the Vale. But she wanted the day to be more private with the three of them. It had proved a nice lazy day of summer. A beautiful day, perfect for some falconry. Jasper had mentioned in his letter than he enjoyed falconry and she thought to surprise him by learning. The thought of her betrothed made her want to snort in annoyance. Every letter was devoid of anything meaningful and every inquiry to the Lords of the Vale, like Ser Albar, only told her what she knew. An amazing jouster filled with great courtesy.

I can't believe they all fell for that act of his.

Myrcella guessed people always believed what they wished to see. They wanted to see Jasper as gallant, and they made him so. Mother wanted to see her as a dutiful, submissive daughter and never saw the betrayal coming. Having Ser Kevan in the city made her sleep more easily at night knowing he was in the city. My letter reached Grandfather thanks to Grand Maester Pycelle. It only took an offer to speak highly of his talents to her grandfather to rope him into her had raged and seethed, but had been sidelined by Ser Kevan and they would all be better for it. Unaware of my own hand in her fall from grace. She could breathe again, knowing Joffrey wouldn't be coming to kill her. Some nights, she dreamed about his hand around her throat and he finished his wicked task.

She brought her fingers to her throat instinctively as a wolf howled in the distance .

"I wonder what Nymeria found!"

"Arya!" Sansa chided.

Arya had shot off on her horse as quick as lightening disappearing around the bend of thick vegetation. After a long moment, she grew concerned when she didn't reappear. Alyn, one of the Stark guardsman, seemed to agree with her and went after her with a quick gallop. When neither of them appeared, Sansa looked pale as snow. "If sure she's fine." Myrcella offered.

"That's kind of you Myrcella. I still should have gone after her."

"Look, Lady is fine. If your sister was in trouble, I'm sure we would know." It was something she noticed about the dire wolves. They seemed to be closely connected with the Starks than most nobles and their pets. The relationship was strange and she would have to describe it as something akin to maybe a dragon and their rider, or so the books claimed.

Arya eventually returned, but not alone. A party of girls wearing dresses of green, along with some guardsman with the golden rose sigil. She recognized one knight as her Uncle Renly's former squire Ser Loras of House Tyrell. Beautiful brown curls and a handsome face that most admired, but he didn't seem interested in ladies of court. At least not in the feasts she had been to. Beside him on a white pony a woman that could have been his twin with the same delicate features and beautiful brown curls. Myrcella had never met her before.

"They thought Nymeria was some threat to them! They thought her some wild beast of the woods!" Arya told them as Sansa embraced her sister, checking her over. "It was stupid! I told them so!"

"That she did often and with great opinion." Ser Loras said with a chuckle. "And you must be Lady Aryas fair sister."

The Knight of Flowers dazzled Sansa, whose cheeks reddened prettily. "I'm Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Ser." she said with perfect courtesy.

"And you are Princess Myrcella, the golden princess."

She demurred. "And you are Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden. A brave knight of great renown and chivalry, but I fear I know not the rest of your company."

They made introductions between them. Lady Elinor Tyrell, Lady Alla, Lady Megga and Lady Margaery Tyrell. Lady Margaery greeted her warmly, like a long-lost sister. "How terrible princess I beg your pardon you must think us awful interfering with your party."

"It's little trouble, my lady. I think your company brightens our day."

"Are you sure?" Lady Margaery looked close to tears. "Maybe we should go our separate ways? Gods, It's terribly embarrassing isn't? Please, you must pretend this never happened!" Her lips and eyes both told her it was genuine. When one lied, usually the eyes and the lips were out of sort.

Myrcella reached forward and grabbed her hands. "You should join us!" she said kindly. "I wish it as a princess."

"How kind, you are as sweet as they say. Good King Roberts sweet daughter."

"She is very much so." Sansa chimed.

The Tyrells joined them for the rest of the evening. Sansa enjoyed the company of other highborn ladies as they spoke of betrothals and the upcoming tourney. At least she seems a bit more guarded about some things. A little caution never hurt among other highborn ladies. Their presence annoyed Arya, and she rode off ahead with some of the other Stark guardsman and Nymeria. Lady Margaery rode with her and after apologizing, some more was as sweet as a rose. It was delightful being in her company and she found herself speaking more freely than she should.

"Oh, you must be so excited to see your betrothed compete in the Tourney of the Hand."

Myrcella thought of Jasper in his suit of arms and she nearly flushed. "I fear he isn't attending." She admitted. The last letter she received confirmed as much. Duty demanded he remain in the Vale. It's childish wanting to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty. And yet her heart yearned for it.

"Oh." Margaery lifted her hand to her red lips. "It's wicked of me to say, but I'm happy he won't be here. I do so want my brother to crown me Queen and I've heard Lord Arryn is a bit of a tourney knight himself."

Myrcella giggled. "I won't hold it against you."

She asked about Highgarden and Lady Margaery spoke highly of her home and it sounded marvelous. "It's so beautiful, princess, and you haven't lived until you've taken a lazy boat ride along the river. It's so lovely and romantic!"

Eventually, the sun was setting, and they were saying their farewells. Sansa stared dreamily at Ser Loras for a moment while Arya couldn't keep the disgust off her face. Lady Margaery kissed her on the cheek with her hand, avoiding her right arm. "I'm worried it's still tender." Margaery told her. "Even in Highgarden we heard of the Trident."

"How did you know it was my right arm?" Myrcella asked, feeling some trepidation as she gazed at the Rose of Highgarden.

"I heard it was the right arm." She answered innocently. "Is there a problem?"

"No." Myrcella smiled.

When she was in her room lying on her bed exhausted from a day of riding staring at the red ceiling, she thought of that encounter with Lady Margaery in the Kingswood. It hit her like a punch to the gut. Tales don't speak of right or left arms. She knew which arm it was. Only people that had an agenda would have known something like that, but her eyes and lips were genuine, so very genuine that it seemed impossible that she had been played. But the more Myrcella thought about every interaction, it seemed too perfect.

She was testing me and I didn't even realize.

"That bitch." She mumbled before growing horrified, bringing her hands to her lips at her uncivilized conduct. By the Seven she was scary how good she was. If she didn't make that one slip up…

Myrcella shuddered. What other secrets would she have squeezed out of her?

Lady Margaery had won the first bout, but she would not win a second bout. Myrcella vowed. Enjoy the victory, my lady, for it shall be your last.

Chapter Text

Kevan

Grand Maester Pycelles chain rankled with every slight motion. He fidgets to disarm me. An assortment of treats, including glasses of cool milk, had been provided for him. The man had sworn oaths to the Iron Throne as Grand Maester, but it was Tywin whom he bowed down to. On the day of the sack it was his words that had seen King Aerys open the gates and House Lannister had risen high on the bones of the dragons. Tywin had repaid the years of slights with days of violence that scarred the city.

Everyone knows what happens when you pull a lions tail.

The Sack of Kings Landing secured the support of King Robert, whom rewarded them handsomely for their service in ridding him of potential claimants. If his niece had done her duty, King Robert would look at them fondly and their position secured by the new king. Without the Crown, our position outside the Westerlands is vulnerable. Naked ambition and displays of power have costs. Kevan knew should they lose control of the capital, the Great Houses would unite to lay them low. Already, the Tyrells using Lord Renly were making some inquiries about Jon Arryn's household. Whispers from his agents confirmed these movements.

Save our gold, our eyes and ears remain our greatest asset. Only the Eunuch rivaled them.

Kevan thought it strange that they were making inquiries about the late Lord Arryns household. Did they suspect something about him? A treason he had committed to discredit the son and earn favor with the king? An unlikely plot. Lord Jon Arryn was a man of honor and, regardless of any evidence, His Grace would believe no slander about him. He loved the man like a father. Maybe the Tyrells were just turning over every rock, looking for a golden arrow to slay them, since the plot to usurp their position had been parried away for the moment.

"To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Ser Kevan." Grand Maester asked, coughing lightly. "Forgive an old man his dry throat."

"Does the mummery get tiring?"

The sputtering, aimless fool stammered under his gaze. "My lord? Mummery I don't understand. I'm an old man with some ailments the price of age."

Kevan drank one gulp of his milk before wiping his chin with a napkin. The Grand Maester was as still as a doe when he raised a single blond brow and gave a knowing look.

A raspy chuckle as the old fool straightened in his skin. "My apologies my lord, I often forget how similar you and your brother are." Grand Maester Pycelle said tugging on his wintery beard. "Forgive me for the deception. What can I do for you, ser?"

"The Roses scour the streets searching for the remains of Lord Arryns household. Should I be worried? You served with the man on the Small Council and treated him in his last hours."

The Grand Maester rubbed his temples and his ancient shoulders slouched.

"So I should be worried." Kevan said, shifting in his velvet seat.

"I suspected he was poisoned, my lord. Maester Colemon was saving his life with his treatment, but I thought it was the will of House Lannister that he did not survive. Only Her Grace ever truly quarreled with Lord Arryn." He shrugged his shoulders. "So I let him perish and I would do so again for Lord Tywin."

Kevan scoffed. "You think my niece poisoned the Late Lord Hand?" Why would she kill him? Lord Arryn was the best thing for House Lannister. His conciliatory nature allowed them to dominate the royal court. His stewardship curtailed some of the worst of King Roberts excess's and his age hindered his vitality. A younger man like Lord Stark was more vigorous. Who else would murder him? A man of honor well liked by his vassals in the Vale. An enigma wrapped in a riddle. If she murdered Jon Arryn and it was discovered, King Roberts wrath would be great. The boy lord Jasper Arryn held ties to the North and Riverlands through the Tully bloodline. It would unite half of the Seven Kingdoms against them in a blood feud. Banners would be summoned and House Lannister would standalone. He was deep in thought as he thought of the potential consequences, none of them good.

"Why?"

"I know not. She never invited me to her counsels. Nor Lord Arryn truly, but I know Lord Arryn was obsessed with this tome by Grand Maester Malleon. Do you wish to see it? It might hold some answers you seek." Grand Maester Pycelle said.

The tome was massive, as big as a watermelon. It would have taken Jon Arryn many nights by the candle to read through it. Kevan traced his fingers over the ink. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. Secrets lived in this tome and he had to see it lay to rest. He gave the pages to the flames, whom devoured whatever Lord Arryn had labored for. Kevan watched as parchment turned to ash with the sound of the Grand Maesters chains clanging beside him.

"It's likely Lord Renly shall ask about a book." Kevan whispered. "You'll lie and give them another. This matter is at a rest."

Grand Maester Pycelle bowed his balding head.

, At the dinner table he thought of the parchment being eaten by flames as Lancel drank from his goblet of wine. The bruises on his cheeks had faded away. A flash of guilt crossed him for laying a hand against his son. It was for his own good. Kevan took a bite of the duck, trying to forget the conspiracies that hung over his head and the guilt in his heart. They had silenced whatever secret with Lord Arryns death and with him in the capital, he would keep the ambition of House Tyrell at bay. Tywins daughter would remain queen as he had been ordered. Lannister blood would remain on the Iron Throne. His lips twirled in a frown, thinking about her. Her servants had reported to him her disappointing movements. She went to see Pycelle and tried to secure poison. Tried to bribe Vylarr to lie about her travels. Both promptly informed him of the conversations. Cersei still acted against him despite the threat to her boy. She remained arrogant and prideful.

If she were anyone other than Tywins daughter, I would have seen her killed.

Instead, a different lesson had been employed. A hard lesson that would shatter her spirit and resolve. It seemed his niece required a harsh lesson, and he would have to afflict it. I'm sorry Dorna, I have to do my duty to my brother no matter how unpleasant.

A warm breeze entered the chambers as he adjusted his collar. The day was hot and bothersome even as the sun had set. "Not appearing in the tourney, son?" He asked.

Lancel shook his head. "It's not for squires, save by exemption of His Grace."

"Ah," Kevan said, nodding. "Has anyone achieved such favor?"

"Lord Starks bastard."

Kevan lowered his goblet of wine. Now that was curious news. One could be tempted to lower Lord Starks standing in court by feeding the resentment of lords whose highborn sons are being ignored by the king. But what did that gain them? Throw Lord Stark away and who would King Robert name as Hand? One of his brothers, or Mace Tyrell. He would never name Tywin to the post. Lord Starks position needed to be maintained better a man of honor blinded by justice and good stewardship than men of ambition or creatures of court.

For now.

"You'll compete one day my son."

"And they shall hear me roar!" His son vowed.

The servants cleared away the plates, and he retired to his chambers dreaming of his wife's embrace. A small chuckle escaped his lips as the blankets swallowed him, with the warm breeze kissing his cheeks. It was comfortable and his beloved niece was spending this night undermining him and House Lannister. Does she not care for her spawn?

Was she going to poison him? Or another. Kevan wondered. Nothing was more wretched than a kinslayer. Not that it mattered she did it without his leave and acted against him. Duty demanded he informed his liege of this treachery, but he couldn't do that to Tywin. I won't hurt him nor House Lannister. And if the raven fell into other hands, it would embarrass House Lannister and encourage its enemies to attack amid a divided pride.

I'll handle it quietly

After a few days, his niece arrived, ruining what had been a wonderful day with his son. I summoned her in Cersei, stormed in, eyes burning. Her blond hair had lost some of its shine and the makeup couldn't hide the sags underneath her eyes. Paranoia didn't suit her. Parchment clutched between her fingers, turning them white as snow. Kevan turned his back from her, staring out the window at the courtyard below unbothered.

"Uncle," she said, not even hiding her contempt. "You can't summon me. I'm a queen and not some dog."

Kevan turned. "I did not summon you. I merely reminded you of your father's promise." A promise of blood and destruction. I shall swing the sword for the good of House Lannister.

"While you threaten me needlessly-"

"Needless?" Kevan scoffed. "You tried to attain poison. Going to use it against me mayhaps?"

"Is that what this is about." His niece's voice raised a pitch. "I would not use it against you, but you can't expect me to sit idle while that harlot from Highgarden bats her little eyelashes at my husband threatening my children and my worries are not baseless. That whore poisoned me." Cersei reminded. "I told you of that two days past, but yet you did nothing."

Kevan said nothing in reply and poured them both glasses of wine.

"I apologize niece, you look unwell. I believe you retaliation is needed. The Rose of Highgarden shall wilt as well."

Cersei smiled.

He raised his glass and brought it to his lips. The sweet red liquid went down her throat.

"Now uncle-"

Cersei clutched her throat, gasping for air that would not come. Blood flowed from where she scratched her throat. He watched as her fair skin turned purple and then blue. She knocked the goblet of wine to the floor, its red contents stained the carpet like a pool of blood while he whistled a tune she knew very well.

And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear.

A single finger pointed at him. "You wouldn't dare kill me." She spat before collapsing on the ground, gazing with hatred and a hint of fear growing with every moment.

"They call me Tywins shadow." He told her. "Men are afraid of my brother, and for good reason, his claws are long and sharp. A true Lannister who restored our name to greatness." Memories of mockery and japes at his family's expense swirled in his mind. "I stood by his side, for that is where I needed to be. Don't mistake dutiful service for weakness. I'm still a Lannister and you owe me a debt that you shall pay."

"I don't know what you mean." She screeched out.

"You fucked my son." His voice was without emotion. "I sent him to you and instead of helping him, you manipulated him. You would have made him a catspaw and when it suited you, he would have been disposed of like gutter filth. My eldest boy, my flesh and blood."

Cersei slumped against the crimson rug unmoving save her chest, moving gently up and down.

"Maybe you think they'll blame me, but I've spun quite the tale. I shall blame the ambitious stewards from Highgarden and Stark will believe me." He smiled and lifted the bottle up. "I received this from Lord Mace's personal stores in front of many witnesses." Her lips turned blue as fear took hold of her. "The Realm will rally behind Tywin, whom shall ravage the Reach and tear the roses from their garden root and stem. Poor King Robert will fall by a choice arrow making Tommen king. Tywins legacy secured, so I don't need you." Tears were coming down her cheeks as she understood that reality.

Kevan knew she was thinking about never seeing her children again, seeing her daughter married in the Great Sept of Baelor or her sons becoming men grown with children of their own. A lifetime of memories he would rob from her. Guilt swirled in his chest that this had been a necessary display of power to crush her resolve. This plot he fastened would work, but he couldn't kill Tywins daughter. Duty demanded he serve Tywin and his line. I won't kill her.

It wasn't his place to cast judgement on her.

But she didn't need to know that.

"It doesn't have to be this way, niece." He cast the line and her eyes lit up with hope as she bought it hook and sinker. "Tell me some truths. Convince me you remain loyal to House Lannister and I shall give you the cure for this poison. Nod your head for yes. That should suffice. Nod if you understand." He ordered.

Cersei's head bobbled up and down.

"Did you plot to kill King Robert?"

She nodded.

"Did you kill Jon Arryn?"

She shook her head, and he could detect no deceit in her desperate eyes. Interesting. Kevan mused. Who else could it have been? Pycelle was certain she poisoned him and the Late Lord Hand had few enemies in court. King Robert argued often with him, but everyone agreed he loved the man. The Dornish held no influence in court and the Reachmen little quarrel with Lord Arryn. His marriage was a cold one and Lady Lysa, according to his informants, lived in her childhood home of Riverrun, apparently overcome with grief. Mayhaps it was guilt? Could the Gods be so good and give him the perfect wedge to shatter Stark-Tully-Arryn alliance? He would have to investigate that further, and he almost smiled.

"Finally, were you going to poison me?" He asked.

A brief flash of hesitance and she nodded her head. A kinslayer. Kevans jaw tightened. Maybe he should leave her to die? She could never harm him and her death would serve House Lannister. Duty would have been met. Then Kevan thought of sweet Princess Myrcella growing up without her mother. The sweet girl didn't deserve that, nor Cersei's boys either. But she could take him from Dorna and his children. Could he be so selfish and risk it? For the first time in many years, he hesitated.

Kevan made a choice.

Margaery

"You sputtering idiot, that is not the cheese I ordered." Oleena Tyrells voice cracked like a whip.

The tall servant named idiot bowed his head apologetically. "They are out milady-"

"Find some more, then."

"Yes, milady." The servant answered and his pace quickened out the door, almost knocking his head against the stone frame.

She gave a chiding look. "Oh, grandmother, you shouldn't torture the boy. You need to be mindful of our image. We aren't Lannisters." Thank the Seven. Unlike them, they understood the concept of friendships and forming good ties. Friendship and cooperation shields better than fear and violence. Did Lord Tywin not know that his brutality would alienate the honorable lords of the Vale? The mere name Lannister made Lord Stark stiffen with cold judgement. Or make others fearful of retribution like gallant Lord Renly. When men grow frightened, they seek alliances to protect them. Lords were little different. Father understood generosity and a softer approach. He included his lords in counsel. Invited their children to Highgarden. Secured advantageous matches across the Reach. From the Arbor to Asheford, Tyrell blood was carefully cultivated to maintain peace and prosperity.

It's our garden and we know it best!

Oleena snorted. "Don't you know dear old women are always crotchety."

Margaery giggled.

"Besides." She reminded, inter-tangling their hands. "I wanted to have more time to hear about your day without eyes or ears watching."

"Not much else to say, grandmother." Margaery said. "None of the Stark girls impressed me. Lady Arya was as wild as a wolf without a courtly bone in her body and Lady Sansa is a sweet girl, albeit guarded, but Loras broke that down easily enough. A pretty knight showing some chivalry and her walls shatter. She isn't much of a threat."

"And Princess Myrcella?"

Margaery smiled at the memory of the hawking expedition. "Oh, I love her grandmother! In another life, I think we would have made just marvelous friends!" She gave an exaggerated sigh as grandmother's sharp eyes watched her. "She's intelligent, but far too kind. It's a weakness that can be exploited." She adjusted on her velvet cushion gently chewing on a grape. "Her relationship with Lord Jasper Arryn could be worrisome if he is anything like the rumors claim. The princess would have him in the palm of her hand." She paused, waiting for a comment or barb, but grandmothers lips tightened in a thin line.

"Explain." Grandmother gestured her hand to continue.

"Grandmother?"

"I need to make sure you are ready, dear. Keep going with your reasoning."

Margaery took the challenge in stride and straightened her posture, speaking with poise and confidence. "They describe Lord Arryn as a knight of great courtesy. It'll be child's play to make him defend a beautiful blond princess. It's a union that can't come to pass with the swords of the Vale would come to the swords of the North and the Riverlands. Princess Myrcella cannot have such a powerful defender."

"Well, dear King Robert loves that boy Lord Arryn. They spent much time on the Kingsroad together. He's going to unite his house with his foster fathers line." Grandmother said sharply. "He won't be swayed no matter what that oaf Renly thinks."

"Quite true." She admitted before smirking. "Lord Arryn will be the one breaking it off."

Her grandmother raised a slender grey brow.

"What would make a man of honor break off a betrothal with the Crown?" Margaery poised her question.

It didn't take her long to understand. Grandmother chuckled lightly. "Ah, yes, take away her maidenhead and her value plummets, doesn't it? But who, and how?"

Margaery had thought about that as she giggled with her ladies-in-waiting, talking about the upcoming Tourney of the Hand. The princess was too keen to be fooled by lies and deception. A handsome face and sweet words may work on a lady like Sansa Stark, but the princess would see through it. It has to be genuine and Myrcella needs to be weakfor her to surrender to desire and forgo calculated.

The price of becoming queen is stepping on others. Even kind girls like Princess Myrcella. It was a sad thing, but it had to be done. Since she was a girl, it was all she ever wanted to be, not just the queen, but The Queen. Lannisters. Arryns. Starks. They were just obstacles to that path and, like any talented gardeners, they would remove the weeds and let the flowers of ambition grow.

"Unfortunately, it has to be real and that'll take time, but her betrothed is far away in the Eyrie. It'll be easier to prey on her because of it."

Grandmother took a quick nibble of a biscuit. "The boy isn't coming? Good, the stacking of court in their favor was certainly his notion."

Margaery raised a brow in puzzlement while grandmother explained her day watching the Lord Hand. "A northern dolt," she said. "Obsessed with honor and justice, he doesn't understand how to move through court. He wouldn't have had the notion to stack court in his favor. It's elegant, the division of courtly spoils. Northman occupies security positions while the more courtly men of the Vale and Riverlands have taken up posts in King Roberts court. Eddard Stark would have done as Jon Arryn did and maintained his foolish policy of conciliation."

"Really?" Margaery said, playing with a strand of hair. "Do you think the son is unlike the father?"

"Open your eyes, dear." She lectured. "Lord Jon Arryn made no moves for his house, nor any moves to secure his position. In the few months the boy has been Lord of the Eyrie, he has secured the fostering of a prince and a son of a Hand. A royal betrothal. Positions for his most important vassals in the capital." Grandmother chuckled, utterly amused. "He's a Tully pretending to be an Arryn. Gods be good, he's Hoster Tully, not Jon Arryn."

Margaery nodded along. "Did Lord Renly find what you wished."

"Lord Renly couldn't find his breaches without help. A dog could fetch better than him." Grandmother snorted with little pity or tact. "Did you know he actually came in here chest puffed up thinking he secured Lord Arryns book? The leather cover was green. Green dear! Our sources said it was red, but he brought back a green tome." She sighed. "At least we know that Lord Arryn was likely killed. Books aren't so easily misplaced. Another road shall lead to whatever secret that mysterious tome held. We just need patience."

She huffed lightly in protest. I think little of him, but Loras adored him. He made her brother happy, and she loved Loras. "Loras-"

"Is a boy of 16 who fancies himself in love." Grandmother said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Grandmother!" she chided, standing up.

Her grandmother raised her hands up in mock surrender. "Peace, dear, I'm on your side and your brothers as well." She placed her wrinkled hands on top of her own. "But you know as well as I that House Tyrell comes first. We grow strong together." It was true all of them had their role to play. Willas the diligent heir. Garlan, his gallant protector. Loras a symbol of Tyrell prestige and splendor. I shall be the Queen. Even if it was with the fat drunkard like King Robert. She didn't need love in her life, just the title of queen.

After that, grandmother rose from her cushion and retired for the evening, grumbling about the poor help and subpar cheese.

The rest of the day passed quickly. She spent it sewing with her ladies-in-waiting. All of them were absolute delights, and she loved their company. Elinor was a beautiful singer and as shy as a maiden. Her cheeks reddened at the slightest praise or attention. Unlike Alla, who was bold with a sharp tongue. Once she even brought a squire to tears. To their amusement and mortification. She remembered. Megga loved to gossip. The more scandalous the better. Mira was the quietest of the bunch, but loyal and capable.

When she was queen, all of them would get lovely matches. Margaery walked onto the courtyard where the golden rose flew proudly in the wind. Loras was dressed in beautiful shiny plate and dueled to the excitement of the gathered ladies desperate to see the Knight of Flowers in action. She let out a cheer when he sent his opponent to the dirt, clapping louder than any of them as she thought about marriages. Elinor would marry Lord Renly soft-spoken and understanding she would bear his sons and daughters while Renly found his comfort in her brother. Tyrell blood would grow in Storms End! Alla, despite her bold tongue, was very sensitive and a secret romantic. A marriage with Lord Renly would turn bitter and quarrelsome. The other two were too low standing to be even considered.

Loras took out a red rose and the crowd of noble girls swooned over it, each hoping to receive his favor. She stifled a laugh when he marched past them all. "My sweet sister," He said, kissing her cheek. "A sign of my favor." A lazy smile formed on her brother's face. "Will you be rooting for me in the tourney?"

She giggled. "Always Loras. I always root for you."

Both on and off the field. You'll be happy, Loras, I promise.

Jon

Jon side stepped the lumbering blow from Robert Brax with ease. Built like a boulder, Robert lacked grace a well aimed savage strike to his leg sent him tumbling to the ground, hard carried by his own weight. Steel at his throat. "Yield?" He asked.

Robert reddened eyes bulging in disgust at his loss. I've yet to understand that feeling. Unlike any of the other squires for the Kingsguard, he had yet to lose to any of them. Boys mainly from the Westerlands or the Stormlands. Southron politics, not ability or talent. Jon knew.

It was as clear as day.

Ser Preston called out through clenched teeth. " Squire Snow has won." Robert Brax was the best of his squires, which said little of him.

He twisted away and gazed around the courtyard, gripping the hilt of his sword. Do any of you want to try your hand? He had won few friends with any of them. None. They all hated the fact a northern bastard was better than every one of them. They despised the fact that King Robert showered him with favor. I'll be competing in the tourney and melee because of it. On the field, he could make something of himself. Bring honor to House Stark and earn renown and glory.

There is great honor in serving as a Kingsguard.

No man alive was as skilled as Ser Barristan. He put all the legends to shame. Once he had bested him in three moves. Three moves! It was the greatest honor to attend to him. Polish his armor and sword.

Jon scanned the courtyard and saw no challengers. He held up his head high. He walked to the armory with the pride of being the best. I shall earn that white cloak. He vowed.

He returned his training sword and his armor to the shelf. He twisted around and saw Robert approaching him, with Herald Kenning behind him. Herald was even worse than Robert. "Bastard." He seethed. Then to the right of the hall coated in red freckles James Lynden and zealous Damion Lannister of Lannisport with golden hair. They surrounded him, cutting him off.

"You have embarrassed us for the last time, bastard." Herald declared.

Damion lips were smug. "You won't be attending the melee or joust when we are done with you."

Jon said nothing in reply and swung first at the weakest link in pampered Damion who stumbled straight into James. His nose broken and streaming crimson red. Jon almost made a break for it, but Roberts grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the shelves of helms. His vision darkened and Jon struggled fiercely, but the bulky arms held him down with an iron grip. "Let me go, you cravens!" Jon raged, bending Roberts hand back, and he yelped when the wrist snapped. He actually lunged free.

Pain erupted from his temple, and he stumbled to the ground. "Fucking bastard!" Herald said. Blows rained down from above. Boots and fists, and all Jon could do was to protect his neck and head.

"He broke my wrist!" Robert moaned. "Lets break both of his." Blood streaming down his face as they lifted him up. Jons vision was blurry, but all of them paled and backed away from him. A white shadow was on the prowl growling, showing teeth with a fierce snarl. The smell of piss filled the air, and Jon laughed as he came to his feet.

"Thank you Ghost. Good boy."

They were tripping into each other. Stumbling backwards. "Call off your beast Snow." Damions smug look had crumpled. A growing puddle in his breaches.

"Get that one. Don't hurt him much." He pointed at Robert.

Ghost lunged and pounced, taking the Brax boy to the cold floor staring into Ghosts eyes, as he growled. The other three bolted for the door. Robert was still as a ghost, eyes wide with fear. No words escaped his throat as he bent over him. "Attack me again Robert, and Ghost here will take out your throat." He lied. Jon knew he couldn't just go around killing lordlings, it would cause father much grief.

But Robert didn't need to know that.

"Come Ghost." Jon whistled.

At the dinner table, he was stiff and sore. Those cravens had cracked a rib. It hurt to breathe. They hold no honor to them. It wasn't his fault that he was better than all of them. Fuck them. None of that mattered while his siblings surrounded him. Sansa had recovered from the Trident and had made fast friends with Princess Myrcella. Meanwhile, Arya was enjoying her 'dancing' lessons with the Bravosi. Jon enjoyed giving her some tips with her needle. His sisters made the capital enjoyable, and it was easier to forget the pathetic jealous squires. Almost. Jon remembered as he bit into his steak. Arya lunged at him in a fierce hug when he walked through the door. He winced in pain. "Wait, someone actual got you?" Her eyes went wide in shock.

"A lucky blow, little sister." He ruffled her hair. "Happens to everyone."

Sansa didn't look convinced by his lie, to his growing chagrin. Southron court was making her more observant. Just let it rest. Jon hoped she would. There was no reason to make this matter any worse than it was. No need to bother father with his problems. I'll solve them on my own. It was just the three of them dining affairs of the Kings Court had required fathers attention. Since lords had arrived for the tourney, father had been more scarce trying to put out fires the king should.

King Robert was a shit king Jon thought for doing that to father. If he wasn't the king, he would have little to do with him, but favor of a king for a bastard meant everything. A small unworthy part dared to even hope that maybe it would reward him the name Stark. If he won the tourney or the melee, maybe King Robert would legitimize him. A life beyond the stain of dishonor.

You shouldn't want that…

"How was your day Jon?" Sansa asked kindly. "I trust training for the tourney is going well."

"Jon will beat them all. Especially that Knight of Flowers." Arya stuck her tongue out and gagged.

Sansa cringed. "Ser Loras is a knight of great chivalry. He doesn't deserve such scorn."

"So was Joffrey, or have you forgotten already?"

"Arya." Jon lowered his voice in disapproval as their sister tensed, hand shaking lightly.

Arya gave a contrite look and mumbled an apology.

"It's alright Jon." Sansa whispered. "I'm watching him closely this time. I know the lesson I learned. I won't be taken for a fool again." Her voice trailed and Jons heart broke. Prince Joffrey best never cross his sister's path again, or it would be the end of his tale.

"But you didn't say Jon how your day went?" Sansa reminded not to let him escape so easily.

"Well." Jon grinned. "I polished armor. Beat some fellow squires to a bloody pulp. An average day, really."

"No visit to a maester?" Her voice became harsher. A hint of the north inside of her as her nose wriggled in annoyance.

"Why would I do that?"

Sansa eyes narrowed. "Your wincing!" She raised her voice high and girlish. "Your hurt and since you are too prideful to go by yourself. I'm telling you to go or I shall tell father." She threatened him with some bite.

"Sister-"

"Jon you will do so end of discussion."

He nodded in agreement. I'll just tell some lie that it was a training accident. They finished the meal with light family banter. It was better eating with his siblings without Lady Starks icy glare. If only Robb could be with them and Bran as well. He would have already tried climbing the Red Keep. Eventually, Arya was yawning, and he picked up her squirming body and carried her to bed.

The next day, Jon was busy in the courtyard slaying the knight of straw opposing him. He struck with every ounce of strength in his limbs until guts of straw spilled out. He thought of their smug faces. None of them had dared to even look at him this morning. Again and again he struck until he sent the head flying. His chest rose violently up and down.

"I think he's dead squire." Ser Barristan's voice woke him up from his righteous anger.

Jon dipped his head. "Ser Barristan." He said. "I didn't hear your approach. Do you need your armor polished?"

Ser Barristan shook his head as he carried himself solemnly like father did to an execution, hands crossed behind him. My execution? He stiffened under his gaze. "What is the matter, ser?"

"I've spoken with my sworn brothers." He sighed. "There have been many complaints by their squires directed towards yourself. Lord Robert Brax claimed you threatened him with that wolf of yours."

"And what do you think, ser?" Jon asked, his throat tightening.

Ser Barristan placed his hand on his shoulder. "I wish to hear your story from your own lips before I cast judgement. Speak honestly with me Jon I shall listen."

Jon told him everything of what had trespassed over the weeks he had worked with his fellow squires. The growing escalation of attacks from mere insults to the attack in the armory. Ser Barristan gave nothing away and for a long moment he merely stared at him. Jon swallowed. I'm going to be sent away. They'll mock me and fathers name will be soiled. He would have to return to Winterfell and from their to the Wall. Lady Stark would not suffer him. It was unfair, but that was life for a bastard. He had merely deluded himself that he was otherwise. His shoulders slouched. "Are you releasing me?" Jon said without defiance, his hands handing from side to side.

"Nay Jon." Ser Barristan said. "I don't think you've done anything wrong." His blue eyes twinkled as he gently squeezed his shoulder. "I will not sacrifice one of the great future knights of the realm for politics and wounded prides."

Tears almost came out, but he refused to cry before him. I haven't failed. I can still find honor here.

"But it's best you don't use these facilities." Ser Barristans voice was consoling.

His head snapped quickly. "I've done nothing wrong."

"No, you haven't." He admitted. "It's unjust, but I have to listen to my sworn brothers. Our brotherhood must remain strong to protect His Grace. Understand, Jon, this isn't about you. I'm not abandoning you, I swear." He vowed. "I shall make you a knight, I promise you."

Jon grimaced, and the humiliation burned, and tears almost came. "I understand." He lied as the bitterness nearly overwhelmed him. A moment passed, and he turned to leave.

"I have not dismissed you, squire." Ser Barristan declared with a sad smile.

"But-"

"You are here, are you not? Let's see if you can last longer against me."

The morning ended in a storm of steel that had him bruised and sore, but smiling. I'm making something of myself. I'll be more than Lord Starks bastard.

The Tourney of the Hand couldn't come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Jasper

Remains of the fish and crunchy bread swam in the bucket in a sea of brown and green. He groaned loudly, wiping the mess from his mouth with his long blue sleeves. It was repulsive and unlordly, but he was too sick to care wrapped in a shield of blankets. The only small mercy no one could see him in this pathetic state dressed like some old crone. As Lord of the Eyrie, he had commandeered the captain's cabin for himself. The Sea Hawk. Lord Grafton claimed it was the fastest ship in his trading fleet. The ship was misnamed, Jasper thought. The Slow Hawk would be more apt. Everything was going slowly, it seemed to him. It was torturous, the constant rocking and lurching of the waves. His migraine was fierce at just thinking of the constant movement. Jasper tightened the surrounding blankets around his shoulders, praying for sleep or land to walk on. The former was more likely.

Jasper was seasick.

It was not a pleasant experience. He wouldn't even wish it on his worst enemy. Maybe Harry. He smiled, imagining that. But knowing the blond bastard, he probably wouldn't be afflicted with this weakness. Harry would be out on the ship's deck, japing with the sailors or guardsmen, impressing them with a false smile. But Harry didn't matter. He had dealt with him and sent him back to Ironcloaks, missing an ear. I defended Arryn honor that day. Jasper thought of smiling Prince Tommen and oaths he had sworn. To protect him a ward of the Eyrie. I need to see Baelish and Stark united. How he was going to establish the relationship between Lord Baelish and Lord Stark was the question. Lord Baelish was clever and understood the motives that governed men, but Lord Stark likely didn't trust him because of his quips that aggravated men of honor.

He's a loyal friend of House Arryn. Jasper knew.

Jasper hoped he could set up a relationship between them, but if not, Lord Baelish was expendable. The position of Master of Coin had to be filled with a man that would work well with the Lord Hand. Stark and Arryn strategy needed to be aligned together. Ties that bound the old alliance had to remain strong to protect his ward from Tyrell ambition. Arryn-Stark-Tully won King Roberts rebellion. Anything that stood against it had to be removed like diseased flesh.

Only the king could remove one of his councilors, but he was confident that he could use their relationship to see him replaced. For that reason, he brought Nestor Royce with him. The man knew his sums and was qualified for the post, and the name Royce would help him with Lord Stark.

Lord Baelish would return to the Vale and he would name him Steward of the Eyrie.

Plots and plans swirled in his head as he lurched over again, feeling miserable as rain. A false alarm no vomit escaped his lips as he crawled back into bed. Jasper rubbed his temples, trying to vanquish the headache. I can't think like this and I need to think!

Two days ago he resided in Gulltown on the steady ground. Not on this floating coffin surrounded by an endless sea. Somehow I'm more of a captive here than in the Eyrie. Moonlight filtered through the window as the door creeped open. The visitor was the captains daughter. Yesterday, she removed the bucket from his room and changed his sheets like most smallfolk she did her duty. Her name escaped him. It's unimportant.

Jasper thought the night a dream when she undressed before him, standing as naked as her nameday. Hazel eyes with light brown curls down to her shoulders. In a certain light, she might even be pretty. "Milord." Her voice as soft as silk. "Do I please you?"

"This is a dream."

"I shall make it the sweetest dream you've ever had, milord."

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the dishonor he had a betrothed! Tis no dream. "I've never struck a woman, but take one step forward and that ends." Jasper said, eyes narrowing, meaning every word.

"Milord?" she stumbled back, surprised at his hostility.

Jasper jumped to his feet, fuming. "Was this your doing? Your fathers? Some lord? You shall give me answers or by the Seven you shall suffer my justice for your crimes."

"I-" Her voice failed her, and she looked to the ground mutely.

"I can have you flogged, you stupid girl! You should understand that." Jasper said curtly.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she collapsed on the wooden floor before him. It was unsettling and uncomfortable and his heart softened like the weak boy he was. "Stop your crying." He commanded like a lord.

She sobbed harder.

Jaspers resolved, shattered.

The boy of summer broke his restraints, and he was on the floor trying to comfort her with soothing words. "Shhh, it's okay." Jasper didn't understand a lick of how to comfort anyone. Septon Layne had taught him courtesy of a knight, Maester Arwin history and sums. Grand Uncle Brynden showed him how not to be a total little shit. No would could teach him how to handle these emotional displays. When his brother had his shaking fits or tantrums, Jasper had Maester Colemon handle it. I'll just make a mistake. He draped a blanket around her pale shoulders. Despite the puffy cheeks, she really was a pretty girl, but he had an intended. And she was far too low for him. I'm no Prince Duncan with a Jenny of Oldstones.

"You won't be flogged, but I need you to tell me the truth. I know you can do that."

She merely shook her head.

The refusal annoyed him, but he swallowed it. "If this was the foolishness of a girl, I'll forgive you. No harm has been done truly."

"Arryns always keep their word." Jasper smiled awkwardly.

The river of tears dried up. "Truly?" She sniffled. "Do you mean it, milord?"

"On my honor as an Arryn."

"It's my father." She said. "He makes me do this for any highborn guest to get extra payment." Her voice cracked with shame. "Tis cursed milord by the Seven. I know this."

"I told him not to try with you. Everyone knows of the legendary honor of Arryn, but he bid me to, and I obeyed."

"Sounds villainous." Jasper said.

"Please, milord, business has just been slow, is all." She said in defense of her father. He watched her eyes and saw some fear behind them. Heroic knights from his stories would rescue her from such a faith. Hang the rascal and send him to the Seven Hells! What a story that would be! Jasper's hands twitched for his sword. But he was a lord. Not a hero. This was little more than a distraction. The faith of princes and princesses was at stake and required his full attention. What was one woman of low birth to him? Nothing. She is absolutely nothing. Still, it tore at him. Gnawing at his heart. He needed to do something. Anything! A lord had to defend the weak and serve justice. Grand Uncle Byrnden would advise caution. Jasper thought it over. If he slays the father, what future would she hold? It would be impossible for her to captain the ship. No crew would listen to a woman. What if he took her into his household as a washerwoman? He could take her with little trouble or complaint. It was a great honor to serve in a lord's household, especially an Arryn household, he thought with pride. Men would whisper about that and that would undermine House Arryn. What did he truly know of her? This could merely be some mummery. Use his chivalry against him and place a spy in his household. People always lied and deceived him. Harry. Mother. Father. Even her name was unknown to him.

Even if I knew it, I would forget it. So many names to remember. So many faces.

The wise course was to do and say nothing, even if his heart craved action.

"So be it." Jasper said and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Dress and leave me. Nothing will happen to you or your father." His voice was disinterested. "And take the bucket out. It's rather full." Suddenly, he felt a little green. "And I require another. Hurry along."

A thankful nod and she left him.

The sun glared high above them as the ship was as chaotic as a battlefield. Sailors were rushing around, fulfilling their duties as they sailed into the harbor. Sigils flapped proudly on the dockyard Jasper saw A yellow tower burning on a black pile on a flame-red field, A yellow sun white crescent moon and silver star on a blue chief above a white field, A broken black wheel on a green field, Black iron studs on a bronze field bordered with runes, and A field of silver mockingbirds, on a green field. The sigils named them Grafton. Egren. Waynwood. Royce. Baelish. All the Vale Lords had arrived to welcome him to the capital.

Jasper thanked the Seven when he stepped off the floating coffin. Over time, the seasickness left him, but he never really enjoyed his time on the SeaHawk. Cramped rooms and constant interactions with the grubby captain. I should have taken his head. Instead, he wished him well and delivered his payment. Servants carried chests down the ramp as he strolled forward, Ser Marwyn Belmore to his left, and Nestor Royce to his right.

"Tis is you, my lord." Ser Egen said, dipping his head. "Ser Marq did not fib that you left Gulltown and had entered the harbor."

Ser Marq Grafton puffed up his chest wearing a pin of a bronze ship. It named him Harbormaster of Kings Landing. "Lord Arryn, allow us noble lords to accompany you to your manse. We've secured horses for you and your noble company."

"My thanks." Jasper replied politely. He shook hands with all of them, treating them with courtesy.

Ser Albar said. "Ser Marq said you were coming, but not the reason, my lord."

"To win glory in the Tourney of the Hand, of course!" Jasper laughed. "I have a princess to impress, you know." He had rehearsed that line in bed. It was best that his true reasons be masked from his vassals and men of court. No doubt Tyrell or Lannister spies would watch him. Let them see a foolish boy keen on earning glory. Though Lord Baelish knew the truth and his laughing eyes seemed amused. Soon, they would speak in private, and he would discover what had trespassed since the last correspondence.

"Let us be off, my lords. I need to feel the wind on my cheeks again. A ship pales to a horse."

"Indeed, my lord." Ser Donnel Waynwood chuckled.

Myrcella

"Check-mate!" Myrcella said, knocking over Sansas knight with her dragon. Her king's army lay destroyed and crippled save scattered remains of spearmen and infantry. Archers lay burned to a crisp. Horseman scattered. Artillery captured and abandoned. Sansa's king was likely feeling pretty poor as they led him away in chains Myrcella imagined the scene. The heartache and tragedy he felt knowing he failed. Maybe he didn't acknowledge his role and blamed his men or the gods? Imagination made the game come to life.

It was just a Cyvasse board set.

"Oh." Sansa said. "Victory is yours, I suppose. Albeit, I cannot see the importance of this game for queenship."

Myrcella rolled her eyes. "It teaches strategy. How to think." She giggled. "And if nothing else, it's a fair pastime." Uncle Tyrion had taught her the game, and she loved to play. Uncle Tyrion is far better than me. Lately, it seemed her life had become a game of cyvasse between her and Lady Margaery. She was frighteningly good and, if she were honest, better than herself. Myrcella played defensively and the Rose of Highgarden did not. They fought a campaign of tea times and social gatherings. Each bout drove her closer to despair. She rallied her ladies from the west around her and secured the Stark girls, but the Crownlanders deserted her for the Rose of Highgarden. Three days ago she was seen out riding with Lord Renly on his visit to his Baelor's Orphanage with gifts from the Reach, and they prayed with the High Septon afterwards with a dozen of the most devout. Mother should lead as the queen, but she was oddly absent. Duty fell to her. A heavy thing. Myrcella beseeched Grand Uncle Kevan and through Sansa Lord Stark for coin to launch her own mission of charity on behalf of the Crown. The crowd cheered out, "The Golden Princess!" Or they screamed. "The Golden Doe!" But it wasn't as nearly as loud as the love they held Uncle Renly or now Lady Margaery. Maybe if she held her betrothed with her, things may be different. The late Lord Hand was much beloved for his kindness and Jasper was his son.

Jasper was in the Eyrie and she had to make do with what she had.

I'm losing. Myrcella thought sullenly.

Tomorrow, father was to go on a hawking expedition and the Tyrells were joining the party chief among them Lady Margaery. Myrcella didn't understand the reason, but she knew it wasn't good for herself or Tommen. They filled her heart with unease. If Lord Stark joined them, she would feel better, but he was busy organizing the city for the tourney. She was as helpless as Sansa's king.

"Myrcella? Princess!" Sansa asked, her face etched with worry.

"Huh?" Myrcella shook her head. "I'm sorry, just lost in my thoughts."

"You seemed more than that." Sansa said. "Do you still think of Lady Margaery?"

"How can I not? She played me for a fool."

Sansa didn't look convinced. "I think you worry over not. Maybe you misremember or she misspoke?" She suggested gently.

"She knew which arm was injured. Only a schemer would know that."

Still, Sansa protested like a girl of summer. "But Lady Margaery was ever so kind, and surely not the Knight of Flowers. All the songs and tales speak of the chivalry of the Tyrells, and they were very gracious. What horrors has House Tyrell committed? I've only heard of their virtue. Is it not more likely Lady Margaery was just trying to be kind?"

Myrcella laughed. "I wish I could think that." Her voice turned serious. "You haven-"

"Yes, I've remained weary around them." Sansa smiled. "My lips remain tight, but you can't keep worrying about this. You may get gray hair." She said, scandalized.

"I hope not." Myrcella voiced playfully giggling. "Gold is more my color."

Both of them giggled and laughed as she reset the board. The final dragon piece had just been placed when the guard outside her door peered through.

"Princess." He said. "Your betrothed, Lord Jasper, is here to see you."

Little surprised her anymore, for she had Joffrey as a brother, but if she was drinking tea, she would have spat it out. How could that even be possible? She had received his letter not a week past. Sansa was just as taken back, but that was normal for the sheltered girl from Winterfell. Suddenly, she felt inadequate in this pink dress. The red would have impressed more. It was less girlish. The door swung open and Jasper jaunted in wearing a rich blue cloak line with silver. Broad shouldered, if slightly thinner than she had last seen him holding a beautiful white rose. Her heart skipped a beat as he kissed the back of her hand with perfect courtesy.

"For you, princess. I trust you'll like it. You said your favorite color was white."

She found her voice after a moment of gawking. "It's lovely, my lord, but I'm amazed to see you at all. I received a letter not a week past."

Jasper nodded. "I wrote a letter before I departed. I hoped to surprise you, princess." He shifted before her gaze and chuckled. "Mayhaps, I erred. Do surprises trouble you? Nothing in your letters has spoken of the matter."

"This surprise was wonderful, my lord."

"Is Bran with you cousin?" Sansa asked with hope.

Jasper paused and shifted awkwardly. "Sorry cousin. Brandon and Crown Prince Tommen remain in the Vale. I didn't wish their education to suffer."

"Oh." Sansa said.

"It's alright Sansa, I'm sure Bran is in good spirits. Tommen has written well of him."

"The princess has the right of it." Jasper said. "Both are as close as brothers and are well protected under my sers watchful gaze. Trust me, little gets by that grizzled old trout. If he faced a dragon, I'd pick him every time." He twisted his gaze. "My pledge remains princess." It touched her. He still kept that promise close to heart.

Myrcella played with a loose strand of hair. "Why are you here, though, Jasper?" She asked.

"To crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty, of course!" Jasper said, winking. "My princess deserves the highest honor of the realm!"

A blush creeped down her neck.

"That's very sweet of you cousin!" Sansa clapped before pouting her lips with disappointment.

Jasper was sharper than she often gave him credit for and guessed the reason for her disappointment. "Worry not, Cousin Sansa, when our Golden Stag is a man grown he shall send me and every knight of the realm to the dirt. Allow me my moment in the sun before I yield to the Crown Prince. You'll grow sick of crowns of blue roses, I promise."

Sansa giggled, but Myrcella had a hard time imagining her plump little brother as a tourney knight. Would his time in the Eyrie truly change him into a knight of summer?

Her betrothed kissed the back of her hand once more. "Unfortunately, my skills may have rusted on that accursed ship. I'll need every moment of practice to have any hope of beating the best of the best. I fear I must keep this visit short. I pray you'll understand."

"Oh, you can't leave!" Sansa complained. "It's such a romantic tale traveling this far for your betrothed! You must be tired from your travels. How much work could you get done today? I'll leave!" She vowed. "Spend your day with your princess."

Poor thing. Myrcella thought. Jasper didn't come here for that and his reaction told that tale well enough. He was as dreadful liar and actor as she recalled from the Kings Road or in the Great Hall of Winterfell. Though he certainly played the charming knight well, his beautiful blue eyes certainly helped. It was a face easy for fondness. Duty was the reason he was here, likely dangerous. Otherwise, he would have brought her brother with him to show off before all the lords.

"It would be unlordly to end this affair." Jasper said. "You've even started your game." Sansa had moved one piece on the board. A lone light calvary man.

"I was going to lose, anyway. Take over for me."

Sansa had inadvertently trapped him kissing the speechless Lord Arryn on the cheek before departing with a perfect curtesy. For sure, he could ignore her, but her betrothed was ever formal and courteous. Myrcella knew she could release him, and that would be the kind thing to do. She remembered how uncomfortable he was after the long feast at Winterfell. She figured he was like his Tully relative Ser Brynden and was more a loner at heart. Every conversation with the Lords of the Vale painted that picture. Though she wished to learn more about him. Her future husband, his letters, often spoke little with many flowery words of little worth. It was worries of a girl, but she wished to know him and what she was getting in to. He couldn't be worse than Joffrey. Myrcella still worried. He needed to love her to protect her from Joffrey when he returned, and now these Tyrells.

Love is my best shield

Jasper chuckled. "If you speak it from your own lips, I'll remain. Though it's been some time since I've played." His eyes grew distant and elsewhere.

Myrcella considered it, but it was better to lose a move and win the game. "I wouldn't wish you any discomfort this night. I know you didn't come for me, my lord." She admitted. Jasper looked as if she kicked the air out of him. He sighed deeply, clearly troubled, before offering an apologetic smile.

"I'm not much of a liar." He admitted with blunt honesty of the Vale. "I know this city is full of them. Seven help me with them, they'll give me many headaches. My grand uncle warned me of them, and he is often right. He wanted to be the one coming south, but he is not the Lord of the Eyrie." He said, kissing the back of her hand. "I would be in your debt, princess, if you would play along otherwise. It's a terrible start to a song, I suppose, and I apologize for the dishonor, but it would serve me well for everyone to see me as a boy chasing glory."

"You don't mean to win the tourney?"

"Oh, I'm going to win that. You'll get crowned if it's the last thing I do." Jasper winked.

His declarations flustered her. Handsome features certainly helped an irksome thing that either annoyed her or was endearing and she couldn't decide on which.

" You would have me take part in this deceit lie to my family and court and yet you give no reason."

"Nor shall I." Jasper said stubbornly. "It's my duty, not yours." And Myrcella could tell she would get nowhere on that point.

Myrcella nodded. "Very well, I shall keep this secret."

"Thank-"

"But." Her voice raised a pitch. "You owe me a debt and I shall collect." Her green, Lannister eyes burned. "Honor demands it of you, does it not? You've wronged me by your own lips."

Jasper nodded as solemnly as a lord could be. "On my honor." He pledged as dutiful as falcons often were. It amazed her he didn't even inquire before making such a pledge. Was he that trusting? Or was it him being reckless and impulsive? The latter. Myrcella thought was more likely. A foolish girl would have said to go on the hunt with the Tyrells, but father would likely invite him and Jasper would go. Why waste a pledge on something he would do, anyway? Jasper seemed to have some understanding of the games here and would watch them like a hawk.

"I wish you to spend more time with myself. Walks in the garden. Dances in the ballroom. A game of cyvasse." Myrcella said. "I also require your attendance at weekly visits to my charity of choice."

Jasper shrugged, unbothered without complaint.

"Tis fine with you?" She asked.

"Boy seeking glory and boy seeking favor with a princess works for me. Both hide my true reasons well. Thank you, princess, it's very kind of you."

He mistakes my reasons. Oh Jasper. Myrcella saw little need to correct him.

Jasper left with a polite nod of his head. Myrcella studied her board. My knight has returned. It changed the game and she would have to play for the good of herself and her family. She plays the game better than me. Myrcella thought of Lady Margaery. They trained her to do this. Trained by her family to be the best. Mother never taught me. Still, Lord Arryn in the capital provided a path of victory.

If he didn't get himself killed.

Jasper

Riding through the streets on horseback, he felt like a knight from a song. Wind kissed him. No one spoke to him and they galloped down the windy, cobbled stone streets as free as air. All the eyes bothered him less on horseback. He was soaring like the flying falcon of his house. Falcons soared above them all! Mayhaps not in the squalor. Jasper's nostrils burned from the stench. Smallfolk shat in the street like animals. A few slight hiccups occurred after his ride to the Red Keep, but he handled them. He had forgotten how keen Princess Myrcella was. He would have to do a better job. The less she knew, the safer she would be. It was his responsibility to handle this treason. Oaths would be honored. Prince Tommen would become king one day and they would never grant the Tyrells a drop of royal blood. Courting her would distract from his goals and he didn't mean any of it.

I won't risk what remains of my heart.

She was very sweet and he would not dishonor her, but trying to be Jasper around her would be a mistake. Jasper was hated by his father, despised by his mother, and ruined a relationship with his kin in Winterfell. Everything he touched turned to ash. Lord Arryn is who he had to be. Calm and dignified like his father before him. Lord Arryn would honor his oaths and safeguard the honor of House Arryn. Lord Arryn would protect his kin from Winterfell and safeguard the prince and princess. Princess Myrcella would just leave him anyway in the end, like everyone else. Fathers words always rang true. Falcons soared alone.

First, I need to survive the vipers pit.

Jasper chuckled as he climbed the stairs of the Tower of the Hand. The capital was dangerous and his mind wandered to the affairs of the heart. What a stupid fool he was. The Stark man Rory? Tory? Dipped his head. "My lord." He opened the door to the solar, where his father once served the realm. Lord Stark resided in his seat. Some tapestry of Lord Cregan hung off the walls. The Hour of the Wolf. The furnishing was sparse and austere, much like his father kept it. Father would have been happy that Lord Eddard Stark carried on his legacy as Hand. Grim and stoic, he understood House Arryns words better than himself. Jasper saw that at Winterfell and on the Kingsroad.

Words nearly left his lips. Words that he had carefully prepared and Lord Starks cold grey icy eyes made him forget every word. They judged him.

"Nephew, what are you doing here? You should be in the Eyrie. Why are you before me?" He said without warmth.

Jasper stiffened at the rebuke. "I'm here to warn you, my lord." He told him of the letter he received from his vassals, albeit he didn't name who less Lord Stark wouldn't trust Lord Baelish's warning about the Tyrells and a plot to set aside Her Grace. He mentioned they felt he wasn't adjusting well to life at court.

"I felt honor bound to come in person." He finished. "I'll help you see these matters resolved."

"You would have been better served in the Vale." Lord Stark said bluntly. "I have matters well in hand."

Jasper blinked and rose from his seat. " With all due respect, Lord Stark, that is not true. Regardless, a unified force is stronger. I shall see every Vale Lord swear himself to your cause. The Lord of the Eyrie and the Lord of Winterfell together shall end whatever plot of Highgarden to sway His Grace astray." He pledged.

Lord Stark raised a brow. "That's gracious of you, nephew, and appreciated, but what reason do I need them? The Lannisters are declawed, and yes, the Tyrells have caused me more headaches than I wished, but I hold more swords than any of them. Swords win wars, nephew." His eyes grew colder. "And you are not in the Eyrie to call yours."

"Oh." Jasper said, a bit humbled. He had not thought of that. How had he not considered that? All he could think was the capital and broken oaths and promises.

"That gave Robert and I trouble during our rebellion. Damn near drowned on the way North."

Lord Stark offered him a drink, but he was hardly thirsty.

"Lad, I've won two wars. Fought in several battles. Faced off against the greatest swordsman that has ever lived." The Sword of the Morning Jasper remembered. Everyone knew the tale of how Lord Stark had bested him in combat. Bran had named his wolf Dawn after the ancestral sword of House Dayne. "The men here are eunuchs and cowards. Why were you so certain I was in any genuine danger?"

Jasper swallowed. "I know you are a man of experience, my lord. "He said. "You were my father's ward. Men speak of your honor as they speak of Jon Arryn. "Of all the men in the realm save Ser Brynden, he respected Lord Stark the most. "But I know games are played here. Games of the south and I feared they would lead you astray. Mayhaps, that is foolish to your ears, but I stand by it. I was counseled to send a man, but I didn't think my father would do that.A Lord of the Eyrie's word holds more weight. It would not be honorable to send another. A man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"Jon?" Lord Stark rubbed his chin. "I don't think he would, lad." He said gently. "Jon would send a trusted man and trust that he would do the right thing and would honor his oaths, but I understand wanting to swing the sword."

His shoulders slouched. Once he may have scowled, but Lord Stark knew his father better than anyone. The Gods had strange humors that a Stark of Winterfell knew his father better than him.

"Your actions were well meaning." Lord Stark said. "I welcome your support, but it'll be unneeded."

Jasper offered his hand. "Now and always, my lord." He vowed.

They shook hands.

"Good, you'll be coming for dinner on the morrow then."

Dinner with the Starks? Jasper almost shuddered. It would be a miserable affair and could widen the gap ever further between him and his cousins. "I wouldn't wish to impose." He said. If the Gods were good, he could squirm out of it. I need to keep my distance.

"Cat would give me an ear full if I didn't." Lord Stark smiled. "I'll see you on the morrow, nephew."

Jasper struggled to find a reason to refuse without giving offense and surrendered to his faith.

Lord Starks word hung over him as he penned a letter to the Eyrie informing his ser that he arrived safe and sound. He also asked how his wards were and their progress. Jasper's eyes were strained and blurry under the candlelight. Outside his room, the crescent moon was high above them. A jape from the Gods. I hardly feel like a true Arryn. Despite the rebuke, Jasper refused to believe he did the wrong thing, but it was a petulant defense. Lord Stark was a wiser man than him and was likely right. Regardless, his objectives remained. Stark and Arryn interests had to align and he would provide his voice to the task. The upcoming dinner made him groan. The bastard Snow would be there and Cousin Arya and her venomous glares.

The doors to his study opened as Ser Belmore puffed up his chest. "Lord Baelish wishes to speak with you? Shall I inform him it's too late?"

"Nay." Jasper said. "Send him in." It would do well to get his words on the situation. Mayhaps he knew things Lord Stark didn't and he could express his unhappiness with the relationship between them. Jasper rolled up his letter and put the silver wax seal of House Arryn on the parchment.

Lord Baelish offered a polite bow and friendly smile. "My lord, how fares your talk with Lord Stark? No doubt dull Starks have slow minds." He quipped.

"Take care, my lord. The man is married to my aunt and was my fathers ward."

He offered a contrite smile as he brought his hands to his heart: Lord Baelish wore a slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver. "My apologies Lord Arryn." He chuckled. "Congratulations, by the way you look well suited for your role."

"Mayhaps your quips are the reason Lord Stark mistrusts you." Jasper narrowed his eyes. Would he truly have to replace the man? He didn't want to do that.

"Lord Stark mistrusts anyone that doesn't live in his black and white world of honor and justice. I've done as you wished, I've offered my counsel"

"It's not good enough." Jasper said. "You've made little effort, my lord, to work with him. I'm not pleased."

Lord Baelish chuckled. "You wound me."

"Mayhaps, I should do more." Jasper threatened. "I was made a fool in the Tower of the Hand. Your letter-"

"Was the truth." Lord Baelish said with a flippant wave of his hands. "If I told Stark everything, he would get himself killed, or worse, squander your position. I'm sure he feels confident that everything is well, but war is being waged while the direwolf sleeps. Just this past week the Tyrells made an attempt on Her Grace and had they been successful, a rose would become queen."

The statement was outrageous, and he was shaking his head, puzzled. "No one has said of this? Is this some jape on your behalf, Lord Baelish? I'm not amused."

"It's the farthest thing from a jape, and if you listen well." Lord Baelish said. "You'll understand perfectly."

Jasper nodded. Lord Baelish is a friend of House Arryn. He saved him from a pampered faith of dishonor. He was a loyal man.

And so he listened as he painted the picture. According to him, Queen Cersei drank the poison while drinking with her uncle, that only his quick thinking saved her life. The Grand Maester covered it up, per the wishes of Ser Kevan. "Why?" Jasper asked. "Why would he cover it up? Go to the king and have the Tyrells placed in chains."

"Because he believed Stark would side against them and King Robert would listen to his Hand and brother. Lord Renly is ever fond of his Knight of Flowers, as you know."

Jasper snorted. "Not if you told Lord Stark what you told me"

"Ah, but would he listen?" He had a point there. Lord Stark wouldn't listen to him…

"The Lannisters will still retaliate alone if need be." Jasper said.

"They will. Already I have whispers of sell swords being gathered in the West under the Old Lion." Lord Baelish said.

It would be good for House Arryn to let them come to blows. It's perfect! The position of Stark-Tully-Arryn would never be better than watching the Tyrells and Lannisters fight it out across the fields of the south. House Lannister would end the threat to his ward with fire and salt. How could the Old Lion lose? Their reputation would darken not my own. No gardens would grow in Highgarden. Prince Tommen was safe in the Vale and he and Lord Stark would see no harm came to the princess. But it would dishonor the memory of his father. He wished to keep the peace. Jasper came to the capital to deter conflict not start it.

Jasper shrugged and feigned indifference. "King Robert would stop the conflict. It wouldn't speak well of his kingship to let two Great Houses engage in war."

Lord Baelishs voice was a smooth whisper. "His Grace is more likely to bury his head into the sand like an ostrich. His wife and brother would fight for his ear and he would ignore them both, hoping the problem would go away. Stark is the problem. He may convince King Robert to rally the banners of the realm before the job is done. Before Tywin Lannister ends the Tyrells root and stem."

"You may not convince Lord Stark, but I shall. He'll listen to me, eventually. Duty to the Crown demands I stop this war before it happens. Maintain an honorable peace."

"Or you can let sleeping dogs lie." His laughing eyes twinkled.

"I SHALL NOT BETRAY MY UNCLE IN WORD NOR DEED! YOU WOULD HAVE ME KEEP MY SILENCE!" Jasper saw very well the line he was pressing, and his temper took aback Lord Baelish. "You think I would betray my kin so quickly?" He seethed. "Men may be dishonorable and cruel, but I shall not break my word." As High as Honor! His eyes became a blizzard of disgust crossing his arms. "I've often defended you, and you suggest such a wicked thing."

"Peace, my lord. It would be better for Lord Stark and your cousins." He smiled. "All you have to do is let it happen. Let the Lannisters spring their trap against the roses and keep your silence. Let Stark think everything is well. So what if tens of thousands die? None of them will be your men. You would emerge the winners of the war. "

For a moment, Jasper considered it. It was dirty with dishonor, but it would leave them in a powerful position. What could harm them afterwards? The fight would weaken the Lannisters and the Reach would be in disarray. While their banners would be unharmed. Their owns fields untouched. It would be underhanded to let this come to fruition, and Jasper tasted bile in his throat. Tyrell ambition caused this. They would show no mercy to his ward if he gave them the chance.

Father tore down a dynasty of dragons for his wards, but he always held to his honor.

What were the lives of lions or roses to him?

But fathers legacy…

"I'll think about it." Jasper dismissed him, but they both knew what choice he made.

Cersei

Caged.

The bars were everywhere. In the windows. At the door. In her thoughts. A caged lioness? Cersei thought, annoyed as she drank a goblet of wine while the sheep babbled. Her ladies-in-waiting spies for Uncle Kevan. No true men surrounded her. Only spies and traitors like that worm, Pycelle. She dreamed of stomping on him, squishing him beneath her heel.

Jamie was halfway across the world and no use to her. If he were here. Uncle Kevan would never dare to have touched me. Jamie should have been here. Cersei considered writing to him. Nothing would separate them. Not Gods nor men. They came out of the womb together. One and the same. He was her. Cersei could taste his lips. But she dare not risk it. Uncle Kevan would know, and her boy would die. She didn't question that cruelty in his heart.

The old stout fool had more resolve that she thought and had convinced all of father's creatures to follow him. Even pathetic Lancel had abandoned her following the false lion that was her uncle. Don't they see the doom he was leading them towards?

Cersei sneered. Of course not, they are sheep.

She was the daughter of Tywin Lannister, and she was caged. No allies. Any attempts to secure them would to retaliation against Joffrey. My precious first born held for hostage. The prattling of the sheep grew louder and louder, and she wanted to rip their throats and bathe in their blood. The blood of sheep.

"Your tea grows cold, your grace."

"How silly of me." Cersei chimed.

Uncle Kevan would hear her roar, but for now, they forced her to bide her time. While the whore from Highgarden seeks to take what is mine. Already, Uncle Kevan was threatening Joffrey if she didn't grow heavy with Roberts child. Cersei would sooner die a thousand deaths than bear that mans child. Would he cut off limbs of her boy? Joffrey was so strong and beautiful. A true king the moment she laid eyes on him. He would want for nothing.

Cersei hated weakness. It repulsed her. Lannisters were not weak, and he had trapped her, thinking himself strong and clever.

I'll kill him, I'll kill every child of his loins. Cersei smiled, imagining his anguish. The anguish of her breast in his eyes. But for now, that was idle fancy. She was under his control, but never broken.

The sheep left, and the servants arrived to attend to her, preparing her for the feast, welcoming that accursed falcon to the city. How Robert loves Jasper Arryn. One lingered by the door. "Leave, gnat. Or I shall see you whipped."

He extended cloth to her. A symbol of a Mockingbird. "My master says the caged lion shall be freed. Be patient."

It was childish how easy to decipher this was. They wasted it on a Lannister like herself. Baelish wanted hat all men wanted what lay between her legs. It seemed she had an important ally yet.

Sleep well Uncle. Say your prayers, for when I'm freed you shall regret the day you didn't have the gull to kill me.

Cersei giggled and smirked.

Chapter Text

Sansa

Dinners in Winterfell often annoyed her with her annoying brothers and Aryas antics. All they would talk about was boring things like the training yard or a hunt. No sweet songs graced their halls. Food would fly ruining her dress or Arya would kick her in the shins underneath the table. Dinners were uncivilized affairs. Once Arya had laughed so hard that milk came out of her nose. It was disgusting and unladylike. Now, the memory was a sweet one. Sansa would trade anything for that. Anything would be better than this dinner. All one could hear was the scraping of forks against the white plates, otherwise it was as silent as the crypts of Winterfell.

Cousin Jasper gazed at the steak on his plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Not a word had been spoken since he sat down. Arya's eyes spoke volumes. Sansa thought. Her sister was glaring daggers the entire dinner. She stabbed the meat with a fury. Jon was so quiet that Sansa wondered if he was even with them.

If only father wasn't called away by duty.

An uncomfortable silence held over them.

Sansa could bear it no longer. Anything would be better than the silence!

"Cousin," she said, dabbing her chin with a napkin. "I'm curious. Will you compete in just the joust? Or shall you take part in the melee as well?"

Jasper raised his head and swallowed the steak in a gulp. For a moment, he paused awkwardly. "Well-"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER! JON IS GOING TO BEAT YOU AT THEM ALL! JUST LIKE HE DID AT WINTERFELL!" Arya said.

"ARYA!" Sansa said, mortified.

"How sweet cousin and to think I was going to ask for your favor. I'm wounded." Jasper said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Don't worry when I win; I'll consider crowning you." He promised, placing his hand over his heart.

"Watch your tongue." Jon said.

Jasper scoffed. "I shall speak as I wish. You best mind your manners, Snow."

"Don't insult my sister."

"I wasn't insulting my cousin." Jasper said. "And it's don't insult my half-sister you misspoke." He reminded curtly.

A chair slid back and then another. Both Jasper and Jon stood tall with tension that could cut. Nymeria and Ghost were wroth. Lady tried in vain to keep them calm, but both Ghost and Nymeria rose, showing teeth. The servants scattered like leaves into the wind, quiet and afraid while the direwolves joined Jon's side, snarling. If Jasper was afraid, he didn't show it. Maybe silence was better. Sansa thought a bit too late.

Everything was spiraling out of control and she couldn't find her voice as Arya was throwing kindling on the fire.

"Get him Jon! Beat him bloody!"

"You wish to say something, Snow than say it." Jasper said, stepping forward, undaunted and unafraid of wolves, nor Jon.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Then take a seat." Jasper said, with a hint of command that rankled.

Jons gray eyes narrowed. "No," He said with cold defiance. "You are not my lord father and this is not your home."

Cousin Jasper flinched. She could see the hurt in his blue eyes before they burned in anger and when his lips moved, Sansa feared some barb would pass. I know a barb will pass. "STOP IT! STOP IT! YOUR BOTH RUINING EVERYTHING!" she screamed. Both paused as she squeezed in between the two of them. Jasper broad shouldered and strong, while Jon was tall and slender with father's eyes. The two of them were complete idiots. "What were you to duel with steak knives? How would you explain that to father?" She chided.

Her cousin had the grace to have a hint of shame, and Jon bristled as well.

"Well?" Sansa asked.

Jon wore a cloak of silence with his arms crossed defensively.

"I think it's time for me to depart. You'll enjoy the dinner more in my absence." Jasper said, sighing. She saw the tension leave his shoulders and the pit in her stomach eased. Her heart had been bashing in her chest at the display. She was fearful it would end with blood being spilled. Father had enough on his plate than to deal with a squabble amongst them. "Farewell, cousins." He nodded politely before his eyes locked on Jons. "See you on the field, Snow. May you have good fortune." He sounded almost cordial.

"You need not go, cousin. Stay for dessert." Sansa offered, hoping to smooth over any ill feelings.

"Tis kind of you, but it's for the best cousin. Have a fair evening."

Another quick nod and Jasper left without another word.

Arya smirked, pleased by everything. "Good riddance." She mumbled when he was out of earshot.

"Arya…" she voiced with disapproval.

"What?" Arya asked. "He's not a part of the pack. A dumb falcon is what he is that got what he had coming." She remained angry with him and time, nor distance, had cooled that. Jon was always her favorite, and Cousin Jasper had mistreated him. She would always side with their brother over anyone save mayhaps father. "Sansa, don't defend him! Have you learned nothing?" Arya reminded her, once more twisting the rusty dagger into her heart. How many times would they hold it against her? Until she was old and gray and as wrinkled as Old Nan.

Jon said nothing in tacit agreement.

"He is our cousin Arya." Sansa said, annoyed. "And what shall father say when he hears of this? He is ever burdened by King Robert, and now he shall be troubled with a childish squabble."

Arya had a flash of guilt. "Oh." She said. "It's still his fault." Crossing her arms, convinced in her convictions. "May the Mountain that Rides take him!"

She crossed the line. Sansa thought. "Enough!" She declared as a Daughter of Winterfell standing up straight and dignified like her lady mother. "Take my sister to her room, where she may dwell on her words and deeds." She gestured to the servants, whom nodded dutifully.

"But-"

"I'm your elder sister and you shall do as I say." Sansa commanded. I won't be guilted away. As Myrcella would say, it was her duty as a sister and Arya's actions had gone beyond the pale.

Arya scowled and looked at Jon, who nodded. "Listen to our sister." He said.

Sansa could hear the grumbling down the halls as Nymeria followed, sulking. Sansa twisted her gaze to Jon. He chuckled. "Should I suspect a chastisement, sweet sister?"

She knew something had been bothering him for weeks, but he refused to open up to her. Jon preferred to handle things on his own, and she didn't feel comfortable in pressing him. I wasn't the best sister in Winterfell. Unlike Arya. They had given a second chance to her and she wouldn't squander it. "I don't have authority over you, Jon."

"Trueborn daughters can command bastard brothers." Jon said.

The tone bothered her. "You have our blood Jon." Sansa whispered. "I name you my brother proudly. Here or in court." She reached out for his hands. "You are as honorable as father, as brave as Robb. I'm happy to know you. Don't dismiss your qualities so easily. All of us know your worth." If Robb wouldn't provide a place in the North for him, she would make sure her husband would find it. If he wished for a white cloak, he would get it. Lands or titles in the Crownlands. Myrcella said Crown Prince Tommen was a sweet boy. He seemed nice. Sansa recalled. She doubted he would refuse her if she asked.

Jon said nothing, brooding in silence before he squeezed her hands. "Thank you, sister." Jon smiled. A rare thing. "That's kind of you."

She sighed, feeling braver. Lady always makes me feel brave. "I only wish you would tell me what ails you. You lied about how you cracked your ribs-"

Sansa faltered as Jon released her hands. Cold grey pits glared back. "Is nothing." He finished for her. "I think I shall go to my room. I'm in little mood for lemon cakes."

He kissed her on the brow. "Come Ghost." He turned down the hall, leaving her with nothing but plates of lemon cakes and regret.

I should have told him he could come to me. If only I was brave, like Robb.

For the next couples of days she thought of the dinner and her family. Sansa never really considered her siblings before. Her head was always in the clouds with knights and handsome princes. Foolish girl. She was never cruel to any of them, but of her siblings, she was always the odd one out. Now, as she thought of family, Sansa wished she paid more attention to them. They would listen to her more easily. The quarrel between Jon and Cousin Jasper was dangerous. It could fester into something dangerous. Myrcella speaks of how such wounds can tear families apart. Father came by that night tired and weary with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Dark shadows crept underneath his eyes and she downplayed the dinner. I won't let father worry over this. The thoughts consumed her and her hands slipped as she wielded the needle. "Ouch!" Sansa said as she pricked her finger, drawing a drop of blood.

The giggling of the ladies ended. Lady Rosamund and Jeyne Poole looked worried. Princess Myrcella was the first to her side. "Are you okay Sansa?" She asked kindly.

"I'm fine Myrcella. It's just a drop of blood." It still felt awkward speaking of her informally, but she was getting better at it.

"Not that silly." Princess Myrcella said. "You never miss your stitches."

"My thoughts are just elsewhere."

Princess Myrcella nodded with sympathy.

"Oh, I daydream about the Tourney, too! Lord Beric is so handsome!" Jeyne prattled like a foolish girl. An envious dragon crawled beneath her skin. Once she had been that blissful with her head in the clouds. It was an unworthy feeling for a Stark of Winterfell.

Sansa shared a look with Princess Myrcella. After they leave, I'll share. Jeyne and Rosamund were pleasant companions, but this was a sensitive conversation. Jeyne would gossip and half the Red Keep would know by morning. Sansa didn't know Rosamund that well and didn't trust her with this. After they finished talking of the tourney and stuffing themselves with sweets and tea, they exchanged farewells, and the door shut behind them.

"So." Her blond brows raised playfully. "Tell me what troubles you! It's been absolutely dreadful waiting all day to ask!"

"Apologies princess." She reddened.

"Don't be so formal Sansa." Princess Myrcella chided. "No one is around. We can get the cyvasse board and play a round!" She said, eyeing the board in the distance. "I've a move. I've been dying to show you. It'll help your game, I'm sure of it!" She babbled, with bright eyes that rarely dimmed. Cyvasse was such a dreadful game it bored her to tears. How the pieces moved and where to put them? It made her head hurt. Princess Myrcella loved the game and so she played. Myrcella sews, and she hates it.

Sansa frowned. "It's about my siblings and Cousin Jasper."

"My betrothed?" Myrcella asked calming.

Sansa told her of the conflict and the simmering tension between him and the rest of House Stark. "Do you think we could sway my cousin to apologize for it?" She asked. Sansa knew that if he could just apologize that Jon would accept and they could sweep it under the rug.

Princess Myrcella sighed. "I would have to speak with my betrothed first." She mumbled. "I speak with a shadow of a boy." She couldn't help but feel puzzled. Sansa felt terribly slow.

"He never tells me anything of note. "Princess Myrcella said gently. "Just compliments or some japes, and not a single soul in the city seems to know anything about him. Save that he's an excellent hunter and a lord of martial prowess. I've tried to hint otherwise that I want more, but he ignores me."

"Maybe he's just oblivious." Sansa offered.

"If only. I could work with oblivious. It's deliberate."

Sansa did not think Jasper the type to deliberately ignore the princess. "But he came all this way on your behalf!" She said dreamily. It was such a romantic tale that he traveled so far just to crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty. One day, mayhaps her prince would do the same.

"I suppose he did." She admitted and smiled.

"Be blunt with him, then." Sansa said. "You've always told me a princess should show some courage."

Princess Myrcella chuckled. "Mayhaps you're right. My delicate approach has failed completely!" She giggled.

"Only a tad." She replied and laughed.

"I promise though." Princess Myrcella swore. "On my honor as a princess that I shall see this gulf between Stark and Arryn bridged!"

Myrcella

"Ah, this one is perfect!" Jasper declared, snatching the white rose from the bush. "It matches you perfectly." He offered to her with a smile.

She wanted to roll her eyes. "My lord, this is the fifth time you've uttered those words." Myrcella carried five roses with her. It was charming the first time, but now it was growing repetitive.

"And it was true every time!" Jasper winked. "Not my fault you are a talented gardener." He intertwined his arm with her own, leading her down the trails with a couple of household guards well behind them. "When you are in the Eyrie, you'll be able to plant a garden to your hearts content. A pity about this one, though. It'll whither away." A blushed creeped down her fair skin at the compliment.

"I won't have much left with you plundering my rose bushes."

Jasper paused stiffly, uncertain on how to reply before settling on his default lordly nod.

Myrcella nearly sighed as they roamed the garden. Sweet smells surrounded them and a gentle breeze from the sea kissed the skin. Myrcella had chosen a beautiful blue dress with shorter sleeves. She hoped he enjoyed seeing the colors of House Arryn. I doubt he cares. Myrcella thought sullenly. At least this wasn't as terrible as the orphanage. He insisted she take the litter while he rode on a horse. A brown beast name Honor. In the gardens, Jasper conversed with her.

"Would you tend the garden with me in the Eyrie?" Myrcella asked with some hope.

"That would be unlordly, princess." He said with stiff formality. "Though if some fiendish rabbit burrows his way in, I'll hunt him down." He pledged.

"Must you kill the rabbit?"

Jasper grimaced. "Fine." He muttered, "I'll pardon the rabbit, but we won't keep him. Cousin Bran's wolf is fond of rabbit. I rather not lose an arm against a wolf."

She giggled at the silliness of the conversation. "Well, I'm sure you would be beloved amongst the rabbits of the Vale." She teased. This was the most she had gone out of him since he arrived, and it was scant. "My noble protector of the garden."

Jasper's chest puffed up a bit as a genuine smile crossed his face. It wasn't as flashy as the other ones, but it was honest. "And rabbits." He japed. "Hmm." Jasper said, hand on his chin as if deep in thought. "Lord Jasper Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie Warden of the East and Protector of Rabbits of the Garden! Villains will shake when they hear me approach! My House words; As High as the Burrow! A flying white rabbit, my sigil!"

Laughter overwhelmed her body in painful gasps as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. The smell of the yard was still on him and his face was very handsome when he laughed without abandon.

He leaned in and Myrcella wondered if he would kiss her. "Rabbits can actually jump up to three feet in the air and they are social creatures and grow deeply lonely without a friend!" Jasper blurted out. "And carrots are only as a snack and aren't actually their diet." Before she could utter a word of delight at getting him to open up, a slight look of mortification formed on his face. "Ha! Ha!" Jasper said haughtily. "The queer things maesters make us learn. "A flippant wave of his hand. "I don't need to know that to hunt them. You shall have as many pelts as you wish, princess. I do so swear." In a single smooth movement, he kissed the back of her hand with perfect courtesy. Myrcella's heart dropped in dismay, knowing what this meant.

"This walk may prove the highlight of my day." Jasper said. "Unfortunately, I got to keep practicing in the yard."

"Could you stay longer?"

"Nay princess. If I'm going to crown you, I must sharpen my skills. I'm facing the best of the realm! Men of the Kingsguard! Even that prancing Knight of Flowers." Jasper deflected with a lords courtesy.

Myrcella knew it was a deflection. The moment she was getting anywhere, and he was leaving. It was clear as day even the court jester could see it. Maybe not Moonboy? But it didn't take a Lannister to see. Myrcella thought. Why does he treat me this way? She wondered, Is there another woman? Someone who holds his heart in the Vale. The thought made her think unkind thoughts. Love was to be her shield to protect her, and some woman could deprive her of it. Speculations, is useless. I'll find out the truth, eventually.

