17

Notes 

HI GUYS!

I'm not dead!

No, I've just been busy moving into a new apartment and it has been a RIDICULOUSLY convoluted process getting my internet set up.

That is part of the reason this chapter took so long and the other is that this past, like, nine weeks have been really difficult for me... Two parts in my car broke and needed to be replaced, I had to get a root canal (NOT FUN), and my phone fell into a puddle which meant I needed to get THAT replaced too!

So, needless to sat, I've basically been in the red for over a month now and updating was kinda pushed to the bottom of my to-do list. My hours at both jobs have been cut due to the Coronavirus and I need to make some money fast, if only so I can help out my family. Any suggestions? Some people have said I should start a Patreon but I'm not sure you can do that for fanfiction or if anyone would actually be interested.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Timeline

283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends ates letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal party.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing. (three days later) the Tourney of the Hand begins.(five days later) Serena arrives at the Red Keep.

Jon XVII

The healing potion, specifically brewed to negate the effects of poisons and toxins, Jon had chosen was thin, watery, with light brown coloration and a slightly sweet aftertaste; all of that made it easy for him to mix into a bowl of applesauce he'd snagged from the kitchen. The coloration was slightly off, but the low light of the infirmary would hopefully obscure that. 

"Lord Arryn?" He pushed the wooden door open to see the Hand of the King sitting up in a bed, propped up by a small mountain of pillows; his eyes flicked to Jon and gave a small, but alert smile. 'A promising sign,' he mused, even as he took in the blood-splattered towel crumpled up on the bedside table. "I've brought you something to eat."

"Ah, Jon, good to see you, lad." Lord Arryn's voice was soft and raspy like he'd been battling a bad cough, but he spoke clearly enough. "Oh, finally, a break from vegetable broth and porridge. Hand it over, if you please."

Jon obeyed and pulled up a stool to sit at the older man's bedside. "How are you feeling, my Lord?"

"Like I've been run over by the entire royal stable," Lord Arryn replied bluntly as he spooned the mashed fruit into his mouth. "And, please, feel free to call me Jon...unless you'd find that awkward."

"A tad," Jon admitted. "But, truly, how are you feeling?"

"I've been worse, but I've certainly been better," the Hand of the King answered with a weak shrug before smacking his lips and staring down at the meal quizzically. "What kind of applesauce is this? It tastes odd."

"Hmmm...the servant I got it from said the cook added a nip of syrup, maybe that is what you are tasting?" Jon lied smoothly. "You gave us all quite a fright with what happened at breakfast. How long have you been ill?"

Lord Arryn didn't say anything for a moment, just staring down and stirring his applesauce, before he finally resumed eating (causing Jon to let out an internal sigh of relief). "When you're as old as I am, it gets hard to tell what is an illness and what is simply your body breaking down on you...but I suppose these specific symptoms began around a year ago."

'A year? That is longer than expected. Why drag it out so long? Someone must want to be extremely sure this looks like a natural death,' Jon considered. "A year straight? With no variation in the severity of symptoms? That is quite unusual."

Jon was then treated to a look, not unlike the one Uncle Ned would give him and Robb when the man suspected them of stealing sweets out of the kitchen but had no proof. "Why are you so interested in my health, Jon?"

'Gods, so that is where Uncle Ned got his glare?' Once, Jon may have squirmed or even confessed under the Hand of the King's intense glaze...but now he just shrugged off the suspicion with practice ease. "You're important to my father, Lord Hand, and I possess some skill as a healer so I was hoping I could help." 

The look on Lord Arryn's face told Jon that the older man probably didn't completely believe him. Still, he gave a nod of acceptance, "Well, as it turns out, there was a brief lapse in my symptoms."

"When? Did they completely subside or just lessen?"

The older man's brow furrowed in concentration, "About six months ago, I suppose, and, no, they didn't completely go away, just got less noticeable. I actually thought I was healing… but then they began again two months ago, slowly at first but in the past few weeks the symptoms have become quite severe."

Then, after a pause, he gave a small, dry chuckle, "As I'm sure you noticed."

Jon winced at the memory of Lord Arryn spewing blood all over the pristine tablecloth, including some on the Queen's elaborate gold and silver silk dress (which, admittedly was quite amusing in a macabre way). "Aye, that I did. Have you been coughing up blood for long?"

