The Three Houses of Westeros: Chapter 7 (Patreon)

Chapter 7:

Dimitri:

He couldn’t sleep.

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

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

All because of… the woman.

Byleth Eisner.

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

Or at least… he thought he did.

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

And he didn’t know what to do.

Was it madness? 

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

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

Its why he’d pushed the memories away as best he could. Until they were but distant dreams.

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

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

Perhaps the night air will help him clear his head. 

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

It was… pretty, really.

“Can’t sleep either huh?”

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

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

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

Dimitri dared then, to ask- “What’s keeping you awake?”

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

In spite of himself, Dimitri snorted with amusement.

It really was a ridiculous name. 

Still-

That didn’t quite answer his question.

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

The Mad King born again.

He doubted Claude Connington has the same madness. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Dimitri answered cautiously.

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

Ahh-

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

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

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

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

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

That made Dimitri raise an eyebrow. “Come again?”

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

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

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

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

“That’s exaggeration.” He declared with absolute surety. Everyone lost. Without losing one didn’t learn.

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

Dimitri wasn’t sure what to say to that.

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

The Prince stared at the lord of Griffon’s roost. “Really?” He demanded incredulously.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not curious on why she picked that stupid name.” 

“I am but its hardly a priority!”

“I’ve gotten like six different versions of the stupid story from like three people. Wanna hear em?”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was… good to see.

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

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

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

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

Not that he’d ever say that.

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

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

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

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

He… hadn’t approached her.

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

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

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

“You seem distracted.”

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

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

His Uncle didn’t deny it. “Suppose I have. Just… thoughts.” He said vaguely.

It made Dimitri’s features scrunch up in thought. “What about?” It was rare for his uncle to get ‘Lost in his head.’

Jamie didn’t answer immediately. “Your Uncle.” He finally replied. 

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

Jamie nodded. “Aye- Oh.”

Tyrion Lannister was a subject seldom spoken of. 

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

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

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

“He was lost in the Riverlands wasn’t he?” Dimitri asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever the truth. No one had found him.

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

“I can imagine.” Dimitri answered with empathetic understanding.

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

He might be dead now, for all anyone knew. 

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

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

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

As he said… dead for all they knew. 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

King’s Landing stank with the lack of sewers…

…

One. Day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And his father greeted him. 

“You’ve gotten fat!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My Lord.” Dimitri answered, reaching forward to shake the man’s hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The royal siblings bowed and received bows in return.

And that was about as formal as they got before-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His father moved down the line and Dimitri… froze.

A ghost was staring back at him. 

First the lady Byleth and now-

“You must be Felix!”

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

“They say you’re the best damn sword in the North!”Why?

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

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

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

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

‘By-’

A hand was at his back. 

“Is the Prince alright?”

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

Somehow he knew her name.

Marianne.

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

“Son?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His parents seldom agreed on anything.

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

“I’m fine, truly-” He tried again.

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

“Granted/Do it.”

His uncle planted one armored hand on his shoulder.

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

—

Jeralt:

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

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

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

Gods if Byleth had touched him and the boy would’ve collapsed…

He didn’t even want to think about it.

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

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

“Jeralt?”

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

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

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

But Ned’s hand clasped firmly around Jeralt’s wrist and pulled him into a fast Hug. “It is good to see you again my friend.”

“It’s good to see you too Stark.” Jeralt smirked. 

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

“Byleth.” Jeralt answered for her. “My daughter.”

“My Lord.” She said, bowing from atop her horse. 

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

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

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

“Go on-” Robert nodded. “See to your beast.”

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

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

“A Gorgeous beast.” Ned noted with admiration in his voice. “Where’d you find it?”

Jeralt sighed, rubbing at his head. 

His two friends gave him odd looks.

“Bernadetta?”

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

“I-Umm..Oh-I… Yes a-au- Lady Catelyn. I’m Bernie- Ber-Bernadetta Arynn.”

“Ohh!” Catelyn’s cry made Bernadetta jump, but it was clearly a cry of joy.

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

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

“Ned.” Robert called, rather uncharacteristically quiet “Lets go- I’d like to pay my respects.” 

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

Lyanna…

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

“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to settle Robert?” Ned asked.

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

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

“We were simply going to stay in Wintertown Ned.” Jeralt answered.

But Ned Stark shook his head. “No. You are guests in my hall. I’ll hear no different.”

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

“We would be honored.”

(X)(X)(X)

As promised, here is the next chapter- and good news, I should be getting my electricity back by friday so hooray 

Anywho we've finally made it to Winterfell with the most important character...Mr. Fish!

In all seriousness; this fic still needs another Beta if anyone would like to volunteer :)

Next chap is an Edelgard chapter and its gonna be a 'big' one, as her plot will begin to diverge rather noticeably from canon :D