Jasper was a terrible liar. She need only trap him like one of his rabbits.

"Do I hold your favor, princess?"

She wished to refuse him, but she nodded anyway.

Jasper offered a polite bow before all but flying away with a brisk walk.

In one week, the tourney would begin and Myrcella didn't know how long Jasper would stay after that. She didn't even understand his reason for being in the capital, but it was duty not heart throb of a love-struck boy. Even if she would honor her pledge and maintain the deceit.

If only

Myrcella was busy practicing her stitches when one of mothers handmaidens summoned her. "Her Grace requires your presence, princess." She told her. Unease filled her chest with a painful throb. It was abrupt. She wasn't supposed to meet with mother at this hour. Trepidation filled her with every step weighing as heavy as stone. Did she learn of her treachery? The letter to grandfather? Or what happened on the Trident with Joffrey? No she couldn't possibly know. Myrcella needed to believe that or she would suffer the faith of traitors. An icy hand wrapped around her throat as vile as the Stranger. A chill ran down the back of her spine.

Be brave. A princess must be brave.

Mother greeted with an embrace. "My sweet cub." Fingers pressed painfully into her shoulders.

"Mother." She whimpered.

"You've lied to me." No, no, no Myrcella despaired. She can't know anything.

"I'm a loyal daughter. Loyal to you. Loyal to my family." Myrcella said.

Mother nodded in approval. "That you are my sweet girl." She refused to show any relief. Be the submissive daughter. No apology left mother's lips. "A Lannister never apologies." She would tell her. The Seven Hells would freeze before mother apologized for anything. "Albeit, you are spending much time with the Arryn boy."

"Only to benefit my family." Myrcella said.

"I don't believe you." Mother's eyes simmered like dancing flames. Wild. All-consuming, like the wildfire of the Targaryens. She had seen better days, Myrcella thought. Her golden hair had lost some of its luster and with her eyes she looked half crazed. Mother stroked her blond curls. "You always had such pretty hair, daughter of mine."

"Thank you, mother."

"Sweet naïve Myrcella." Mother sang, chilling her to the bone. "Unaware of mans bloody nature. Oblivious to the cruel reality of the world. You'll spend no more time with him. Lord Arryn is not us and shall only hurt you." It was a command, and not a request. Defiance would be unwise, and yet Myrcella knew she had to thread the needle.

"But he is my betrothed. How can I possibly do anything?" Myrcella made her voice more girlish. High and sweet as any song.

Mother smiled. "You'll be spending your days with me, my little cub." She said. "I see I've erred with my hands off approach with you. It's time I taught you everything." An involuntary shiver ran through her at the thought and, like a lioness, mother noted and frowned. Be brave. Be brave for Tommen. For yourself.

"You disapprove?"

Myrcella was quick to shake her head. "I would love to spend my days in your company." She lied. "But I cannot so easily ignore Lord Jasper. It would offend him. After the tourney he'll leave and I can lessen my letters." Every word from her mouth was reasonable and contrite. It hardly mattered. Being perfect didn't matter.

The blow struck, and tears flowed. It would leave a terrible bruise.

"Joffrey would never have defied me so." Mother seethed, eyes burning.

Always Joffrey. It's always Joffrey. Myrcella raged. She wanted to roar! To lash out. I wish father killed him while you watched as the life left his pathetic wormy eyes. Myrcella so desperately wanted to hurt her, but she held her tongue. No wicked thought would roll off. She's still my mother.

"My little lion is halfway across the world because of you. His birthright denied because of words from your lips." Mother sighed. "He would have protected you from Lord Arryn." She shivered underneath her hand and word. The wrong word would set her off.

"I'm a silly girl. Very silly and foolish."

"Look at what you make me do." Mother said, frowning, "My poor cub. I was only trying to help you." Her honest smile terrified her. "I suppose you'll just have to learn heartbreak like I did. You'll come back to me soon enough." It was a promise. As certain as if it were set in stone. It chilled her. How? Myrcella wondered. Ser Kevan had taken over everything. Nothing would get by him. He was grandfathers second hand. "The Shadow of the Lion." Men whispered of him and no one would be stupid enough to defy the word of Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. Mother was powerless. Caged. Trapped. Yet, she was still certain. Why?

"You can leave, my sweet girl."

Myrcella didn't budge.

Mother raised a brow in puzzlement.

"I can't leave mother." Myrcella said. "Grand Uncle Kevan would know." She pointed at her reddened cheek. "I need to hide such mother before I leave."

"Yes." Mother said sharply. "I knew that." She held her hand and for a moment treated her like a daughter applying the powder and paste. Myrcella imagined she was preparing for her wedding day dance with Lord Jasper while her mother attended her giggling and laughing at what was to come. The dream was sweet as strawberries. Instead, she winced when mother pressed too roughly against her cheek.

"I've disappointed you, mother." She said, eyes lowered.

"Why would you think that, Myrcella?"

"Lord Arryn…"

"You shouldn't worry about him for much longer."

"But father won't set aside such a match. Why would I not have to worry?"

Mother only smiled, knowing something terrible. "Done. Go off now. Kiss me on the cheek before you go."

Myrcella did as bid. She was a princess of the realm.

Grand Uncle Kevan sent some red cloaks for her later that evening, as she suspected. He doesn't trust her. Even a caged lion could be dangerous and Ser Kevan was always thorough in keeping his eye on mother. A daughter would be suspect to carrying secrets or messages. The men bowed and escorted herself to Ser Kevans quarters where Lord Tywin would stay on the rare day he arrived in the capital. A message for any the master he served. When the door opened for her, she found him with his son Lancel Lannister laughing. Blond-haired and beautiful Lancel seemed to smile more since his fathers arrival.

"Princess." Lancel dipped his head before looking back at his father.

"Go on, boy." Ser Kevan dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I need to speak with my grandniece." Stout and broad shouldered Ser Kevan looked every bit a lord, save for his balding scalp a full lion of the Rock. Even without his golden hair. He offered her a kind smile. "Take a seat, princess."

She curtseyed. "As you wish, my lord."

"You saw your mother today."

Myrcella nodded and was honest about everything discussed. Mother had to remain declawed for their own good. She was a threat to Tommen and his reign. Almost everything. She left out the part about being struck. Despite her cruelty, she didn't wish mother to be punished for a small thing like that. Ser Kevan let her speak and asked questions sparingly, but they were always sharp. He listens well. Biting underneath her lip. "Do you think she is capable of such a plot?"

"I wouldn't worry about it." Ser Kevan said. "I've seen no evidence of anyone willing to support her. My niece is delusional, I fear." He sighed. "Maybe in time you shall make her see reason. Children often help mothers understand."

She almost laughed. Mother won't stop until he returned Joffrey to her. Myrcella knew. She would burn the world to ash to see him returned, but as long as Ser Kevan remained in the city, it couldn't happen. Still, tomorrow, it was a sweet dream to imagine. "I'll pray for such." She said. "Oh, it's Janei's name day tomorrow, is it not? I'm sorry you couldn't be with your family."

Ser Kevan seemed touched as he stood up. "That's thoughtful of you to say, but it's my duty and honor to serve House Lannister. My family understands."

"Well, at least you are with your son." Myrcella said. "He smiles more."

Ser Kevan's lips twirled up. "Worry over nothing. Enjoy the tourney and spend as much time with your betrothed as you can. He would be a fool not to love you." Her heart fluttered, hoping she could do it. "Remember, the more he loves you, the more influence you shall hold over him." He said the harsh words with a soft, patient touch. "Your grandfather expects much of you, princess. You and your brother are the legacy of House Lannister."

"I'll do my duty to my brother, our future king." Myrcella vowed.

He sent her away with a curt nod and a small, warm smile. Myrcella forced herself to believe that everything was fine. Mother is simply crazed. Doubt gnawed at her as the confident smile tore at her. What are you planning, mother? The thoughts still swirled in her mind a day later as she studied the board. A field of terrible battle as dragons burned knights and pikemen tore through men of arms. Jasper was playing with her, but he seemed elsewhere, as always, off in his own world. Uncle Tyrion always said you could learn a lot about a person with how they played the game. He claimed that he only knew the game in passing. It seemed a lie, though. Jasper understood the board very well. Myrcella watched how her betrothed play. He was very aggressive with his pieces, willing to sacrifice his most valuable pieces to get the slightest advantage. The match was grinding to a standstill, but Myrcella knew she would likely eek out a win.

I can't let him lose. He'll grow annoyed.

Myrcella played sloppy, but after some initial success, he was getting absolutely dreadful when she looked up. Jasper was clenching his jaw, and he was fuming. "Do you think me stupid?!" He snapped.

"My-"

"I know when someone throws a match! Don't deny it!" His voice was furious and burning. "Have I disgraced myself so that you would think I can't handle a loss? I know defeat well. Why did you do it?" He commanded with a haughty voice.

Everything was spinning out of control and she could feel the hot tears growing. It's not supposed to go this way.

"My lord I was-" She whispered.

"Speak up!" His voice cracked like a whip, and she flinched from his tone.

Instantly, Jasper looked away with shame, his anger leaving him. "I require air." He said coolly. "Excuse me." When he departed, she was glad, for she would have cried otherwise. Everything was ruined, and she hated him for it. A long moment had passed, and he still hadn't returned. She saw him standing on the balcony, brooding. Good. Myrcella thought. He can stay out all night! She sighed, banishing the notion. She still had to make him love her.

Myrcella gave him another moment alone before she joined him in the warm air that kissed the skin. He moved further away from her, keeping his distance.

"You should come back inside, my lord."

"I'm sorry." Jasper said, refusing to glance her way. "My behavior was inexcusable. You have every right to hate me. I understand my actions have consequences and I accept mine." He sighed loud and deep. “I just don’t understand why you did it. Did I do something wrong I-“ His voice was beyond lost as Jasper rubbed his pant legs. Are you nervous? Myrcella wondered. “I’m stupid, I did something wrong and I don’t even know what it is.”

"It was ill done." She admitted. "I think I can forgive you, though."

Jasper scoffed. "You shouldn't." He whispered. "I did not behave as High as Honor. I was a hot-headed fool. You should judge me harshly. I would judge me harshly." She judged him, but not that badly. One outburst wasn't the end of the world, even if it felt like it.

"Only a misstep. Nothing more."

He finally twisted around. Jasper looked miserable, and it was no act. Myrcella had seen him lie, and it was a sad thing.

The apology was genuine. Myrcella almost beamed. He cares enough to apologize.

"I erred too, my lord. I should haven't thrown the game, but I didn't wish to upset you."

"Oh." Jasper shifted uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that."

She bridged the gap between them. Sansa told her to be blunt, and she thought this was a perfect time. She read him like an open book. He was vulnerable and open. The lordly facade had vanished up in smoke. Destroyed by guilt and shame. Be bold. Be brave.

"How would I know, my lord? You give little away of yourself save flowery words and easy courtesy. I know not the man I'm to wed."

Jasper's shoulders slouched, and Myrcella knew she had him beat. "I guess not, but that was my intent." He said. "My reasons are my own and I shall not explain them, but I'll give you something of myself if you wish, though I think it unwise." She almost squealed with glee at the breakthrough. I should get him upset more often. It was wicked and unkind, but mayhaps it would get her what she sought.

"Why do you think it unwise?"

"I lied about not playing Cyvasse." Jasper shifted the conversation clumsily. "Though I didn't play with anyone." He mumbled. "I had no one to play with."

"Sounds lonely."

Jasper snorted. "It's what my father wished and I'm ever a dutiful son." His tone withdrawn and bitter

It thrilled Myrcella with the progress they were making. Though Jasper's words made little sense. "That hardly sounds like Jon Arryn, my lord. He was ever kind."

"Oh, yes. My father, the honorable Lord of the Eyrie." Jasper said. "Men always claimed him kind, and just. I saw none of that. Those letters I sent you were warm compared to the ones I received." He paused, swallowing something. "Father denied me a fostering. He denied me playmates and make no mistake, he hated me and I find I hate him as well." He gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white as snow. "If I didn't fight for my rights, I never would have squired with my granduncle. I would have wasted away a pampered boy. A weakling of summer." It stunned Myrcella, hearing the venom in his voice. Jasper wore a cloak of bitterness and the subject of his hatred? His own father, Lord Jon Arryn. She would have imagined them to be close.

"You always speak well of him." Myrcella said.

"As High as honor." Jasper answered. "I will not shame him in death as he did me in life. Even in my own thoughts, I try to recall him kindly, but he was not kind to me. I shall never forgive him." He vowed with steel.

Myrcella paused, uncertain of what to say.

Jasper, embarrassed by the silence, rubbed his pant legs. "I'm not good at any of this. I beg your pardon." He was round up tight as a bow. Jaspers terribly high-strung. Myrcella thought.

"No, no." Myrcella said, leaning into him. "I want to know more about you. I'm very pleased." She kissed him chastely on the cheek.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in place. "Do I have your favor, princess?" He asked.

"Always my lord." She answered, pleased to finally discover some answers from him. Jasper didn't love her yet, but one day she was confident he would. They would be happy one day she dared to dream.

Jasper

Blond hair and green eyes haunted him in dreams and in hallways of the Red Keep. Nothing bothered him more than this growing warmth in his chest. It was infuriating how weak he felt. A stupid boy about to hurt himself yet again. Jasper took his frustrations out on his knights and the Vale Lords in a contest of swords. A contest that he won more than he lost. Never since Harry humiliated him as a boy had he fought with this dedication. Sweat dripped down his brow, burning his eyes and his muscles ached with every movement, but Jasper gave his foe everything he had. Donnel Waynwood was a valiant knight and Jasper was proud to test his mettle with him, but he swung to win and forget this softness, not practice chivalry of the Vale. A flurry of savage blows had him on his back foot as he lost himself in the fight.

I'm no skilled swordsman, but it was relaxing

Jasper slashed and almost struck home with a heavy hit to Ser Donnels chest, but he parried it to the side. The fight had him fatigued and on his last leg.

You can still win. A little more effort.

He pierced his way through Ser Donnel guard and swung with all his might he could taste the victory on his lips. Then he saw her in the distance by the banner of House Arryn, as beautiful as the Maiden herself. Watching with those accursed green eyes and his stomach twisted itself into knots. Jasper hesitated and was punished for the lapse in judgement with a blow to his legs, sending him to the ground groaning. Princess Myrcella still cheered for him.

Of course she does. Jasper winced. Even in defeat, he felt as if he won.

"Do you yield, my lord?"

"Aye ser." He said. "Well fought."

Ser Donnel helped him up. "You almost had me, Lord Arryn, at the end."

"Almost doesn't count Ser Donnel." Jasper chuckled. "The day is yours and I'm done for the day." He saluted to the princess with his sword that was heavy as stone, like a gallant knight, before following Ser Donnel back to the encampment of Valeman.

They joined the rest of the company of Valeman. The banners of Royce Waynwood, Redfort, flew in the wind underneath the flying falcon of Arryn. All of them bore marks of training for the melee and joust. Scrapes and bruises. Some of them he afflicted. They gathered around him, praising him for the practice spars in both joust and sword. The Royces the loudest among them. He waved them all away.

"You are men of the Vale. No men are as gallant and true." Jasper said. "And do you know these Reachmen think they are better than us? We the Knights of the Vale?"

Robar Royce snorted. "Prissy flowers. One Valeman is worth ten men of the Reach!"

"Ten? You mean twenty and I'm being kind," Jasper japed.

Jokes and japes flowed between him and the sons of the Vale, but it grew draining. Draining to keep up the facade they desperately needed to see. Today was the last day of training and the next three days he would rest. Almost, Jasper thought. He still watched over King Robert like a hawk. Lord Baelish had kept him appraised of Tyrell movements throughout the city. The Tyrells clung to His Grace like a flock of crows pecking at his flesh. Demanding. Ambitious beyond respectability and measure. Lord Renly, the kings own brother, advocated for them. It's sickening. He's more a rose than a Stag. They deserved the faith House Lannister would afflict upon them. If they were wise, they would turn back before it's too late.

Please turn back. Don't cross this road. The boy of summer wanted to warn them.

Mercy would be a mistake. It normally is. For the good of the Vale and House Arryn, he could be merciful to dishonor, but he saw no benefit here.

The honorable realm of his father could endure, but Jasper wouldn't lift a finger to stop its collapse. House Arryn benefits from the conflict. Our position with the Starks would be stronger and Prince Tommen's reign would be secured. As High as Honor!

They introduced a man named Ser Hugh to him. Ser Hugh had rough-hewn features and Jasper liked little the ease at which he approached him. "I haven't had the pleasure of your acquaintance, ser."

"Tis shocking Lord Arryn. I was your fathers squire. Surely he mentioned such?" Father mentioned nothing of him. Why did father take such a man to squire? He didn't even have a name he recognized. Ser Hugh was no son of a great lord. What friendships or alliances could squiring this man possibly have wrought? How could this man possibly help to maintain Arryn honor?

"I don't recall seeing you when my father's household returned ser."

"I remained in the capital. King Robert knighted me himself." Ser Hugh's chest rose with pride.

Jasper hardened. "House Arryn required your service, and you ignored the call. You had a duty to return to the Eyrie."

Ser Hugh bristled. "I served your father leally."

"You did not lift your sword to protect his widowed wife." Jasper said harsh, with judgement.

"Two hundred men served her."

"And yours was not one of them."

Ser Hugh sputtered, reddening. "Let me make amends."

"No." He said. "I wish you good fortune as a knight in this competition. May the Warrior himself guide you." Jasper dismissed him with a wave of his hands. Ser Hugh stood in disbelief at his judgement and icy courtesy. Though even a newly made knight understood, his judgement was final and dipped his head. Mayhaps, I was too harsh. Did father see something in him? Something about Arryn honor he didn't understand.

Lord Yohn was sitting with his sons, dignified and respectable. He was the Highest Vale Lord in the capital. Jasper informed him he was retiring for the evening. He thanked him for the spars in the yard. Jasper had bested his sons, but Lord Yohn was still by far his better.

Later that night, he penned a letter to his granduncle. I wish he were in the capital with me. Jasper thought. He wondered what he would say about his choice with the Tyrells or his conduct with the princess. Probably not, Jasper thought. But he would help him all the same. Once Jasper hoped Lord Stark could fill that role, but he only felt shame when he saw him.

My pretty reasons matter not. Jasper knew. It didn't matter that House Stark would benefit as well. It didn't matter that he was protecting his cousins as well. Even that bastard Snow would benefit.

A betrayal was a betrayal.

Lord Stark would judge him for his silence and Jasper deserved nothing less.

Jasper curled underneath a blanket as he read about King Jaehaerys the Conciliator by Grand Maester Tybolt by the candlelight. The parts with his queen were his favorite. If I sleep, I'll dream of the princess. Jasper groaned. He almost missed the nightmares that often plagued him. It was strange that he had told her things that not even Grand Uncle Brynden knew. Nothing was more awkward than talking about his feelings so freely, like a boy of summer. Jasper knew he would make a mistake somewhere and his heart would shatter again.

I'm becoming more naked before her

A lord's courtesy was his armor, and he was close to abandoning it all together. Somewhere at the Bloody Gate, Mya Stone was laughing at him.

Jasper sighed. Trying to forget Princess Myrcella wasn't working. No matter how hard he threw himself in the yard, the softness in his heart wouldn't fade. Every day it seemed to grow like the flowers in her garden it had taken root. The princesses from the songs had nothing on her. She was more beautiful and kind than any of them. It was painfully easy to talk with her. I could be happy with her. Very happy with her. Jasper thought. Though he dared not hope for that. All of his hopes had been dashed before. Father never loved him, nor mother either. He failed with his cousins and deep in his heart; he knew this wouldn't last either. I'm cursed to be a lone falcon.

Jasper hardened and banished such weakness from his mind.

The affairs of the heart mattered little, only keeping Arryn honor was of any worth. He would vanquish Tyrell ambition and safeguard a new era for Falcons to soar. My heart doesn't matter, only the honor the name Arryn inspires.

As High as Honor!

He dreamed that night of crowning her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

It was a wonderful dream.

Chapter Text

Renly

The horses neighed as the banners of the stag flew in the wind; on his left Loras rode beside of him down the Streets of Steel as beautiful as a rose. My golden rose. Nothing was more fair than his Knights of Flowers with his soft brown curls. Renly drowned out the cluttered scenery of tiny shops and squat forges filled with ugly creatures and commoners waddling in their filth. Dirty, unlike his clean apartments with the smell of arbor wine in the air. "You don't have to ride with me." Renly told him. "You could be preparing for the joust."

Loras scoffed. "My place is by your side."

"I doubt I'll have need of your sword, Loras."

"But you enjoy my company all the same."

Renly smiled as he dismounted from his beast. He removed his green riding gloves and wondered what motivated Lord Jon Arryn and Stannis to visit this district. Neither had been warm in each other's councils. Stannis doesn't understand how to do anything save grind his teeth. Renly Olenna had discovered this from the remains of Jon Arryn's household. It was likely something dull. Everything about the man was dull. Lady Olenna didn't know his brother like he did. Still, he didn't wish to wound Loras's grandmother and thus he and Loras were on this damn fools hunt chasing after some red herring.

A slender girl greeted them at the steps with a friendly smile and wine. Tobho Mott was with them without delay, bowing and showering them both with praise. We are his best customers. Renly knew. "Tell me my friend." Renly asked after some pleasantries. "What was my dullard of a brother doing here with the Late Lord Hand?"

"And we know it wasn't to buy a suit of steel!" Loras said hotly, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

The smith whitened like a bedsheet.

Renly raised his hand. "Peace Loras." He smiled. "Forgive his manners. He's a passionate man. We know you to be a friend. No need for such unpleasantry."

One look at the two of them: a brother of a king and son of a lord paramount and he folded without another word. "The boy. They came to see the boy." He said, looking at the ground.

A boy? The Late Lord Hand and his brother came here for some common boy. He exchanged a look with Loras, whose brow knitted together in puzzlement. "If you lie." Loras threatened with great heat. Renly loved when he grew defensive over him.

"I shall send for him." Tobho Motto said resigned.

When the boy was produced, he understood at once. The hair was as dark as ink and despite the sullen look; he saw his brother's stormy blue eyes well enough. Covered in dirt and sweat from working in the smith, his nephew was well muscled. "Milords." He said, head bent.

Renly had seen enough, and by the way Loras was gawking him as well. He thanked Motto for time and promised to purchase another suit of steel soon. His last suit of steel received a scratch and needed to be replaced. While they walked down the steps, Loras pulled him to the side. "Do you think Stannis may be the father?"

It was the most ludicrous notion and Renly almost kissed him because of it. He nearly snickered. "Nay, Loras. I'm amazed my brother got that ugly daughter of his. This is my other brother's work." Unlike Edric, this boy had no highborn woman, forcing Robert to claim him as a son. Robert likely had bastards in every kingdom of the realm. He mentioned once of some baseborn daughter in the Vale.

It clearly vexed Loras as they mounted their steeds. "What does this mean?" He asked him.

"Nothing." Renly said, without a doubt in his mind. "Lord Arryn was a kind old man. He probably was just seeing to the boys arrangement."

"What about your brother, then?"

Renly shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Maybe they were closer than I thought. Or maybe they would do something dull like investigating the custom agents."

"But the book being misplace-"

"Not the book again." Renly said, amused. "I love your grandmother. I do, Loras, but she's a crotchety old bat. She sees bread crumbs where none lie."

Loras winced. "I've rarely known her to be wrong Renly." Didn't he understood how foolish this was? What was more likely that there was some grand conspiracy by the Lannisters involving some mysterious book and his brother's bastards and his brother the Lord of Grinding Teeth was in the thick of things. If it was serious, Arryn would have come to me, not my curmudgeon of a brother.

"First time for anything." Renly said.

"Why did you come then?"

"You seemed stressed. I figured a ride would do you some good." Renly winked. "Your going to knock them dead!" Few could stand up to the Knight of Flowers. The Kingslayer was off with that little brat of a prince and wouldn't compete. The Hound as well. Barristan the Bold was old. None of the others compared. Maybe the Mountain that Rides? But Loras would beat him with ease. Skill beat pure brawn.

Loras reddened as they left the Street of Silk.

The sun was high above him when he entered his brother's solar. A horn of beer was in his hands as he tittered in his seat from laughter. "Seven Hells, what did your ser do, lad?"

"He cuffed me so hard, I saw stars, my king. I swear by the Seven." Jasper Arryn said as his brother spat out his beer. He was the first to note him, offering him a polite nod.

Renly resisted the urge to frown. He clung to Robert as often as he could and his brother loved him like a son, showering him with praise. A martial lord that enjoyed the hunt with a name that preyed upon his brother's feelings. Jasper Arryn was a threat. A pity they had to be foes. If only he was not marrying my niece. Honor would have kept him well enough away in the mountains of the Vale where he would not interfere with his plans. The Lannisters would be toppled and replaced with the roses of Highgarden. He wasn't as beautiful as Loras or Ser Jamie, but he had a ruggedly handsome quality to him. He wasn't bad on the eyes.

"Telling stories?" Renly chuckled, taking a seat. "Go on."

Robert snorted. "WAR STORIES!" He slapped his gut. "BARRY OLD BOY! GET YOUR BONEY ARSE IN HERE!"

"Your grace." Ser Barristan entered hesitantly.

"What was your first kill?"

"A Tyroshi. Never learned the name. A lance straight through the heart."

Robert gazed at his future son-in-law curiously. "And you, lad? Have a kill to your name."

Lord Arryn nodded once and looked to the ground and refused to say anymore.

"OUT WITH IT THEN!" Robert bellowed impatiently.

"A fight with a clansman. He lost his weapon in our fight and I took his head." He said, shaking his head. "I should have given the chance to pick up his weapon. It was a kill without honor, but Ser Brynden taught me to always end a threat, and so I did. I'll always end a threat." Briefly his Tully eyes fell upon him and he glowered as if he were the clansman before settling back on a cordial look. It was amusing.

"He was right, lad. Always go for the kill."

The talk of killing was unsettling to his stomach. It was dirty and unclean. Unlike them, he was no soldier or knight who needed to bloody himself. Robert holds me in lower esteem because of it. He knew how to ride a horse or swing a sword and he took part in tourneys, but it was less than if he skewered a man in a life or death struggle. Why would he need to do any of the killing? He just needed to look the part and give men courage and something to fight for. If Robert were a wiser king, he would understand that. Instead, he drank of glory days long since passed as if dreaming them could will it back to life when he was six foot five and stronger than a bull.

"And you, Lord Renly, any feats of valor to your name?" Lord Arryn asked politely.

"My brother? Ha!" Robert laughed. "He has never bloodied his sword."

It amused that he thought it mattered. "I leave the bloodying to you, Robert. I could never do it as well as you."

They discussed who was likely to win the tourney. Lord Arryn, modest as a Knight of the Vale, refused to put forward his own name. Renly declared that the Knight of Flowers would win. Robert seemed to think Arryn would win. Ser Barristan said the realm would win after the display of the realm's finest knights. When Robert pressed him, his eyes twinkled and he name his squire Jon Snow as a man that would do well. If Arryn were not here, he would speak of Lady Margaery's beauty and Robert always perked up at the maiden from Highgarden as lovely as the dawn he agreed. But the boy lord was here and as determined as a foaming badger to prevent the union from taking hold. Once he claimed that Lady Ysillia Royce was a greater beauty than Lady Margaery, naming her as delicate as a flower. Robert enjoyed hearing that as well.

If Loras heard that, he would have dueled Lord Arryn.

As irksome and simple as his brother and his company of friends and supporters were, he would rather be in their company than face the tongue lashing of the Queen of Thorns. Small and wrinkly as a toad, her tongue was sharper than Valyrian steel. She squinted her eyes when he visited with Loras by his side. "You pretty fool." She said. "You still don't see the picture that is taking place."

"No doubt you'll tell me, my lady."

Olenna made a ludicrous statement that they were concerned over the line of succession. "Robert has three children." He reminded. "Only one that matters now, though." But the Late Lord Hand didn't know that.

She rolled her eyes. "Only time a Hand of the King would bother with visiting bastards is if he was concerned over the line of succession."

"Lord Arryn was a kind old man who took little pleasure in his office. Mayhaps caring for my brother's accidents pleased him?" Renly chuckled.

"You should be thankful my grandson is fond of you." She retorted.

Loras reddened. "Grandmother!"

"Oh, quiet dear." She said. "The perfect story is here to make our dear Margaery queen." When she saw they were both puzzled, with raised brows. "None of the king's children look like him. They take after the mother spin a tale to cast doubt on their legitimacy. Use the king's own bastards to do so. Bring that Florent boy to court."

"Edric?" Renly asked.

"Yes, that's the boy's name." Lady Olenna said.

"But plenty of children take after the mother and not the father." Loras said.

Olenna sighed, disappointed. "It doesn't have to be true. King Robert just has to believe it. Love between him and his queen has never been strong. Doubt will grow hold in his heart and he shall set her aside for our beautiful rose. We shall twist Lord Arryns rides into what supports our ends. He isn't here to deny it and Lord Stannis has fled the city. It might even be true."

Renly considered it a masterstroke of an idea. Perfect beyond measure. "A flawless plan, my lady. I shall send for Edric Storm at once."

No disagreement left her lips. He kissed her on the brow and named her a brilliant woman. Later that night, after he and Loras made love underneath the sheets, he was in a perfect mood. Soon he would set aside the Lannister Queen and replace them with the Tyrells, whom will prove a much better match for Robert. The Tyrells deserve to be at our side. Together, they would make a realm of beauty and song. I'll be key in keeping the alliance strong. Loras nibbled on his ear as he held his slender body against his own. "You are going to be perfect tomorrow." Renly whispered. "No one is better than you." Loras smirked.

"I know love, I wish we didn't have to hide like this like it is such a cursed thing. I would name you my King of Strength and Wit" His voice was wistful and longing, but it could never come to pass. They both had roles to play. One day he would have to wed some girl to further his line. Loras understood, Renly knew. Maybe I could keep him as a knight in my household guard. He stood up to gather some arbor wine and by the pitcher lay a dead roses sick with decay, its petals wilted. Renly almost laughed at the pathetic threat from the Lannisters, and it was certainly the Lannisters who sent such a note. Men like Arryn and Stark would threaten him to his face. Not send messages in the dark.

"Are you coming, love?" Loras asked from the other room.

I won't worry him. It may throw him off. Renly thought and tossed the wilted rose off the balcony. It's darkened petals floating away in the wind. "Renly!" Loras said impatiently.

"Coming love."

Kevan

Tywin,

The state of the capital has improved since my arrival. Stark has been propped up, and the roses swatted to the side by his own hand, as I've written before. The man is perfect for our short-term goals. I would fear the man little. The men of honor have rallied to staunch such ambition appalled by the dishonor. I consider it dead in the water and not worth any further escalation. The day for judgement will come when Tommen is named king. We shall punish the Tyrells for their ambition. Until then, I caution restraint. I shall finish by speaking of legacy. Your granddaughter is a bright young woman and does her duty well in wrapping the Falcon Lord around her fingers. In a few years, I'm certain we shall have a valued ally in the Valeman and Lannister blood in the Eyrie. When the Starks return to Winterfell, I suspect it will be the Falcon that replaces them. It does us well to bind him to us. I've even broached fostering one of my boys when they come of age in the Eyrie. Your grandson needs to be around his kin and recall his true duty. A duty to House Lannister. There is little to say about your daughter and my niece. She remains difficult, but I have cleaned her blemishes up. I've done as bid without spilling a drop of blood, even of the illborn prince.

As always, I'm yours

Your brother Kevan

The ink finished drying when he sealed it with the crimson wax of House Lannister. The language written was a secret code they had made when they were boys. A Lannister had to be cunning. His brother would tell him.

The raven left for Casterly Rock that same day.

Ned

Walls and walls of parchment surrounded him. Ned was drowning in parchment and ink. A dozen men coated in perfume and robes surrounded him sitting on seats of cedar. The men were stewards working for Lord Baelish and now were counseling him on righting the ship. Steward Poole, his personal representative, had coordinated with them. Debt will drown Roberts reign. I must get it under control. Ned swore. Servants served them food and drink as they did what Robert called counting coopers. Every cut had been like pulling teeth and was but a drop in the bucket for the excesses of the crown, and when he looked at the expenses of the tourney, he understood why. A smaller tourney than most. These men had promised him as if he should be proud of this accomplishment.

Ned argued often and frequently with Robert over cutting costs and balancing the books, but it was like lecturing a wolf, not hunt elk.

Pointless.

Why am I here? Ned wondered. The southern heat was unbearable and suffocating. Ned stretched his collar. He missed the cold of the North, and the icy kisses when he rode in the Wolfswood instead of the sweltering heat of the capital. This was not his place, surrounded by stewards dealing with the problems of the Realm. Winterfell is where he belonged. In Winterfell, Robb would be hearing petitions with Cat by his side. How I wish to join them? Rickon was little more than a babe when he left. Does he even recall me? Ned wondered.

"My lord?" Steward Poole asked, and not for the first time, it appeared.

Ned sighed tired. "Forgive me. Go on."

"In short, revenues are up. A temporary tax on unsavory establishments has proved beneficial." Steward Poole said. "And seizing armor for ransom of those who break the King's Peace has proved a boon in coin."

"And a boon in complaints." Steward Ramond said shakily. "Men may call King Robert niggardly."

Ned chuckled." Point them to the champion's purse then. I've heard enough." He stood and all the stewards rose one by one and bowed. "Lord Hand." They said, filling out of the Tower of Hand. Afterwards, Jory summoned a small guard for himself, escorting him to the Kings Tower. The smell that greeted him was the powerful stench of beer and ale. Robert sprawled over his bed, still in his clothes from yesterday. Wine stains soaked his doublet. He didn't even bother to take off his muddy boots as he slept. Oh, Robert, what did Jon and I do to you.

He undid the curtains. Light flooded in and Robert groaned to life. "Fuck me Ned. It's still morning."

"It's midday, your grace."

Robert laughed. "It's not the day of the tourney, is it?" He asked.

Ned shook his head, and Robert rose from his slumber. His gut sticking out as he stretched. "Ha! Those fools would be out tittering around like headless chickens waiting for me!"

Ned said nothing. He watched his king, a man he had once called his brother in all but name, with growing sadness.

"How did you sneak in?" Robert asked as he poured himself another drink.

"Ser Barristan thought you would appreciate my company."

"Damn fool." Robert mumbled, chugging down the ale in one gulp. "You wish to lecture me to death."

Ned did not deny it, for it was true. "Robert…" He tried to reason.

"Ah! Fool be me for bringing you south. Should have known you would be worse than Jon!" Robert burped and wiped away some food stains from his lip. "You can't lie for honor, nor love Ned. Never have. Go on, let's get this unpleasantness done with!"

He handed him a tome as slender as a knife. "What's-"

"Read Robert." Ned said. He watched as he reddened with wordless disgust and tossed it away with barely a glance. "I won't do it Ned. Nay, I won't!"

"Then you'll find yourself a new Hand." Ned informed. "And you'll be surrounded by Lannisters once I leave."

Robert looked as if he was choking and Ned wished to help his friend, but he held his tongue and pressed on. "We need discipline if we are to fix this mess. Tis a five-year plan that shall restore the Crown financially."

"Only one grand tourney a year! Only Seven Great Feasts!" Robert complained. I wished to cut more. If Winter Came it would take twenty years. Ned thought.

Ned nodded, as solemn as the crypts of Winterfell. "You told me, old friend, you wished me to rule for you while you whored yourself to an early grave." He said, softening. "Let me help you, Robert. Let me honor our brotherhood formed in the Eyrie, tested on the field of battle. This is the way to make your reign something to be proud of. For your children, Robert, and our future grandchildren. I will not partake in leaving them a beggared realm."

Robert cursed and groaned. He shattered a table with his fists in a fury. "Fuck you, Ned." He darkened and laughed. "Fuck you. You actually mean it."

"I wished to cut more." Ned admitted calm before the storm. "I'm meeting you more than halfway, Robert."

"Of course you wanted to cut more!"

Robert rubbed his temples before sitting down. The Crown weighs heavily on him. Ned thought. For another moment, he brooded in silence before grumbling. "Give me the damn thing. I'll sign it."

Ned did as bid as Robert spelled out his name and pledged with the authority of his title to agree to the new budget. It was a victory that he had long labored for. Sleepless nights surrounded by parchment and conversing with coin collectors and Lannisters. Nights away from his children. Ned lamented. Though it was an important step in securing Robert's realm and well worth the headaches.

Robert waved a finger. "But you'll drink with me more often. I want you Ned by myself, not my Hand."

Ned chuckled. "As you wish."

"Now tell me Ned, who do you think is going to win the joust!"

The rest of the evening, they discussed the tourney. Drank to old friends long forgotten and sweet memories of the Vale when they were but two youths without responsibility or duty. Ned spoke of his children and Robert praised Jon's son, declaring him Denys reborn. Jasper was often by Robert's side, and Ned suspected the reason. Lord Renly Roberts own brother and his dishonorable plots, but he had laid it to rest. Why doesn't he trust me to handle the matter? His nephew had spoken of plots in this city with certainty, filling him with disquiet. Cat had told him the boy was proud and stubborn. A Falcon of Summer. Ned thought. Jon had raised the boy alone in the Eyrie and Ned knew not the reason. Jasper Arryn should have grown up in Winterfell with his cousins. I should have asked Jon to foster him. Much could have been different.

Ned regretted the roads not taken. At least his nephew caused him no headaches, and for that he was thankful. Though he had not dined with them for some time. Ned thought it unwise to invite him again after whatever had occurred between his children and him. They'll work it out one day. He had issued commands to the Commanders of the City Gates to tighten patrols around the Red Keep and key locations throughout the city. Ser Tallhart had done his duty as Commander of the City Watch well. Ned knew the city was secure in his hands. The sun was retreating over the horizon when Ned finally left Roberts company. In the courtyard, Jon was at work dueling with some men of his household guard. Under the fleeting rays of sunlight, it almost looked as if he wore a crown.

Forgive me Lyanna. Ned wished to weep.

Jon swung, lost in the dance of steel. It reminded him of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning in his movements, Ser Barristan had taught him well; better than Rodrick Cassel could. He could be a finer sword than the father. Ned thought as the sounds of swords clang in his ears and he felt tired and weary beyond his years.

"Father." Jon stopped mid-swing and dipped his head as he dismissed the guardsman for the day.

"Ready for the joust on the morrow?" Ned asked.

"I shall bring honor to House Stark." Jon vowed. "Ser Barristan thinks I shall do well."

"High praise. Ser Barristan is an honorable man and one of the greatest swords in the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon smiled.

Ned nodded. "It's time for supper." He gripped him tightly on the shoulder. "You'll do well Jon." He had seen him fight his entire life. Jon was a born swordsman and he would tear apart the knights of summer. "Win or lose, you shall always have a place amongst your family."

Jon said nothing in reply. "I'll win." He said with quiet determination. "You'll see, father."

Both of them left the courtyard together. A night of listening to his children and hearing their laughter. On the morrow, the Tourney of Hand and all the dread that came with it would arrive. Ned would not sleep well that night.

Myrcella

"My lord! My Jasper! Jasper! Jasper, stop it!" Myrcella lied.

That was the last thing she wanted.

A breathless laugh squeezed out of her throat as Jasper tickled her without abandon until her sides hurt from laughter. "Must I?" He raised a reddish brow. "Why would I stop? You tried to sneak a peak of your gift before I wished it. This is a just punishment for your terrible crime."

"I may tickle you, my lord."

Jasper snorted with derision. "I'm the Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East. I'm not-" She pounced like a lioness and he squirmed at her touch. A quick laugh escaped his lips.

"I think you are." Myrcella beamed.

Jasper scowled, stepping back.

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, my lord, but enough tricks show me these gifts. I love to see them!"

"And you say I'm impatient." Jasper said, disappearing behind the corner.

She stood up and returned to the velvet couch, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he brought out the gifts one by one.

For his wards he had purchased a beautiful bow from the Summer Isles, a dragon skull the size of rock, riding gloves, a caged falcon and four valyrian steel daggers. Father had given Jasper some of these items. Jasper grinned with pride when he mentioned that. Even Brans wolf would receive a gift; an elephant bone from Essos. For Ser Brynden, some sturdy boots. A simple gift, but Jasper claimed it was the only thing he needed. Though it was the last gift that made her cheeks warm. A beautiful cyvasse board made of jade. "A board fit for a princess." He told her. "I hope it pleases you."

"I love it!" Myrcella said, hugging him.

Jasper returned the affection, stiff as a board. Though he was smiling as she pulled away.

"It's very thoughtful, my lord."

"You need not say that." He gave a flippant wave of his hand."I'm being practical sweet princess. You'll need a new set in the Eyrie."

Myrcella almost rolled her eyes. Anything soft and he dismisses it out of hand. It was an absurd quirk of his. Over the past days, he gave more of himself away; peeling away his armor. Some men of court hide who they are in public, and reveal their true colors behind close doors. Jasper was strange in he seemed to hide even from himself.

, Behind closed doors without men watching, Jasper behaved as he did in public by following the rules that governed a knight rigidly as if he could do little else. Though on occasion he would seem at a loss to what to say and would either snort like the Blackfish or give a lordly nod of his head. But he still gazed at her with some intensity and it was desire, but some desperate longing that went beyond attraction. He showered her with excuses to meet him to watch him train in the courtyard or to join him on falconry expeditions. Sometimes it would be a bit overwhelming the intensity he displayed and other moments he stopped trying and merely went though the motions as if the slightest misstep was catastrophic failure. And despite his flashy smile and japes he was very tense around her still. I wish he wasn't so tense around me. Myrcella had arrived to wish him good luck for the morrow and Jasper invited her in to show off the gifts he had purchased, but she imagined it was just another ruse to spend time with her. He'll be leaving soon. The unspoken promise being made. It would be best for him to leave the Vale would be a safer place for him. Even with Lord Stark as Hand, the city was filled with swirling plots and his life may be in danger.

Mother wishes him dead.

Ser Kevan would handle mother, and Lord Jasper would be fine for the rest of his stay in the capital. Myrcella knew.

Though she noted he didn't select any gifts for his cousins. "Nothing for your cousins, my lord?" She asked.

Jasper's mood soured. "Are you meddling princess?" His voice sharp as steel.

Her betrothed may be brash and hotheaded, but he certainly wasn't unintelligent.

"Yes!" Myrcella said, undaunted by his scowl. "Lady Sansa is a dear friend, and she grows ever worried over you and her half brother. I would be a poor friend if I did not meddle." She placed her hand on top of his own. "And you should make peace with your cousins. I see it troubles you."

"I shall not speak of this." Jasper said, brushing off her hand. "You shall drop it." A lords command.

Myrcella pouted.

It only took Jasper a quick moment before he weakened. Deep down, he wanted to talk about it. He was just being a stubborn ox about it. Jasper sighed in defeat. "If he wishes to apologize, I'll accept it graciously." His voice anything but. "Because, my dear princess, the Seven Hells will freeze before I apologize to that stain of my aunts honor." He shook his head, chuckling. "And Snow will never apologize. I know this for certain." The firmness in his voice was disappointing and troubling. Sansa seemed certain that her half brother would never apologize and Jasper seemed just as stubborn.

"Why so certain?" Myrcella asked.

"The bastard is defiant and willful. He thinks himself some Stark." Jasper growled. "They love him like he were trueborn." He stood up from the velvet couch, irritated. "The Starks are an enigma of a family, much like my father. They treat bastards and hostages with warmth and kindness beyond politeness and duty. How can they love him like that? It's absurd." The hint of jealousy in his voice surprised her. Why would Jasper be jealous? It was maddening, and she heard it clear as day. Her betrothed was jealous of the Bastard of Winterfell.

"Are you jealous, my lord?" Myrcella asked, knowing it would get a rise out of him.

Jasper paled with anger. "Jealous? Of what? Of Snow?!" He roared with laughter, clutching his sides as it took a long moment for him to compose himself before falling back to the couch struggling for breath. "Why would I be jealous of him? He's a bastard. I'm the Lord of the Eyrie marrying a beautiful princess." He winked, grasping her hand and kissing it. "My name is honorable. You are keen, princess, but I think you have erred." Jasper said confident. "Worry not. I won't hold it against you on my honor as an Arryn."

"I didn't mishear, my lord. You are jealous, for reasons I cannot say. Nor why you hate him so."

"I don't hate him." He said. "Truly, I may sound it, but I don't hate him. I just can't apologize to him."

Myrcella raised her brow, confused beyond all measure.

"He's loves my kin. I saw it in his eyes." Jasper explained. "I could never hate a man like that. He'll defend them well." He chuckled. "I should know. I've seen firsthand. Gave me a nice scar and princesses love them. I um think…" Myrcella giggled at his uncertainty and told him that she loved them. She remembered the fight well and how hard they swung. She thought Jon Snow had killed him when he collapsed, but Jasper got up. Jasper always seemed to get back up. "He may be a Snow, but he fights better than most knights." Myrcella rested her head on the crook of his neck while he spoke. It reassured him as he swallowed something heavy, speaking his feelings always troubled him. "Even If I wished to apologize, I would not do it well. He would take offense." Jasper shifted awkwardly. "And then I would make things worse. I always make things worse."

"Oh, Jasper."

"I don't wish to speak of this any further. Soon I will leave the capital. "He whispered. "I came for the sake of duty, but I discovered fondness as well. I wish not to squander what time I have left talking of bastards and apologies. I've known fondness precious little in my life."

Myrcella's heart twisted into a thousand butterflies. Fond. He was fond of me. "I've discovered fondness as well, my lord." Her voice softened. "And mayhaps more."

Jasper blinked, and a small boyish grin formed. He caressed her cheek as if it were made of glass and leaned in. The kiss was sweet, but far too short as he pulled away with a sad smile, as if it were the last one he would ever receive. Myrcella remembered her mother's smile, and it filled her with dread from head to toe. She leaned in to his chest to forget. Jasper held her tightly, and feeling the warmth and security of his arms, she almost managed. "I'll see you crowned." He promised. "Snow. The Kingsguard. Tyrells. Lannisters. I'll beat them all. You shall be the Queen of Love and Beauty if it's the last thing I do. Even if I perish in the attempt." Myrcella flinched at the determination in his voice. By the Seven he means it. "There are many men who are better swords than I, but on horseback, I'm better than them all."

"As long as you try, Jasper, I'm content." Myrcella said, caressing his cheek. "Don't hurt yourself on my account."

"You have a soft heart of a woman princess." Jasper said. "I must do this for you and the honor of my house. As High as Honor!" No word from her own lips would deter him. Jasper would give everything he had in the tourney. Would her Falcon soar on the morrow? Or would his wings be clipped? Myrcella hoped the former he was a good man and her brother would need him in the years to come.

Chapter Text

Jasper

Jasper woke early in the morning. No rays of sunlight peered through the curtains as the rest of the city still slept. Sleep did not come easily knowing how many would watch him on the morrow. Judging him like a flock of vultures waiting for a mistake. Praying for it. The only thing they craved more than to cheer for a man is to tear him down. Men are always judged for the mistakes made. Jasper knew as he judged them for their misdeeds. How could he forget? Duty may demand he forgive to honor his oaths, but he could never forget. One day they'll know the justice of House Arryn and they'll only have themselves to blame like this Lord Renly. His ambition shall be punished. Actions have consequences like a ripple in the pond and a falcon's memory was long. He wrapped a robe around himself and rose from the sheets, swinging his legs over.

It's too early for me to head to my pavilion.

Arriving early would scream weakness and the uncertainty of a green boy.

My bannermen need to think me a lord capable of honoring his oaths.

Jasper poured himself a single glass of wine to steady his nerves and his hands that shook like a leaf.

Frailty.

Weakness.

Jasper scowled and curled his hands into tight fists. He brushed the glass to the side with some disgust. An Arryn doesn't need wine to get through a day. The only thing he required was the courage to act with confidence. If his grand uncle were here, he would cuff him on the back of the head and tell him to show some spine.

When he competed in the Tourney of Gulltown in his first competition, Jasper had been green with worry. Never had he traveled beyond the Bloody Gate and seen so many eyes. Gulltown was massive in his eyes. Tens of thousands called the city home, and it seemed the entire city had come out to watch. The entire Vale would call him pathetic if he did poorly. "Weak Falcon." Jasper could hear them whisper even now, years later. "He can't fly." The greatest knights in the Vale attended the tourney. Royces. Redforts. Corbrays, Waynwood. Dozens of hedge knights and free riders as well. All fine riders of ability. And he wanted to throw up his breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage as he got ready for his first tilt.

"I won't do well." Jasper said. "I've never seen so many people."

"Pay them no mind boy." Grand Uncle Brynden said.

"But- "His voice trailed.

"Focus only on your opponent and send him to the dirt. No one else matters."

Wise words from a wiser man than he, and a small smile snuck up on him. If only you were here, Grand Uncle, but he needed to be in the Eyrie, protecting his wards. The warmth in his chest made him wish otherwise. Soft. Squishy. A thawing heart was dangerous, and he wished someone would slap some sense into him. Jasper groaned as he thought of her lips and that accursed kiss. The sweet kiss haunted him in his dreams. I'm going to ruin it somehow. I ruin everything. Sweet and kind Princess Myrcella made his knees weak, and he behaved like a damn love-struck fool around her. By the Seven I tickled her! What a fool I am! The softness in his chest was pathetic, and he needed to hit something bad before he turned into some woman. A song was being sung in his chest that he liked little. Happiness is a drink Jasper had rarely drank his entire life, and nothing filled him with more unease than the possibility…

Stop! Stop it! He commanded. Focus on winning the tourney. Focus on your opponent. The heart can wait. And he calmed satisfied with the conviction he would uphold Arryn honor. Every opponent turned blond in his eyes with sky-blue eyes and he smiled, knowing how he handled him.

As High as Honor!

"My lord." Jonothor Egen said. "Tis time for your next bout." He was his squire for the day the boy's father had served as his father's Captain of his Household Guard and Jasper agreed to allow him to attend for the day as a kindness. They had honored Ser Egen with his post as the sole Valeman representative in Lord Starks' security force. He commanded the Mud Gate.

Jasper nodded and grabbed his falcon helm. "The crowd awaits, my lord."

"Indeed, Lord Arryn. "Lord Baelish said, amused.

"When I return, we shall continue where we left off." Jasper promised.

They shook hands.

The day had proven a great day of chivalry and nobility. He had faced a few Freys of the Crossing, Lord Jason Mallister on his beautiful white destrier, Ser Marq Piper, Lord Beric Dondarrion with little difficulty. Ser Arys a knight of the Kingsguard had lasted four tilts with him until he sent him to the dirt. The crowd was deafening with applause. King Robert tittered in his seat, red faced, but it was the princess that warmed his heart with her beaming smile and cheers. Queen Cersei glowered with icy eyes and his betroths cheers waned. What a dreadful woman. No wonder the king steps outside the marriage bed. How she made two good-natured children was beyond him.

"Lord Jasper Arryn!" the herald proclaimed as trumpets blared.

"THE RED FALCON!"

"THE YOUNG FALCON!"

"THE FALCON KNIGHT!"

The crowd couldn't decide which moniker they liked better. When he had openly asked Princess Myrcella for her favor before the audience, they exploded with cheers. He tied the ribbon around his lance.

"Lord Renly Baratheon!" The herald proclaimed.

The cheers echoed louder and longer than his own. Lord Renly was beloved by the nobility and the commons as well and he could even begrudge that he was charming, a charming snake in the grass. Jasper thought bitterly. Still, he was the brother of the king and deserved some respect and decency. It would not serve the interests of House Arryn by attacking him directly. Instead, he undermined his efforts to supplant the Lannisters with the lowly stewards from Highgarden. When Prince Tommen became king, he would see Lord Renly stripped from his seat on the Small Council for his intrigues. Uncle Edmure of House Tully would better serve the post of Master of Laws.

"KING ROBERT REBORN!"

"THE GALLANT STAG!"

"NOBLE RENLY!"

Jasper stroked Honor's mane. Lets go kick his noble teeth in. He whispered.

Honor snorted in disagreement.

He deserves it.

Honor snorted again.

Very well, I shall defeat him with honor as befit an honorable foe.

It appeased Honor. Most would consider talking with horses odd, but he understood them well, and Honor was a prickly and proud beast. Anything underhanded annoyed him.

Seven tilts latter and Jasper took a victory lap to the loud cheers of the crowd. "My lord." He dismounted with some grace. "You rode well. You surely are Good King Roberts brother. I consider you a gallant foe." And offered his hand. They grasped hands, and he lifted Lord Renly from the dirt as they both waved to the crowd like they were brothers in arms.

Lord Renly smiled."Ah, but you have yet to face my squire! He shall avenge me, Lord Arryn."

"I await the challenge." Jasper said. I could have knocked him off on the second tilt, but I wanted to make a show of things. The gallantry served him well. I don't want anyone to think me and Lord Renly are at odds. It would earn him little love, or support in this vipers den to openly oppose King Roberts younger brother.

One of his antlers had broken off on the way to the ground. Lord Renly bent down to retrieve it.

"My lord, may I have such?" Jasper asked.

"I suppose to the victor, so go the spoils."

Jasper mounted Honor, and in the crowd of hundreds, he only saw one. The crowd quieted as he approached the royal box. Honor trotted over at his command. "My sweet betrothed, I extend to you the spoils of this match, if it pleases you." Her dainty cheeks reddened at the display and his heart fluttered.

"It pleases me, Lord Arryn."

King Robert clapped fiercely. "YOU HAVE GALL ARRYN! WHAT A DISPLAY!"

"My king." He dipped his head.

Queen Cersei glared daggers. Her smile was thin and tight. What a dreadful and spiteful woman. Jasper thought, but held his tongue. Charming a princess was fine enough award. It warmed him from head to toe to see her the pavilion, Lord Baelish was helping himself to a cup of wine unbothered by his arrival and disapproval."Fine vintage, my lord."

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it." Jasper replied, before sighing. "You were going to tell me about Ser Hugh."

Lord Baelish's eyes twinkled. "Well, you asked about him, my lord." He corrected.

Jasper nodded. " So I did Ser Hugh came to me." He said. "I was harsher than needed." When he came offering to attend to him as recompense, he treated him like the wretched knight he was and sent him packing. Oaths were broken and he could never forgive that. Still, his words were unbecoming a lord. Hot and bothered, he cursed him out of his sight. When he bested him at the joust Ser Hugh was close to tears. It gnawed at him. What did my father see in this man? Why did he make him a knight? Why? Lord Baelish knew everything about his father. A trusted banner whom served leally, and he needed answers. He couldn't ask Lord Stark. All he felt was guilt when he gazed at the man. Guilt for his treachery and betrayal.

"A sad tale." Lord Baelish confessed. "Ser Hugh, ever a devoted son, found himself in serious trouble with his fathers lenders." He explained." The boy's father owed great debts and with his passing, it befell upon the son. He hoped to earn some coin in the capital." He chuckled. "You beat him, though. Every man thinks himself Ser Barristan the Bold. It was a foolish notion on his part."

The tale was a sad one. "I see." His voice was flat with pity. "Is that why he didn't return to the Vale? Fear of the fathers lenders."

"I'd imagine so, but it hardly matters, does it, my lord?" Lord Baelish said.

"Why didn't he mention it?" Jasper wondered, abashed. "I would have helped my fathers squire."

Lord Baelish smiled. "Pride. The downfall of many men." And Jasper could understand the pride of men well. A man had to do things on his own or he was no man, but a boy hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"Then I shall help him. By my honor I shall!" He declared with conviction. "I shall take up my father's cause!"

Lord Baelish tried to make him see reason Ser Hugh wasn't worth it. He advised forgetting him and leaving him to his fate. Jasper shook his head and made his command known, and he dipped his head respectfully before begging his leave. Thoughts swirled in his mind how to help his fathers man if he wouldn't accept the coin from his coffers. An idea formed, but he doubted his betroth would be pleased. Her soft, womanly heart didn't understand martial pursuits well.

"My lord." Jonothor Egen appeared through the flaps of the tent, eager to please and impress. "Its time."

"Do you know who I'm facing?"

"The Lord Hands bastard my lord."

On the field, the bastard stood armored in a simple northern style without the honor of the cloak of House Stark. He was thankful for his helm it hid his instinctive sneer at the sight of him. In the distance, he saw his cousins cheering. Not for me. They cheer for him. Jasper grabbed the lance and battled the shame in his chest to destroy him. Humiliate him before the realm. My kin love him. Don't hurt him. It wouldn't be right for him to hurt him. Unlike the stain of dishonor he had trained for years at the joust and honed his craft. It spoke well that he advanced this far, but talent would only get you so far. Years of dedicated training gave him the edge in this contest.

I'll let him down easily. Jasper thought. It seemed the honorable thing to do for the good of Arryn and Stark. For the sake of his cousins, he would try to show restraint.

Trumpets blared, and Jasper kicked Honor into a gallop, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust. He lowered his lance, prepared it to bounce harmlessly off Snows shield and in a blink he gasped for air as Snow's lance hit him straight on his chest plate in a thunderous crash. I've never started behind…It stripped him of any desire to show restraint. You want to fight bastard like a knight, Ill give you a fucking fight! Raged filed his chest that Snow had pulled ahead. "Lance," He said through clenched teeth as his vision blurred. Only he and Snow remained. Nothing else mattered. Not the princess. Not his cousins. Not even honor itself. Just me and you, Snow. The second tilt both of their lances struck true, but his was better placed. "Lance!" He snapped. The tilts blurred together, and he took abuse that would ache in the morning, but his blows were always better placed and by the end King Robert declared him the victor.

Jasper scarcely could hear him. I want to knock him off! I need to knock him off. And from the glint in those grey eyes, Snow felt precisely the same. They deserved to finish the fight with a true victor as befit a duel of honor. Both of them had put too much in this for a tainted victory on skill alone. Defiance swirled in his chest to continue the match with a cry of As High as Honor, but he bent his head dutifully and accepted the command of His Grace.

In the end it came down to himself and Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Loras the Knight of Flowers, and Ser Gregor the Mountain that Rides, but the sun was setting and King Robert declared the matches would resume upon the morning. Jasper was bruised and exhausted. Dancing and talking with lords and ladies was the last thing he wished, but he had precious little choice.

Myrcella

Myrcella wore a dress of blue silk with silver inner skirts chosen to please her betrothed. Musicians played a lovely tune as lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms danced and laughed. Father enjoyed the festivities as he always did, drinking until he blacked out and entertaining himself with serving girls. Shaming mother before everyone. She played with a loose strand of hair as she watched Jasper approach her and her ladies-in-waiting. He wore his lordly look calm and dignified, unlike the blizzard underneath his skin. Powerful and overwhelming. She waved shyly at him. The butterflies in her chest vanished, replaced with bitterness, as Lady Margaery ambushed him and asked him to dance with an innocent expression. Jasper, trapped by his courtesy, accepted and led her onto the floor. The Seasons of My Love played as they danced.

I loved a maid as white as winter

with moonglow in her hair.

She huffed and turned her head and made conversation with Rosamund. "Princess," a young man said respectfully hand outreached. A striding huntsman in red was etched on his surcoat. Tall and strong, she knew him to be Lord Tarly's son. "May I have this dance this evening?" In the distance, she saw Jasper dancing with the Rose of Highgarden still. Perfect movements as others gawked at them. Was he enjoying himself? Was she trying to steal him away from her?

"As you wish, my lord."

He led her onto the floor and kept his hands on her waist. He told her he was Dickon Tarly Heir to Horn Hill and that he would compete in the melee, but he just had to dance with the fairest woman in the room. Fair enough courtesy, his septon had taught him well enough. Myrcella was more jealous of that woman dancing with her betrothed. Think kind thoughts.

"And not the joust?"

His jaw became taut as a bow before shaking his head. Dickon asked if she was enjoying the tourney.

She nodded as they twirled, but after another finishing the song she begged for his leave. Dickon was kind enough, but it would be improper to dance for too long with one man. Lord Tarly's heir nodded his head in understanding. He had scarcely left her when gangly Alyn Ambrose asked for a dance. She swayed with him for a time as he tried to charm her with japes, but she begged for her leave. Then some Fossoway boy approached her with an amiable smile. Myrcella's feet ached from all the dancing, but she couldn't find it in her to decline. In the distance, she saw Jasper was still dancing with Margaery Tyrell gracefully. She giggled at something he said and Myrcella knew this was some Tyrell plot.

The harlot wishes to dig her thorns into him!

In the middle of the song Jenny of Oldstones her legs wobbled when Jasper interrupted the dance, tapping Horas Redweyne on the shoulder. His face was bright red and his hands were shaking. "I wish to dance with my betrothed." He all but commanded him to leave.

Horas had never been the bravest of knights withered away like a dying flower, and he dipped his head as Jasper took ahold of her. She leaned deeper into him than the others, partly being tired and she wished too. The perfume of roses clung to him, and she wriggled her nose in disgust. "Enjoy your dance with Lady Margaery?" She asked.

"I wished to dance with you." He grumbled, annoyed. "But I had to be polite."

Myrcella smiled. "I wished to dance with you, too." She tried to dance with him, but she was too tired. It was a more pathetic swirl as she leaned against his chest, looking up into his light blue eyes. Jasper didn't seem to mind too much as she saw him listen intently to the songs played. He tried to hide it, but it was easy for her to read him. My soft romantic of a betrothed. In the distance she saw her cousin Lancel dancing with Alla Tyrell to his fathers disapproval. Ser Kevan spoke quiet words with Lord Stark. Elsewhere, Uncle Renly had a crowd around him as he told a bawdy jape. She lost herself in the moment with the sweet music playing. Politics forgotten, for a moment, she would just be a girl dancing with her betrothed. Jasper calmed and seemed at peace as they swayed together.

"DON"T SHAME ME WOMAN BY FORBIDDING ME TO FIGHT!" Father bellowed, and the halls went quiet as mother went silent. "HOLD YOUR TOUNGE!" Myrcella found herself pale and clutching Jasper tightly. Please don't hit her father. Even mother deserves it not. Her prayers answered as he stormed off instead with the white cloaks of the Kingsguard following behind him. If only they could get along for one evening, but she knew they had no love for the other. It was a hateful affair, as some eyes seemed to gaze at her with pity. Tears almost formed.

Jasper caressed her cheek with his thumb, his eyes softening with Arryn kindness. "The hour grows late, princess. Let me escort you back to your quarters."

They walked together, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Jasper grinned. "Princess." He said. "Did you enjoy the trophy?"

"I fear I do not know what to do with it." She confessed.

"Oh." Jasper said and swallowed. His body tensed. "If you don't-"

She kissed him on the cheek. "It was still incredibly thoughtful."

A long pause as Jasper didn't know how to reply, but he nodded his head. They walked down the hallways in the cool nighttime air, lost in conversation. Myrcella did most of the work, but he tried as well. He talked about how he felt he failed his little brother. Robert Arryn, a sickly boy of eleven name days. A few weeks ago, I couldn't even get two words out of him. Myrcella remembered. Thank the Seven she had tamed him. Until he startled her when he halted. Jasper gazed at her with some uncertainty before speaking softly."When I win the tourney and I shall." He puffed up his chest with boyish certainty that made her giggle. "I wish to use my prize money to build you that garden in the Eyrie, but I know not of things that grow. Trees and flowers I know precious little. Would you be willing to help in such endeavours?"

Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest like a beating drum. "Do you wish to build a garden with myself, my lord?"

Jasper brushed a loose strand behind her ear. "I wish to try."

"I find it most agreeable." Myrcella answered, beaming as she flung her arms around him like a silly girl as he reddened a shade deeper than his auburn curls, and she would not let him go. They were going to be happy in the Eyrie Myrcella knew in her heart she had him. He would always defend her and her little brother from Joffrey, and what more could she ask for? Nothing, Myrcella thought as she laid in his powerful arms.

Robert

"FACE ME RHAEGAR!" Robert galloped, water spraying in every direction as he closed in like a hunter for the kill. Some unfortunate hedge knight attempted to halt him. Robert smashed his skull with his warhammer, crushing it like a grape before the roaring waters swallowed the corpse. Blood kissed Rhaegars armor as they circled. "YOU"VE LET ALL THESE MEN DIE FOR YOU! YOU RAPIST!" The Prince of Dragonstone was tall and regal on horseback, but Robert was a Baratheon and stood above him. A towering giant wearing an antlered helm.

He swung with every ounce of strength as he thought of Lyanna's eyes. It glanced off Rhaegar's shield. "Cousin," His voice was mournful. "You don't understand. Let me explain."

Roberts vision darkened. "DIE! DIE! YOU FUCKER!" Blow after blow was exchanged, each fiercer than the last and yet Rhaegar gazed with deep melancholy, as if this were only a spar and not a clash to the death. "I don't wish to hurt you, cousin." Robert slashed, trying to break every bone in his body.

It bounced harmlessly off his shield. Nothing seemed to break the perfect prince. Not even his blows as strong as a giant.

"I needed her for the prophesy. I'm the Prince that was Promised." Rhaegar said softly. "You can't win. I have destiny. Importance to the Realm of Men. Unlike you." He sighed. "Don't make this song a sadder one than it needs to be. Yield Robert. Yield and live."

The arrogance in his voice rankled him. Rhaegar was madder than his father was. His claws were just as twisted and his breath just as foul. "Your insane." Robert said, suddenly tired. Everything ached. Every pain weighed him down like a bag of rocks. Cuts and bruises felt mortal.

"A song is coming, Robert. I need you in the war for the dawn. Take the black."

"Never. You raped her. You stole her from me."

"She's mine Robert. She's always been mine." Rhaegar smiled, a bloody thing that taunted him.

He raised his hammer with defiance.

Rhaegar chuckled, amused. "This is sad cousin." And he swung to end his life.

But it was Rhaegar who screamed.

"Lyanna." He breathed for the last time and his violet eyes closed.

Even his last words mock me

Robert staggered upright, swaying every direction before grabbing his monstrous war hammer and brought it to bare against Rhaegars chest. The blow sent the rubies flying and men scrambling to retrieve them.

"Your grace?" The simpering voice repeated, making his ears bleed.

Robert returned from the trident where he had been strong. Gods, I was strong then. Two boys with golden hair of House Lannister attended to him: Tyrek and Lancel, but they were useless couldn't even attach his armor on him. Lannisters were dumb bastards, but the court jester could put his armor on with little trouble. I should have taken Neds boy to squire. He wasn't some lickspit like these little shits and could strap him in.

In the melee, he would finally get to hit something again and get the blood flowing from his limbs. A crown was a punishment worse than death, but he would be a man again. Beating other men bloody. Damn you woman for forbidding me If Lyanna had lived, she would never have shamed me so. Robert swore. Though when he squinted, trying to recall her, he couldn't picture anything. Did she look like Ned? Long faced with grey eyes. Was her hair long and black as night, or was it brown? Oh, Lyanna, what did you look like? All he knew was that nothing could fill the hole in his heart that she left behind.

"WINE!"

Lancel launched to his feet and stumbled to pour him his drink. Robert took the goblet and chugged the bitter contents down in one gulp. The tent flaps opened and Ser Barristan appeared with loyal Ned by his side. Ned's long face seemed troubled. A common expression of his since he pinned that damn badge to his chest.

"Look at them Ned." Robert said. "These useless squires of mine." He laughed. "Can't even put on my suit of armor."

Ned rubbed his chin. "It's not the squires fault. You're too fat for your armor."

The blunt honesty made him giddy with happiness, his lips twirling into a wide grin as he roared with laughter. Both of the boys chuckled and smiled. Robert turned and glowered. "Do you think I'm too fat, my armor?"

"No, your grace." Lancel chimed.

"So you don't like the Hands joke?"

Lancel whitened like a sheet and stammered out nonsense.

"Your torturing the poor boy." Ned said, trying to suppress a smile.

Lancel looked as if he was going to piss himself and Tyrek was little better.

"You both heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armor!" Genius struck him as he recalled a prank from the days in the Eyrie. "Now, go find the breastplate stretcher!"

They looked as if the Stranger himself had appeared. Twisting and stumbling out of the flap, Robert grabbed his stomach, trying to steady himself. "How long do you think until they figure it out?"

Ser Barristan chuckled amused and Ned smiled like they did as boys. It was good having him down by his side again, as if times were simpler. He saw the disapproval in Neds eyes as he motioned to the suit of armor.

"Not you too Ned!" Robert said. "Your juices may have frozen, but my still flow. I'm going to hit something, damn it!" Men would hit him and he would smash them and the world would make sense again. It would be like the days of the rebellion constantly fighting, shitting, and fucking.

"No one would dare strike you, your grace." Ser Barristan said.

Robert stumbled agape. "Of course they would! It's a melee and they'll hit me. What do you think those prancing fools will let me win?"

"The last person standing would be you." Ned said with Ser Barristan bowing his head in silent agreement.

He saw stars as he lifted the breast plate and tossed it. Ser Barristan dodged, and he roared. "Out! Get out of here before I kill you!" Both of them tried to leave, but Robert grabbed Ned by his shoulder. "You stay." He commanded and poured himself a drink and shoved it into his chest, staining Neds shirt. "Drink."

"Rob-"

"Drink your king commands it!" He snapped as he rubbed his temples feeling despair and misery. I can't even be hit anymore. Ned's eyes studied him, worried like a good friend. My brother in all but blood. The Crown on his head, a band of golden and silver, should have been Neds. He should have been the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He told Ned this, but he merely claimed that he had the better claim. Oh, you simple fool Ned.

"Listen, Ned, I've often dreamed of leaving this crown behind. Go form a sellsword company in Essos how the singers would love me. A sellsword king." He said. "You know what stopped me?"

Ned shrugged his shoulders.

" The thought of Cersei whispering in the boy's ear. Joffrey wasn't right." Robert said before grinning. "but I don't have to worry about that any longer! You are going to handle all of that!" Ned was lost. He was never the sharpest tool in the arsenal. "Fuck me, I was going to tell you at the end of the feast gods, your face would have been priceless."

Ned remained silent and filled with a worried expression.

"Arryn told me today that my boy knocked your own off a horse with a lance!" Robert said with pride. "He shall grow to be a fine king in Jons home. Tell me, old friend, if I head east, what changes?"

If Ned wasn't worried before, he was now, and he committed to the choice in his heart. "Much would change, Robert. You are the king."

Robert chuckled. "I'm a fat shit who can't fit in his armor. I am no king. Never have been or should have been. It should have been you or Jon."

"We didn't have the blood, Robert. You were our king." Ned said wistfully. "The king we chose."

"A shit choice then, and a shit choice today. This jape is at an end." Robert said. "Lord Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell and my Hand of the King, I announce my intention to head east to the lands of Essos with any fool that wishes to accompany me. You shall become Lord Regent of the Seven Kingdoms in my absence. You shall rule as it always should have been. The Gods know you'll hate it as I do, but you'll do it well."

Much like in the crypts of Winterfell, Ned went to his knees. "Robert," He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You honor me, but should think about this some more." No doubt he thought this was some drunken antic on his part.

Robert almost groaned. "I've thought of this enough. Nothing changes Ned, except you can do as you please with a free hand. My son Tommen is in the Eyrie well away from Cersei and her foul words. All the men of court will swear oaths to you. You have good men around you. Men of the North and the Vale. Good solid men, and if anyone messes with you, I'll return from Essos and I'll cave them in as I did the dragon!" Crushing skulls and fucking girls is what he was good for. Ned had the temperament to sit on the throne and would make his reign something to be proud of. At least they'll say I did this one thing right.

He helped him up. The command still dazed Ned as he swung his arm around him. "Ned." He voiced with good humor. "Say something. Anything. I need to make sure you still live."

"Are you certain this is what you wish?"

"Aye it is." For the first time since the Greyjoy Rebellion, he was happy. Soon he could smash something between his hands again. It deeply troubled Ned's eyes as the weight of what he asked became apparent. "Ah, Ned, enough of what is going to come. Let's live in the now. I'll try to bring a smile to that long face of yours." He japed about a story involving the pox faced squire for Lord Redfort. Then he spoke about the tourney and why he thought it was going to end up being the Knight of Flowers versus Jasper Arryn.

Arya

She hated the skirt.

But she had to agree to dress like a lady to attend the tourney. Septa Mordane had made that plain enough to father, and Sansa supported her. She had to hide a scowl at the memory. Her septa watched her like a hawk. Always critiquing her posture and her manners as if any of those things mattered. Syrio would never be stupid like that. Unlike using a needle, water dancing was enjoyable, freeing, and useful.

He must be the greatest swordsman that ever lived.

Jon needed to meet him, but he was always so busy with Ser Barristan the Bold. A fine man, she supposed. Father always spoke highly of him and his talents. But he wasn't Syrio. It annoyed her that Jon always seemed too busy for her. In Winterfell, he always spent time with her, but lately his mind had been focused on winning this accursed tourney. Jeyne Poole stupidly called it the greatest match of chivalry and valor ever seen.

Arya almost rolled her eyes.

All of them were terrible except Jon and her father's men. Especially that no good wretched falcon lord she hated him the most. Only Prince Joffrey was worse. Him and the Hound. They hurt Bran and killed Mycha. King Robert should have killed him instead of just banishing him. Cousin Jaspers betrayal was personal and far cutting. He came into their home and attacked her brother over a simple mistake and didn't have the courage to apologize. He attacked the pack, and she had bought that stupid act of his pretending to be conflicted and confused like a fool. No good man could hate Jon. Jasper was as wretched as the prince.

I was stupid. A complete idiot.

Arya vowed never to be so stupid again. Jon was the only reason she was here to watch him knock these pretty southern boys to the ground. One day when he was a knight and named to the Kingsguard, he would take her to squire. Arya saw it all so clearly. He had done very well until he tilted against her cousin as much as she despised and hated Jasper he could ride a horse very well.

Arrogant prick.

The king erred in ending the match. Both of them were heated and wanted to keep going.

Jon would have won in the end.

Instead of riding, Jon was out attending to Ser Barristan as he prepared for his match with Lord Jasper Arryn. The summer heat was unbearable, and the waiting was by far worse. However, Jeyne Poole and her giggling made her ears bleed.

"Oh, Lord Arryn is so handsome and gallant." Jeyne claimed. "Did your heart just melt when he gave Princess Myrcella such a trophy?"

Sansa, ever a perfect lady, nodded her head. "It was most gallant of my cousin. A true knight, but Ser Barristan is of the Kingsguard, it shall be a close thing."

"I wish I can meet a lord as gallant and dreamy as Lord Arryn. I'm very jealous of the princess." Jeyne blushed.

"Princess Myrcella could do better." She mumbled.

Septa Mordane chided her, appalled by the truth. Jeyne looked at her like she was stupid, just like she did in Winterfell when she called her horse face. Sansa said nothing, but gave a disappointed look. Robb would have been better. Anyone was better than Cousin Jasper. Princess Myrcella was fine, but too soft, like all the southerns seemed to be. They all seemed to hate each other, but refused to say it out loud. The Tyrells and their bannerman seemed to despise the Lannisters and their banners. It seemed like only a match and everything would go up with flame. She mentioned it to father, but he dismissed it with a smile and chuckle. I'm not imagining it. Why did everyone treat her like she was a babe, like Rickon? She could see things too!

Sansa giggled with Jeyne some more and Arya imagined chasing cats in the Red Keep. After this tourney was done, she would have to work twice as hard to make up for lost time. A thousand cuts shall make me as hard as steel. She brooded some more, waiting for the match between Ser Loras and Ser Gregor the Mountain that Rides. Arya thought Ser Loras looked more a girl than a knight, but she hoped he would beat the Hounds brother. He's probably killed hundreds of Mychas. The herald announced the riders, and they both trotted onto the field. The Mountain was bigger than the Hound or even Hodor back in Winterfell riding on top of a massive battle horse that could barely support him, unlike the dainty flower knight as clean and shiny like a knight from one of Sansas songs. He rode a white beast.

"My lady, your beauty has touched me." Ser Loras said, giving Sansa a red rose.

She looked at it a bit hesitantly as everyone watched her. Father had joined them, it seemed, and his eyes were hard and cold at the action. "Thank you Ser Loras." She said, more guarded than touched. At least she isn't as stupid as she used to be.

Still, she brought it to her chest as Jeyne beamed beyond jealous. Idiot. All girls seemed to be idiots worrying about flowers. Swords were better in every way. Both knights galloped to their starting positions as a trumpet blared and a cloud of dirt and smoke kicked up. Ser Loras's lance was straight and perfect and the giant that was the Mountain fell sideways out of the saddle. The day was his own, and the crowd clapped with approval. Until it gave way to screams as Ser Gregor took off the head of his horse with a single slash of his sword before making his way to Ser Loras, who turned too late and was knocked off the saddle. Father was up shouting out commands, but they drowned it out in a chorus of voices.

A sword fell, and it cut pretty Ser Loras in two like a log of wood for the hearth. A pool of crimson red formed, staining the ground. Jeyne cried like a baby. Arya had never seen someone die before. Sansa moved quickly to cover her eyes, but she still peered through the fingers. A storm of steel emerged on the tourney field. White cloaks fell to the ground unmoving along with several Baratheon guardsman until finally Ser Gregors head was taken off by Ser Barristan in a ferocious display etched into her memory.

The head rolled on the ground before coming to a stop and that was when she was ushered out of the stands by Septa Mordane, with the crowd roaring behind them.

Chapter Text

Ned

Robert's pavilion was the largest in the city of tents set up for the tourney and it was not large enough for this. They packed it to the brim with Lannisters, Tyrells, Starks, Baratheons. Among their company was Lord Renly beside himself with grief for his former squire, Lord Mace Tyrell Lord of Highgarden, Lady Olenna Tyrell had squeezed her way in, Robert behind his desk with a bottle in hand wishing to be in a drunken stupor, Ser Kevan Lannister solemn and unreadable standing by two red cloaks wearing crimson red of House Lannister, and Queen Cersei as beautiful as the dawn. All the men of the Small Council joined them save Barristan the Bold, whom oversaw the body arrangements for Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Boros Blount. Two white cloaks had fallen to bring justice to the Mountain that Rides. After the brutal murder on the field, emotions were high. Lord Tyrell face was redder than his doublet, which was stained with the lifeblood of his son Loras Tyrell. He had wailed and clutched his corpse before the entire realm. Ned couldn't blame the man. If it had happened to Robb or Jon, he would have been red with fury. Unlike Ser Kevan, whom stood ever calm and dignified before the glares.

You wish for me to rule over these men. Ned thought, amazed. Of all of Roberts antics, this had to be the greatest folly, leaving for Essos and making him clean up his mess. He wouldn't leave after what happened.

"MY SON IS DEAD! YOU MURDERED HIM!" Lord Tyrell waved a finger at Ser Kevan and looked to advance, held back by Lord Renly.

"I understand you are upset, my lord, but House Lannister holds no blame for the tragedy this day." Ser Kevan said. "Ser Gregor was a mad dog whose actions were his own."

"And whose fault is it when a dog goes mad, but the masters?" Lord Baelish whispered in his ears, and his sly voice rankled him. Ned said nothing in reply, but he wondered. Did the Lannisters kill the Tyrell boy? Or was it, as they claim, some act of a madman? Likely he would never know for certain that truth died when Ser Barristan took the head of Ser Gregor with one slash of his sword. Though by the glares, he knew the Tyrells certainly blamed them. It was a mess of things, and Robert wanted to leave it to him. Lord Regent? I don't even wish to be Lord Hand.

Queen Cersei's lips pursed in a thin smile. "Ser Gregor was a volatile man. Everyone knows this. Just an unhappy accident. Tourneys have them, do they not?"

"Dear, you make it sound like my grandson just slipped out of his saddle and not split in two like a log for the hearth!" Lady Olenna retorted.

Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his brilliant white beard. "Why Lady Olenna I find-"

"Frankly, I don't find the words of a decrepit old man illuminating my grandson is dead."

"My son is dead. I demand justice!" Lord Tyrell puffed up his chest. His eyes teary with grief, Ned felt pity for the man, but he had to be firm: he was Roberts Hand first and a sympathetic father second.

Ned added his voice to the fray. "My lords, we are all united in seeking justice is done. Everyone here has condemned Ser Gregor and his actions. His Grace will act justly."

He would have imagined Lord Tyrell to answer, but it was Lord Renly who replied. The Lord of Storms End became remarkably composed. Everyone knew how close he was to his former squire, much like him and Robert to Jon. "Well meaning words Lord Hand." He said. "But action speaks louder than words. What will you do, brother?"

All the eyes turned to Robert, whom wished to be anywhere but the pavilion. He darkened as he rose with a quiet fury. "Lord Tyrell shall be gifted the head of Ser Gregor as recompense. Place it on a spike in front of your seat. I don't care what you do with it, dump in a field of roses if you wish." He said. "I denounce him and I attaint him for the killing of a great lord's son."

"And the Lannisters?" Lord Renly asked.

"Bah, they had nothing to do with this." Robert scoffed. "What reason would they have to kill Ser Loras? No quarrel exists between Highgarden and Casterly Rock."

They wished to make Lady Margaery Queen. Ned thought, but held his tongue. Robert would only laugh at that.

It did not appease the Tyrells. Lord Tyrell was shaking his head and looked to speak before Robert cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Hold it. I'm not done." He declared. "You have a daughter, don't you, Lord Tyrell? Lady Margaery, I'm told, is a beautiful maiden. I have a brother they shall wed. Storms End and Highgarden united. A fine match, a powerful match."