"No," Lord Arryn shook his head. "Only for the past week or two."

'The poisoner must have upped the dosage,' Jon realized. "Any other symptoms of note?"

"Oh, let's see… Fatigue, confusion, bowel problems, and I find it difficult to keep down heavier foods; I've felt a burning sensation in my mouth, throat, and stomach couple with an on-and-off fever. It all varies from day to day, though."

Jon nodded and the pair lapsed into a comfortable silence as Lord Arryn finished his food leaving Jon mulled overall he'd just learned. When his spoon scraped against the bottom of the bowl the man yawned and settled back into his pillows, "I should get some more rest; could you please send up a servant to collect the dirty dishes?"

"Of course," Jon nodded as he stood. "I need to get to the library anyway, way to do some research."

"On my condition, I suppose. Did you learn all you need to know?" Lord Arryn asked, a glint of...something in his eye. "You should be careful, lad. Curiosity killed that cat, after all."

'What aren't you telling me?' Jon kept his face blank aside for a raised eyebrow, "Perhaps, my Lord, but satisfaction tends to bring it back."

Let the records show that Jon had, in fact, been intending to go to the library, just not exactly to research Lord Arryn's condition. No, what he really needed was to do some digging on the lineage of the Baratheon line for his...side project. His theory that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not King Robert's children was one that, the longer he thought about it and the harder he searched to faces of the royal children, was making more and more sense...but it was still just a theory, a dangerous one at that. He needed proof if he was going to do anything about it.

'But should I do anything about it?' Jon considered. 'Those children had nothing to do with their mother's actions and, if this were to get out, their lives would be torn apart; they don't deserve that.'

Then, after a moment, 'Well, maybe Joffrey does.'

Jon never claimed to be perfect. 

Still, for the sake of his own sanity, this was a mystery worth investigating and when it came to mysteries the library was always the best place to start. It also just so happened that the Red Keep had an absolutely fantastic main library, split amongst three levels with marble floors with walls decorated by tapestries and paintings. The windows were tall but narrow, some made of colored glass and all placed in such a way that they lit up the room but didn't allow for the sunlight to fade any books. There were many wooden shelves filled with books, scrolls, and various artifacts, some of which were locked behind glass for protection from both the elements and wandering hands

Jon eyed an illuminated manuscript depicting a dragon entangled by a thorny rose bush sealed in a glass display case, 'I could pick that lock with my eyes closed.' 

After a long moment of debating with himself (and ignoring the voice that sounded suspiciously like Delvin that kept telling him to just take the damn thing), he tore his eyes away from the lovely potential prize and scanned the library. What was the name of that damn book again? 

"Jon? Oh, Jon, it is you!"

The young Dragonborn turned to see the large, fleshy form of Samwell Tarly lumbering towards him, a broad grin visible over the stack of tomes precariously balanced in his arms. 

"Sam! Fancy seeing you here," Jon grinned, catching a book that fell from the top of the stack. "I thought that you and your family already left King's Landing."

Very carefully, Sam set his books down on a nearby table, nearly spilling them everywhere and crushing his own foot. "Oh, well, that was initially the plan but my father was disappointed in how my brother did in the tourney melee and is now determined to find a new swordmaster for him. He hasn't found a suitable candidate yet but I wouldn't be surprised if Father is trying to secure him lessons with Jaime Lannister or Barristan Selmy."

"Right, I remember you mention that your brother intended to fight in the melee," Jon recalled, thumbing through one of the books Sam had- Old Places of the Trident by Archmaester Laurent. "How did he do?"

"Not bad," Sam shrugged, "but not as good as Father wanted him too. I mean, he lost in the second round, but only because he went up against the Hound."

"There is no shame in such a loss; Sandor Cleagane is a skilled fighter."

Sam shrugged again, "Perhaps, but Father saw it differently; he has a very…fixed idea of what a man should be."

Jon snorted, "I've met the type."

"Well, at the very least, I get some more time to enjoy this wonderful library," Sam gave a weak smile, gesturing around the room. "I doubt I'll get a chance to see anything quite like it ever again."

