The Three Houses of Westeros: Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Chapter 10:

Jamie Lannister:

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

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

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

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

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

Beyond that the list grew very thin very quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods above knew that Joffrey could never be that.

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

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

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

It’d never changed with Tyrion.

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

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

Right outside Tommen’s door.

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

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

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

“I can see that.” Jamie answered. “Head off to sleep, I’ll be watching them for the day.”

Blount frowned. “Not Oakheart?”

“No. He’s with the prince today.” Jamie nodded. “Go.”

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

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

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

Jamie stepped closer, kneeling at his nephew’s bedside

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

“Hmm? Uncle?”

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

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

The boy was confused by the question, blinking. “Why wouldn’t I- Oh.” 

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

“Betrothed.” Jamie corrected with a chuckle. “Don’t get too ahead of everything nephew.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t… know?” The boy asked. “I… don’t ummm.”

He trailed off.

In spite of the lack of clarity, Jamie nodded. 

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

Tommen blinked, then grew nervous. “I’ve… never had a friend before either.”

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

—

Dimitri:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahh, Lyra-” He called gently.

“Yes Mi’lord?” The woman answered quickly. 

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

The woman curtsied and bowed again. “O’course Mi’lord.”

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

“You and my father hold Ser Jeralt in great esteem.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

Arya:

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

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

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

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

So stupid…

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

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

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

“There’s the lady of the hour!” 

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

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

“Good morning M-” She stopped herself from saying the word ‘Morther’ instead remembering at the last moment to direct it towards the King with a hasty, if clumsy curtsy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa hadn’t joined them yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeralt!” The King laughed, happy as can be. “You’ve joined us old friend!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was a genius!

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

Prince Tommen that is.

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

“Lets go train with Ser Jeralt!”

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

The Prince was staring at her wide eyed, his head turned towards his brother, then the Kingsguard beside him, who she only now realized was Ser Jamie.

Arya turned towards her mother with the most ‘innocent’ smile she could put on her face. 

“You and Father said I should spend time with the Prince- a-and the King wants Ser Jeralt to train his sons. This way we can do both!” She hastened to explain her smile widening ever so slightly as she saw her mother straighten.

Again, the silence fell over the hall, so all encompassing you could almost hear the snows falling outside.

Then, there was a sound, a chuckle.

It took a second for her to realize it was her father.

The lord of Winterfell was apparently trying to hold in his snickers, but was losing the battle as the snickers turned to chuckles and then from there to peals of genuine laughter. She couldn’t remember the last time her father laughed like that.

The King joined in. “I guess she got us all there eh Ned!?”

“It is not proper for a lady to train with swords.” The queen muttered beside her laughing husband. 

“Oh let them be children yet.” The King huffed, before leaning forward to look across the table towards them, or more specifically, Prince Tommen. 

“Well son; your Betrothed has asked ya to spend time with her. What say you?” He laughed again. 

The prince’s hand was almost limp in her grip, he stammered, then sealed his lips shut before again looking to his big brother and Ser Jamie. 

She caught both of them nodding. 

Arya could feel her smile pulling at her lips, her plan coming together perfectly as Prince Tommen turned to look at her and offered a shaky, nervous nod.

The King beat his meaty fist against the table. “That’s my boy. Good Northern girl’s what you needed! Jeralt. Looks like the little lady wants you for a job! What say Westeros’ finest band of mercenaries.”

Arya leaned up on her tippy toes, looking towards the table full of Mercenaries.

Jeralt turned towards the dark haired woman. “By?” He called. “You always like teaching. How bout it?”

The quiet woman with the blue eyes didn’t answer with words, but she did offer a very wide smile.

Jeralt nodded. 

“We’d be pleased to take on the Job Your Grace.”

The King laughed- and Arya’s mild disappointment that their teacher wasn’t the lady Shamir was quickly quashed at the realization that she was still getting exactly what she wanted! She was going to be training with real women warriors!”

“Ummm.”

She turned her attention towards the red faced Princeling who’s wrist was still in her hand.

His other hand was holding out a small little plate.

“Lemoncake?” He asked, staring down at his feet.

They weren’t her favorite, but her mood was too good. She plucked it out of his hand and stuffed it in her gob. “Thnkrms” She mumbled through a mouthful of confectionery.

“Arya!” She heard her mother somehow hissing from across the table as the King roared with laughter. 

—

The Hound:

Marching across the cold courtyards of Winterfell; Sandor knew well enough that this little… venture of Joffrey’s wouldn’t end well. 