Lord Renly blinked in surprise.

Ned found some humor in that. He spends all this time trying to make her queen, and he ends up wedding her how queer.

"And you have a second son, don't you, Lord Tyrell?"

Lord Tyrell coughed. "I do, your grace. My boy Garlan."

"I shall make him a High Lord. Lord Of Summerhall."

His lordship gasped, and his anger seemed to leave him. The price of his sons life? Titles and marriages. "That seems appropriate, I think-"

"Oh, quiet Mace. It's a castle of ruined rocks. It would cost House Tyrell a fortune to rebuild it."

"I agree." Robert said as he twisted to his queen. "Your father shall help fund its restoration."

The queen's green eyes blazed like fire. "And why should we? Over some accident in a tourney, spill our coffers dry."

Robert darkened. "Because your king asks it of you and you shall do as bid." His shadow fell over her.

Ser Kevan nodded his head. "I think we can work an arrangement out. We are ever loyal banners of your grace."

The Tyrells seemed content by Roberts choices. Ser Kevan pledged he would work out a timetable with Lord Tyrell over payments on behalf of his brother. Only Lord Renly didn't seem happy by Roberts commands, but he said no word in disagreement. Tempers cooled and Robert sent them all away with a gruff command. Everyone save himself whom he commanded to remain. Robert sat behind his desk, putting his dirty boots on top of the desk relaxing. "Gods, I thought they would never leave." Robert laughed. "Not going to miss this in Essos or mayhaps the Stepstones. The Rogue Stag they shall call me!"

It struck him like a fist to the jaw. He still means to leave. It was madness two Great Houses on the verge of war and he still wishes to leave. The Lions and the Roses coming to blows would savage the realm. Robert's realm. A realm he wishes to entrust to me.

Ned told him he couldn't leave and Robert laughed until he noted the serious glint in his eyes. Words and raised voices uttered against the other as they quarreled as fierce as the day Robert condoned the murder of children. "You have a duty, Robert!" Ned said, holding his ground against his fury.

"I've done it for 17 years, Ned. Seventeen years I've kept the peace, damn it."

He understood he was set on his path. Nothing would sway him. When Robert made a choice, then not even the Old Gods could sway him. "Your grace." He mumbled and pushed past the flaps. Jory was outside waiting for him. He dipped his head and provided him a horse for a ride back to the Tower of the Hand. Alyn had taken a dozen of his men and seen his girls safely back to the residence. He would have to speak with them about what they had seen. Nether had seen anyone die before.

Maybe I should send them back to Winterfell. Ned thought. In Winterfell, they would be safe. Nothing happened in peaceful Winterfell with long comforting grey walls unlike the south where Starks went to die. Brandon. Lyanna. Father. A mangled body of a boy playing war and the clanging of swords echoed in his skull and he could taste the sands of Dorne on his lips. Promise me, Ned. Promise me, Ned. "My lord?" Jory asked as the clanging dulled. They had arrived in the courtyard, it seemed. How did he get here so quickly? Ned didn't understand, but he dismounted and went to his solar to do his duty.

That is where Ned remained when Jasper Arryn was ushered in. A tall youth with Cats red hair and bright blue eyes. Just like Robb. He had Jon Arryn's nose, though. If only he still lived, Jon would have known what to do. His nephew smiled, but he saw him fidget with his hands by his pant legs. "Uncle." He said with quick courtesy. "I thought it my duty to speak with you. I apologize if I'm interrupting."

Ned smiled. "Take a seat, nephew."

His nephew nodded and seated himself straight as an arrow before him. "My thanks." He said politely. "As you know, two men of the Kingsguard fell valiantly in defense of our good king. It's my intention to advocate for Robar Royce to be gifted with the white cloak. I'd like a name from yourself, Lord Stark, to represent the Northman."

A headache formed. "The bodies are barely cold in the ground." He said with dismay. "We can speak of this later."

"We certainly cannot!" Jasper said with heat before calming. "Forgive me for my tone. I am young, but we can't wait. We must strike before the Lannisters or the Tyrells convince His Grace of their candidates. Speed is key and we cannot let His Grace to be surrounded by Lannister or Tyrell men. The Kingsguard is not an institution we can afford to lose. They guard the king and his family." His nephew said with steel.

Ned sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It would not be honorable, Jasper."

"There is precious little honor with failing our king with inaction." Jasper said. "We, the men of the North and the Vale, needed to be by King Roberts side and I will act with or without your support." He vowed. "But we would stand a greater chance together. I beg of you, uncle, trust me on this as you did on cleaning court. Our position has improved because of it."

He remembered the advice given in Winterfell. Bringing his men south made him sleep easier at night. The Lannisters are no strangers to dishonor, nor the Tyrells either "We shall do nothing today, but tomorrow we shall advocate together for Ser Robar Royce. It would be in poor taste to do it tonight." He was a good choice. The man had performed well during the tourney and was the son of Yohn, a man Ned knew to be a man of great honor.

"And your choice, my lord?"

"I shall have to sleep on it."

Jasper offered his hand, and they shook on it. "You rode well, lad. I know Jon would have been proud." He told him. Better than Denys and he was half horse. It didn't spare him from the gryphons' sword at the Battle of the Bells when they crossed swords. Denys fought with all the gallantry of an Arryn, but it was Jon Connington that won the day when he thrusted a sword through his chest.

"I hope so." Jasper said. "Give my cousins my regards."

Ned nodded.

When he returned to have supper with his children, he spoke to both his daughters privately once the plates had been cleared away. Sansa had dried tears on her cheek and he whispered sweet words to soothe her. She handled herself with grace like a true southern lady like her mother. He kissed her on the brow and promised everything would be well. Don't make promises you cannot keep. Lyanna had told him that once. It was a bitter thought. However, it was Arya that worried him the most with the same wolfsblood of Brandon and Lyanna. When he entered her room, she was balancing on one leg. Ned couldn't help but smile.
"Training going well?"

Arya turned. "Syrio says I'm becoming as quick as a cat!"

Ned nodded. "Good, that is very good." He said, taking a seat on the foot of her bed. "I'm here" He paused, "To make sure you are well after what happened on the tourney field."

"I'm not a babe, father!" Arya crossed her arms. "I don't need to be comforted for seeing some blood." She eyes him curiously. "But what is to happen now? Will the Tyrells seek justice? If it was Jon on the field, you would have sought justice." A shiver ran through him at the thought. Lyannas boy cut in two, his lifeblood flowing onto the dirt. Instead of Lord Tyrell clutching his son, it was him. What would he have done?

"His Grace has given them justice. We shall have peace yet, my little wolf."

"How?" Arya asked.

"He gave them titles and marriages to keep them happy."

Arya scowled. "That's it! Is that what their son's life was worth?!" Her face crunched up, bothered as he place his arm around her. She looked up. "Would you have accepted that, father? If it was me or Jon, or Robb."

Ned shook his head and brought her in close." Never." He vowed. "You are my children." And when Robert named him regent before the realm, he would send the girls back to Winterfell. If the Lannisters were so blatant to murder Loras Tyrell, no one was safe. Maybe it was only the actions of Ser Gregor? But he could take no chances with his daughters. If only he could send Jon away as well, but the boy was old enough to make his choices.

A crown of blood and tears of children.

It was one promise he couldn't keep, and Lyanna would curse him for it.

Renly

Renly thrusted deep with a loud grunt. The young man was slender as a reed with soft curly chestnut hair and if he closed his eyes, he imagined it was Loras. A beautiful rose. My rose. He spilled his seed over him and the sheets. And rolled over his chest, rising and falling as he wished his Knight of Flowers remained with him. Renly tossed him some coins and got dressed. The mans name was unimportant, just a lowborn whore. He didn't hold a candle to a man of high birth and caliber. Outside, some guardsman waited for him as he took his leave in the whorehouses. They handed him the reins of a black steed. It would be a long ride back to the Red Keep.

The Silent Sisters had prepared Loras body in the Great Sept of Baelor where a dozen knights of the Reach held vigil for Lord Tyrell's boy. A boon of his royal brother to pacify Lord Mace. The High Septon himself had led the prayers over his corpse. Men told him they wept at his moving voice, the so-called avatar of the gods. Renly had not gone to visit him or lead the vigil. He wished to remember Loras as he had been in life. Beautiful and vibrant before Ser Gregor made him ugly with one simple swing of his massive sword. When the body had been prepared, he would lead the escort of a hundred knights of the south to transport Loras back to Highgarden. The Lords of the Reach fumed still over the honors Robert had denied them in court and the death of Loras would rub them raw. Vulnerable to an amiable smile and a gentle ear. A banner of the Kingsguard would fly with them as he had plied that concession from Robert. It was an escort worthy of a prince of the realm and it earned him many friends amongst the men of the Reach.

A future king needs to make them. Renly thought.

Loras believed in him to be an excellent king and he was right. I'm more capable than Robert, I make friends better than Stannis, Tommen is a weak boy controlled by Lord Arryn(For the moment)and his ridiculous honor, and Myrcella a mere girl. They were likely Roberts git, but whatever chance his plot to see them set aside ended with one calculating act by the Lannisters. Lord Stark or Robert would see any attempt by his own lip as a desperate attempt to punish the Lannisters. My word has lost all credibility with them.

Now the Lords of the Reach and Lords of the Stormlands could certainly believe it and when the time was right, he would pounce and seize the moment. Robert would whore himself to an early grave soon enough. Renly dismounted. The nighttime air was cool on the skin. Plots swirled in his mind and when he closed his eyes, he imagined the crown residing on his head.

A golden crown as beautiful as the dawn.

He opened the door and dressed for bed. Renly had just crawled underneath the covers when a sweet voice interrupted his plotting mind. "You didn't come to visit Loras." Lady Margaery said, appearing from the shadows. Dainty hips with a dress that left little to the imagination. "I had expected to see you."

"How long have you been waiting in the shadows, fair lady?" Renly asked with an easy smile.

"Not long." Her reply. She sat at the foot of the bed. "He loved you. Did you know that?"

Renly wondered what game the rose of Highgarden was pressing here. "He was my squire. I shall grieve for him deeply as you do, my lady." And in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, that's all he could ever be. My squire cut down in his prime. Never a lover.

Lady Margaery laughed sweetly. "It was more than that, my lord. He loved you." Her golden eyes became serious and Renly saw she knew. I shouldn't be surprised, really. Renly thought. The Tyrells were a close knit family. Loras likely spilled his guts. When they were younger, they were as close as peas in a pod. She was his confident in everything and his closest friend. Loras told him stories of them capturing dragon flies and climbing apple trees together while Willas and Garlan watched with quiet amusement.

"Now we are betrothed to wed." Renly said.

"Now we are betrothed to wed." She nodded in agreement.

It should have been with Robert. If it wasn't for the dullard from Winterfell it would have been so. Could be worse. Renly knew. At least she understood his preferences. No need for him lying over that.

"Did you love him?"

"It aches when I think of him." Renly admitted.

She lit up and smiled a small devious smile, and he raised his brow, amused. "Good." Her voice was as soft as honey. "When you wear the crown, we shall take everything from them. The Lannisters are not the only ones who repay debts. For Loras." She vowed, and it sent a shiver down his spine. It would be a bloody affair, and he hated the sight of blood.

Renly laughed at her boldness. "Why are you so certain I wish a crown?"

"Oh, I can spot a fellow kindred ambitious soul when I see one. I've always wished to be Queen ever since I was a girl." She said, crawling towards him with a confident stride. " And you are every inch a king. Handsome. Charming. Keen. You would rule well."

I am certainly all of those things. Renly thought as he chuckled. "You know of my relationship with Loras and yet you try to seduce me?

Lady Margaery giggled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, I find it fun." She pressed him down with her soft hands. "Very fun." She smiled and whispered into his ear. "Your grace." The words almost made him groan. Your grace. He could see everyone bowing before him, showering him with the praise he deserved, and he deserved the crown his brother squandered.

"My queen." He replied in kind and earned a light blush from her cheeks. "You are an ambitious woman."

"Guilty." She agreed, traced around his jawline as she showered him with sweet words. Renly leaned back against the pillows and listened to the picture she painted and drifted off to sleep.

King Renly…

Jasper

Jasper had discovered Princess Myrcella's nose wriggled when she was angry and she seemed to be rather irate with him, but he only saw the crown of blue roses upon her head and he grinned like a fool, the words flying over his head. In the stables it smelled of hay and horse and he always felt relaxed around them, especially before a fight. He stroked Honors mane and fed him a carrot. Ill have to shine your coat some more. It's losing its luster.

"Jasper Arryn, are you even listening to me?!"

"You are saying I'm the greatest tourney knight that has ever lived, and you swoon at my radiant smile that makes your knees wobble with desire." He winked.

Her eyes squinted as tight as arrow slits. I've never seen her eyes squint like that before. Maybe teasing her wasn't a good idea? But he was a slow learner, especially with the affairs of the heart. He tightened and swallowed. Have I erred beyond repair? It seemed a common fate for him to err. Would this be like with his cousins? Or his parents? Or Harry? Jasper had loved him once and then Harry broke his heart beyond repair.

"I'm not amused, my lord, by such japes."

Jasper winced before scowling. "This is why I did not mention such. I knew you would be upset."

"So you planned to lie to me and inform me after the fact?" Myrcella said with some bite.

"Worked with my granduncle." Jasper smiled. "He would cuff me afterwards, always left quite the welt. I suppose this is your version of a cuff to the head."

They argued over the melee and his participation. She had discovered him entering the lists at the last moment and was a rather rabid badger because of it. Be weary lad if a woman looks half crazed. You are likely going to get slapped. The warm voice of his grand uncle echoed . And if you bed a woman, make sure she drinks her moontea. Jasper's cheeks became flushed when the Blackfish had that talk with him. Not that he thought much of lowborn women to bed. He was more focused on honing his skills with lance and sword and ruling over the Vale.

"I wish Ser Brynden were here to cuff you."

Jasper chuckled. "You and me both. But please Myrcella, try to keep your voice down or you'll frighten the horses. Honor is ever sensitive to a lady's cries."

Myrcella bit underneath her lip. Her dainty cheeks became flushed as the Maiden herself. "I just struggle to understand. You were adamant that you would not take part, my lord, and yet at the last moment, you've changed your mind."

Even though as a lord he didn't have to tell her anything, Jasper thought it best to be honest. Lying never came well to him. It tore him from the inside to speak falsehoods, especially to a woman he was going to wrap his cloak around in the eyes of gods and men. I need to be honest with her. Jasper told her everything. He told her about Ser Hugh and his troubles with money lenders. He spoke of honor and duty of a lord and his conviction of honoring his father's pledge. "I must help him, princess. He was my fathers man and I must honor that."

"Oh, Jasper." Her anger dimmed, and she caressed his cheek with her thumb. "You foolish man of honor, there are other ways to do so."

Jasper scoffed. "And what could I have done? The man would accept no coin from me or any other." He said." He is a man. A man with honor in his veins and a man has to do things on his own. Maybe that is what my father saw in him?" Jasper felt a fool gasping for straws trying to understand his father. Everyone seemed to know him better than himself. Lord Stark. Lord Baelish. His Grace. He was his son and heir and he didn't understand him. He didn't understand Arryn tradition that his father represented. Kindness for those who didn't deserve it. Forgiveness for no benefit for House Arryn. Books only told him so much. Jasper was not the lord he should be, but he wouldn't complain. I shall try to honor my name. Will you be proud of me then, father? Will you look down from the heavens and think you made a mistake in your judgement? Do you regret hating me? Maybe he hated him more for betraying his legacy? A legacy of honor and conciliation. Jasper knew if he had opened his lips Ser Loras would still walk among the living. One conversation to Lord Stark and he could have spared his fate. A gruesome end for a knight. But Jasper wouldn't change it. If they had not threatened the kings children, I would have spoken. He could let no harm befall his betrothed or his ward. Still, his death was ill done. Ser Loras did not deserve to die so brutally…

"All I can offer him is my sword and help him place in the competition by my honor as an Arryn." Jasper said with his lords voice and he lowered his voice to above a whisper. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I'm often alone in my councils." A lone falcon soaring alone. You got what you wished, father.

"You would hurt yourself to please a ghost?" Myrcella asked.

"He was my father."

"And he never loved you. That will not change, no matter how many fights you win or oaths you keep."

Jasper stiffened and brushed her hands away at her honest words that burned. "I won't get hurt and don't speak of matters, you know, precious little off." His cheeks felt hot. "Is that what this is about?" His tongue twisted in his throat as his heart pounded in his chest like a loud drum. "Do you think me so weak that I'm incapable of fighting?" He was no boy hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"Ser Loras could fight well and it did little for him."

"I'm not some dainty flower." Jasper glowered.

Myrcella looked teary-eyed and his heart softened. She is just worried about you. Don't be a dolt. It was strange how beautiful she became in his eyes. Few ever cared for him. It was alluring, but worrisome. Jasper knew deep in his chest he loved it. Is this love? Jasper wondered. Or simple fondness? He hoped the latter it would hurt less when he inevitably ruined it as he did everything Jasper touched. He smiled fondly as he touched her crown. "Don't worry about me, princess." He said. "We shall build a garden together. A fine garden that is filled with life and beauty. It shall be ours." He voiced, imagining the beautiful sight and how he dreamed of it. When Jasper closed his eyes, he saw it as clear as day. "I'm sorry. I can be a terrible brute."

She leaned into him, burying her blond curls into his chest. "You are no brute, my lord. You are as brave a man of the Kingsguard, but I cannot marry a corpse." It was a silly fear of a woman, and he almost told her so when she pressed her lips against his own. It was sweet as he remembered it to be and he lost himself like a love struck boy in a kiss of summer. "For good luck." She told him, blushing.

Jasper knew in that moment he could defeat Ser Barristan the Bold in armed combat. "Myrcella I-" He couldn't bring himself to say the words in his chest that he knew to be true. Once spoken, it could never be unspoken, and it was unmanly to speak about such emotional sentiments.

"Yes Jasper?" Her green eyes twinkled.

"I-"

The stable doors opened with Marwyn Belmore peering his large boulder shaped head in. "My lord." He bowed. "The hour approaches for the melee." He wanted to curse the man, and himself, for being a coward. I'll have another opportunity to say those words. A lifetime in the Eyrie to say those words.

"My victory approaches, then." He gave a confident show for him. "I'll be out shortly." He kissed Princess Myrcella's hands like a gallant knight from a song. "Do me a favor, princess. Feed Honor some more carrots. I think he grew tired of watching us bicker, but not too much. I don't want him fat." Jasper japed.

Myrcella giggled. "Good luck Jasper."

"Thank you, princess." He said with a lord's courtesy.

The melee was a field of chaos that had Jasper grinning like a boy beneath his visor. Swords flew with neck breaking speeds and shields slammed knights into the ground as men groaned and cried out. It was as close to a field of battle as a man could find without being in serious risk of death. Someone even waved a flaming sword like the songs of legend, and he lost himself in the dance of fighting like a martial lord they all needed him to be. He was going to win this too and Hugh would place. He swore. The sword was light as a feather and he felt as strong as the warrior himself. Nothing can touch me! Jasper finished his foe with a naked woman on his shield. He stomped on his hand to prevent him from picking up his sword, likely breaking a finger or two. "Yield!"

"I yield." The reply and Jasper didn't waste another moment and found Hugh beating a free rider from Dorne into the dirt. "Fine show ser!" Jasper cheered. "Victory will be ours."

"Aye my lord." Ser Hugh said.

Jasper could see it all clearly when he saw him. The Gods themselves showed him favor. Armored in the simple way of the north, Jasper saw Snow pressed by four knights of some talent. One of them bore a purple unicorn on his chest plate. I won't have to face him again. He wouldn't embarrass himself again. Snow fought well, as he always did, even outnumbered with the same tenacity and skill he displayed in the courtyard. If it was real steel, Snow might even have won. One knight fell with a brilliant strike to the helm, likely sending teeth flying and a beautiful feign sent another reeling back, but numbers bore out and his sword flew and they struck him down. But the blows did not stop. He must have yielded by now. He yielded! Jasper raged. He didn't love him, but Snow didn't deserve that. An honorable foe deserved an honorable end. By the Seven, did they mean to kill him? Jasper tightened his grip on his hilt. They shame the oaths they swore. An oath of a knight.

And despite the bitterness in his chest at the sight of him, he screamed. "As High as Honor!" And charged, determined to make those false knights bleed out on the ground.

Jon

Ser Barristan leaned against the stoned wall, chuckling. "Relax squire, you are going to do fine." He squeezed his shoulders. "You are as fine a swordsman as I've ever seen."

"I know." Jon said, taking a breath. "I wish to do better than fine." If he was the last man standing when the dust cleared, King Robert might drape the white cloak around his shoulders. He would no longer be Jon Snow Bastard of Winterfell. A stain on his father's honor, but a Knight of the Kingsguard. Ser Jon Snow of the North. Two spots were open, and who knew when the next opportunity would be to earn the white cloak? This was a once in a lifetime chance to make his mark; with a simple vow, he could wipe away the bastardry and make a name of honor. When his sister was queen, he would protect her and her children like Aemon the Dragonknight. If only Bran could see it happen. He would love it. Maybe they would even be sworn brothers one day as well? Jon would like that.

"Just remember what I taught." Ser Barristan said. "Trust your instincts. They'll serve you well."

"Thank you ser. For everything. I'll see you afterwards. I swear. My winnings shall go to the orphanages." It would have been easy for Ser Barristan to disown him and give in to the pressure no blood tied them together, but he had stuck with him. Ser Barristan was a good man worthy of the white cloak. The only would that has impressed me. And he would try to live by this code of honor as well as he could to honor him.

Ser Barristan gazed at him fondly and something flashed in his ancient eyes as he looked deep in thought. "Ser Barristan?" He asked.

"It's nothing." He said. "You simply reminded me of someone."

"Who?" Jon asked curiously.

"After the melee, I'll tell you." Ser Barristan promised.

Jon didn't press him.

When he left him, Jon pulled out a white handkerchief with the symbol of House Stark stitched on the soft fabric. Soft against the skin. Sansa told him he shall always be a Stark in her eyes and she was rooting for him. He hid it away and focused on the fight that was to come. I'm going to win this time. No one would stop him. Especially not Lord Arryn. King Robert should not have called that match. He had a shot of unhorsing him, but this is where he excelled. Ser Rodrick always told him he took to swords like a duck to water and Ser Barristan had honed his skills every day in his care. He would win the melee. Jon vowed.

The open stages of the melee were a mass of knights and free riders hacking at the other with blunt weapons. Jon cut through them like a knife through butter. They groaned and cried out as he made his way through the field. One on one, he was better than them all and he could feel the white cloak around his shoulders.

Then he saw the purple unicorn sigil of House Brax. "Bastard," He spat out. "You humiliated my cousin Robert. Do you recall him?

"I do." Jon said. "He didn't impress me much."

The knight reddened. "I Ser Adrian shall restore the honor of House Brax!"

"Have at me then." Jon said, unafraid of this Ser Adrian Brax.

One became four all of them were knights of the Westerlands cousins or brothers of the squires that he humiliated and they wanted to put him down. Jon found himself hard pressed. If this was real steel… But it wasn't. He smiled with a flicker of hope as he incapacitated one with a perfect strike to the helm. Ser Barristan would have smiled if he saw. And a feign almost knocked off a third.

Almost

The numbers won out, and he drowned in blows. Painful purple welts marred his skin. In the morning, he would have nasty bruises that would make Sansa weep. He curled up, trying to protect his head and neck. His cheeks burned as he uttered. "I yield." A dream of a white cloak fading for this day.

Ser Adrian pretended as if he didn't hear him and stuck him with swords and boots, laughing.

Ser William of Kennning sneered. "You will be done when we say so."

"As High as Honor!"

Adrian Brax turned too late as a glancing blow slammed into his helm that made his knees buckle. A savage kick from a steel boot finished him. Lord Arryn was steel from head to heel, encased in heavy plate armor over mail and padded surcoat. Falcon's wings sprouted from the temples of his helm, and his visor was a pointed metal beak with a narrow slit for vision. Another man followed him dressed with less ornament, who fought the slow knight Jon thought himself dreaming. What the fuck was he doing here? He groaned. Every breath was like swallowing glass. Ribs were cracked. Jon undid the strap to his half helm. Above him was a dance of steel between Lord Arryn and Ser William, a middle-aged knight with forceful blows. Of the four, he was the most skilled, and he was winning the contest of blades. Lord Arryn's blows became sluggish. He was tired. Exhausted. A shield slammed into his helm. It stunned him. A slash struck him in the chest that would have killed had it been real steel. He stumbled back and Ser William swept his legs. Lord Arryn fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing, and with it his chance for victory.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved, boy." Ser William said, and he swung to finish him, but he was the one who screamed. "My eyes!" Ser William clutched his face, stumbling back. In one last push of energy, Arryn rose, lowered his head and tackled him to the ground like it was a tavern fight in Winter Town. He removed his foe's helm and tossed it and rained down blows upon him with a mailed fist until, with a loud cry, he rolled off the broken knight.

"Fuck me, I'm done." Arryn croaked and collapsed on the ground spent.

Eyes locked with the other and neither said a word for an awkward moment as the ringing sound of kissing steel echoed around them. "My than-"

"Don't talk to me!" Lord Arryn voiced with disdain and command of a high lord. His blue Tully eyes harsh with judgement. "Not one word, bastard, I'm resting. Be a good Snow and hold your tongue." He commanded.

Fire burned in his chest, and something roared, begging for release. Jon stirred slightly and wrapped his fingers around his sword. He felt stronger. Arryn scoffed and beneath that helm, he was likely sneering. "You wish another go at it, then?" Jon's eyes spoke the truth. Arryn, ever competitive, stirred as well. He wouldn't stay down from a challenge.

"I'm not done." Jon said.

"So be it Snow."

One more fight between them and no king would prevent its conclusion.

He has the problem with me, and he would beat him again. Jon vowed.

Crack!

Lord Arryn's helm cracked from the force, and he collapsed to the ground with a word on his lips. "Hugh." He said. "Why?" Another blow landed with a loud crack. "I yield." He mumbled out. "I yield." He said again, louder, thinking that his man had not heard him. The blows did not stop and his hard eyes confessed as much.

"He yielded." Jon said.

"This is none of your concern."

Jon stiffened. "It is." He declared. "There is no honor in hitting a fallen foe." Jon straightened, not knowing what he was thinking. Battered and bruised and tittering like a leaf in the breeze, it would not be an easy fight to win. It's the right thing to do. He may not be a Stark, but he could still be a man of honor. His resolve turned hard as stone and he swung.

Jasper

He hated Jon Snow. He hated Ser Hugh. He hated his father, but Jasper only truly hated himself. Fool! You damned fool. Everyone would suffer because he was blind and rash. Too blind to see a betrayal under his nose. Too rash in preventing knights from killing the damn bastard. A wiser lord would have let them do it. What was he to him? Absolutely nothing. Fool! Fool! Fool! His eyes grew heavy and Jasper wanted to close them. To sleep and ignore the pain. Jasper tried to concentrate, but it was blinding. Sleep. He needed sleep. A thousand years of sleep.

"Stay awake Arryn."

Jasper groaned.

It was a voice he knew and made him bitter with shame. "Go away." He moaned. "I'm fine. Sleep. I'm going to sleep." And he wrapped an arm around him and lifted him up. "I told you-"

"I didn't think you were one to give up Arryn."

"I'm tired."

The world spun around him, and darkness wished to claim him. "Why did you help me?" Snow asked. It was a stupid question with an obvious answer. He chuckled. A weak, raspy sound. "It was the honorable thing to do." Snow said something in reply, but he didn't hear him. Darkness finally wrapped around him and he remembered no more.

Chapter Text

Ned

The stench made his nose coil in disgust as darkness swirled around him, the walls were only illuminated by the dancing flames the gaoler carried with him. It showed the sad scene before him, and Ned could see the reason for the smell. Ser Hugh's head lay smashed open like a crushed melon from repeatedly smashing his head against the stone wall. Crimson red pooled around the cold, filthy floors as a rat gnawed on a piece of flesh. A grizzly end as any. He twisted around. "How has this happened?" Ned asked.

"Sorry milord. I found him like this. No one snuck in. I swear it by the Seven." If the man was lying, he did it well. Ned could find no deceit in the man's face. "Likely guilt milord I'd wager."

Mayhaps, Ned thought. Mayhaps Ser Hugh, overcome with guilt, took his own life to safeguard his honor. Or he was silenced by whatever master he worked for? The Mountain killed Ser Loras in the tourney and in the melee Ser Hugh had made an attempt on his nephews life. Somehow it was connected in this web of corruption and plots he liked little. It made his head spin, thinking of it. Lannisters. Tyrells. All of them agents of dishonor. Which one of them did it, if any? Ned had wished to interrogate Ser Hugh to discover the truth and seek justice for his nephew, but he supposed he would never know the truth lay unmoving in the bowels of the black cells.

"What do you want done with the body, milord?"

Ned thought about it. "Place the head on a spike and throw the body over the walls."

A man of dishonor deserved nothing less.

Unlike the foul smell of the dark cells, the Great Hall smelled of rich food from the kitchens. Pleasant to the nose. Roasted chicken or duck coated in a thick sauce of gravy. Richer than any food served in his own halls as singers and performers entertained for them. Sweet songs that his daughter Sansa enjoyed. Servants carried ale and wine for any who wish it, but the halls were not a cheery place. The Lords of the Vale, subdued by the news of Lord Arryns injuries, drank little worried over the future of the Vale. Lannister and Tyrell men were little better. No love existed between either of them. Only a spark would cause it all to go up in flame. If it were not for his northman, the halls would be quiet. Almost everyone. Ned thought. Beside of him on his throne, Robert wore a royal black velvet doublet decorated with a crowned golden stag. Laughing as hard as they did as boys. He was stone sober, not a drop of ale the entire night. Tonight, I shall wear the crown and he shall be free. Next to him, the queen sat poised and collected, smiling at some song. Ned had never seen her looked so pleased. It disquieted him. At the foot of the throne, the Knights of the Kingsguard, in their white cloaks as white as snow, stood stalwart. They were a thin order. Two of its members, the Kingslayer and Ser Arys, were outside of the capital. Two more had fallen in defense of the Crown. Only Ser Barristan, Ser Preston, and Ser Meryn remained to defend Robert.

Tonight it changes… Ned thought with sadness.

"ALRIGHT! YOU LISTEN TO ME YOUR KING!" Robert roared, and the halls quieted when the king spoke you listened. "Ser Barristan, my Lord Commander, has need of two new sworn brothers. Men of the white cloak. A fine honor, a fine honor." Men lowered their glasses as every knight looked at the crown with hope. It was the greatest wish for any skilled knight to be elevated to the white cloak. All eyes followed Robert, whom relished in the spotlight. "Ser Robar of House Royce, step forward and claim your reward."

The youth dressed in his finest doublet for the feast day strolled forward with the confidence of a young man and went to his knees. "Your grace, I'd be honored to serve the Crown." He said with perfect courtesy. A knight of the Vale through and through. Ser Barristan draped a white cloak around his shoulders.

"Arise Ser Robar Knight of the Kingsguard."

The Great Halls exploded in cheers as Lord Yohn, the boy's father, clapped louder than all of them. Robar Royce was well liked amongst the Lords of the Vale his nephew had chosen wisely.

"Alright! Alright!" Robert waved them down. "I still have one more spot to fill!" Clapping fizzled out as they all leaned forward. "Jon Snow, come forward and claim your spot as a man of the Kingsguard!" A moment of silence. It was his daughters who led the cheer. Sansa even whistled in encouragement as Arya led out a loud whoop. The Northman answered the cry of the daughters of Winterfell with cheers that echoed to the Gods above. Ned joined them, trying to mask the sadness in his heart. I did not wish him to wear the white. Lyanna would curse him, but when Ser Barristan went to King Robert, advocating for his squire, he could scarcely deny him. It would draw too much attention. A bastard becoming a Knight of the Kingsguard was beyond a high honor and Jon wanted it. Even though he didn't know what he would be giving up with it.

Jon approached the throne and went to his knees. "Your grace." He said. "But I am no knight."

Robert smiled. "No matter! Ser Barristan knight your squire."

"Gladly, your grace."

"Jon Snow," he began with pride touching the blade to his right shoulder, "in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave." The sword moved from his right shoulder to his left. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just." Back to the right. "In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent." The left. "In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women." By the end, all Ned felt was guilt as he draped the white cloak around his shoulders. Robert embraced them both and declared them fine young knights who will earn great honor and glory. Queen Cersei kissed them both on the cheek as Robert wandered to the center of halls with a wistful smile on his face.

"Listen well to me, your king." Robert said. "You've all come here thinking this is a feast to end the Tourney of the Hand, but it's a farewell." He paused and laughed. "Ah, Damn me. I might actually miss you miserable lot!" One only heard breathing as the hall became as silent as a tomb.

"Robert?" His brother asked as confused as everyone.

Robert drew his sword into the open. "I'm made for fighting, and I'm still young enough!" He declared, pounding his chest. "I'm going to the lands of Essos to feel blood against my face once more and to know the sound of battle, as is a man's right. I doubt I shall return. No." Robert grinned. "This is farewell! "He twisted and pointed at him. "Ned shall be regent in my absence and shall serve you all well. I will have everyone last one of you swear him oaths of loyalty, or I shall cut you down where you stand like I did the dragon!" His voice boomed and Ned dipped his head dutifully as Robert granted him a responsibility as large as the realm itself.

"Robert my swe-"

"HOLD YOUR TOUNGE WOMAN!" Robert declared. "Ned is regent of the Iron Throne in my absence and that is final! I'm still King of the fucking Seven Kingdoms! And if any of you make me come back from my trip, I'll cave you in!" He roared, and all knew Robert to be honest. If he returned, it would be to take heads.

"STARK! STARK! STARK!"

"THE REGENT OF WINTER!"

"THE HOUR OF THE WOLF COME AGAIN!"

All Ned wished was to be home in Winterfell. Now, I'm Regent. A King in all but name.

Dozens of Northman screamed out his name in a chant, and the men of the Vale joined in, but when Ser Barristan went to his knees solemnly Neds heart broke. "Your grace." He said. "Our oaths are sworn to the king. Let us accompany you to whatever end." Five swords went to Robert's feet. Jon's sword among them.

"I accept." And lifted them up with an easy laugh.

Promises were being broken, and he was helpless to keep them as men congratulated him and praised him as a man of honor. He shook hands cordially with Ser Kevan Lannister and Renly Baratheon alike. Neither said a word of protest against him.

The sounds of cheers echoed in his skull, even in the bowels of the Tower of the Hand. I shall take up residence in the kings tower soon. Ned rubbed his temples. Dozens of knights had offered their swords to Robert as well; claiming they wished to seek glory and the thrill of battle. Ned sat busy studying Robert's plans. It was oddly well considered. Robert had thought of everything for the expedition, even guessing roughly the amount of men that would accompany him. If only he showed this much care for affairs of the state…

When Ned lifted his nose from the buried parchment at the sound of Jory opening the door. A phantom of a dream walked towards him. "You are not real. Simply a shadow of a dream."

"It is I, Ned." Cat voiced with a smile. "I'm no dream."

"Cat?" He stood agape. "The boys?"

"Are well and hale." Cat said as he embraced her. How long has he wished to feel her in his arms again? Every night it ached being apart from her. What reason could she have come? Cats duty was in Winterfell helping Robb.

"Why are you here lady wife?" He asked.

She paled as white as milk.

Ned gripped her hands in worry. "You tremble, love?"

"I bring poor news." Cat said her hand removing white parchment from her breast. "Read and you'll understand."

Ned read, and when he was done, he sat down. "The woman is mad." He said in disbelief. Lysa Tully claimed to have murdered her own husband at the urging of Lord Baelish. Was it true? She spoke once, the same of the Lannisters, but Jasper Arryn had dismissed it. Yet, at his own lips, he admitted she had tried to slay his own brother. Did she conspire to kill her husband? Poison was a woman's weapon. "Do you think it true, Cat?" She knew her sister the best amongst the two of them. "Do you think she is capable of such?"

"I know not. I did not think her capable of hurting a child of her loins." Cat admitted with a sigh. "It's possible, my lord, but what has happened to our nephew?"

Ned told her and they both seem to wonder the same thing. Is this connected? Mayhaps Lord Baelish is the one behind it all. He was certainly capable of such a deed, but he failed to see the benefit to him and the man would only do something if it benefited him. He did not have a decent bone in his body and no qualms about such dishonorable acts.

"By the Seven Ned, what shall we do?"

Soon he would be Lord Regent and would have the authority to seek justice for Jon Arryn. "Once Robert departs the realm, his absence shall confirm my appointment as regent. I shall send a raven to your father and brother to have Lysa transported to the capital, where she shall answer the charges of murder." Ice filled his voice. "And Lord Baelish, I shall throw in chains awaiting his trial."

"You cannot!" Cat declared, surprising him. "you cannot make our nephew choose between his mother and justice. It would drive a wedge between us." She warned. "No boy wouldn't defend his mother. He will defend her, Ned. You must see this."

"And what? You think I shouldn't seek justice?" He scoffed. " If Jon Arryn was murdered, I must uncover the truth, Cat, and I shall have the authority to do so. Our nephew shall understand." He caressed her cheek.

Cat shook her head in disagreement. "I think you are wrong, husband." She paused and whispered. "We have more dishonorable options to consider."

"Such as what?" Ned asked.

"Ned, my sister is clearly unwell. If any ill was done, I'm certain it was only Petyr's doing." She said with desperation in her voice. "If we just quietly get rid of him." A kind word for murder. Ned thought. "For the good of our family. It would be easier for all involved."

Ned sighed. "It would not be honorable, Cat. I'm the Lord Regent. I have a duty to the realm to act justly." He held firm. "And if Lysa Tully had a hand in Jons demise, she shall have to pay for it."

"Very well Ned." Cat demurred. "But don't throw Petyr in the dark cells. He loves me still. Give me the chance to garner a confession from him while he remains unaware. When Lysa arrives, then we can toss him in the cells." And that gave him some pause. It could prove useful if she wrangled some secrets from his own lips. Useful for the mans trial. His nephew remained well protected in his quarters under constant guard. Lord Baelish could do him no harm. A mummers farce he would have to play for the good of the realm. My realm…

A frightening thought as he held Cat in his arms.

Jasper

Tears flowed down his cheeks, hard and cold. Fingers wrapped tightly around a pudgy throat. A voice begged him to snap it in two like a twig. It would be as easy as taking a breath. Justice needed to be harsh. She tossed Robert through the Moon Door. My brother she would have killed him. Her skin turned purple, and he laughed bitterly. "It didn't have to be this way." He judged. "But you made your choice." Robert wailed in the distance. "Let mommy go! GO! GO! GO!" Weak little fists struck his leg.

"Stay out of this!" Jasper said, pushing him to the floor. Far too rough for his frail brother.

"Mommy!" His brother wept and shuddered violently on the cold stone floor.

Jasper's anger vanished like a wisp of smoke. Mother no longer mattered. Justice forgotten. "Brother," He said. "It's going to be okay. I promise, I promise." Jasper cradled him in his lap, as he tried to soothe him. "Please be okay." His voice cracked pale with worry. Eventually, the shaking subsided, and he picked him up. Maester Colemon needed to see him.

"MY SON! YOU CAN"T TAKE MY ONLY SON FROM ME!"

Jasper ignored her and made for the door. Only Robert's health was important.

"THE GODS CURSED ME WITH YOU! YOU LIVED WHERE YOUR OTHER BROTHERS AND SISTERS DIED! I WOULD TRADE YOUR LIFE FOR ANY OF THEM!" Her voice echoed off the wall as hurtful as always. Always painful. Unlike mothers in the songs he loved, she bore no love for him. He had dreamed of changing her mind one day, but this dream died in the cradle.

"And you have no sons." Jasper said with steel. "As long as I draw breath, you will see neither of us again." Screams and curses swirled around him as he carried his sickly brother away. Away from a madwoman pretending to be a mother.

Jasper woke up and Princess Myrcella remained curled up asleep in the chair beside his bed. Shadows underneath her eyes and tired lines that gnawed at him with guilt. I did this! I did that to her! If he was wiser, he never would have entered the melee. Never should have trusted Ser Hugh! Why did he betray him? He supposed he would never know. They found the man dead in his cell before his uncle could question him. I should have been the one to swing the sword. If he was only more capable, he never would have been in such a position. If only he didn't expend himself saving the fucking bastard from a beating, he probably deserved. A thousand ifs lay on his tongue as he grew frustrated, staring at the ceiling. Frustrated by the lack of progress in his recovery. He couldn't reside in this accursed bed a moment longer. Three days they said he slept and for two days he had remained a captive of soft sheets and silk bandages wrapped around his chest and head. Chains of comfort!

I need to get up! I need to do something! I need to show House Arryn remains strong!

Dull pain shot through his chest, but he ignored it and flung both legs over the edge of the bed. Jasper wobbled as his head pounded something fierce. He walked a few steps to his wardrobe to dress for the day. Then he would go to the stables for a ride. Yes, I need to feel air on my face. I need to feel like I'm not a failure. A failure to the name Arryn. I need Myrcella to be happy again. Jasper thought. "What are you doing?!" Her voice surprised him and he lost his balance, stumbling to the ground. Jasper cursed before biting his tongue until blood flowed. He was in the company of a woman. "Guard!" She called. One of his knights entered and Jasper lifted his arm reluctantly around him as he returned him to his prison.

"Are you hurt? Should I send for Maester Pycelle?" Princess Myrcella asked.

"I'm fine." He lied. "I need no more milk of the poppy. I don't need these bandages. I'm not some wounded sparrow."

"What would Ser Brynden tell you if he were here?" It was beyond clever on her part to invoke his name. Jasper slouched and swallowed. "Don't be a damn fool and just rest." He grumbled.

"I would agree with him! Now rest, I command it as a princess as well!" She wrapped the soft sheets around him with a satisfied smile.

Jasper resigned himself to his fate for another day. He twisted away from her and said. "I wish you to go." He forced himself to say. "Feel the sun on your face and talk with your ladies over womanly things. Laugh. Feel joy. Enjoy the company of others. Smell the roses in your garden, but I want you gone."

"My lord, I wish not to go."

"You called me a fool once, but I name you one as well, princess." He said. "Sunken tired eyes and pale skin tell me so. I bring you nought, but pain in this stuffy tower. I will not hurt you any longer. Nor shall I let you hurt yourself on my account." He swallowed. "I've already failed enough." Leave me. Everyone always leaves me. Leave me to my duty. Let me be Lord Arryn. It's all I'm good for.

He didn't need to see to know her eyes were squinting at him. "Unless you wish to have me dragged out kicking and screaming, I fear you are stuck with me."

Jasper twisted around violently. His temper flared. "You name me stubborn and claim you are not. I'm not blind. I see the impact and still you persist. Why? I cannot see the reason." He softened. "It hurts for me to see you suffer so."

"It hurts for me as well, Jasper, but I fear it would hurt more to stay away." It made his heart melt like snow in the heat of summer. "Do you wish to afflict such pain?" She asked him and he shook his head. Jasper knew he cared too much to do that.

He swallowed and leaned back against the pillows. "Now be a good boy and let me take care of you." She beamed with a bright smile. "I shall nurse you back to health, as you say, like a wounded sparrow. My wounded sparrow." She said those last words with fondness. "A very stubborn sparrow." Stroking a strand of auburn hair between her fingers.

"Do you care for me so, princess?"

"Yes, Jasper." She replied, as if he had said something silly. "I care for you deeply."

As a boy, he had read stories of injured knights nursed to health by their lady loves after a duel against dark hearted villains. How he loved those stories! But he never dared to hope he could achieve such. It was unlordly to wish for softness. Before the melee, he had wished to say other words to express the feeling in his chest. Jasper thought he had a lifetime to tell her, but life was fleeting. The Stranger almost claimed him and she never would have known the truth. "I love you Princess Myrcella. I wish to say such be-" He never finished as she attacked him with her lips. Sweeter than strawberries, he deepened the kiss, giving into the warmth he felt for her surrendering to its gentle call. It may have gone further, but she pressed too roughly against his chest and he winced in pain. He pulled away and Myrcella was red as a tomato, and he was likely no different.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She squealed. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." He grimaced.

"Oh, I did!" She pressed her lips to his chest in a gentle kiss. "Better?"

Jasper grinned like a fool as the bitterness in his chest faded away. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel happy as he caressed her soft hands. They were small compared to his own. Maybe he was less a failure than he thought. He could still keep his oaths as long as he drew breath. Sweet Princess Myrcella seemed to believe in him. He hoped that he could be a good Lord of the Eyrie. A man of honor. If she believes in me, then maybe I can accomplish it. He kissed her hand and told her he still wished for her to depart to get some air and feel the sun on her skin, but he would like to see her for lunch. She pouted her lips and pleaded to stay, but he held firm and she conceded to his wishes with a loud sigh.

"I hope this isn't some attempt to escape."

"I'm not that clever." Jasper winked and smiled as she giggled in reply. When she left him, he drifted off back to sleep. He was bored out of his mind without Myrcellas company and she wished him to rest so he did, even if a part of him wished to write letters to his grand uncle reporting on the changing events on the ground. The death of Ser Loras. Ser Hughs attempting slaying. King Robert declaring he shall head east to seek glory and battle like a warrior king of old. Lord Stark being named Regent of the Iron Throne. Aunt Catelyn had arrived as well, claiming she missed her girls. Even if Jasper thought it strange. She missed her girls, but not Bran? Still, it was nice to see her. I should write to my wards as well. I need to see how Prince Tommens lessons are progressing. The capital had changed much since his arrival. Lord Stark's accension would force his hand regarding Lord Baelish. His uncle would not wish the man to hold his post as Master of Coin and he could not let the post fall to a non Valeman. Nestor Royce would have to be named to the-

Jasper dozed off.

When he woke up, it was to the sight of a long face and icy grey eyes. "Why did you do it?" She voiced as fierce as always. The Stark blood ran thick in her veins, unlike her siblings, as savage as the lands in which she was born. It shocked him she was here at all. She hated him with a passion as much as he hated Harry. I would never visit Harry if he were hurt. That lone dinner he had with them was disastrous. Arya looked as if she wished to skewer him with a steak knife and feed him to that wolf of hers.

His uncle and aunt arrived to wish him well, and he handled them with courtesy. Aunt Catelyn looked at him with some guilt that made him sheepish. Cousin Sansa came once with Myrcella and gave him a scarf she knitted. He thanked her, but it was just the polite niceties expected from kin. But he expected them. Arya was entirely different.

None of them were family. He was just a stranger to them. I mean little to them. An ally in these political affairs nothing more. Jasper thought bitterly.

Jasper rubbed his eyes. "Afraid you are going to have to be more specific, cousin." He yawned and relaxed, stretching his arms behind his head, pleased by the scowl on her face.

"Why did you help my brother?" Cousin Arya asked, glaring daggers.

"I don't think young Brandon is in the capital, or do you mean your half brother?"

She darkened. "He is my brother! Stupid!" It rankled him the love they held for him. He would never understand it. Why do they love one another? Why did Lord Stark bring him home instead of giving him to some vassal?

"So you tell me." Jasper said in a dismissive tone. "I'm more interested in how you snuck past my guards. Mayhaps your mother would be as well?"

"You wouldn't!" Arya said, looking murderous.

"Oh, I certainly would." Jasper sneered before sighing. "But if you must know, I helped Snow because it was the right thing to do. He was down and didn't deserve a beating. It was not honorable behavior expected from a knight. So yes, I helped him. You're welcome." He smirked. And you care for him. Jasper thought. I have to safeguard him as well because of it. But she didn't need to know that.

"Now go off. Run along now, do whatever savage little ladies do."

"If you weren't hurt, I'd kick you!"

Jasper chuckled, amused. "I'm sure you would, cousin." After she left with a loud huff, Jasper thought of his cousins and Snow. He regretted how things turned out between them. Actions have consequences and he had made his choices. If only I could have forgiven him, but he couldn't anymore prevent the sun from rising in the east and setting in the west. Princess Myrcella had been right when she said he was jealous of him. He grew up in Winterfell with the love of his cousins while they forgot about him. Jasper dreamed about them and those grey walls. What fun he could have had! Rides in the Wolfswood! Fights in the courtyard! How many dung fights could he have had in the stables? Dozens! Maybe he could have found siblings in all of them? Noble Robb. Sweet Sansa. Fierce Arya. Mischevious Bran. The babe Rickon. Maybe just maybe even Snow. In another world where his father sent him to Winterfell as a boy maybe it could have been so. Jasper always dreamed of a life beyond his lonely castle in the sky.

He looked for the worst in the bastard trying to make him some villain as bad as Harry or as cruel as his parents. Every action he assigned a dark motivation to him because a lowly bastard had been given what he always sought. Jon Snow was no villain. He may even be decent, but he would always represent what they had taken from him. A chance of a family amongst the Starks of Winterfell.

It should have been me. I should have been raised in Winterfell not him.

Still, he should try to make his peace with him while he could. He saved my life. I have to say my thanks. Does not Arryn honor demand such?

He thought of honor and bastards as the doors opened, and Myrcella carried a tray of food. Two bowls of porridge, or whatever it was supposed to be. Along with some assortments of fruit, "Oh, I made this for you myself! Can you imagine I've cooked nothing in my life!?" Jasper could certainly believe that. One of those orange blobs might have been a carrot. She looked at him with big eyes and a bright smile.

Jasper smiled and grabbed the spoon, and swallowed the food with a brave gulp. "It's good. Very good." He lied and took another bite to show her.

"Oh, let me try!"

Myrcella turned green, and she gagged. "I guess not then."

Jasper laughed until his sides ached. "Thankfully we shall have cooks in the Eyrie! I'm sorry for teasing. It's unlordly to tease a princess." He coughed awkwardly at the brief period of silence. "We still have some fruit." He went for the strawberries, but she was quicker and seized the bowl, giggling. "Could you feed me Jasper?! Pretty please!" She batted her eyes shyly. He was taken aback, and he stared at her dumbly. She must think me a dim wit.

"As you wish, princess."

She nibbled on it gently, and Jasper stifled a groan, watching her. He gazed into her green eyes and he wanted to claim her. Forget his honor, but he still had self-control. Jasper wasn't some beast that would dishonor her and take her maidenhead. As High as Honor! Instead, he grabbed her and brought her to his chest. "Jasper, neither of us can eat like this." she chided sweetly.

He smiled and said.

Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams:

The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;

So, when affection yields discourse, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come.

They that are rich in words, in words discover

That they are poor in that which makes a lover.

Myrcella's eyes widened with joy as he started, and she was clapping by the end. "Oh, that was lovely Jasper! I didn't know you to be such a romantic."

Jasper scoffed. "I know a couple. It's practical for courtship and lords are practical." He scowled with a stern look.

"Oh yes Jasper, you are very practical." She agreed with a sweet smile. "Do you know anymore?"

He did, and he told them to her as she lay in his arms. By the end, she nibbled on his ear and was panting lightly. He stroked the naked part of her back. "Oh, Jasper." She whimpered at his touch.

"Well, if you came to get my heart up you have succeeded." Jasper said honestly. "How I wish we were wed."

"I would love that Jasper." She whispered. "Maybe it could be? I doubt my father would deny you. Or Lord Stark as regent he can decide when I wed." Her voice was filled with hope, and he found himself hopeful as well. He made a vow in his heart that he would take her back with him or perish in the attempt. She made him happy, or the closest to it he had ever felt and he would never give that up! Never! And this city was dangerous. Jasper did not trust those Tyrells or Lord Renly, nor the Lannisters either. A war brewed between them even with the concessions that had been wrought they wouldn't forget the death of Ser Loras. My golden princess will be safest in the Eyrie along with the future king. May he have the strength to protect them both.

My wife. Lady Myrcella Arryn. My future king. King Tommen Baratheon.

That night, he dreamed of putting an Arryn cloak around her pale shoulders. It was a happy dream.

Jon

The boulder in front of him was as large as a cart. Drums played in the background as loud as thunder. His Grace claimed they helped a man push himself. King Robert sweated like a pig in silk with groans and curses as he pushed the boulder forward. "Another foot, your grace." Ser Barristan said. "You have almost done it." His Grace swore as the boulder's rolling came to a halt.

"Tis funny. I recall you've said that already, Barry old boy."

Ser Barristan smiled. "You asked me to help get you back into shape, your grace." He said dutifully. "One more step."

King Robert exploded with energy; arms shaking with eyes as wide as oranges and a vein on his forehead looked close to popping as he rolled the boulder another two feet before collapsing in his own sweat. Jon wondered if he would actually see the famed Demon of the Trident from fathers stories instead of the fat king that came stumbling through the gates of Winterfell. For the first time, Jon thought him a powerful man.

A young blond boy, Tyrek of House Lannister, offered King Robert a goblet of wine. He would be accompanying them to Essos. The other boy Lancel had been knighted, per the request of Ser Kevan. He doesn't wish him to cross the Narrow Sea. "Get that away from me!" His grace swatted the goblet away like a fly in the wind. It fell to the ground with a loud clang. A fine vintage, no doubt. "I'm getting strong again! GODS, I'M GOING TO TERROIZE THEM! THEY'LL SHIT THEMSELVES WHEN THEY SEE ME!" He twisted towards him with stormy eyes. "How do you think I'm progressing, lad?"

Jon looked at his still oversized gut and his double chin and knew the truth, but he was his king. He had sworn a vow and Ser Barristan watched him with observant eyes. "Stronger every day, your grace."

King Robert laughed. "Stronger every day, is it? Ah, good lad. Just like Ned." He laughed some more. "Ever kill a man, Jon?"

He became flushed by the question. "I have not been given the opportunity to do so." But he knew he was better than most and would cut down a man with ease. Ser Rodrick and Ser Barristan all claimed him an excellent swordsman, but he liked not the implication that he was some green boy unworthy of the white cloak. Every day in the training yard, he worked until his body ached and his bones cracked for this moment. To earn this honor fairly, not gifted it on a silver platter. I earned this! I worked hard to earn this post.. "And I will do so to honor my oaths." He finished with quiet determination. Of all his sworn brothers, only Ser Barristan was his master with the blade. Ser Robar was skilled, but unimaginative, and neither Ser Meryn nor Ser Preston impressed him much. Though he imagined the Kingslayer could best him with ease. Ser Barristan liked the man little, but confessed that he was born to wield a sword.

"Nothing like it!" King Robert said as he brushed back his dark locks coated in sweat. "Alright, I'm done for the day." Ser Meryn followed behind His Grace on his right side, while he fell in on his left side, with Ser Robar behind him. He felt pride as he strolled around the courtyard and caught the looks of admiration at the white cloak from squires and servants. It was unworthy and boyish, but he liked the way they looked at him. No longer was he a stain of his lord father's dishonor, but a symbol of southern chivalry. The best of the best.

I'm more than simply the bastard of Winterfell.

"Brooding Snow? Or thinking of some pretty maiden?" Ser Robar snickered as they both stood guard outside the kings tower. Ser Robar could talk for hours. He was rarely silent.

Jon shook his head.

"Ah, you're brooding. Too serious to think of pretty maidens." He chuckled.

"We swore a vow." Jon reminded him.

"And we can still think of them. Nothing in the vows about thinking.

Jon could find little fault in his reasoning, but he held his silence. It was terribly boring just standing guard outside of the kings chambers, especially with the uncomfortable sounds coming from behind them. King Robert might have forgone drinking for the moment, but he found company in whores well enough. The sounds behind them were unsettling and made a light blush creep around his neck, but he had his duty and he would be the best at it.

"Who do you think was the prettiest girl?" Ser Robar asked. "The redhead or the dark-skinned one?"

"Red haired." Jon mumbled out.

Ser Robar blinked and grinned. "You like red heads, Snow? Your sister is red-haired, is she not?"

Jon tightened and glowered as Ser Robar held up his hands apologetically. "Alright, alright, I see that was uncalled for. If a man has spoken of Ysillia so I would have decked him."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Not when I'm bored to tears. They don't speak of waiting behind doors in the songs."

Jon nodded in agreement. "Aye they don't." Ser Robar was the second son of Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. He was slated to inherit no lands and, like him, sought to make his own way in the world. He seemed to be good-natured, if overtly talkative. But it wasn't so bad on nights like this with little to do. Otherwise Jons mind drifted to his conversation with his little sister.

"Take me with you! I could be your squire!" Arya declared.

"No one would be a better squire than you, but I shall not take you from, father."

Arya's scowl deepened.

Jon sighed. "I'm sorry, little sister. I wish it were otherwise."

"No, you don't!" Arya said, with tears streaming down her cheeks as she stormed off.

The sound of metallic boots climbing the staircase woke him from his memories. Ser Barristan led the party of Arryn guardsman. Lord Arryns, Captain of his household guard among them. "Ser Barristan." Jon said dutifully, dipping his head.

"I'm here to relieve you, Jon." Ser Barristan said.

Jon grew puzzled. "I don't understand. I'm not due to be relieved for several hours."

"Our lord wishes to speak to you Ser Jon." The haughty, proud voice answered for Ser Barristan. He looked to the Lord Commander for confirmation and he gave his assent.

"Very well." Jon said. "Lead on then ser."

Ushered into Lord Arryn's bed chamber, his lordship hardened with judgement when he walked through the doorway with his eyes, pools of ice glaring. They held little warmth for him. Even covered in bandages, Lord Arryn carried himself regally like a high lord. He judged him unworthy the moment he laid eyes on him. I saved his life, and he still sees me as less than dirt.

"Arryn."

"Snow."

"I see His Grace selected you as one of his seven." Lord Arryn said, fighting back a sneer. "I would have chosen another."

Jon stiffened. "Did you request my presence to exchange barbs, my lord?"

Lord Arryn winced and swallowed. "No, I wish to extend my thanks. I owe you my life, and I wish to thank you for it." He said. "Honor demands it of me."

"It was the honorable thing to do." Jon used his own words against him from the melee. A flash of recognition in his eyes and he nodded his head. An awkward pause followed them as Lord Arryn adjusted his collar and coughed. Jon shifted awkwardly as well. "Anything else, Lord Arryn?"

"Yes." Lord Arryn said. "My cousins care for you. Gods know why. I can barely stand the sight of you, but I suppose try not to die." His voice was haughty and uncaring. "It would cause them much anguish."

It rankled him, and something burned in his chest, trying to claw free. "I will not die Arryn. Unlike you, I'm actually beyond adequate with a sword." Jon said unwisely. He was tired of standing idle to his slights and walking on eggshells around the man. He was a man of the Kingsguard. Not a boy any longer.

"If it wasn't for me, you never would have received the white cloak!" Lord Arryn snapped back with great heat. "They would have battered you until you were nothing more than a bloody stain on the field."

Jon felt his cheeks burn. If he wasn't in bed wounded, I would strike him. "And yet, who lies in bed? Little better than a crippled." Jon retorted with satisfaction. He thought the man would actually lunge at him when his hands curled to the side. "You sent for me to offer thanks and you slight me with every word. As High-as-Honor, what a jape." Jon scoffed and turned away from the red faced Lord of the Eyrie.

He managed three steps when Lord Arryn said. "Jon." He had never called him by his first name before. He did not think he cared to learn it, and Jon turned to face him. "Much has happened between you and me. Things that we have done to the other that can never be healed, but I wish you well truly. My cousins care for you, and I think you are a man of some honor. Lord Stark named you for my father and they say he was the most honorable man that ever lived." His voice was quiet and lordly as he sounded as noble as father. He spoke without judgement. "I think he would be proud that you bear his name well."

Jon didn't know what to say. He had never really thought of why his father named him Jon. "Do you truly care for my siblings?" He asked.

"I do." Lord Arryn admitted.

"Will you watch over them in my absence?"

"On my honor as an Arryn." He swore, and Jon knew he was speaking the truth.

Jon offered his hand. Lord Arryn looked at it with some emotion as he swallowed something, and Jon raised his brow in puzzlement. He detected no malice or bitterness, but still he gazed at his hand with intensity.

"I dream some nights of Winterfell and that courtyard." Lord Arryn told him. "Of you offering that hand. I never take it even in my dreams, but I should. "He said thick with emotion. "I should have taken it. It would have been the honorable thing to do."

"Then take it now, my lord." Jon said.

Lord Arryn looked touched as they grasped hands together. An unspoken understanding seemed to be spoken as they made their peace with the other or as close as they would ever come. Some bitterness lay underneath the surface for them both, but as father said. "You find your true friends on the battlefield." And on the field of battle, no man was a greater friend than Lord Arryn. Few would have been brave enough to charge three heavily armored knights to save a bitter foe, and he fought with everything he had to defend him for the sake of honor. Jon could never hate a man like that. It was respectable.

The next day, the entire court had arrived to see them off. The Lannister Queen with a tiara of diamonds that glittered in the sun surrounded by men wearing the crimson red of House Lannister. All the members of the Kings Small Council gathered around as well. Father stood somber, gazing at him with some sadness. Arya wore a gray dress for once and she ran across the dockyard despite the eyes watching her and threw her arms around his neck. "I'm going to miss you, Jon." She said. Jon held her tightly for a moment.

"Me too, little sister." Though he let her go quicker than he wished. Lady Stark watched him and despite being a man of the Kingsguard, she still made him squirm. As a man of the Kingsguard, you'll be facing worst threats than Lady Starks icy glares.

He carried Arya back to their family, dropping her down. Sansa fought her tears back ever a southern lady. She has the North in her as well. "Good luck, brother." She said with perfect courtesy. "I shall pray for you."

"Worry not Sansa, Ghost is coming with me. He shall keep me out of trouble."

Sansa smiled. "I hope so, Jon, ever my knight clad in white."

"Lord Father." Jon said, feeling braver than he had ever felt in his entire life. "My mother, who was she? Does she know where I'm going?" Never had he asked father about her. Everyone looked at them, and the disdain from Lady Stark was clear as day.

"I don't have the words to say, Jon." Father whispered. "I know not if I ever will."

Jon fought back the tears and nodded. I suppose I expected too much from him to finally put a name to the face. In his dreams, she was a lady of high birth and kind eyes with a soft lullaby voice that could soothe any worry away. King Roberts voice boomed from the ship. "COMING BOY? WE ONLY HAVE SO MANY HOURS OF DAYLIGHT!" And Jon gave one last nod of goodbye and embarked the ship to whatever end that came. They would travel first to Dragonstone, where King Roberts brother Lord Stannis held his seat. His Grace wished to take a few of his ships for escort to the Free Cities. The land behind them grew ever fainter until it disappeared from sight. With a small sigh, Jon went below deck, Ghost following behind him.

Kevan

"The Tyrells are gone, my lord, save for Lady Margaery. She has remained behind with her betrothed." Ser Vylarr said.

Kevan's back was turned with his hands were interlocked behind him. He gave a curt nod, mimicking Tywin. Standing in his shadow, one learned much about how to govern men.

Ser Vylarr departed with a bow.

The immediate danger seemed to have passed between them. It'll come to war, eventually. The Tyrells will never forgive the death of their favorite son, but he had sent them scurrying back to Highgarden like a dog with its tail between its legs. Kevan had made vague promises with Lord Tyrell over payment to Summerhall. We couldn't defy His Grace openly by refusing. However, a path lay open to them of dragging out negotiations over the amount, and delay the shipments of gold. By the end, Kevan imagined little gold would come from their coffers to rebuild a Tyrell seat. He penned a quick letter to Tywin. War as an inevitability meant great allies need to be seized to safeguard the position of House Lannister, especially under the regency of Eddard Stark. King Roberts foolishness knew no bounds to simply leave his throne in the hands of a vassal, even a man as respected and dutiful as Lord Stark was pure folly.

King Robert never showed much sense, even when he was sober. Kevan mused.

It was no matter. He could work with Stark as long as he never crossed a line that could never be forgiven. It was likely the man would seek to remake the Small Council to better suit his wishes. Would he sack the Master of Laws? Replace Lord Renly with another man. If Kevan were him, he'd name Edmure Tully to the post. Another voice to support him tied to him by marriage. Jasper Arryn remained too young and needed to return to the Vale shortly. The Master of Coin would certainly be sacked, even if Stark didn't know it already. A small sliver of a chance remained for him to seize the Office for House Lannister. With them holding the lion's share of the realms debt, it would seem reasonable to see him named to the post as much as he wished to return to Dorna Kevan knew he had to remain in the capital to prevent his niece from destroying his progress.

Maybe with Robert gone, I could send her back to the Rock. A queen in name only. Kevan wondered. If he wished to accomplish this, he would need the support of the Lord Regent. Most men would wish something in return, but Lord Stark didn't seem the sort. Regardless, he would have a bone to offer him if need be. Duty to House Lannister demanded he be prepared. Soon he would press for Princess Myrcella to wed Lord Jasper Arryn. The sooner those two are wed and sire heirs, the greater chance we hold of integrating ourselves further into the bloc. And from the time they spent in the others company it seemed to be a fruitful union.

She would see Arryn saw the viewpoint of House Lannister and if not, he would use what lay in his desk to bring him to heel. A son will always seek to defend a mothers honor. Kevan chuckled. It didn't take long to track down Lady Lysa's movements. A few old remains of Lord Arryn's household remained scattered throughout the capital. At first, they professed to know nothing of worth, but gold often sweetens tongues. They painted a beautiful picture for him. Lord Jon Arryn meant to send his youngest boy to Lord Stannis. Everyone knew how attached the woman was to the sickly boy, and Lady Lysa raged and seethed, but Lord Jon held firm. A few days later, the man died. Even if untrue enough would believe it, it would harm his position in the eyes of his bannerman. It could even drive a splinter between Lord Arryn and the Starks that may never heal.

A sword to tame the bird should my grand niece fail.

In the other drawer of his desk lay the letter to end the ill-born prince. Only Maester Pycelle knew of it. If anything happened to him, he gave him explicit instructions to send the letter. I shall not let that boy shame House Lannister. Shame Tywin. But it would never be used. Cersei had been declawed.

The smell of perfume filtered behind him. "Varys." Kevan voiced, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Tsk. Tsk." Varys giggled. "Warm welcome, my lord. I seek to warn you. It's always dutiful capable men like yourselves that suffer."

Kevan raised a brow. "You speak in riddles." He chuckled. "But I gather the meaning. You think I've poked a hornet's nest during my stay?" It was accurate enough. His niece certainly loved him not. She had tried to poison him once. The Tyrells blamed him for the death of Ser Loras, though he was blameless for that affair. The Mountain was a mad dog foaming at the mouth. Maybe others wished him harm? But Kevan didn't care a lick. He would do his duty. Lions don't care for the opinions of sheep.

"Correct my lord. An investigation that is awfully close to a vigilant mans dark secret."

"Your word of warning is noted, but unneeded." Kevan said. "I have a food tester and I remained well protected when I venture onto the streets. I've taken every reasonable precaution."

Varys clapped with his powdered hands. "Ever a lion of the Rock, very cunning in your protections, but I worry it shall not be enough."

Kevan rubbed his chin and considered it. "What do you recommend, Varys?"

"Leave for the Rock. Bring the Queen with you. If you worry, she shall cause mischief while you are away. Yes, The Starks shall rule for today, but in the future you shall return."

"You wish me to run?" Kevan scoffed. To do so would be to abandon House Lannister's position in the capital. Tywin gave him a duty to defend House Lannister and he would not cower from his responsibility. His responsibility to his brother and to his house. Second sons serve their elders and he had his duty.

"I wish you to live." Varys replied. "Your death would prove a messy affair."

Kevan waved his hand in dismissal, ending the conversation. He had heard enough and when he blinked, Varys was gone like a magician. Lancel opened the door. "Father, are you well? I heard voices?" He thought to the Eunuchs warning and his advice as he gazed at his firstborn. A newly made knight, by a king. "It's nothing, my boy. Now tell me again about your victory over the Marbrand boy." Kevan smiled.

Chapter Text

Jasper

"Interesting move, princess." Jasper said, rubbing his chin in mock consideration. "Moving your knight piece to threaten my catapult."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not much a threat when nothing stands in my way." Myrcella smirked. "I think you've lost yet again, my dear betrothed."

Jasper chuckled. "I think not." He gave a knowing look as she scanned over the board, looking for a mistake on her part. Myrcella loved the game, and he loved to see her smile. He played for her sake. The game inspired a bitterness in his chest that even Myrcella's cheerfulness couldn't heal. It made him think of all those lonely nights playing by himself while the wind roared around him, making him feel small and alone. I'll make her happy. She deserved some happiness for loving a fool. I can taste the love on her lips when she kisses me. He was drowning in love like a sailor being dragged beneath the waves, and he liked the feel. It made him weak, but he had never felt happier in his entire life. Every beaming smile and laugh cut into him.

If Mya Stone could see me now, she would be laughing.

"How? You sacrificed your dragon in a reckless move to destroy my archers, and your knights have already fallen valiantly in a desperate charge to reach my king. You hold only a few catapults, rabble, and your king, which shall shortly be in my custody."

"All true."

"Then how to you intend to win?"

Jasper grinned. "Why I spoke to Lord Stark before I arrived." He chuckled as her face lit up as bright as a star and she stared at him with hope. "And I fear you best be packing your things. You'll be coming with me to the Eyrie!" Where I shall always keep you. Safe from harm. Jasper vowed.

Myrcella lunged at him, toppling her king over. "Jasper!" She squealed, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She showered him with kisses as soft as rain. He wrapped his arms around her, content to hold her.

"Careful princess."He teased. "You may reopen old wounds. I've only so recently been made whole."

She flushed prettily.

Jasper was drowning in love, but he knew his responsibility, and he put on his lordly face. "Now princess." He said, trying to be stern. "Despite my joy at your company, your brother is my ward, and your kingly father has entrusted me to make him a man grown. I cannot have him come crying to you after every blemish and bruise he receives in the training yard. I want your word that you shall not interfere with his instruction."

Myrcella frowned.

"I know you care for your brother, but I must make him a man grown and kings don't go running to their sisters."

"Must you be so cruel, Jasper? He is my little brother."

It pained him to do it, but he knew his duty." And he shall be King of the Seven Kingdoms. Most paths are hard." He swallowed, thinking of his brother. Robert, who lived in Runestone. Alone and afraid. The day he sent him away, Robert wept, but he held firm. "I wished to keep my little brother in the Eyrie, but duty to the Vale demanded I send him away. You have a responsibility to let me make him a man worthy of the Crown."

She sighed, knowing that he had decided. "Just promise me you won't be too harsh with him."

He kissed the back of her hand. "On my honor as an Arryn. I care for him too. He shall make a finer king than we deserve and a better man than I could ever hope to be." He said with conviction. Three days passed. Prince Tommen had sent him a Small Council list that was well reasoned for his age. It filled him with pride knowing the progress he had made. I'll make a king out of him yet. "He shall reign longer than the Old King himself." Jasper whispered into her ear. "With the wisdom of a maester and the strength of a knight."

"And your brother shall grow strong and shall meet a beautiful maiden whom gives him many children." Myrcella said sweetly, cupping his cheeks. He lost himself in her green pools as he pictured wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. Her eyes are kind and filled with love. Jasper loved her green eyes. He wished to show her everything in the Vale. Every rock and every stream in his land. Jasper wished to build that garden with her. A garden filled with life and beauty. He wished to go on horseback rides with her, feeling that gentle sweet smile warming his heart every day for the rest of his life until he was old and gray with rotting teeth. I can't wait for her to meet my Grand Uncle. Jasper hoped he would approve of her, for she had claimed his guarded heart.

A throat cleared behind him. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Lord Baelish said with amusement. "But I have matters of importance to speak about."

The princess reddened, and he was little better, but he hardened with his lordly mask. "You are not." He kissed Princess Myrcella's hand. "I fear business of a lord requires my attention, fair princess. I'll see you for dinner with Her Grace and the Lannisters." It was a polite dismissal, but a dismissal all the same. I'm the Lord of the Eyrie. This is my burden and my responsibility to bear alone.

Princess Myrcella was too well bred to protest. She kissed him chastely on the cheek and curtsied. "My lords."And left them both. Lord Baelish wore a black velvet doublet with grey sleeves. A silver cape held up by a Mockingbird broach. His eyes sparkled with mirth for a man being sacked. A hint of guilt filled him at the memory. I had to sack him despite his loyal service. For the good of the Vale. It was simply politics, and he had his duty to the Vale to maintain the Office of Master of Coin. I need a man on the Small Council. And Lord Stark would not have Lord Baelish in his councils.

"Speak your words." Jasper used his lordly voice. "I hope you aren't wasting both of our times."

"Oh, I think you'll desperately need to hear what I have to say." His subservient eyes shifted as if Jasper wasn't his liege lord and in charge. He found it unsettling. He nodded for him to continue.

When Lord Baelish finished, Jasper darkened in disbelief. "Madness. Utter madness." It was a betrayal that struck him to its core. "My mother did not commit such a crime!" How could they think that? Jasper seethed. Despite being a poor mother, she wouldn't have been able to kill his father.

"Don't forget myself." Lord Baelish chimed.

She was as mad as a hatter any intricate plot would be beyond her and Lord Baelish was a loyal man. He has never betrayed me in word or deed. He saved me from a life of weakness.

Lord Stark didn't even see fit to inform him of this? Jasper's hand clenched into a fist. Did they plot to just spring this on him in the middle of court? Don't they fail to see they would press him into a corner and it would force him to defend his mother fiercely, less the Arryn name be besmirched? "As High as Honor." Men would laugh in their cups. They would mock the Arryn name. A name of honor!

The Starks betray me with every breath. Jasper thought bitterly.

They should have come to him. Not plot behind his back like dark blooded scoundrels.

They must think me wretched incapable of justice or reason.

"I agree, my lord." Lord Baelish said ever a friendly voice. "I wish I could give you more answers you seek."

"You've done more than enough, my lord." Jasper said. "Once more you have proved yourself a loyal friend of House Arryn. I shall have words with my uncle."

Lord Baelish tried to warn him against such a course, but he saw little save stars. Justice had to be had. The honor of his house had to be defended with sharp words and conviction. However, as he stormed down the halls, a dull pain awoke in his chest from his old wounds. He paused, remembering the melee and the last time he acted rashly. I almost failed. Failed them all. What was he thinking? Jasper's hand shook. If he stormed into his uncle's quarters hot and bothered, he would say words that would destroy the alliance that kept them safe. Friendship between Stark and Arryn needed to be maintained.

House Arryn would not benefit from rashness.

Talk to someone…

It repulsed him and was against every instinct in his gut, but it was the right choice. It was the only choice.

Jasper needed someone to talk to discuss his options if only Grand Uncle Brynden was with him. He would have sought him out in a heartbeat. Lord Stark and Aunt Catelyn were out of the question, and he could trust none of his vassals in the city with this. He considered Lord Baelish, but some doubt gnawed at him. The way he looked at me was queer. Something was in his eyes that he couldn't quite place, and it bothered him. I won't seek his advice. Then he thought of Myrcella and her intelligent eyes. I shouldn't trouble her with this. This was his duty and his responsibility to handle on his own, and he couldn't trouble his sweet betrothed. He stood alone, as always. Falcons soar alone.

How well has that worked out for you? A small voice tormented him.

And he knew the answer.

"Jasper?" Myrcella asked. "dinner with my mother isn't for several hours." It surprised her to see him and doubt seized him like the Stranger. He stiffened as he rubbed the back of his head with some uncertainty. No words escaped him as he looked like some dumb, dim wit. He regretted his choice acting like some green boy. "I'm sorry I've disturbed you. "He apologized softly. "I should not have done so. It is wrong of me to trouble you; unbefitting a lord." He leaned in to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek in apology "I shall figure it out on my own, as I always do."

"Come inside Jasper!" She begged him, reaching out for his arm and seizing him with strength beyond her womanly frame. Her vigor surprised him. "I just made some tea and I don't mind."

He hesitated.

"You look positively terrible." Myrcella told him. "And you are coming inside with me. I couldn't bear having you wander these halls looking so miserable."

Jasper chuckled. "I suppose I look like horsesh-" He reddened. She's a princess. Not Grand Uncle Brynden. Jasper cursed his tongue.

She giggled as he mumbled out an apology.

The tea was pleasant to the tongue. However, he struggled to voice his problems with her. She studied him with a warm gaze that betrayed fondness. "I'll listen." She promised, resting her delicate hand on his wrist.

"It's my mother." Jasper scoffed. "Lord Stark has this ridiculous notion that she murdered my father. It's a lie as dark as sin." He stood up, hot and bothered. His anger burned straight through him. "And my good uncle didn't even have the decency to tell me himself. I found out through a leal vassal."

"Oh, Jasper, what did you do?"

Jasper offered a wry smile. "Nothing as of yet." He chuckled. "I'm a slow learner, princess, but I learn."

"Truly?" Myrcella sounded impressed. "You did the right thing, Jasper. It would do you little good to confront Lord Stark like this." And he nodded in agreement. I would make a fool of myself.

"I know." Jasper sighed. "I've considered my options." He rubbed his chin, trying to look lordly. "I think my best bet is to threaten a trial by combat with myself as her defender. I doubt my uncle or aunt would risk my death over this. They'll end this madness before it ever occurs."

Myrcella pondered his words, deep in thought, before shaking her head. "It would be serviceable, Jasper, but Lord Stark is a man of honor. It would seem as if you were protecting your mother from justice."

"She-"

"I'm sure she didn't, Jasper, but that's what Lord Stark will believe."

Jasper frowned. "That would undermine my position, then." If only the problem could be a simple one. I simply wish to spend my evening going on a ride down to the harbor or preparing for my dinner with Myrcella and her Lannister kin. Not trying to prevent my mother from meeting the headsman.

She bit underneath her lip. "Well," she asked shyly. "Rig the deck in your favor. Allow my grand uncle, Ser Kevan to assemble witnesses to see the outcome you wish. Lord Stark would be little the wiser and your hands washed clean. Your mother would be cleared, and the Starks appeased." Jasper nodded along as she spoke. It wasn't without merit.

"I cannot do that Myrcella. Even if cleared, they would whisper of it and the Arryn name would be driven in the muck." He chuckled. "And I doubt the Lannisters would do it without a price to be asked. They are an ambitious family."

He leaned back in his chair. No matter what I wish to do, a price must be paid. They considered more options between the two of them, but none of them satisfied him.

"If only Lord Stark wasn't so honorable." Myrcella said.

Jasper blinked and grinned. "Oh, you are perfect, princess!" He said cheerfully, kissing her on the brow. She looked beyond puzzled.

"For what, my lord?" She asked curiously.

"Why I need to act not like a lord, but a man of honor. Arryn kindness, my dear princess." Jasper said. "I shall go to him as a concerned son, weary of dragging my family through the muck of a public trial, but willing to uphold justice with a private investigation into the matter." It was perfect, and he could put this matter behind them.

Myrcella smiled weakly. "That lovely Jasper, but what if you discover otherwise? What if-"

"She didn't!"

"But if she did, what would you do?"

Jasper looked away and slouched his shoulders. "She is my mother." He swallowed. "For good or ill. I fear we don't choose our family." In his dreams, sometimes he killed her. He tossed her through the moondoor, laughing, or he cut her down with a bloodied sword. But those were dreams. What son could kill his mother and call it justice? It was not High as Honor. Jasper knew. It would shatter his heart to kill her. No matter her crimes.

Myrcella squeezed his hand. "I understand." She said. "We don't choose our family." He remembered the ill-born prince and what he did to her. The wounds she suffered at his hand. If only I could cut him down.

"No, we don't." He brushed some of her blond curls to the side. "I'm going to miss this dinner. I have to prepare for my meeting with Lord Stark." Jasper said sheepishly.

She nodded, but Jasper figured she was disappointed. "I'll make it up to you, I promise, and I always keep my word." I'm sorry for disappointing you, princess, but I need to be a lord first.

Catelyn

She missed combing her daughter's beautiful red hair until it shined. "Tell me of your day, sweetling." Catelyn asked, as she brushed. When she was a girl, she brushed Lysa's hair. She always had such pretty hair. Lysa had been such a gentle girl during their childhood. Simpler days, but as the Starks would say. "Winter is Coming." Soon she would have to return to Winterfell once the matter with Lysa and her nephew had been dealt with. Poor Ned. Somehow the Gods loved to torture her poor husband. He didn't wish to be Hand and now he is Lord Regent over the Seven Kingdoms. It seemed the Gods loved their humors. Sansa prattled on about her day and the life of court. She and Princess Myrcella had become fast friends. They were going on a falconry expedition sometime this week with Jasper Arryn. Even Arya, her rebellious daughter, was tagging along.

Is this how life is for you since you've been gone? Have you been so happy?

Ned told her that her girls had watched the death of Ser Loras. It was something neither of her girls should have been witnessed too. She held them both close. Even if Arya tried to squirm away. The dire wolves joined them as well, drowning them in licks. She was too happy to chide them.

"I spoke with an old friend of yours, mother."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Lord Baelish." Catelyn tensed as hard as stone Lysa's letter fast on her mind. "He claims you grew up with him in Riverrun."