"Why? Does Horn Hall not have a library?" Jon questioned absentmindedly as he scanned through a passage in the book.

High Heart is a hill measuring half-a-league high and is considered sacred to the Children of the Forest in the Riverlands. Around the crown of the hill stands a ring of thirty-one weirwood stumps that have long since been cut down. The hill is considered a safe place to make camp due to its relative height compared to the very flat surrounding land, making it nearly impossible to be approached unseen.

"Horn Hill," Sam corrected, "and no, it does, but I won't be able to see it again. When my family leaves the city, I will be heading up north to join the Night's Watch."

THAT caused Jon's head to jerk right up from the book, trying to make sense of what he just heard. Brow furrowed, he turned to his new friend, "Er, Sam… Forgive me for sounding like such an ass, but aren't you a little too…"

"Fat?" Sam asked, eyebrow quirking up in what seemed to be amusement, "Craven?"

There was no way to answer that well, so Jon just gave an awkward shrug as he felt his face and the tips of his ears redden. "You just don't seem like the type, lack the disposition."

Sam shifted in his too-small chair, flipping open a book to a random page. "Oh, look! Did you know Maester Vanyon believed dragons existed in-"

Jon closed the book on Sam's fingers, "Truly interesting; now, what aren't you telling me?"

"Oh, n-nothing," the other man stuttered, ducking his head and trying to tug the book from Jon's grasp. He wasn't successful.

"Sam?" Jon tilted his head to keep his eyes on Sam's. "You can tell me if something is going on; I won't judge and I might even be able to help."

It took a moment, during which Jon could practically see the wheels turning in Sam's head while the other man debated back and forth with himself before his new friend gave a sad sigh. "To be honest, the decision wasn't my mine to make…not really."

Jon said nothing, just settled into a chair opposite Sam and put on a passive expression, prompting him to continue. 

"As I said, my father has a very specific idea of what a man should be… which I do not fit… and that to be a strong lord, you must first be a strong man… which I am not, in his mind. He tried to years to mold me into something respectable -starving me, beating me, leaving me in the woods to find my own way back- but it was no one; I can't change who I am. Eventually, he decided my younger brother, Dickon, should be his heir; however, I am his oldest son and cannot deny might legal inheritance without just cause… and, unfortunately for him, being a fat craven isn't enough of a justification for the Tyrells. So, a few months ago, he gave me an ultimatum: join the Night's Watch or he'd take me hunting and I'd suffer an unfortunate accident. I chose the Wall."

.

.

.

"What an ass!" 

"Jon!" Sam gasped, half-aghast and half-amused.

"What? It's true! Sam, your father is threatening kinslaying!" Jon exclaimed, already wondering how hard it'd be to track down and discreetly dispose of the Lord of Horn Hill. He wasn't naive enough to still believe that relation was enough to stop someone from spilling blood, but surely it still held some weight in Westeros?

"Father rarely lets tradition get his way," Sam replied, somewhat nonchalantly. "Still, he'd probably get someone else to do the deed, if for no other reason than to keep the blood of his hand in case anyone came sniffing. Honestly, I'm sure the only reason he hasn't done already is that it would break my mother's heart; she is still unhappy about me leaving, but at least she believes it is to do something noble."

"Good to know he has his priorities straight," Jon grumbled. "All of this because he doesn't want you to be his heir? You know there are more options than damning yourself to a life of frostbite and celibacy, why not become a maester?"

"You know, I suggested that. I'd actually prefer far prefer training at the citadel then being a lordling…but my father refused to allow it; he doesn't think highly of maesters or their worth."

"Your father is an imbecile," Jon growled, causing Sam's jaw to drop and look around, almost as if he was expecting his father to be skulking around the shelves and jump out upon hearing the insult. "When he gets ill or injured, does he shove a sword down his throat? No! He gets it treated!"

Sam made a sound half-way between choking gag and a laugh, "Be that as it may, what choice do I have?"

"Well," Jon said slowly, drumming his fingers on the table tabletop, "you could always come to me when I head back to Skyrim."

"Skyrim?"

"It's the land where I live. It's a hard, cold place," Jon warned, "and the people there are just as much so, but I'd help set you up comfortably. There are two different colleges you could go to as well; I have an in with both of them if you're interested."