Not that many of the little shit’s idea’s ever ended well.

But it wasn’t his place to tell the little cunt that.

He just needed to guard him. 

It took a long time to figure out why he had this assignment; rather than guarding the actually important brat, the Crown prince; but it made a certain kind of sense.

Keeping an eye on Joffrey meant keep an eye on Joffrey.

Two parts guard.

One part executioner.

If the brat ever got it in his head to kill or do something against his brother that is.

There was no doubt that Tywinn knew exactly who and what Joffrey was. And he much preferred the older brother to be sitting on the Iron throne.

The old Lion didn’t want a “Dance” writ small now that he’d gotten his blood on the Throne. 

The little shit didn’t even realize. Neither did his mother. Tywinn just told them that the heir had Jamie, the spare needed his own sword; and they ate it up. 

And so here he was, assigned here… to this miserable fucking prat of a boy. 

As the cold kissed his cheek; a fleeting wonder of just what his brother was doing crossed his mind. The only brother he cared to think about at least.

Raphael.

He barely remembered the babe that had been sent to Casterly Rock years and years ago. But Raphael always made a point to write to him at least once a moon’s turn.

His handwriting was shit. His letters were dumb as hell to boot.

“Brother Sandor; I’m strong enough to carry four boulders up the hill now!” 

“Brother Sandor; did you know that the Maester says you need to eat your own weight in meat every day to gain muscle! I’m trying, but cookin the whole cow takes a while.”

Brother Sandor; I asked Trevor to make my axe heavier. You know, for the Biceps. He looked kinda horrified though. Lady Ingrid said I was being an idiot too.

But still. He did write. 

Sandor had little doubt that Tywinn was all but moulding the simple idiot to be the lady Ingrid’s sworn shield. Dumb dogs were loyal dogs.

And Raphael was as dumb and so probably as loyal as they came.

Not the worst role one could land on in this world. As long as the fuckin princess didn’t tire of him.

Maybe his little brother would stick Tywin’s precious Lannister princess with his cock  and Tywin would put the auroch’s head on a chopping block. 

Sandor hoped not. But fuckin hell’s the Lion’s face would be hilarious. 

Making their way to the yard, Sandor had to hold back a snort as he caught sight of the Princeling.

Tommen was wrapped up in enough padding that a carriage could roll over him and the boy wouldn’t feel it.

Little shit could barely even waddle properly.

The Stark girl wasn’t nearly so armored and looked to be grinning ear to ear with wooden sword in hand.

The practice area had been emptied; likely on the Queen’s orders. No doubt she didn’t want anyone seeing anything regarding her youngest or his supposed betrothed. If Tommen lost a sparring match against his future ‘bride to be’ the world would never let them hear the end of it.

Dumb as a sack of rocks and vicious as a snake the woman might be- but she valued reputation.

Sandor turned his eyes towards the mercenaries.

Jeralt Eisner. 

He knew of the Black Spear; if only by reputation.

The man was kneeling infront of Tommen, patiently correcting the boy’s foot placement and his grip on the practice sword.

His experience, his skill and strength. Those were beyond question.

The woman though.

His daughter.

Sandor watched her. He’d been watching her.

It was like an itch… between his teeth.

The feeling of staring at something that could kill him.

She was half his size. Half his weight. He had more reach, more strength, more rage and willingness to kill.

But all of his instincts told him- 

This woman… 

This woman could kill him. 

All those shits in their white cloaks. The Lannisters, the Stormlanders.

Put them all infront of her…

If she had a sword in hand, he’d put his money on her.

“Look Dog.” Joffrey needled as he reached the edge of the practice area. “Do you think we can sell tickets for this mummers farce? Pay off the Kingdoms debts?”

Sandor didn’t answer as Joffrey laughed at his own joke; Tommen turning to look at his elder brother. 

“Brother, don’t be mean!” The younger prince complained. 

“Would Prince Joffrey like to join us.” Jeralt asked, though Sandor noticed  the older man’s features were flat and neutral, not a hint of the typical easy going smile he normally sported.

Joffrey scoffed, turning away. “I’ll hardly waste time with second rate mercenaries. Your skills should be enough to teach Tommen how to hold a sword after a few weeks instruction though. And the girl is probably completely hopeless! No wonder father assigned this to you. He always enjoyed a good joke.”