She calmed her hands. "I did. He was ward of my father Hoster Tully." The boy had always been getting in trouble, but when you looked into his eyes, he always had a way of getting out of it. But she wondered if the boy still lived at all. Once he was like a brother to her. He wished to be a more a small voice reminded, but that had been so long ago. Still, a part of her doubted he had any involvement in the murder of the Late Lord Jon Arryn. She had met with him twice and he was ever amicable and genial. Though mayhaps, they were not as close as she thought. He had not told her a thing remotely treacherous or revealing. It was difficult imagining him as some cutthroat villain. Yet, she could hardly take a chance with her children.

Sansa turned back. "I don't like the way he looks at me. It makes my skin crawl." She shrugged and brightened. "I suppose he just sees you in myself."

"How does he look at you, Sansa?" Catelyn asked.

"Just deeply." She blushed. "Did I say something wrong, mother?"

"No, you said nothing wrong."

She kept on brushing as her heart stilled at the knowledge. Mayhaps his feelings have remained after all these years. Sansa promised her he only looked and spoke with her occasionally. It filled her with unease that she had caught his attention at all. Not that Sansa understood about his potential crimes. Ned and her had decided that the girls would remain unaware. It would protect them until this was all over.

"Mother, are you done yet? I have tea with the queen and the princess."

"I suppose I am." She kissed her on the top of her head. "Perfect." She watched Sansa depart down the hallway dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck looking like a woman grown. Lady trailed behind her smelling of perfume. Catelyn wondered where the little girl had gone and when she became a woman? She supposed she would never know.

She looked for Arya, but Ned said she was busy with dancing, and yet he said it with a wry smile. He's keeping a secret from me. Her dear Ned lying to her, but they would fess up eventually as she wandered the Kings Tower Stark men bowed when they saw her. She offered nods of acknowledgement as her mind went elsewhere when she saw some guardsmen training in the courtyard. The clanging of steel made her think of her nephew and the wounds he suffered. She had visited him three times. The boy was always with his betrothed. A sweet girl with blushing cheeks. Princess Myrcella looked like the Lannister Queen in looks, but her smile seemed gentle and earnest. His smile always seemed brighter when it was just the two of them. Then he would look up, and put on his lordly look of strict formality the moment he noted her.

How I wish he poisoned my eldest boy as well.

How could you say that, Lysa, about your boy? Nothing about him should inspire that much hatred. "I'm sorry milady." The guardsman uttered. "Lord Arryn has departed his chambers with some haste."

"You let him go alone?" Catelyn asked.

"He is our lord." Another answered. "It was his wish."

"Lord Baelish had a hand in it, I reckon." The stout guardsman with a blond beard claimed. "Our lord left shortly after his arrival."

Petyr was here? Catelyn thought worried. And my nephew storms off? What did he mention to him? It didn't surprise her when she returned to her apartment, and Steward Vayon handed her an invitation, baring the mockingbird sigil.

Dear Cat,

I extend to you and offer for you and your girls to join me for dinner this night. I find myself dining alone, and I would love to experience your company for the evening. I expect to see you on time and I've informed the chefs of your appending arrival. I shall have your favorites prepared. Don't tell anyone, I'm remembered after all of these years. I've spent much time convincing everyone I am wicked. I'd hate for anyone to discover my sentimentality.

Yours truly

Petyr

Steward Poole looked at her for an answer.

She nodded her head.

Arya had been an absolute nightmare to get into the beautiful grey dress, but she managed it despite the scowl on her face, while she dressed Sansa in a beautiful gown of green silk that brought out her light blue eyes. Nymeria and Lady walked at their sides and a dozen Stark men trailing behind them in their grey cloaks. Catelyn felt better knowing the direwolves were with them. They were the symbol of House Stark and a sign of divine favor for her children. Servants ushered them into the apartment while the guardsman remained outside. Petyr greeted them warmly. He was dressed in a black velvet doublet with grey sleeves. "Cat!" He said, eyes twinkling with mirth. "As lovely as always, my fair lady with your beautiful daughter." She kissed him chastely on both cheeks and Sansa did as well.

"Daughters." Sansa corrected with a stubborn glint that had not existed before. It reminded her of Ned and the North. Hard and cold.

"Forgive me, I misspoke." He offered a friendly smile that won hearts and Sansa nodded placated.

"I'm not doing that." Arya mumbled as she urged her to take her seat. Court had done little to refine her manners. If time in the capital wouldn't do it, nothing would.

He didn't spare one look at Arya.

A low rumble sound came from Lady's throat. A growl as she snarled at Petyr. "Lady!" Sansa shouted, horrified before restraining her. "Heed me!" The normally docile Lady showed her teeth before adhering to her daughter's calls. "I'm very sorry. Lady has done nothing like this before." Strangely enough, Nymeria didn't growl or show teeth. Merely watched with piercing gold eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

"It's alright, my dear." Littlefinger said. "Most dire wolves find me irksome." He smiled. "I share some wounds from a direwolf, you know."

"You do? How?" Arya asked curiously.

Petyr's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Your Uncle Brandon and I-"

"Enough." She cut him off. "It's inappropriate for the children to hear." It irked her he would mention Brandon in their company. Let the dead lie in peace. The fight was something she rather forget. Petyr had been foolish to challenge Brandon to a duel. She had begged and pleaded for Brandon to spare him. He didn't deserve to die for such folly.

"But-"

"No Arya."

He placed his hand over his heart. "Forgive me Cat." He said. "Let us eat."

"Yes, let's do that." Catelyn said tired. She can only hope she didn't sound it. The feast was lavish. Petyr spared no expense for them. It was a feast worthy of a king. Delicate duck, salmon coated in a thick gravy, peaches from Highgarden, and plates upon plates of lemon cakes. Sansa absolutely tore through them, despite her small ladylike bites. Catelyn consumed one glass of wine and nothing more. She caught Arya feeding Nymeria underneath the table in the corner of her eye. She made no comment since Petyr had made no admonishments himself.

"So I was speaking with the princess and she told me that father said she will be traveling to the Eyrie with Cousin Jasper!" Sansa said dreamily. "It's such a romantic tale."

Arya rolled her eyes. "Cousin Jasper is an idiot."

"Arya!" Catelyn chided.

In Winterfell Sansa would have thrown a barb back, but she only chuckled. "That's not what you said after the melee."

Arya reddened. "Fine, he's only somewhat of an idiot." As if that made everything better. Oh, poor child.

Lord Baelish only seemed to be half paying attention to their conversation. He watched her like a hawk does its prey. He's aware of something I don't and it amuses him. Throughout the evening, he dropped a few breadcrumbs for her to follow. Some outright brazen of him. He knows. By the Seven somehow he knows. "Sansa," she cleared her throat. "Could you take your sister outside please to the waiting room? I need to have a private word with Lord Baelish."

"Oh? I wonder what it could be." Petyr said.

"Okay mother." Sansa curtsied before Lord Baelish. "My lord. You've been a gracious host."

"And you have been a delight." He replied, his gaze lingering a bit too long.

Sansa ushered Arya out. The two direwolves trailing behind them as they both disappeared

"You know." Catelyn whispered.

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Know?" He rubbed his chin. "You mean about Lysa accusing me of murder? Oh, yes, I know. How you wound me thinking so poorly of me."

"Did you? Did you kill Lord Arryn? Did you plot to kill my nephew?" Catelyn asked, undaunted by his laughing eyes.

"Poor, poor Lysa is ever sick. Soon she'll be accusing her own son of murdering the father." He chuckled. "Shall you excuse me for killing the Tyrell boy as well?" She studied him, trying to see if he lied, but his eyes remained an enigma to her. Catelyn couldn't see if it was a falsehood.

She brushed a strand of auburn hair to the side. "And yet you visited my nephew. He stormed off afterwards."

Petyr did not deny it. "I only told him the truth. The poor boy didn't take it well."

"You didn't!" Catelyn said, outraged. "It involved the boy's mother. Of course, it was going to upset him. How could you-"

"What? Provide myself a shield from the cells. I would gladly do so again. I needed to keep the dullard you married from tossing me into such foul quarters. Starks quick tempers and slow minds. And Lord Jasper was ever gallant in pledging his protection."

She felt more like a Stark then. "And my temper, Petyr, have you considered such?" She rebuked him. Eyes narrowing as tight as arrow slits. "Do you fear a trial so? What do you have to hide?" And she finally saw him. A small gap in his facade, a weakness in his armor. "Ah, you have something to hide."

"Why, my sweet Cat." He caressed her cheek as if he were her husband. "I'm going to be around you and your daughter for some time." Daughter, not daughters. A shudder went through her and it filled her with dread. She had to stop him. Her eyes drifted to one of the kitchen knives, and he saw her and gazed possessively. A revolting gaze. "Oh, my lady. You are an honorable woman and you've broken bread at my table." He chuckled. "You wouldn't harm me." The Gods would curse her if she broke guest right. She slouched, defeated. "I'll-"

"You shall convince your husband to stop this folly or it shall get unpleasant. For you. Your family. Your nephew as well. Family, Duty, Honor are the words of House Tully. Do your duty to your family and stay your husband's hand or weep the consequences of your actions."

"Is that a threat?"

"A promise, my lady. I'm a man of many secrets. Secrets that could bring your family to its knees." Littlefinger smiled at her, and it was Littlefinger. Petyr was dead, and this monster wore his skin.

A grey blur flew, and a wordless cry followed. Her jaw buried deep in his throat as a pool of blood formed on the Myrish carpet as dark as wine. Petyr's lively eyes died before her. She lifted her hands up, coated in crimson red. Puzzled by the look she daughters found her laughing hysterically clutching Lady's fur coat covered in the blood of a man who was once a brother to her, ruining her dress.

Ned loved this dress.

My sweet Ned loved this dress.

Cursed be an oathbreaker. Cursed be he who breaks the laws of hospitality.

Myrcella

They were seated at a long table with a beautiful red cloth spread over the table with golden lions stitched onto the cloth. Candles lit up the dark room as the sun had already set in the distance. Myrcella wore a blue linen gown with the pearls on the bodice. It annoyed mother, whose eyes narrowed at the colors she chose. The colors of House Arryn. Beside of her Jasper should have sat in a fine doublet laced with silver thread, and a sky-blue cloak draped around his broad shoulders. But Jasper had to be preparing for his conversation with Lord Stark. He told her he often practiced his speeches beforehand in the mirror. It was his duty as a lord, but Myrcella wished he were dining with them. A selfish thought. Cousin Lancel sat in his place, chest puffed up with all the pride of a newly made knight. He sang her a song as beautiful as a professional singer. I wonder if Jasper can sing? She had never asked. Would his voice be as sweet as a songbird in her garden? Or mayhaps rough and course as his calloused hands from days in the training yard? His knowledge of poetry brought tears to her eyes. It surprised her he knew any. He always acted like a martial lord in public without an ounce of softness. Behind close doors, though, his heart was as soft as a pillow of silk. She was likely the only soul whose ever heard him recite poetry from heart. Jasper thought his heart was small and brittle, but it was a big heart for a good man. I hope I don't break it. Myrcella prayed. It pained her to see him hurt and small beneath the blankets.

I tried to claim his heart to protect myself and my brother, and somehow Jasper had stumbled his way into hers as well. If she were not among formal company, she might have sighed dreamily, imagining his auburn curls and kissing his lips.

Grand Uncle Kevan sat at the head of the table looking regal and imperious with a cloth-of-gold doublet with black satin sleeves and onyx studs. He looked much like she imagined Grandfather looked. A fierce lion of the rock. A glass of wine in hand. The only one for the evening he had consumed. Pink lipstick remained on his cheek from where she had kissed him chastely. He makes me feel safe. As long as Ser Kevan remained in the city, nothing would happen to her. He had declawed mother as much as she could be without sending her back to the Rock. Though without father, mayhaps Ser Kevan, thought that's exactly where she should be sent. However, mother didn't indicate that it was a possibility. In fact, she seemed cheerful, and that made her stomach squirm.

Mother dressed in a beautiful crimson dress laced together with Myrish silk. A golden crown lay on her head as she looked every inch a queen. Yet, it was the smile that concerned her. It wasn't fake. Something pleased her. What pleases you, mother?

"Looking forward to your trip, grand niece?" Ser Kevan asked.

"Yes, I look forward to my future in the Vale and growing bonds of unity between House Baratheon and House Arryn, as is my duty." Myrcella recited her lines perfectly.

Cousin Lancel scoffed. "King Robert should have married you off to the Westerlands." He puffed up his chest. "We deserve the princess of the realm, not the Valeman!"

Ser Kevan tapped his fingers on the table. "House Arryn is a permissible choice to House Lannister. We see the benefit in this union. It shall serve the Crown well."

"Yes, I shall do my duty ser." Myrcella said.

House Lannister stood in desperate need of friends and allies in the days to come. House Arryn was the best bet for them. In the future, he may even be Hand of the King. I'll advocate for them, but my duty lies with my husband and brother. Jasper seemed to be amiable enough to deeper ties with them, but publicly, he still shunned them for the sake of his vassals. Bitter at their dishonorable reputation and fast rise to power. Still, she knew Jasper was considering taking one of Ser Kevans sons to squire as well when he was old enough. "For the good of your brother's future realm. House Lannister has to remain in the fold." And having a Lannister close to the future king would serve them well. The boy could serve on his Small Council and the balance of power upheld.

Mother smiled. "Oh, the Lord Regent may change his mind." Myrcella's heart shattered at the thought, but she held her submissive expression. Mother can't see the affection that has taken hold. She needs to see me as loyal. A loyal daughter.

"That would not be in the interest of House Lannister." Ser Kevan voiced his command. He coughed into his sleeve. "She will be." He coughed again. Lancel raised a slender brow, worried.

"Father?"

"I'm fine." Ser Kevan drank some water. "Just something down the wrong pipe." He stood straight and tall, as if that settled the matter. Then he paled and his chair tipped over as he hurled blood onto the carpet. He bled through the eyes and nose as well, though nothing had pierced him. Lancel was at his side screaming for a maester, then praying to the gods, but Myrcella knew it would do no good. Ser Kevan was dying and nothing could be done to save him. May the Seven judge him justly. With one last outreach of his arms and a dying word on his lips for his son Lancel, he collapsed, unmoving.

"My sweet cub," Mother whispered. "Shh, it's okay." Bringing her to her chest, and Myrcella deluded herself that she cared. It was an easy delusion to believe, and she surrendered to the warmth. She pretended like she was truly a mother. But she needed it as she wept girlish tears. Ser Kevan was a good man and didn't deserve this end.

When she sneaked a peak, Lancel's tears were streaming down his cheeks. He rose like a wounded lion with a thorn in its paw, as the guardsman shifted around uneasily. "THEY MURDERED MY FATHER! THOSE FUCKING ROSES!" He roared. "WE SHALL AVENGE HIM!"

"My lord?" One of them asked.

"Get every man sworn to defend House Lannister! I know where there is a rose to slay! The source of our woes!" Lancel said, unthinking. He was acting like a boy who just lost his father.

Myrcella voiced weakly. "You know not, it was them. We should wait and seek justice from the Lord Regent."

Lancel twisted around violently. "It was the Tyrells." He spat out."My father told me of their little plot to make Lady Margaery Queen and the lies they say of us about Ser Gregor." He slammed his hand against the dining table and Myrcella jumped into her mother. "AND THE STARKS WILL NOT GIVE US JUSTICE!" His eyes became hard. "There is only one justice I'll accept."

"They have attacked House Lannister ser." Mother said. "Defend it, brave cousin."

Myrcella couldn't find it in herself to speak up against the madness when they departed. Then she saw the corner of mother's lips twirl up. It kicked her in the gut. Mother, you didn't…How could she have done it? She reasoned. Ser Kevan had a food tester, and his wine came from his study under lock and key. She blinked and remembered.

"You'll have to kiss Ser Kevan for me sweetling, and Lord Arryn as well."

"Mother!" She blushed. "Lord Arryn isn't coming to dinner. Duty calls him, I fear."

Mother sighed a flash of disappointment. "More likely what lies between a whores legs." She stroked her hair and Myrcella held her tongue. "Still, kiss him after dinner. Bind him to you. I purchased some cosmetics from Bravos for you. You'll be so beautiful he'll feel shame for his misdeeds."

Myrcella blinked rapidly and pushed away from her. "You did this, didn't you?" She swallowed and felt her anger pulse through her. "You did this, and you used me to do it!"

"Oh, my poor cub, you don't know what you say."

"It could not have been the Tyrells. He had a food taster and his wine lay bottled and unopened. You did not touch him, not with lips, nor nails. I did, and you wished me to kiss Lord Arryn as well. You've always wished him handled. Is that what you meant?"

Call me a liar. Please call me a liar. Mother disappointed her again. "Well, you wished to help your brother, and you did." She voiced with pride. "I couldn't do it, but you no one would suspect you. Sweet doting Myrcella." She rubbed a thumb over her cheek. "Now go to Lord Arryn's room and kiss him, and our family can be reunited. Tommen will return home. I'll deal with Lord Stark and Tommen shall send for his brother during his brief reign. Robert may claim himself King, but we shall see that overturned. Everything will be perfect under Joffrey's reign." Myrcella felt green, as if she would spill out all of her dinner all over the floor. She used her. She dirtied me. Darkened my heart. I'm filthy. I'm as dark as sin. Nothing is so wretched as a kinslayer and she wanted her to kill Jasper as well. If he had shown up, he would have bled out on the floor as red as his auburn hair.

Myrcella slapped her.

Hard.

The action stunned them both, as she couldn't believe her hands didn't fall off. A purple bruise would form on her cheek. "Sweet-" She slapped her again and found she liked it and she felt her vision darken with fury like father did on the Trident. Her mother became the dragon prince and she would make her suffer.

"You touch one hair on his head and I'll kill you." She seethed. "By the Seven I'll kill you!"

"Your loyalty is to me and your family." Mother tried to regain control of her, but she would roar and show her claws, too.

"My loyalty is to my brother Tommen. My loyalty is to my betrothed and if you harm either of them, I'll kill you." She promised meaning every word. "I should do so this night, but Tommen loves you. Though you deserve it not."

Mother had enough and slapped her. She whimpered at the bruised skin. "I shall wear this like a badge of honor."

"Quiet, you stupid girl." Mother said, eyes burning.

Her eyes burned just as brightly. "I am your daughter, mother. Your blood flows through my veins and I shall see your world burn to ash if you harm those I care for." She jabbed a finger at her. "I don't care about the consequences of what happens to myself. I'll tell Lord Stark, I'll tell grandfather as well. I will scream until everyone knows what we did here today! Push me at your own peril!" And she made her way to the door.

"Don't you take one more step, Myrcella. I am your mother and you will do as bid."

Myrcella paused and went out the door, anyway.

I don't have a mother.

She went to her quarters and found soap and water and washed her lips until the skin fell off. Dirty. Unclean. Filthy. Woman without honor. She wished to go to Jasper and sob into his chest and let him hold her, but she was disgusting. She wished to mourn Ser Kevan. Brave Ser Kevan whom she murdered, but she couldn't even look at herself in the mirror and she sobbed the entire night away.

Margaery

The stone-timbered manse stood on a sprawling estate with a large garden, stables, and thick red walls surrounding the grounds. It paled compared to Highgarden, but in was in the capital where the power flowed from the Iron Throne and it was right where she needed to be. Close to Lord Renly and able to pounce at the slightest weakness in the Lannisters. Everyone seemed to whisper that it was the Lannisters who killed her poor brother. It made them fearful, and fearful men were easy to sway. Grandmother and Lord Renly both seemed to think Lord Stark incapable of keeping the peace.

"His honor shall weigh him down like a suit of arms until he can't move." Lord Renly told her and grandmother agreed with him. A rare thing. Grandmother had little respect for Lord Renly's talents and she found herself mostly agreeing. He was pretty to look at, but little of substance. Still, men required little of substance to follow. Only a handsome, charismatic lord. They had convinced him to remain in the capital instead of traveling back with poor Loras. She tensed, holding her brush until her knuckles went white. All of them will pay for that. Every one of them. The position of House Tyrell would be best served by keeping him in the capital as Master of Laws. It afforded them a toehold in the capital and flowers grew ever well given a plot of land. And with Lord Stark as regent, it was uncertain if he would keep the position if he jaunted off to Highgarden. Hoster Tully, son and heir, was the most likely choice for Master of Laws. Thankfully, Lord Renly looks like King Robert in his youth. It would give him a modest edge with Lord Stark.

It was a pity they had to abandon the bastard scheme. Our hands are already too dirty, by ambition. They would laugh it out of court, but men could believe it in the Stormlands and the Reach. Especially when it benefited them. When they closed their eyes, the lie would be sweet on their lips. Renly is who they wish to be king. The princes and princess looked like the Lannister Queen and everyone hated and feared the Lannisters.

Soon she would be leaving for Lord Renly's apartment for a late dinner, but she wanted to look the best. And she needed to allow him some time amongst other company in a brothel.

Father had left her fifty guardsmen under the command of Ser Emmon Cuy to oversee her security. A zealous if dull man, he drilled the men relentlessly in the courtyard. Margaery put down her brush and went to the window to hear the birds sing.

Screams and the sound of swords echoed throughout the courtyard. Margaery went to the window and saw the crimson red of House Lannister streaming over the walls. They had battered the bronze gate open. "FOR THE OLD LIONS BROTHER!" Men cried out.

"FOR CASTERLY ROCK!"

"HIGHGARDEN!"

"DEFEND OUR ROSE!"

Men screamed. Men died. It was Alla, one of her lady in waitings, that seized her arm. "My lady, get away from the window!" She shut the shutters as Ser Emmon, in full plate with a sword yet to taste blood, entered, escorting the rest of her ladies-in-waiting into her chambers.

"Lady Tyrell, barricade the door. Under no circumstance do you open the door save by my leave!" He barked with command.

Margaery nodded mutely, too stunned to do anything save nod. Why were the Lannisters attacking them? It made little sense. "You two." Ser Emmon said to her guardsman by the door. "with me. By the Warrior himself, no one gets through us. Not one lion shall get their paws on our roses."

"Not one lion." They shouted through the stone walls and thick wooden Mira was the one who snapped her out of her daze. "My lady!" She shook her head, and she remembered her bearing. They shoved the wardrobe against the door and all the furniture they could push against it. They clutched one another. Elinor wept loudly. Margaery didn't cry, she was too well bred for that. Though she shivered when the sound of swords clanging outside the door and she clutched Alla's hand. Had Ser Emmon and his men won the day? They crushed such a foolish hope with the sound of swords banging against the door. Margaery paled as Elinor fainted into Lady Mira's arms.

"Get an axe up here!" A man cried out.

The defenses crumbled soon after and men bloodied by battle stormed in with wild, feral looks in their eyes. Unlike the clean shiny suits of arms Loras or Garlan wore, they were coated with blood. Ser Lancel led them blond and beautiful with burning eyes. "Kill them all! Kill all of them! Avenge my father!"

Swords sliced through flesh. It was good Elinor had fainted. She wouldn't have felt much, or so Margaery hoped. A sword sliced through Alla's neck her sharp tongue would move no more. Mira tried to crawl away, but took a sword to the gut. Megga was hiding underneath the bed, but they dragged her out kicking and screaming and stabbed her in the back. Margaery ran to the edge of the room, when Ser Lancel shoved her to the ground. "Please ser." She moaned out. "Mercy." His green eyes burned. There would be no mercy from his lips.

"My father's life was NOT WORTH A CROWN!" Ser Lancel screamed and swung. Margaery had her arm outreached.

She screamed.

Lancel gurgled out blood and went to his knees, a beautiful sword piercing him as beautiful as a rose. A man behind him wearing a white sun on black surcoat had dealt the blow. Four fingers were on the ground around her and an ear as well. She looked at her hand. My fingers, where are my fingers? She pressed her hand against where her ear was and felt nothing. Why don't I have an ear?

A queen needs an ear. A queen needs an ear.

Chains rankled in the nighttime air as a letter baring the crimson red of House Lannister was handed off in the dark. The last command of Ser Kevan and the wishes of Tywin Lannister. Tomorrow, it would board a ship to the Free Cities and a prince would die before he could ever sit on the throne.

For the Good of House Lannister.

Chapter Text

Ned

Piles of dead men lay on the green grass with the looming stone estate behind them, draped in crimson red and dark green cloaks; the gold cloaks under the command of Eddard Karstark held the grounds of the estate. No wind kissed his cheeks and the banners of House Tyrell stood silent, as silent as the men that once defended her. Lord Eddard's voice echoed as he barked out commands. His gold cloaks were busy tending to the grounds security and escorting maesters and septons in to tend to the wounded. The scene of a fierce battle lay scattered throughout the ground. The main gate of pure bronze lay shattered when he rode through with Jory and the others. Pools of blood and the smell of death haunted him. Even from hundreds of yards before the gate, he smelled them. Death, it reeks of death. Oh, why Cat must it reek of death? Even under only the moonlight and the torches his men carried, Ned saw the carnage well enough.

Roses and Lions had spilled blood and from the bodies on the grounds, mainly those of Tyrell. Ned mused.

This was the estate for Lady Margaery and it seemed some great madness had seized Ser Kevan with his men, assaulting the walls. Declaring war on House Tyrell and with it the Lord of Storms End. Why? Ned wondered. With Robert gone, his queen was in no danger of being set aside. Did he attack for Lannister pride? Ned didn't think it likely. Ser Kevan seemed to be a reasonable and cautious man.

"Make way for the Lord Regent!" Jory called out in front of him. A title that made him grimace. Lord Hand, Lord Regent. Shall they try to stick a crown on my head and name me king? All he wished for was to see the grey walls of Winterfell, but it seemed he would never leave this foul city. Though mayhaps he would with a host of men at his back. I shall uphold a just peace.

And if the Lannisters had broken it, he would ride with the strength of Winterfell, Riverrun, Eyrie, Highgarden, and Storms End at his back and uproot the Old Lion from his den.

Ned dismounted, removing his riding gloves. "Lord Stark." Eddard Karstark said with a grim look of duty on his face. Blood splattered against the youth's surcoat with his sword coated in crimson red. "The battle is done, and we have whipped the lions, my lord. Caught them in the rear and buggered them until they were meowing." He sighed. "Lost a dozen good men, though."

In every battle Ned had fought, that seemed to be the case. It was not an easy thing to live with, but he nodded. "Captives?" He asked.

"Aye, Lord Stark, a few of the smart ones threw down their swords once the battle was lost. I figured you would wish to question them."

"Have they given a reason for the madness?"

The Karstark boy nodded. "They claim Ser Kevan was murdered and his son, driven mad by grief, blamed the roses." He admitted, "I slew the blond bastard, my lord. He threatened the southron woman."

Ned head hurt with the new pieces of the puzzle. Ser Kevan lay dead and so soon after the death of Ser Loras. Did the Tyrells order his slaying in retaliation? Dead Lannister. Dead Tyrells. Men of ambition. Men of dishonor. And looking around the fields, he saw the cost as his veins turned to ice and he hardened with the grim realization. "Is Lady Margaery alive?"

"Aye my lord." The boy winced. "Though badly maimed. Lord Renly left shortly before you arrived with her."

"You let him take her?" Jory asked, abashed, as the Karstark stiffened at the tone.

Ned raised his hands for peace between them. "You did the right thing, Eddard. It is not wise to come between a Baratheon and his betrothed." The last time a man stood in the way between a Baratheon and his love, Robert caved his chest in and left his corpse for the crows. Would Lord Renly do the same? Tear apart the realm for the Rose of Highgarden. Did the Gods enjoy their humors? A man that looks like Robert tears apart the Seven Kingdoms for his betrothed. What justice shall he seek? What justice could he grant him? Who was the wronged party? Ned wondered, not knowing the answer. It was a knot of dishonor he couldn't untangle. The Lannisters had broken the peace of the Iron Throne and as Regent of the Iron Throne he was honor bound to enforce it, but the murder of a high lord was a crime as well and only the Tyrells had proper cause to see the man dead. Or had another done the deed? Ned knew he wouldn't have the time to discover it. The Karstark boy offered to show him where it ended.

Together, they wandered inside the estate itself. More corpses littered the floors and staircase and the halls he wandered with his men. He made no passing comment as they approached the hallway outside of Lady Margaery's room, where her defenders had made their last stand. Three crimson cloaks lay unmoving around a corpse wearing plate armor enameled in yellow and covered in sunflowers. Ned stepped over him and gagged at the butchery before him. It was as brutal a scene as the sack of Kings Landing. Crimson cloaks wrapped around the shattered skulls of dead babes. Etched into his memory. The Lannisters had shown no mercy to the ladies-in-waiting. Limbs hacked off. Heads separated from necks. The work of butchers. He stepped into the room, almost slipping on the river of blood, and his eyes widened in recognition at one of them. I know those eyes. I've seen that face.

Eddard Karstark blinked, concerned when he bent down. "My lord?"

"I know those eyes." Ned said as he leaned down and brushed her hair from side to side. "She is off the North. Mira Forrester." A young girl slain so far from home. Lord Gregor's daughter didn't deserve such an end. She had dined with his family only a moon passed. A sweet innocent girl much like his Sansa. The innocent suffer at the hands of the ambitious and dishonorable. He closed her eyes and rose with a cold fury. Tyrells. Lannisters. Two sides of the same coin. Both were guilty. Ned saw. "She shall be buried in the north among her kin. This is no fitting place for her." Jory nodded dutifully.

"And what shall be done my lord?" Eddard Karstark asked, eyes hardened by the death of north woman.

"Justice." Ned vowed. "We shall have justice in Roberts name."

Outside of his solar, Alyn and Tomard looked grave with concern. Both of them were part of his wife's escort for the night. She had yet to return when he left to instigate word of the Lannister attack. Neither would meet him in the eye. "Milord." Alyn struggled to find the right word to say.

"My wife. Where is my wife?" Ned said.

"Inside." Tomard said. "We thought it-"

He brushed past the two of them and saw her wearing a bloodstained dress, and his heart dropped. "Cat?" He said, embracing her. "What has happened?"

She trembled. "Ned. Oh Ned." Cat moaned out incoherently as he held her. Her bright eyes were stormy with pain and worry and he pressed into her shoulder, turning it red.

For some time, he held her. She buried her face in his chest. "What happened Cat?" He whispered. "you must tell me. Our girls are they- "He couldn't finish the thought.

"They are fine Ned." Cat said, trying to steel herself. " They are fine, but Littlefinger is not. He-"

Ned pushed her away. "What has he done?" He growled. "I should have thrown him the cells the moment I could." That foul man saying such wicked things about his Cat. He had haunted them for long enough. I have allowed that man too much freedom for this murmur's farce. Lord Baelish was nothing more than diseased flesh that should have been cut off long ago. He infested House Arryn, whispering lies into his nephew's ears. He murdered Jon Arryn. I don't need a trial to know him guilty.

"You would be throwing a corpse in the cells." Cat replied cooly. "Littlefinger is dead."

Something lodged in his throat. "Oh, Cat, what have you done?" He brushed strands of her auburn hair to the side.

"It was not me Ned." She clutched him, her nails almost drawing blood. "It was Sansa's wolf Lady. Lady did this." Her eyes became as hard as stone, filled with the strength as deep as a river. "The boy I knew was dead, Ned. A monster wore his skin." Cat voiced flatly. "He was evil Ned, I know some vile plot was in his heart. He wished something with Sansa. His eyes spoke the truth."

"Sansa?" Ned asked, taken aback.

"Yes, Ned, our sweet daughter."

Ned whitened and stumbled to the desk, twisting away from her. "Fool," He shook his head. "What a fool I am." He was so focused on the realm. Robert's realm he missed the danger. It was a mistake for him to accept this duty. A mistake to follow Robert south. Her hand wrapped on top of his own, trying to relieve him of his self doubt. "The wolf will have to die." He swallowed at the dishonor. "He slew a lord without trial." Even Lord Baelish held the right to a lawful trial.

"You cannot." She said. "It is the symbol of your house. They are not like normal animals. There is intelligence." She struggled to find the words. "They protect our children, Ned. The Gods sent them, I know they did. You would lose their favor if you did this. Our daughters need to be protected."

Before he replied, Alyn entered. "My lord. Lord Arryn is insistent to meet with you. I've tried to-" He waved him to silence.

"It's well. Send him in."

Cat's hand rubbed his back, soothing his raging heart. "He knows." She told him. "He knows about his mother and Lord Baelish. Be gentle with him. He has been misled like all of us. Remember, he's only a boy that wishes to protect his mother." Ned promised her with a squeeze of his hand that he would do precisely that. He's Jons boy and he'll understand. He'll understand what has been done. Would he? Or would he seek harsh justice? There was little forgiveness in his heart. On the Trident, Jasper argued for King Robert to slay his own son to appease the slight against his honor. Against the Tyrells, he argued for harsh actions when they sought to replace the Lannister Queen with one of their own and Ned caught him smiling when he heard about Ser Loras end at the hands of the Mountain before offering his sympathy. His sympathy was genuine, but his initial reaction was as well. He's not his father. Yet, he did not abandon Jon when he could; he charged forward with all the gallantry of a knight to defend him because it was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. Jon Arryn would have been proud of him if he saw him. Still, Ned doubted the boy. He was so unlike Jon, it always surprised him when he saw hints of his foster father in him. When he entered the room, his nephew's jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of Cat. All of his courtesy forgotten as his eyes widened and he gazed at her bloodstained dress.

"If you excuse me, nephew, I have to clean myself."

Jasper Arryn offered a polite nod as he stood dazed.

"Take a seat, nephew."

"I'll stand, thank you." His nephew said curtly. "I have words I wish to share with you, but I wish to know what has befallen my aunt. Whose attacked House Stark? Give me a name and I shall defend you in word as well as deed." His voice shined spoke of his conviction and his honest intentions behind his vow.

Ned placed his hand on the lad's shoulder. "Lord Baelish is dead. He died resisting arrest at my command." He said, thinking of his wife and his daughters. What was one more lie to protect his family? "He was your banner. You deserve to know."

His nephew tensed, but said nothing in reply. "Now nep-"

He shrugged off his hand and glared with icy eyes. "Don't speak such falsehoods to me." He snapped, his cheeks reddening. "you would never have had your wife near a man you planned to arrest. Did Aunt Catelyn kill him? Is that the truth of the matter?"

Ned did not reply.

The boy scoffed. "By the Seven, she murdered him! For the words of my mother! A loyal man died needlessly!"

"Nephew," He said gently. "Lord Baelish is hardly a man worth such a reaction. I do not condone what happened, but he was no man of honor.

"The man was a lord and deserved a trial. I name this murder."

And Ned didn't disagree with that grim assessment.

"Nep-"

"Do not name me that." Jasper said. "I'm the Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, not your nephew." Bitterness flowed from his mouth. "You've made that perfectly clear." He glowered, and Ned winced. That was never our intention… "If you had come to me with your suspicions, I would have listened." Jasper said. "But you chose a different path." He shook his head, chuckling. "You know I thought if there was ever a man who lived up to my father's words, it was you. When I picture how my father held court, it was your face I saw, but I was wrong. My father would be ashamed to see you now."

"Aye he would be." Ned agreed.

It calmed him down some as he gripped the bridge of his nose. "I wish not to separate with you over this."

"Then don't."

"I have terms." Jasper said. "You shall leave the investigation of my mother to myself and myself alone. It's a personal matter. An Arryn matter I shall handle without your interference or pressure and if she is guilty, I shall decide her sentence. I'm the head of House Arryn. I shall judge my mother for whatever crime she has committed." He paused, and Ned allowed him to continue. "Nestor Royce shall take the Office of Master of Coin and shall serve as long as your tenure as Regent remains."

"I have little disagreement over Royce, but Jon-"

"Was my father. Not yours. I shall judge my mother." His voice was pure steel.

Ned merely gazed at him with some pity. "She is your mother, lad. Can you truly act justly for your father?"

The fire burned out in his nephew's eyes. "I think so." He whispered with some doubt. "But she is my mother and I shall handle her. You have my word as an Arryn." It wasn't wise to trust Jon's justice to his son, but with the Tyrells and Lannisters at each other's throats, he had precious little choice. I'll have to hope he does the right thing.

"Very well." Ned said. "You have my support."

Jasper nodded. "Excellent. I shall condemn Lord Baelish as a crook and criminal with you in the morning. We shall avoid any mention of my aunt and his unlawful demise."

Ned blinked, astonished. "But you believe him a loyal banner you would betray Lord Baelish so?"

"I know he was." Jasper said with a deep bitterness. "but no one banner matters more than the alliance that protects us. Stark and Arryn must remain united. I will not have House Stark broiled in scandal over the murder of a lord. Especially a minor lord from the Fingers. As sad as it is, he isn't worth it. I shall condemn him. His final act of service to myself. "He declared. "My lords dislike him for rising beyond his station allowed. No one will speak against us. When you name him a scoundrel, especially with my voiced added in support. We cannot have us appearing divided these days. Duty to the Crown demands it of us." He offered his hand, following a lord's courtesy, and for a moment Ned hesitated in taking it. He speaks of dishonor and falsehoods. Betraying his man so willingly, but he claimed to do it to protect them. I know that feeling well… All too well. If only he could have found the words to talk with him, but the words never came and mayhaps never would. Forgive me Lyanna.

Ned shook his hand.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" Jasper asked.

He thought about it and informed him of Ser Kevans death and the attack on Lady Margaery's estate. Ned observed his nephew. He didn't look surprised or bothered. "All the more reason for us to squash any divisions from reaching the sunlight." It was true, but yet the lack of surprise gnawed at him. Still, he had pushed his luck with him tonight. Cat would have my hide if I push him away ever further. And so Ned held his tongue as Jasper Arryn left with a lordly nod.

Renly

Lady Margaery would make an ugly wife. Renly thought as he stood by her bedside, looking every bit the concerned lord. Missing an ear and several fingers, his pretty bride to be had become an ugly swan. Still, she was a valuable ugly swan. The Lannisters attacked her. Not a man in the Great Halls could deny the crime committed. A lady of a Great House maimed by the Lannisters in a treacherous attack the Lannisters are known for. It went beyond the pale. She whimpered in pain as her eyes fluttered open. "Shh, rest my lady." He kissed her on the brow. "Maester Rolland, give my betrothed another dose of milk of the poppy."

The maester did as bid, and the tension in her arms eased as she returned to a peaceful sleep.

He stood up, aggrieved, gripping the bridge of his nose. "My lord, are you well?" Ser Guyard asked.

"Not until I have justice for my precious rose." He replied, thinking of Loras crushed by the Mountain.

Ser Guyard nodded. "Aye, my lord, a foul deed. We shall see the honor of House Baratheon is upheld."

Renly placed his hand on his shoulder. "Ser." He squeezed. "You have always served leally." It pleased him when Guyard smiled at the praise. "I need you to send for every Lord of the Stormlands that remains in the capital." Most of them had left after the Tourney of the Hand. A few had even elected to join his brother on his expedition, desiring glory and riches in the east, but he needed them to see Lannister brutality that had ripped the petals of his pretty rose. Honor and the eyes of fools will see them bound to him.

"As you wish, my lord. I shall see it done." Ser Guyard bowed his head and departed.

He left for his solar as he finished penning his letter for Lord Tyrell. The ink was barely dry as he read over it.

Lord Mace,

I find myself aggrieved to pen this letter, but a father deserves to know what has happened to his daughter. Lannister men under the command of the false knight Ser Lancel of House Lannister slew every Tyrell man tasked with guarding your golden rose under the delusion we are responsible for the death of Ser Kevan. By the Grace of the Seven, Lady Margaery survived until relief arrived to rescue her, but not without cost. I struggle to pen this, but Lannister steel has maimed Lady Margaery, robbing her of an ear and several fingers. This crime has affronted the honor of House Baratheon. I stand outraged along with every man of the Storm Lands at this dishonor. The true face of the Lannisters has revealed itself, and I fear only one course remains open to us. For the Old Lion will stir from his den and harass your lands as well. You must summon your banners. I shall do likewise and we shall pay back the Lannisters a thousand fold for this foul act of war.

Lord Renly of House Baratheon and Lord of Storms End.

It was satisfactory and would rouse Lord Tyrell to action in defense of his daughter. The man loves his children and will defend her virtue. With the Reach roused behind the Tyrells and soon his own lords as well, only the ever dogmatic Lord Stark needed to be convinced. If I secure his support, the entire realm will stand in opposition to House Lannister. And he would see it would be mainly men of the Riverlands, North, and Vale that died in the coming war. But first, Lord Stark had to be convinced.

The Lords of the Stormlands in the capital reacted just as he predicted they would when they filtered in to see the maimed lady. Hard looks. Tense shoulders. Bryce Caron, ever rash, went to the hilt of his sword and drew it. "you have my sword, my lord! Let us drench the land with Lannister dead!"

"Aye Lannister dead!" Ralph Buckler declared, pounding his surcoat with three brass buckles with a blue background. He was ever eager to please him.

Ser Balon Swann rubbed his chin deep in thought. "It is a foul crime, my liege. By the Seven I'm moved at your lady's plight, but should we not seek address from Lord Eddard Stark? He is a man of great honor and justice. Mayhaps he'll provide some to us?"

The more cautious and shrewd men nodded along, and Renly smiled. "Indeed!" He said. "Lord Stark was a friend of Robert. I know he shall see our cause is just and shall punish the Lannisters." He struck an agreement between them. They would seek the support of the Lord Regent before pressing ahead, but he was already going to do that, anyway. "My lords, we should let Lady Margaery rest. Let us leave her." After speaking with them for sometime japing and praising them, he bid them a farewell and retired to his quarters. He poured himself a fine glass of wine and drank. It made him think of Loras when he was whole. He thought I could make a wonderful king. That I was born for the role. And his beloved knight of flowers was right. A crown of gold was well suited for his brow. Loras saw it before anyone had noticed what kind of mark he could leave.

Morning came and Lord Stark had summoned a session of court to address the attack. Renly dressed in a dark green velvet doublet embroidered with golden stags with a golden cape draped over his shoulders. A fine outfit that made him look every inch a king. Lord Stark sat in his brother's seat as straight as an arrow on the monstrous throne of melted swords as if he were a king. Stoic, bland eyes watched them. Underneath the throne, a table stood reserved for the Small Council or what remained of it. Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his long, flowing beard ponderously. The eunuch Varys interlocked his hands as his eyes flickered between the Iron Throne and the new arrivals. However, strangely, Lord Baelish was not among them. Instead, it seemed Nestor Royce had seized the office over Littlefinger. I may have to seek him out. Secure the man's backing then. Littlefinger was ever a spiteful little man with some low cunning that could be used if offered enough.

He walked down the long carpet that led to the Iron Throne. Hushed whispers from the gallery followed him as the chamberlain called the session of court in order. "My lords. Lord Regent." Renly offered a polite nod. "I'm here to see justice is done. Justice for House Tyrell. Justice for the slight on the honor of the Stormlands and justice against House Lannister."

"My lord." Grand Maester Pycelle stammered. "The actions were those of Ser Lancel, and Ser Lancel alone. Not House Lannister, the boy was driven by the madness of grief."

Renly almost smiled. "And this is what such madness has wrought." He gave a dramatic flair of his arms and motioned for one of his knights to come forward carrying a jar of Lady Margaery's fingers and ear. "THIS IS WHAT HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM US! LET NO ONE DENY IT!" He held up the jar up high and men looked away with shame and disgust. He saw anger as well. One more crime that darkened the Lannister name. It silenced the Lannister lackey and Renly felt he was making progress with Lord Stark.

The doors flew open, and the murmuring increased as the Lannister Queen entered dressed in a mournful dress of black and Renly sneered at the sight of her. "My apologies for my tardiness," she said. "I was not informed of the time of court."

"Your grace," Lord Stark said. "I thought you would not attend."

She huffed. "I see Roberts brother is making an allegation against my father's house. I shall reply in kind. I accuse House Tyrell of the murder of my uncle Ser Kevan." The murmuring increased. "Poisoned at his own table."

Renly chuckled. "Shall you accuse them of nearly killing your daughter as your ill born son did? For the allegation is just as ridiculous as that."

Queen Cersei seethed. "I wish my cousin slew the harlot you call a lady. That was his only mistake! An ear? Nay, he should have taken her heart!"

"Listen to her vitriol!-"

"For trying to set me aside and see me replaced with the doting woman from Highgarden!"

Renly scoffed. "More and more lies. She condemns herself with her own words."

"You told me so with your own lips, my lord." Lord Stark said and lords and ladies gasped. Renly was stunned that he mentioned that so brazenly.

He stiffened. "You misremember my lord."

Lord Stark leered down at him. "Why should we suffer them? For the sake of honor and law? Traditions sake? Such notions should not constrain us. Those were your words to me." And the room quieted. Men that had once looked at him with sympathy turned to disdain and suspicion. The word of the Lord of Winterfell was well respected, especially amongst the Valeman.

"The Lannister Queen has spread lies into your ears, my lord." Renly replied. "I'll confess I'm disappointed."

"You dare impugned the word of Lord Stark!" the determined voice of Lord Arryn echoed as he joined him in front of the Iron throne. "A veteran of two wars and a trusted friend of our good king. His honor is beyond reproach. If he claims that's how it happened, then that's how it did." Lord Arryn, fully healed from the melee, stood tall and forceful with his bannerman listening to every word. A martial figure. Well respected by his men for his courage, but Renly considered him an irksome pest. "And I wish for an answer. Do you mock our traditions so freely?"

"That is a worthy notion, Lord Arryn. I'd like to know as well." Queen Cersei chimed.

Renly parried the attack swiftly. "Look at the company they keep. Lannisters have played you false." He placed his hand over his breast. "I am the wounded party. My betrothed has been maimed. Her entire escort put to the sword. Butchered like animals, and we have seen time and time again what the Lannisters will do to maintain her power."

"We stand not with Lannisters! The butchers of children and men without honor." Lord Arryn declared. "But we are loyal to the Crown. Are you Lord Renly? Your words make me wonder?"

It caused an outcry from the Lords of the Stormlands. "You dare accuse Lord Renly of disloyalty? He is the king's own brother." Ser Bryce Caron said.

"I find I'm asking questions as well." Lord Yohn Royce said. "I believe Lord Stark, I've never known him to lie over anything, and certainly nothing so serious a claim as this."

"Well, he speaks falsehoods!" Ser Guyard answered him. It was a hot day of summer and tempers were growing hot between his vassals and the Lords of the Vale and the Northman. Renly argued hotly with Lord Arryn, whose courtesy was thin as ice. Ser Tallhart had heated words with several knights of the Marshes. While the Lannister Queen smiled at their conflict.

Above them, a gruff voice cut through all of their conversations. "I EDDARD OF THE HOUSE STARK LORD OF WINTERFELL AND REGENT OF THE IRON THRONE BID YOU TO HEED MY WORD!" Silence was restored as they all turned to the Iron Throne and the simple dullard who found himself the center of all the power of the realm. Every ounce of power a king may hold at his grubby fingertips. Far too much for his limited ability. Renly thought. "I shall have justice for those slain. Alla Tyrell, Megga Tyrell, Elinor Tyrell, and Mira Forrester, and the wounds suffered by Lady Margaery." He gestured towards Ser Tallhart and his gold cloaks. "As such, I will confine her Grace in the Maidenvault per my command as regent until her role may be determined." The queen protested as they seized her and dragged her from the halls. "Every man that took part in the assault shall be given the choice of the block or the black." His gaze twisted to the Grand Maester whom looked close to pissing himself. "You shall pen a letter to Lord Tywin forbidding him from breaking the Kings Peace under the penalty of attainment and stripping of rank and title." He bobbled his aging head cowered. Lord Stark turned his grey eyes upon him. "I shall lead an investigation into the murder of Ser Kevan and shall punish his killers." He vowed as the men of honor around him nodded in agreement. "I forbid any further retaliations until I've finished my investigation. No more will I stand for dishonor and games of ambition as long as I'm regent. The Iron Throne shall be known for justice and you, Lord Renly." Lord Stark's voice became as sharp as ice. "I name you a man of ambition and dishonor beyond them all. I shall not suffer you in my council. I strip you of your Office as Master of Laws. A man who mocks laws and traditions cannot possibly enforce them faithfully."

Renly scoffed and was thankful when his lords looked outrage with his public rebuke. "Some notion of justice, you hold my lord." He said. I'll get precious little out of this room now. Only the Stormlands and the Reach would stand with them now. Instead of a grand alliance, it would only be two kingdoms against one. It would be a slightly more bloody affair, but numbers would bear out and they'll drown the Lannisters in blood. "I see we have little further to discuss. You may investigate if you wish Lord Stark, mayhaps you'll find the true killers, for it was not I, nor the Tyrells. But I shall seek a different sort of justice." And made his way for the doors as Stark men went to the hilts of their swords.

"Let him go." Lord Stark said tired. "He knows the costs."

You don't know the costs, my lord. Renly mused. The costs of sitting on the Iron Throne, or the game that needed to be played. The next day, he departed the capital with Lady Margaery and the cries of war would follow them.

Jasper

Dearest Myrcella, I find- Jasper crumbled the parchment and ripped it to shreds. Princess, I wish to help you, but I find I lack- He crumbled up the parchment as well and tossed it. His solar lay littered with the remains of letters and his hand cramped from writing so many, but his words never pleased him. Writing about the heart was not something he was accustomed too nonetheless how to comfort a woman of high birth. Comfort was not something he did well. Jasper snorted. I'm terrible at it. He did as he was trained and acted with his instincts and tried to kiss her, but she cried when he did so and ran away from him. Myrcella had not come to see him since. He had sent her gifts women should like to heal her fragile nature: chocolates, lemon cakes, white roses(her favorites) jewelry. He even secured an advanced tome of strategy for Cyvasse from the Grand Maester Pycelle. Jasper figured she would like it. She loved the game. But still she stayed away, and Jasper did not trust his tongue to heal this rift, but words escaped him on paper as well. Unlike the affairs of state he had finished those hours ago: letters for his wards, a letter for his grand uncle to prepare for the outbreak of war, the outlines of his speech to argue for his uncle Edmure Tully to be named Master of Laws. The Riverlords need to be better incorporated into the fold.

Jasper groaned. The softness in his chest was pathetic, but with the storm clouds of war on the horizon, he needed to make amends. Somehow he erred, and it was his fault it had to be. He always made a mess of everything. Though Lord Stark seemed confident that they could avoid it, but he considered it wishful thinking when he let Lord Renly go. Even if she tries to stay in the capital, I'm taking her with me. It was not safe for her to be in Kings Landing. The Eyrie would be better for her. Though he doubted either Tyrell or Lannister would march on the capital. It would guarantee the Crown would side against them.

A few days ago, he had sent a letter to the Tully's of Riverrun, bidding them to return to Riverrun with his mother. I'll speak with her at wars end. In Riverrun, she would cause him no grief, unlike Lord Stark. It still rubbed him raw the betrayal by his uncle and aunt. The death of Lord Baelish never should have occurred. I denounced him and called him a criminal guilt gnawed at his heart. Lord Baelish had always been a loyal advisor and had delivered him from a life of failure. And he betrayed leal service with condemnation. I've condemned the man to an eternity of playing the villain. When asked, he mocked and denounced him for the good of House Arryn.

I need to maintain the Arryn-Stark-Tully alliance. Lord Baelish would understand. Jasper chuckled weakly.

He had just started another attempt at a letter when his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

Jasper woke up to the sight of a long face and grey eyes of a Stark. He scowled. "How do you keep sneaking past my guards?" Jasper lifted his hand. "Actually, don't tell me I don't want to know." Only my savage of a cousin could find a way past them. Jasper knew.

"I'm busy." He used his lordly voice. "I have little time for the affairs of children." He was the Lord of the Eyrie and well beyond those games.

"You were sleeping."

"And now I'm awake." He didn't even bother hiding his annoyance. "you have eyes. You can see that well enough."

Cousin Arya scowled at him. "Don't be stupid Cousin Jasper! I simply wish to know if there will be war. Father will not tell me anything."

"That is your fathers choice."

"I want to know and you are family, so you have to tell me!" she declared, and Jasper gawked at her like she was the strangest creature in the world.

He swallowed something heavy in his throat. "Family?" He whispered, his eyes turning hard. "You forgive me?"

Cousin Arya nodded her little head and the biggest boyish grin formed on his face as he lunged for her as quick as a cat and twirled her around laughing. "By the Seven! You forgive me!" Winterfell was just a forgotten dream. It was finally behind him. She tried to squirm free, but he held her tightly as he laughed until his stomach ached.

"Put me down!" Cousin Arya demanded. "Put me down!" She commanded with a scowl, and Jasper did a bid, tousling her hair.

"My savage of a cousin." He chuckled. "Ever fierce. Must be the Stark blood." He sighed awkwardly. "Why do you wish to know about war?"

Cousin Arya crossed her arms. "I wish you to take me to squire. Father won't and I was always better at the bow than Bran and you've taken him!" She launched into her qualifications. Even mentioned something about some queer foreign style called water dancing. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculous request, but she was his cousin and he didn't wish to hurt her pride.

"You are quite brave, Arya." He admitted. "And more fierce than a girl has any right to be, but I cannot take you to, squire." She tried to bolt from him in fury, but he expected it and grabbed her. "Now, you listen to me Stark." He raised his voice. "Listen to me before you cast judgement. I can't take you to squire because I'm the Lord of the Eyrie and I must honor the traditions of my people." Her face scrunched up in annoyance. "If I took you to squire, they would think me a weak-willed boy bossed around by his cousins, and if they don't respect me, how can I help your father?" I agree with them, the battlefield is no place for a girl.

"It's not fair! I'm better than Bran!" Arya voiced with great heat.

He rubbed his chin as his grand uncle did when he raged and nodded along. "I don't know, cousin." He shrugged. "Most girls are not suited for such a role, but there have been a few exceptions I grant you. Mainly dragon riders, but Stark blood is a fierce thing. Mayhaps you could be an exception as well?"

"But you still won't take me?" She asked with a deep bitterness.

Jasper shook his head. "I agree with your father the battlefield is no place for a girl. Even one as brave as yourself." He saw a flash in her eyes that he knew all too well. Defiance. Disobedience. Recklessness. By the Seven, she would run off to do so. Promise me you'll look after my sisters, Arryn. Snow had asked him to look over them and he would not break his word. He barred her path to the door. "Now you'll promise me you'll heed your father's will on this matter. You will swear it on his life." A promise she would never break.

She tightened her jaw and shook her head in refusal.

It raised his temper. "You insufferable, stupid girl- "He paused. I've heard those words before.

"You insufferable stupid boy." Ser Brynden held him by the collar. "What were you thinking escaping from the Eyrie by yourself?"

"Don't you dare send me back! I'll do it again and again! You can't keep me there!" He snapped. "Take me to be your squire! Please! I can't fail!"

"Your father-"

"Will, let me rot with neglect. Don't send me back! Please Ser Brynden! I have to learn how to fight!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed. "You are my only hope for honor."

Jasper softened. She's me. She wishes for honor to protect herself and her kin. Why did the Gods put such boyish thoughts in her mind? "Alright," He grumbled. "I'll help you." If she was like him, she would merely try again until she got herself hurt and he couldn't keep his eye out for her constantly.

Cousin Arya brightened. "This isn't some trick?"

"I can't help you cousin, but between the two of us, I'm sure we can think of someone who can."

"I thought you were busy."

"Never too busy for my irksome cousin." He shoved all the parchment and letters off his desk and winked.

Arya smirked and took a seat as they launched into it. She suggested Dorne, but he shot it down immediately. It would make no political sense. Fosterings and squires inspired alliances, and the Dornish were too far away to offer anything of note. Besides, they would not accept a Stark girl. They remain bitter over Princess Elia. Jasper imagined he would be, too. A noblewoman should not have died as she did. Nor her babes shattered against the walls. It was murder, but he supposed a murder avenged with the death of Ser Gregor. He couldn't think of a single vassal of his that would take a girl to squire. It couldn't be south of the Neck. She asked about the Blackfish. He shook his head. It has to be of the North, but his knowledge of Northern houses was lackluster. Northern savages didn't matter to him as much as those of the Vale or Riverlands. He would have little interactions with them. "What was the house with the bear? House Moreland?"

"House Mormont of Bear Island?" Cousin Arya said.

It sounded about right. "I've heard queer things about women dressed in chain mail. I think that is what you would look for, is it not?"

"The She Bears!" Arya said, and smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "How did I forget them?" It was queer imagining women in chain mail, but he knew in the stories there was Visenya, a renown warrior in her own right. She wielded the sword Dark Sister, but she had been a dragon and dragons don't follow the rules that govern the rest of man. Jasper couldn't imagine his young cousin as a fierce warrior, but at least on this Bear Island, they could keep an eye on her.

Jasper whispered the plot into her ear. By the end, Arya was grinning like a wolf. "That's perfect!" And she wrapped her arms fiercely around his neck. "I'll wear down father, I know he'll say yes."

He patted her awkwardly on the back. "If I'm being honest, cousin. I doubt even I will redden my sword with blood. The Tyrells and Lannisters will bash each other around, and we'll merely sweep up the remains." He saw it so clearly. It would assure house Arryns position without lifting a sword. "Nor do I think these She Bears, as you call them, would take you south. You would have received no training. Not enough for a campaign."

She scowled. "Whats the point then?" And crossed her arms petulantly. "I want to fight now."

"Harrenhal wasn't built in a day." It was destroyed in a day, though.

Jasper went to her level."Don't be so eager to seek battle, little one. There will always be someone better than you. Most lords and knights could learn from that lesson. Myself included."

"Like Jon?"

Jasper snorted. "Aye like Ser Jon."

He ruffled her hair. "I'll give you the same advice my ser told me. Fight to win. That's the only thing that matters. Use anything you have to your advantage. Be cruel. Be cunning." He poked her over her heart. "As long as you have a good cause worth fighting for. Otherwise, you'll become as dark as a villain. The very thing a knight is sworn to defeat."

"Your not stupid. Just young."

"I'm very stupid, Arya. When you get older, you learn you don't know as much as you thought." He stood up and smiled. "Let me walk you back to your quarters, Squire of Bear Island." He winked.

Her beam melted his weak heart. What a soft boy I am? He wondered if Ser Brynden would have approved of his conduct. He hoped so. As they walked, he asked her why his guards told him she chased cats.

Her reply made him laugh. Despite his bitterness towards her parents, he held nothing against his cousins. They were still his kin, and the laws of the realm demanded he defend them no matter the end.

Even wild Arya.

Chapter Text

Shireen

The first man through the gates was Uncle Robert, a larger-than-life figure whose eyes were always laughing, unlike father who rarely chuckled. His booming laugh made father grind his teeth so hard she thought they may shatter. Behind Uncle Robert came five knights of the Kingsguard. An order of seven, but only five followed King Robert. The other two were elsewhere, guarding her cousins Tommen and Joffrey. Shireen beamed at the beautiful beast that strolled behind one knight with a long, solemn face. It was bigger than any dog she had ever seen, and she wanted to hug it and stroke its majestic fur coat. But she was a Lady of House Baratheon and could not run and wrap her arms around the noble beast. It would disappoint father. After the Kingsguard came other knights and lords who funneled behind them with a couple of squires attending to them. Shireen held her courage being out in the open, feeling the stares drawn to her deformity. It saddened her as they stared, but a Baratheon had to show courage. She held her head up high.

Ours is the Fury!

Everyone in the household was out in the courtyard awaiting Uncle Robert. Father stood in the front, strong and stern, with her lady mother off to the side by Lady Melisandre. A red priestess from Asshai who arrived to Dragonstone a few months ago. Mother converted to her religion, thinking father was the Prince that was Promised. It is what she saw in the flames. Shireen noticed, though, that Lady Melisandre neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions. It seemed obvious the reason, but mother saw what she wished. Shireen didn't have the heart to speak of her observations because it pleased mother and gave her life a sense of meaning. It would be wicked of her to dash that. Father is a dutiful man, but isn't a doting husband. Dozens of banners had converted to her god the Lord of Light, especially among her mothers kin. Other men held to the Faith of the Seven, especially the Onion Knight Ser Davos. Shireen loved the Onion Knight. He was a kind and humble man who never looked repulsed by her or showcase pity. Pity was almost worse than scorn. Its wounds are almost as deep.

Father went to his knee, and the rest of them did as well. All of Dragonstone kneeled before its king. "Up damn you!" King Robert roared. "Up, you grumpy bastard!"

"Dragonstone is yours." Father said stiffly.

"It better be! I commanded you to hold this damn rock!"

Father stiffened.

Uncle Robert didn't notice and smiled. He kissed mother on the cheek and laughed at what Lady Melisandre was wearing or the lack of wearing much of anything. "And who might you be? And why are you hiding such beauty on this desolate rock?" He grinned like she had seen squires do to girls in the courtyard.

"I am a servant of our Lord of Light." She said, and her songlike voice sent a shiver down her spine. Lady Melisandre was beautiful, but terrifying. She held great power in her predictions and in her spells, but she doubted a warrior king like her uncle would be frightened. He had faced great villains like the vile Prince Rhaegar who ran off with Lady Lyanna Stark.

"I'd love to hear more about this Lord of Light." Uncle Robert winked. "Thoros told me about his religion, but I think they should have sent you! I might have listened better!"

Lady Melisandre nodded. "I think we shall fix that, your grace."

Father glowered in silent disapproval.

Uncle Robert twirled around and scooped her up. "Where did my favorite niece go?" She giggled at his antics.

"I'm up here, uncle!"

"Your grace." Father mumbled.

"By the Seven your right!" Uncle Robert laughed. "How old is my favorite niece?"

Shireen almost rolled her eyes. I'm his only niece. But father was watching. "I am twelve name days old, your grace." She answered.

"Twelve?" Uncle Robert seemed taken aback. "Gods I'm old." He slapped her father's back with a loud thump. "You too little brother! Looking weathered as the seas."

Father raised his brow. "Good formality is done." He said in a blunt tone. "Now tell me what is this foolishness of you leaving your throne for some crusade to the east."

Uncle Robert waved a finger in warning.. "Don't-"

"A Kings duty is in Kings Landing."

"Damn you! I said don't! I've decided. This is the last I want to hear about this Stannis! You hear me! I shall rest for a night, dine with you, and I shall secure a sizable escort of ships. I command this as your king."

"My ears can hear."

Uncle Robert grumbled and stormed off with the knights of the Kingsguard struggling to keep up. Everyone vanished like leaves into the wind. Mother left with the Lady of Melisandre, though Shireen noted her fiery red eyes seemed to be transfixed on Uncle Robert. She didn't dwell on it too long, as kindly old Maester Cressen guided her to her lessons for the day. "Come, child." He said as she tried to get one last look at father's grim face. Ever since his return from Kings Landing, she caught him speaking in hushed whispers with Ser Davos and Maester Cressen. Something had happened in the capital, but they would never tell her. She was only a little girl. It was most irksome. If only she were only older than she could help father ever burdened by his duty. I want to help him. Without a son to be his heir, it fell upon her support to aid father in his duty as Lord of Dragonstone. Shireen sighed as she went off to her lessons. "We'll be discussing your favorite period in history, the Dance of Dragons." Maester Cressen told her with a kind smile. Shireen brightened.

Maybe being a child wasn't so terrible thing after all.

Melisandre

The flames whispered to her.

It was a soft whisper of things she already knew as she listened to what her lord showed her. A powerful man wielding the sword of heroes against the one true enemy. The Great Other. A loud booming laugh that echoed like thunder in her visions while dragons roared. She had seen him in the flames for months. My Prince. It had led her to the court of Lord Stannis. She saw her prince would come to her aboard a ship to the shores. He would leave for the East and start his journey to unite the free peoples of the world under his banner. A trail of blood and laughter would follow him as he conquered. "Show me more. More." She sang, and the flames complied, showing her a new snippet of the puzzle. A boy wrapped in a white cloak traveled with him. Hundreds of eyes followed him. Red piercing eyes. A servant of the Great Other? She wondered, but pulled away from the flames before she could see more. It was not wise to stare for too long into the flames and she had already stared long enough. On her tongue she tasted snow. Why snow? It was an unfamiliar taste, and she wondered where it fit. Snow? Why does he show me snow? The fate of life itself depended on her reading this correctly. Life. Beauty. Passion. Would be consumed by frozen hands if she failed.

A boy entered her chambers, half terrified and filled with desire. "My lady?" He asked. "You sent for me."

Melisandre offered a half smile. "I did. I wish for to deliver this message to His Grace." And she handed him parchment as the boy blushed when their hands touched.

He bowed.

Tonight she would speak with her prince in a language he understood very well. He would come to her and they would speak and she would open his eyes up to the truth.

Naked flesh pounded into the warmth of her sex amid a sea of grunts and groans. Sweat beading down his brow as King Robert's breath became labored from the effort. She wasn't even winded, but still cried out went he spilled his seed and collapsed on the feather bed. "Now, as I was saying." She continued. "You are the Lord of Light's chosen champion against the Great Other."

King Robert looked dazed in a way of a satisfied man drowning in the aftermath of his pleasure. "Hmm." He replied. "Am I now?" Leaning back on the soft pillows, and laughed. "Do I get some special sword as well?" He japed. "If your God were smart, he would have made it a hammer Gods with a flaming hammer. Nothing could stand against me!"

"You think this is a jape." Melisandre said. "this is no jape, my prince. You will prevent the Long Night from consuming the world. I have seen it thus. It shall be so with the Sword of Heroes Lightbringer forged from the flames of your conquest, starting on the burning of false idols. You have already been born amid fire and smoke at the Trident." She grazed her hand over his chest, lowering down to his manhood and stroking him to his grunts of approval. "I have seen this in the flames, and other things that confirm your destiny. That night in your dreams, as you recovered from your bout with the dragon prince sleeping in your pavilion of silk, you dreamt of a comet flying overhead. You have never spoken of this."

King Robert stiffened, his jaw lowering. "How-"

"The Lord of Light has shown me this and much more."

"Bed tales and nursery rhymes."

"You've heard of my power, my prince. The truth lies in front of you. Every word you know is the truth."

Her prince still refused to see. "Witchcraft and tricks." He grumbled, rubbing his temples. A man determined to remain blind, her prince remained stubborn and unyielding, like a storm that refused to bend. Eventually, it yields to the light. It drives away even the most powerful of storms. And King Robert was a powerful man. It made sense why he was chosen as the champion of the living. A powerful warrior and leader of men. A natural general for the battles to come.

"Look into the flames." She told him. "Look, my prince, and you shall see."

He only scoffed and lifted himself from the bed, and gathered his clothes. "Ha!" He roared. "Such tricks and deceptions shall not fool me. Now quit your prattling. You are easier on the eyes than Thoros, but I find I might enjoy his company more."

Melisandre didn't let her disappointment show. "You shall see the truth before you depart." She warned. "Once more, you shall see."

King Robert chuckled. "Fat chance of that happening, woman." When he departed, she began casting her spell wielding light and shadow throughout the night as a blacksmith forges swords, so she forged a creation to help her prince. Effort and dedication were required to accomplish this task. One needed to be skilled in the arts of shadowbinding. It took most years to master this art. Years of tears and sorrow. It drained her, but the Lord of Light gave her strength. Without the item of something dear to her, it shall be weaker, but he desperately wishes to make this true.

A deception.

A trick.

A needed mummery to make him fulfill his role of ending the Long Night.

Robert

"Rhaegar." The word fell from his lip as he woke with the blood of the rapist on his mind. Foul blood of a madman swirling around him. Robert reached for some wine, but thought better of it. I shall get strong again, as strong as the man who vanquished the dragons. When he looked in the mirror, he didn't see that man, but a shadow of him. Would his winter rose recognize him if she saw him now? He scoffed. If I had married her, everything would have been different…

They would have wed at the Sept in Storms End bound by true love with his true brother by his side. Robert would have given Ned some lands in the Stormlands to keep his brother in all but blood close. The three of them would have gone on hunts together as he charmed her frozen heart until love grew between them. They would have a dozen children together with his laughing eyes and Neds long face. He would have brought his bastard daughter Mya to live with them as well. Ever since he stopped drinking, he thought of her more and more. She laughed when he tossed her, but he always caught her.

I always caught her.

Then the Tourney of Harrenhal. The rebellion and she faded from his mind. The little girl he tossed with such mirth left him. Her laughter faded from his heart as he brooded over his bitterness with the comfort of wine and women. None of them could compare to his Lyanna, but they were soft and made a man forget. Still, he recalled her after a time and wished to bring her to court, but his wife would have seen the girl killed. His hand curled into a fist at the memory. He struck her for it, but she had won. Damn woman. Damn you Cersei.

Robert wished to weep.

Now another man would catch her. Jasper Arryn told him about her and the man she wed. A good man, Ser Mychel of House Redfort, courteous as he was kind. Arryn asked him to pen a letter for her celebrating the union. He penned some words, but he doubted she read them. Probably tossed it into the hearth. If only he could throw Stannis into the hearth the Others take him. He tried to convince him to head back to Kings Landing as if they needed his fat ass on that uncomfortable chair. They quarreled over it like two charging stags fighting in the woods, but Robert commanded him to silence to end his prattling that bled his ears.

It was well; he was not meant to be a father or a brother. Ned was meant to be a father. Ned was meant to be a king. Ned was the better man of the two of them. All he was meant for was fucking and fighting and little else. Maybe he should send for that priestess? Robert grinned. She had a nice ass and bigger tits than most whores, but she had crazy eyes. I shouldn't seek crazy eyes a second time. The coupling was a sweet one and the whores on this island were nonexistent thanks to his grumpkin of a brother, but the eyes were fire. Wild and unpredictable. "The prince that was promised." He laughed. What a load of shit.

Robert knew he was no prophetic hero, but she had a nice ass. It hardened him, thinking of her as the door opened and Robert's courage faltered. "You are a dream." He rubbed his temples, trying to vanquish the phantom. The phantom approached him, refusing to fade back into the shadows. A long face with grey eyes. Slender and beautiful. Her face had faded in his mind, but she looked beautiful as the day he lost her. "You were taken from me."

"Do I feel a phantom, Robert?" Warmth spread as she caressed his cheek as soft as a lover. "I'm here, Robert, in the flesh. For a time, at the least." He enveloped her fingers with his own, feeling the warmth that pulsed through the skin. It burned hot, and he moaned as he grew hard."You are dead, Lyanna."

She chuckled. "I am dead, Robert, but fire has breathed life into me once more."

"I don't understand."

"I know, but know this: I am happy with father, and my brother. It's a land of warmth and beauty. You feel no pain, nor age. Though I miss you."

Robert raged at her words and slammed his fist against the stone walls, relishing in the bloody knuckles. "It should have been with me!" His breath became heavy and labored. "It should have been with me. I kill him every night in my dreams." It was never enough, though. Ten thousand deaths would not be enough.

Lyanna laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. "I have lost you to the dreams of the past, fighting enemies of yesterday and ignoring what lies before you." The riddles made his head hurt as he sat next to her and brought his arms around her.

"It doesn't matter. You are here and with me again." And Lyanna Stark had vanished one from his sight. It would not happen twice.

She only gave a sad smile. "Mayhaps one day." Before he could ponder on her words, she pressed her hand to his inner thigh. A gentle promise. "You have a destiny, Robert. A purpose. To defend the realm of men from the only enemy that matters. The Great Other." She whispered. "You are destined to kill him. You are his lords chosen champion."

Robert cared not for any word she said and kissed her. Tasting her and pressing her onto her back until his lips tasted of ash. "My time runs short." Lyanna gasped out. "So short. I thought we had more time." He grasped until her flesh turned red and his knuckles as white as snow.

"Lyanna…"

Her delicate hands cusped his cheeks. "Listen to me, love. Follow the flames. Fulfill your destiny and I shall be returned to you once more." Her lips grazed his ear. "I'll see you soon, my love."

"I'm not letting you go! I'll smash any god that tries to take you from me!" Tears running down his cheeks as he clung to her as if he was drowning.

Light as bright as the sun surged forward, wrapped in shadow and flame.

Robert twisted away, blinded.

He turned around and fell onto his knees, sobbing into his burned hands. It burned, but Robert didn't care.

Lyanna was gone.

Prophecy. Cryptic words. Chosen ones. Princes. Lords. Robert cared not a lick for any of it. My Winter Rose needs me. His eyes narrowed as tight as arrow slits and rose, feeling a storm swirling in his chest. His vision darkened as he dressed in a wordless fury and marched for answers. The Kingsguard outside his chambers mere ghosts to him, whatever words fading from his mind whether they followed him, he couldn't say. The only thing Robert saw was fiery hair and a tall, slender woman with red eyes; dressed in scarlet silks. She could bring Lyanna back to him. "STAY HERE!" He barked at the ghosts that trailed him. Robert smashed the hinges of her chamber doors open with his shoulders. "BRING HER BACK!" He roared, scanning the room until he saw her unbothered by his entrance wearing a red golden choker containing a ruby. Lady Melisandre sat at a desk surrounded by burning candles. Her lips moved, but not quick enough and his fingers wrapped around her throat, lifting her into the air as easily as a rag of silk.

"WHERE IS SHE!?"

She tried to pry his fingers away, to little avail, as pale unblemished skin turned purple and her limbs went limp.

Robert cursed and dropped her coughing and wheezing before him. "Tell me, woman! Tell me where is my Lyanna!"

"Here and elsewhere, but soon she shall be at your side, my prince." She chuckled. "She is your Nissa Nissa."

"I want her now, woman!"

Lady Melisandre only smiled. "The Lord of Light is not led around like a horse, my prince." She swirled around him and whispered. "But I've seen her in the flames… Look in the flames with me and you'll see it." He didn't resist when she maneuvered his jaw to the light of the candles. "Look." She sang to him. "Look my prince."

Sand filled his mouth and flames singed his beard with tall walls and a giant pyramid towering over the sky. Dragons flew, and he could see the reflection of flames in his eyes. "Dragonspawn." He mumbled as screams echoed in his skull and he saw her slender and fair, wielding a flaming sword. Men in golden suits burned before her as dragons roared.

"You are the King of the Seven Kingdoms and shall unite the people of the East as well in the War for the Dawn. To the East you shall travel before you depart north."

"And Lyanna?" Robert asked.

"If the Lord of Light promises she shall be returned to you, then she shall be."

Robert nodded. I can still have her. The road would be long and difficult, but he would fuck and fight his way to the Seven Hells to return her to the land of the living. If he had to conquer every free city, he would do so. The road drew him east to the dragons. He would finish what he started on the Trident. Years of campaigns lay ahead of him, but he had purpose again. An enemy to fight. A winter rose to return to his side. I can still achieve my happy ending. Robert was hard and stiff, imagining her as his at last. He turned to Lady Melisandre and savaged her lips and drove her legs apart. She panted as clothes fell to the floor like a dog in heat. "Lyanna." He moaned as he spilled his seed over her stomach and when he squinted, he could believe it was her.

Soon he would have it all.

The only thing I've ever wanted returned to me. What would Ned say? He would likely think him mad if he mentioned any of this, but when Lyanna was returned to them both it would be worth seeing the smile on his old friend's face. He missed her as much as himself. I'll bring her home, Ned. I'll do this one thing right.

Melisandre

She sang as the false gods of the Seven burned around them. Smoke piled into the sky and men wept and coughed from the taste of smoke. The Knights of the Kingsguard looked away in shame as they watched. Especially the noble Ser Barristan. He winced as he held his post, but he stood in silence as the gods they worshiped burned before them. Shame turned to amazement as the sword emerging from the burning pile of wood and stone burned. It burned a vibrant color as bright as the sun. "Look! Look! Let no one deny what has trespassed. Azor Ahai has been reborn! He has claimed the sword of Lightbringer! He shall bring about the Dawn!"

"The Dawn!" her followers chanted as the flames died down and wind swirled around them. "The Prince that was promised!"

Lady Selyse's eyes burned with bitterness. She thought it was her husband. And she had let her believe such a falsehood. It served her ends for the greater good of the living. Stannis Baratheon never came in any of her visions, but his brother did. She had served her purpose in the War for the Dawn. A needed role and for that she had her thanks as Lord Stannis served his purpose in providing more ships for their expedition.

King Robert lifted the burning sword into the air and began his first step on his journey. A journey that would take him across the Narrow Sea to the lands of Essos. "I have claimed this sword." He declared. "And I shall slay any who dare oppose me! LET ANY SHIT TRY!"

"ROBERT! ROBERT! ROBERT!" The host screamed and went to their knees, vowing to serve him. In the distance, Lord Stannis watched unmoving like a stone statue. A secret he knows that could distract my prince from his true purpose, Melisandre knew. But it was not time to deal with him. A cold, bitter man, he would brood on this island and the secret would remain. His reckoning would come, but not today. Today she basked in the glow of the flames as it declared her Prince before the world.

Chapter Text

Winterfell -Robb

"Dark wings, dark words." Maester Luwin said, rubbing his chin.

Robb couldn't help but agree with Maester Luwin. He set the letter to the side of his father's desk. My desk until he returns. But that would be some time, it seemed, considering how father had been named Regent of the Iron Throne while King Robert gallivanted off to the East in hopes of glory. Fathers place was in Winterfell. Not in some den of corruption like Kings Landing.

The North is where he belonged.

Theon, his trusted companion, laughed. "A time for us to prove our worth. We shall redden our blades."

Maester Luwin frowned.

The letter brought father's commands. Rally the banners, Robb. We march to keep the Kings Peace. Robb imagined father's somber voice as he read out his commands. Some fear pierced his heart at the thought of war. Was he ready for it? Ser Rodrick had taught him how to fight with sword and lance. He had learned lessons from father and Maester Luwin on how to lead men off to battle, but lessons were one thing and actually doing was another. Robb knew he was afraid as he struggled to keep his hand from shaking. A man can only be brave if he's afraid. It filled with strength and resolve. His veins turned to ice as he used his lordly voice. "We shall summon the banners and I shall lead the host from Winterfell down the Kings Road." He declared.

"Lord Robb." Maester Luwin said whitening. "You could send another man."

Theon scoffed. "Typical maester, offering gutless counsel. He is the Heir of Winterfell. Men would laugh at him in their cups if he remained."

"Your father did not command this of you, Lord Robb. You need not go. A more experienced lord may be a prudent option. The Lord Umber is a skilled man of war or the Lord of Karhold. Both fought for your father during Roberts Rebellion."

Throw the burden of leadership onto another? Trust Northman lives with one of fathers vassals. How can I ask them to die if I'm not willing to do the same? "I'm the Heir of Winterfell and I shall not hide behind these grey walls like some boy hiding behind his mother's skirts."

"And your brother?"

"I have not forgotten of Rickon." Robb replied. It was hard to forget him when he and his wolf were causing mayhem throughout the courtyard. Grey Wind struggled to keep Shaggydog tamed when he lashed out. Ever since mother departed, he had been a nightmare. Rickon hugged his leg every waking moment like a pup. "A Stark must always be in Winterfell. I entrust him with your care until my lady mother returns from the capital."

Theon smiled and threw his arm around him. "It's the right choice, Robb." Some doubt swirled in his chest, but he had committed himself. Maester Luwin dipped his bald head and went to the ravenry to send off the call. A call for the North to answer. A call of fire and steel. He would be a boy no longer. At least Theon would march south with him. I wish Jon could join us as well. But he was off with King Robert as a knight in the Kingsguard. When the letters from his sister arrived baring that news, he let out a loud whoop and, in a mad frenzy, screamed at any that would listen. "My brother is a knight of the Kingsguard! He did it! He's clad all in white!" Robb had been wrong in thinking black would be his color. He got some looks as he dashed around, with Grey Wind at his heels, who joined him with a loud howl that woke the dead. It was a high honor for Jon, but he could use his brother in this conflict.

"Are you scared?" Theon asked.

Robb didn't bother to mask his fear as his hand shook. "Good." He told him.

"Good?" Robb said puzzled.

"It means you aren't stupid."

The following days made him wish for the days before father's message arrived. Robb had thought running Winterfell as acting lord was challenging and time-consuming with a thousand tasks to occupy his time. But preparing Winterfell for a host was a different battle in its entirety. The stores had to be shored up to support thousands of men. Forges hammered days and nights, forging swords and shields, and he had to oversee all of the household with them all nipping at his heels for his ear. Everything is important to them and there is only one of me. He walked around the yard and halls with naked steel at his hip and watched as men were drilled in the courtyard. Often he joined them. Father had taken the best guardsmen south with him, and they were still drilling the boys who replaced them. It's slower going without Ser Rodrick, but Hallis does a fine enough job. A cold sweat beaded down his forehead as he watched from the bailey. "Lord Robb." Othor said, his cheeks a rosy red from the cold. "Men of the Nights Watch have arrived seeking your audience."

"My uncle?" Robb asked with hope.

Othor shook his head. It would have been too good to be true. Uncle Benjen could have offered him some much needed counsel, but he nodded and departed to the Great Hall. Men of the Night Watch were always welcome in Winterfell, and he would show them every courtesy. Robb sat himself on his fathers high seat and straightened. Maester Luwin's hands disappeared into his long overflowing robes. Theon was to the right of him wearing an amused smile as the rough featured men of the Nights Watch strolled in. One of them, named Yoren, introduced himself and his company.

Robb commanded the steward to prepare rooms for them in the castle. "You shall eat with myself and my brother at our table. A hot meal before you continue south."

They offered thanks.