There was a long moment where Sam simply gasped at him, "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course," Jon shrugged. "You're my friend."

Sam went red, "Th-thank you… but my father wouldn't go for it."

"Leave that to me. Now," Jon stood up and leaned forward, "I need your help with something."

"Here it is," Sam pointed to a massive old book, easily as broad as Jon's chest, with a faded red cover that was so worn that the embossed letters on the front were basically illegible. "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children by Grand Maester Malleon."

"Quite the title," Jon commented, staring at the giant tome locked in a glass case. "Thank you for helping me find it. I only vaguely remember Maester Luwin mention it once when I was young, we don't have a copy up in Winterfell and I didn't even remember the title."

"That's not surprising; I think there might only be a dozen or so copies in Westeros. Why do you need it?"

"Oh, I-"

"Can I help you, gentlemen?"

They both turned to see an older man, perhaps thirty, with thinning dark hair and an expression on his face like he'd smelt something foul. 

Jon stood up straighter and pointed to the book, "Yes, I would like to see that one please."

The man gave an unpleasant grin that was only half a step away from being a sneer, "Unfortunately, Ser, the items on this shelf can only be removed with the express permission of either the King or the Hand. That work, in particular, is extremely rare and we don't allow just anyone to handle it."

'Damn, should have expected that.' Jon internally sighed. "Do you know where I can buy a copy then?"

That actually seemed to stump the man, "Well, I don't believe there is any place in the capital… but you may be able to write to the Citadel looking for one. It will not be cheap, however."

"That's fine; money is no object."

The man's eyebrows shot up before returning to a more neutral expression. "How...fortunate for you. Might I ask why you're so interested in this specific work?"

"Oh, I just was looking to do some family research. Anyway, that is a shame… thank you for your assistance though."

The best lies were mostly the truth, after all. 

The library worker gave a sound of understanding and wandered off after a nod. Jon watched him disappear into the shelves before turning back to Sam. "Keep an eye out for him."

"What? Why? What are you doing?" Sam exclaimed as Jon pulled a lockpick out of his boot and set to work getting the glass case open. 

'For something so valuable, you'd think it would warrant some better security,' Jon mused as he popped the lock. "I just need to get some information; I'll put it back afterward, trust me."

Sam sputtered a response but didn't attempt to stop him or call the library aid, only watched wide-eyed and gasping as Jon took the book from the case, dropped it on the table, and hurriedly flipped through the pages until he can to the section about the Baratheons. "Ah-ha!" he grabbed the sections and began to tug-

"STOP!" 

Sam grabbed his wrist, "You can just...rip pages out of a priceless archive of history! Why not just...take the entire thing and then return it when you're done?"

Well, it would be harder to sneak an entire massive book out of the library but if it made Sam trust him more… "Fine, but first I need- That!"

He grabbed a book of roughly the same color and size as the one he was planning on absconding with off another shelf, shuffling the other books around to mask the gap left by the removal of one of its brethren. Sticking it behind the glass and relocking the case, it made a nice decoy…though a temporary one. "There, that should fool everyone long enough."

"Just please tell me you're not planning on selling or... I don't know, eating it?" Sam pleaded. 

"What? No," Jon chuckled. "I honestly do need to do some research; I'll put it back in a day or two at the most."

"Oh, good. Then we should probably leave before the aid returns. If you've got everything you need, that is," Sam suggested, nodding his head towards the exit.

"Aye," he replied, taking half a step forward before... "Actually… Do you know where the medical texts are kept?"

Bidding goodbye to Sam, telling him to sleep on Jon's offer and giving another promise that he'd figure out a way to deal with the other man's father, Jon slipped through the halls of the Red Keep as he headed back to his room, two...borrowed books tucked under his arm. He cut through the now-empty courtyard where Myrcella and Tommen had been playing in early and noted that despite the chilly but fair weather, the castle was quit, servants busy cleaning up after breakfast and nobles either tending to their duties or taking a midday rest. 

So that is why the small, simply dressed child watching him from a balcony overlooking the courtyard was so strange. The boy stared down at Jon as if he was studying him, then tilting his head to the side with an eerie smile and wiggling his fingers in a little wave before turning and disappearing down a hall. 