The boy snickered, never noticing how the woman began to approach, her stride purposeful and her grip on that wooden sword firm-

She stepped closer and Sandor wondered what exactly she was about to do when he saw her arm rising, seemingly determined to grab hold of the princeling and forcibly turn him around.

Sandor’s eyes widened, freezing where he stood in just pure, stupefied disbelief at the sheer… lunacy.

Was the girl touched in the head?

Touching a prince could cost her her hand, or her head..

Before the absolute catastrophe could take place Jeralt had seemingly developed the speed of the stranger himself to suddenly appear at his insane daughter’s side, grabbing hold of her wrist and yanking her back.

Tommen and Arya’s eyes were wide behind them Sandor’s breath wheezed out of him. He wasn’t sure wether it was a laugh, a gasp or what exactly the sensation was.

Joffrey finally realized something was off behind him, rounding on the two Mercenaries who were now much closer. 

“What the hell are yo-”

“Joffrey!”

Sandor’s charge stiffened, his features darkening before he turned, looking up to the upper rafters where the Prince, Dimitri stood, staring down at them from above. 

With him, his cousin, Lorenz Baratheon, staring down his nose at Joffrey.

Had they been there the whole while?

Sandor hoped so. It was always amusing when Joffrey had to answer for his stupidity.

“Is there a problem brother?” Dimitri asked, with a tone that was flat and warning in a way that only Joffrey could seemingly bring out of the Prince. 

Joffrey glared.

Dimitri leaned over the edge of the railing; glaring at his younger sibling. “Is. There. A. Problem?”

Joffrey glowered. “No.” He finally spat. “I’m done wasting time here. Come dog.”

His charge marched away, Sandor passed one more eye over the group, including the insane girl before turning and marching away.

—

Dimitri:

As Joffrey walked away; the hound dogging his steps, Dimitri allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to cause a scene infront of anyone… well… more of a scene.

He heard cousin Lorenz release a breath behind him. “She was really about to chastise him.”

“It certainly seemed like it.” He admitted, eyes following the dark haired woman, his heart still doing flops and flips in his own chest.

He turned toward his cousin offering a smile. “I’m surprised though cousin; I figured you’d be up in arms about the impropriety of it all.”

Cousin Lorenz snorted “I think you and I both know Joffrey can use more than a stern word.”

Dimitri sighed. “No doubt.” He said, turning his eyes back towards the yard where Arya and Tommen were squaring up to practice against eachother; with Jeralt instructing Arya, and Byleth instructing his little brother. 

“Would you think it odd, cousin-” Lorenz suddenly continued. “That I… almost feel like she was in completely in her rights to?” His cousin’s eyes were fixed on the woman. “Like… a teacher scolding a student?”

No… No he wouldn’t think it odd.

And isn’t that just pure madness?

—

Ned:

“I tell ya Ned. He’ll be a better King than I’ve ever been that’s for sure.”

“You haven’t been a bad King Robert.” Ned spoke easily, sitting beside his friend. 

His solar was quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth, the large chairs seating both of them comfortably in the gray gloom of the darkened room. “The Realm has been peaceful for many years. The harvests are good. The lords quiet.”

“Quiet and peaceful doesn’t mean at peace Ned.” Robert rumbled darkly. “There are still far too many lords that would call me Usurper. Smiling at my face while planting daggers in my back. My son’s back.”

His king’s features darkened, scowling darkly before he took a swig of his ale. 

He leaned forward in his seat, reaching across the space to plant a hand on Ned’s shoulder.

“That’s why I need you down there Ned. Not for me. For him. He needs an honest man at his back, a Good man, Not more of those serpents with their poisoned tongues and viper fangs. You’re the one I trust to do right by my boy.”

“You’re not dying anytime soon Robert.” Ned answered, reassuring him again.

Robert frowned, and then glanced around as if checking the walls themselves for prying eyes and ears.

Ned’s heart flopped in his chest, a sudden worry overtaking him as he carefully watched Robert’s expression.

“Robert?” He asked, carefully.

Robert leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands nursing his cup.

“I’m going to be honest with ya Ned.” The great Stag Lord rumbled. “Only reason I haven’t abdicated… is because I don’t want him shackled to that fucking chair.”

Ned felt his breathing stop.

Robert didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve put a lot of responsibility on him already.” He said. “When he’s in the Capital, he runs the small Council. He’s the one thinking about…” His hand made vague, circle like movements. “Trade deals, treaties, road repairs, tithes, politics and alliances… But I see that it gets to him. And so he leaves. Takes a tour of a Kingdom. Heads out of that fucking pit. Me being King. It lets him do that. About the only thing I’m good for.”