Dinner was prepared for them. Simple hot soup with chicken and peas, crunchy bread, and some ale to wash it down. Strong, bitter northern ale that burned the throat. Underneath the table, Grey Wind and Shaggydog gnawed on a bone as Rickon stabbed his bread as if it were his foe. "Sorry to say, my lord, but your Uncle Benjen has disappeared. He has yet to return from a ranging."

Robb stiffened at his tone. He thinks him dead. "He'll be back!" Uncle Benjen wasn't dead anymore than Jon or his father were. He saw the lips of Maester Luwin turn down and the disappointment was clear even to him, but they shouldn't have said his uncle was dead.

One of the Night Watchmen said. "Benjen Stark could return. He is a good man and a fine ranger."

"Maybe." Yoren agreed, wiping away smudges of food with his sleeves. "But sometimes good men are swallowed whole by the woods and never return. I've seen it happen before."

"None of them are coming back!" Rickon screamed. "Gone! Gone! All of them are gone."

Robb sighed at the outburst as Shaggydog followed his master's mood and grew irate. It was a mistake to invite Rickon to this dinner. He motioned for Maester Luwin to take him away to bed. "Come Lord Rickon," He soothed. "Old Nan shall read you a story."

"I don't want a story! I want mother! Father! Jon! I want them back!" And stormed off with Shaggydog hot on his heels to gods know where. I shall have to have words with him. When he was gone in the South, Rickon would be the Stark in Winterfell. An uncomfortable silence fell over them and Yoren snorted.

"At least you Starks aren't dull." He scooped up a spoonful of his stew and Robb chuckled. When the pack was whole, these halls were loud and filled with laughter. He recalled the pranks and arguments held in these halls. Now it's just me and Rickon. Soon it'll only be Rickon and he'll curse him along with the rest. But he had to go South as father once did during Roberts Rebellion. South with twenty thousand Northman to drag the Old Lion and the Fat Rose off one another like the errant children they were. The prospect of the southern campaign weighed heavily on his mind as the doors opened and Hallis approached him and whispered news that freezed his veins as cold as ice.

"Yoren." Robb said. "You did not mention that you traveled with a Lannister." The mood in the halls shifted as Theon glared daggers at the Watchmen.

"Didn't think it relevant." Yoren replied bluntly.

Tyrion Lannister Tywins own flesh and blood was off, enjoying himself at the Inn in Wintertown with some woman in his bed. Tywin Lannister breaks the peace and I have his son so close to my roof. He twisted towards Hallis. "Take two dozen men and have Lord Tyrion brought before me in chains."

"Aye my lord." Halis vowed.

"Let me take part in the hunt, Robb." Theon declared. "I won't fail you."

Robb shook his head. He knew Theon would be too rash and may harm Lord Tyrion. A dead Lannister would be no use to him. He begged his leave from the Nights Watchmen and went to father's solar to await Hallis. He waited longer than he thought he would when Hallis entered and shoved the Imp to the cold floor. "My apologies, my lord. He had already fled the Inn. We had to chase his party down the road." The chains wrapped around him weighed almost as much as he did. A wild lion brought before him. He rose with an arrogant smile on his face. "Your quiet guardsman didn't say the reason for my treatment. Tell me, boy, the reason for this injustice." He knows more than he says.

He didn't answer him as Grey Wind entered, snarling, smelling the Lannister no doubt. He nipped at Lord Tyrions crimson sleeves, tearing the fabric and sending the Lannister to the ground. A small puddle forming. "Call off your wolf Stark!"

"To me Grey Wind."

Grey Wind left with one last snarl and placed himself at his feet. He never took his eyes off Lord Tyrion. It was a strange creature, his Grey Wind. The wolves were smarter than most beasts, and he didn't understand why they acted the way they did. Does he sense something in a mans heart? Does he know Lord Tyrion is false? Or is it something else? Robb wondered. Lord Tyrion picked himself up and held a prideful look undaunted by the chains. "To answer your question, Lannister. Your father has broken the Kings Peace and you shall remain as our guest until the wars end."

"You mean a hostage boy." Lord Tyrion said with a sly smile.

Robb ignored him. "You shall be afforded a room according to your rank and status so long as you behave."

"Or you'll send little old me to the cells." He rankled his chains. "Are these necessary?"

"They'll be removed once you are escorted to your room."

Lord Tyrion studied him, and Robb misliked the way his mismatched eyes looked him over. "And why has my dear lord father rebelled?" Robb was tempted to tell him of the war between the Reach and Westerlands, but it would be unwise to tell him anything of note. His eyes struck him as intelligent, and he would not wish to be led astray by Lannister cunning.

"Hallis." He called. "Take Lord Tyrion to his quarters. No one is to speak with him save by my leave."

Eyrie – Tommen

"I want to hear!" Bran nudged him with his elbow.

"Stop pushing me!" Adrian hissed.

Jon whispered. "Quiet!"

All of his fellow ward mates were pressed against the door, trying to hear what was being discussed on the other end. A few moments ago they were in the courtyard enjoying a beautiful day in the Eyrie. Adrian and Bran were arguing as they always did, but it was almost friendly ribbing by this point. Over time, they had made some sort of peace with the other. Both were more similar than they cared to admit. It was Jon who noticed Ser Brynden being greeted with Maester Colemon in the courtyard before disappearing to the Tower of the Falcon. Jon Waynwood always observed things well. Word from the capital. Tommen remembered them agreeing it had to be. All of them wish to hear what had arrived. A rare day, all four of us in agreement.

Unfortunately, Ser Arys proved a problem watching them like a hawk. Tommen still felt sheepish about how they squirreled past his watchful protector. I'll be cleaning the stables for weeks. Mayhaps months! Thankfully, the Arryns didn't have a whipping boy like mother used, otherwise he never would have agreed to any of this. Somehow all of them looked to him as the leader of this little band, especially after news was sent of his father departing for the East. Adrian and Bran often disagreed with one another fiercely as a matter of principle, and Jon was eerie quiet. He was the only one who could forge some agreement amongst them.

Tommen shoved back against Bran as he pressed his ear against the oak frame, repeating every word back to them.

"The banners will have to be summoned."

"I fear so ser. Dark days for the Realm. I-"

He couldn't hear anything more. They stopped talking, but why would the banners be summoned? "What do you mean, they stopped?" Bran tried to force his way in between them as the door flung open and all of them fell forward, limbs entangled into a squirming pile. Adrians boot was in his face and his arm was pinned underneath Jon and Bran. Tommen looked up and gulped at the Blackfish glaring down at them.

"A bunch of errant squires." Ser Brynden snorted and picked them up by their collars. "Far from the courtyard where they belong."

Tommen blushed sheepishly. "It is my fault ser for us being here." The price of leadership is taking responsibility. Lord Arryn had taught him that. A good prince had to take responsibility for his misdeeds and seek to maintain his honor.

"He's a liar!" Bran declared. "It was my fault, not Tommens."

"Don't listen to Stark, I'm to blame." Adrian said.

Even Jon raised his voice. "None of them speaks the truth. I'm to blame."

Ser Brynden shook his head. "Is that so?" He said with a dry voice, not believing a word any of them said. "Where is Ser Arys? And where is that wolf of yours, boy?" All of them shifted around, unwilling to look the Blackfish in the eye. He even made Bran wilt underneath his stony gaze, who lost his wolfish courage. Tommen lifted his head up. "Well." He coughed. "We used Dawn to distract Ser Arys. He pulled on his cloak with his teeth." Tommen didn't understand how Dawn seemed to know what Bran wanted. It was a strange creature. Jon told him that direwolves were strange mystical creatures from the days of Heroes. "I'd imagine he'll be on his way-"

He was interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing and metallic boots striking the floor. "Ser Brynden!" The red face Ser Arys exclaimed, barging into the room as if they were under siege."We need to find-" And eyed them and saw the guilty looks and sheepish expressions and his expression hardened. Panic replaced with firm disappointment.

"Troubles watching your charge?" Ser Brynden chuckled.

Ser Arys grimaced. "I only looked away for a moment."

Ser Brynden patted him on the shoulder. "Don't feel too bad. Keeping track of four hellions is challenging. One moment they are there, and the next moment they are passed the Bloody Gate and on the open road." He turned his gaze against them. "Now what shall we do with the four of you?"

"Why are the banners being summoned?" Jon piped up.

And Tommen almost grinned for his shrewdness as Ser Arys blinked. " Banners? Does the lad speak honestly, Ser Brynden?" His Knight of Oak narrowed his eyes warily.

Maester Colemon chose this moment to interject. "Yes, word has arrived from Lord Arryn. The Lannisters are setting the Reach aflame, and the Tyrell banners were already summoned and are engaging the Lannister forces."

"For what reason?" Ser Arys asked.

When Maester Colemon had finished explaining the tale, Tommen felt ill. His Grand Uncle poisoned and Lady Margaery had lost her ear. It wasn't right to cut off a woman's ear. Joffrey would have enjoyed that sort of thing. Tommen struggled to recall what Ser Kevan looked like, but still he wished to weep for him. And now his father's realm would be torn apart. It was stupid! My realm bleeds. Something burned in his chest and he wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do. From the hidden grins and shared smiles, the thought of war and battle excited his friends. But Tommen felt little but dread at the thought of killing anyone. He didn't even like the hunt. Training was one thing. He enjoyed that, but killing something that lives felt wrong. Joffrey would have smiled at the mere thought of dealing with traitors.

They were escorted back to their rooms. No supper for the evening as punishment, but his friends didn't care. Tales of adventure on their mans as they imagined themselves, like the noble knights Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan the Bold. When Lord Arryn marched with the strength of the Vale behind him, they would follow him as dutiful squires. He apologized to Ser Arys as they walked back. His protector gave a stiff nod of his head as they all got ready in their beds.

"Is it possible peace could be achieved through the pen?" Tommen asked, already ready for bed, his thumbs rubbing against his pant legs.

"Why would you want peace?" Bran replied, annoyed. "This is a chance of a lifetime to show our courage and bravery to act like knights!"

"For once Stark is right!" Adrian wrapped his muscular arms around the two of them. "It'll be glorious!"

Jon considered it and shrugged. "Unlikely. It'll come to the sword to end this conflict." And Jon understood these political matters better than any of them. The Waynwood boy read more books than even Bran.

Tommen scowled and brushed Adrian's hand off. None of them understand anything! It was his realm, and his subjects were going to be dying. It wasn't some game. "No one should die!" He yelled at them, throwing himself back on his bed wrapping himself underneath the sheets. His skin flushed with embarrassment as they all looked at him with worry or pity.

Bran was taken aback by his outburst. "Whats the matter Tom?"

Tommen thought of many things that were the matter. His future realm would bleed, and he couldn't stop it. He may have to kill someone on the field and he didn't want to kill anyone. But mainly he was alone. The crown would be a heavy thing. Even father the Demon of the Trident couldn't bare the Iron Throne. How could he? The spare who would become king.

"My realm burns and I'm alone. I have no brothers to help me." He mumbled.

Bran snorted. "Of course you do Tom. I name you a brother proudly!" He said with honest conviction. Tommen rose from his armor of blankets. Bran would never lie over something like this. Adrian and Jon were at his side. Adrian even held a solemn look on his normally gregarious face.

"When you become king. All of us will help you, my prince. On our honor. We shall start this day."

"On our honor." Jon repeated.

They promised they had forged a strong brotherhood here in the Eyrie. It ended his feeling of melancholy as he smiled, feeling some hope for the first time. "You will be our king one day." Bran said, some mischief in his eyes that had Tommen puzzled. "But today you are just a squire like the rest of us!" and smacked him with a pillow. Tommen grinned and replied in kind as straw and feathers flew as they laughed and Dawn howled into the evening.

Storms End – Margaery

Two guardsmen stood outside her room clad in steel, per Lord Renly's command. Her room was in the sole large drum tower of Storms End that towered over the skyline like a close fist reaching to the heavens. It was filled with the castle's granaries, library, armory, and all the apartments for the lord and rooms for esteemed guests. A behemoth of solid gray stone. Over a hundred men sworn to the Lord of Storms End lived in the tower during the day and still she felt unsafe. A shiver went through her as ghosts haunted her. My constant companions as they were in life. She could hear the voices echoing in her ear. Soft Elinor's lullaby voice tormenting her. Her voice would sing no more. Alla's tongue cursing her and her ambition. Mira, the sweet northern girl, smiled and forgave her while kind Mega wept.

Margaery couldn't sleep well. Nightmares visited her while the dead haunted her during the day. My life is a nightmare. She mused bitterly. She had been stripped of her beauty, a rose whose petals had been removed, leaving only a stem. A grotesque creature easily discarded like some used doll. Some days she swore on the Seven that she could feel her fingers still. A phantom of feeling like the gentle kiss of a ghost. But they were gone. Stolen by a Lannister as they stole Loras from her with a swing of the sword, changing her life forever. She requested gloves and headscarves when she arrived to hide her missing limbs, but Lord Renly forbade them both. "I need everyone to see how crippled they made you."

It made sense, but she disliked the way the arriving lords gawked at her. I'm damaged goods in their eyes. A woman's greatest attribute was her beauty, and she had been made less than whole and her betrothed was milking it for everything it was worth. Every feast she attended in the great halls, she suffered them. Tonight I shall suffer them as well. She would bind herself in marriage to Lord Renly, uniting Storms End and Highgarden together. But she would never be a queen in their eyes. Men would fight for her virtue. Men would fight to avenge her, but she was less now than she had been before. "The War for Lady Margaery's Ear." She had heard a singer say during a feast. It made her wish to strangle him, but she merely smiled and clapped.

I've suffered much, but I want that crown. I want them to see me as the Queen.

Thanks to the Lannister boy, she may never achieve her dream, but she soothed herself with thoughts of revenge. The Reach and the Stormlands would lay the Lannisters low and groveling. Maybe father could take Lord Tywins ear for me? Though she would prefer the queen's ear. Her hand was all over this. That bitch had done this, but was protected by the Crown she wore on her head and the men of honor who protected her for it. Arryn and Stark. My crown. She drowned in a sea of bitterness. It burned her to the core as she wanted to strangle the life out of the harlot until her eyes popped out. She thought of this as she braided her hair.

The sound of footsteps approaching startled her and her hands shook violently as fear lodged deep in her throat. "Mi lady." A servant bowed. "Lord Renly awaits you at the Sept." She made no comment on her shaking hands or pale skin.

"Thank you, Lelia." Margaery replied sweetly. She still learned all the names of everyone she met. A simple gesture that won friends. She wore lovely ivory silk and Myrish lace, her skirts decorated with floral patterns picked out in seed pearls. A beautiful wedding dress, but she badly wished to wear the headscarf and the gloves. Still, she forgoed both for Renly's wishes. They escorted her to the sept where sweet flagrance greeted her; the aroma of incense as the light filtered down through the high windows spewing forth a sea of color. At the altar, her husband stood powerfully built with a firm jaw and bright eyes, wearing a handsome gold and black doublet. All the Stormlands lay crowded in the pews, gawking at her. Margaery tightened her hold around her escort, Ser Penrose, whom acted in place of her father to hand her off to Lord Renly. Hundreds of maidens would be thrilled to become the Lady of Storms End, but she wouldn't be satisfied with only the second best.

I shall be Queen. The Queen.

The ghosts that haunted her cursed her ambition, but she knew in her heart it's what she was born for. Born to be a perfect queen.

The septon smiled kindly as he motioned for Lord Renly to remove her maiden cloak from her shoulders and placed the black and gold of House Baratheon around her.

He did so

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband"

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife."

"One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever" The septon droned on and the entire sept erupted into cheers.

"You look beautiful, my sweet lady." Lord Renly said.

Margaery demurred and giggled. "Thank you, Lord Husband. I find you most handsome as well." If only he spoke the truth. It was a lie, he was repulsed by her. It'll mean siring an heir more challenging, but she would be creative. There would be plenty of sword swallowers in the Reach loyal to House Tyrell. It would allow them to grow their thorns into him.

"Shall we dance?" Lord Renly offered.

"Lead on, my lord." Margaery danced with him for a time, their movements perfect as she felt like a queen as they danced. Sophisticated and in control. She didn't step on his toes once as she was pawned off to dance with other lords. She danced with Ser Balon Swann, whom praised her beauty as brilliant as the dawn. Lord Selwyn of Tarth danced with her as well. An older man that still held some grace in his movements. She danced with Lord Buckler and his heir. Both were terrible dancers, but she said nothing. Even little Edric Storm puffed up his chest and asked for her favor. Bolder than most bastards. Edric Storm was a perfect lie to see the Crown fell to her, but Lannister cunning had dealt that dead by killing Loras. It tainted the claim they would argue as fruit from the poisonous tree. She didn't show any bitterness she felt in her chest and kissed him on the cheek when they were done.

"LETS BED THEM!" a very drunk Lord Bryce Caron said as the cry was answered by dozens of throats.

"BED THEM! BED THEM! BED THEM!"

Lord Renly raised his hands up in surrender. "Very well, my friends. I see some of you are eager to see me naked. No idea what that says of you." He japed. "Let us start the bedding."

Clothes were ripped from her body. Rough hands squeezed her flesh between thighs and arse as they ripped off her dress and carried her off. It would be the most love she would get this night, as Renly would not touch her.

I'm an ambitious creature and I'll suffer for it.

No, Margaery knew. I'm a vengeful creature now and the Lannisters would know that when they drowned them in their halls.

They were not the only house that repaid its debts.

For Loras. Alla. Mira. Megga. And Elinor.

Justice for the ghosts that haunted her.

Pentos- Jaime

Joffrey was dead.

And Jaime found he cared little. The boy was not his son, but only his seed. Cersei had made sure he was rarely in the same room as the boy, less anyone to question his birth. After spending several months with the boy, it was bound to happen that he would be killed. Joffrey was not right in the head. Harming his own sister. He had neither harmed Cersei nor Tyrion. Jaime thought. The boy showed no remorse for any of it only speaking of punishing his traitorous brother and his whore of a sister. Every day in Pentos it had been a miracle they had kept his head on his shoulders. When fathers men turned on them, he saved his life and cut a path straight through them as a knife cuts through butter. Jaime felt alive with a sword in hand. No one could beat him. Jaime was happy despite Joffrey being an ungrateful little shit about it, whining and whimpering the entire time like a scared girl. It was a miracle neither him, nor Clegane killed him. Jaime almost gave him up then, but for Cersei he tried to keep the boy alive. It was then as he stood triumphant over the corpses of a dozen men, something bit him on the neck it felt like some horsefly as his vision darkened.

When he woke at the campsite on the outskirts of the city. Joffrey was dead, and Clegane was unconscious.

"Ah, good you're up, Lannister." A slender man with olive skin told him. "You should be thankful I've decided against killing you, as an old friend requested of us."

His hands remained bound with tight knots that chaffed his skin raw. "You know who I am." Jaime said casually and rose to his feet. "My father will pay handsomely for my safe return." Home to Cersei. They could always make another Joffrey. Daggers pressed into the softness of his neck as they shoved him down. Clegane was out cold as they wrapped his arms and legs in heavier chains. Only metal chains could hold a Clegane.

The slender man, missing half his teeth, smiled. "Ah, but we wouldn't live long after receiving such a reward. The Old Lion would hunt us down for capturing his prodigal son."

"Smart man." Jaime said. "But considering I'm alive, you wish me for something."

The portly man with a golden ring in his nose punched him in the gut. Jaime offered a lazy smile in reply. "Why are you smiling?" He asked.

"I want to recognize your face when we meet again."

A blow would have struck him, but the slender man grabbed him. "But Havi-"

"No Cleon. Him and his big friend shall prove cash cows and you don't hurt cash cows. It's bad for business." He smiled. "Still, we wouldn't want anyone to recognize him before we sell him or his friend to the Pits of Yunkai."

Jaime's lips moved to barter for his freedom when they shoved him face first to the ground. A dagger cut off patches of his golden hair as they shaved his golden mane. My hair, they are shaving my hair.

"Without your hair. No one will know you to be a Lannister Westerosi."

And Jaime agreed with them.

Chapter Text

The Captive Lady

The boorish man burped loudly and chugged down the contents of his goblet filled to the brim with Sweet Arbor wine. "Ah!" He said slamming it to the table. "As sweet as always. Tis a fine meal, my lady. Wouldn't you agree?"

She ignored him and ate another small, controlled bite. It was bitter seeing the man in her seat at the head of the table. Her banners had been ripped from the walls and replaced with the crimson red of House Lannister.

"You are upset." He said after a long moment, deep in thought.

"I've made my opinion clear, ser." Arwyn replied.

Ser Lyle groaned. "My lady, I've kept my promise." And in a twisted way, the so called StrongBoar had done so. "I've not harmed a single hair on any of your brood. Even the young wildcat of a grandson you have." He laughed. "Fierce little bastard killed one of my men! He should have been born in the West!"

"That's one interpretation, I suppose."

He groaned. "I apologize, my lady, if you assume trickery! But I had orders from the Old Lion himself. Put everyone to the sword not of high birth. We can't have anyone betraying the garrison I leave behind."

She raised a slender brow. "And if you received orders to put us to the sword, would you forsake your promises to me?"

Ser Lyle spat out the wine and reddened. "Lord Tywin would never ask of such a wicked thing!" He coughed. "Even lions have manners, my dear."

It was her fault for surrendering the keep, but her grandson Leo and her eldest son were on a hunt when they came upon them like ghosts in the night. She had received no word from Highgarden to suspect an attack, nor any warning from the border crossings until the banners were at her gates. She didn't have the stores for an extended siege and when they played the Rains of Castamere with her eldest boy and grandson at knife point; she lowered the gates, hands trembling. Forgive me… They slaughtered her household down to the man drenching the courtyard with a river of blood. Only Maester Gwaine and Septon Cassius were spared.

"I find I wish to pray at the sept ser." Arwyn said.

"I shall join you then!" Ser Lyle declared. Even sitting, he towered over her, standing. She thought her father a big man, but compared to Ser Lyle, he was thin and sickly. He looks like the Warrior himself. He offered his hand, and she had little choice but to take it. It was comical how large he was compared to herself. They walked in silence to the sept, but he ended it with a whisper, as she could smell the incense of the candles. "It was well you surrendered, my lady. You made the right choice. You were spared the fate of Goldengrove"

Nothing bothered her anymore. She was old and lived only for her children and grandchildren. "And what has happened, Ser Lyle?"

There was little mirth in his face. "Lord Mathis defied Lord Tywin's command to surrender his castle, and my liege was forced to storm it. He could not leave it threatening his rear. A bloody thing, but Lord Tywin took it." At some cost, it seemed. She mused. Lord Mathis was a stubborn man and capable in the art of war. He would defend his keep well and would extract a cost from the Old Lion. She had sent her youngest Arys to be fostered with the man. A decent man with an amiable smile on his face with his friends, but loyal and brave. A good man. At least her youngest boy was safe in the Eyrie guarding the Crown Prince. It was a small blessing. "Mathis is a captive as well, then?" He would hate that stubborn old goat. He took his oaths to Highgarden seriously and would have wanted to join the host Lord Tyrell had to be assembling by now.

"Nay. Lord Tywin had him beheaded for his defiance."

"YOU MEN OF THE WEST ARE BUTCHERS!" Arwyn pulled away from him. "WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO HIS DAUGHTERS?"

Ser Lyle had the grace to look ashamed. "A noble foe, should not die on his knees. It was ill done." He puffed up his chest. "If I were there, I would have challenged him to a duel of combat and submitted him that way!" His voice boomed, waking even the Gods. "His daughters have been sent to Casterly Rock, where they shall remain for the rest of the war." Who knows what had been done to them? Her own granddaughter had nearly been raped by one of her captors. To Ser Lyles credit, he gelded the man himself in the courtyard. His screams were pleasing to the ears, as sweet as any song. Lord Rowans youngest girl, Bethany Rowan, was betrothed to her grandson Leo. She would be the Lady of Old Oak one day. If either of them survived this war. The Lannisters were without mercy.

"In the sight of the Seven, I want you to know my words, to be honest." Ser Lyle said.

A knot grew in her stomach as she realized the brutish knight had an ulterior motive for escorting her to the sept. No lady would break an oath sworn in such a sacred place. "Tonight you shall be sent with the rest of your family back to the Rock."

"You swore we could remain here." Bitterness overwhelmed her. "More lies ser?"

"I fear it's safer for you and your kin to be sent away."

"This is our home." Arwyn said. "Profaned with blood of our household, it may be. It is still our home and you would rip us from it."

Ser Lyle nodded. "It's a hard thing to be ripped from your home, but you shall be treated according to your station and birth." He said. "I pity you and your kin suffering for your wicked lieges, debasing themselves with womanly poison." The only wicked men she knew followed the crimson red and golden lion. Arwyn hoped Lord Mace and his sons would leave the grounds littered with Lannister dead, but she held her tongue. Ser Lyle would not appreciate such honesty.

"I shall see my boys cooperate ser." She promised.

It was all she could do.

Ser Lyle prayed for the Warrior. "May my sword be true in battle. My heart filled with courage and valor. Give me strength to move even mountains, we pray."

She went to her knees after he finished and prayed to the Mother. "Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war. We pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows. Let them know a better day."

Arwyn hoped the Gods were listening.

Jasper

The Small Council chambers had been converted into a war room meeting for all the martial lords left in Kings Landing. Men who had fought war while he still was sucking on his nurse maids tit. Most of them were Northern warriors , like Mors Umber or Arnolf Karstark. Rough men like the land they hailed from. Skilled warriors no doubt and men of courage, but save for Stark leadership he wasn't too impressed with their ability to plan campaigns. Jasper thought as they spoke loud and fiercely only quieting when Lord Stark spoke. They do respect my uncle though. But he remained polite as courtesy demanded. Lord Yohn Royce sat with a grave solemn look as he hunched over, tracing his finger over troop positions of the Tyrell and Lannister hosts. The Seven favored him by having one of his strongest supporters in the room with him. The bitterness towards his uncle had not faded, but he understood in these days of war they had to show a united front. And no man could deny that Lord Stark was every inch a man bred for campaigns. Two wars under his belt. He was more qualified than almost any man in the Seven Kingdoms to lead the Crowns response. He sat in the place of the King at the end of the long table. The pin of the Hand stuck to his chest. The symbol of his office.

Other men sat with them. There was Ser Moonton, Ser Vadris Egen, Ser Wendel Manderly, Ser Ronald Vance, and Ser Donnel Waynwood. The only man not of the sword who sat with them was the eunuch Lord Varys and his soft powdery hands that filled him with disgust. He had never fought a day in his life. Still, they needed eyes on the ground, and the spymaster knew his craft well.

"The Storm Lords are gathering at Storms End answering Lord Renlys call. A host of thirty thousand strong. They seek to defend the honor of the newly made Lady of Storms End." Lord Varys said softly. "My little birds tell me it was quite the wedding."

Hors Umber cackled with laughter. "Should we be concerned? What battles has this prancing stag won?"

"He could threaten the capital with his host." Ser Moonton whitened.

Jasper scoffed. "Little chance of that. He would be a fool to risk offending us any further."

"And he would seek to join up with the Tyrell host at any rate." Lord Yohn lifted his head from the map. "Overwhelm the Lannisters with pure numbers and drive them back to her lands." He pointed at the castles of Old Oak and Red Lake. Lion Pieces held them on the board. Word from the front of their sudden fall. Tales of brutality have spread as well. It was not pleasant to think about them. "From this position, Lord Tywin can either move on Highgarden and hope for a decisive, victorious clash or he shall likely split up host and meet the Stormlord before they can join up."

Lord Stark nodded. "Lord Renly has ignored our commands and courts his own damnation." He said solemnly. It had been his suggestion to send a royal command forbidding him from marching up the Kingsroad. Lord Stark assumed he was trying to prevent conflict from escalating, but he merely wanted to give Lord Renly pause. Every day he wasted, more men of the Reach and Westerlands would perish. More of her lands would burn, depleting her strength. It would make them easier to sweep away and would help damn Lord Renly in the postwar settlement. I have stained him ever further a rebel and turncoat. The Lord of Storms End position would be weaker for it.

The marriage of Tyrell and Baratheon troubled him. If they swept the Martells in her camp, it would be the entire South united against them. A dangerous bloc that could challenge them. One hundred and fifty thousand men could be fielded between the three of them. All the more reason to reincorporate a weakened House Lannister back into the Crowns good graces. We need them to beat down any potential challenge. But he found the alliance between Tyrells, Baratheons, and Martells unlikely. The enmity between the Reach and Marcher lords of the Stormlands would make it almost impossible to maintain in the long term.

"I intend to meet him, my lords, with what men I can raise from the Crownlands." Lord Stark said. "I shall get him to heel and see Roberts brother ends this folly."

Everyone raised their voices in protest of his wishes. "You can't be serious, Lord Stark!" Hors Umber roared. "The men we have here can't be trusted to beat off thirty thousand southerners. Even a bunch of summer boys pissing grass!"

Ser Wendel guffawed. "My lord, you would march to death! What would we tell your lady wife?"

"I'm aware of our inferior position to meet him in battle." Lord Stark replied. "But I'm convinced I can sway him to cease this madness." He voiced with a growing sadness. "I know many of the lords that march with him. They are good men that served Robert well. They'll listen to me and dip her banners."

"And if not." Jasper said. "They may seize you! You are the Lord Regent of the Iron Throne. You are too important!"

"I know my worth, nephew." He said with the quiet nobility of a man of honor that made him forget his bitterness towards the man. "But our king has entrusted me to keep the peace of his realm and, with his refusal to return, it falls upon me to speak with his voice. This course of action is filled with risk, but also great reward. It would shorten the conflict." And that's why it was unacceptable. I need the Stormlands to bleed as well and Lord Renly to be attainted. Not returned to the Kings Peace. Jasper thought. Lord Renly was a snake in the grass and he needed him removed from the garden to ensure his ward's safety.

Jasper stood from his seat. "I respect your optimism and nobility, but this is far too risky." Men looked at him like he was a green boy. Especially the Northman. I'm still one until my first battle. "Let him march and join the conflict while we summon our full strength. Our hand would be better, and if I learned anything from playing cards with Ser Brynden." He voiced with a dry soldier's wit, knowing his audience. "You always use your best hand or you lose your pot. Our best hand is to gather our strength and restore the Kings Peace!" He finished with conviction.

Lord Yohn nodded. "Lord Arryn speaks truth, Lord Stark. It's the better course." All of them piled on Lord Stark until his long face gave a deep sigh and yielded to the fierce opposition from his war council. It might have actually worked. Jasper thought. But it wouldn't be in the long-term interests of House Arryn and the Crown. I shall break apart Storms End and Highgarden.

"Very well." Lord Stark twisted to him. "Lord Arryn and Lord Royce, within two days you shall be on a boat to the Eyrie." Already Ser Brynden had sent word to summon the banners in his name. "You shall take command of a host of twenty thousand strong and are to march it to Kings Landing to be placed under my overall command. You shall march with all due haste." He turned to Ser Moonton, whom dipped his head. "Lord Regent," He said, "I'm yours to command."

"Ten thousand swords will be placed under your command in Maidenpool. Once assembled, you shall march to Kings Landing and I shall take over the host of Riverlords, Crownlands levies, and Valeman." No one voiced any objections. Lord Stark was an experienced captain of war and the obvious choice to lead them in a campaign. "My son and heir will head south from Winterfell with a twenty thousand strong host and shall be joined by twenty thousand River Lords rallied by Ser Edmure at Riverrun. Once our forces are assembled, we shall see where the war stands." He saw no flaw in it. I wish I could drag it out longer, but it would strain the alliance with the Starks to do so, and he saw no benefit with that.

"Lord Varys," the eunuch giggled. "Tell me of the Iron Islands what have you heard from them." Iron Islands, what did iron born have to do with this conflict? Jasper wondered. "In times of strive, they'll feed on the realm as if it were a dying carcass with raids."

"It's silent from the Iron Islands." Varys admitted. "A worrisome prospect, but it could mean several things."

"Then we shall send a raven to Lord Greyjoy, reminding him of the cost of disloyalty." The death of the Greyjoy boy. Peon? Tion? Jasper couldn't recall his name. The life of an iron born meant little to him, but he hoped Lord Balon would be foolish enough to raid the Reach. It would increase the devastation and weaken their position in a postwar settlement. It could secure the peace for a generation. And the Greyjoys could prove a good scapegoat to unite the realm in their destruction, just as they did for King Robert. The Greyjoy Rebellion united the Seven Kingdoms under Baratheon rule and mayhaps it could work a second time. No one likes those dishonorable whelps from those rocky isles where little lives or grows.

"My lords." Lord Stark stood, and all of them did likewise. "May the Gods show us good fortune in our tasks."

Sweated still beaded down his forehead from his spar with Ser Donnel Waynwood. He won two of the six matches against a fine knight. He fought with other men in his household guard and japed with them until he grew irritated with their company and departed with a false smile. It always pained him to be outgoing, but he had to do it to keep up appearances. I can't be seen as aloof and uncaring. "You are almost as bad as Arrow." Jasper said, smiling as he fed Honor another carrot. "What you don't think so?"

Naturally. His big eyes told him. Jasper always thought he could understand what horses told him. They were intelligent creatures. Much better than people. They never judged him. "I'm seeing Myrcella tonight." He knew she would accept his invitation to dine with him. Soon they would depart for the Eyrie together, but he hoped they would depart fully reunited in heart and body. He would have to go freshen up for it. It would be hard to woo her, covered in sweat and grime like some stableboy.

Honor snorted in approval.

"Yeah, I know you like her." Jasper snorted. "She overfeeds you. You lazy beast."

She's prettier than you, too.

"I hope so she's a girl." Jasper chuckled and stroked his mane. "Do you think she'll accept? I hope so, boy. I wish to see her smile once more."

You better treat her well! It would not be gallant otherwise! Honor was ever sensitive about the feelings of ladies in distress. It was a shame he would have to leave Honor behind here. It bothered him to leave, but duty demanded it. "I'll have you brought back to the Eyrie latter." He promised. "You'll love it! I have another beast named Arrow. I think you shall become fast friends."

I'd like that. I've enjoyed our rides together. Got to stretch my legs.

"I was told I might find you here."

Jasper didn't bother turning around as the happiness in his chest vanished like a wisp of smoke. "Lady Stark." His voice was icy. "Committed another murder, mayhaps?" He could hear the outtake of her breath and felt some satisfaction. You deserve it for making me soil myself in dishonor. Lord Baelish did not deserve such an end for his loyal service.

"Nephew, please turn around."

He couldn't. I may forgive her if I do so. Aunt Catelyn was still kin despite her crimes and he didn't wish to hurt her anymore than he wished to hurt Robert or his cousins. "My lady," He said. "I struggle to see what you hope to accomplish by this visit."

Aunt Catelyn's voice got closer. "I merely wish to bridge the divide that has grown between us. You are family nephew."

"Family? I'm kin if we are being generous and a stranger at worst." He chuckled. "And what divide is this?" He asked. "I've defended your husband and my cousins with word and deed. That has not changed. Or have you gone deaf and simple in your thoughts? I've denounced Lord Baelish, a loyal man, to cover up your murder."

"It was not intentional, and he was guilty."

"By the word of my mother!" He turned around furiously. "A sick woman. She is unwell and still you listen to her words." Jasper glowered and weakened, gazing at her face. She looked at him with more concern than his own mother had ever shown him his entire life. It made him bitter. Why couldn't you have been my mother? Would you have acted like my mother if I lived in Winterfell? However, it was a life he never lived and, like his mother, she betrayed him with her actions and the wound ran deep.

Jasper strengthened his resolve.

As High as Honor!

"It was wrong of us to hide it from you." She admitted. "But we wish to spare you pain, nephew-"

"Spare me your apologies and your false words." Jasper replied, as harsh as the whirling winds. "If you seek absolution, speak with a septon and the gods, for you shall find none from me. Through your actions, an innocent man has died-"

"He was not innocent. You did not gaze him in the eyes or hear his voice." Aunt Catelyn said sharply. "He did not mean you well."

It was too much. "You don't even show any shame for it?" He said abashed. "Have you no honor?"

She walked to him, and he resisted the urge to embrace her. "Myself and Ned have your best interests at heart. Lord Baelish did not." Her voice was pleading, and it tore at him more than he hoped it could.

"That's close enough." He warned. "I shall not endure this slander in private."

"Read the words of your mother and judge for yourself."

"I do not need to read the mad ramblings of my mother."

She pressed the parchment towards him, but he batted away. "I shall not read it, Aunt Catelyn, if you truly wish to help me. Leave me alone." He sighed. "Maybe time shall heal this wound, but it will not be today." He vowed with steel. Jasper knew he owed Lord Baelish that much. "Good day Lady Stark." He said, stiff with cold formality, and brushed past her.

Myrcella

Myrcella imagined she looked ghastly, with skin as pale as snow with red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was a mess, and she had yet the draw a bath since the dinner. I'm as dirty as I feel. "Myrcella, I worry for you." Sansa said. "You look-"

"I know how I look." Her voice was flat and without emotion."What do you want?"

"Your hurting. I wish to help you. I'm your friend Myrcella, and friends help one another in days like this."

Myrcella snorted. "You're a piece to me. Not a friend." She said, not meaning a word of it. "All of us are mere pieces on some board." It was like a game of cyvasse. Am I a knight? Or a man of arms? Mother used her like a piece to get rid of brave Ser Kevan. She didn't care what it did to her. How it darkened her heart. But she wasn't Joffrey, so her feelings didn't matter.

I'm ruined. I'm soiled, as if she had given up her virtue.

"Oh, princess." Sansa whispered, placing her hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "In times like this, you should be in the company of friends."

Myrcella twisted away. "Leave before I summon a guard." She threatened.

Sansa sighed. "You should really be with someone, Myrcella, maybe your betrothed?"

She laughed, a bitter sound that made Sansa flinch. Jasper was the last person in the world she wanted to see. Myrcella couldn't bear to look him in the eyes without remembering. I would have killed him, too. His blood would have been on my hands. In her dreams, she imagined kissing him and his body convulsing on the floor, coughing up his lifeblood as she wept. The last time she had seen Jasper, he had kissed her, and she erupted into tears and bolted from him.

"Your mother asks for you."

Myrcella stirred to life. "Did she now?" Her voice was dangerously low.

Sansa was oblivious to the change in tone. "Yes, I heard whispers from some of the guards that she asks of you. She loves you deeply. I know when I'm upset, I would want my mother's company. To brush my hair and soothe my worries away. I can speak with my father about you visiting if you-"

"Why would I want that?" She spat out with venom. "If your father were smart, he would muzzle her like a rabid dog." It was the happiest news she heard since she exiled herself to this room amid her crippling guilt and shame. They imprisoned her in the Maidenvault. She smiled when they told her. Myrcella hope the walls would drive her raving mad and she would choke on her stupidity.

Sansa looked horrified, sputtering. "I-"

"Get out." Myrcella whispered, fighting back the tears. "Get out!" She wailed with a desperate command. Myrcella needed to be alone and Sansa was just making everyone worse. I'm a kinslayer. I'm a broken princess. When she remained in the room, frozen in place, Myrcella leaned over and flung her hairbrush. It flew wide above her head and Sansa made a hasty retreated from the room, ducking as she left. Myrcella collapsed onto the pillows and sobbed. Stupid… so stupid. She should have picked up on her mother's plot, Ser Kevan may still draw breath if she had. If she had been quicker, Cousin Lancel would be alive as well. All the good men that followed him on a fools crusade for honor would draw breath. Even the wretched Lady Margaery didn't deserve to be maimed. Her ladies-in-waiting didn't deserve to be put to the sword like pigs, to the slaughter.

But she failed.

Fooled by the false love, mother showed her. Despite everything, I yearn for it. She thought her tamed and declawed by Ser Kevan. Only one thing would stop her, and I don't have the courage to see it done. Myrcella mused. Unless she killed Jasper, I would kill her for that. A vow she would keep, even if it meant her own life. It still amazed her she struck mother and her hand didn't fall off.

It was the guilt that haunted her. Only the truth could set her free. Several times she considered dressing and throwing herself at Lord Starks feet and confessing her crimes. My heinous crime. It wouldn't change anything. War would still take place between her grandfather and Lord Tyrell, but she could look at herself in the mirror again. But she couldn't. She was afraid of leaving Tommen alone in this world. Lord Stark might punish her for being the catspaw. I carried the poison that did the deed. It was not a risk she could take, but the guilt was overwhelming. Maybe it was a fate she deserved? She went over that day over and over in her mind and she should have realized it. Why didn't I put it together?

Jasper

Jasper wore his finest doublet he brought with him from the Eyrie for dinner. Septon Layne would be in tears if he saw him. He played lazily with his cold food; a handsome steak with mashed potatoes coated in a thick gravy. He twisted around and looked at the hour and sighed. She isn't coming. The candle at the center of the table had burned through the wax. Princess Myrcella's silverware was set, and he had her favorite dessert prepared apple pie. A dozen white roses sat by the candles in a vase and a copy of Septa Eleyna's Poems on Love on his lap. A rare tome with moving works that warmed the heart. I wish to charm her heart. Jasper's knuckles whitened as he gripped his silverware. A feeling of frustration coursed through him. What am I fucking doing wrong? A romantic dinner for two. He was certain she would have accepted his invitation. Letters, gifts, none of which swayed his golden softness in his chest made him feel weak and vulnerable, like that stupid little boy who loved songs and stories of knights rescuing maidens from towers. Politically everything was going perfectly to plan. He derailed the investigation into his mother. Secured a seat on the Small Council for the Vale. The Tyrells and the Lannisters would slaughter the other, and they would pick up the pieces. It was perfect. House Arryn future had never looked brighter, but none of that made him truly happy.

Jasper grumbled and shoved the book of love poems to the floor and stood up, hot and bothered. I need to hit something. I need to act like a man and not some soft willed boy. He lost his appetite as he worried more over the heart than about summoning his banners. I had something with her. I was making something with her. And somehow he had dashed it. Ruined it and nothing he could do would repair it. Hope leaves the worst scar on the heart. Every time I think I could be happy, I ruin it. Maybe he was destined to only have his duty? It seemed to be the case. I can't keep doing this to myself. I just can't.

It mattered little duty served him well enough. He would have to give the cooks his thanks, though. They had put effort into making this meal for him and he didn't have a bite. I must thank even the small for doing their duty well. Maybe he would give them his meal? It seemed the honorable thing to do. Otherwise, they would simply throw it out for the gutter rats. The city was swimming with them. Myrcella had shown him when he traveled with her to some orphanage. Yet, another reason the capital was a cesspool, along with the courtly intrigue. Lords have duties that their high birth entrusts to them and it was disgusting how they shirked their obligations, but men are weak. There is little good about people. Most are rotten and selfish to the core, but there were innocents as well.

The realm bleeds because of the rotten..

Your rotten too.. A small voice reminded him and Jasper could feel a hint of guilt. I didn't cause it. They afflicted these wounds themselves. The Tyrells should have known better, and the Lannisters earned this fate for what they did to those poor babes. How could you slaughter new borns? It was uncivilized, unbefitting a noble bloodline like the Lannisters. The line of Lann the Clever should have known better than to stain their reputation in dishonor so openly. Have they no shame? Prince Rhaegar's children should have been sent to Winterfell, where they could cause no problems and when they reached adulthood sent to a noble order where they may find some honor for the sins of their father. Princess Elia should have been married to Lord Stannis and if the Seven were good, would have sired a son to stay Dorne's hand. Men told him his father brought the Dornish back into the fold. "Lord Jon left with the whispers of war swirling and returned with blessings of peace." Though Jon Arryn never told him how it was done. I was soiled in his eyes. Never worthy of being his heir.

Everyone grows to hate me, eventually. Mother. Father. Harry. Lord Stark. Aunt Catelyn. His cousins. Maybe even Myrcella. How can I make so many mistakes when I only wish to make the right ones? Thousands of Valeman depended on him to make the right choices. If he couldn't handle his own heart, how could he hope to handle the Vale? Would he be known as the Arryn who failed? So many needed him to make the right choices. It was his responsibility and his burden alone. It was a burden that gave him many sleepless nights. Maybe he would always be a lone falcon? It seemed to be his curse. Maybe he deserved it for his imperfections? He was isolated too long in the Eyrie in his cage. He forgot how to be human.

It was a bitter thought, and it always played out the same. "It doesn't matter." He mumbled. "I'll do my duty to the Vale no matter the end."

"My lord." Ser Marwyn Belmore popped his head in and Jasper found his heart racing. Myrcella? Are you coming after all?

"Lady Sansa of House Stark wishes entry. Shall I deny her?"

Jasper masked his disappointment. "Of course not." He used his fake outgoing smile. "Send in my cousin." She walked in with the perfect poise of a lady and offered a curtesy. He kissed her hand immediately. "What a lovely surprise. My sweet cousin as beautiful as the dawn."

"My lord. Gallant as always." Cousin Sansa replied and peered at the dining table of uneaten food. "Oh, do you have guests, cousin? I beg your pardon if I'm interrupting."

"It's only myself." Jasper said. "I fear my guest decided not to show."

He knew he sounded a bit irritated and tried to recover with his fake smile that dazzled maidens. "Would you care to join me, cousin?" He asked. "The food is cold, but I'm sure you may enjoy the apple pie."

"It's a kind offer, cousin, but I shall dine with my family shortly. You could join us if you wish?" Cousin Sansa offered.

Jasper stiffened at the thought of a dinner with the Starks. "tis a fair offer, but I doubt they would find me good company." I shall not dine with the man who wished to destroy my family or the woman who killed a loyal banner. As sad and twisted as it was, he still had to defend what remained of it. He would work with Lord Stark to maintain an honorable realm, but he would not dine with them. It would be dishonorable to do so. As High as Honor!

"Oh, that's a shame." She sounded disappointed. "You haven't quarreled with father, have you?" Her voice raised a pitch.

"It's little of your concern." He said curtly. "Tell me cousin why you are truly here?"

Cousin Sansa's eyes twinkled with a sight he saw in women. Intervention. She wishes to meddle in something. "I'm ever so worried about Princess Myrcella. She's unwell, and I thought you could help her."

Jasper hardened. "You thought wrong." It was far too harsh, and he softened when she flinched from his tone. She is a lady of noble birth. A gentle creature of soft disposition. Jasper reminded himself. "I apologize." He said. "Forgive my tone, but there is little I can do."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Trust me, I've tried everything. Letters, gifts, I even kissed her. None of it has ended well." He sighed. Even now, it puzzled him. In the tiltyard, it required decisive, firm action to secure victory. You had to trust your instincts and what your gut and eyes tell you. Jasper trusted his gut. When she came to him hysterical, stricken by some womanly madness, it told him to kiss her and true love would be restored between them. All the songs said it should have been so. She should have kissed him back, calmed by his strong declarations of affections. Instead, she bolted from him, weeping as if he were a monster. It was maddening. It was irksome, and he liked none of it.

"Maybe you should have listened to her instead?" Cousin Sansa suggested.

Jasper crossed his arms. "That sounds girlish."

"What do you have to lose, cousin? You both look so miserable." It was a reasonable position. He was quite miserable. What do I have to lose at this point?

He scoffed. "It's not so simple." He said, walking towards the balcony. It was a beautiful night with the stars above them. Jasper could stare at the stars for hours. Myrcella loved the stars, and he wished to show her the constellations his grand uncle had shown him. It was a fine dream of summer. She would likely learn more than him. Myrcella always recalled things better than him. "She needs distance. It's what she wants." His voice weakened with bitterness.

Cousins Sansa's hand touched his wrist. "She needs you to listen to her cousin.

Jasper sighed. "I'm not convinced that's true and I've made my choice." It would be a mistake to seek her out before she was ready with whatever ailed her. Cousin Sansa was staring at him with worry and it annoyed him. I shouldn't make her worry. It wasn't knightly to make a maiden worry. He chuckled and twisted sharply. "It is well enough. Now." He pointed. "I best get you back to your father. I wouldn't wish him to worry over your whereabouts." Jasper offered his hand.

"And Myrcella?" She asked with a stubborn glint that demanded an answer.

Jasper stiffened and spoke honestly. "She'll be fine without me. She doesn't need me. Myrcella needs her friends like yourself."

"She needs you. Have you not seen her?! Myrcella never leaves her room haunted by whatever she has suffered. Her eyes puffy from her tears without her gallant knight by her side."

"You are mistaken." He dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I shall speak no further of this."

It couldn't possibly be that bad. Myrcella held a strong character. The mere death of her grand uncle shouldn't have caused such a collapse.

Cousin Sansa blinked, astonished. "So you abandon her in her hour of need."

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. He darkened. "Abandon?" He mumbled, thinking of the Eyrie and all of those lonely nights listening to the roaring wind curled up in the sheets wishing for his parents to tuck him in. Wishing more than dreams and songs. Wishing for a mother's tender caress and a father's warm hand. "Abandon!" His voice cracked like a whip, and she flinched at the change in his tone. "I've never abandoned anyone a day in my life!" He raged. "How dare you accuse me of such?"

"Cousin I-"

"You are a silly girl who knows absolutely nothing!" Jasper seethed.

"Ser Marwyn!" He commanded with his lord's voice as cold as the winds of the Eyrie. His man came stumbling in. "See, my cousin is escorted back to the Kings Tower." He twisted to his subdued cousin as quiet as a lamb. Silenced by his fury. "Enjoy your dinner with your family and have a good night." He said with the thinnest of courtesy.

When she left him, he mumbled. "Abandonment…" Shaking his head in disbelief.

His parents abandoned him to his golden cage high in the clouds, but he would abandon no one. Jasper didn't abandon Robert when mother dropped him over the Moondoor. He didn't abandon a simple man of arms outmatched by a clansman axe. He charged forward with reckless courage, risking life and limb for one of his men, not caring what happened to him. Grand Uncle Brynden had scolded him for it, but he would do it again. It was his duty as an Arryn to defend those sworn to him. Even Snow a stain of dishonor he didn't abandon him to a dishonorable fate. Jasper would never abandon anyone in need of his protection. Especially those he loved.

I didn't abandon Myrcella. She knows that. Doesn't she? Doubt hounded him, but he shook it off. Cousin Sansa is over-exaggerating. Myrcella is fine. She doesn't need me. I'll just make it worse.

Jasper knew what the truth was and would keep to his strategy. Distance. Patience. Gifts. She didn't feel abandoned. It wasn't possible.

Myrcella

She was lost in her thoughts and regrets as she came in and out of sleep when the object of her affections walked in, his honest eyes wide with disbelief. "I… I should have come sooner." Jasper said. "I thought you needed space after my previous attempt at comfort." He kissed me. She said nothing in reply and couldn't even look him in the eyes. He sat at the edge of her bed, legs crossed. "I was wrong. Very wrong."

"You should go. I'm terrible." She sniffled.

"I find that hard to believe." Jasper replied. "I know you are a good person with a kind heart. I've seen it firsthand."

"You would be wrong then."

Jasper tried to inch closer to her. "Myrcella…"

"Get away from me! Don't touch me!" She kicked away from him, backing herself against the backboard of the bed, feeling trapped like a cornered beast about to be slaughtered. He flinched as if struck and stood up, his face contorting with annoyance. He grabbed the bridge of his nose and swallowed it.

"I was raised by a rough man. A solider, I know precious little of the affairs of the heart or the sentiments of women." Jasper sighed deeply and sat back down. "I want to help you, but I confess I don't know how." His eyes sparkled with a quiet determination. "But I shall not leave this room until I know you are well. I would rather die than see you suffer so."

It twisted a dull blade in her stomach. "You don't mean that."

"I would face the flames of a dragon for you. There is no greater honor than dying for those you love." And the dumb brave fool meant it. Jasper's beautiful, honest eyes spoke the truth, and his face was always infuriatingly handsome. A rugged handsomeness that made her dream of the marriage bed. Somehow he was like a knight in shining armor, one she always dreamed would ride up to the Red Keep on a white stallion and rescue her from mother and Joffrey. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve him. He was not the perfect knight of a song, but he came closer than most. Harsh in his judgement and rash in his actions, but he was also kind and brave, like a man of the Kingsguard

"Please stop Jasper. I'm unworthy of such."

"You should have thought of that before you stole my heart like a thief in the night." Jasper glowered. "And I shall not have it returned to me. It's yours from this day until my last day."

"Stop." Her voice was weak as he said words that made her blush. Warm sentiments she craved to hear from his lips. "Please Jasper, say not these words."

"How can you think yourself unworthy?" Jasper asked. "I'm the unworthy one. My thoughts and deeds are shameful and everything I touch turns to ash, but you." He spoke with fondness. "you are a perfect princess that could love even a pigheaded fool like myself. I've met no one who's more perfect than you." He smiled. "Every time I tried to ruin what could grow between us, you fixed it with the skill of a maester. I admire you deeply, princess. I admire your kind heart and your intelligent mind. You make me feel as if I could actually be a true Arryn. A man of honor that won't fail everyone." It made her blush a bright crimson red. He adjusted his collar with some uncertainty at the awkward silence between them. "Please say something, or have I made a fool of-" She didn't let him finish and buried her face into his chest, weeping.

"I'm terrible." She sobbed harder, staining his doublet. "So terrible and wretched, like a villain." He said nothing and wrapped his arms around her and held her in place. Jasper wiped away her tears with his hanker chef, as chivalrous as a Knight of the Vale.

"Nothing could be so terrible, princess. I refuse to believe it." Jasper said.

Myrcella told him the truth. She had to tell him it was eating her alive. His eyes grew hard with judgement as she spoke the truth. It worried her what he was thinking. "Talk to me. Please. What are you thinking?"

"I wish you told me earlier." He mumbled. "Your mother is quite the villain. It's vile what she did." He said with disdain. "She should face the headsman, but we must keep it secret for your sake and the sake of the Crown. This is a scandal we cannot afford."

"You don't think me wicked?" Myrcella asked.

"You?" Jasper reached out and caressed her cheek as if it were made of glass. "You are innocent of any crimes. The fault lies with your mother, not with you."

She sucked in a breath. "I could have killed you, Jasper."

"But I'm not dead." Jasper said, clenching his jaw. "Now you will stop dwelling on this nonsense. Whats done is done. Now, we shall move forward." His voice forbade any further argument.

"Oh, Jasper, it's eating me alive. I have to confess to Lord Stark."

Jasper blinked and scowled. "You will do nothing of the sort, I forbid it!" He commanded as if she were little more than a servant to be ordered about at his beck and whim. "You shall hold you tongue until I say otherwise. I will not tolerate disobedience."

She stiffened and lifted her chin up defiantly. "You are not my husband yet, Jasper. You cannot command it of me."

"I… I." His façade of command crumbled as he grabbed her hands. "You can't Myrcella. Please." He begged. "I can't lose you. I don't know what Lord Stark would do. The man is an enigma to me. I think him a good man, but his interests are not my own." His voice trailed. "He would have killed my mother if he suspected her guilty and would tear apart my family and those I love for the sake of honor. I would do things to protect you." Jasper twisted away, ashamed. "Things I would regret…" He lowered his gaze. Myrcella could feel her heart pounding in her chest at this confession. It would hurt him to do those things, and she couldn't find it in herself to hurt him even to appease her conscience. I could make him do terrible things if I wished and he had similar power over her. Love made them both fools, but she would have it no other way.

"Do you feel so strongly about me?"

Jasper's cheeks were as red as his hair, and he nodded his head. "My father wished me to be a lonely falcon. Only alone can one maintain his honor." He said with a deep bitterness. "Flying above everyone, but I'm weak. I don't wish to be alone any longer." He coughed. "Can we cease this womanly talk? I dislike this warmth in my chest. I prefer action to this talking." He looked like a fish out of water talking about his feelings. It always embarrassed him. He did it for my sake.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Yes, Jasper, we can stop. Anything for my hero." She whispered.

"I'm no hero." He mumbled, flustered, wishing to be anywhere else. "I'm a lord."

"Your my shining knight Jasper, whether you care to admit to such. You live up to your words as High as Honor."

"I-"

Myrcella silenced his doubts with a kiss and, unlike her nightmares, he didn't spew blood onto the floor. He was with her and would always protect her as long as he drew breath. I'll help him keep his handsome head on his neck. She tried to ensnare his heart to protect herself and her brother, but she found she had grown to love him as well. Gods help me, I love him. And he would march off to war, leaving her alone in the Eyrie. The kiss deepened as she clutched strands of auburn beneath her fingers. It was a frantic and sweet kiss that left her breathless and wanting for more. She pulled away. "Myrcella," He said as she pressed their foreheads against the other. "Are you well again?"

It was a question with a straightforward answer.

And she gave it with another kiss.

Chapter Text

The Old Lion

The storm pelted the walls in a volley of rain. Men scattered into the wind for shelter amid the ruins of the castle. Tywin walked from the window and back to the maps on Lord Rowan's desk. My desk now. And poured himself a glass of wine as he charted the course for House Lannister. They had lost two thousand men storming the walls. I can't replace such losses against a foe like the Reach. But it had been needed. He couldn't leave Goldengrove threatening his rear as he marched to Bitterbridge.

Bitterbridge is where the future of House Lannister would be decided. A modest castle located where the river Mander meets the Roseroad. It was key that he secured it before Renly Baratheon marched to join up with the Tyrell levies gathering in Highgarden. At Bitterbridge, he would lay his trap and seek to end the war in one swift stroke.

Legacy… my legacy.

This was his last war he would fight, and it was not one he could win militarily unless his foes proved witless. The pen shall secure my victory. Or I shall extract a painful price for my defeat. Riders and bands of smallswords and free riders roamed the countryside like locusts burning villages and towns from Old Oak to Goldengrove. They put the small folk to the sword and burned her fields. Victory or defeat, the Reach shall burn.

The Lannister name would be respected and feared.

Legacy was the only thing that mattered.

Tonight under the cover of darkness they would depart like thieves into the night and force march to Bitterbridge while Ser Lyle Crakehall pressed down the Oceanroad to threaten Highgarden and encouraged Lord Tyrell to give chase and bleed him all the way back to the Westerlands borders. Even with the host forming under Daven Lannister, Ser Lyle couldn't hope to withstand a host of at least seventy thousand swords, especially under the command of capable men like Lord Tarly. The Oaf of Highgarden wouldn't be foolish enough to take charge. Even if he were sounder, minds among him would prevail. Lord Tarly was a solider and would cut through them like a knife through butter.

"My lord." Maester Ondrew of Goldengrove bowed. "Word from Casterly Rock."

Tywin gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment and waved him away. He looked it over and over and frowned.

His son was dead.

Jaime was dead.

It was disappointing he died half a world away a simple glorified bodyguard, but he didn't rage. It wouldn't accomplish anything. Jaime is now beyond even my reach. The Heir of the Rock should have set the Reach ablaze, not dying for an ill-born prince.

All of his children were dead or imprisoned. Cersei lay imprisoned in the Maidenvault. Even Tyrion seemed to be lost to him. Kevan and his eldest boy were dead slain by Tyrell ambition.

My family. My legacy is dropping like flies.

The dynasty he forged with Johanna was unraveling before his eyes. We built this together. A dynasty to last a thousand years. Two golden twins, the jewels of the west. Jaime, his heir, and Cersei, a future queen of the realm. He drank some wine and closed his eyes and imagined her in the flesh. What would she have said to this madness and stupidity? The Lannister cause held no true heir left to him save his grandson Crown Prince Tommen, whom was becoming the last hope for his dynasty.

Old I may be, but my claws remain sharp. Tywin thought. Even if I fail, I shall take down the Tyrell-Baratheon Union. His eyes focused upon the only chance for survival at the castle where he had to risk it all. If he defeated Lord Renly's host and seized the man, he could withdraw in good order back to the Westerlands. Bartering chips to see a negotiated settlement from the Crown when they eventually mustered her forces. If I lose the field of battle, I risk being encircled and cut off.

It was his only card to retreat, or attempt to consolidate his gains would be a mistake. They have backed me into a corner. Tywin knew and smiled. It would be their downfall. A cornered lion was a terrible thing.

If he had the backing of the Crown and control of the king, he could have twisted the Connington against the Baratheons or the Florents against the Tyrells. But Cersei failed him. Almost as disappointing as Jaime. Without the support of the Iron Throne, it curtailed his ability to foster dissent in either region. The Starks controlled the Iron Throne and every lord south of the neck understood that fact and Lord Starks disdain of him and the reality of power was well known. Any promise he offered would be toothless and they would know it.

His two nephews, Willem and Martyn, entered with his dinner. The boys were quiet in his company, cowed by his presence. "Sit." He said, grabbing his fork. "Join me for supper."

"My lord?" Martyn said sheepishly, while his brother whitened like a ghost.

"Are you Lannisters? Or sheep?" Tywin said. "Sit. Relax." Both of them nodded and seated themselves in ash wood chairs. "Tell me what are they saying beyond this room."

All of Kevan's children were painfully soft. My brother spoiled the child by sparing the rod.

"Go on." Tywin urged as he took a bite of some crunchy bread with jam and washed it down with some wine.

Martyn nodded. "All the lords and knights know you shall save us. The Old Lion whose cunning knows no bounds." He said with conviction. "He shall defend the West from those who mean to steal what is rightfully ours."

"Men say we shall march on Highgarden soon to put the Fat Flower to the sword!" Young Willem found his tongue and his courage. No doubt imagining the rash acts of boys. Not that they would see combat. Kevans boys should see it though this conflict without a single drop of blood being spilled.

Tywin chuckled, amused. My misdirection has worked. Less chance for the Tyrell spies to learn until they were well on the march.

Both of the boys exchanged nervous glances at his amusement. Willem grumbled."I've heard knights call this war the War for Lady Margaery's Ear! It's unfair Lord Tywin! Our father was murdered by poison and all they talk about is her dumb ear."

"Is that what they are calling it?" Tywin asked. "Don't concern yourself over it. The opinions of sheep mean little." When the war was done, he would see the singers write another epic over his triumph against the Tyrells. A catchy tune to whistle while he slept, as he did the Rains of Castamere.

"Well, you'll drown them in their halls!" Willem said. "they deserve it for killing father with poison! They are cowards and cravens!" He said with great heat.

"I apologize, Lord Tywin, for my brother's tone." Martyn said quickly. "Fathers death has upset him greatly.

Tywin raised a slender brow. "Oh, you don't think I should drown them in their halls?" He poised the question and, to his credit, he didn't squirm like before. Martyn held some of Kevans resolve about him. His stalwart nature that made him a valuable member of House Lannister. It was good to see that trait passed onto one of his sons.

"I don't think it's possible for us to drown them in their halls. Both are Great Houses and without the support of the Crown…" He gulped. "They would put us to the sword if we did so."

"They deserve it. All of them are guilty." Willem replied.

"They deserve it, but it would not be wise to do so." Martyn answered.

Tywin gave a single nod and finished his meal in silence. He would be my choice to send to the Eyrie. His grandson needed Lannister influence around him. Good sobering Lannister influence. Both of his nephews were silent when he lifted his head up. "You may go." He dismissed. "Make sure they groom my horse before you head off to bed."

The next morning, before dawn broke, they departed Goldengrove.

Ser Garlan the Gallant

"To the dirt, we return!" The crowd of well-wishers shouted. "To the dirt we return!" Dozens of throats repeated the words as the dirt fell over the coffin. Mother wept into his chest as he watched father collapse on the ground, weeping for his boy. "To the dirt we return." Garlan joined his voice with the crowd. He bent down to his knees and grabbed a handful of dirt. "Goodbye Loras."

Garlan walked past the rosebush they planted over his corpse. It had come in nicely. It seemed brighter than the others, but mayhaps it was wishful thinking on his part as the song birds chirped a sweet tune. It reminded him of the songbird Loras nursed back to health. The funeral had been weeks ago, and they had suffered even more since then. Oh Margaery. He should have been there to protect her. To protect Loras. Now one was dead and the other maimed. Outside the walls of Highgarden, one hundred thousand banners had assembled answering the call of his Lord Father: Tarlys, Fossoways, Redwynes, Hightowers, Cuys among others. They brought with them not only knights and men of arms, but grievances as well.

They bicker away while the Reach burns under Tywins mad dogs.

Garlan had seen first hand overseeing the handing out of supplies to the small folk seeking the protection of Highgarden. Hungry mouths and weary eyes spoke the truth.

Politics. Garlan thought with distaste. It always got in the way of doing what was right. If he had it his way, they would have already marched, but as Willas always told him, it was a complicated series of alliances they had in place. It would take great care selecting who lead what section of the host and keeping balance and cohesion amongst their banners. Marriages and betrothals were being bartered. It was why Willas was always the better man to be Heir of Highgarden. Mainly, it was father whom refused their entreaties to accede command of the main host to Lord Tarly. He wishes to see Lord Tywin dead by his own hands.

He sat down, staining his white breaches with grass as he smiled. "You are missed, brother." He said the dull ache in his chest had yet to fade. The thoughts of war faded from his mind as he talked to Loras to keep him company. "Everyone visits you. I've even spotted grandmother even if she pretends to only be yelling at the gnats" Willas came leaning on his golden cane with a ghost of a smile. Mother came every day, rain or shine. Father never visited, but he had been consumed with a deep grief. The death of his favorite child had driven him to great despair. It bothered none of them that Loras was the favorite. All of them adored him.

I only wish you had chosen a better man than Renly.

Garlan knew when a man held false chivalry in his heart. It never seemed to him that Loras meant as much to Lord Renly as he did to Loras. The heart is a cruel instrument. He was his first great love and only great one. Now we are brothers by law. Whatever misgivings he held towards the man, the laws of the land united them. For the sake of House Tyrell, he swallowed his disdain. "Father misses you Loras. One day he'll wake up to the fact." And on that day, he would support him. The duty of second sons was supporting their families.

"I thought I might find you here." His beloved wife joined him on the grass.

A dainty woman his Leonette and love had grown between them through careful effort on both of their parts. The most beautiful things require effort. "How do you fare, love?"

"I worry for my husband and our family, but this is not the reason I'm ruining my dress." Her soothing voice said, as beautiful as the harp she played. "Your brother, Willas, sent me to find you. He needs to see you in his library."

Garlan kissed the back of her hand. "Well, I shouldn't keep him waiting then." He wished to ask her to stay with Loras for a moment, but it sounded foolish to him.

"Yes, Garlan, I'll stay with him." She smiled.

His wife knew him very well, and it made him happy.

Willas's personal library could give the one in Oldtown a run for its money. Every wall was stuffed with spiraling bookcases filled until they were bursting at the seams with tomes as large as his head. The tallest shelves required a ladder to reach, and Willas had climbed to the highest rung. The ladder shuddered and Willas almost lost his balance, arms flailing. Garlan stabilized the base, frowning. "Ever gallant brother! Saving me from another crippling wound."

Garlan raised a brow. "I don't think now is the time for reading, Willas." He said.

"I must disagree with you! Absolutely, now is the best time to read!" He grasped him on the shoulder. "We have many good books on the Westernlands. Old invasion routes from the days of the Gardener Kings."

"And the Gardner Kings are gone, Willas."

"They are and if we aren't too careful, we may join them!" He replied cheerfully.

"But I didn't summon everyone to speak of dusty old books."

Garlan was beyond lost as he gazed around the empty room. "No one is here, or am I the first to arrive?"

Willas smiled and chuckled as if at some jape he wouldn't share with him. "Are we?" He said with good humor. "I don't think we are ever truly alone." And pulled a book from the shelf unleashing a rumbling sound as the bookcase opened, revealing a spiraling staircase into the darkened earth. Garlan jumped back. "Don't lose your courage now, Garlan. Don't worry, there are no bats."

"Why would there be bats?" Garlan asked, incredulous, gawking at the hole in the bookcase.

"I heard a song about a Dark Knight who lived in a cave of bats or mayhaps I read it somewhere. I can't recall." Willas's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Now help me down and watch your step."

His brother had never led him astray, saving him from a life of mockery by striking first with his monicker. He knew my worries and acted on my behalf. Garlan would follow him even into the darkened earth itself. A few torches illuminated the staircase as Willas explained how grandmother had this room constructed to hold secret meetings of the highest order. He had discovered the room after noting one book was out of place on the shelves. "On that day, grandmother invited me into her councils." Willas looked apologetic. "I've wished to tell you of this place, but now is not the time to discuss roads not taken."

"Why are we here, Willas?"

A sad look crossed his brother's face. "Treason Garlan." The way he said it sent a shiver down his spine as the amusement left Willas's eyes and a rare grave look replaced it. Garlan swallowed and nodded dutifully as they finished their descent.

They found Grandmother Olenna waiting for them along with mother. Even mother knew of this place before him? Garlan tensed. Do they think that poorly of me?

His brother read him like an open book. "You are a good man, brother. I wish to spare you the decisions that are made in this dark room. It would gnaw at you, and I shall not make you suffer."

"Tell my noble grandson to get over it." Grandmother chided with a voice as sharp as a whip.

Mother kissed him on the cheek. "Don't blame your brother, dear. It was our choice."

Garlan nodded. "I understand, but why involve me now?"

Mother looked away, and Willas couldn't hold his gaze. "Oh, enough with it." Grandmother said bluntly. "Treason my boy. You have the loyalty of the house guards. We need your cooperation."

"And what need do you have for the household guard?" Garlan replied, liking little the looks he received from his family.

"Father, Is unwell." Willas said. "And in this dark hour must be removed from the board." His voice was far too detached.

It had him pacing like a cat, shaking his head. "Father is the Lord of Highgarden!" His voice was raised. "He requires our support amid his sorrow, not a dagger to the back."

Mother gazed with sympathy. "I love Mace dearly. He's given me four beautiful children I love and adore, but he is unwell, my boy. We simply are going to keep him under house arrest, while Willas takes over as acting lord. We've secured the support of Maester Gormon and Septon Tendred and we only require your approval." He could make things difficult for them.

"Father merely needs more time." Garlan pleaded, searching for any allies among them and found nothing. How could they think of doing this? It was madness, and it was wrong to plot against him in this dark room. They were right. I never should have been invited.

"Time is not something we have the luxury of." Willas said. "Fathers quarrel with Lord Tarly threatens the war effort. He is erratic. A raging storm of emotion. One moment he is kind and jovial, and the next raging mad and the moment after, then he's weeping like a child. Loras death and Margaery's wounds have hit us all hard, but father- Did you know he called me Loras the other day? He thought me him and didn't recognize when I corrected him. His mind is fragile, Garlan. He can't lead us in days of war."

"Mace is completely broken." Grandmother said simply. "And Gods know I love my dolt of a son, but he is incapable of his office. When a horse breaks its leg you put it to pasture. "

Garlan winced and sat down, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to curse all of them as he nodded his head. "Gods help us."

Ser Daven Lannister

The moans echoed across the room, his hand pulling back a fist full of long red hair back as he claimed a pleasure men were owed. He thrusted deep into her soft body, lost in blissful pleasure as she shuddered underneath him. Her moans were like music to his ears. Encouraging him to go faster. Harder. Daven found his release and pulled out of her and rolled over, lying on the soft cushions. "Tired milord?" She said, giggling as she rolled a leg over him. Eleyna was beautiful, even for a whore with large tits and soft pale legs without blemish. There were two gifts the Gods gave men. Fighting and fucking.

And Daven, as a Lannister, could do both. "Tired? Ha!" And trapped her underneath his body and took his rights with her again and again until he was actually out of breath. Now I'm tired. He whispered those words as he nibbled against her ear.

"Oh, I'll certainly feel it in the morning, milord." A hint of guilt crossed him at her bruised body. I was too rough with her. Daven thought. He would speak with Ameri, the owner of this establishment, and make sure she was well rested for the next couple of days. Though he gave a lazy grin in reply.

"That's right, and you enjoyed every moment, whore." Eleyna moaned when he slapped her ass as her hands wrapped around his neck. She begged him to hit her again.

"Yes!" She squealed."Harder! My Golden Lion harder!" He made her ass red.

Suddenly, he didn't feel as tired as he thought and fucked her again. It was one perk of being the head Lannister at the Rock. The finest whores to fuck at night after a long day of overseeing the host forming underneath the walls. In a few days he would have to march with ten thousand young boys and sell swords to reinforce Ser Lyle as Lord Tywin bade him when he gave him command. A slight against my father. It should have been him, but he did as bid despite the shame. He vowed before all the men and the gods themselves, he would not cut his hair until they had avenged Ser Kevan. I was drunk off my arse when I said that. But he would keep to his oath.

"Will you be marching soon, milord? It's all everyone speaks off?" She asked with a voice as sweet as honey while she cuddled against him.

"I like you, lass. I may even return to you a second time, but I will say nothing about matters of war."

Eleyna pouted her lips. "But we had such a lovely time! Do you think me untrustworthy?"

"Whores are untrustworthy." Daven laughed. "Whores gossip and everyone with an ear would know by dawn." Whores spread rumors like wildfire through camps of men. I love fucking them, but I'm not a limp noodle green boy. And he had a job to do in winning this war for House Lannister.

Eleyna gave a loud huff before giggling . "Maybe you should punish me some more? For trying to wrestle secrets from such a powerful man."

Daven was certainly tempted. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He gripped her chin roughly. She bent over for him, exposing her soft ass reddened from their lovemaking. Eleyna made the soft little whimpers that drove him mad. He would have disciplined her some more, but he saw his red faced squire standing at the door. His blush extended past his collar, with his eyes refusing to meet his gaze. "The Tyrells better be at the gates, boy! Or you are going to be in a world of hurt!"

"Oh, is this your squire?" Eleyna shot him a warm smile. "He's very pretty. I think his hair is nicer than my own." The boy was slender as a reed with the characteristic Lannister gold hair. His frame was thin, and he cried in the training yard when he knocked him down. But he was the Heir of Lannisport and was betrothed to his sister Myrielle. The Lannisters of Lannisport were rich and always craved prestigious matches with more established Lannister branches. Myrielle was besotted with him. He sang songs to her and took her on walks in the garden. She was going to rule over him.

"My lord," His eyes refused to leave the ground. "Your father wishes to speak with you."

Daven nodded and launched himself from the bed and put on his breaches. "Ever fuck a girl, Jason?" He asked and when he received only silence, he snorted. "It's your lucky day than squire. You'll be reddening your blade this night."

"I'm betrothed to your sister!" He protested weakly.

"And she'll thank me when you know where to stick it!" Daven laughed and slapped him on the back. He shuddered from the blow. My sisters have better frames than him. "No boy should meet the gods without making a man of himself first."

Eleyna approached him with a predatorial glint in her eyes. "Don't be shy, milord." Grabbing the boy's hand.

He grabbed her wrist. "Not you woman. You would eat him alive. He's not man enough for you. Get him a sweet girl."

"But his hair is so nice." She pouted her lips. "I can be sweet."

"Eleyna."

"Fine." She gave a loud huff and gave him one last kiss before leaving with a memorizing sway of her hips. Oh, I'll be back for a second time.

Jason was as white as a ghost. "My lord Myrielle I love her I-"

"Don't worry." He wrapped his arms around him. "It'll be a secret amongst brothers." He ruffled his hair. "Trust me, my sister won't wish Baelor the Blessed to come to her bed, but Jason."

"My lord?"

"You break her heart. I'll geld you. Understand, boy?"

Jason nodded, shaking.

It was good being the older protective brother. I get to scare the ever living shit out of my future brother-in-law. He would have to thank father one day for making the lad his squire. Nothing was more enjoyable than fucking with your squire. Sending them on impossible scavenger hunts. Making them shine his spotless armor and seeing him scared shitless. Daven left Jason in the hands of the whores as he departed the pleasure house, jumped on his horse and rode back to the castle. The air was thick with an uneasy tension. The calm before the storm. Even asleep, the city seemed to know that battle awaited its sons. I'll try to see most of these buggars come home to their families.

Daven found father with Maester Embrose at his side. "News from Ser Lyle." Father handed him the parchment, still baring the crimson red of house Lannister. "He marches and requires us to join up with his host."

He brushed his hair back. "The boys aren't ready." He said, shaking his head. They would be sending these green boys to the slaughter. Even with the three thousand sell swords among them. It would simple be marching them to meet the Stranger. "I need more time, father."

Stafford chuckled. "I know, my boy, but we must march all the same." He sighed. "These are orders we can't refuse." Guilt gnawed at his heart for his fathers supportive gaze and firm grasp.

"This should be your command." Daven said through clenched teeth. Not caring that Lord Tywins creature stood beside them. Lord Tywin slighted him by placing him in a subordinate role. A boy's father should never have to serve underneath him. It was not right to afflict it upon a good and loyal man.

"Nay, my brother-in-law chose wisely." Father smiled. "You are a better soldier than I have ever been. I'm very proud." He grasped him by the shoulder and he almost wept.

I'm no girl, though.

Maester Embrose's soft voice echoed. "Who shall you leave in command of the Rock Ser Daven?"

He mastered his feelings and turned to the maester. "My father. I leave him in command." When he protested, he said. "No man is better than you in keeping supply lines flowing, and we are going to need those supplies." Ser Lyle and his men had savaged the Reach. It would be difficult for them to forage off the land. They would be depended upon supplies from the Westerlands to keep them fed along the Oceanroad. He left him a modest garrison capable of holding the walls and little else. He needed every sword for this campaign. Father gave his advice on who to pick to lead the van.

I'm leading ten thousand men to their deaths.

But by the Warrior himself, they would take twenty thousand Reach boys with them. Our cause is just. Ser Kevan was a good man and didn't deserve his grizzly end. And they would kill those roses who dared to pull the lions tail. The men of the Reach will weep over the fact they followed the Tyrells of Highgarden. Daven was determined to make them weep over the losses of their sons and brothers, not the fathers of the Westerlands.

The next day, they had breakfast as a family. The last one they would have. Father stood at the head of the table, eating a plate of eggs and sausages. Mother sat to his right, her eye red with tears from her days spent at the sept. "I shall pray for you every day and night, my son." She said, fighting back the tears. Myrielle's eyes were similar, but it did not trouble Cerenna at all. She kept a bright smile on her face.

"Don't pray for me, mother." Daven rubbed his chin with a napkin. "Pray for those poor Reach boys, we shall leave in the dirt. They don't stand a chance against me!" He winked.

"A mother worries, dear."

"Don't bother the lad." Father said. "Our son is strong. Lord Tywin recognizes such strength. He shall bring great honor to our family." Silverware pressed against plates as they ate in some silence until his sister shove her plate and crossed her arms furiously.

Myrielle gasped. "Why must there be such death? Is not peace a better thing?"

Daven laughed. "Worried over that pretty boy I see." He snorted. "We shall get peace once we have the Fat Flower in chains."

"And how long will that be?"

It was such a girlish thing to be worried over. The war would go on as long as both sides wanted to keep fighting and knowing Lord Tywin, it would be to the bitter end for them. Daven shrugged. "Several months. Years. I don't know, little sister." It was the wrong thing, and she erupted in tears and bolted from the table. Mother shot a disappointed look as she begged fathers leave to tend to their girl. He gave it with a wave of his hand. What did he do? She should get over it.

"Will you bring me back some souvenirs!" Cerenna's eyes became ungodly large. How she managed it was beyond him? It made him grin, though. If only Myrielle could be so cheerful. She was much better before she bled and now all she thought of was pretty little Jason.

"And what would you want, sweet sister?"

"Anything you get me I'll cherish!" she giggled and his heart melted.

"Stop troubling your brother." Father barked out gruffly.

Daven winked, and they shared a smile. He would find some flower or maybe some jewels from a castle they sack. A necklace would look pretty on her neck. When they were done eating, he went to Myrielle's room. It would not be well to leave on such poor terms between them. Mother was brushing her hair, trying to soothe her. "Daven-"

"It's okay mother, I got this." He sat at the end of the bed. His sister still sobbed into the pillows.

"I hate you." She mumbled. "I hate this war."

Daven chuckled. "I can see that." And sighed. "If you are worried about the lad. He'll be fine. I won't let any harm befall him. I promise and you know I always keep my word." It would be a tough promise to keep. The lad was weak. Myrielle showed more spine than he, but he could never deny his sisters anything.

She lifted her face from the pillows and wiped away her tears with her sleeves. "I care for you, too." And flung her arms around his neck. "I don't want either of you to die!" He held her as she wept foolish tears. I will not die. He thought. Daven knew he would see his family again. They would laugh about this one day, but for now, he just soothed her.

Mace

It was Tarly's fault.

Always jealous of me. "He's always jealous of my victory over the Demon of the Trident." Mace whispered to the shadows. "All of them are jealous."

If Loras was here, he would agree with him. My boy. My perfect boy. The Knight of Flowers.

Mace wished to weep. He couldn't help him when the monster squashed his darling boy. I could only watch from the stands his screams one of thousands.

He giggled. I'll make the Old Lion watch as I destroy his legacy. Tywin Lannister was an uncivilized man, unbefitting normal rules of conduct. He should be treated like the animal he was and you hunt rabid beasts. Randyll wanted all the glory. All of his lords wanted the glory of bagging the great Tywin Lannister. I shall have his hide. Not any of them. He had told them as much during their war councils. But Lions are crafty and he had to take time to set his trap. A hunter had to be patient. Why didn't they see that? Tarly was the reason with him poisoning his lords against him. Even his own son and heir. Willas stood against him now. Tarly didn't have the mentality of a true soldier like himself. A hunter of men.