'What the…' 

Jon dropped the books onto a nearby bench and, with a running start, lept onto and scaled a nearby tree with the practiced ease of his pet imgakin, Sunny. Reaching one of the topmost branches, he used it as a springboard to leap up and grab ahold of the balcony's railing; pulling himself up, Jon swung his legs over the railing and rolled to his feet. After regaining his balance, he rushed forward to attempt to catch up with the boy… only to look down the hall to find he was nowhere in sight. 

'This castle holds secrets,' he mused, running his fingers across the nooks and crannies of the walls, trying to find the entrance to any secret passages certainly existed, 'and I intend to find them.'

But, after a few long minutes of searching, he gave a sigh and vowed to return to complete his search; after all, he didn't want anyone finding those books and getting suspicious or returning them to the library. So back to the balcony he went, not wanting to backtrack through the halls and staircases to return to the courtyard; he swung one leg over the railing and went to follow with the other, only for his foot to catch on a flower pot. Instinctively glance down, something was nestled among the wilting marigolds, mostly obscured by the dying flowers and partly buried in the dirt, caught his eye. 

'It's probably nothing,' Jon told himself.

And yet…

He pulled his leg back over the railing and, kneeling down by the pot, pulled free from fallen flower petals and loose soil…a rolled-up piece of parchment. 

'Did that boy leave this here?' Jon brushed dirt from the parchment and unrolled it. 

Male - Gendry - Seventeen - Mother: Galria (Deceased) - Tobho Mott's Shop; Street of Steel

Male - Edem - Twelve - Mother: Sierra - Mouse Street; Flea Bottom

Male - Sallem -Ten - Mother: Morie - Itch Alley; Flea Bottom

Male - Dustun -Six - Mother: Dalla - Squid Street; Flea Bottom

Female - Barra - Four Months - Mother: Mhaegen - The Pink Lantern; Street of Silk

The only name on the list Jon recognized was Gendry, which, certainly not coincidentally, had been circled with dark charcoal that didn't match the deep purple ink of the rest of the writing. With an internal groan, he couldn't help but think, 'Boethiah would love it here.'

"Can I have this?"

"Huh?"

To say Jon's mind was elsewhere would be an understatement, which was his justification for his less than eloquent response to Sansa's question. It also didn't help that it came literally just as he opened the door to his quarters. 

"This necklace, can I have it?" Sansa repeated, rolling her eyes as she held up a gold multi-strand emerald, pearl, and diamond necklace. Before her, spread out on the small table, was the contents of the jewelry box Jon had brought with him.

"Oh, sure; I think there is a pair of matching earrings and diadem in that drawer there."

At that Sansa gave a squeal of delight and started pawing through the small pile of riches. Leaving her to it, Jon turned to where Serana sat lounging on the couch idly flipping through one of the books Jon bought in Braavos while Arya sat cross-legged on the floor, feeding Sweet Roll grapes and small chunks of cooked beef while he perched atop Jon's wood carving kit. "Any reason my property is strewn about the room?"

"Well, you asked me to keep an eye on them; this was the best way," Serana replied coyly, the corner of her painted red lips tugging upwards into a smile. "No one likes being cooped up; even the wolves have abandoned us to go run around in the courtyard."

"You do have a lot of neat stuff," Arya agreed as she sharply tugged her hand back, barely avoiding Sweet Roll's overeager beak.

Sansa gave a hum of agreement and she held one earring up, admiring her reflection in a mirror. "Where did you get all this jewelry anyway?"

"Here and there," Jon shrugged, stepping around his little sister and overgrown nuisance of a bird to settle next to Serana on the couch. "Some pieces were bought to be gifts or because I liked the way they looked and some I found but most were payment for services; that set there I got from a diplomat whose party I attended."

In actuality, Jon had taken them from Elenwen's private room while he was in the Thalmor Embassy… but it was probably best that he didn't share that part of the story with Sansa.

"Oh, by the way," Serana set her book down and sat up, "Enzo stopped by and asked me to remind you that you need to take this one-" she pointed to Arya- "down to some shop for her fitting before running off again."

Then, after a pause, "Where does he go?"