He brought his eyes up, staring straight at the Lord of Winterfell.

“I might be alive for a long time, its true… somehow… I’m feelin that’s less and less likely.”

“Why?” Ned demanded. “You’ve never been afraid of anything.”

“Not afraid…” Robert shook his head. “A feeling.” His hand rose, fingertips brushing the back of his head. “Fate’s breath… on the back of my neck Ned.”

The Lord of Winterfell watched his oldest friend, Robert’s features were… unnerving… disquieting. He’d rarely been a serious man, especially outside of War councils.

But here- now. Robert’s face was carved from ironwood bark. Stoic and grave as the Stranger’s himself. 

“There are very few good men I can trust to help my boy and not themselves; Ned. You’re one of em. Top of the very short list. Stannis; insufferable cunt is right behind you and that’s it.”

“Not even Renly?”

Robert frowned, the lines growing deeper on his face. “I’d like to think so… I really do.” He drank again. “Renly’s in bed with the Tyrells. And we know the Tyrells loved their Dragons more than me.”

Ned winced. He remembered Renly; years and years ago. A flighty young man, but kind and charming, in his way. “He would turn on his nephew?”

“We’ve both seen worse things Ned.” Robert reminded. “You know that.” He took another long gulp, then reached for the pitcher to refill his cup. “Like I said. I don’t wanna think it. But you never know. You… and Stannis. Those are the men I want at his side more than anything.”

Somehow, Ned doubted he’d told Stannis any of this.

If he did. Perhaps for once, the Baratheon brothers would get along.

Ned took a breath, releasing it slowly as he closed his eyes.

He was still uneasy. Starks did not do well south of the Neck.

But… his friend needed him.

And Starks did their duty.

—

Jeralt:

Jeralt had to try and hide his laughs as he helped Tommen stand up, again.

The boy would never be a great warrior; by his estimation. He didn’t have the drive for it. The talent.  Not like Byleth, or his father, or Jeralt himself or even Arya- that girl could become decent with a sword, with enough nourishing and practice. She certainly imitated Byleth’s instruction enthusiastically enough. 

But Tommen was a good land, kind hearted and uplifting. As many times as he got knocked down in his ridiculously padded suit and needed help getting back up, he always got up with a smile on his face, happy to be participating. 

Jeralt got the impression he’d led a very lonely existence so far.

Youngest of the royal children, the third son that few ever even looked to, being so far from the throne, growing up in that snake den.

Yes. Jeralt could imagine it was indeed very lonely.

And even though he was a little shy around his… betrothed- it didn’t take long for the little Prince to be swept up in the Wolfling’s energy and enthusiasm.

If he didn’t watch out, she’d have him wrapped around her little finger before he knew it.

“Alright, that’s enough for today you two.” He said gently. Both children were covered in sweat, and Byleth pulled the helmet off of Tommen’s head as Arya grinned broadly from ear to ear, even as her hands shook and trembled with overtaxed muscles jumping and twitching under her skin.

She’d be feeling that in the morning and the days after most likely.

If she wanted to come back… well… who knows. Byleth might enjoy teaching a new student.

It was always when she was happiest. 

He looked to his daughter. “Take them back to the castle, I imagine both of their mothers would want to make sure they bathe properly.”

“Yes.” She said simply; “Come.” 

The demand was met with immediate obedience, with Arya chattering excitedly with Tommen as they walked alternating between him and Byleth in rapidfire questions and word vomit that made Tommen’s head spin even as Byleth somehow kept her answers to single words.

Jeralt chuckled. Removing his own glove and moving to leave the training grounds ready for its next users.

Putting away the practice weapons, it didn’t take long for the castle guard and men to hear that it was open again- others soon began trickling in. 

Jeralt nodded at various men, marching past them, content to make his way towards the exit.

Just there- he spotted someone, pausing mid stride as the word slipped past his lips without his conscious thought.

“Jon.”

The pale, grey eyed boy stopped, surprised as he turned, looking at Jeralt. “I… I’m sorry ser, do you know me?”

He’d messed up. 

Still… No point in lying. 

“I do.” He smiled as calmly as he could. “Lord Stark has told me a lot about you.”

Jon looked surprised. “Has he really? I’m… surprised.”

The lie came easily and Jeralt let himself ease into the facade as he exchanged pleasantries with the young man.