Suddenly, he was crying, and he didn't know the reason. "My roses pruned before their time. Pruned before their time. Golden roses. Blue roses. Pruned! Pruned! By the cruel gardener above." Why did they harm my children? Why? Time passed him by as someone knocked on the door. Mace stood up from the floor. Why was he lying on the carpet? He didn't know why, but before he could dwell on it he saw him. It was Loras and his heart leaped for joy. He entered with a dozen guards behind him. My boy has returned to me. I never should have doubted him. Slender and graceful with a calm smile. He didn't care he loved his own sex. Loras was his darling son, bold and brilliant as the sun. A brute like Ser Gregor couldn't defeat his son.

"Loras! My boy!"

Loras stiffened as he embraced him. "Whats the matter, son?"

"Father it's me Garlan."

Mace squinted and Loras vanished like a beautiful dream. It was a wonderful dream. "Oh, so it is." Was he supposed to be doing something? "Am I late for dinner with you and your beautiful wife?" Things seemed to slip his mind easily. "I'm sorry for being late."

"It's midday, father."

He smiled at Maester Golmon, who had joined them. "Why is everyone here?" It was like a little party in his solar. He loved throwing parties. Big parties with a lot of food and pleasant music like the harp. His daughter played the harp beautifully. Garlan seemed saddened, and that pained his heart. He loved his son. "My boy, what's the matter? No troubles with your wife, I hope?"

Maester Golmon, the stout man, passed him a cup. "Drink my lord."

"Whats the reason?" He asked, puzzled.

"Just drink, my lord." He brought it to his lips, and it gave him pause as everyone looked at him and shoved it back.

"You first." Mace said.

The maester betrayed himself with his eyes. "Ha!" and smacked him to the ground with a powerful blow. "Seize the villain! An agent of Lord Tywin! He means to poison me!" Garlan and his guardsman did nothing of the sort and instead restrained him. It was bewildering "Treachery! My flesh and blood!" He raged. How can you betray me too, Garlan?

"Don't resist, father. Please." Garlan pleaded.

They opened his mouth and shoved golden liquid down as soft as honey. His limbs felt lax as Garlan caught him. "Easy, father. It's going to be alright I swear it."

"Where is Loras? Where is Margaery? Where are my children?"

And his vision darkened, and he knew no more.

Myrcella

She folded.

Jasper grinned like a fool at his victory as he threw down his better hand.

Myrcella had discovered she hated games of cards and dice. It required no skill or strategy, just blind luck, and Jasper was terribly lucky. He won three games for every game she bested him. It was irksome, but she still smiled, as Jasper was really trying to lighten her mood as they remained trapped on this accursed boat. The Starks traveled on the sister ship the Mermaid along with her distant kin Rosamund, who still attended to her. Jasper wouldn't have me travel on any other boat. He told every jape he could think of to make her laugh. One joke about the lord and his horse had her bursting into tears. Still, it didn't help her forget completely. Her mind often wandered as the shadow had pierced her heart and refused to be driven away despite Jaspers gallant attempts to lift her spirits. Darkness sullied her in her dreams.

"Shall we go again?" Jasper offered.

"I think I wish to retire for the evening."

Jasper's hand shot out and grabbed her own. "I shall escort you then!" And offered a handsome smile that made her knees wobble lightly. "And when we arrive, I shall look under your bed for this foul monster that plagues you and I shall slay him with a single swift of my sword!" He winked.

"Excuse me?"

He paused awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish look. "I know you've been having nightmares, princess." Jasper confessed. It made her cheeks redden with embarrassment. "It sounded better in my head, but I wish to provide you comfort in your days of sorrow." It was sweet of him, but she was mortified that he knew about her nightmares. Her tongue refused to obey her as he continued. " I don't wish you to think I've abandoned you. I know how cruel that can be."

She found her voice as she squeezed his hand back. "Do you suffer nightmares, Jasper?"

Jasper blinked in surprise at her question. "Lords don't have-" His puffed up chest deflated along with his haughty voice. "I do." And sat back down with some shame. "I wish to say it gets better over time, but I'm uncertain if that's true." Conflict and doubt ruled over him as he refused to meet her gaze. It made it easier for her to crawl on top of him despite his protests and rest her head over his heart. The position was comfortable, hearing it beat fiercely in his chest. I must make him nervous. But if he felt her heart, it would be a similar sound.

"Tell me about one of your nightmares."

"Would it help you, princess?"

"Mhm." Myrcella replied, feeling content when he wrapped his arms around her. For a long moment, he was quiet, just rubbing her back as he tensed with every caress. "You don't have to, Jasper, if don't wish to."

"No!" Jasper blurted out. "If it'll help you, I must! I'm just trying to figure out the words." He sighed, trying to master his shaking hands. "I have nightmares of my mother dropping my brother through the moondoor. I'm never quick enough." He said in a painful gasp as she rubbed his chest. Myrcella wondered why he had nightmares about that? What cause did his own mother give him? He never spoke of her. "In life, I caught my brother, but never in my nightmares. He always falls screaming for me to save him. I don't save him…" His voice became choked with emotion. She lifted her head up and saw the honesty in his blue eyes and realized it was no lie. Mother had never tried to kill any of us. No wonder why Jasper was so guarded!

She flung her arms around his neck, practically strangling him in a tight embrace. "Your mother tried to kill your brother! By the Gods, that's terrible, you poor thing!" And showered him with light kisses on his cheeks and neck as he reddened by the attention.

"Please Myrcella, you shouldn't. I didn't behave honorably that night."

Myrcella sighed, annoyed. "You put too high of a standard on yourself. She tried to kill your brother!" If mother had ever tried to kill Tommen, it would have been the last thing she ever did. But Jasper didn't see things that way. He was wedded to his honor. His world was black and white. A simple world where judgement was swift and easy. It was a cloak he wore every day. Any act of dishonor even justified disgusted him. No one is harsher on Jasper than himself.

"I almost killed her, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. How depraved is that? My hand around her throat, judging her for her crimes. I wanted to toss her out the moondoor as she did my brother." He whispered. "My mother. I would have dammed myself forever and stained the line of Arryn." Jasper said with growing disgust. "Nothing is more wretched than a kinslayer." She saw no signs of tears in his eyes, they must have already been spilled in private. Most boys didn't cry in public. It made them look weak, and Jasper always tried to be strong and confident, as if he were as wise as the Late Lord Jon Arryn and not the young youth he was.

How could he think himself wicked? He was just angry about his little sickly brother.

Myrcella tilted up his chin. "You named my mother a villain. I think I should name your mother one as well. Tell me about her." And with only a small sigh, he told her things that made hatred take root in her heart like some nefarious weed. Lysa Arryn, the pudgy wife of Lord Jon Arryn, never inspired much feeling, but now her heart burned with anger at the mere image of that cow. She told Jasper terrible things that no son should ever hear. It hurt him deeply and profoundly. Our mothers afflict wounds on us that give us nightmares. How can mothers be so cruel to their own children? It seemed she and Jasper had one thing in common: poor mothers.

"I hope I never meet your mother." Myrcella said. "I may say unkind things."

Jasper chuckled. "Oh, I would like to see that. It would be quite the duel. My sweet betrothed versus my depraved mother. I doubt even the fight on the Trident could compare." He japed.

She giggled. "Who do you think would win?"

"Oh, you without a doubt, but you won't have to. My mother is my responsibility and I've already placed her where she can cause no further harm." Jasper said with the quiet nobility of an Arryn. It made her wish to weep at how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders. One boy shouldn't have to feel this sorrow duty inspired, and she wanted to challenge him on it to shatter the anguish he afflicted on himself, but she lost her courage. Being held in his arms was a sweet feeling, and she didn't wish to dash it with an argument. She stroked his jaw with a single finger and gazed at him with a dreamy expression. He's too handsome. And licked her lips. Jasper got the hint after a moment her betrothed was a slow learner and kissed her until she felt as light as a feather. If he wished to take her, Myrcella doubted she would protest. Though she knew it was a false dream, Jasper was wedded to his honor and wouldn't make her his until their wedding night. It disappointed her, but she wouldn't have it any other way. As they pulled away from each other, he whispered her name and cusped her cheeks. "I love you." He said. "Even if I don't know where this ends. This is the sweetest dream I've ever felt. I hope I never wake."

Myrcella giggled and swooned into his chest. "I love you too Jasper." He melted against her like a pile of summer snow at her declarations of love. "I hope I shall always make you so happy."

He held her for some time and her eyes grew heavy, and she yawned. Jasper chuckled. And lifted her up with her hands wrapped around his neck while he held her back and upper legs like she was a fair maiden he rescued from a tower. "I think I best take you back to your quarters." She squealed with delight at the position. "Will you sleep well this night?"

"Only if you check under my bed for monsters." She teased.

Jasper sighed. "Your never going to let me forget that, will you?"

Myrcella shook her head giggling as he scowled.

Chapter Text

Jasper

Myrcella was beautiful even as she snored louder than Grand Uncle Brynden. Light filtered in through the window as she lay underneath the covers wearing a golden nightgown that matched her hair. Jasper had breached the curtain that separated them. He wanted to give Myrcella some privacy in the captain's quarters. A man should not see his betrothed naked before their wedding. As he gazed down at his beautiful betrothed, his heart weakened at what needed to be done. Over the days at sea he had told her things not even his ser knew. It was easy to speak around her. He felt like Jasper and not Lord Arryn. Or at least a man he could have been. The weights on his chest vanished when they spoke as if he were on a lonely ride in the woods. Every day on the boat was a blessing that made his heart soar higher and higher. He wished it would never stop.

It made this difficult almost impossible.

As High as Honor!

Jasper sat on the edge of the bed. "Princess," He said, leaning over. "Myrcella, wake up." And touched her shoulder gently.

Her green eyes opened with some fright as she let out a quick breath. Panic overcame her limbs at his presence, like he was some phantom come to do her harm. Nails dug into his skin. "Oh, Jasper, it's you!" Her delicate cheeks reddened with embarrassment as she reached for the covers to disappear underneath them. Jasper found the action adorable and pressed them down, hands entangling.

"I've spoken with the captain. We shall arrive shortly." He said.

"I guess I'll have to get dressed shortly, then." She voiced shyly.

He nodded. "But that is not the reason I'm here." His tongue felt horribly tied as his chest twisted into knots. I didn't think it would be this hard to put up those walls again. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Jasper, what's the matter?" She asked, worried.

"These days have made me very happy. Your smile brightens my day and your laugh is a precious gift." He brushed a strand of hair behind her hair. "It makes it hard to pretend otherwise, but I must pretend all the same." He sighed. "I must be Lord Arryn once more to protect you and your brother. I wished to tell you sooner, but I've rarely felt much joy. I didn't wish to ruin it." Some disgust filtered into his voice. "It was selfish of me."

The judgement he feared and deserved never came. "You don't wish to be seen as a love struck boy by your lords." Myrcella said. "I understand. I wouldn't wish to weaken your shield in these days of war. Appearance is everything. Our roles shall protect us."

He kissed her hands like the knight he always wished he could be. "You are perfect, princess. Things will be different once we win the war." Love could truly bloom between them. A happy little family in the Vale sweeter than any song. A garden they shall build together. The hardest projects require time and effort. Unlike his father, he would be there for his family and no children of his would ever feel alone or neglected. Our flock shall know we love them. He offered a smile. "Besides, I'm sure you are sick of me."

Myrcella gasped. "How can you say such a wicked thing?"

"You seemed rather wroth during our card game. That nose of yours was wriggling like a rabbit. I think you wished to skewer me." He winked.

She gave an annoyed look. "I did not."Crossing her arms. She turned away from him.

Jasper wondered if he erred in his teasing. He tensed. "Myrcella-"He tried to apologize, turning her around and saw a mischievous smile as she giggled.

"You awful woman!" Jasper said.

Justice had to be had, and he tickled her. She showed her delight with happy squeals and half-hearted protests. Jasper rolled her underneath him. Her legs wrapped around his waist. They fit together like lock and key. His left arm propped him up to prevent himself from crushing her as breath intermingled between them. A light whimper escaped her throat. Jasper considered kissing her, but he just gazed into the green eyes he loved. I'm drowning and I must pretend otherwise. A similar gaze in her eyes glared back. She drowns as much as me. The moment would be one he would always cherish, even an old man with rotting teeth. "Do you truly understand Myrcella?" He asked.

"Do I have your heart?"

"Yes." He whispered the truth. "I hope you shall guard it well."

She kissed him, and the last shard of ice melted away.

The walls of the Gates of the Moon appeared before them as Lord Grafton rode beside of him. An amicable man with a calculating glint in his eyes. A vulture. But a rich vulture that he had to placate with his time with Nestor Royce, his appointment as Master of Coin and Lord Baelish's murder, he had need of a new steward. It would be foolish to deny greater connections with the wealthiest port in the Vale. Ser Gerald, the mans cousin, was proficient with sums and they had haggled like two fisherman wives over the appointment. He probes me and wishes to see how much I'll give him. It required a firm hand to content him with only the appointment of the steward. Banners sworn to the Lord of Gulltown rode with the party some four thousand knights and men of arms. "A fine day Lord Arryn!" He declared. "I think our journey is at an end."

"Not the end, my lord. Just the beginning!" He said with false cheer. "You shall dine with me tonight in a place of high honor as we announce your cousin's appointment!"

The man fancied himself cunning, but he enjoyed compliments and praise like all the rest. "Tis a great honor, my lord." It better be you disloyal coin counter. House Grafton did not the answer the call of his father and sided with the crown during Roberts Rebellion. They had levied punishment against them. Extra taxes and some traditional titles stripped from them. But they were too important to ignore or leave in the wind. Relationships need to be forged to keep the Vale strong. And he had answered the call, but Jasper wanted to keep it that way.

Stay loyal to me, and I shall see you restored to your traditional place.

One lord down. He thought of all the vassals he would have to entertain, all the false smiles he would give. The hands he had to shake. From dawn to dusk he would have to be outgoing, the epitome of Arryn chivalry. Already annoyance reared its head as he was growing more tired in his company playing this false dance. Jasper wished to hit the sides of Traveler, a grey beast, and fly through the gate with the wind kissing his cheeks, leaving this miserable conversation behind him. But it would be unlordly and not As High as Honor. He counted backwards from a hundred as Ser Brynden taught him to master this annoyance.

Lord Yohn rode with them as well, wearing a suit of bronze armor. An honorable solider."I see little joy in the coming days, my lords. Only the calm before the storm." His contributions on the campaign would be key. If I give him the van few shall complain. Fostering Robert with him bound them closer together and was an obvious move. Runestone and the Eyrie had to be bound at the hip. If Robert were healthier, he may have tried to betroth him with Ysillia, but Lelya Redfort would be the best match. Of all the Lords of the Vale, Lord Horton Redfort was his favorite. A simple drunk who loves his family and the Vale. It made negotiations very simple. A lower match than he wished, but Lord Yohn may take it as an insult if he suggested they united their lines with Robert. I shall see my brother soon as well. Andar Royce was marching with the Runestone levies and his brother came with them.

"Ah," Lord Grafton replied. "smell the roses Lord Royce. We aren't on the field."He said, smiling. "Enjoy the wine and the songs on soft cushions. I know I shall."

"I feel similarly, Lord Royce." Jasper voiced, and in the corner of his eyes he saw Lord Grafton stiffen. "But we must celebrate while we can. My uncle tells me Winter-is-Coming." A strange feeling the summer had lasted as long as he been alive. "A queer saying of the Starks, but war is certainly coming. It does us little good to dwell on the unavoidable clash."

Lord Yohn nodded. "Mayhaps."

They passed through the gate into the courtyard, the flying falcon whipping proudly in the wind. They had assembled the entire household in the courtyard as they went to their knees as he galloped in. His four wards stood in the center, dressed in their finest doublets and capes that fluttered in the wind. Prince Tommen looked taller than when he last saw him, with some of his baby fat disappearing from his cheeks. All of them looked a little older. He could almost detect some hair on Adrians chin. We are making men of them. Only Ser Arys didn't go to his knees, sworn to King Robert he would have broken his oath had he done so. The Knight of Oak filled him with some trepidation, but he buried it. He swore an oath. A sacred vow he won't harm Prince Tommen.

However, it was his ser and his withering gaze that made him feel like a boy playing lord. It shall soon be of disappointment. I have not been a good squire as of late. Jasper bade them all bid to rise as he dismounted somewhat gracefully. His grand uncles face was weathered and craggy, but he could still put him in the dirt with a sword. "I see my wards still draw breath ser."

"Count again." Grand Uncle Brynden replied. "We had five."

"Four out of five is acceptable."

The Blackfish snorted.

He inspected all of them. Tommen gave a friendly smile, while Bran gave a wolfish grin. Jon was respectful, his features neutral, and Adrian was struggling to stay still. Dawn laid at its master's feet. His golden eyes studying him and nodding. It might actually like me. The other Stark wolves hated or barely tolerated him. "Well, I'm impressed." Jasper said as he scanned over them. "You lot may almost pass for squires." Excitement and curiosity burned amongst the boys.

Jasper sighed. "Alright, I give you leave to speak." The wave of sound that struck him was incoherent and gave him a blistering headache. Sorry ser for leaving you alone with them. "ONE AT A TIME! ONE QUESTION! YOU!"

He pointed at Cousin Bran.

"Are you really taking us on the campaign?!"

"Yes."

He pointed at Adrian. "Is it true you won the Tourney of the Hand?"

"I did."

He jabbed his finger towards Jon.

"How do you think the war shall end?"

"With victory for House Arryn and the Crown." Jasper said with complete confidence.

Then he went to Prince Tommen. "Did father say anything about me before he left?"

It was a question he did not suspect. Jasper assumed they would ask questions of the upcoming campaign or fights in the capital. Not of fathers. He rubbed his pant legs. Lying, even a kind lie, tore at him. Jasper couldn't help but be honest. "He did not, but he told me he was very proud that you knocked young Bran in the tiltyard."

Prince Tommen gave a weak smile.

Jasper lowered to his level. "Chin up, my prince. I doubt your sister will wish to see your frown."

"Cella!" Prince Tommen brightened as Bran groaned as the carriages came through the courtyard. A boy that was embarrassed over seeing his mother and sisters again.

"You will hug your mother." Jasper said curtly. "Be a dutiful son. You'll cause her enough grief going on campaign." The mere thought of Aunt Catelyn made him bitter, but he wished not his kin to suffer for his bitterness.

Cousin Bran bristled, but nodded his head.

Jasper watched as the Starks reunited with tears and tender embraces while the wolves howled. A loving family. Once he thought he may be among them. He gazed at them a bit too intently before twisting away and bidding his grand uncle to follow. He didn't bother to wait for Myrcella. I'll dine with her, eventually. But he couldn't wait for her with these eyes on him. Let them see indifference. Let them see a lord.

“I see more gray hairs.” Jasper told him as they wandered up the staircase, “Did they give you that much trouble ser?”

“More gray hairs than hair you can grow on your chin, boy.”

Jasper snorted. “And to think I missed you.”

When they were behind close doors, his ser cuffed him on the back of the head. It was a good feeling, one which he wished he had in the capital. “I deserved that.” He admitted.

“How many times must I tell you not to play fucking hero?” His tone was unyielding. “Reckless boy. Charging three knights.”

His cheeks became flushed. “I beat three knights!”

“And you were too tired to face the hidden threat behind you.”

Grand Uncle Brynden’s voice was filled with disappointment and he found his anger leave him as he slouched against the chair. If he were there, I never would have entered the melee. “It was reckless, but I do it again.” He said with steel. “They have beaten Snow to death. It was the honorable thing to do.”

Jasper sighed and pressed against the bridge of his nose. I deserve this scolding.

“I noted you didn’t stay to play knight with your betrothed.” He said. “Grow tired of her?”

“It would not be lordly in these days of woe.” Jasper replied, trying to fool him desperately. I don’t have the right words to tell Grand Uncle Brynden and he needed him to approve of her. It made him beyond nervous, imagining them at odds. What if they didn’t like one another? Everyone loved Princess Myrcella, but what if his ser was the one that didn’t? If I tell the perfect exchange of words, he’ll love her. “I don’t feel anything for her. I do what the Vale needs from me and when the war is won, I shall play the knight once more.” He committed himself to his act as he did every waking moment of his life. Bright Tully eyes, as harsh as the stone walls, stared at him, and Jasper fought the urge to gulp. Fall back into the mask. It was like putting on a glove and he was an Arryn and would do it perfectly.

A flippant wave of his hand. “Let us move on to more important matters.”  

“I suppose the princess was a rather silly thing.” Grand Uncle Bryden mocked. “I suppose most would grow bored with her.”

Jasper's eyes narrowed like a falcon.. “Mind your tongue. She will be my wife, ser.” His voice chilled.

His ser stroked his chin. “Ah, so you do like her.”

“What? Of course not! It’s a matter of honor little more.” And Jasper added some haughtiness to his voice to sell it. “She’s pretty, but what of it? I’ve seen many pretty maidens.” Myrcella was beautiful, as the dawn, sharp as Valyrian steel and her lips tasted of strawberries. The sweetest strawberries. Jasper thought. He loved the taste, and the feeling of her soft hands in his own. And he still worried he would ruin it with some wrong remark, but he hoped maybe he could manage something after all. She made him feel more normal and Jasper knew he was idiotic about many important things, but she didn’t seem to mind. But he would not admit such girlishness to his ser. He raised him to be a martial lord without an ounce of softness in his breast.    

Ser Brynden leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unconvinced. A slight raise of his bushy brows told this as clear as day. “Huh, is that so.” He said.

Jasper held firm. “It is.” He blurted out with some heat. “Nothing exists between her and I save the duty I owe a princess of the realm and the future Lady of the Eyrie.” And held his ser down with a stare that might have made a lesser man wilt, but it was the Blackfish. Jasper wondered if he had some underhanded trick to get him to fess up before he was ready.  “If you can’t win a fight fair, what do you do?”

“Everything is fair in a true fight!” Jasper repeated his instruction. “As long as the cause is just and honorable!”

But there were no tricks that would get him to bend on this. You taught me everything I know. Jasper wondered if there were some tricks he kept for himself? I’m not ready to tell him. I’m not ready. And his jaw tightened, and he felt the satisfaction of victory knowing he had won the day. “Now-     

“You must have taken her maidenhead, then.” He snorted. “So much for Arryn honor. Not what you expected? Did someone beat you to it?”

It was too much. His face went red and his hands shook and he saw stars. “DO NOT SLANDER MYRCELLA’S VIRTUE WITH THAT VOICE! I”LL BEAT YOU!" Jasper raged, throwing a finger at his chest. For the first time in his life, he considered laying a hand against him as his eyes glistened with amusement at his fury.

Amusement?! Jasper paused, puzzled.

“Myrcella? Informal aren’t we.”

And Jasper realized his mistake. “Shit, you goaded me.” He mumbled. “What gave me away?”

His grand uncle softened. “I’ve been around a while.” He cuffed him lightly on the head. It was like a hug from the man. “You pick up a thing or two, and I’ve watched you since you were a boy. I know you better than most.”

“And if you were wrong?”

“Well,” He said dryly. “I imagine you would have swung with a right hook and I would hope you knock my old bones down or I raised a pissy squire. A damn shame.”

Jasper snorted with laughter. “Your crazy.” He mumbled. “You stubborn old trout.” It was good he knew it would have pained him to lie to his ser. He poured them two glasses of ale as his grand uncle bade him to drink. Jasper drank until his skin felt warm. He talked about her and every little trait he adored, her sweet words and intelligent mind as he dreamed of her strawberry lips. Jasper knew he sounded like a love-struck fool. Every time he paused, he drank more and more. It wasn’t even midday, and he drank like a sailor on leave.

“Gods, she has you good, doesn’t she?”

"Afraid so. I swear I didn't mean for it to happen." Jasper took a larger gulp than before. "I swear on the Honor of House Arryn!" He took another drink. He found he had a man's thirst then. His tongue loosened. "By the Seven I love her. It's been a week and I'm going crazy without her!"

The Blackfish chuckled.

"You think you're so clever? I know this was your little plan." His voice slurred. "Get me drunk and have me spill my guts like some soft-hearted girl." But Jasper found he didn't care a lick. "I miss her. I REALLLLYYYY miss her." Jasper needed to see her and woo her! My precious golden doe. It almost felt like a good idea to exit his solar and seek his betrothed, but he still knew enough to realize that would be a bad idea. It would end with him trying to bed her and that wouldn't be As High as Honor.

"I can tell." Grand Uncle Brynden smiled. "I'm happy for you. Love is a sweet thing."

Jasper beamed at his approval. It made everything to him. As his vision blurred, he was drunk enough to admit the truth. He's more of a father to me than my own. Still, he didn't utter the truth. It was not something that needed to be said. "Gods, I haven't been this drunk since I was a squire and I stole your wineskin! What an adventure that was!" He wanted to drink a mans drinks like his household guardsmen."I thought you would cuff me for it, but you said the hangover would be punishment enough!"

He rubbed his chin. "And I was right. You were fucking miserable that morning as I made you do drills."

Jasper laughed and forgot what they were talking about. "The Capital is a shit place." He said. "Schemers and ambitious lords. They don't have a decent bone in their bodies. Those fucking stewards." He slurred. "Would have made the Tyrell girl queen and the next day would have killed my ward with a smile on their pretty little faces. They deserve this beating we are about to give them. They deserve every lick. I shall make them regret their ambition!" It made him boil thinking about that dreadful place. "And the Lannister Queen is an absolute monster. Vile. Cruel. She deserves the headsman for what she did to my sweet betroth, but justice is denied to me."

The light-hearted smile vanished from his grand uncle's face. "What do you mean, lad?"

"I can't speak of it. I swore a vow, but she made my innocent doe commit a vile act. She was unaware of it, I swear!" A fear seized him like the Stranger. "I don't know what Lord Stark would do if he ever discovered the truth. Myrcella is this sweet, innocent thing and means the world to me, but my uncle and aunt care not for my feelings." They would have stabbed me in the back. The interests of House Stark are not his own. "But I swear by the honor of my house if they command me to hand her over, I'll refuse. They'll have to pry her away from my cold corpse."

"Lad, you make not a lick of sense. What did she do?"

"I can't." Jasper shook his head defiantly. "I'm sorry, ser, but I cannot speak it. I'm only as good as my word. You taught me that."

The Blackfish cursed.

"Listen, I know my niece. I know she wouldn't have any conflict with you, and Lord Stark is a man of honor."

"I trust neither of them." Jasper spat back. "Daggers in the dark, the both of them."

"You've written nothing of this. What has caused this divide between you?"

Jasper told him everything. He told him about how they plotted behind his back to have his mother arrested in open court for the murder of his father. A scandalous lie!They would have torn apart my family for a lie! If they had only come to him, they could have handled it quietly. Instead, they wished to drag him through the muck of a public trial. Dragging the reputations of his parents through the filth. Even in victory, the whispers would haunt his family for a generation. She would always be guilty in some eyes. If they were actually my family, they would have handed it quietly. It confirmed what he knew in his heart that they were barely kin. They would stab me in the back and leave me for the crows. He told of the murder of Lord Baelish and the subsequent coverup. A loyal man died for the madness of his mother and the Starks were her catspaw.

"They trusted the word of my mother. A SICK WOMAN. YOU KNOW HOW SICK SHE IS," Jasper said hotly.

His ser flinched with some shame. "She is."

Jasper waved him off. "tis not your fault." He sighed, his mind wandering to their conversations while he was Lord of the Eyrie. "I've been a poor squire as of late. I've allowed the weight of my title to crush me." He paused. "I shoved you away when I should have relied more closely on your counsel. Things will be different, I promise. I'm going to need you in the coming days." The actions of the Starks had strengthened his resolve in what he desired. The threat they posed to Myrcella and his family. Lord Stark had to be removed from the Office of his father. I may be unworthy of it, but I don't trust him. But not now. Lord Stark was a capable soldier and leader of men, and he would lead them well. Their interests aligned and he would defer to him as he was experienced in war. But during the conflict, he would lay the seeds of his removal, improving his relationships with his Uncle Edmure, whom the Starks ignored to their detriment. Since he became Lord of the Eyrie he had engaged in correspondence with the man. Jasper intended to deepen that relationship. And what remains of House Lannister at the end of this conflict would make a natural ally in his bloc. Lannisters, Tully, Arryn. He had Crown Prince Tommen in his custody and in a few years when he was a man grown married to his Stark bride, a perfect symbol to rally behind. Prince Regent, we shall name him in the throne room. And Lord Stark didn't enjoy his office faced with such pressure he would surrender his office and return to the North. Historically House Stark didn't stay long in the south and it was only natural that the power of the realm shift to the Eyrie where it belonged.

"Do I have your support ser?" He asked.

The response was a cuff to his head and Jasper raised a brow and chuckled. "Stupid question, I know."

"Aye, lad, it was a stupid question. Now let me get you a bucket. You look green."

And Jasper certainly felt green.

Tommen

Myrcella was here!

Tommen adjusted his bronze broach of a stag as he stood sheepishly at her chamber door holding some flowers he had picked for her. Red roses and blue lilies with some yellow daises. Beautiful flowers from one of the many meadows that surrounded the castle. Tommen commanded Ser Arys to help him in his escape and his expedition. He told me if I'm ever in need of escape he needs to be my side. And Tommen didn't wish to upset his noble protector who suffered for him. His sworn brothers were with father across the Narrow Sea, earning glory while he protected him.

He should be with father not myself. I'm safe in the Vale.

Though it pleased him he was bound to him. Tommen knew he was selfish in wanting Ser Arys to remain. It made him feel braver having a man of the kingsguard trailing his every move. I must be brave or at least try to be. A Crown Prince had to be brave. He knocked on the door as Ser Arys watched with silent approval. Had Myrcella changed? Did she still love him? He enjoyed her letters, but it was not the same as before when it was just the two of them in the Red Keep. Time in the Eyrie had changed him. He found brothers in his ward mates. Myrcella, have you changed as well? Or are you still my sister?

Every doubt vanished when the door opened and Myrcella jumped at him, nearly toppling him over. "Tommen!" He yelped as she strangled him. "You are getting so tall! Just like Uncle Jaime!"

"Myrcella, the flowers!" He tried to shield them from her.

Myrcella giggled. "Oh, they look lovely!"

However, Tommen realized they were not alone in the room as she was having tea with her ladies. There was Rosamund Lannister, a soft-spoken girl from the Westerlands. Tommen recalled her fondly. But it was his betrothed that made him redden. She was beautiful, with fiery red hair and light blue eyes as soft as the sea. Septon Layne told him that ladies like being complemented on their beauty. "My lady," He extended a red rose. "It's almost your equal." She was taller than him and several years older. I must not be the knight of dreams.

But Lady Sansa gave a gracious smile and accepted. "Thank you, my prince." She said. "Your gallantry knows no bounds." It made him blush. He noted at her feet lay her direwolf Lady he recalled was her name. Her fur had been braided and a bright pink bow placed on her head. She didn't seem to mind. Her claws could still cut down a knight with ease.

Myrcella beamed. "Your becoming such a charmer Tommen. Do join us. Tell us about your days in the Gate of the Moon."

"I wouldn't wish to impose on your gathering." Tommen whispered. It would be improper and in the Vale they were very firm on good form and spoiling ladies' tea time struck him as poor form.

"Don't be silly!" she yanked him around. "You must stay!" And his sister would hear no argument from his lips and he didn't wish to upset her.

"Please stay, my prince." Lady Sansa asked. "I wish to hear about how Bran has been."

Rosamund nodded in silent accord.

Tommen raised his hands up in surrender. "Alright I'll stay, I'll stay."

They clapped and giggled as he told of some of his misadventures in the Vale. He told them of the time they had snuck out of the castle to go to the local tavern for Adrians name day and how they dragged a very unwilling Ser Arys along. A boy only turned thirteen name days once. "Ale is not a sweet thing." Tommen mumbled. "It was awful Cella, so bitter." Why do men like such a foul drink? "We tried to sneak back in, but the Blackfish was waiting. I swear he has some dark art in snuffing out our fun. Bran came up with this full proof idea of having straw dummies wearing our night clothes in our beds. It should have fooled him." They were made to clean the stables and mule stalls the next morning. For weeks Tommen swore they smelled of shit and straw.

"Does Bran truly enjoy his time here?" Lady Sansa asked.

"Yes, my lady." He declared. "I'll admit, him and Adrian got off on the wrong foot, but Adrian is as loyal to Bran as myself." They had sworn vows of brotherhood. It was just like fathers days in the Vale. He had made loyal friends. Bran was the mischievous one of the group. Adrian was brash and stubborn , but the first at your side in a fight. Jon was the quiet and clever one. No one knew more about the histories of Westeros than him. Every day was as fun as the last and now they were going off to battle together to put his realm to right. Even if bloodshed frightens him. At least they would be by his side, and he could try to be brave and courageous.

Myrcella smiled with fondness.

Tommen adjusted his collar. "And mother?" He asked with hope. "It surprised me she did not come with you for the wedding." A mother should see her daughter wed, and he knew how close they were to mother. She loves us both!

Myrcella's bright smile dimmed. "Yes," she said. "It's very sad Tommen, but Lord Stark wished her to remain and he is the Lord Regent that father left behind."

He sighed. "I guess. I'm sorry she won't be here."

"Don't worry, I have you." She smiled. "That's all the family I need."

Tommen blushed as the ladies giggled at him.

The Falcons Tower was not a place you wished to be summoned. Have I erred? He had been japing with Bran and Adrian in their quarters when Ser Edmund entered and declared that Lord Arryn summoned him to his solar. Bran offered to go with him, but Ser Edmund was adamant that Lord Arryn only desired him.

Tommen arrived into the spacious solar with Lord Arryn sitting at his desk with two plates set. Since his return from the capital, he seemed less harsh and more relaxed. Myrcella does that to everyone. Once she even made grandfather smile. It seemed even Lord Arryn wasn't immune to her tender warmth. "Please sit, my prince." Lord Arryn said. "Your not in any trouble." As if he were reading his thoughts.

Tommen nodded. "Then why am I here, my lord?"

Lord Arryn chuckled as he took out some parchment. "Why I wish to discuss this letter, you sent me. I wish to hear your reasoning from your own lip."

"Well," Tommen said, rubbing the back of his head, trying to recall his reasoning. "I picked Lord Stark to remain as my Hand of the King as he would be my goodfather and kin is important for keeping the peace. He's a veteran of two, well, soon to be three wars." He paused, gazing at Lord Arryn for a reaction. A twitch of his lips. A sigh of disapproval, but he only saw a blank, lordly look.

"Go on." Lord Arryn said as he took another sip of his water. "Explain further."

Tommen went into everything. He explained that Uncle Stannis held experience as Master of Ships smashing the Ironborn at Fair Isles, and he was bound by blood as his uncle and made sense to keep his post. The Master of Laws he held it should be Lord Arryn since they were soon to be brothers by marriage, and if not him, then Lord Royce. Men of Vale were known for honor and justice and they would enforce the Kings Laws the best. His Uncle Tyrion he would name to Master of Coin since Lannisters understood gold and Uncle Tyrion always struck him as a brilliant man. Tommen explained, growing more and more confident until his voice went hoarse with Lord Arryn only asking the occasional question. By the end, he was smiling.

"You are ready, then." Lord Arryn said. "It is time we move beyond Small Council Hypotheticals. Tell me, my prince, how shall we bring this war to an end? How should Lord Stark end this war?"

"Lord Arryn! I'm not ready for that!" Tommen stood up, reddening. "That's real!" How could he think I'm ready for that?

Lord Arryn chuckled. "As will all things be for you one day. One day, you shall be king and shall face a crisis like this. From the tundra of the North to the scorching deserts of Dorne, you shall rule. It'll be your responsibility and now is a perfect time as any to learn." He sighed at his vow of silence. "There are no stupid answers, my prince."

He very much disagreed with that statement. There are certainly stupid answers as the silence choked them both.

"Whats the best way to make peace?"

"Marriage." Tommen said sheepishly.

Lord Arryn smiled. "Yes!" He said happily. "Marriage is very important in keeping the peace. What marriages are holding up the Crown?"

"Your marriage with my sister will tie the Crown with the Vale, and mine with Lady Sansa would secure the North."

"It would." He agreed. "Do you think marriage is important for restoring the Tyrells and Lannisters to the fold?"

And Tommen felt it was a trick question. "I know marriage is key to keeping the peace, but I don't see how it'll end the war."

Lord Arryn nodded. "Tis true, but when this conflict ends marriage will be a needed tool to maintain the peace. Marriage can be a punishment and a gift. It can weaken as well as strengthen."

Tommen nodded along as he went over troop strengths of the Reach and the Westerlands. He spoke of the wealth of Casterly Rock and Highgarden and how both regions were vital to the Crown. Lord Tywin was his grandfather and one of his strongest supporters, but his reputation made him a bitter drink to swallow for the other allies of House Baratheon. Lord Arryn asked if they should send Lord Tywin to the Wall for the devastation wrought against the Reach.

"NO!" He slammed his fist against the desk. "I will not punish my grandfather. He's family."

"Will you punish Lord Renly? He is your uncle. Will you blame no one for this? Your banners will scream for justice, my prince." Tommen slumped back into his chair. He remembered Uncle Renlys charming smile and his friendly demeanor. It wouldn't be right to punish him, either. It must be the Tyrells who started this. "He is only defending his wife."

"His defenders will say that." Lord Arryn said. "His detractors will say he ignored the Iron Thrones commands. He played outlaw lord."

Tommen sighed. Why must everything be so complicated? "I would seek to slap all parties on the wrist. A generous peace. If all parties are to blame…"His voice trailed. "then the peace should be lenient. Reparations to the Reach in return for hostages housed in the Red Keep."

"It may be just a soft peace, but it is not wise." He voiced curtly. "Your duty as king is to secure it. A harsh peace would be a better one, my prince. We'll need to prevent this from happening again."

His stomach churned. "I wish not to hurt anyone, my lord."

Lord Arryn softened and rose from his seat. "I know. It's unpleasant isn't it? It's a heavy burden securing the peace,. But you are not alone." Lord Arryn squeezed his shoulder. His cold eyes softened with understanding and Tommen felt protected. "You can rely on your advisors to share this burden and your family and friends as well." Once Tommen ventured into the courtroom and heard Lord Jon Arryn speak to petitioners with a quiet voice of great nobility. Now, Tommen swore it sounded just like Jasper Arryn.

"I thought a king must decide on his own. Only a king may make his choices." Tommen said with a confused look etched on his brow.

"I was wrong." Lord Arryn sighed. "I've told you squires, it's fine to admit to your mistakes when you are wrong and I was wrong. It's foolish to do things on your own. You can rely on others and you must. No one man can do it alone. Men are not mountains." A hint of shame behind his voice before he gave a confident look.

He chuckled. "I know, I am seventeen name days, I must be as wise as a maester. I hate to inform you, but you never stop growing." He winked. "Even when you are an old man of thirty name days!"

"That's so old!"

"You think? My grand uncle is even older."

Lord Arryn ruffled his hair as Tommen laughed.

"Alright, my prince, enough education on politics. Have the day to yourself. Spend it with your sister or ward mates and feel the joy they inspire in us."

He flung his arms around Lord Arryn and hugged him. "I'm happy we are going to be brothers soon." He was the older brother he always wished he had. If only Joffrey could have been like you. Confident and protective, like a true knight. Joffrey always hurt him and anything he loved. If you were our brother, you would have beat him bloody for it. Jasper Arryn stiffened as he patted him awkwardly on the back and Tommen clung to him for too long as he grew annoyed.

"Enough of this girlishness." Jasper said with his lords voice and Tommen mumbled an apology as he unentangled his arms.

"It's fine. Off you go." He waved him away.

Thoughts swirled in his mind as he wandered, with no destination in mind with the hulking suit of steel behind him. The pride in Lord Arryns voice touched him even if he walked away feeling more foolish with every conversation about what it meant to be king. When he was around Bran, it was simple. They could do no wrong, but Lord Arryn always spoke of consequences of ones actions. Tommen would rather clean suits of armor or get into trouble with Bran and the rest. The life of a squire was a simple one. He mused. Far simpler than that of a king.

Tommen paused.

I think I shall feed Lady Whiskers. The orange tabby cat had proved a sweet friend during his stay. She had gained a few pounds since he ordered the kitchens to see the stray fed. It was one of the few perks of being the Crown Prince. They seemed eager to help him and follow. Joffrey enjoyed the groveling, he just wanted the poor cat to get a good meal. Lady Whiskers always found the best perches to lounge in the sun. And when he petted her, she purred. A soft sound that made him smile and wish to seize the animal and hold it tightly. I tried that once, and it scratched me. He almost giggled. Lord Arryn forbade him from taking the cat to his room, claimed it was an unworthy pet for a prince. Tommen couldn't see how a cat was an unworthy pet, but this was his home and so he listened to his ser. When Tommen turned the bend, he tightened at the sight as the shadowy figure stalked Lady Whiskers. One of the cook boys! He told them to leave her alone! I'm their prince and they defy me. Tommen did as they taught in the training yard and just reacted. He propelled himself forward and collided with the boy. "Leave Lady Whiskers alone!"

"Get off me!" a distinctively girlish voice replied as they tumbled to the hard floor. It made him pause, and she used it against him, wrestling herself on top of him, bending his wrists back. He was thankful for the shadows, for he was blushing, being this close with Lady Arya. She was pretty, but beyond frightening, with piercing gray eyes and his courage left him.

"My lady-"He stammered.

"I'm not a lady, stupid!" She snarled.

Tommen didn't know how that worked because she was Lord Starks daughter. A lord's daughter was always a lady. It made his head hurt. "But your father is a lord." He blurted out as she scowled fiercely, only to be pulled back with a loud yelp by steel gauntlets as Ser Arys finally arrived to save him from his fierce adversary.

"Are you well, my prince?"

"Let me go!" She wailed, trying to squirm free, but it was the iron grip of a Kingsguard. Lady Arya was going nowhere without his leave. It returned some confidence to him.

Tommen nodded mutely. "Please release her ser. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding." He didn't like the discomfort he was afflicting against her. It didn't feel right and Ser Brynden told him he should trust his gut.

Ser Arys did as bid.

"Why were you chasing Lady Whiskers?" Tommen asked the strange Stark girl.

She crossed her arms defiantly. "Whats it to you?" She barked.

"My prince." Ser Arys corrected, abashed.

Tommen didn't mind. It was refreshing being treated with such bluntness, even if her gaze was unnerving. He smiled as Lady Whiskers returned to him, brushing against his pant legs purring. "She is my friend, and I thought you were one of the cook boys. They have tormented her." He sighed at the memory and tried to be stern, like Lord Arryn. "You should not have chased her. How would you feel if you were hunted and stalked?!"

Lady Arya didn't seem impressed by his princely voice. "I'm sorry Tommen." She mumbled, and it seemed genuine as the flash of guilt in her grey eyes said as much.

Ser Arys raised his hands up in surrender, mumbling about propriety.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Lady Whiskers."

"Sorry Lady Whiskers." Arya said. "But I wasn't going to hurt her. I was just trying to capture her. Syrio said I have to be quick as a cat!"

Tommen picked up the fat cat into his arms, stroking his soft fur and this time it didn't seem to mind as she purred loudly. "Oh." He replied, his head hurting. His head always seemed to hurt when speaking with her. "Why do you have to be as quick as a cat?"

"For Water Dancing!"

"I thought you didn't like dancing."

"I don't! I said water dancing!"

Tommen was puzzled.

Arya was looking at him like he was some stupid simpleton for not knowing the difference. "Oh, tell me about it." Tommen said with a friendly smile. She closed to the gap between them with a scowl on her face until their noses were almost touching. He almost gulped as Lady Whiskers lept out of his arms.

"Are you mocking me?"

Tommen shook his head. "No. I'm not one to mock." He said, wondering if she was about to strike him. Most would have been deterred by Ser Arys presence, but it didn't matter to her. The White Cloak meant nothing. Thankfully, she softened and gave a bright smile and told him all about it. Tommen nodded along and asked the occasional question about the foreign Bravosi fighting style. "Oh," He beamed. "That sounds like a lot of fun! Do you think I could join your instruction once or twice?"

Arya blinked and mumbled, "Bran said it was stupid."

"Well, Bran is an idiot sometimes. I've seen several dares he should not have done." Tommen japed. "It sounds like a lot of fun unless you wouldn't want me too? It wouldn't be princely to impose." The words of House Arryn were as High as Honor and Tommen felt they were good words to live by. A king should be governed by his honor.

"You are nothing like your brother."

His shoulders slouched as he heard his laugh in the back of his ears and felt his hand around his throat. His hand in other places. Joffrey haunted him and he didn't look forward to his eventual he have the strength to stand up to him? Would he be strong enough? Tommen had a sinking suspicion he wouldn't. Weakling. "I know." He whispered.

She punched him on the shoulder. "That's a good thing, you stupid prince!"

Tommen shrugged, at a loss for what to say. Joffrey was the strong one. Mother always said so.

"Meet me in the courtyard at dawn!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "don't be late! And don't be a baby and complain about anything!"

"Okay." Tommen replied lamely as she bolted from him with a wolfish grin on her face that reminded him of Bran. It made a small smile grace his face. Ser Arys was struggling not to laugh at him. It had him blushing a deep crimson. "Whats so funny?" He asked.

"Nothing, my prince. It's nothing." Ser Arys chuckled at a joke only he seemed to know.

Catelyn

The direwolves were playing underneath the table in mock battle, as her children encouraged them. Even her proper daughter acted like a heathen rooting for Lady. Catelyn should reprimand them, but having them all under one roof again stayed her hand. If only Ned and my two other boys could be here. Still, being with her daughters and Bran made her content. She wiped some food off Brans cheek. "Stay still, my boy." As he groaned in discomfort.

"Mother, I'm a squire!"

"And you're still my boy." Catelyn smiled as she wiped the mashed potatoes from his cheek. "I've missed you very much." She probably overdid it in the courtyard, babying him. She promised herself she wouldn't, but then she saw him in his dashing cloak and the months apart became unbearable. Her worry over the events of the Trident and his wounds manifested the moment she saw her favorite child. It was a terrible thing having a favorite, but Bran had such an easy smile it made it hard not to love him. Her Bran had already done much befriending the Crown Prince was beyond beneficial to his future. It opened up many doors to him.

Arya fed Nymeria underneath the table. She was the victor of the friendly little spat. How you convinced Ned to be sent to Bear Island, I'll never know. She had nothing against Lady Maege. She was a fine woman and her daughters were always welcome in Winterfell, but it was not a life she considered for her daughter.

"Cat," Ned said as he held her."We've tried your way, but she has too much of the wolfsblood in her."They had finished their coupling. A sweet one, just like the ones in Winterfell as they cuddled against the other. If the Gods were good, they would grow old together and see their babes become fathers and mothers.

"But Bear Island, it's such a hard place."

"Maeges daughters are more traditional than you think." He chuckled. "And it'll keep her out of trouble. She is so wild and gods, I can't keep up with her and run Robert's realm." And she knew he was right, but it still made it bitter. How will she be able to get Arya a good match if she dresses a man and wears chain mail? But her Ned had made his choice, and she supported him, however reluctantly.

"I'm going to miss you." She told him. "Are you sure you don't want Sansa to stay with you in court?" It pained her knowing her Ned would be alone.

"I would love nothing more, my lady, but it would be safer to be in the Eyrie and it would do her well to be friends with Roberts daughter." She wondered if another child had been born this night from their lovemaking. Another son could still be born. They could name him Ben for Neds brother. Ben Stark with Neds coloring. "And I'll see Bran soon enough. He shall come with our nephew."

"Promise me, Ned, you'll keep our son safe." Catelyn asked.

"I promise, Cat." He kissed her on the brow. "He won't leave my sight."

And her Ned always kept his word. He was a good man that she had grown to love unconditionally. Still, she tensed as she thought of their nephew. "What is the matter, lady wife?" He asked her.

Catelyn sighed. "I worry about our nephew. Our actions hurt him." When she went to see him in the stables, his eyes were pure ice, but behind them was pain. A pain she didn't mean to inflict.

Ned didn't seem worried in the slightest. "He's fine Cat. I've seen him in our war meetings. I see little bitterness between him and I." He stroked her hair. "He knows we acted in his best interest." Her dear Ned's words did not convince Catelyn, and she told him as much.

"Then you shall set in right." Ned whispered. "I have complete confidence in you, my lady, to mend the fence."

Catelyn laughed. "Have you developed a silver tongue husband from your days in court?"

Ned said with good humor. "I suppose your southron ways are rubbing off on me." As they shared another kiss.

All of her children gathered around made her content, and Catelyn enjoyed all the noise. It had grown too silent in Winterfell without her children running around. Her children safe and happy is all she wished for. "Are you well, mother?" Sansa asked, gazing at her with her eyes. Soft Tully eyes. She has grown more astute from court. It made her wish to weep for the girl she had been.

"I am sweetling just thinking of your father."

"Father is going to skin the Lannisters and Tyrells!" Bran declared with heat. "All the men say so! Father can't lose!"

Arya rolled her eyes. "There won't be any battles, stupid. We have too many men. They would be fools to stand against Father."

"There are going to be battles!" Bran said with a stubborn glint. He imagined duels of valor, no doubt.

"Liar!"

"Stupid!"

They shot at each other in quick succession as the wolves joined in the argument. "Enough," she raised her voice. It cracked like a whip and the wolves quieted. "Bran, apologize to your sister."

"But-"

"Apologize Brandon Stark." Catelyn said his full name, and he wilted.

"Sorry Arya." He said with a contrite voice.

Catelyn glowered at Arya to accept. "It's okay Bran." She said. As the small argument was soothed over. If only this was all I had to worry over. Small quarrels at the dinner table.

Ser Rodrick opened the door. "My lady." He dipped his head. "Your uncle wishes entry. Your answer?" Uncle Brynden always inspired a warmth in her chest. When she was a child, it was always to him they would go to settle their childish problems. He always had a warm look in his eyes and he was always welcomed at her hearth. She nodded her consent.

The years had been kind to her uncle. He had aged well. Even an older man, he held a sturdy frame of a knight with a wry smile on his lips. Bran offered a dutiful nod." Ser." He gazed with a worshipful look of a boy staring at his hero. She smiled. If my nephew didn't offer, I may have suggested Bran to Uncle Brynden.

"Shall you join us uncle at our table?"

"Little Cat," Ser Brynden said gruffly. "Forgive me, I'm afraid my table manners aren't what they used to be." He offered a kind smile to her daughters.

Sansa smiled sweetly. "Tis a pleasure to meet a knight of such valor as yourself."

"Did you ever kill anyone?" Arya asked with no tact as her uncle snorted with laughter at her bluntness.

A reprimanded lay on her lips when he replied. "It's fine Cat, the girl is just curious." He rubbed his chin. "I've killed aye. Not as many as those damn singers claim. Never trust a man who brags about his kills. He's usually full of-" He coughed. "Never mind that last part."

Bran begged him to tell Arya a story of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Their eyes went big, and even the stern look of her uncle faltered as he launched into some tales. The rest of the dinner passed with little of note. However, his deep blue eyes gazed at her as the children left the table. She saw little warmth behind them. It bothered her. It was so unlike him.

"We need to talk, Cat." He told her. "We need to talk now."

Chapter Text

Mya

The swords sang in the courtyard.

Mya often watched her husband when he sparred with visiting knights and lords at the Bloody Gate. Mychel normally won. He was quick and skilled despite his youth. "The most promising knight in the Vale." Men said of him. It always made him blush like a maiden. Her hands drifted over her womb. The two combatants circled and exchanged fierce blows as a crowd of onlookers watched. Even the guardsman on the walls watched their lord fight. Jasper gave a good showing but was clearly outmatched despite his stubborn defiance to continue the dance. As stubborn as the mules, she once rode. Parry. Counter. Overhand. The tempo increased into a violent blur of steel as Jasper Arryns' sword went flying and Mychel pressed his blade towards his neck.

"And that is why you are my Knight of the Bloody Gate!" Jasper said, smiling, and led the clapping for her husband.

Mychel was gracious, even in victory. "Well fought my lord." He dipped his head. "You almost had me once or twice."

Jasper chuckled. "No need to fib ser! The day is yours! I yield to your talents!" He grasped him on the shoulder and gave a flashy smile that had Mychel grinning like a fool. Oh, Mychel, you are too easily impressed. She loved him, but the fool saw only what others showed him. Other knights tried their hand facing Lord Arryn as Mychel approached her with a doting smile and kissed her on the cheek. "Enjoy the show, Mya?"

"I always enjoy watching you work up a sweat." Mya winked.

He reddened. "It was quite the bout." He said as the song began once more. This time one of the many Belmores who was quickly being overwhelmed under Jasper's powerful blows.

"I should be going with them." Mychel said. "I should be riding off to war with my liege. I know being the Knight of the Bloody Gate is a high honor, but it feels wrong to be hidden away while others fight." All the lords and knights were talking about the War for Lady Margaery's Ear. It was an exciting time to be riding off to war, and they were confident in the Falcon Knight to lead them. Young he may be, but they considered him a master hunter of beasts and a brilliant tourney knight. A martial figure of courage whom looked natural on horseback. Lord Yohn and Ser Brynden were often by his side as he inspected the host assembled before the walls. Two martial lords of great renown and respect. It solidified their sense of success. How could they lose? Even the Lord Regent was an honorary Valeman and well regarded amongst the Vale Lords. Spirits were high amongst them and it wasn't just the ale that was offered often and freely. The potential riches and rewards that could be derived from the conflict had seduced even the cautious lords. Glory hounds and cautious hens alike love this war. Her good father, Lord Horton Redfort, was his strongest supporter thanks to Lord Arryns' favor. And he suspects a key appointment in the host for it.

It was hard for Mychel to stay behind, but she was thankful for it. They had a good life at the Bloody Gate. The nights they lay together and made love while during the day he led patrols and oversaw the castle and she ran the household. They saw one another often. Their room was comfortable, and the walls were stout. It was a suitable home for the two of them. I was given an actual name. Mya Redfort. She shot him a teasing smile. "Am I not good enough for you, Mychel?"

Mychel brought her in close with a loving look. "You are silver lining." He said and kissed her on the brow.

"But you are weary of being named craven." Mya said bluntly. She had grown up with rough men and mules. Honesty was better than flowery lies lords and ladies often told.

"Aye." He swallowed. "I am."

It was stupid, and she told him so. He was as skilled as a young knight as she had seen. He had shown his courage with his patrols against the Mountain Clans. Only fools would claim that. And who cared for the opinions of fools? "Tonight." She whispered, her eyes wandering down, undressing him. "I'll make sure you feel better."

Mychel's eyes widened as he looked like the luckiest man in the world. I do like seeing that look on his face. And if they were not in the courtyard, she would have eaten his face off. In the distance, Jasper stood triumphant over his opponent as he graciously helped him up and declared he was done for the day. His broad smile for everyone was false as his cheerful demeanor while he shook hands and kissed the cheeks of maidens. The broad smile became subdued as his eyes saw Princess Myrcella. He only afforded her a single nod of acknowledgement. Political indifference. My half sister. She had little of her father in her taking after the queen; she supposed. A delicate blond creature from the south. Her cheeks were a rosy red from the wind. "I suppose Lord Arryn has other duties to attend to." Her husband said dumbly. "A pity I may have asked him for another bout."

"You would have won another bout."

He waved her off, ever modest.

Oh, I know where he is off too and I'll be there waiting.

The stables smelled of straw and shit and the horses that were housed in the stalls. It was a place Jasper Arryn often sought refuge when he wished to relax from the gaze of others. He found comfort in animals more than he did in man. I shouldn't meddle in his life so. But she felt she owed it to the irksome boy that constantly begged her for more carrots to feed the mules. No one seemed to care for him. Neglected by his parents as if he were a bastard. It was an open secret amongst the household not to get too close to the boy, less they wished to get sacked. She had watched him grow up from a kindhearted lonely boy into a lonely man hiding behind a false smile and his sword. Though he seemed different since she last saw him at the Bloody Gate. His distance almost seemed forced, and it gave her pause. Had he found happiness, after all? Jasper doesn't trust easily thanks to that no good Harry.

He had left cheerful and excited to meet his kin and returned to her with a sullen look and a cut lip, but his eyes were filled with ice.

"Do the lords think me pampered?" Jasper asked. His tears had long since dried. "Do they think me a weak falcon?"

Mya saw little reason to lie to him. "They do, my lord." She admitted.

She merely confirmed what he already knew as his little hands pressed a letter to her. "Give this to my granduncle. He is the only one that can help me." When she hesitated. "Please Mya." He begged. "No one else will listen to me." She snatched the letter from his hands, knowing the risks. If Lady Arryn discovered her involvement, they have sent her away. Even Lady Arryn, living in the capital, was small comfort. She had eyes and ears everywhere on the household. But she couldn't leave him to his fate. It wasn't fitting for the son of Jon Arryn to languish away. House Arryn needed to soar.

"What, you don't think I saved the bastard's life? I'm pretty good with a sword, you know." Jasper's voice echoed past the stalls.

Arrows chestnut eyes saw her, but gave no warning. My presence amuses it. "Well, I did. By the Seven Arrow, you are as dumb as a horse."

Arrow snorted, and Mya stifled her laughter, biting her tongue. It was something she shared with him, talking with the beasts. My mules spoke to me in the common tongue as well.

"Yeah, I am funny. How do you think I charmed the princess?"

"I know it wasn't through my looks!" Jasper laughed. "Gods help me, I'm nervous. This wedding is making me nervous. I love her Arrow. I really do. I just want to find some drunk septon and get this done!" Her jaw nearly dropped. Love? He used that word! Mya was amazed. But why did he ignore her so? Why pretend otherwise? It was an enigma, but one which didn't require her meddling. He was fine and didn't require her help. She could feel a sense of relief in her breast. it's all she wanted for him to find happiness as she found it with Mychel. I always knew he wouldn't give up. Every time he fell off his horse, he got right back up.

Forgotten children understood one another, bastards or trueborns. We seek the same happiness we were deprived.

"Of course I know what to do! How-" Jasper turned around and oddly didn't scowl or look upset at her presence. A small smile graced him. "Now I see the joke in Arrows eyes." He chuckled. "Accursed beast normally lets me know when someone enters, but I suppose he has always liked you."

"Don't be too harsh with him, my lord."

Jasper turned from her and stroked his mane. "Nay, Mya. I'm not upset. It's good to see you." After a small, awkward pause, he added. "You can say I told you so."

Mya joined him, grabbing a carrot. "What for?" She asked slyly as Arrow devoured it with glee.

He snorted like his ser and swore under his breath about irksome women and Jasper gripped his arm awkwardly. "Must I say it twice?" He grumbled.

She shook her head and took some pity on him. "Unless you wish too."

Jasper sighed. "You were right that I should not give up. I'm deeply happy, Mya. This happiness-" His voice trailed as he struggled to find the words before he gave up and picked up another carrot.

They stood together in silence with only Arrows loud chewing being spoken. She offered him a smile. "I understand happiness is a strange thing. It leaves many gifts." Her hand fell on her stomach and she realized it much too late. Jasper was not always a dullard and his mind could be as sharp as valyrian steel. His blue eyes widened, and before she could get a word out, he lifted her up and spun her around, laughing.

"You are with child! By the Seven I'm happy for you Mya! You and Mychel must be so pleased!" The happiness on his face vanished as it scrunched up in annoyance with him crossing his arms. "I should have beaten him bloody in the training yard! Making a woman with child ride a horse! It's unknightly!"

Mya almost rolled her eyes. "He doesn't know. I've yet to tell him." And she knew Mychel's reaction would have been precisely that. He would have locked me in my room and wrapped me up in blankets and imprisoned me in a fortress of pillows until the babe came out of me

Jasper blinked. "It's not my place to interfere in your marriage, but a husband has a right to know as the head of your household." He used his lordly voice that forbade any argument.

"I'll tell him once we return to the Bloody Gate. This was the only way I could see you wed."

It made him soften.

"You should still be resting!" He declared. "Not walking around. The babe!" He cried out with worry as if she would collapse at any moment from exhaustion.

Mya laughed. "I'm not even showing my lord. I'm fine."

He sighed. "Very well, I suppose a woman would know such things, but you shall see Maester Colemon."

"My lord-" she tried, but Jasper glowered and she knew it was a battle she would lose. "So be it." Mya grumbled. "I'll see your maester to appease you."

Jasper gave a satisfied smile and returned to feeding his horse. They spoke of mindless things of little worth. Names she had thought of if it was a boy or girl. Her time in the Bloody Gate and the happiness she felt with Mychel. Jasper told her of his days in the capital and of Princess Myrcella and how sweet she was. He mentioned fights he had. Some fights he had won. Others that he lost. Arrow ate greedily while they spoke. His face is more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Even as a boy before his confrontation with his cousin, he never looked this content. The occasional jape left his lips that made her struggle for breath. The Gods have been good to the both of us. Eventually they ran out of carrots, much to the vast disappointment of Arrow, who let out a loud whine, and they both knew it was time for them to depart. Mychel would look for her, and the entire household would look for Jasper.

"Thank you for not giving up on me. I know I can be a real shit sometimes." Jasper said.

"You weren't that bad."

He gave her a knowing looking. "Come on. I was a spoiled brat."

Mya chuckled. "Occasionally, I suppose. It doesn't matter. You turned out alright."

Jasper kissed her chastely on the cheek and donned on his cheerful mask and with one final goodbye sealed with a wink, he departed.

Jasper

Maester Colemon hunched over him, along with the recently appointed Steward Gerald Grafton. Goblets of wine split between them as they went over the books and the supplies of the household. A host of twenty thousand strong were camped outside of the walls and despite his grand uncle refilling the larder beforehand, they were hard pressed to support such an army for much longer. With the joining of the Royce levies, the wedding would have to be had shortly. The day after the wedding, they needed to march to Maidenpool to join up with the River Lords and link up with Lord Stark in the capital. If he could dally longer, he would. The longer we take to end the conflict, the better House Arryns position will be. But that was only in pure numbers. His reputation would take a hit, and that was unacceptable. If he dallied, he would weaken his ability to leverage a peace in his interests with Lord Stark. They had to be leal and prompt in their arrival in order to secure concessions at the negotiation table.

A peace to secure Crown Prince Tommens reign

As High as Honor!

Jasper refused to dishonor the legacy of Jon Arryn.

We are the house at the top of the shiny hill. The example for everyone to follow. And he would not be the subject of japes like the Late Walder Frey. Though it would have been better to let the Lions and Roses bleed themselves some more, but the cost was too high. Grand Uncle Brynden thought he was pulling the apple cart before the horse, thinking about the postwar realm. Much could still change, but thinking broadly, the Lannisters needed to be brought back in the fold. They were no great threat to his wards. Especially a weaker House Lannister. The Tyrells and Lord Renly needed to be punished harshly to prevent them from rising again. It depended on the battles fought and the position on the ground, but his war aims were to preserve the bulwark in the Westerlands and shatter the Reach and Stormlands union. It sounded simple on paper, but Lord Stark would wish to punish the Lannisters more harshly than he thought prudent. Uncle Edmure will see things from my point of view. Two Lord Paramount speaking with one voice would give Lord Stark pause. Mayhaps Prince Tommen could soften the Lord of Winterfell towards his grandfather? Jasper thought not. I can't involve him in these games. He's too young and I will not burden him. Not yet. He's still only a boy.

It was his duty to secure the realm.

The door swung open, and Jasper almost smiled. "Robert." He said. His brother stood slightly taller, with a healthier shade to his skin, but he was still painfully small for his age, with thin spindly arms that made him wince. "I'm sorry I couldn't greet you in the courtyard I-"

"Where is mother Jasper!" Robert wailed.

Steward Gerald smile was that of mockery, and it made his blood boil. My brother is some pathetic amusement to him. Jasper wanted to seize him and throw him through the moon door for it. My brother doesn't deserve such torments from the likes of you coin counters.

Maester Colemon was wiser and kept his face neutral. "Lord Robert-"

"Both of you are dismissed." Jasper said curtly.

He would not suffer them watching the tantrum that would follow. "You are getting married. Where is mother? She should be here!" He stomped his feet as both of his counselors bowed and departed their presence. Jasper was thankful as his hands shook as at the mention of his mother. He could feel the blistering winds on his cheeks and his brother's screams echoed. Screams to help him and still he wanted mother. She would have murdered you! And still you cry out for her? His heart quickened in his chest as he tried to maintain his lordly composure.

"Mother isn't coming." Jasper said, leaving little room for argument. "She remains unwell."

"No! You make her come back! You are Lord of the Eyrie! Make her fly back home!" His brother's voice was raised, and it cooled him down. I can't upset him. It may awaken the shaking sickness. And Robert was his blood. His only sibling in the entire world, and he had to protect him. What kind of brother would I be if he didn't? Wretched. I would be a wretched brother.

Jasper softened his face. "Please calm down. Tell me about Runestone and your time among the Royces."

It was the wrong thing to say as Robert exploded. "I HATE THEM! I WANT MOTHER! NONE OF THEM WILL READ TO ME ABOUT SER ARTYS! ALL THEY DO IS MAKE ME READ BORING SCROLLS OR SPEND TIME OUTSIDE!" It was beyond pathetic and embarrassing for a boy of nine name days crying for his mother like a babe at her teat. This was his heir. A sniveling, snot-nosed brat. He prayed to the gods for civility. He thought of Myrcella and her kind face and gentle voice soothing him. It stayed his hand.

"I'm sorry Robert." He said through clenched teeth. "Mother isn't coming." Nor shall you ever see her again. But Jasper would never say that. It would upset his frail brother.

"I HATE YOU!" His brother screamed, crying as his hands curled up into fists and struck him. They were soft and pathetic. A little girl could strike with greater force. But the words landed true and made him flinch.

He held him by his thin, boney shoulders. "Please, Robert." He begged more than a lord should. "Please, you are going to upset yourself." And his words became truth as Robert shuddered uncontrollably, as if possessed by the Stranger and all he could was hold him and prevent his head from striking the hard floor. He called the guard to send for Maester Colemon. When he arrived, he administer some milk of the poppy and it induced a deep sleep, making him as limp as a newborn. Jasper allowed Maester Colemon and the servants to do their duty as he left. Must I always fail him? He wondered. It seemed a cruel jape of the gods. Why couldn't he be healthy? People mocked him for his frailty and it embarrassed House Arryn and, to his shame, even himself. It's not his fault. Yet, he blamed him all the same. Why does he make my duty harder? It was a dishonorable thought, blaming his only brother.

Your unworthy. Unworthy of the name Arryn.

The lordship would kill Robert if he ever ascended to the weirwood throne. He's just a late bloomer. He'll get better in time.

Jasper recognized the delusion, but his other option filled him with despair.

Harry the Heir.

Bitterness swirled around him, and his vision darkened.

He told himself to stay away from his betrothed, but he needed to see her. It had been too long since he had heard her laugh and seen her smile. A desperation seized him that commanded him to seek her out. Let me forget my failures. My failures as a brother. A lord. Myrcella always reminded him of the man he could be. A sweet comfort that made his heart ache. It makes me weak, but I need to feel it. Absence had made the heart grow fonder. It would be a quick visit.

In and out in a blink. No problem.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear." Jasper said, pulling his lips off her. Slender legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Foreheads rested against the other as they struggled for breath. "But I couldn't help myself. I've missed you too much." The moment he saw her, he all but attacked her. Myrcella's cheeks were rosy red as he pressed her against the stone wall. She wore a beautiful blue dress lined with silver. Every dress she wore looked beautiful, but that was the fool thinking. Surely there is a color that doesn't suit her?

"I can tell." She teased. "But I think something else ails you."

He wished to curse that she read him so easily. Jasper had no desire to bother her. He only wished to see her smile and laugh. "Have you picked out a wedding dress?" He asked, trying to change the subject. "Though I think you would lovely even in septa robes." He winked.

She gave a loud huff. "Don't be charming with me, my lord." She bobbed him gently on the nose. "I'm wise to such tricks!" A light giggle escaped her throat that warmed his heart.

Only some truth would get her off his scent. She smells blood in the water and would not be satisfied until she found something to bring down. "You aren't upset, I have to pretend to be distant, are you?" Jasper asked. "I don't wish you to feel abandoned."

Jasper couldn't tell if he fooled her with his misdirection. "I'm fine Jasper!" She said with a sweet voice. "My ladies have kept me company and I've spoken with your fine gardeners. When you return from the war, it shall be a beautiful place filled with life. I intend to rival Highgarden!" It almost drove away the doubt as he nodded his head. "I understand it's for politics." She promised. "It would be folly for me to sabotage that for what beats in my chest. We have to be smart." Worry crept in her voice. "There is no middle ground in this game we play."

"Don't worry about anything." Jasper whispered. "I'll take care of everything."

She gazed into his eyes and tilted his chin up. "Is this what truly ailed you?"

Jasper rubbed his pant legs. Even the thought of lying to her made him feel soiled.

"Tell me what's wrong Jasper."

"It doesn't matter." He put her down and adjusted his collar it suddenly felt tight. "I wouldn't wish to bother you." His skin became a bit flushed at the warmth in his chest when she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Really, Myrcella, I just came to see you. I've missed you terribly." I miss her laugh. I miss her smile. I even miss losing to her in a game of cyvasse.

"I wish you to tell me!" She used her princess' voice, and he scowled.

"I will not." He grumbled.

"Pretty please!" And his ice turned into a soggy puddle as she batted her eyes shyly. She had his heart and nothing he could do would change that. Clever woman stole it from me. And he was grateful for that. He was far too cowardly in the affairs of the heart to have tried without her help. Jasper told her about Robert as she rested a hand on his chest and gazed up at him. He spoke of the words uttered in his solar and his fears about Robert being his heir and the secret shame he felt about him. Most men gazed at him with judgement, but he saw none in her eyes for his weakness. It was imperfection, and it's why his parents hated him. I'm not perfect. I'm not as High as Honor.

If he was perfect, they would have loved him.

"I wish to help him," Jasper said, lifting his hand up in confusion. "But it's nothing I can slay with a sword or end with a quill. I do not know what to do." He sighed. I'm the Lord of the Eyrie and I'm helpless to put my family whole. I don't know how. He hoped sending him to Runestone would make a man out of him as his squireship did for him, but it had borne no fruit.

Myrcella offered him kind words. "Treat him like your brother. Be kind. Listen to him. You are Jon Arryn's son. I know you can do it." Belief. Jasper heard in her voice. She believes in me. It restored a sense of confidence to him. My sweet betrothed is far too kind to me.

"And you, princess?" He asked. "What worries afflict you?"

She blinked, surprised by his inquiries, as her cheeks flushed.

"It is a two-way road, Myrcella." He reminded. "Tell me and mayhaps I can help."

"Just promise me when you speak with my grandfather. You'll be weary. He's a dangerous man." Myrcella pressed her nails into his arm, almost drawing blood. "Don't underestimate him."

The Old Lion. Jasper thought. For over a generation, he had ruled the realm through fear. The mere mention of the Reynes of Castamere made brave men pale. But Jasper was not afraid of him. Fear has a cost. It burns bridges where he intended to build them. Relationships and blood were better ways to forge the realm with the Eyrie at the center. A more civilized realm. With Arryn, honor leading the way.

Only a girl like Myrcella would be worried and he almost told her so, but he'd rather comfort her. "Oh, I'll be fine." He grinned. "I know precisely what I'm doing."

"Jasper, he'll take advantage of any weakness. Any mistake he shall exploit."

"Myrcella." He gripped her shaking hands. "I'm a fool when it comes to the heart, but of the realm, I understand. Your grandfather is in a dangerous place and he may wish to try something underhanded, but he won't. Numbers are against him." Two kingdoms engaged in open warfare against the Westerlands and outnumbered him 2-1. Under the banner of the Crown, the alliance that won King Robert his throne would sweep what remains away. Jasper was more worried about Lord Renly. He might squirm away from punishment with his japes and smiles.

I can't let that happen. When he gazed into Myrcella's kind eyes, he knew he had to do anything to protect her. I won't lose her. I won't let anyone take her away from me. And the Blackfish had trained him to end his threats. Permanently.

She looked a little downcast, and that was unacceptable. "Come on princess, time for me to lose our game of cyvasse." He smiled when she brightened.

"Oh, you could win Jasper."

Jasper snorted. The seas would run dry and the sun would darken before he won a game, and he didn't mind as long as she smiled.

Her smile was worth its weight in gold.

Sansa

Arya had beautiful hair. Sansa thought as she braided it in simple Northern fashion. She begged mother to let her work on it. Arya scowled, crossing her arms, not pleased by the gray dress mother had foisted upon her. An army of servants led by an old seamstress had seen her fitted. Princess Myrcella and Cousin Jasper wedding. Behind her, Jeyne prattled on about lords and knights she would dance with. Sansa only partially paid attention. The Eyrie was a castle out of a storybook, a palace of white marble in the heavens. It was a marvel to gaze at. It's as if it floats in the sky. Sansa mentioned such to Cousin Japer. "It's the most beautiful palace in all the Seven Kingdoms!" His voice said cheerfully, but his eyes spoke a different tale. She saw no happiness at the sight of the white walls and Sansa felt that strange. I would weep with joy to see the gray walls of Winterfell.

Cousin Jasper could be strange like that.

Maybe he was just annoyed by the mule ride up to the Eyrie. Sansa didn't think it possible for a creature to smell worse than a horse. But the palace was breathtaking. It made the Red Keep seem small and insignificant. A mere holdfast compared to the splendor of the Eyrie.

"Done." Sansa said with pride at her work. "You look so pretty Arya!" she gushed.

"I don't want to go." Arya mumbled.

Sansa didn't understand she looked like a lady for once. As much of a lady as she could be, anyway. "You've been practicing your dancing. You'll be fine." Though she was a poor dancer coming back to the quarters with bruises and welts. But she would be a poor sister to mention that. No boy would ever mention that to her face. Arya was too fierce. My wild little sister. Maybe once she would have loved a sister like Myrcella: gentle and sweet, but it was Arya who had comforted her at her lowest point. She had grown to love her strange unladylike quirks. She had even helped her with sums in running a household. Arya was always better at that.

Her scowl deepened.

Sansa added kindly. "Prince Tommen will be there. You've become friends, have you not?" Her cheeks actually reddened before her features scrunched up.

"He's not a complete stupid prince." Arya admitted. "He's fun to be around."

"See?" Sansa pointed out. "It won't be that bad?" It would be a night of dancing and singing with fine food and sweet wine. Mother had permitted her to have a second glass at the feast! Then there would be the bedding. A wicked event that made her giggle. She would tear apart her cousin's clothes along the way to his chambers. Though some bitterness remained in her breast. My betrothed is hardly prince charming. It was hard to imagine the boy prince wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. And the other knights and lords made her feel a sense of trepidation. A weariness remained with her. It was born as she watched the lifeblood leave Bran.

"I still don't want to go to a stupid wedding. I want to be at Bear Island!" Arya said.

Bear Island was a wild place and would suit Arya nicely. Why father never sent her there in the first place was beyond her. She's hopeless in court. Still, as Myrcella often told her, she had a duty as the elder sister to represent House Stark and that applied to Arya too. It would be a slight against Cousin Jasper and Princess Myrcella if she didn't attend.

The doors slammed opened, servants stumbled out of the way as a blur of darkened fur vaulted in, following his master, whose cheeks reddened with fury. Bran was dressed as befit, a lordling scrubbed and cleaned with his finest little doublet and cloak fastened with a direwolf broach.

"GIVE IT BACK NOW!" Bran was glaring daggers at Arya.

Nymeria met Dawn as they tumbled to the ground in a mock fight. Lady watched with disinterest.

Jeyne let out a blood-curdling scream and fainted as they tumbled next to her chair.

"I DIDN'T TAKE ANYTHING!" She replied fiercely, rising from her seat.

"LIAR! YOU WILL GIVE BACK WHAT YOU TOOK FROM TOMMEN!"

Arya reddened. "HE GAVE IT TO ME!" Hands curling into fists. "YOUR BEING STUPID!"

"YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF HIM! NOW GIVE IT BACK TO HIM!" Brans' voice was a command that rankled. It was a challenge, and Arya wouldn't back down from one. Their noses were touching as they were close to brawling like the wolves. It would have ruined all of her hard work and Brans cloak was so handsome. It would have been dirtied and the wedding would be ruined! She acted as befit the eldest daughter of Winterfell and separated the both of them, sticking her arms between them.

"Enough! Both of you!" Her voice cracked like a whip.

"But-" They both said in unison.

Sansa would not give an inch. "I said enough." Trying to sound like mother. "Now, what did Arya supposedly take, Bran?"

"The Valyrian steel dagger Lord Arryn got for him from the capital." Bran mumbled. "She tricked him!"

Oh Arya. Sansa thought. And she knew it was the truth by the look in her eyes.

"I didn't trick anyone!" Arya snapped. "He gave it to me as a gift. I told him I liked swords, and he offered his dagger said I would need it more at Bear Island. He was only being a kind friend."

"He's not your friend! He's just sorry for you!" Bran said.

Sansa could hear the jealousy in his voice.

Arya flinched as if struck teary eyed as she almost flung herself against him with a wintery fury. Her grip was iron, but controlling Arya was like controlling a northern blizzard. "Enough Arya," she said. "Let me handle this."

"Your taking her side?!" Bran scoffed in disbelief.

Her sister huffed and stormed off with Nymeria fresh on her heels.

In Winterfell, Bran was her favorite. He was always a cheerful and friendly boy with an easy smile on his face. Underneath his handsome doublet he bored scars he would carry for the rest of his life. I shall always feel guilt for that. But there is no excuse for this. The Pack had to remain whole as much as it could be. Jon was halfway around the world with King Robert. Robb was marching with a host of Northman to Riverrun. War had swept around them. Bran would join Lord Arryn on his march. Arya would leave for Bear Island. And when the war was done, she was determined to return to the capital to be with father. He would need her to help run the household in the place of mother. They were being pulled across the realm by forces they couldn't control. They couldn't afford these squabbles.

"That wasn't a kind thing to say, Bran." She sighed. "Jealousy is an ugly beast."

His eyes widened before crossing his arms. "Why did she have to ruin everything? He was my friend first and now she spends time with him." His voice softened. "I don't want things to change."

She wished to weep for him as she stroked his auburn hair. They shared the same auburn hair. Mothers hair. "I know, Bran, but things change. Prince Tommen is still your friend. Do you think he would have approved of this?"

Bran shook his head with some shame. "Go and apologize to Arya." She told him.

"But she'll kick me." He complained.

"Probably." Sansa agreed. "But she'll forgive you." He sighed and accepted his fate. Bran whistled and Dawn came running to his side as he offered a knightly bow. One day, he shall make all the maidens swoon. Lady finally rose from her slumber with a wide grin as Sansa scratched underneath her chin. "You were very helpful Lady. You lazy girl."

The hall erupted in great cheers as Cousin Jasper draped his cloak around Myrcella's slender shoulders. She blushed prettily as the septon led them in the words. When they were done, Sansa led the clapping for her friend as they sealed the marriage with a kiss. It was proving to be a magical night. Maybe it was the second glass of wine, but everything felt special. Musicians played romantic songs from the gallery. Soft to the ear as Jasper led Myrcella onto the dance floor. They danced beautifully together. Ser Andar Royce approached her and offered his hand. "My lady," He said with all the courtesy knights of the Vale were known for. "Care to dance?"

"Yes, my lord. It would be my pleasure." She demurred.

They swirled on the dance floor with all the rest. Sansa saw Ser Mychel dancing smoothly with his wife, Lady Mya. Lord Yohn danced with Lady Royce slowly, barely moving. But she was an older woman. It was a kind gesture. Mother didn't dance, she was speaking in hushed whispers with Ser Brynden, her grand uncle. He looked annoyed. But she didn't stare too long at the grizzled Blackfish. Ser Andar complimented her as he handed her off to Lord Horton Redfort with the smell of beer on his breath. He was a terrible dancer, but she said nothing. Next, she danced with Lord Hunters son and heir. A fine dancer whom complimented her on her hair. Her jaw almost dropped when she saw Prince Tommen dancing with Arya. Well, she was leading him. Though Prince Tommen didn't seem to mind, his sunny smile didn't dim. Even Bran was dancing with Lady Jania Redfort. A girl with pretty brown curls. When she was twirled around, Sansa realized Myrcella was still dancing with Jasper in a gentle swirl, drowning into his eyes. Neither saw anyone else. Will my prince look at me like that? Sansa wondered. I hope so.

As the music died down, a crowd of wellwishers gathered around Jasper and Myrcella. He clenched her hand tightly before surrendering it to shake hands. She joined them, throwing her arms around Myrcella. "You look beautiful Myrcella! Or should I say Myrcella Arryn!" she gushed.

Myrcella giggled. "Thank you Sansa. You look beautiful too! Now, where is that wayward brother of mine!?" She mentioned he was dancing with Arya. It surprised Myrcella as it did herself. "Well, let's seek them out!" She declared with a high voice. As they separated from Lord Arryn, who had a foot on a table telling a riveting tale of hunting the shadowcat.

"There we were myself, the fierce Blackfish, and Andar and his brothers with dozens of fine men with us. If Andar had his way, we would have turned back. We would have missed out on such a fight!A tough bastard, it was!"

Ser Andar groaned. "Not this tale again, my lord."

"Sorry ser, you are captive to my tales like everyone else!" Jasper japed as the crowd roared with laughter.

It didn't take them long to find Prince Tommen, who was sitting with Bran and his friends Adrian and Jon, along with Arya. All of them laughed over some bawdy jape of Adrians. The moment his green eyes saw her, he cried out. "Cella!" And ran into his sister, throwing his arms around her. "I can't wait to get married if it's like this! It's so much fun!"

Sansa couldn't imagine marrying him. He's only a boy. Brans age. But in a few years he would be a man grown as beautiful as Ser Jaime. When she closed her eyes and imagined that it wasn't so bad.

"I can't wait for you to wed Tommen! You and Sansa are going to be so happy!" She kissed him on both cheeks.

"Congratulations." Arya offered almost cordially. "You looked well."

"Thank you, Arya!" Myrcella said cheerfully and offered her hand instead of hugging her. She knows Arya well.

They shook hands as a loud cry filled the halls. "Bed them! Bed them!" Lords and Ladies whistled and cried out in drunken laughter. Myrcella whitened like a sheet of a ghost and gazed shyly. Sansa felt some pity for her, but they would laugh about this someday.

Jasper's voice pierced the room. "Very well, my lords. I yield to the tradition of the Vale." And resigned himself to his fate as a crowd of giggling ladies swarmed him like a swarm of bees. Sansa ran to join them. Lord Hunter and Lord Redfort lifted Myrcella with a loud squeal. Joined by a dozen knights of the Vale. A sea of clothing fell to the ground as they ripped them apart until they were naked as their name days. Sansa ripped off Jasper's silver boots and tore a patch of his breaches off. Though when Myrcella cried out from a rough caress as her breasts came tumbling free, Jasper's cheerful face darkened and she was afraid he may attack his lords. He became as stiff as a board and his hands shook. Men japed and women giggled obliviously as he looked overwhelmed, just like Winterfell, when the tankard of ale fell on him. Only a pleading look from Myrcella seemed to calm him as they tossed them into the bedroom. But the look faded from her mind as the party made its way back to the feast.

What a night this was proving to be!

Myrcella

The coupling was an awkward one, unlike her dreams of the marriage bed. Jasper treated her as if she was made of glass and she was too shy to ask him to go faster and harder. She gave a false whimper, hoping it would encourage him to go faster, but it only made him go slower. Myrcella tried to pleasure him and explore his body with her hands, but he gripped both of them with one of his own and denied her anything to do save to lay on the bed. She should have protested, but she lost her courage standing before his gaze naked as her name day. It made her shy and meek. I slapped mother. I saw Joffrey disinherited. None of that mattered. Tonight her voice abandoned her and it robbed her of her joy this night should inspire. When he pulled out of her, his face was scarlet as their eyes met and misread her disappointment.

"I hurt you, didn't I? I'm so sorry, but I knew we had to finish. I should have stopped. I tried to go slower." Jasper said, mortified. "I'll go get Maester Colemon." The daze washed over her as he pulled away from her. Myrcella grabbed him like a lioness, digging her nails into him and wrestling him back.

"I'm fine Jasper." She caressed his cheek, trying to calm his shaking hands. "You didn't hurt me."

"You sounded in pain." He voiced with worry. "I should still get Maester Colemon." The confident lord he showed for everyone melted away and only his doubts remained. Doubts he hid behind a dashing smile and a handsome face. Jasper gazed with worry and shame, as if he had committed some great crime. He was being beyond silly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and showered him with gentle kisses. "Would I kiss you so if you hurt me?"

Jasper had no answer, and she kept on kissing him with the tension leaving his shoulders and he leaned back, surrendering.

"It's not right to hurt a woman. Unless she is some temptress or witch." Jasper whispered. "I know we must do our duty, but I don't wish you to feel discomfort."

Myrcella pecked him on the cheek. "I'm fine." Glee shined in her eyes. "Husband." She giggled happily.

It calmed him as he relaxed with a boyish grin on his face. "Very well." He bopped her gently on the nose. "Wife." And adjusted a loose strand of hair, placing it behind her ear. "I'm going to spoil you rotten princess!" He declared, launching from the bed. "I shall seize some sweets from the kitchen! And I'm going to feed you every spoonful. My golden doe." She admired his muscular form, broad chest, and strong shoulders. But it was the eyes she loved the most. His bright blue eyes were honest and without guile.

She pouted.

"What? Jasper asked, puzzled.

"I don't wish you to go anywhere." Soon he would be gone on campaign, leaving her alone in the Vale and Jasper was a man of honor, but the distance between them would be great. And she feared he may seek company in another. It tore at her. His eyes only look for me. But will that change? It was a silly fear, and it refused to leave her, despite her attempts to drive the beast away. "Stay with me and tell me a poem! I love when you read to me." Myrcella said blushing.

Jasper gawked at her before smiling. "As you wish, princess." She listened to every word as he got out his book of knightly poetry. Warm words that charmed her heart. Tales of romance and doomed lovers sharing final kisses. Jasper loved the stories. Myrcella read him as easily as he did his book. He may love those stories more than I do. She smiled as he got to her favorite passage. "To hold what you love most in the world in a firm embrace. To feel the strong beating heart. Raging with the Maidens love," both of them said together as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her chest against his back. He stiffened.

"What are you doing?" His voice became as cold as ice. Harsh as if she were a foe in the training yard. But she was undaunted by the change in tone. A façade that fools me not.

"Holding what I care for most in the world." She smiled into his back.

A small sound escaped him as he twisted away. It grew louder and louder as Myrcella realized he was weeping hard tears into his hands. It was a loud cry, thick with repressed emotion. "You." He said in between sobs as she held him, trying to soothe him. "Please take back those words. They are too good for me. I should never be the most important thing."

"Would you wish to make a liar of me?"

"Yes! No! I..I-" He stammered out. "No one has ever said such a nice thing to me. Not father. Not mother. They understood something was wrong with me. They understood my heart was broken." Jasper sobbed harder. "I agree with them and you should too! A broken bird!" He wiped his tears away, violently rubbing his skin raw. Jasper was hurting, though no blow had landed true. Sometimes it's those wounds that burn the most. It made her teary seeing him suffer, and she vowed to support him. She pressed his head into her lap and stroked his hair. Jasper was weak as a lamb easily moved. "No, you don't understand." He pleaded.

Myrcella sighed. "Then help me understand. I won't judge you. I promise."

"You should. Everyone should judge me, just like Snow. Just like Harry. And everyone who looks at me. Even my father, the kind Jon Arryn, judged me unworthy. A man who could love even gutter rats. I know what that says of me." Jasper shuddered. "I'm a mummer of a falcon! A fake! A phony! Every day is merely a stage where I act as everyone needs me to be-" He paused and his eyes lit up with hope as he seized it like a drowning man. "Yes, that's who you love. Not me! The knight is your love. Not me. I've fooled you." He quieted as he tried to believe such a falsehood.

"I love you Jasper Arryn." She said kindly, trying to drive the doubt away. Tilting his chin up. "Do you understand me?" Her voice filled with the command of a princess. "I love you. I hate to inform you, husband, but I find you an abysmal actor." The life left him as he crumbled, believing her honest conviction. "Now tell me what is so horrible. You held me in my darkest hour. I shall do the same." When she had given up on herself, he didn't abandon her. Even if he did so clumsily. It was honest, and that meant everything to her.

"I shouldn't."

"You will." She replied.

Jasper swallowed. "I've thrown everything into trying to be perfect. A perfect son. A perfect lord. As High as Honor." He whispered. " But I can't soar high. Not high enough." A fresh round of tears threatened him. "I've never cared for my life. It's never seemed important. Honor commands me and I'm helpless but to obey. It's all I'm good for." Tears flowed down his cheeks. "Everyone always left me. What else did I have?" He sighed, wiping his tears away. "I've always been willing to give my life in defense of House Arryn. Our traditions our noble principles they are worth dying for." Her nails pressed into him, drawing blood, worried sick at the confession.

"And now?" Myrcella asked with trepidation.

"Now I'm afraid of dying. I have something meaningful to lose. Honor never inspires warmth in one's chest." His eyes gazed at her and she released a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I could be selfish with my life when I was alone. Not anymore." He paused uncertainly. "How can I act with courage when I have something to lose that means something?"

Myrcella wanted to soothe him and comfort him, but she didn't have an answer he would like. "I don't want you to be courageous. I would rather you be selfish." She sniffled, hands entangling. "I only want you to come back to me. To build a garden here." She knew they could be happy here. A few good years before, we'll have to play the game of thrones. A few good years were better than most and she would content herself with that. "I don't care for your honor, only you."

"I'm sorry for weeping. A lord should not cry."

"You can cry in my company, Jasper. I judge you not."

Jasper gave a sad smile, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I'll try to be more mindful. Be more cautious. I wish not to leave you a widow. Black isn't your color." He japed weakly, trying to comfort her always a gallant knight.

They shared a forced laugh. "No, it isn't." She giggled. He wrapped his arms around her and they took comfort with the other and the uncertain future that lay before them. He pledged to write to her often on the road. Jasper swore that the war would be a short one and that he would be back within the year. Myrcella didn't understand the art of war, but she hoped his judgement was right. Over a year was a long time.

The next day, they assembled the entire household in the courtyard. Tommen wore a handsome golden cloak as bright as his hair. On the Trident when they departed he wept, crying for her, but she saw little signs of tears on her brother's face. His time here has made him grow up. A Crown Prince stood before her. Almost a stranger save his kind smile. "Farewell Myrcella. We shall return shortly, I know." The direwolves howled in the distance. "See, the wolves agree with me. I've never known Brans' wolf to be wrong about anything."

"Tommen! Come on!" Bran Stark shouted. "Lord Arryn is expecting us!"

Myrcella nodded. "Stay safe Tommen. I shall pray for you."

"Pray for Bran, Adrian, and Jon as well." He beamed. "Lord Arryn too."

She promised.

In the distance, Jasper stood taller than any man on horseback. Unlike the uncertain youth that wept against her chest and disappeared against her under the covers, the knight commanded attention. Men see what he wishes them to see. Strong and confident. Jasper was a dashing knight larger than life as he stood in front of his banners. He drew his steel. A beautiful sword that glistened in the morning sun. "The Crown has summoned us! They call us to honor our oaths! And we, my noble knights, shall answer! For we are the Men of the Vale! Once more, we must prove what we showed at the Battle of the Bells! At the Trident! At the storming of Pyke! Our valor is unmatched! With courage in our hearts, we shall spill the blood of traitors and turncloaks! To fulfill our oaths! Blades shall redden against traitors and rebel lords! Our oaths shall be fulfilled and glory seized!" Jasper raised his sword high and pointed to the gate. "Ride with me! Ride with me! Ride with me, oh sons of the Vale!" None of them would know that he had practiced that speech in the mirror until it flowed. Men only wish us to play our roles. They care not for our tears and hardships.

Hundreds of throats screamed. "As High as Honor!"

"For the Noble Vale!"

"Arryn! Arryn! Arryn!"

Ser Brynden rode beside her husband. At least he'll understand Jasper. Everyone else saw him as this knight, this lord, but he knew him as his kin burdened by responsibility. He loves him like a son and will keep him safe. Jasper was wrong in thinking no one cares for him save herself. Myrcella didn't cry when the flying falcon banners flew out of the gate with hundreds of horses, her husband among them. Nor did she cry when Tommen and his young friends left her sight. Squires following their liege into war. She held her poise like a princess as the final banner disappeared out of the gates. Riding for the capital to answer the summons of the Lord Regent. Lady Stark approached her with a sympathetic gaze. "It doesn't get easier, princess. Twice I've seen my Ned ride off to battle." She sighed.

"And your husband always came back?"

"He did sweetling."

"Now we wait." Myrcella said.

"Now we wait." Lady Stark agreed.

Waiting was irksome, but she would keep herself busy. It was all she could do.

Chapter Text

Garlan the Gallant

Servers delivered drinks throughout the night as the war council droned on, becoming more akin to a grand feast. It's hair pulling. Willas was busy soothing egos and prides of bannerman as they bartered over the tiniest of titles and offices. They have already reached a consensus on Lord Tarly's plan. Lord Tarly would have command of the sixty thousand man host they had assembled. They would smash the Lannisters on the opposing side of the Mander. Afterwards, the host would be split with him given the command to retake the Goldengrove while Lord Tarly advanced up the Searoad, retaking the castles of Old Oak and Red Lake before pressing into the Westerlands. Highgarden would assemble a third host, fifteen thousand strong, and would link up with Lord Renly and his host of thirty thousand. Together, they would all join up for the invasion of the Westerlands and the ultimate target of Casterly Rock. They had sent word to the Lord of Storms End to refrain from his advance on Bitterbridge. Lord Tywin would have to retreat soon enough. If father had wished they could have marched weeks ago, but he always found some flaw in it and boasted, his plan would put it to shame. One of the few things he did was agree to send the Redwyne fleet on a retaliation attack against Lannisport to repay them for their dead. "That shall show the Old Lion. Burn the golden jewel of the west!" Father had said. Lord Tarly stood stiff necked wearing mail and boiled leather with a grey chest plate. A grizzled man with a hard look unlike most of the lords in these halls who sported smiles or japed. Garlan spotted none on his face. Lord Tarly was a soldier and a proven battle commander. Though he knew they had to be wary of him and his success. Grandmother's influence. Garlan mused. His son, Dickon, was a good lad. They had gone on many hunts together. Now he is my squire. A concession Willas had wrangled from the man. He was tying their wagons together. The politics made it soiled, but Garlan understood that's how the game was played.

His brother, dressed in a splendid doublet of green with a golden cape draped around his shoulders, looked every inch a Lord of Highgarden. But he's not. A little voice reminded him. It was shameful what they had done to father, placing him under house arrest. Drugging him every day to keep him asleep. A man who lived with a deep grief whose only crime was he loved them.

Words that it had to be done felt hollow. None of them saw the look of betrayal in his eyes. Guilt gnawed at him.

"What a fine jape, my lord." Ser Thadeus Rowan said.

"I try ser, but I'm no fool." Willas said cheerfully.

Jon Fossoway tried to recover from his fit of laughter. "Please, my lord. Mercy." His hands grasped his belly.

Willas offered an amicable smile. "Refill this good man's wine! He seems to have misplaced it."

The nephew of the late Lord Rowan seemed more worried over the castle than his cousins who were taken back to the Rock. Three girls who watched their father beheaded. It made them all clamor for vengeance. All had felt the execution of Lord Mathis deeply. He had been well liked and a good friend of House Tyrell. Vows had been sworn to see the Goldengrove avenged. If only Thadeus was of a similar character. "He's a sycophant without honor," Garlan recalled telling Willas when they were alone. Willas only smiled and told him. "The king of sycophants, but a sycophant whom holds great sway over Lord Ashford to whom he squired. I need him to betroth his youngest daughter to Lord Caswell's son and heir in order to secure his support in pressuring Lord Fossoway to give up his desire to lead the van." The web of alliances and favors made his head hurt. Garlan would never understand how Willas understood any of it. Though maybe only grandmother really understood all of it. She was the architect behind it all.

Garlan took another swig of ale as the candles were fading. "My lords." Willas declared. "I think we have come to an arrangement. We've counted our roses and smelled them. You've enjoyed my wine." He chuckled. "Almost all of it, but now is not the time for feasts. Tomorrow is the time to pick up the sword and drive off the lions from our lands. Unwelcomed guests all of them. Lord Tarly," his brother said cordially. "House Tyrell trusts, you shall see them driven back into the sea."

Lord Tarly gave a stiff nod. "As you command, my lord. We shall be in the Rock by Maidens Day."

"By Maidens Day!"

"By Maidens Day!"

Dozens of throats screamed and banged their goblets against the tables.

"The Lannisters can't hope to withstand us!" a young knight in the employ of Lord Crane declared.

Garlan didn't join them as he watched Willas bask in the spotlight and attention. He enjoys this too much. It made him bitter. Did he do this for the sake of family? Or the sake of his own ambition? Garlan had no answer, but he had made his choice. I chose my family over my father. I chose the Reach over him. It made him a terrible son.

Later that night, after he made love with his beloved Leonette, she lay curled on top of him with his arms around her frame. He thought of Loras and what he would say to all of this. Would he have made the same choice? Would he have agreed with this coup they had carried out? Garlan thought not.

"Oh, Garlan, something troubles you." His wife chimed.

Garlan sighed and turned to her. "Only my brother, darling. I disliked the look he gave today. I think he enjoys this too much." He spoke freely with his dear wife.

"I'm sure that isn't true. He loves your father the same as you."

It was true he loved father. All of them did. Even if he could be oafish, he cared and loved them. But Willas was just as ambitious as father. He's always craved Highgarden, even if he tried to master it. Willas was a good man, despite his desires. A rotten rose wouldn't have helped them with small, trivial things. When grandmother got too demanding, he soothed Margaery. He saved him from becoming Garlan the Gross; he helped father find Loras the most talented tourney knights to come to Highgarden to instruct him. He helped him achieve his dream of becoming the Knight of Flowers. Willas may not wield a sword, but he was just as protective as an older brother should always be. It pained him to think of him so lowly. He's only done this for our family. For the good of the Reach. When father was better, he would give it up. I'll make him give it up. Garlan vowed.

"Your right, love." He kissed her on the brow. "Forgive me for my thoughts."

Leonette chuckled. "All is well husband and yes, I'll visit Loras for you and I shall keep you mother company."

She was a good woman. This time, he kissed her on the lips as they disappeared underneath the sheets.

As dawn broke, they rode out of the main gate with all the banners of Highgarden behind them as his family watched from the battlements. He gave a salute with his sword and Willas gave a light nod of acknowledgement and he rode off with Highgarden, growing smaller until it disappeared entirely.

Ned

The estate was quiet without the direwolves running amok with his children right after them. His lips always twirled upward at the sight. Instead of his family, he heard the steady footsteps of Canard and Halyn walking behind him. Beer on their breath as they returned from their meal. He took his sup with his men. It reminded him of the days when he and Robert were on the campaign, gathered around the campfire with the crass humor of soldiers. I was trained to be a solider. Not the Lord of Winterfell. Not a Hand of the King. Certainly not a Lord Regent. Ned rubbed the symbol of his office. Hours passed quickly in the throne room and the Small Council chambers as he ran the city as if he wore a golden crown. Thousands of fires and only one man to put them out. His men served admirably throughout the city from the Commanders of the Gate Houses to the Wardens of the Game. The Small Council chambers had improved without Littlefinger and his grating voice. His end had been ill done, but it was for the best Lord Nestor Royce was more worthy of the office. Together under his authority the Small Council had restored integrity to the City Watch, prepared the city for hosting the Crowns forces, and restored the Iron Throne to a symbol of justice it should have always been. The cells were finally free of the Lannister men who had met their end with Ice or departed by ship to the Wall in chains. Most chose the Wall. More would join the Wall before this conflict was done.

Three kingdoms in open conflict.

Tyrells. Lannisters. Two sides of the same coin.

Lord Renly had proved a great disappointment by ignoring his commands. Folly. Pure folly.

Already tales of Lannister savagery had reached his ears. Mad dogs Tywin Lannister had let off the man had much to answer for and Robert would not save him this time from judgement. A judgment earned from a lifetime of monstrous deeds. Ned thought of the babe smashed against the wall and the girl stabbed dozens of times with cold castle steel. A city sacked without mercy and the innocents slain. Little Aegon and Rhaenys died for Lannister ambition. They had wrapped them around in crimson cloaks to hide the savagery. As if it could hide the work of butchers. Lord Tywin was guilty of many crimes and he would not skirt away from justice. Not this time. The tall carved doors were opened and Ned stepped through with a heavy heart. It was not an easy message he carried with him. The Maidenvault was spacious and comfortable, filled with all the amenities a queen could desire: sweet summerwine, plates of fruit and sweets, and soft cushions to rest upon. It was too good for Queen Cersei, but her rank deserved that much comfort. "Come to gloat Lord Stark?" She asked him when her green Lannister eyes caught sight of him. Cersei Lannister was lying on the couch wearing a green dress with a glass of wine in hand.

"Nay your grace."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." Cersei murmured. "Why have you come, then? Has my father defeated Lord Tyrell yet?"

Lord Tywin, according to Varys, was besieging the castle of Bitterbridge while Lord Tarly had slumbered from Highgarden and was on the march to retake the Castles of Old Oak and Goldengrove. The strategy was obvious to him: Lord Tywin hoped to intercept and defeat Lord Renly's host before retiring back to the Westerlands. His position that far east was untenable, while the Tyrells were trying to sever his line of retreat by retaking Goldengrove. It would force Lord Tywin to withdraw less he risk get cut off from his supply lines. Though he said nothing, Queen Cersei didn't need to know any of this.

"You wear the office better than your friend Robert, you know. Yes," she gave a thin smile. "Far better than Robert. He would have told me what my father was doing." Her slender figure rose with the grace of a cat and her eyes bore into him. "I can help you, my lord. We can be friends you and I." She grasped his hand. A gentle promise from a beautiful woman. "With my help, I could bring my father to the table. I could deliver you a peaceful realm for my son."

"This is where you shall remain, your grace." Ned replied.

Queen Cersei frowned. "That would be a mistake, my lord." Her hand fell from his own.

"It wouldn't." Ned sighed. "I did not come to speak of the realm, nor have I come to set you free. You shall remain here until wars end. This has not changed."

She raised her slender brow. "The honorable Eddard Stark speaking in riddles. How this city is changing you already?"

"You may wish to sit-"

"I'll stand." She voiced with all the pride and arrogance of a Lannister.

Ned nodded. "I'm sorry, your grace, but your boy Prince Joffrey and your brother Ser Jaime are dead." He expected her to wail or shake with fury. Instead, she let out a loud laugh.

"Is such a lie supposed to impress me, my lord?"

"Believe what you will, your grace." Ned said solemnly. He had little liking for the boy prince or the Kingslayer, but they were dead. It was ill to speak of the dead in callous terms, and she had a right to know about the death of her family. Varys had confirmed it to him. He had sent word to Robert as the boy's father. He had a right to know. A new man of the Kingsguard could also be chosen. Another sword to protect Robert on his quest. "If you wish me to send a septon to lead you in prayer, inform the servants and I shall see it done." A flicker of doubt formed on her face before she shook her head in denial.

"My brother isn't dead. We came into this world together. I would know if my twin was dead."

"I'm sorry, your grace. You have my sympathy."

The glass of wine flew wide to the right, colliding with the red wall. "GET OUT! OUT!" She roared like the lion on her sigil. Hands coiled into fists and managed one step before stumbling onto the soft carpet drunk. He offered another dip of his head before doing as she asked. Maybe I should allow her to have some company? The death of a child and sibling was a hard thing. How would Cat have acted? If she was told, her brother was dead and her eldest boy. Not well. Ned thought. But he didn't trust her, not while her father was engaged in open warfare. No. She must remain in isolation. He bade Jory and his men filed behind him as he exited through the tall curved door.

He returned to his solar in the Tower of the Hand and a stack of letters lay on his desk. One bore the seal of House Stark, another bore the seal of House Tully.

Cat.

A letter from his wife lessened the burden on his chest. What words did she speak to him? Last he heard from them, they had arrived in Gulltown. Ned opened that one first.

My dearest Ned,

The children are well. Bran has found a friend in Prince Tommen and has enjoyed his time in the Eyrie. Sansa is eager for the wedding and Arya desires to leave as quickly as possible. You know the hearts of our children well, Ned. But I've spoken with my uncle Ser Brynden and I fear we don't know our nephew nearly as well. He is keeping a secret from you, Ned, something relating to Princess Myrcella, his betrothed. He fears you shall blame her for some crime. I can't say what crime, for he refused to divulge such to my uncle, but it must be serious. Our handling of Lysa and Lord Baelish have driven a divide between us. I know you don't see it. But I swear to you, Ned, it's there. Our nephew believes you mean his family ill and wish to shame Jon Arryn's memory. He took great offense to our attempt at a public trial. Don't be fooled by his public declarations of duty to yourself. The boy is bitter. I beg of you when you see him next to treat him gingerly. He is our nephew and is only trying to protect his family.

Ned read the letter two more times until his eyes grew tired from glaring at the parchment. What have you done, nephew? Ned wondered. Why would he think I meant Princess Myrcella harm? What could she have possibly done? She was Roberts blood. Though even more vexing, what harm could a public trial have caused save uncovering the truth and ensuring justice was done for Jon Arryn? Didn't the boy want justice for his father? He forgot just how unlike Jon he was. Ned leaned back in his chair as he pondered this information. He would have to hold off judgement until he spoke with the lad, but he needed more information. Yet, where was he to look? His investigation into Ser Kevans murder had stalled. He couldn't connect it to anyone. No one Jory discovered knew anything. The poison was foreign and hard to get. Grand Maester Pycelle had confirmed that much, but the who and the why eluded him. I must try. He would start with whatever remained of the royal household that didn't depart with Princess Myrcella to the Vale. Jory would question them and would report back to him.

The next day he chaired a Small Council meeting. Three others stood with him: Lord Nestor, Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle. Of these men, only Nestor Royce inspired him with any great deal of confidence. As always, they started the meeting going over the daily tasks of each office and the running of the capital before turning to the important task of the war.

"My little birds tell me the Iron Islands is a storm of activity, Lord Stark." Varys chimed. "You are a martial man. What do you think it means?"

"It means Lord Greyjoy may be a thrice damned fool." He replied. They had sent missives warning the Lord of Pyke about the price of defiance, but the man, it seemed, had not learned his lesson. If he meant to interfere in the quarrel between Lannister-Tyrell, he would be wise to strike the Westerlands over the Reach. The Lannister fleet was smaller and less capable than the Redwyne fleet in ships and sailors. It was also closer to in proximity to the Iron Islands and, with most of the Lannister banners in the Reach, it was ripe for the plunder.

Lord Nestor scoffed. "Lord Stark, surely you don't think the Iron Born will widen the conflict?"

"I mean to be prepared for it." Ned said and turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, whom was struggling to stay awake. "Grand Maester," He snapped up as if struck.

"Lord Regent." Pycelle dipped his head as he continued. "Write to Lord Stannis and command him by the will of the Iron throne to sail the Royal Fleet to Seaguard and prepare to ferry troops for an invasion of the Iron Islands." They had already sent word to Seaguard to prepare her defenses. He had hoped that would have been enough to discourage the Greyjoys from involving themselves. Maybe they could still avoid it? Varys could be wrong.

"Don't you have Lord Greyjoy's heir as ward Lord Stark?" Lord Nestor asked.

"If Lord Balon seeks to break the peace of the realm," Grand Pycelle droned on. "Then for the good of all Lord Stark must carry out the kings justice as promised when you agreed to take the boy." Theon. Ned thought. His name is Theon. And he bore no responsibility for the folly of his father.

Ned stood up. "We shall not discuss the fate of my ward. No peace has been broken." His voice made the Grand Maester shiver. "This is the last I wish to hear of it." He made his will known and all of them nodded along. They discussed other matters Robb was departing down the Neck with a host of twenty thousand Northman and would join under the overall command of Edmure Tully. It was not his first choice, but he was the only that could gather consensus amongst the River Lords, and him being Robbs' elder made him the only choice. Still, Robb would command the Northern contingent. The Lords of the Vale were nearly assembled and would be on the march soon after the wedding under the nominal command of Lord Arryn until he arrived in the capital and would fall under his command. Once we get our forces in place, we shall have to determine which way we march. It depends on who is winning.

"My lords." Ned rose. "thank you for your service. You are dismissed."

Lord Royce gave a vigorous nod and the Grand Maester mumbled incoherently as he tittered out of the small council chambers until only two remained.

Ned raised a brow in puzzlement. "Varys? Did you not hear me?"

"I have words I wish to say to you, my lord." Varys chimed with a soft voice. "Words best said alone."

The riddles gave him a migraine. Her Grace is wrong. This place hasn't influenced me. He motioned for him to go on.

Varys giggled. "I noticed your man, Jory, isn't? Out interviewing maids and servants in the former employ of Princess Myrcella and so soon after a letter arrived from the Vale." It made his heart freeze and his eyes narrowed tight as arrow slits. "Peace my lord." Varys placed his hand over his breast. "I hardly mean to pry."

Ned tried to discern the eunuch motivations, but he was an enigma. "What do you mean? Of course you mean to pry." He asked. "Don't dance around with flowery words."

"Lord Stark, I'm the Keeper of Secrets and master of whispers. It's my trade. My craft as war is to you, lords. If there is a secret, it is my duty to the Crown to know." Varys smiled. "Mayhaps I could even help? You need only ask. Have I not provided you with accurate information?" It was true Ned couldn't begrudge the man that. He had proved himself useful. No other man was as skilled at uncovering secrets. Though his motivations remained suspect.

"Why do you want to help Varys?"

"For the realm Lord Stark." His eyes brightened with conviction, but the man was an actor, and his true face was hard to see. But he needed him if the secret was important to Robert's realm. He needed to know. He told him of the letter and the supposed crime being buried by his nephew.

"How shocking." Varys said. "The son is so unlike the father. Who would have thought the son of Jon Arryn capable of such deception, but the heart makes men weak. A sweet princess in peril could make a boy do foolish things. Even break his honor."

Ned understood that well as Lyanna's voice echoed from the grave. It had grown louder since Jon had left for the east. Promises kept, and promises broken.

"Worry not, my lord." Varys said. "I'll see what I can find."

Tywin Lannister

The dagger cut through the soft underbelly of the stag with ease as he reached in and grabbed the organs, tossing them into the bucket. "You look green? Guts bother you, boy?"

Willem shook his head quickly.

"When you lie, nephew, have the wits to lie well."

He whitened and Tywin ignored him as he went to work peeling back the skin. "Lannisters are not afraid of guts of lesser beasts. Come here." His nephew paused briefly before obeying.

"My lord-"

Tywin shoved the stags guts into his hands. "Go on. Squeeze it." The boy's face turned green as he stuck his hands into the intestines. "Every living thing has this inside of them. Do you know what that means?"

"Anyone can be killed." He whispered.

It almost made him smile. Almost. He had some Lannister cunning to him. Lancel never had his fathers talents. Nor the boys other twin. But he gave no sign he was correct. "Did your father ever teach you how to skin an animal?"

"No, Lord Tywin. Mother thought it unclean for a boy my age said I was too young." Kevan spoiled his children, but he would remedy that failing. They needed to toughen up. The future of House Lannister may rest on their shoulders. Legacy was the only thing they would remember you for. All of his children lay dead or imprisoned and they stood on the precipice of annihilation. One wrong move and my legacy comes tumbling down around me. He needed to make a calculated risk to safeguard the Lannister name. Not a gamble. Gambles were for reckless fools and Lannisters were not fools.

"Twelve name days is old enough. Watch. Learn. Don't turn away. I'll know if you do."

His nephew watched him the entire time. "Good." He said as he turned around and place his bloody hand on the boy's shoulder. "You'll do the next one."

Willem didn't gulp and held firm like his father with a solemn bow of his head. "When I return, I expect you to be done." He passed through the pavilion flaps. Squires were out running morning errands for their knights, as the morning dew was still fresh on the field. In the distance, men were busy preparing the siege works. The castle was small, made of stone and timber, but on this flat ground it seemed looming as if mocking him. Bitterbridge was situated where the Mander met the Roseroad. Tywin recalled his maester telling him a battle had been fought here during the wars of the Faith Militant Uprising. It'll be associated with my name where the Lion met the Prancing Stag.

Men bowed as he walked, but he paid them no mind. A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of sheep. Two Lannister guardsmen opened the tent flaps as his war council lay assembled. His commanders all rose at his entrance: Ser Forley Prester, Ser Harys Swift, Lord Andros Brax with a ridiculous purple unicorn on his surcoat, and Lord Lydden. Only Ser Addam Marbrand was absent out with his outriders keeping watch for Lord Renly and his host. Kevan should be with him. His place was by his side. Not dead in the ground, with maggots eating his flesh.

Murdered by poison.

Why did I send him to Kings Landing? It was his duty. His duty to me and the Lannister name. Tywin knew.

He was a Lannister of the Rock! It should have meant something, but it would again when they wept in their halls.

The lords prattled on about the castle and its defenses and the progress on the siege towers. Tywin listened, but said nothing. It was unimportant the castle garrison was small, led by an old master of arms. The levies of Lord Caswell had answered the summons of Highgarden, but it was unimportant. The army that would arrive to meet them was where his thoughts lay. He had been out with Ser Marbrand, scouting the perfect place to meet the Storm Lords. They outnumbered them, but he calculated it wouldn't come to battle. Tywin almost chuckled. No, it certainly won't. Wars weren't won on the field, but secured with cunning and the pen. Lord Renly would be the instrument of his own downfall.

"We need to deploy the siege works on the eastern section of the walls." Lord Andros said.

"Nay, the western sections are better suited. They are weaker."

"But the eastern section is wider!"

Tywin cleared his throat, and everyone quieted, but he said nothing.

The voices picked up again as they debated what section of the walls they should target with siege towers and catapults. "Couldn't we just starve them out?" The shaking voice of Harys Swift asked. "Why must we storm the walls at all?"

"Craven!" Ser Prester declared.

"Their stores are too great. It would be a long siege, and a long siege is one we can't afford." Lord Lynden said, rubbing his chin as if he were wise for pointing out the obvious. Most of these men were incompetent.

The tent flaps opened and Ser Marbrand entered, his cheeks red from hard riding as he went to his knees. "Lord Tywin," He said dutifully. "Lord Renly is a days march away. A host of thirty thousand follow him." The room quieted and even the brash Prester seemed sobered. He read them like a book. They wished to withdrawal, but wouldn't voice such thoughts with him. "What are your commands?"

"Ser Prester, I grant you command of the left flank, Lord Andros the center, Ser Marbrand the right, and we shall deploy here as we planned." He pointed to the map. The terrain would permit them to withdrawal in good order. All of them bobbed their heads and declared it a fine plan and he permitted them all to leave to attend to their levies, save Ser Marbrand. "You ser, I have a special mission."

"I'm yours to command Lord Tywin."

"Good." He nodded. "Send a rider under the flag of true and inform Lord Renly I wish to parlay."

"As you wish, Lord Tywin."

A parlay. Tywin mused. King Roberts' brother was a vain man and would accept. It gave him a few options. All of them benefited him, but it depended on Lord Renly and how he reacted. What road would the Lord of Storms End take?

The Parlay of Bitterbridge. Tywin thought. What a nice song it could make.

A fine song indeed. He smiled at the thought.

The Wounded Lord

"You get that milk of the poppy away from me before I have you flogged!" He coughed as he weakened against the pillows. Dozens of his men surrounded him. Good, fine men whom he had sailed with his entire life. The moonlight danced against his skin as the Queen Arbor rode the waves. Big Ben raised his brow, unimpressed, his steely gaze undaunted by his harsh commands. He has taken legs off men without flinching as they screamed. "Tell me the status of the fleet." He commanded.

Tears were striking his chest from his dolt of an heir. "Please, father that can wait. You're in pain-"

"Of course, I'm in pain!" He snapped. "I have a bolt in my shoulder. You think this is pleasant?!" The pain throbbed, but not as much as the pain and humiliation this defeat had afflicted against the reputation of the Redwyne fleet. Two hundred warships, and over one thousand trade cogs, followed his command. They should have smashed the Lannister fleet and set Lannisport ablaze and they would have too, if it wasn't for the scourge of any honest sailor.

The Krackens.

The Iron fleet fell upon them like the crafty, mythical beast of legend. One of them got a lucky shot it pierced through his chain mail.

"Mi lord," Big Ben's voice was as rough as sand. "You've already led us out of the fire despite your wounds." None of that matters. Paxter thought. A defeat was a defeat, no matter how skillfully managed.

Lord Tyrell had given him a command, and he had failed to see it done. How badly have I failed? "Ships. Tell me our losses." He said through clenched teeth as he shuddered.

Jacien was a stalwart man with a square face. "Twenty warships and fifty cogs, but we retreated in good order. We gave the Ironborn a bloody nose as well, milord."

It was a sobering loss, but manageable. They had to return to the Arbor or the Shield Isles. The Greyjoys had entered the war and would start her raids. We have a duty to defend the shores of the Reach. His vision blurred as he checked his pulse. It remained steady. "Continue our course." He mumbled. "Set sail for home." Men hustled to obey him, scurrying to fulfill his commands. His son still wept. A soft boy, just like his mother. "Stop your tears, lad." His voice softened. "Look at the moon. It's a beautiful one tonight." His father, and his father had navigated the seas under the watch of the moon and the stars. They watch over generations of Redwynes as they sailed the known seas

"It is father," His son whispered.

"Alright Ben, give me the damn medicine."

His vision darkened, and he collapsed in his boy's arms.

Chapter Text

Garlan the Gallant

The family died together, at least. Garlan thought.

They hung from a tree the victims of Lord Tywin and his mad dogs. Two of them could be no older than children of eight name days. "Cut them down," He ordered. "Carefully." It was a small kindness he could bestow. Throughout the march from the Mander, he had seen the work of these monsters. Knights were supposed to protect the weak and innocent. They shame themselves. They had attacked the holdfasts and villages like a pack of wolves. His people suffered dearly while they dallied under the walls of Highgarden and he wished to weep for them. Garlan saw it impacted his men. When we breach the Westerlands. They'll wish to do the same. It'll be a struggle to maintain discipline and he wasn't sure he even wished it. But the weak existed even in the Westerlands, and he wouldn't punish them. I swore a vow.

Still, he rode on.

It was all he could do.

Goldengrove needed to be retaken. Once it had been seized, the road lay open to bring the fight to House Lannister.

The Battle of the Mander had been a great success. They collapsed the right and left flanks of the Lannister host and enveloped them. Reach lances tore them apart. A host some twenty thousand strong and killed them like pigs to the slaughter. The rest of the host scattered up the Oceanroad. It almost felt like justice. There is little justice on the battlefield, only survival. They took a few knights and lords captive and sent them back to Highgarden. Though they were only lesser knights and minor lords. Lord Lyle died valiantly at his own hand. It had been a close thing, but a single mistake was all he needed. After he fell, what remained of their host broke. "Garlan the Gallant!" His men screamed. "Knight of the Reach!" The sound of steel kissing faded from his mind. I'll dream of the dead. I'll dream of dead children as well. They'll curse me. "What took you so long? Why didn't you save me, ser?" The answer he could give them was bitter.

Politics. You died for politics.

He would rather dream of his wife. How could such kindness exist in the same world as this brutality? It was a question Willas would have appreciated. He enjoyed such philosophical riddles. Garlan didn't much care for them. Though he enjoyed the histories. Willas made sure of that. A ghost of a smile crossed his face at being bullied into reading. Then he thought of his sister Margaery, now a married woman. Was she content in Storms End? Renly would not be besotted with her. Maybe they would find happiness in companionship? Garlan prayed she would. It's all he ever wanted for any of his siblings. Myself and Leonette will have to visit her once they won the war. He would surprise her. Mayhaps grandmother could come as well? All of them needed to be around one another. Loras dead. Margaery maimed and father…Garlan winced at the memory and the look of betrayal in his eyes. He'll get better and our family shall grow strong.

They were trying for a child. Him and Leonette. If they had a boy, Garlan would name him Loras. No finer name existed. We need more roses now. It was better to think of happy dreams, to drive the despair and sorrow away. When they set up for camp, his young, eager squire accosted him. "Ser, I have finished polishing your armor and grooming your horse!" Dickon Tarly was frightenedly efficient and attentive, but he expected that from the son of Lord Tarly. Though he seemed tense and a bit too eager to please. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

"Tell me of your home. Horn Hill isn't? I'd like to hear of it and your family." Garlan bade him to relax.

"Oh." Dickon said. "Well, I have four sister and an older brother. Talla is an excellent singer, Elyne enjoys boring books, and Falia is skilled at the harp." He paused awkwardly.

"And your brother?"

"My elder brother Sam joined the Nights Watch." Dickon said with pride. "It's a high honor."

It struck Garlan strange. I don't recall Samwell being much a warrior. But mayhaps things changed? When he was a boy, he had been pudgy, and he grew out of it through hard work and dedication. "It is, but I think you shall earn honor of your own." With that, he rose. "Come, lad, let me see your sword work."

"Yes, ser!" Dickon shot off

Garlan immersed himself in the dance as he went through the motions with his squire. "Keep your shield up! Keep it up!" Sweat dripped down the boy's body as he tried to obey. A dance he enjoyed. Dickon would make a fair sword one day. Though not great. Still, he was a good lad even if overeager. It reminded him of Loras and how excited he was to squire with Lord Renly at Storms End. Maybe it would have been better for all of them if they never crossed paths? Loras would still live. Margaery wouldn't have been maimed for the sake of ambition. Garlan shook his head and focused on his squire not roads not taken. He'll loosen up.

"You are the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms!" Dickon declared when he collapsed from exhaustion.

"There are better swords than I young Tarly," He chuckled. "Keep at it, you'll make a fair martial lord one day."

"I shall I swear it!"

Garlan chuckled and ruffled his hair before retiring for the night.

The next morning, news arrived from his outriders. Goldengrove had been abandoned, and he saw the reason when they rode up the road. Broken walls. Shattered gates. It was indefensible, especially for the numbers opposed to them. They draped the golden rose of House Tyrell over the walls.

The lifeline of Lord Tywin's army has just been cut.

"Send word to my brother and Lord Tarly. We have reclaimed Goldengrove once more."

Renly

The Old Lion wishes to parlay.

Renly smiled at the thought. How low have I brought him? Men like Lord Gulian Swann advised caution, but they were dull men without the flair for risk. They spoke of boring things like supply lines or the weather. Those lords went their entire lives like his brother Stannis, living like turtles, never venturing outside their shells and enjoying the finer things in life. They would be better served eating a peach. Prudence was boring. No one ever wrote songs off the cautious. The great Lord Tywin coming to him from a position of weakness. A beggar in all but name. It was something that couldn't be passed. Servants shaved some stubble from his face and washed his hair until it shined. I wish to look my best when I vanquish the lion. It would be a victory even Robert could be proud of. Even the Trident would pale compared to the Battle of Bitterbridge. A colossal clash for the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. Once I have Lord Tywins head on a spike. My nephews position will be more vulnerable. Thirty thousand Stormlords rode with him and his scouts had informed him the Lannisters didn't even have half the number.

His servants bowed as one of them showed his face in the mirror. Strong. Powerful. He looked like a king. Tall, dark-haired, with a broad chest. His squires fitted him in enameled green armor. Tobho Mott had made it for him and no one made more beautiful suits of steel than him. The only thing he lacked was a crown on his head. Loras often told him he would wear the crown better than anyone. If only his knight of flowers could be with him. None of his companions compared to him. Slender as a reed with beautiful hair and a chiseled body without flaw. Loras was perfect.

Today was the start of his reign. When the maesters wrote of it, it would begin here at Bitterbridge where he defeated the vile Tywin and avenged his golden rose.

He pushed the tent flaps away. A horse awaited him, along with his escort. A dozen household knights traveled with him among them: Ser Bryce Caron, Ser Guyard, and Ser Brus Buckler. All of them were mounted. "Sleep well, my lord?" Ser Guyard asked.

"I had a dream from the Seven about this day. A good omen, I think ser."

Ser Bryce's eyes widened. "Then victory is assured."

"Thank the Warrior!" Ser Brus Buckler chimed.

A round of snickers broke out, catching him off guard. Renly twisted around and saw the reason. The ugly cow was riding towards them with the eagerness of a child. Men claimed women were made in the image of the Maiden, but Lady Brienne must have been the exception. Tall as a man with shoulders as broad as logs, with rough features of a soldier. The Gods couldn't even give her a pretty smile. "Wait!" She cried out and placed her sword at his feet. "Grant me the honor of accompanying you, my liege!" At least she was funny to look at. Nothing was as ugly as her.

"On your feet," He said graciously. "Your skill is not in doubt." He had seen her put knights into the dirt. The freak she was. "But I have another task for you. A task of the greatest importance to my heart." The idea came to him suddenly, and it humored him.

"I'm yours to command." Lady Brienne said seriously.

"My wife, Lady Margaery, needs a sworn sword." Renly said. "A sword to protect what is most important to me."

"You wish me to protect Lady Margaery?"

He nearly laughed at how awestruck she was. Renly nodded.

"I swear I shall safeguard her with my life." She pledged.

"Then I name you Lady Brienne Tarth, a sworn sword in service to House Baratheon." It was terribly amusing placing his ugly duckling of a wife with the walking cow. A maimed flower and a mannish woman. How it would make him laugh! And what was better than mocking absurd things? He bade her to ride back to camp. When he returned from the parlay, he would send her back to Storms End. When she was out of sight, Ser Guyard laughed. "Dumb bitch,"

"It's not right for a woman to wear chain mail." Ser Brus said.

Renly chuckled. "It's for our benefit, I'm sure. I don't want to see what's under that chest plate."

"A flat chest. I'm sure." Ser Guyard claimed.

They roared with laughter except for Ser Bryce. It was curious he often laughed at his japes.

"Are you well ser?" Renly asked him.

"My father told me it's cowardly to mock someone behind their back." A silence fell upon them as his companions flinched as if struck before glaring with outrage.

Renly nodded. "And so it is. Thank you for reminding me. You are a good man ser and your father was a wise man." And nothing was more boring in the world. He perked up with pride like a dumb fool.

It was a quick trip as they met halfway between the camps. The crimson red of House Lannister flew proudly on the field. Lord Tywin wore steel plate armor enameled in deep crimson and highlighted with gold. His eyes shined with Lannister pride, but Renly only saw an old decrepit man in his final years of life. Those around him were significantly less impressive than the Old Lion. A troop of musicians with her instruments and a couple of septons who rode beside the Old Lion wearing white robes of the faith. Only two knights traveled with him, carrying the banner of House Lannister and the flag of truce. "I mislike, he brought so few knights," Ser Bryce said.

"He is with men of the faith!" Ser Brus exclaimed. "All is well ser, or do men of the cloth unman you so?"

Ser Bryce reddened.

Renly figured he was trying to show that he was in control by coming with so few men. He kicked his steed forward. "Thinking of joining the Faith, my lord?" He japed. "I don't think there is a soul to save. And why did you bring musicians? Shall you play us some tune? I hope it isn't something dull like the Rains of Castamere. It's overdone."

He didn't even blink, merely gazing at him in stony silence. Renly only heard the heavy breathing of horses or the gentle flapping of the banners. "Take a vow of silence, my lord?"

"I'm not impressed." He voiced with no emotion. "your brother Robert never impressed either, but he made an impression at least. The Demon of the Trident who ended the dragons." And I shall end your dynasty. Renly thought.

"Mayhaps this is our Trident, my lord? You could be Prince Rhaegar! An older Prince Rhaegar, of course." Renly smiled lazily.

Lord Tywin didn't blink. "You tell good japes. Tell me when the Mountain split Ser Loras in two, did you jape then?"

He hardened. "Don't speak his name, Lannister."

"Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, dead before his time." He continued in an indifferent tone. It was grating. He almost grinded his teeth like Stannis. "Slain at my command."

Renly heart stopped. Did he just confess so brazenly? "You admit it then?"

"Yes, and these fine men have absolved me of my sin." He gestured to his septons, who stared mutely. "Maybe you would wish to confess your sin as well? Your fornication with Ser Loras mayhaps? Stealing the boy's purity. He was your ward. A young boy and you stole his innocence."

It was blinding his rage. Robert always told him a Baratheon holds the fury of the storm in his chest. Once the storm was awoken. It was unstoppable. Uncontrollable. "Anyone in your path is a dead man." Robert had said. "You shall drown them Renly." The storm was upon him and the center of its fury Tywin Lannister. "I'LL KILL YOU!" Renly drew his steel and charged. Eyes locked. Sword flying as the distance became nothing until he could see the whites of his eye. Nothing could save him now. Ours is the Fury! Crack! Crack! His horse tumbled to the ground as he screamed. Lord Tywin stood untouched over him. He was smiling, a terrifying thing that sent a shiver down his spine. The horse trapped him underneath its body and he was helpless to defend himself.

"Protect our- A cry started before being silenced by more cracks. Renly saw the source. The septons. The musicians have crossbows. Bolts flew and buried themselves in his men as swords were drawn and a dance of steel emerged from the survivors. One musician still played.

And who are you the proud lord said that I must bow so low?

Ser Guyard gurgled on his own blood. A bolt had pierced his neck.

Only a cat of a different coat. That's all the truth I know.

A head rolled next to him. Ser Brus brown eyes, surprised by his own death. Renly tried to squirm away. Fear had seized him like the stranger. Make the music stop! Tears formed in his eyes. Make it stop, please!

In a coat of gold or a coat of red. A lion still has claws.

Steel gauntlets seized him, and he couldn't feel his legs. It sapped all the strength from him. Why can't I feel my legs?

And mine are long and sharp, my lord. As long and sharp as yours

The false septons tied him against the back of the horse like a sack of flour. Renly still heard the clang of swords and hope clung to him.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke. That lord of Castamere.

Ser Bryce was actually beautiful as he cut down a Lannister knight and charged for him as strong as the Warrior. Hope swelled in his chest. He'll save me! The Warrior Reborn crumbled a foot away from him, a bolt sticking out his eye. Brave Bryce dead with all the rest.

But now the rains weep o'er his hall. With no one there to hear.

The horse carried him away. Away from the fields of death. It rode away from the song, but he knew how it ended.

Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall. And not a soul to hear

Renly wept.

Brienne

Lords Buckler, Swann, Selmy, Errol, Penrose, Dondarrion voices were raised in a heated contest of words. Dozens of knights crowded into the pavilion. "THIS IS A DISASTER!" bemoaned Ser Richard Morrigen. "RENLY SEIZED! MY BROTHER SLAIN!" His voice was filled with grief as a man wearing the sigil of gryphons patted him on the back.

"WE MUST RESCUE HIM!"

"RESCUE? IT WOULD BE FOLLY! THEY WOULD TAKE HIS HEAD!"

"CRAVEN!"

"FOOL!"

"BY THE SEVEN THE LANNISTERS HAVE ALREADY DEPARTED THE FIELD!"

"IT IS HOPELESS THEN!"

Curses and slurs were uttered. One aimed at the Dornish lad Edric Dayne who drew the ire and frustration of Ser Errol. Lord Beric drew his steel. "Say such again! And I'll cut you down where you stand! I'm to marry the boy's aunt." Only the intervention of Lord Swann seemed to calm things, as his noble voice was well respected amongst the Storm lords. He soothed tempers and cut through the voices until only he remained. Everyone leaned forward.

"My lords, my friends." He walked to the center. "It's unpleasant to say, but there is little that can be done. Thirty thousand swords we have, but none of which would save him. Any attempt would lead to his death as leal vassals. We must stay our hand."

"SEIZED BY TREACHERY!" The crowd of voices screamed.

Only Ser Gerold in service of Storms End survived the Bloody Parley as they were calling it. "Lannister treachery," He called it. "They disguised soldiers as septons and attacked without provocation. Using unknightly weapons." It caused a great sense of outrage and Brienne agreed with them such tricks were unworthy. They were no true knights. Renly another victim of the madman.

"Aye." Lord Swann agreed. "And the Lannisters may answer for it one day. But not today. The war for us is over, my lords. I'm taking my men and marching home."

Brienne could scarcely believe as other lords nodded or made similar declarations. Only a few hours passed and they were boasting about the glory they would earn on the field. How they would avenge Lady Margaery and capture the Old Lion. "But we swore a vow." Brienne said. All of them did as knights and lords to protect Lord Renly and to follow him into battle. "We all swore an oath. We can't abandon Lord Renly to Tywin Lannister." Sniggers and sporadic bouts of laughter as others sneered with disdain, not at her words, but her presence.

Lord Swann gazed at her with pity in his eyes. "And I'm honoring mine by heading home."

"Yes, let us head home." Lord Buckler declared. "Let the Crown handle Lord Lannister."

It was something she couldn't do. She had sworn her sword to Renly Baratheon. I can't break a holy vow. He was a man worthy of it. A kind, gallant man whom gave her a magical dance while others mocked her. It made her choice easy. That morning she saddled her horse with her equipment and followed the Lannister host northwest. It was her duty as a knight. I shall guard my liege and return him to his wife or die in the attempt.

Chapter Text

The Broken Stag

"The Prancing Stag!"

"A Stag of shit!"

"Parley breaker!"

"Lord Tywin fucked you right up your arse."

"You like that, though! Sword swallower!"

"Did the Tyrell boy fuck you, too? Or did you fuck him?!"

Renly heard it all and said nothing to his tormenters. Shit coated him as he wallowed in own piss and horse dung. Lords and knights alike spat at him when they passed. Not that Renly cared. I can't feel my legs.

A crippled.

Broken and ugly.

And Renly gave into despair. It didn't matter if he was rescued or released. I died with Bryce and the rest. They bound him in this wooden cage, ropes secured his wrists and when they moved, they tied him to the back of a horse like a sack of flour. Men struck him as they rode and the Lannister guardsman assigned to him turned a blind eye. When he begged them to intervene, the one with missing teeth told him. "You won't die, milord. Doesn't mean we can't have our justice for Ser Kevan." He learned to keep his tears to himself as the bruises and welts formed. It only made it worse to complain. Renly closed his eyes and remembered the warmth of Loras's body under the covers. The Warrior made flesh, especially after a day in the training yard, sweat glistening from his skin. A light blush crept on his face when he caressed his jaw as soft as glass. Loras was always beautiful when he blushed. Did it happen? Or was it only a dream? Please let me awake in my apartment in the Red Keep. Let me wake with my legs whole again. Loras would be wrapped tightly around him. He would tell a jape about the nightmare.

"A true loves kiss shall make you forget."

Darkness claimed him, and he slept. He dreamed of when he was beautiful and whole. As beautiful as Robert was. Tall and strong, a king in the making. His story should have begun by vanquishing the Old Lion.

Instead, he lost everything that mattered. A crown, use of his legs, and his beloved knight of flowers

Renly woke gasping as a bucket of water drenched him. "Wake up milord!" He groaned and shivered from the chilly water that froze the skin. "Stand up in the presence of Lord Tywin Lannister!" He barked.

"I can't." His teeth chattered.

The butt of a spear cracked against his stomach. Renly wheezed. "Stand!" He cried out, tossing him by the collar into the muddy grass. He sunk into the filth until his eyes disappeared underneath the mud. As a child, he detested the mud, and now he was covered in it. Could one drown in mud? A part of him hoped so. It would be a release from the pain. Maybe he would see Loras again? Renly lifted his shaking head up from his squalor to gaze into the eyes of his captor.

Lord Tywin stood above him, a proud smirk on his face. And who are you the proud lord said…The song echoed in his head. It almost broke him into a fresh round of tears. A boy with blond hair and green eyes hovered around him, his expression neutral. One of the Lannister relations, but there were too many to keep track. "Stand before the Lion of the West!" The man raised the spear, and Renly lifted his hands to protect himself. "Enough." Lord Tywin said, and the blow never struck. "You may go." The man bowed at once and obeyed.

"Now, tell me what you see nephew, before you."

"A broken man."

"Yes." Lord Tywin agreed. "Do you know what broke him?"

When the boy held his silence, Lord Tywin answered his own question. "Vanity." He said. "Vanity and recklessness. It was the downfall of the prancing stag. Let that be a warning to yourself." The storm had broken in his chest and his head lowered submissively. "Look at him, broken legs rolling in his filth. The Lord of Storms End, the brother of the king, brought so low. The maester tells me he'll likely never sire an heir."

"And that's the most important thing for a lord!" The boy exclaimed.

Lord Tywin nodded with approval. "Without an heir legacy fades away. Only the family name lives on."

Even in the mud and muck, he had sunk even lower. I'm the object of a lesson for a boy. "Send me back to my cage." He mumbled.

"No japes?" Lord Tywin asked. "You had so many."

"Send me back to my cage." He repeated. "Damn you! Send me back!"

Lord Tywin gazed at him like he was only a bug to squish underneath his boot. "Your tired." He said in a detached manner. "I suppose defeat does that to a man. Send out captive back. Our lesson is done."

They tossed his limp body into the cell. He landed face first in a pile of his own shit as they laughed and jeered. The final straw broke as he curled up in a ball. It bounced off him like rocks off a shield. There was nothing left to hurt anymore. The choice became only one. Nothing else matters. Crippled and broken. Deprived of Loras. Every day a living jape to be tormented amongst the Lions. A broken shell of a man. He needed it to be over. Renly couldn't even walk to his end, but he crawled to an inglorious end. He grasped the bars, lifting himself up, and struck the bars with strength that Robert would be proud of. Blood flowed as he yelled out in pain. He did it again. "Stop him!" The cry came. Too late. Renly smirked, and his vision darkened.

His eyes fluttered open and Renly wondered if he would see his parents again. Or would it be Loras that greeted him first? Then a feeling of dull pain as his mouth was dry. "Water." He moaned. "Water." His throat was as dry as the desert of Dorne. He tried to move his hand, but found he couldn't. Chains bound him and prevented his movement. Chains? Oh, I failed. Loras was beyond him. He was still a broken man and a captive of the lions. They took his only chance of relief from him.

The tears flowed, and he wept.

Jasper

The irritation grew as they looked at him with big, eager eyes. "Are we almost there yet, cousin?" Cousin Bran asked him.

His grand uncle snickered and rode on.

Traitor.

Jasper wanted to groan. He saw little sympathy in his sers eyes. I know I left them with you. His wards were fine, lads, but the constant stream of questions would try anyone's patience. It had been a long trip. "We'll get there when we get there."

"And how long is that going to be?" Cousin Bran groaned.

"Longer if you keep thinking of it."

Prince Tommen rode up with a bright smile. "Cheer up Bran! Soon we'll be making camp!"

"Good thing for Adrian, I suppose." Bran grinned at the struggling Belmore. His horsemanship left much to be desired. Jasper sighed. The fault lies with me. I'll have to spend more time with him. One of his knights was seeing to him. Cousin Bran and Prince Tommen soon engaged in conversation and left him to his thoughts. His days followed the same routine. Arise, break up camp and set out on the march with his lords and wards. Make camp. Oversee the training of his wards in lance and sword. It was just the way he liked it. Perfectly structured with few surprises. They had recently joined up with Ser Moonton and his River Lords. More men for him to play this mummers farce with. Two days had passed since they left Maidenpool. Everyone seemed high in spirits over the glory they would seize. His grand uncle called them fools. "They'll be pissing themselves at the first charge." And he couldn't help but agree. The only glory was survival, and he would kill anyone to return home. I'm going to defeat my enemies and return home. Now, he had something important waiting for him and he would not treat callously. It would be shameful to do so.

The sun died behind him. A full moon will be upon us soon. Jasper opened the flaps to his pavilion, his fake smile fading from his face. Lord Belmore and Lady Anya Waynwood disappeared from view. The conversation about the supply lines and the quarrels between the River Lords was draining. He had cooperated with Ser Moonton, a fine man, to smooth things over and keep the peace between all the different parties. When they arrived in Kings Landing, this shall become Lord Starks problem. Let him handle our petty squabbles. On his desk sat parchment, neatly folded. Everything in his pavilion had its place. Perfectly orderly as he needed it to be. A book hidden underneath his pillow for a read late in the night. It was on Ser Ryam Redwyne, a true knight and a terrible hand. It was a riveting tale of tragedy for an honorable man and it made him wish to weep, thinking of it. A true knight makes a terrible lord.

He walked towards his chair, bent down on his knees, and pulled out the object of affection. A simple jade knight.

"I can't take this from you. You would have an incomplete set." Jasper said, holding her tightly.

"I have another set." Myrcella folded it back into his hand. "It's my favorite piece. It reminds me of you. My knight in shining armor." Her arms wrapped around his neck. "I want you to have it. I know you'll return it to me."

Her words turned his heart into a soggy puddle.

"I'll always return Myrcella." He sealed his promise with a chaste kiss. "I accept my quest. I'll return this piece back to you."

Jasper played with the jade knight, twirling it between his fingers before setting it down on his desk with a small sigh. She trusts me too much. Doubts haunted him as he sat down and penned his letter for Myrcella. It was his favorite part of the day, writing to her. He imagined his golden princess playing with a loose strand of hair when she read it. She always played with her hair when she read. It was the small things he found he missed the most. This was the only time of the day he permitted himself to think of her. He focused everything else on running the host and seeing it get to Lord Stark in one piece.

"Penning a letter to your wife, boy?"

He didn't lift his head up. "I am. Is there something else I should do?"

"No. Seems a good use of your time." The Blackfish snorted. "Probably writing something soft and sentimental. Ladies like that sort of thing."

Jasper nodded.

His grizzled uncle watched him, arms crossed, standing. "Please sit grand uncle wouldn't wish you to tire in your advanced age." Jasper's lip twirled up at his ribbing.

A single snort.

"I'm not old enough that I couldn't put you into the dirt."

Jasper chuckled and sighed. He knew why he was here. "You want another row, don't you?" He said, suddenly tired. "You know we don't have to. Why argue over something that can't be changed?"

His eyes narrowed as tight as arrow slits. "We grow closer to the Capital…" Jasper rubbed his temples. "You'll be meeting Lord Stark and you've yet to tell me what you are hiding."

"Nor shall I." Jasper said with some heat. "I swore an oath. And I will not break it."

"Stubborn boy. How can I help you if you won't speak of it?" Ser Brynden said. "And what if the secret comes out Jasper Arryn?" He flinched as if struck by the mention of his full name.

"It won't." Jasper said through clenched teeth. "I buried the secret." Only Queen Cersei and Myrcella had any knowledge of it. Nothing could implicate him or Myrcella, save the word of the Queen. And it would damn her if she did so. Whomever secured the poison for her grace would know of the queens involvement, but not Myrcella. She had told no one else. Not even Cousin Sansa. How could anyone possibly know?

"Secrets have a habit of coming into the light. I hope you are prepared for it."

"It won't come to that." Jasper said as he gazed at the Jade knight.

"I hope you're right."

The honor guard approached them outside of the walls as the sun glared from the center of the sky. The sigil of House Stark and the Crown flapping in the wind. It was Lord Stark, Jasper recognized at the head of the column on top of a great warhorse. The man looked born to lead armies of men. He sat in the saddle well. Among the party, the Commanders of the Watch Ser Wendel, Ser Tallhart, Ser Donnel Waynwood, Eddard and Harrion Karstark and a dozen Stark guardsman as well. On his side Ser Brynden rode with him as well as Lord Yohn Royce ontop a white warhorse. The servants dressed his wards in clean attire for the ride through the city gates. Ser Arys shadowed Prince Tommen. "We are here!" Jasper said and winked at Bran, who reddened. "Well, let's not keep them waiting any longer!" And kicked Arrows side, sending him into a steady gallop and a storm of dust formed behind them. When he arrived, Lord Starks eyes burned into him as harsh as the Father himself. It took Jasper aback and almost made him forget his words.

"Lord Stark." Jasper said with a dutiful dip of his head. "We are at the service of the Iron Throne. Twenty thousand swords and lances at your command."

"They shall serve well." Lord Stark agreed as his grey eyes fell upon young Brandon and softened. "Bran? Is that you?"

Bran nodded. "Yes, father!"

It was a heartwarming scene between father and son as he placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder. Yet, Jasper felt bothered by Lord Starks initial reaction to him. Suspicion? Or did he imagine it? Jasper hoped it was his mind playing tricks on him. He shook his head. Bran returned to his side as they rode to the Red Keep. "Ride with your father, cousin." Jasper gave a small smile. "Your place is by his side."

Bran grinned. "Thank you, my lord!" A boy should be with his father.

When they passed through the gates, Jasper tightened, and his nostrils recoiled at the smell. Men in the city lived like rats back close together in their own squalor. How could people live like this? So close to one another. It made him tighten seeing so many eyes gazing at him. He looked back and Prince Tommen shot him a cheerful smile unbothered. "I can't wait to see mother. I just know she'll be proud of me."

Jasper nodded. He couldn't find it in him to say anything kind about her grace. She harmed Myrcella. His vision darkened, and he knew he would have to avoid her like the plague, less he was the reason the secret was spilled. Though when Lord Stark gazed at him again with the same look in the courtyard, Jasper wondered if that was even possible. "Come, nephew, I wish to speak with you in private." Lord Stark told him as they dismounted.

"If that is your wish, my lord." Jasper replied. "Though if you wish to spend time with your son, I won't fault you."

"This can't wait." Lord Stark said solemnly.

When they entered the Tower of the Hand(Lord Stark didn't wish to live in the Tower of the King) Jasper knew it was over.

He knows. Every gaze. Every look in his eyes told him the truth and when Lord Stark entered his solar and sat behind his desk. "Take a seat, nephew." He said as a long face of a Stark studied him with a stern look. He won't take her from me! I won't let him. He vowed. But he heeded the rules and took his seat.

"Gladly my lord." Jasper said, keeping his voice cordial.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, nephew?" He crossed his fingers in his lap to prevent his fingers from tapping the armrests like a woodpecker. 

Jasper gave a quizzical look before shaking his head and played the fool. “I think I’ve mentioned everything relevant in my letters about Cousin Brans progress or the war effort.” His voice perfectly polite and measured.

Lord Stark sighed. "Did Queen Cersei kill Ser Kevan? Did you know Princess Myrcella did it?" He asked him and the dread overwhelmed him. His heart quickened in his chest as he had to defend Myrcella's honor and protect her. It commanded him and made a slave of him. Lord Stark became a threat in that moment. A threat to his wife and the reputation of House Arryn. His intentions were an enigma as his body screamed for him to act. You won’t win! I’m going to defend them both! He hated when his grand uncle was right. Damn grizzled trout. The secret had come home to roost as he told him it would and Jasper was unprepared with how to contain it.

"It wasn't her fault." Jasper snapped rising with great vigor from his seat. "She's a sweet innocent girl that didn't know her mothers intent!"

"So it is true. Why didn't you tell me?" Lord Stark asked and Jasper almost scoffed.

"I didn't know what you would do to her, so I held my tongue." And that was the truth of it. Jasper never thought he would have slandered House Arryn with a public trial, but he would have. All he knew of Lord Stark were the stories he had heard and he admired him until he twisted the dagger in his back. I don't know him. I don't understand him.

"You thought I would harm Roberts blood?" Lord Stark asked, shocked.

Jasper nodded. "Yes, that’s exactly what I thought.” He said bluntly. “I didn't think you would have brought my mother before a public trial, but you did." His voice was barely civil.

A change overcame Lord Stark. He hardened. "You shame Jon Arryn." His words made him see stars. "You skirt justice. For what? The sake of appearances? You would have let the murder of your father go unpunished. Is that what motivated you with Princess Myrcella? Simple appearances?"

Jasper felt dazed with fury like from a blow in the training yard, but he eventually found his voice. “I did it to protect her, and I do it again from a man who names himself a friend, but acts otherwise!” His skin burned by the foul claim. “Why should I have trusted you when I understand you not. You say one thing, but do another.” Why was he trying to destroy his family and his fathers legacy? Jasper didn’t understand him at all. Father loved you. You were his greatest success.

“I have no idea how you’ve reached such flawed conclusions.”

“You would have dragged my family’s name through the muck. My fathers legacy destroyed by your false belief my mother is anything more than a madwoman.”   

Lord Stark shook his head, with a voice filled with sadness. "You think Jon cared for legacy? You think that was some precious thing to him?" He sighed. "I suppose Jon did neglect you if you think this. I promise he did not care for legacy, only seeking justice." It was a lie. His father cared about the legacy of House Arryn, his letters told him as much. Lord Stark didn't know him as well as he thought.

“There is nothing to worry over a public trial. It is a just course.”

Jasper laughed bitterly.  “Even when I proved her innocent men would always whisper that she murdered him." He scoffed. He could heart the jeers and the japes about his father. A weak man murdered by his wife. Old. Frail. Senile. Men may even question their birth. It was unacceptable. Robert his frail brother couldn't handle that. It’s not true!  "My father sacrificed everything for you! He raised his banners and fought the Targaryens and risked his life for yours. Then, for seventeen years, he ran the Seven Kingdoms for the sake of honor until it killed him and this is how you repay him? By spitting on his memory! His legacy! All destroyed in one trial led by his former ward. A man he considered a son."

Lord Stark only gave him a resigned look as if he had committed some great sin.

"Did you even intend to keep your pledge to investigate your mother?"

"I gave my word." Jasper said, offended at the mere suggestion he would break it. " I intended to speak with her once the war was done. I suggest-"

"A war of your making you mean?" Jasper sat back down, stunned at the allegation. "You could have stopped it if you came to me. Do you even understand what war entails? Have you heard of the savageries being committed in the Reach? All of that blood you could have stopped." Not blood of the Vale. Jasper thought. Their position would be stronger for it. They were threats to their dominance over the realm and needed to be removed. Why stop them from making a grave mistake?

His cheeks reddened at the charge. "It was the Tyrells and the Lannisters who did this. They chose their own fate. I did nothing to encourage them." He stood up." I safeguarded my ward. I defended the Crown. I fulfilled my oaths."

"That's right, nephew, you did nothing." Lord Stark said and judged him. "I'm sure that is small comfort to the lives lost."

Jasper forced himself to swallow. "As you will." He calmed himself. The war of words would not suit either of them or the Crown. They couldn't be so divided. Not yet while hosts stood breaking the Kings Peace. "If you wish to punish me, I only ask it be done after the conflict is done. Duty demands we keep a unified front for the good of the Royal family."

"Listen well," Lord Stark said with an icy command like the Kings of Winter of Old. "You will do exactly as I say and when I say it." He bristled. "I should bring this before the court, but I won't out of the love I hold for your father. Your actions were shameful. I find them disgraceful. No matter the noble reasons behind them." Jasper nodded, accepting the bitter rebuke. "You shall give Lord Yohn overall command of your host." He clenched his teeth at the lawful command. "You'll be under my direct command. It's time I taught you what Jon instructed in me."

He didn't know what to say. He should say something, but he felt like some mute. When he was a boy, that's all he wished to hear. All I wanted was to be fostered with fathers ward. After a slight pause, he mumbled, "And Princess Myrcella?" He said, not caring for the queen.

"I see little reason to involve Princess Myrcella in this. I'm sure she is an innocent girl."

Lord Stark told him he intended to set the Queen aside and to have a trial. He nodded along and gave his support, though it meant nothing. It would not be the time to speak out for his vision of a postwar world. To see that Prince Tommens reign lay secured. His influence lay in tatters and may never improve. Not while Lord Stark was regent. But Jasper would accept the choices he had made and their consequences. Actions have consequences and he had made his. And every choice had been for the good of House Arryn and the Vale.

Tommen

Tommen paced across the room bombarded by thoughts, each worse than the last. He was wearing out his boots, but he barely noticed.

Mother is imprisoned and there is nothing I can do.

Sons were supposed to defend their mothers. In the Vale he had learned that under Septon Layne and Maester Colemon. And in the courtyard under the tutelage under Ser Edmund Redfort and the Blackfish, they taught him to use a sword like Uncle Jaime. A heavy thing the thought of using it Tommen knew. In the courtyard it was fun swinging against his brothers and he was alright at it. But the thought of swinging it to hurt. To kill tied his stomach up in knots.

I'm failing her.

The thought overwhelmed him as he struggled to breathe. The red walls of the Red Keep swirled around him as eyes watched him with concern. Most of them human. I have to help her. I just have to. Mother needed him to be strong like Ser Arys or Lord Arryn, as strong as a knight. Princes had to choose Tommen recalled from his lessons with Lord Arryn, but he was frozen with indecision. "I don't know what to do Bran," He panted. "I don't know Bran. Gods, I don't know what to do."

"Slow down Tommen. Take a breath."

Bran offered an easy smile. It steadied him as Adrian's thick arms wrestled him into a chair. All of them were gathered in his old room in the Red Keep. Jon was writing a letter aloof to everything . Adrian and Bran stood above him, united in trying to calm him. Tommen yelped when Dawn jumped on top of him and licked him. It gave him a little courage being surrounded by his brothers not of blood, but choice.

"Listen to the wolf." Adrian said. "For once he's right."

"I'm always right." Bran grinned before crossing his arms. "What did Lord Arryn tell you?"

"I don't understand!" Tommen said, teary-eyed. "There must be some mistake. My mother couldn't have done this!"

Lord Arryn gazed at him sadly. "She is guilty, my prince. I'm sorry for the anguish this brings you." He wanted to believe it a lie, but Lord Arryn would not lie to him about this.

"Will they kill her?"

"If found guilty, yes," Lord Arryn sighed. "I know that is not what you wish to hear, but I won't soften the truth."

"Help me prevent her death." His voice was laced with the desperation he felt in his heart. "Help me save my mother, my lord." She loved him and Myrcella. He couldn't let them kill her. It was a mistake. Joffrey's exile must have caused a mother's madness. She always loved him the most, but it didn't matter. He was still her son. Lord Arryn didn't move. His face was stiff and aloof. "You promised me you would always help me!" He stood up. "I thought a man was only as good as his word?"

Lord Arryn sighed. "Aye, a man is only as good as his word." His hands squeezed his shoulder. "I'll always help you, my prince, but this time, not publicly. I've angered Lord Stark enough. I dare not push him any further. I need to fall in line for the good of your realm. For the war effort." It made his head hurt whenever he talked to Lord Arryn about political matters.

Tommen paused, his eyes widening. "Publicly? You'll help privately then."

Lord Arryn smiled. "Yes, I promised to provide you with honest counsel. Now and always."

"What must I do?"

"Only political pressure can save your mother. It'll come at a cost. These things always do. Will you accept them?"

Tommen hesitated before giving a tepid nod.

"Secure the support of the High Septon to plead for mercy. Pious lords and pious knights will take his wishes to heart. Lord Stark would be forced to heed to their wishes less an open schism form in his host." His eyes hardened. "but it'll come at a cost. He shall seek favors from you. He will not have your interests at heart." Tommen flinched at Lord Arryns harsh voice. It cracked like a whip. "He shall abuse you and seek to wrap his fingers around you. Are you wise enough to handle him? I can't come with you. I can't send anyone to come with you."

"I don't know." He answered him, on the verge of tears. His mother's life hung in the balance and he didn't know.

Tommen rubbed his temples, vexed, and gazed at his concerned friends. "He gave advice." Tommen sighed. "But I'm conflicted. It's confusing." He sighed. It was one like one of Moonboys japes he never understood. "I can't play this game. I'm not wise enough." He despaired. "And my mother is going to die for it."

"Of course you can, you pissy prince!" Adrian's voice boomed as he punched him on the shoulder. It would likely bruise. "Show some gull!" And Adrian was the oldest of them. A boy of thirteen namedays!

Bran looked affronted. "Your mother won't die!"

"She murdered my grand uncle Ser Kevan. It caused the death of so many. When they find her guilty, they'll have to."

"Your being stupid Tommen. Go to my father. Ask him for mercy." Bran said. "My father is a just man. I know he'll show it."

"Do you really think so?" Tommen asked, feeling a sense of hope for the first time. Lord Stark seemed more manageable than going before the High Septon.

Bran swore it.

Jon smacked the parchment into his chest. "Memorize this and say it before the court on the morrow." He smirked. "I've been working on it all day."

"Ha! It must be good then, Tommen." Bran boasted.

If Dawn wasn't on him, he would have hugged him for it, but Dawn was as heavy as a stone with terrible breath. Instead, he beamed a bright smile. Father, sending me to the Vale was the best thing he could have done. He strengthened with confidence. "Yes, I can do this. I'll take Ser Arys with me as well. It'll make me look more princely."

All of them agreed Ser Arys accompanying him would be wise. A man of the Kingsguard behind him would give his voice more weight.

The Iron Throne loomed before him, a monstrosity of melted swords from Aegon the Conqueror. Thousands had died to forge the throne. Even more had died to keep it. I'll have to do the same. He almost sighed. If only I could do so without so much death. Tommen had few memories of court mother always forbade him from attending. "It's unimportant for a spare to attend." Mother had said. Though Tommen suspected she didn't wish him to listen to Lord Jon Arryn. Hear his arguments and judgements. It might have embarrassed Joffrey for him to know things. But Joffrey hated court considering it boring.He enjoyed our torment. He would have tormented everyone. Tommen was happy he was dead. When the Old Falcon held his court, Arryn guardsman in their beautiful sky blue cloaks and men of the kingsguard dressed in snowy white stood before the Iron Throne, symbols of nobility and honor. It was a time of peace with the strength of his father's warhammer to keep it. Now, Stark guardsmen stood at the foot of the throne, looked fierce with their rugged faces and grey cloaks. Hard men without shiny suits of steel. Hard men for hard days. It gave him pause as he navigated amongst the lords and ladies of the realm. Among them, he saw familiar faces from his days in the Vale. Lord Yohn and his son Andar. Or Lyman Darry. This was his first time in the courtroom. House Darry had supported Prince Rhaegar on the Trident and did not travel often to his father's court. Everyone welcomed him and it made him feel a Crown Prince. Lady Anya Waynwood offered condolences about his mother. "Thank you, my lady." He replied. "It is kind of you to say." In the corner, Jasper Arryn gave him the tiniest nod of encouragement.

This is my throne. A grave responsibility larger than anything.

It was a cage as well, but it wouldn't be so bad with his friends by his side. It was a burden with their help he could bear. In the stories they sang of his fathers valor in Roberts Rebellion and ignored everyone else as if the clash of the Trident was the only reason he won. Yet that wasn't the truth. It was the friendship between Lord Stark and father that won the war. Together they defeated the dragons without him father would have failed. And Tommen felt that is where father erred. All of his friends left him. Lord Stark went home to Winterfell and left father alone. He wasted away without his friends. Tommen refused to make a similar mistake for as long as Bran, Adrian, Jon, Lord Arryn stood with him he could do it. I won't waste away! As High as Honor!

"Ser Andrew Estermont!" Father's herald proclaimed. Or the Lord Regents herald, Tommen thought. "Approach the throne." A murmur ran through the crowd. He had left with father on his crusade to the east.

"Lord Regent," He said dutifully. "I bear with me word of our good King Robert. He has agreed with your recommendations that Cersei Lannister stands trial for crimes against the realm. He requests that she be set aside as well." Ser Estermont raised a scroll of parchment. "It is all here."

Lord Stark nodded. "So be it. Robert has spoken and we shall obey. Send word to the High Septon the trial shall start on the morrow." No one spoke in protest. Mother had few friends left. Tommen scanned the room and saw little in the way of sympathy or disgust. It made his shoulders sag. Father had released his mother so easily from his protection. They had never been close, but I had hoped he'd care enough to protect his wife.

Court wound down as the herald declared. "Is there anyone else who seeks the justice of the Iron Throne?" Tommen adjusted his collar and approached the Iron Throne. Pushing through the crowd of nobility as they parted for him. Ser Arrys trailed behind him, towering over him. The herald's eyes widened. "Crown Prince Tommen of House Baratheon!"

Tommen offered him a small smile. "Thank you, ser, but I think we all know who I am." He gazed up and almost gulped. Lord Stark looked down at him with grey piercing eyes as harsh as the North. Brans' eyes never sent a chill down his spine like that. He almost lost his nerve. Lord Stark is my fathers closest friend. He loves him like I love Bran. He'll listen to me.

"Prince Tommen." Lord Stark's voice softened. "Why have you come?"

"I'm told, my lord, the voice of a prince holds weight in the matters of justice." Tommen had done as Jon said and rehearsed it a hundred times. "I wish to make my voice heard." He mustered every ounce of command in his voice.

All of his father's advisors stood around the Iron Throne. "I believe Prince Tommen speaks of his mother." Varys chimed. "The innocence of a sons love."

Lord Stark leaned forward. "Is that true Prince Tommen? Do you come to defend your mother? Do you think her innocent?"

"No, my lord." Tommen knew better. "You are an honorable man. I believe the charges laid before her. I only request that mercy be shown." He paused. "My mother is unwell. My brother's exile must have made her mad, otherwise she would not have done what she did."

"I don't fault you, my prince, for coming." He voiced with a quiet strength. "But your mother's crimes are extensive and she remains uncooperative. It would not be just to show leniency with so many dead."

Lord Nestor nodded his block like head in silent accord.

"And if she confesses, my lord?" Tommen asked. "If she admits her crimes before the sight of gods and men. Would you agree to show mercy?" They paused. Lord Stark rubbed his chin, pondering it. Tommens heart pounded in his chest. Please say yes, my lord. Please.

Grand Maester Pycelle croaked. "Such could help bring an end to this dreadful conflict. And wouldn't that be wiser? More prudent?"

The Grand Maesters words seem to have hit their mark. "If your mother confesses. I Eddard of House Stark Lord of Winterfell swear I shall show mercy, but she must confess or there is only one end." Death. Tommen thought, terrified.

"I understand." He swallowed. "I understand."

Jasper

"Oh, Arrow, I have so many doubts." His voice was small. More a youth than a lord. "I wish I didn't have them. The clever singers should name me the doubting falcon." He whispered as he stroked Arrow's mane. Every stroke released the weight on his chest. Arrow was the only one he could be completely honest with."Do you think father had them when he defied the Mad King?" It was among the proudest moment in the history of House Arryn. The histories were littered with Arryn deeds of valor and it filled him with great pride. As High as Honor. Once he thought he knew what those words meant. No, I've never known what they meant. Jasper tried to live up to them, but it seemed out of his grasp. Faker. You stupid faker. And he was stupid about many things, but he didn’t understand what he was missing. All he wanted was to be a good Lord of the Eyrie. A good brother. A good son. A good husband. As High as Honor. But it was an impossible riddle to figure out with too many complexities that made his head hurt. Maybe Lord Stark knew what they meant? And he could finally understand them. He wasn't sure how he felt being taken under his direct command. It's what he wanted for many years, but the way it happened made him bitter.

Jasper sighed. "Everything I've done has always been for a good cause. To defend my ward. To protect my betrothed. To safeguard House Arryn." Yet, Lord Stark had called his actions dishonorable and shameful in the Tower of the Hand. He chastised him in the former office of his father wearing his pin. His icy words still burned. "Maybe he is right." Unlike him, Lord Stark learned from his father. A more worthy student to be taught. I shamed father from birth. I wasn't perfect. Why couldn’t I be perfect? I want to be perfect. Bitterness swirled in his chest. I didn't ask things to be this way. "Yet, I think Arrow I would do everything precisely the same. My responsibilities end with my wards and the Vale." Be confident. Be decisive. The Lannisters and Tyrells courted their own damnation. I did nothing to encourage them. They chose this path, not me. Why couldn't Lord Stark see that? He was being unreasonable. And looked how much they gained from it? It would protect their families for a generation. It placed them where they deserved to be in the center of the realm. They would create a more noble realm and the Arryn name would soar to greater heights. Tommen shall make a noble king. Jasper had seen that in the throne room. It filled him with great pride watching him petition the Iron Throne with the grace of a prince. If only he could have made Lord Stark see the benefit of keeping a weakened Westerlands in the fold. But the Lannister crimes were catching up with them. He would be hard pressed to sway Lord Stark to stay his hand. I'll be hard pressed to change his mind on anything.

"Do you think me a villain, Arrow? Am I shaming House Arryn?" Jasper tasted the bile in the back of his throat. Even the mere thought of shaming House Arryn made him sick.

Arrow placed his head against his own. "Thank you, boy." He mumbled. "You're the best friend a lord could hope for." It was nonsense. He had done nothing wrong, and he refused to feel any guilt over it. I made the best choices I could. The world is imperfect and trying to keep one's hands completely clean was impossible.

For a long moment, he stroked his fur and enjoyed the quiet of the stables. It was one of the few places in Kings Landing he felt at peace. A sanctuary from everyone that vexed him with their constant conversations and judgements. It could be overwhelming, but he refused to complain. Lords don't complain. Lords had to be dutiful creatures. Bound by law and traditions to serve their lieges and subjects honorably. Jasper was lost deep in his thoughts when Arrow let out a loud whine.

Someone is approaching. Jasper knew. Arrow acted as he taught him to warn him when someone approached. It couldn't be any of the staff. He had cleared the stalls. "Who goes there!" He used his lord's voice. "Show yourself!"

A man giggled. A familiar sound as soft as silk that he couldn't quite place. His hand fell to his sword. "Come out of the shadows." He commanded.

The man complied. He wore silk robes and smelled of lavender. Jasper raised a brow. "Lord Varys?" Hand falling from his hilt. Why was the Master of Whispers in the stables with him? Jasper wasn't a member of King Roberts Small Council. It was peculiar. He had scarcely spoken a word to him in passing during the war councils. What could he possibly want with him? Lord Stark already knows my secrets.

"That is my name." Lord Varys smiled. "I have other names as well. I'm sure you've heard of them." His voice was sly, and it rankled him.

Jasper's eyes narrowed. He would not play this game. "Speak plainly, my lord. I'm not a creature of this city."

"Oh, of course not. You are the son of the late Lord Jon. It must seem dishonest to you."

A slight pause as Jasper studied the eunuch. Lord Varys reputation was not a good one. The man traded in secrets and called himself lord. It was unseemly. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm afraid Lord Stark is not acting in the best interests of the realm. You are the last hope for little Prince Tommen and sweet Princess Myrcella."

He stiffened and raised his brow. Did he know of the divide that lay between them? "I have the fullest confidence in Lord Stark." He lied. "You should bring this to his attention. Not my own."

Lord Varys chuckled. "Oh, Lord Arryn, you are like your father. An honest man. You lie as well as I swing a sword." He darkened. "You don't like me. Nor trust my voice, but mayhaps you would trust the pen." Out of his long flowing robes, he took out three pieces of parchment. Jasper wanted to curse. He had his interests piqued. It's what he wants. But what choice did he have? If some harm stood against Prince Tommen…

"Very well, but I shall deliver this to Lord Stark."

"Oh, no doubt Lord Arryn."

He grazed his thumb over the first wax seal. A mockingbird of House Baelish and the second a golden rose of House Tyrell.

It was Lord Baelish's penmanship he recognized it, but the impossible words made him feel shame. Jasper couldn't finish the letter, so he read the Tyrell letter instead. It left his hands shaking with fury. Oh, Aunt Catelyn I should have believed you. The man was a worse monster than he imagined and he didn't see it. Blinded by a sense of loyalty. I should have thanked her. Not judged her for killing him. His shame turned to anger. "Why have you not told Lord Stark this? It changes everything!" He asked. "And how did you come by this?" Lord Baelish was many things, but sloppy was not one of them.

Lord Varys gazed with amusement. "Quite a little plot, isn't it?" He giggled. "Have the queen be so convinced she was responsible for the killing and yet she was but the pawn of an Old Rose and a Mockingbird."

"How did you come by this?" He repeated.

"One of my little birds slipped some milk of the poppy in the courtiers' drinks. Switched the letters out with forgeries. You never know when such evidence could prove useful."

Jasper found little glee in clever plots, and Varys was clever. The glint in his eyes was intelligent and the tale he told intrigued and disturbed him as Varys continued speaking. "Even Queen Cersei would think she killed Ser Kevan, and she did the deed in a manner of speaking, but they planned the plan in Highgarden. Queen Cersei was simply a pawn in this game."

"Do you know why?" Jasper asked.

"Oh, you know the answer, my lord." Varys sighed. "It was pragmatism and revenge formed into one. Revenge for the death of Ser Loras and knowing the bread crumbs would lead to Cersei Lannister. Removing the last remnants of Lannister influence from the capital. Bread crumbs Lord Baelish would leave behind." Jasper saw the cunning. A clean little plan. "Unfortunately, the plan went awry. You lived. Lancel Lannister rallied the Red cloaks in a suicidal attack that maimed the Rose of Highgarden. They didn't think the Lannisters would be so reckless to engage in a direct attack. And Lord Baelish suffered a tragic end with Lady Catelyn." Lord Varys snickered. "An amusing end for such a clever man. Unexpected and sudden."

"Lord Baelish was the one who benefited from my death." Jasper said. "It's what he got from this arrangement, isn't? It would have destabilized the Vale. Then he was also behind Ser Hughs attempt to kill me during the melee, wasn't he?" Everything fit together. A puzzle he didn't even realize needed to be solved. The entire web seemed to lead right back towards Lord Baelish. All of his mistakes, his manipulations. It made him feel a fool for not seeing it. If he was so brazen to attempt to kill me twice, did he kill my father? Were my mother's mad ramblings true? Jasper wasn't certain he wished to know.

Lord Varys clapped. "Well done, Lord Arryn. Well done. You pieced it together quickly enough."

"Did Lord Baelish kill my father?" Honor commanded him to ask, and he complied.

"I wondered if you would ask that." Lord Varys shrugged. "I don't know, my lord. It's possible, but I hold no evidence either way."

Jasper nodded. "I still don't understand why you're telling me this and not Lord Stark."

"Have I not told him, my lord?" Varys said and handed him the last letter. The wax seal of a direwolf said otherwise. In a night of revelations, this surprised him the most. Jasper read the missive. A command to see such evidence destroyed. It could be Lord Starks hand, though he wasn't too familiar with his handwriting and it was certainly his seal. But it was so unlike the man. Jasper struggled to see him issuing such an order and Varys, by his own lip, had forged other letters. It was not beyond his capabilities. The man balanced truth and lies well into a narrative. A believable story. He knows of my bitterness to Lord Stark and could try to take advantage of it.

"You must wonder why. Why did Lord Stark do this?" Varys let out a small gasp. "I hope you don't think me little Varys lying? I assure you I'm telling the truth. But I suppose you lords don't listen well to the words of a spider."

Jasper crossed his arms, unconvinced.

Lord Vary sighed. "Lord Stark is stuck in the past. The brutal sacking of Kings Landing by Lord Tywin, Ser Jaime stabbing his king in the back and the terrible murder of Little Aegon and Rhaenys. These thoughts weigh heavily on his mind. He sees House Lannister as the ultimate enemy. Now as Regent he can finally see them face justice." The spymaster swirled around him. "But you and I both know the alliance between Highgarden and Storms End is far more deadly and to weaken the Westerlands leaves Prince Tommen more vulnerable."

He said nothing and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Lord Arryn?"

"Dismissed. " He said as if he were a lowly servant. "Surrender the evidence to myself. I shall decide what to do with it. Your words are sweet. Too sweet."

Lord Varys bowed. "Do as you wish, my lord."

"Even going to Lord Stark with what you told me?"

Jasper studied him, but Lord Varys gave nothing away. His eyes, a blank enigma. "I think we both know you won't. It isn't in the best interest of Prince Tommen."

His civility thinned, and his voice cracked like a whip. "You presume too much. Now leave me." Before his voice lowered and finished with courtesy "Have a good night and a fair walk back to your quarters."

Jasper rubbed his temples when Lord Varys left. What was a truth? What was a lie? The man told lies for a living and spun stories like a master spinster. But there was certainly truth in his words. Jasper simply struggled to see the full picture. The involvement of the Tyrells and Lord Baelish, he was certain. His handwriting was genuine and no fake. They had motive and means to do it. Jasper was thankful for the evidence it gave him leverage to dirty them and see House Tyrell punished should it prove useful. What if lords blamed House Arryn as well and besmirched their honor? It was his father that secured the appointment of Lord Baelish and he had supported him fiercely. People could believe that. I won't have the Arryn name dragged in the filth. And did Lord Stark know? Doubt swirled around him. I don't trust him. Our interests are not aligned. The feeling of betrayal lay heavily on his mind. But was he capable of this? He despised the Lannisters and everything they stood for. However, Lord Stark was an honorable man and a better Arryn than himself. A sense of nobility that made him wish to weep motivated every action he took. Father must have been like him! Maybe it was just a façade? A trick just like Harry, mother, father. All of them played tricks on him. Lord Baelish had played him false. Mayhaps Lord Stark had done so as well? If it is true, he's a hypocrite, a liar, and unworthy of the office of his father. Their duty was to defend the Crown, not punish crimes of the past, no matter how distasteful. How dare he lecture me about Arryn honor when he engages in such deception! How dare he stand where my father stood? Jasper thought bitterly of the words exchanged in the Tower of the Hand. Maybe he should make the letter public? Let the Lords of court to decide for themselves. Inevitably, he could see House Arryn benefited from the truth. How high could we soar…

You can't do that! The man is your uncle. A ward of father! A voice reminded him.

Jasper sighed and shook his head. I won't dishonor him as he did me. The laws that governed the behavior of lords was clear.

And if Lord Stark was unaware, he should tell him, and they could coordinate a response. Honor demanded it. Was that not a reason for the divide that had grown between them? The lies of honor he told.

He'll ignore you as he's done before. A dark voice sang in his ear. He's stuck in the past. Your voice isn't enough.

And Jasper feared that.

But he wouldn't decide tonight. It was a mountain of worries and concerns he couldn't sort through in one night.

He fed Arrow a carrot. "Don't worry, boy. I'm a slow learner, but I'll be patient this time." He let out a nervous chuckle. "I'll keep this close to my chest." He would ask his grand uncle for his advice and would wait. I promised Myrcella I would keep a cool head. And he had to keep his word. Eventually he left the stables and the Tower of the Hand loomed in the distance. An unworthy thought crossed his mind, and he wrestled with it even as he went to bed. Jasper was thankful for the nightmare of screams that followed. It gave him relief from his worst impulses.

Chapter Text

Cersei

"Jaime," she whimpered. A pool of heat grew between her legs. She almost stroked herself, imagining her twin taking her against the soft velvet couch. My other half. She restrained herself. She was a Lannister, the daughter of the great Tywin Lannister, and would behave as one. Lord Stark thought himself clever with that lie about Joffrey and Jaime. Both still drew breath. I would know if my cub or my twin were dead. Still, she yearned for their coupling. It had been months since the Trident where he took her while Robert slept in a drunken haze with the roaring of the river, drowning out her screams of their lovemaking. Lancel had proved a pale replacement to his glory. Cersei poured herself a drink of sweet summerwine and chuckled. It had been some time since she thought of her cousin. Weak Lancel who couldn't even slay Lady Margaery.

Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear. A shiver went down her spine.

Cersei smiled. It could never be Lady Margaery. No one would ever claim her beautiful again. Missing her ear and fingers. Maybe Lancel had done his job after all? Yes, he did. And the whore deserved it for trying to take what was hers. How she suffered for her position. Years enduring Roberts drunken bouts to get close to the Crown she deserved. She sipped another gulp down her throat. It doesn't matter. The fool Ned Stark somehow had figured it all out. Even Myrcella's part in her plot. Who told Lord Stark? Cersei wondered. Probably that spider Varys. She should have told Robert to have his meddlesome head removed from his shoulders years ago, but he had never seemed much of a threat. Varys had even been helpful, like the dutiful servant he was. It seemed he found a new master in Stark. "You killed Ser Kevan, didn't you? And used your own daughter to do so." Lord Stark said with judgement as if a wolf could judge a lion.

"I did." Cersei said with pride. "How does it feel knowing you discovered this truth too late to change anything? You failed your friend, Robert. Does that pain you?" She hoped it did.

Lord Stark didn't rise to the jab. "Why? Why did you kill your uncle?"

"He stood in my way and needed to be removed."

"Removed? It was murder."

Cersei's temper flared. "Don't you speak to me, oh high and mighty Lord Stark. I've seen that bastard you sired. Was it some Dornish woman you raped? Or mayhaps Lady Ashara, you despoiled? You are just as dirty as the rest of us."

"You used your own daughter to do it." Lord Stark said.

Cersei frowned. "Yes, she was the only one who could get close enough. Uncle Kevan was too cautious around me." She sighed. "She was supposed to remain unaware, but she's a smart girl and pieced it together." Cersei rubbed her cheek where Myrcella had slapped her. It stung. She was her daughter, and she loved her. If only she had not fallen under Lord Arryn's pathetic display of chivalry. The boy had corrupted her sweet daughter, twisting her away from her family.

If only Lord Arryn had come to that dinner. He would be dead, along with her uncle. Tommen would have been returned to the city. She would have killed Stark when the opportunity presented itself and would have crowned Tommen. He would have him summon his brother to take up his seat. Joffrey was born to rule. Unlike his soft weakling of a brother.

Cersei drank some more. Lord Stark had yet to remove her from these quarters in the Maidenvault. He was waiting for something. Cersei knew. Her fate wouldn't be kind. Ned Stark was no friend of hers. He would declare her guilt before the court and see her head removed from her shoulders in a public spectacle. Pycelle, the useless old dolt, had betrayed her. She needed poison to wrestle her fate on her terms and she had received not a note in passing. Abandoned to die a public death. It was infuriating, witless fools like Pycelle and her uncle that placed her in this position. If they understood anything, they would have helped me in placing Joffrey on his throne! Uncle Kevan earned his death. Along with Cousin Lancel. Fools the both of them!

"Mother?" a soft voice snapped her out of her stupor. Her little boy gazed at her with a surprised look. He had grown taller since she had last seen him. Time in the training yard had strengthened his body. The pudgy little boy had vanished. In its place, when she squinted, it was as if she saw Jaime as a boy. A kinder Jaime without his cocky smile and boyish bravado. "You look unwell." He swallowed. She gazed into the mirror and saw her flushed skin and saggy eyes. I look sloppy. A Lannister should never look sloppy.

"My sweet cub." Cersei said and embraced her youngest child. Stroking his long, delicate blond strands. He had her hair. Softer than even Myrcella's. "How tall you are getting." She bade him to sit with her. "Tell me of your time in the Eyrie."

Tommen brightened. "I would love that mother!" He said. "I love Bran. He has been like a brother to me-"

"Joffrey is your brother."

"Joff is dead." Tommen paused. "And I'm glad for it."

Cersei struck him.

"How dare you say that of your brother! Your king!"

His stay in the Vale had corrupted her little boy. He had come to her more falcon than lion. She expected him to meow on the floor, nursing his wound, but he stood up. His cheeks reddened and his eyes flamed with defiance as hard as stone. "I shall be king after father! Not Joffrey! Father himself said so."

Cersei's lip tightened in a thin line.

"The realm deserves a better king than him!" She heard Tommens' voice, but it was Lord Jasper Arryn speaking through her son. She never should have let Robert send Tommen to be raised in the Eyrie. The falcon lord had confused her poor, weak-willed boy. I should have had Jaime cut Robert down. If she had asked her twin, he would have done so. Joffrey never would have been sent away if she had. They would have drenched the Trident with Robert's blood and Lord Arryns. She would have bathed in it.

He softened. "Please, mother." Tommen begged. Joffrey never would have begged. "I didn't come here to fight."

Cersei smiled. "Of course you didn't, my sweet boy."

Tommen sighed in relief. "I have spoken with Lord Stark on your behalf. He will show mercy for your crimes. If you confess them at the Sept of Baelor before the sights of Gods and Men."

"And in what form shall this mercy take place?"

Her son told her with pride. "You shall be given a place in the Sisters of the Faith!" Tommen said. "One day, I could even summon you back to the capital. It's perfect mother!" He swore excited and giddy as if playing with a kitten. "In a few years, you'll be back with us in the capital and all will be forgiven! You could even instruct my future daughters with Lady Sansa." The Stark whore who led Joffrey astray now would have her hooks in him. Maybe it's the Starks I should have been more concerned with? Bran Stark was the reason they had sent away her Joff. Robert loved the Starks more than his own lawful son. Now Tommen loved him more than his own flesh and blood.

"Joffrey would have fought for me."

Tommen flinched. "Joffrey is dead." She almost struck him again, but thought against it. A glint in his eyes reminded her of her own father. It warned against it. "Please, mother." He showed his weakness once more. "There is nothing else I can do for you." Tears formed in his eyes. "I wish not to lose you. I love you very much as much as I love Cella. Don't abandon us. We need you."

My cubs need me.

What would they do without her? She was their mother and couldn't abandon them to treacherous traitors like Lord Arryn and Lord Stark. She needed to survive and claw her way back to them. A Lannister always pays his debts. "Oh, my sweet boy." She wiped away his tears. "You tell Lord Stark I shall confess my sins before the sights of Gods and Men."

"Truly?" Tommens voice was filled with hope.

She kissed him on the brow. "I won't be parted from my children. Not even the Stranger himself could keep me from you."

Ned

"Ser Balon Swann!" The King's herald trumpeted as the crowd in the gallery murmured. He had been among the knights that left with Lord Renly. Ned shifted on the Iron Throne, an uneasy seat for any man. Dull blades dug into his back. It chafed him raw. Damn you Robert. He bade the knight to approach. Jory had seen him disarmed as he stood where Cersei Lannister had crumpled before the Iron Throne. "I shall confess Lord Stark. I shall confess my crimes before the sight of gods and men." She said, tears streaming down her cheeks, warming many hearts with her performance. He was not one of them. It was the promise of trying to stop the bleeding that motivated him. Robert charged him with defending his realm.

His guardsman at the foot of the throne tightened. Ser Balon was a skilled warrior. Ned could see lines of worry on Ser Balons face as he went to his knee. "Lord Regent, I bear poor tidings. Lord Tywin Lannister has seized my liege, Lord Renly! "The throne room went silent save for the sound of scuffed boots over the marbled floors. "The Old Lion broke parley and slaughtered Lord Renlys' valiant protectors and seized him! An act of villainy!"

"How do we even know these words to be true?"Grand Maester Pycelle croaked. "Lord Tywin is a Lord Paramount. I highly doubt he would stoop so low." He stroked his brilliant white beard ponderously.

"Tis no lie!" Ser Balon declared.

Ned was inclined to agree. Lord Tywin was a viper in the grass. Tradition. Honor. Even the notion of decency was a foreign concept to the man. He wouldn't hold anything sacred. Guest right. Parley. Mayhaps, even kinslaying? Ned mused. His own daughter killed her uncle without shame and his grandson nearly killed his younger siblings on the Trident. All of them were byproducts of the same rotten line. Roberts biggest mistake was not sending Lord Tywin to the Wall. The Lannisters should not have been rewarded for her crimes, it had nearly poisoned the Baratheon dynasty.

"Varys?" Ned turned to the spymaster. "Have you heard of this?"

"Nay." Varys said. "My little birds have only told me that Lord Tywin and Lord Renly were to meet at Bitterbridge."

"My father bade me to ride as if the Stranger himself were on my heels!" Ser Balon said. "He believed you deserved to know, so justice may be done."

The Grand Maester shook his ancient head. "Justice? For a rebel lord in defiance of the crown. A man who ignored the commands of the Iron Throne."

"He defended the honor of his betrothed."

"Treason by another name is still treason. Lord Renly has broken the kings peace as well."

Lord Nestor shook his head. "Even a rebel lord should not have been seized during parley. It's criminal."

"Lord Nestor, I find-"

Ned raised his hand to silence him. "He speaks true. Lord Renly has much to be taken into account for." He rose. "But I shall stand judgement in our kings name. Not Lord Tywin. Renly is still Robert's own flesh and blood." He twisted as the Grand Maester wilted like a flower. "If Lord Tywin has broken the sacred rights of parley, he shall answer it with his life. The law is clear."

"Jory."

He dipped his head. "See that Ser Balon is given comfortable quarters for the night."

"Lord Stark." Ser Balon declared. "Allow me the honor of accompanying you to see justice is done."

Ned considered it. Ser Balon was a fine knight, and it would do well for them to have a son of the Stormlands with them. "I swear my sword to you and the Crown!" He added.

"Very well."

The court ended shortly after, with Jory and his guardsman ushering the attendees out of the throne room. Ned quickly made his leave to the stables where horses had been prepared for him. He inspected the encampment outside of the city walls. He walked amongst the detachments of River Lords and Men of the Vale. Lord Yohn joined him, along with Ser Moonton, and they made final preparations for the supply trains that would follow them. Wars are won with carts and the food they carry. Last night, his nephew had made his will known that the command of his host would fall to Lord Royce. Ned had nodded in approval. The boy troubled him and he could not have him in command. His youth and inexperience made it impossible. How could he possibly think I would mean Roberts blood harm? It was madness that Jon Arryn's son held him with such suspicion and doubt. It made him doubt the education his son was receiving. Ned had questioned Bran of the things Jasper Arryn had taught him, and he found little disagreement in them. "A man is only as good as his word." Bran said. "There is no shame in admitting one's mistakes and accepting the consequences." His son claimed Jasper Arryn, a good man and diligent lord. "Adrian, he helped with his horsemanship, Tommen on how to hold a lance, myself the bow, and Jon, well, Jon doesn't need help, really." When he returned to the Tower of the Hand, Ned saw it firsthand. Jasper Arryn, with his wards going over drills under the grizzled gaze of Ser Brynden. His nephew was helping Bran with his footwork. A small smile graced his face that reminded him of Robb.

"When I had to ride on the back of the cart. Angry at everyone." Bran told him. "He rode with me and endured my sullen silence. I'm happy being his squire."

Jon Arryn's kindness lived in the boy's heart. Ned didn't deny that. It was his obsession with legacy like some Lannister that concerned him. Jon didn't care about legacy. Only behaving as befit a lord. Ned would not have faulted him as much for defending his mother, but it seemed he was more offended by appearances than the crime itself. Was that his notion of honor? Derived from the opinions of others? Ned sighed. Maybe he was too harsh on the boy? Cat would tell him to treat him gently.

Lies and secrets swirl around him.

What other secrets did he hide behind his declaration of duty and professions of loyalty? Jon Arryn never would have kept a secret that could have saved lives. He's not Jon Arryn. He remembered. Ned had an inkling of what happened. Robert neglected his duties to the realm, and Jon did his duty for him and neglected his son and heir. Now, I have to do both.

Ned returned to his solar, the sound of laughing boys fading from his ears. A letter on his desk confirmed Lord Stannis had passed the Broken Arm of Dorne and sailed with all haste along the Summer Sea. The Royal Fleet was under his command. At least one of Roberts brothers has remembered his duty. Though Stannis Baratheon was always a man defined by his sense of duty. His reply had been terse. As the Iron Throne commands. Ned had little doubt he would see the fleet to Seaguard. Lord Stannis crushed the Iron Fleet at Fair Isles and would defeat them again.

We'll need those ships to ferry us across once the Tyrells and Lannisters are dealt with.

Other missives he signed with ink and his seal. Missives to the High Septon and commanders of the Watch overseeing the public confession of Cersei Lannister. Ser Tallhart believed crowds of thousands would be assembled around the Sept of Baelor. "I'll need to bring five hundred of my men to keep order, my lord." He told him. Ned agreed with every request he asked of him to ensure security for themselves and Cersei Lannister.

Night dragged on as the candle wick died down and his vision blurred. Ned was busy penning a letter to Robert informing him of his intention to march on the Rock and root out Tywin Lannister from whatever den he was hiding in. Jory popped his head in. "My lord, Lord Arryn wishes to see you." It was late, but if he had come, mayhaps, it was important.

"Send him in Jory."

Jasper Arryn gazed at him long and hard, clutching pieces of parchments until his knuckles turned white. "This was left for me." He said, placing two letters on his desk. "You are Lord Regent. This information belongs to you." Ned leaned forward, puzzled by the air of secrecy and judgement.

"And what shall I find, nephew?"

"It would be best if you simply read it, my lord."

Neds eyes widened with every word he read. House Tyrell hand in the death of Ser Kevan. Lord Baelish's grubby fingerprints over the plot as everything finally clicked into place. Who had secured the poison. Why Ser Hugh had attacked his nephew. A web of lies and corruption. Two sides of the same coin. Ned mused as his nephew studied him. "By the Gods." He mumbled. "This changes much." Cersei Lannister was not the only criminal who needed to face the Kings Justice for the murder of a lord.

"Mayhaps you already knew?" Jasper Arryn said and handed him another letter.

He saw the seal of House Stark. "Tis my seal?" Ned said, puzzled. "And it looks like my words, but I've never written such." And the words were outrageous. Destroy the truth? What fear did he have from the truth? His nephew gazed at him with distrust. He's uncertain? Ned thought, amazed. "I had no knowledge of any of this."

Shoulders slouched, and he nodded. "I- "A moment of doubt flashed on his face. "I believe you." And dipped his head politely. "I beg your pardon for my behavior. A man can only offer his apologies when he knows he has done wrong. I should have done my duty to the Crown and told you the truth about Queen Cersei, but I was fearful and distrustful, so I held my tongue. It was the wrong choice."

"How long have you known?" Ned asked.

"A day." He admitted. "I wish to think of it before I did anything. The choice needed to be the right one."

"You still hold reservations about me?"

Jasper nodded lightly. "But my father trusted you and believed in you, so I should, too. He was a better Arryn than I could ever hope to be."

"Why would you believe these to be my words?"

"Mayhaps you wish to punish only the Lannisters for their past crimes. Your disdain of Lord Tywin is well known." Jasper sighed. "But that's just what these creatures that live in this hellish city wish me to think. They seek division between you and me. United, nothing can overthrow us. I won't fall prey to whatever tricks these sycophants throw at me."

Ned rubbed his temples. What have you left me, Robert? He missed the simplicity of the North. No secret letters or conspiracies in the dark or courtly factions that sought his destruction."The fact you still harbor such feelings worries me." He confessed. His nephew bristled, but dipped his head in understanding. "But I thank you for coming to me. You did the right thing."

Jasper Arryn didn't reply for a moment. "As you say." His voice was formal and distant. "Do I have your leave?"

"You do." As he turned to leave, he made a realization. "Wait, do you know who sought to pit us against the other?"

Jasper Arryn shook his head. "Not the faintest idea."

Jasper

My dearest Myrcella, I wish I could hear your voice and feel your touch. I ache for it as girlish as it is. There are truths I've learned. I wish I could have your perspective on them. Maybe you could help me make sense of them? But you are where you belong, safe in the Eyrie. Worry not. My Blackfish keeps my head on straight. Thank the Father for him! Please tell me more of the garden as much detail as you may spare. I wish to imagine the progress in my head. And your poem was beautiful. It warmed my darkened heart. Darkened by duty. Nightmares afflict me, but no lord should be frightened of such things. I'm not afraid of them. Though I'm confident I shall dream tonight of a woman more beautiful than the Maiden herself!

Thank you Myrcella, your letters always cheer my day. You would have been proud of your brother. He acted like a gracious prince in the courtroom. The boy is quite likable, unlike myself(Save to you of course) I charmed you. Mayhaps something is wrong with you? Don't roll your eyes princess, I can tell a few japes in passing. I'm sure it pains you to hear the news of your mother's crimes. It's a just sentence. Lord Stark is right, if too lenient in my mind. Hopefully, time with the Faith may help atone her sins. The Seven are just.

I spoke a lie the other day. Telling lies tears at me. It's dishonest and not proper form, but I had little choice. It was for the best and my cause is just isn't? Or is that something all men say to soothe their minds? Don't worry, Myrcella, it's a small matter. You know I find great difficulty in even doing small wrongs.

It warms my heart that you have tried to get to know my brother. I apologize for him if he says anything untold. He's a spoiled boy. Mayhaps as I was once? I'm ashamed to think I may have been a little monster. But I likely was. You are kind, Myrcella; I love that about yourself. Please never change. I can't wait to see you again. And yes, I'll extend your love to your brother (But no kisses or hugs) I'm not that sort of man. A firm handshake should suffice and mayhaps a single pat on the back.

With Love Jasper

The ink had just finished drying when Lord Varys was escorted into his office. He had made the man wait outside while he finished penning his letter. The effeminate Master of Whispers deserved it for trying to turn him against Lord Stark. "I wonder why I'm not in chains." He snickered. "You went to Lord Stark and yet you didn't mention my involvement." Why would I tell Lord Stark? If he told him, the man would have been killed and his network would become inaccessible. It would be wasteful to take him off the board, and with Lord Baelish dead, he needed a capable set of eyes and ears. Lord Nestor had caught no wind of Lord Starks investigation. A competent steward he was stiff in court and securing information. A favor with the Master of Secrets could prove useful. His Grand Uncle always told him that a man needed eyes and ears to win a campaign. Ser Brynden advised him to be forthwright with Lord Stark about everything and see Lord Varys dead. Jasper disagreed. It was for the best to support the Stark-Arryn alliance that upheld the realm. It protected them all, and was in his interest to safeguard it. But Lord Varys could prove useful depending on his motivations. He desperately needed better eyes and ears in the capital. If he can answer the question of why he tried to split us apart, I shall use him for House Arryn. Otherwise, this shall be the end for our spider.

"I've yet to tell Lord Stark."

Lord Varys chuckled. "Are you blackmailing a little old spider? Oh, I see your little game. If you told Lord Stark, I would lose my head. No doubt you would lose some influence, but you're his nephew. Flesh and blood." His eyes glistened with amusement. "Yes, and it wouldn't matter for me. Poor Varys would be dead in the ground." The man clapped. "How unlike the late Lord Jon you are."

"Tell me the truth, Lord Varys. Why did you seek to pit myself against Lord Stark?" His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms.

"Well, Lord Arryn, I've always been honest." He giggled. "For the Realm, of course!"

Jasper snorted. "I don't think that's it. No, that isn't it at all."

The giggling stopped and the man's eyes grew serious. "I grew worried over the influence and power your little bloc holds over the realm. For the good of Prince Tommen, I sought to weaken it. I didn't wish him beholden solely to the Lord of the Eyrie and the Lord of Winterfell. So I pitted you against one another for the good of the realm." The explanation seemed truthful. A couple of awkward pauses and he detected no lie in his eyes. It made sense for him to see a resurgent Vale, North, and Riverlands alliance as a threat.

"I'll be in touch. You have a debt to pay to me, and I shall have it and then some."

Outside of his solar, Grand Uncle Brynden awaited with his wards. All of them dressed in their house finest cloaks and doublets. Funerals, or executions, we must look our best. Passed the door of cedar wood, his guard had assembled, prepared to take them to the Sept of Baelor and see justice done. "Come on." Jasper said. "It's time for us to go."

Prince Tommen was close to tears. "I don't think I can go." He whispered.

"Come on Tommen, it won't be that bad." Bran swore.

It did little to soothe him as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'll handle this." He dismissed curtly. "Ser, see them a horse."

His grand uncle nodded.

"You will do your duty, Prince Tommen. You shall not cry. Am I understood? You are the Crown Prince."

Prince Tommen cried.

His tears made him uncomfortable. It made him feel awkward dealing with such emotion. Jasper rarely showed anyone his tears. It was a foreign thought, sharing them with others. How would his ser have handled this? If a cuff to the head wouldn't fix it. He would have listened. And he didn't think a cuff to the head would help in this case."Tell me what's wrong, my prince."

"What if they hurt mother? What if she's scared?"

"No harm will come to her. Hundreds of noble knights and men of the watch shall protect her." He went down on one knee. "And no one would risk the wrath of the Gods by spilling blood at the Sept of Baelor."

Prince Tommen nodded timidly.

"Lord Stark has sworn on the honor of his house that no harm will come to her. Do you think him a liar?" When Prince Tommen shook his head, Jasper pressed on. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm still frightened."

Jasper looked from side to side before leaning, "I'm frightened too, my prince. Of different things, but I understand fear." He squeezed his shoulder. "But we must try to be brave."

"Your afraid?" Prince Tommen asked.

"Yes, my prince." A thousand things that he wouldn't burden him with. "If you pretend to be brave, you can be." Jasper recalled those lonely nights he pretended to be Ser Artys the Soaring Falcon or Aemon the Dragonknight. It helped with the feeling of loneliness.

"I can try to be brave."

Jasper offered a small smile he hoped reassured him. "You will." He said with confidence. "You're a good lad."

He bit underneath his lips. "But what if I cry?"

"Then you cry. Men may mock you for it, but the sun will rise tomorrow all the same."

Prince Tommen wiped away his tears and nodded his head. "I think I'm ready, my lord."

The ride to the Sept of Baelor was a short one. Banners of the Faith blew in the wind, along with the Direwolf of House Stark and the Crowned Stag of House Baratheon. Lord Stark and the rest of the Small Council stood surrounded by Stark guardsman. Jasper tightened, gazing at the sea of humanity gathered before the raised platform. The line of gold cloaks held them back with heavy spears. He took a small breath to calm himself. When they brought out Queen Cersei, the crowd erupted into jeers. The vulgarity of the commons reared its ugly head.

"Murderer!"

"Temptress!"

"Lion bitch!"

It made Jasper's blood boil. She was the Queen! A Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! How dare they jeer at her like she was some common criminal? She came from a noble bloodline going back to the Age of Heroes. It was fitting. In a city filled with sycophant lords, its smallfolk were just as debased. Jasper cared little for the queen. She hurt Myrcella. But her birth meant she deserved better treatment than this. It was appalling having a public trial. What damage was it doing to the institution itself? Shall my cousin have to work twice as hard to be seen differently? He understood the reasoning behind it. It would make her guilt clear to everyone speaking at the Sept of Baelor and would strengthen their position. Jasper still didn't like it, but he didn't offer any protests to Lord Stark. I'm in no position to protest, save defending my core interests.

Gold cloaks dragged Queen Cersei onto the stage and she fell to her knees. Tears streaming down her cheeks. "I Cersei Lannister Queen to King Robert, confess my sin in the sights of the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed. I murdered my uncle Ser Kevan in cold blood and plotted to return my son Joffrey to the line of succession-" A rock struck her in the temple.

She yelped

Blood flowed in a gentle stream. Jasper gripped Prince Tommen in an iron grip as his ward struggled to run to his mother. The boy struggled like a stag. "It'll be fine, I promise." He whispered. "It's going to be okay." He hoped Lord Stark wouldn't make a liar of him.

"In defiance of my husband's law and will. I killed my uncle for his attempts to stop me." She said, crying. "It was wrong. I know that, but I wished my eldest boy to be restored to his birthright. Despite his crimes to his siblings and the command of my husband."

The High Septon nodded along. "The Gods are just and merciful as we sin. They can forgive us for our transgressions." He bowed his ancient head. "Lord Regent." His voice crackled.

Lord Stark collected himself. "I Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell and Regent of the Iron Throne by will of King Robert, accept this plea of mercy." He paused. "She shall serve out her days amongst the Sisters of the Faith, atoning for her crimes. So I sentence her in Roberts name."

"Justice!"

"Justice!"

"JUSTICE!"

"But she was not the only guilty party." Lord Stark declared. "Cersei Lannister may have committed the murder, but it was House Tyrell and Lord Baelish, our Master of Coin, who plotted it. They plotted this in dark rooms and whispered their foul treasons by raven. I have in my custody the letters they exchanged, naming them for what they are. Criminals and murderers. They murdered Ser Kevan seeking to remove Roberts queen by using her as a catspaw. Revenge for the death of Ser Loras and a desire to name Lady Margaery Queen. Naked ambition shattered our kings peace. Tens of thousands have died for this ambition. Septs have been burned. Holdfasts sacked."His voice hardened as cold as the North. "Lord Baelish has escaped the kings justice, but the Tyrells have not. As long as I'm regent of the Iron Throne, we shall have justice. I swear it. Justice for the slain."

The crowd chanted in a thousand throats the name of their regent until Jasper could scarcely hear his own thoughts.

"STARK!"

"STARK!"

"STARK!"

Chapter Text

Brienne

The girl was pretty, with long willowy legs and deep brown eyes. "Ser!" She cried out, throwing herself on the road waving her arms. "Please ser stop!" As she got closer, Brienne saw her cheeks were red and puffy from tears. "Oh, thank the Seven I found you! I need your help!" Dirt and mud soiled her simple dress.

Brienne removed her helm.

"Ser-" A pause. "Mi-lady." She said, baffled, gawking at her like she was some oddity. She was an oddity. Taller than nearly everyone she met. Even Renly Baratheon only came to her forehead. She looked more man than woman, with broad shoulders and a distinctly mannish looking face.

"Yes, child?" Brienne asked.

Desperation propelled her forward. "Can you use that sword at your hip?"

"I can, my lady." She replied. "Depending on the cause." Brienne knew she shouldn't be speaking with her. Every moment I waste, Renly ventures further and further away. She had sworn a vow to see him safe from harm. The Lannister pace was breathtaking, and she had yet found the opportunity to infiltrate any camp they made. All she could do was to follow and wait for an opportunity to present itself. But a knight had no choice when it came to the pleas of the weak. I swore a vow.

"Men wearing lions are at my homestead with my sisters-" She busted into another round of tears and couldn't finish. The tears struck her as true, or she was a great actor and should perform in some troupe. It was unlikely to be some trick by brigands to lure unexpecting travelers into a trap. Wicked men would not travel with such a scared child.

"How many men are in your family's abode?"

The young child, no older than thirteen name days, paused. "Uh, five, no four."

"Five or four?" Brienne asked. "Which is it?"

She swallowed. "Five." She grumbled honestly. "But I think the one looks portly." Could I beat five men? The odds were not great, and yet looking into the child's eyes, she had little choice.

"Lead on child." The girl named Naya thanked her profusely.

It was not a long ride and Brienne saw at once Naya had been mistaken. True enough, five men with lion helms were present, but she failed to mention the squire as well. Though mayhaps she didn't consider him much a threat. The boy looked to be anywhere else. Three women cowered together on the ground, clinging to one another, wearing torn dresses. One she assumed was the girls mother. A man lay either dead or unconscious on the ground, likely the father. A mans breaches were down and he was entertaining himself with a maid of fifteen. His surcoat contained arms were purple and white chequy with gold coins in the checks.

"AMERI!" Naya screamed.

All the eyes drew to them. "Stay here, child." Brienne said, dismounting and drew her sword.

"You wish your turn ser?" One of them asked her. "These are our prizes."

"Fuck my cock! That is a woman!" The man with a thick coarse beard realized.

The men laughed. "Ugliest cow I've ever seen. Do you think she has a cock between her legs?"

"One way to find out." He grinned.

Brienne wasn't afraid of the likes of them. "In the name of King Robert The First of His Name, I bid you to stop your crimes-"

The knight shoved his girl to the ground. His manhood flapping in the wind. "You listen here, wench," He sneered. "You best get right on that horse before I decide to shove my cock up your ass until I find whereever your hiding your cunt." She did not back down.

"Puh-Puh Please Ce-Dric." The boy stammered. "Do-nt ne-eed to do it."

"Quiet boy!" He snapped. "You should be thankful. I took you at all."

When she readied her stance. "Looks lads, the wench wishes to fight! Take care of her, Seamus!"

Seamus approached with the same lazy contempt she had seen her entire life. His first blow was lazy and slow, and it cost him his life. She shoved her sword straight through his back. Eyes widened as they slowly realized she was actually a threat. Four left. She charged them while they were still sluggish and disoriented, and smashed her shield into a face and shattered it. He screamed, clutching his shattered nose. Three left a dance of steel followed with a series of powerful blows. Both of the armed brigands tried to overpower and slip past her guard. The man with the coarse black beard nicked her shoulder plate and sent a strand of chestnut hair to the grass. Brienne noted they were tiring as their faces were beat red from the contest and her next slash found its the man's arm to the ground. A pool of blood formed. Two left. A flurry of blows that left her slightly winded. Parry! Counter! Thrusted straight through his throat. He fell gurgling on his own blood. By this time, the so-called knight named Cedric had dressed himself and lunged at her in a ferocious display. It drove her back a step. Then two. Sweat dripped down her brow. She felt the force of each blow like hammers to her shield and sword. Blades locked and her muscles strained as she just shoved him back. A small opening formed, and she took advantage of it, piercing his guard and cutting him in two from groin to chest. Only the squire remained.

"We underestimated you. You're a freakish woman!" The man with the shattered face had recovered and held his blade to Nayas throat. Fool! Fool! She had thought him down with the rest. "Now you are going to let me go now? Or this pretty little thing is going to die here and now." No…

"Release the girl ser. She is an innocent."

"After I'm gone. I'll gladly release her." The man lied as well as he fought.

Brienne took a step forward. "Wrong move, wench." He brought the steel to her throat. A thin red line formed. The women screamed and howled, pleading for him to stop, and it gave her pause. She wished no harm to befall the child.

"I'll swear an oath not to pursue. If you release the girl." Brienne offered.

He gave a bloody smile. "Not happening. Come here, lad." He backed slowly away as the squire picked up his fallen sers sword and joined him, head bent. "Follow me and the girl dies. You-" It was all he said as the squire shoved his blade straight through his heart. He died instantly. The squire's face blushed as he tightened his grip around the sword that was far too big for him. "Mayyyy, I Plu-plu-ease go-gah-go?"

Brienne knew she couldn't let him go. They'll know I follow. Still, he was only a boy, and he had saved the girls life when he had no cause to do so. He seems harmless enough. And she doubted he had taken part in anything. Naya joined her mother, who embraced her tightly.

"Kill him!"The mother screamed. "He's one of them!"

"He's only a boy." Brienne shifted uncomfortably

"Kill him!" The other daughters joined their mother as the boy paled. His arms shook. Even Naya added her voice to the call. And she couldn't blame them. They have suffered, and he has the face of the enemy. Yet, he was no enemy of hers.

Brienne shook her head. "Drop your sword, boy. You are my captive. I shall take you for ransom." He held the same surcoat with the golden coins. Brienne knew his family should pay the ransom. It was common practice for knights and squires to be ransomed back to their families. The women glared at her murderously. "Do you accept your terms of captivity?" He didn't reply, save dropping his sword, which she took as his answer. She bound his hands with some rope as the idea came to her to take the shield and lion helm and the suit of armor. Maybe It could fit her?

"How can you let him live?" Naya screamed at her. "How?"

"Stay back, child." Brienne said. "I am sorry for your suffering."

The mother shepherded her daughters inside their ruined home as she lifted the thin, scrawny boy onto to her steed. They rode for some time and the boy hadn't said a single word of complaint. Nor did he give her any trouble. "Whats your name?" She asked.

He refused to lift his head up from the ground. She didn't press him and had almost forgotten when she they finally stopped for camp and she helped him off the horse.

"Podrick Payne, my lady, ser knight. Thats my name." He said with a sheepish look.

Daven Lannister

His chest tightened as his fingers grasped around the hilt of his blade. A blade as golden as his hair. A gift from Lord Tywin. Men breathed heavily, gazing down through the trees as the formation of Tyrell banners marched along the Oceanroad. As endless as the forest itself. It made one wish he were a craven. How can we hope to stand against such a host? But he had his orders to muster a defense of the Westerlands as best he could. They had peppered the Reach caravans and tried to slow their progress, but they were like bees fighting a bear. The bear hardly noticed their efforts and the pricks of blood they drew. Daven gave a single nod and gave the command arising from his crouched position. Horns blew, sending flocks of birding into instant flight. Boulders came tumbling down into the columns. "LOOSE!" He barked, his golden sword glistening in the sun. Bolts and arrows soon blocked it out. The invaders dropped like flies to the storm of bolts, and a sea of blood drenched the road.

"FOR THE WEST!" He screamed.

"FOR THE OLD LION!"

"FUCK THE ROSES!"

Everyone screamed words to give them courage as they charged down the forested hill. Momentum at their backs allowed them to cut through the soldiers of reach like a knife through butter. His golden sword tasted red. Daven lost himself in guts and blood. It seemed every sigil was of some flower or woodland creature. Every corpse that fell before him made him think of victory. How the rest of the battle fared, he knew not. I named Cousin Lucion in charge while I led the assault. It would give the men more courage to see him charge with them into the fray.

Horns blew as he sent a head flying off some men of arms with a fox for a sigil. Lannister horns. A cloud of dust in the distance and he saw the reason. A mounted charge to sweep them away. "FALL BACK! TO THE WOODS!"

Men were barking orders as discipline held, and they withdrew to the safety of the trees. Come on, you irksome old bastard. Fall for the trap. Follow us!"

Daven hoped and prayed to the Warrior, but the mounted knights made no such venture.

Tarly didn't bite.

He cursed.

They had spent days on the pits and caltrops. We could have slaughtered more of them.

Instead, Daven had to give the order to withdrawal from the field and depart ahead of Tarly's column to the north.

"It raised the men's spirits." Lucion said as they finished setting up camp. "We slew three for every man we lost." Fifteen thousand men is all he had to oppose the hordes of the Reach. Fifteen thousand greenboys and sellswords. It was an impossible task facing a man like Tarly, who was relentless. The Stranger has nothing on him.

Daven snorted. "Yeah, but unlike Tarly, I need every man I lose." Ever since the disaster at the Mander. Almost an entire host had been lost to Lord Tarly's advance. They had killed Ser Lyle in battle. Daven was lucky to incorporate the few survivors into his force. He swore. "If only we faced that fucking fat rose."

His cousin nodded.

Thankfully, they had stripped the Reach North of the Mander bare forcing them to rely on supply lines from Highgarden. Made worse by the Ironborn plague facing them. Long supply lines benefited them. But Lord Tarly had sent bands of men just as they did ahead of the primary host, pillaging the countryside. It made him worried the Rock could soon be under threat from Iron Born raiders or even Tarly's men. It's a miracle they raided the Reach instead. Lord Tywins' reputation was likely the reason that made them choose the Reach.

Crakehall must hold to deny them further advance.

"Cousin? You look white as a sheet." Lucion said. "And you're shaking?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." Yes, he was tired. Battle had tired him.

"Your covered in blood-"

"Blood of other men." I would know if they struck me. No one ever came close.

Lucion pressed on delicately. "You should still be seen by a maester-"

"Bah!" Daven waved him off. "Let them see other men who truly need it." He started towards his tent and made it a few steps before his legs turned soft and flimsy. Pain radiated from his side and he collapsed onto the hard ground. Daven hit the ground hard, the air being driven from his lungs as his vision darkened. His head struck some ancient tree root. The last thing he saw was his squire Jason at his side. "Jason." He mumbled. He had placed him in the reserve to spare the boy a grizzly battle. A soft boy like that would have been slaughtered. Myrielle loved him. It made him think of Myrielle and Cerenna. Promises to his sisters. A souvenir. I promised Cerenna one. I haven't found her one yet.

Jason said words to him, but Daven didn't understand them and closed his eyes.

Stannis

"A waste of parchment."

Davos gazed at him awkwardly as they leaned over the bow of the ship. The stars were out littering the heavens. Poets loved singing of them, but for a sailor they had practical uses. When he had been named Master of Ships, he learned everything a lord needed to know of sailing. It was his duty to learn. The gentle sound of the waves drowned them out. No one was out with them. They were asleep or fulfilling their duties.

"What?" He asked. "You think me uncaring? That I wish ill on my brother." When the Tyrells had besieged them. Starved them for over a year until they were forced to chew on the leather of shoes. Renly had not starved. He had given him portions of his meagre rations. I did my duty to him while I feasted on rats. The rats had tasted like steaks compared to the shoes."I mourn the boy he was. Not the man he became." A selfish, vain fool who smiled and sought the company of ambitious lords. Especially the dainty Knight of Flowers. Unlike Renly, he had always done his duty to his brothers. Even if every bend and turn, they slighted him. Robert robbed him of their ancestral home in Storms End. He held it for him against all odds. He did not break. Did Robert thank him for it? No, he only blamed me for failing to capture the dragonspawn. Robert didn't name him his own brother Hand of the King or Regent while on his damn fool's crusade in the east. Me his own flesh and blood. Renly smiled and japed and mocked him behind his back. One jape about his daughter made his blood boil. Then he frolicked with the Tyrells. The same men who starved us. Renly befriended. Renly married into their family and gave Lady Margaery the title of our mother.

If the gods are real, they mock me.

But he endured it all. For the Laws of the Realm were clear and when Stark bade him to head to Seaguard he obeyed, for Robert still lived and had made the man his regent.

"Aye." Davos admitted. "It was unwise what he did, but he is your blood."

Stannis chewed on the word unwise and grinded his teeth. "He played hero when he owed his duty to Robert and his regent." He scoffed, annoyed by the conversation. "It doesn't matter what's done is done. Renly chose and shall suffer for it." When King Aerys had demanded he join his banners with the Crown. He had chosen his blood over his duty to the Crown. A thick silence held between them save for the roaring waves and he left his Onion Knight to his duty. He retired to his cabin. Sparse quarters. A lord needed little in the way of comforts and he ate his dinner alone. A late meal of cold steak, and mashed potatoes with a single goblet of wine to wash it down. Stannis thought of Robert. Seduced by that witch from the east. She spoke nonsense of his brother being some prophetic hero. Though when he drew the flaming sword with dancing flames, he wondered if it mayhaps could be true. It made sense that some god would have chosen Robert. Six foot five and a warrior on the battlefield. However, he doubted Robert believed in her. Only the breasts on her chest interest him and what lies between her legs. Robert was never a godly sort of man.

He ate another bite of steak and swallowed.

If Robert would have believed me, I would have told him my suspicions. He ground his teeth in frustration. But Robert didn't love him, so he had gone to Jon Arryn. The Old Falcon had worked with him for years running Roberts' realm, and they had a cordial relationship. He did not dismiss his words as treason. Still, Jon Arryn had kept his role in the investigation limited. "I'll need to convince Robert without a sliver of doubt." Jon Arryn said. "You stand to gain the most from the children being bastards."

"Aye." Stannis replied. "Robert shall only listen to you."

Stannis didn't know the proof Jon Arryn had uncovered. It had died with the man. He didn't know who the father could be? How could only the mother's features show up? All he had was what his eyes told him. The bastards he had visited with his brothers' dark hair and blue eyes and the pure Lannister children the queen had sired. And Jon Arryn himself seemed confident in the evidence he had gathered.

"I'll be telling Robert tonight." Jon Arryn said. "I'll need to tell him tactfully. It shall likely lead to a war between House Lannister." He gave a weary sigh. Sweat dripping down his forehead. His limbs were a little shaky. "I've written to my boy Jasper. Telling him to raise the banners." He smiled. "You know he won a tourney in Runestone last moon? If only I could have been there." The old mans mind wandered. "I always keep track of his wins. His first tourney was at Gulltown came in second. Tough break against Ser Lyn Corbray's lance. A fine showing, though."

"We should kill the children, then. They are threats to Robert's reign. Certainly the boys, at least."

Jon Arryn blinked, appalled by the notion. "We are not Lannisters. We shall not kill babes. They are blameless for the crime of the mother."

"The Wall and Sisters of the Faith?"

"Yes." Jon Arryn coughed, the life draining from his face. "It's the only path for an honorable realm. Robert's wrath will be great, but I can dull it." He coughed more violently.

The thoughts of an honorable realm died that night. Jon Arryn fell ill before he could tell Robert the truth. Tis was no illness, but poison. Stannis had tried to convince Robert to name him Hand of the King, but he failed. Without the authority of the Office in a city crawling with Lannisters, he fled back to Dragonstone. The banners of the Vale were never raised, nor did Robert Arryn arrive on Dragonstone per his arrangement with Lord Arryn. Jon Arryn's son had betrayed him in death. Why? Stannis had little clue. Though word trickled to him of the betrothal of a princess and the fostering of the so-called crown prince in the Vale and he filled in the gaps.

He wishes to usurp the crown with an Arryn raised prince.

The Lannisters had been driven from the city by Lord Stark. A man who also seemed to benefit from this arrangement. His daughter as future queen. Maybe he was a part of the conspiracy? Or mayhaps was unaware? But any word he brought him would see him thrown in the cells for treason. What evidence did he hold? Save a few bastards. As Roberts regent, Lord Stark would be honor bound to name his actions as treason for trying to overturn the line of succession. He didn't have a strong relationship with the man, unlike Lord Arryn. Men didn't love him like they loved Renly or Robert, and if it came between believing him or his nephew Jasper Arryn, Lord Stark would choose him. Blood always came first. Few men would believe the word from his own lip. Thankfully, power still came from Robert's authority or he would have no choice, but to raise his banners in revolt.

If I die, the truth dies with me.

So he held his tongue, but when he was called to do his duty, he obeyed. Roberts realm was under threat. They could not tolerate private wars amongst his banners. The fleet was readied and set sail while Renly played war and found himself captured.

He spoke true with Davos. I mourn him. He should have turned out better. And if he died, he would weep once and only once for him.

Until then, he would focus on the task at hand and seeing the Iron Fleet to the bottom of the seas.

The Old Lion

"You look tired." The ghost of his wife told him as the candlelight flickered. A sly smile graced her face.

He didn't bother her with a reply. She wasn't real. A figment of his overworked mind, and he didn't put down his quill to indulge it. Lannisters didn't speak with ghosts. Sometime passed before he finally lifted his head up. Joanna sat, legs crossed, in front of his desk, as beautiful as the day they had wed dressed in the crimson red of their house. Her eyes burned with dancing wildfire.

"Are you going to acknowledge me, husband?"

Tywin raised a slender brow.

Joanna laughed. "Your thinking of our legacy, aren't you?"

"I think of little else."

It was supposed to be a glorious legacy, and it started out with great promise. His brilliant golden bride by his side. They drowned and slaughtered their enemies together as the Lannister's name reached new heights. He became the Hand of the King. The youngest in the history of the seven kingdoms. She became a Lady-in waiting for Queen Rhaella and earned her love and favor. A friendship of a vain king made their rise assured. Two beautiful golden heirs were born to him. An heir to the Rock and a future queen. Perfect children fit to be Lannisters. Then his legacy turned to ash. Joanna died birthing the little stunted whelp and his two golden children turned into great disappointments. One a glorified bodyguard that died defending an ill-born prince and the other an incompetent queen unable to grasp any lesson he tried to teach her.

Her hands fell on top of his own. "You wish my permission."

"Do I have it?"

Joanna kissed him on the cheek, as sweet as strawberries. It felt real. "Do you remember what I told you before you marched off to end the revolt of Lord Reyne?"

Tywin did.

"Rip their family out root and stem until nothing remains but castles of bones. Monuments of your strength. Then return to me and place your cloak around my shoulders. Make me your wife. Let us build a legacy together. A legacy greater than even Lann the Clever."

"Then you died." He brushed her hands from him and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, she was gone. She had been gone for years. Though she had taken a piece of him with her.

I buried it with her corpse.

Tywin rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made his choice. "Send for Lord Willem." He told the guardsman outside of his tent. Tywins' eyes flickered to the letter from Kings Landing that made this choice easy. Legacy is all we are known for. The family name lives on. He hid it away and opened his locked drawer, removing his will from it. My final will. The boy arrived quickly to his pavilion, offering a polite bow. Willem didn't wait for a command and took his seat. His decorum reminded him of Kevan as he sat straight as an arrow in his seat. Hands resting neatly over his lap, waiting for him to start a lesson.

"Read." Tywin said, tapping the parchment.

It didn't take him long

"And?" Tywin asked him.

Willem's eyes widened lightly. "Lord Tyrion shall become Lord of the Rock then."

"Tyrion is a creature of lust and depravity. I would sooner die than let that imp turn the Rock into his whorehouse."

"But this is a statement of abdication, and he is your lawful heir."

Tywin nodded once. "It is, and no, he isn't." Tyrion had never been his heir. It had always been Jaime until his boy died. If Kevan had lived, he would have made it him. His eyes fell on his son. A worthy successor to his legacy. Every lesson he had taught him on this campaign confirmed this to him. The boy was stalwart and firm, with a fair mind. He isn't the legacy I wanted, but he's all I have left. He wasn't of Joannas' line, but it was the best he could do.

The boy gazed pensively. "My duty is to you as my fathers was. A duty to House Lannister." He sighed. "But why abdicate? Our position is not so terrible. Many highborn hostages have been secured. Including the king's own brother. Surely you could negotiate with the Crown."

"Do you know Lord Stark?" Tywin asked.

When he shook his head, Tywin continued. "I know the man." He chuckled. ". Did you know he wanted me arrested for securing King Roberts claim to the Iron Throne? Do you think such a man is going to take kindly to my actions in the Reach? Do you think a man of honor is going to forgive me?" Willem shook his head. "Of course not! I've known that since the moment I set out from the Rock, my sentence was the Wall or the noose."

"You did it for the Lannister name."

"YES!" Tywin praised. "The Lannister name had to be upheld." And he had upheld their reputation by savaging the Reach. He burned holdfasts to the ground. Slaughtered her smallfolk by unleashing mad dogs upon them who raped and pillaged. He butchered defiant lords and took Lord Renly captive in a coup d'état. Singers will sing of that deed for a thousand years. The crippling of the Prancing Stag! For another generation, weak men will whisper of them in fear. Fear of House Lannister would live on in hearts and minds across the Seven Kingdoms. Our standing will not slip back to the days of my father. Lords would understand the price of pulling a lion's tail still. They'll just have to look at Lord Renly.

"Lord Stark has left Kings Landing with a host of Valeman and River Lords." Tywin said. "Another host has departed Riverrun. In the south, our efforts have collapsed on the Mander. Ser Lyle Crakehall defeat has left the Westerlands vulnerable. Lord Tarly shall soon be at our outer defenses if he isn't already. Daven Lannister won't be able to repel him. We can't hold out against the entire realm." On the map it painted a picture of defeat. One by one, the castles guarding the entrance into the Westerlands would fall. Though the picture was painfully deceptive if you removed a piece from the board.

It dawned on his heir. "You've always known you would have to abdicate and join the Nights Watch, haven't you?" Tywin almost smiled at his intuition. Almost.

"Naturally," He replied. "If we held the Crown, it could have been different. We could have used the authority of the Iron Throne to inspire discord among the vassals of our enemies." They would have turned on them in the middle of battle. Or kill them during a feast. Mayhaps even a wedding. But his fool of a daughter had lost controlled of the Crown to Stark. No offer of his would be treated seriously without the authority of the Iron Throne to back it. Once he considered merely exile to the Free Cities, but Stark would punish House Lannister more harshly for it. Unthinkable. To fall on his sword was too cowardly for him to even consider. No one shall call me a cowardly lion.

He chuckled. "If we fought like fools to the bitter end and it would be the bitter end with a man like Eddard Stark." Tywin said firmly, less there was any doubt in his mind. "Our treasuries would have been drained. Our fields stripped by fields of locusts that would scour our lands. It would have damaged the Westerlands for a generation, and what would we have to show for it?"

"Nothing." Willem whispered.

"Precisely." Tywin poured himself a single cup of wine. "Instead, you shall sue for peace. The son of a decent man murdered with poison. Lord Stark, being a man of honor, would treat you far more gently than he would have treated me." The Westerlands would emerge from the war in a sound position. Her fields practically untouched, unlike the fields of the Reach with strong reserves of gold. One day, his grandson would still sit on the Iron Throne, and his kin in the Westerlands would still benefit from the titles and privileges only a king could provide. I'll just be freezing on the wall when it comes to pass. "It's why the moment we arrive at the Rock. I shall board my ship for the Wall with a loyal retinue of men." They had only recently arrived at Silver Hill the night before. He would have a horde of singers and heralds spread the news across the Rock and Lannisport that he was leaving having avenged his brother and defended the honor of his house. That the love he bore the Westerlands demanded he abdicate before they lay her fields to waste by the forces of the Crown. A story could be spun years later that they had never been defeated at all.

Fools would believe it, and the world was filled with fools.

Willem rose and poured himself a drink of water. "With all due respect, my lord, are you certain the lords of the West will accept me? You have a living son, and your daughter, the queen, and her children would all come before me in the line of succession."

"My lords shall do as I say." Tywin replied, unconcerned. Defiance had long since slipped the minds of his banners. One quick tune of the Rains of Castamere always made them obedient.

All I have to say is jump and they'll ask me how high!

"Tonight I shall make the announcement before all the lords naming you my heir."

Willem nodded dutifully.

"My sister Genna shall be named your regent until you come to your majority." He had already summoned her to the Rock. She was making the preparations for him. Fortifying the loyalties of the household.

"A wise lord listens to his councillors until he comes of age." Willem said. "And I think I shall listen to prudent advice even after." It sounded like something Kevan would have said. Suddenly, he almost felt a little sentimental. You would have been proud, Kevan.

Tywin smiled.

"Who would you recommend I wed my lord?" He asked bluntly. "I'd like your wisdom while I have your ear, my lord. I think Lady Alysanne Lefford would be the best?"

Tywin found little disagreement with the choice. Daughter of one of his wealthiest banners. Strategically located. She would make a fine Lady of the Rock. If I had never made a vow to Joanna. Mayhaps I would have married her? He offered some counter offers in one of the lesser Lannister branches, or the daughters of Lord Marbrand and Lord Lynden. Willem considered each choice, but wisely decided that Lady Lefford offered the most and decided on that course of action.

"You shall make a fine Lord of the Rock." Tywin said. "No. You'll be beyond fine, you're a Lannister." And nothing was above a Lannister.

Tywin walked with him past the flaps. "Now have I ever told you the composer for the Rains of Castamere?" He shook his head. "No? Well, it was a singer by the name of Loren. A sad little man. I've kept him in my employ all these years. Seek him out. Make him write a pleasant song about this campaign and when he's done send it to me on the Wall." Tywin loved to whistle the Rains when he went to bed, and it would be nice to have a new song.

Chapter Text

Lysa

My whore of a fucking sister killed my poor Petyr.

Lysa had wept for her perfect lover when news reached her from Kings Landing. Cat was jealous of them. Yes, so jealous of our love. It's why she fled to win him over. She couldn't stand the thought of her being happy, so she ruined it. My poor Petyr must have stayed true to her after all. It's why he died. She wanted him, too. The Seven must curse her for not staying true to her Florian. When she had learned the news, she tore her hair with a knife. I'm just as beautiful as Cat. None of her family could see it. Save her hair looked radiant, cut masterfully. Even if Edmure looked at her like she was some ugly duckling.

But Edmure was such a simpleton. What did he know?

She vowed to rip out Cats dark heart and squish it until the black ooze fell through her fingers to the dirty ground. Once she considered killing father, but his time was short and it seemed rather painful, so she spared him to choose a better target.

Though she allowed her emotions to cloud her. Her love was too strong and too easily seen, and soon they shoved that dreadful liquid down her throat. She slept and drank. I have to be clever, so brilliant. She cried out for her soft-hearted brother. "Edmure." She said. "Edmure, please stop. I'm better! I'm better!" Time passed and eventually he came and her tears won her freedom again. He was upset about the letter and claimed she had used him. Lysa wept and claimed she didn't understand what was happening. "I don't remember writing the letter. I don't remember. Please Edmure, you must believe me." He was very hesitant to believe her, so she played the submissive daughter and sister. Time was her ally, along with her spineless fop of a brother. She wore him down and secured information and her freedom. The shackles were removed, and she drank the sweet liquid no more. She discovered important things. Her other son had married the Lannister Whore's daughter, and they suited each other.

"Isn't that wonderful?" Edmure had asked her.

"I can't wait to meet my goodaughter." She chimed.

Cats boy was marching towards Riverrun with a host of Northman. It was divine intervention delivering her the perfect gift to secure her revenge. Cat loves her children. I'll take away her eldest.

A son for a lover. May you choke on your tears, dear sister.

She prepared diligently and did everything Edmure told her to do. She let the servants dress her and cut her hair. Lysa dined with her brother and stood watch over their father. It took every ounce of self-control not to strangle his flimsy throat between her fingers. A son for a lover. Not a father. She kissed him on the brow and prayed at the sept twice a day. And she even stitched him a trout for his campaign in the West.

How clever am I!

She swiped a steak knife from the dinner table and hid it in her quarters. It was easy to hide it underneath her long, flowing sleeves. When Cats boy arrived the first day, she feigned illness because she knew if she saw him she would lose control and attack him and she needed to kill him. It couldn't be a failure. How brilliant am I! Sweet, sweet Petyr saw her brilliant mind. Lysa was no fool. They would kill her for it, but it would be sweet to kiss Petyr with the bloody lips of their enemies. Lysa's heart pounded in her chest and her hands were sweaty.

Maybe she should try to live for Sweet Robins sake?

But Jon Arryns son had severed that tie as long as he lived. She would never see her boy again.

Lysa had only one choice.

Robb Stark dies today.

She waited until he went to the godswood. Lysa almost dropped her knife when she saw him for the first time. He looked just like Jon Arryn's son: broad shoulders with a sturdy chest, auburn hair and light blue eyes. Though his nose was all Cats and his hair was curlier. He also seemed more at ease, surrounded by his companions. A few of his fellow northern savages joined him in the godswood. Even a tall woman with a bear for a sigil. Another had a white sun on their surcoat. A hundred could be with him and it would not save him. A man with a lazy smile plastered to his face annoyed the gathered assembly. Robb Stark turned around with a weary expression, like some suspicious wolf. "Aunt Lysa?" He said. "Why are you here? These are not your gods." They were close enough to touch. One swift motion, and she would have it buried in his throat. Jasper Arryn would still live if I kill him… And until she gazed at him, she didn't realize how much she still wanted to kill him. Though knowing Cats heart would shatter as hers shattered appealed to her as well. Wait, this was Jasper, wasn't it? She closed her eyes and saw it. Yes, yes, it's Jasper. Why would she ever have confused the two? He thought himself so clever. "You kept my son from me, Jasper! The one Petyr gave me. Did you think I would forgive you? I wished Petyr handled you as I wished. I loved him, you know! Not your father!"

"Uhhh," Jasper said. "I'm not Cousin Jasper Aunt Lysa."

He mocked her with his lies.

"This is hilarious! Do tell us more, my lady?" The one with a lazy smile said, as if she couldn't hear the mockery behind his voice.

A portly man with whiskers claimed she looked unwell and offered to take her back to the castle. More liquid down my throat.

The only liquid they would see would be Jasper's blood on the ground.

Before she could end him, something tackled her to the grassy floor. Its breath was foul as yellow eyes and sharp teeth. It was a furry monster. "Get this beast off me! Get it off me!"

"Grey Wind!" Jasper commanded, but it ignored him.

Its eyes bore into her own.

She shuddered.

"Knife!" the man with a lazy smile shouted. Lysa realized it must have flown onto the ground. No, no, no, this was unfair. "She was going to kill you, Robb!" He declared. Suddenly, a mosh pit of hands wrestled her upright as she struggled. Others had drawn swords, maces, and axes.

"Your command Lord Robb?" The woman asked, pressing the mace to her chin.

"Is this true, Aunt Lysa?" Jasper asked, bewildered.

Lysa screamed and clawed, but the hands were too strong. "Why can't you die! I should have killed you in my womb!"

"Take her into custody." He commanded. "She is still my aunt, restrain her gently. We shall speak with the Lord of Riverrun over her fate."

It was fathers solar they brought her too. Though it was not father sitting behind the desk, but her brother. Edmure's cheeks were red with embarrassment and he rubbed his temples. "I'm so sorry, nephew!" He said. "She has these bouts of madness. I thought she was better." Jasper had vanished and Cats boy stood in his place. Where were they hiding him? Could he not face her? Once again, he ruined everything!

"My mother received a letter from her detailing her crimes." Robb said. "She's clearly guilty."

"Where are you hiding him!? Where is Jasper?"

Edmure pointed. "See what I mean? My sister is deeply unwell. She thinks you're her son."

"Where did my son go?" She wailed.

"I doubt she could actually harm you."

Robb Stark didn't look swayed. "I want justice, uncle, and if we had time for a trial, I would seek one. But we have a war to win."

"I understand, nephew." Her brother caved instantly. "Place my sister under guard and summon Maester Vymann. My sister requires the milk of the poppy." She kicked and clawed as the dreaded liquid went down her throat and she saw nothing.

Jasper

Everything felt right as he swung his sword, trying to win. A small smile tugged at his lips at the contest. I'm going to beat you, old man. Steel kissed steel, and he felt as strong as the warrior himself. Young eyes watched the bout, including golden eyes of Dawn. Some Arryn guardsman as well, with the flying falcon banners flapping in the wind. One day he may finally beat his Blackfish, but it wouldn't be this day as the dull blade pierced his guard, and the point rested against his throat. "I think I may be sweating." His grand uncle said dryly.

"You must be getting older."

"Still young enough to beat you."

Jasper smiled and yielded. "Now," He said with great cheer. "What did I do wrong?" He pointed towards Bran as he poised his question. It was good that they learned from seeing his mistakes. It'll make them better knights.

"You over swung and created a small opening." Bran replied.

It was a fair answer. He nodded along. "And how many knights would have seized on a small opening?"

"A skilled one." Prince Tommen piped up.

"Or a lucky one." Adrian japed.

The boys laughed, but Jasper didn't smile and maintained a serious look. "Either by skill or luck. Any man can beat you if you give him the chance." His voice turned hard. "Give no one the chance. When you fight a man for real, it's you or them. There is no honor in death. You fight to win. Understood?"

Prince Tommen bobbed his head sadly while the rest of his wards nodded with more enthusiasm

"How do we win?"

"Practice." It was more a mumble than a declaration.

Jasper encouraged them with a wave of hand and the raising of his brow. "Practice!" They yelled.

He nodded with approval and sent them on their laps for the day. They grumbled, but did as bid as Jasper chuckled. "You would have me run laps as well?" Dawn chased after them with the vigor of a Master of Arms nipping at their heels, encouraging them to run faster.

"Stop it Dawn!"

"Quit it!"

Grand Uncle Brynden snorted. "Would if I could Jasper, but you are no longer my charge." And those were happy days, being a simple squire. Shining his armor caring for his horse, Storm. A beautiful black stallion. It was a sad day when they put her down. He wept into his pillow for it. It was such a noble beast and didn't deserve to die. Sword fights in the courtyard until he collapsed from exhaustion. He pushed himself to the breaking point. I wanted to make everyone proud. I didn't want to fail.

"I miss it." He admitted. "It was very simple." Being a lord was more complicated and required sound judgement, and he always doubted his choices. Though he still had to make them. By the Seven I have to get it right.

"When you were a squire, all you wanted was to be knighted." I wanted to be like you. Jasper admitted to himself though he would never say such emotional words. Grand Uncle Brynden knew, and he didn't need to say them.

"All squires want is to be knighted." Jasper said. "Then when you become a knight, you realize how good you had it." The day Ser Brynden knighted him was the happiest moment of his entire life, except for his wedding with Myrcella. He swore an oath to defend the weak like the Falcon Knight and Ser Brynden, and if he was only a knight it would have been perfect. But as a lord he swore another oath to safeguard the interests of the Vale and duty demanded he defeat his rivals in court and see House Arryn soared high. He was the sole defender of House Arryns legacy. The legacy of Jon Arryn. And Lord Stark could never dissuade him. That's what his father wished, and he had to secure their place in the sun. A son's duty lay with honoring his father's memory, no matter how he felt about the man.

"Lord Arryn." Lord Starks man had joined them. It was his captain of his guard, he thought. Tory was his name. Ser Jory Cassel. "Lord Stark requests your presence." The boys were still doing their laps and his grand uncle pledged to set them on their next task. Adrian still needed help with his horsemanship, though they had made progress.

"Well, lead on then Ser Jory."

Ser Jory escorted him to Lord Starks pavilion and opened the flap for him. Jasper feared another lecture disguised as a chat. They exchanged pleasantries as he took his seat. A map of the seven kingdoms lay before them. They were a week's march from the Deep Den. The Lannisters had completely withdrawn from the Reach and were being pressed on the south by the Reachmen. It pleased him the news of Lord Renly's capture. It seemed ending the union between Highgarden and Storms End could be accomplished. And then nothing could truly threaten our bloc of power. His objectives behind this conflict were being met, and it pleased him greatly. Why Lord Stark was so horrified by the conflict when it clearly benefited them was beyond him and they didn't even have to do anything, just let it play out.

Lord Stark was a queer man, with strange habits that left him scratching his head, trying to understand him.

He dined with even the lowest of his household, permitting them to join his table as if they were as important as his lords. Lords he could understand, they had to be placated and soothed to secure honor, but of servants? What honor could be secured from them? And his book on the behavior of lords and knights said that their must be firm distinctions between the social orders, but Lord Stark seemed to bend such rules. When he asked Bran about this, he confirmed he did it in Winterfell as well. Jasper saw in their eyes love, they loved their lord. None of his household gazed at him that way. What would that feel like? Did it matter?

Lordship demanded he be distant as father had written to him. It's not true. Jasper had realized he couldn't do it all alone. It was folly, not wisdom, though it was challenging for himself to change his habits, but shouldn't Lord Stark be as distant? Or did father wish to cripple me? Father must have hated me more than I thought.. Jasper wondered as it inspired a bitterness in his chest. He swallowed it and kept his polite expression plastered to his face. I have a duty to House Arryn and Prince Tommen to keep my emotions in check.

"My son Robb sent this from Riverrun." Lord Stark said solemnly.

"Have they set off for the Golden Tooth?" Jasper asked, before reading the parchment. By the end, his cheeks were hot with embarrassment and shame. Hundreds of miles away and his mother was still causing him problems. Uncle Edmure was supposed to keep her locked in her room. Why couldn't he fulfill such a simple task? How many letters did he write telling him not to trust her? His tongue grew heavy. Oh, cousin I'm so sorry. Gods I'm sorry. If she had attempted to kill the Heir of Winterfell, there was little he could do for her. "I'm sorry, my lord, for my mother's depraved actions, and she shall face justice for it. If it's proven true. I won't tolerate harm to my cousins." He promised with his lordly voice and he meant it. "But this proves little, my lord, over your other claims." He dismissed.

"Your mother confessed with her own voice in the presence of a dozen heirs of northern houses."

Yes, she claimed Baelish loved her and was Robert's father while praying for my death. Part of that was certainly true. The rest were mad ramblings of a sick woman.

"Any word of my mother you can't believe she is unwell. Even by your own sons words. She thought I was in Riverrun."

Lord Stark didn't seem convinced. "It's a confession of her part and it makes sense, does it not?" Jasper didn't reply as Lord Stark continued. "To subvert the line of succession in the Vale. See her bastard on the Weirwood throne with the man she loved? It's a motive to kill Jon."

"Yet, she attempted to throw her precious son through the moondoor."

It gave Lord Stark pause as he recalled that fact.

"My brother is not a bastard." Jasper said. "He is the son of Jon Arryn."

"Is he?"

Jasper laughed. "You slander my family with these baseless allegations." He shook his head in disbelief at the conversation. Robert was his brother. His trueborn brother and he would not fall prey to these foul lies. He would protect him as he did in the High Hall of the Eyrie. Are you my enemy, my lord? Why are you so hellbent on forcing this fight? Robert was no bastard and he would accept nothing else.

Lord Stark paused. "I only seek the truth."

"The truth?" Jasper scoffed. "Is that what you call this witchhunt?"

"The truth won't change, nephew, and we must have justice for your father."

"Even when it is proven, false men will whisper it true! It'll destroy his legacy!" The Arryn name would be driven through the muck.

Lord Stark swore. "Jon did not care off legacy. How many times must I say it to get it through your thick skull?"

It often came back to this point and he couldn't reconcile the letters he received from his father and the man Lord Stark claimed his father to be. He sighed. "I know you mean well, my lord, but every letter I received says otherwise. I'm honor bound to follow his wishes." Sons must obey their fathers and he had only disobeyed him once for the good of the Vale. If he did as Lord Stark said, it would be a fundamental betrayal and he would sooner die that commit such a crime.

Lord Stark rubbed his chin in deep thought. "Maybe Jon changed from the man I knew. He taught me to be a man of principles. These principles guide a lord's actions." He scoffed. "Not concern over ones legacy."

"Your not worried about your legacy, Lord Stark?" His question seemed to confuse him as he leaned back, shaking his head.

"Nobility is defined by ones self and our actions. Not the perceptions of others." Lord Stark said. "If you do well, others will notice." And Jasper knew it was no lie on his part. Lord Stark truly lived what he preached a man without a vice. The nobility in his voice made him wish to weep. It's why his household loves him. If father had sent him to ward in Winterfell, he would have loved the man, but now he couldn't help but see him as a potential threat in the dark. Political necessity kept them tied together as well as blood that wasn't so easily thrown away, but it was a flimsy shield for himself. He would destroy my family by pursuing justice. If Robert were a bastard, it would make Harry his heir, but he wasn't. Robert is no bastard.

Jasper darkened at the thought. "I reaffirm my vow. I shall speak with my mother at wars end, but I don't think her guilty, my lord. At least not of that." He admitted. "Do you wish to speak of the campaign, my lord? Or are we done here?"

"We are done lad." He sounded tired.

Jasper wished him a good day. He nodded towards Jory when he passed the tent flaps as a knight should. Later that night he dreamed that same dream in the Eyrie again. He woke up covered in sweat. This time, he killed his mother. Choked her flappy neck until it broke. Would that have been better? Nothing was more accursed than a kinslayer and the mere thought made him as pale as a ghost. It was very wrong. Yet, if mother had killed Cousin Robb, he would have regretted that his entire life. He didn't wish his kin any harm. The Legacy of House Arryn was not worth the death of his kin. Even if they didn't really see him as such. It's not worth it. Father may hate him for it from the heavens, but he had his line and mother had crossed it.

Oleena

"Shoo! You rat with wings!" Olenna swatted at the flying beast. Her grandson had recently imported a few into the darkened hole said it was more fitting to the legends. It was no legend she was familiar with. Some small folk legend that Willas had read in some book.

"Now, grandmother, I do think he likes you." Willas chimed, joining her with a wry smile on his face. He leaned on his cane. Some lines on his face from the strain of recent news. Renly's capture. Lord Starks charges of murder of a lord and breaking the kings peace. The increasing pace of Iron Born raids.

"Why are you here, Willas?"

"Same as you, I'd wager." He smiled. "hiding from my wroth mother."

She pressed the cool cloth to her bruised cheek. It had turned a nasty purple from where Alerie had made her displeasure known.

"You ordered the killing of Ser Kevan Lannister while my daughter was in the city!" Alerie seethed.

"Of course I did." She didn't deny it. "He killed Loras, so I killed him. Don't look so shocked, dear. We all know it was the Lannisters. It had their grubby paws all over it. It reeked of Tywin Lannister. So I was going to kill his brother and see his daughter destroyed for it."

Alerie was honestly a simple creature, and she thought little of her. Yet, her eyes turned hard, as if she was staring at old Lord Leyton and his stout jaw. "Listen, dear. This isn't your world. Frankly, it was a good plan, and it almost worked flawlessly." Ser Kevan died, and they have removed Queen Cersei from her office. If a few things had gone their way, House Tyrell could have been closer to the Iron Throne and the Lannisters destroyed with the backing of the Starks.

She slapped her.

Hard.

"I buried what remained of Loras. Slain by a brutal monster too evil to speak his name. I could barely bear that." Alerie said, on the verge of tears, her hands coiled into fists. Though she was too angry to cry."Then Margaery, my beautiful girl, was maimed by cold steel from some Lannister butcher. Her cousins put to the sword in front of her. My boy Garlan is fighting in this dreadful war. Seven protect him. Mace, my dear husband, is broken by everything. All of this is the consequences of your ill thought out plot."

"Now dear-"