"I have no idea," Jon admitted, pulling a hand through his hair; with everything going on, he'd forgotten all about that. "Alright. Arya, go get changed into something a little warmer; Serana and I have places we need to be and you're coming with us."

"Really?"

"Absolutely; after all, your father did say that you're to stay by my side while we're in King's Landing."

"Nice, give me one moment!" Arya hopped to her feet and rushed from the room, taking the platter of fruit and meat with her, much to the dismay of Sweet Roll who gave a forlorn squawk at the loss of his snack. 

Sansa watched her go and turned back to him, "Can I come too?"

"If you want, I guess," Jon scratched the back of his head, "but I doubt you'd enjoy it all that much; we'll just be running some errands."

"Oh… I suppose not," Sansa frowned. "I just go find Septa Mordane then."

She bid them goodbye and left without another word, closing the door behind herself. The moment it closed Jon turned to Serana and handed her the scrap of parchment. 

"What is this?"

"I'm not sure," Jon admitted, "but I think someone is trying to send me a message."

Serana's burning red eyes scanned the list of names, "Do you know any of these people?"

"One," he pointed to the circled name, "Gendry. He is a blacksmith's apprentice in the city; I met him when I went to get swords for myself and Arya made. Interestingly enough, while I have no real proof, I am almost certain he is the king's bastard and I'm thinking that if he is one then maybe-"

"Maybe the other names on this list are too? Sound enough reasoning," Serana nodded, rubbing the parchment between her fingers. "This is high quality and-" she brought it closer and gave a sniff, "it smells a bit like perfume. Do you know who sent it to you?"

"Besides the creepy child who left it for me to find it? I have a few ideas… none of them exactly put me at ease though."

Serana gave a long sigh, "What do you want to do?"

"Search out the names on the list, I suppose," Jon replied, taking the message and scanning over the list again; it was full of children, innocent children whose matter of birth was no fault of their own. "If for no other reason than to find out why someone thinks they're important."

Another sight. "It is probably a trap."

"Oh, it is almost certainly a trap." Jon looked to Serana, sly grin playing on his face. "You with me?"

An identical grin on her face, the ancient vampiress leaned forward until she was just a hair's width from Jon's face. "I'd like to see you try to stop me."

Jon opened his mouth to say something when- 

BAM!

"Okay, I'm rea- Oh, gross! Don't do that in front of me!"

"Why are we stopping here?"

"We're visiting my mother."

Arya turned to give Serana a suspicious look as they climbed the stairs to Lady Valerica's suite. "Why is your mother staying here and not at the Red Keep?"

"It was already rude enough of me to show up unannounced and I'm staying in Jon's bedroom; it wouldn't have been right to ask the royal family to host my mother as well," Serana lied smoothly. "Mother also hates not having any privacy; being surrounded by all those servants and nobles in the castle would drive her mad." 

'True,' Jon thought to himself, 'but if all that time in the Soul Carin didn't cause Lady Valerica to lose her sanity, I doubt anything could. Still, it was probably for the best...if only for the sake castle's inhabitants.'

"But-"

Jon cut off Arya's retort with a knock on the suite's door, which swung open almost immediately. Be it through smell or sound, Lady Valerica knew they were coming.

"Back again already? I hope you have what I need."

Before Jon could respond, the vampiress' eyes flick to Arya. "Who is this?"

"My little sister, Arya; she is...safe," Jon put special emphasis on the last word, in hopes that the woman would catch his meaning. "And, yes, I do."

He held up the medical text he swiped from the library and Lady Valerica must have been in a giving mood because, with just a simple dismissive snort, she stepped aside and waved their small group into the room. "Get in, get in. Serana, keep an eye on the girl one while I talk to the boy. Feed her something, she is too small. There is tea in the kettle and food on the table; I don't know why but the idiotic inn owner keeps bringing them to me. Boy, follow me."

There was no denying or arguing with the woman, so Jon could only shoot the annoyed Arya an apologetic smile as he followed Lady Valerica into a second room. Shutting the door behind them, Serana's mother pinned him with a glare, "What have you found out?"

"Lord Arryn has been sick for a while now, around a year now, but only recently has it gotten particularly bad."

"That long? The poisoners must truly want everyone to believe this is an illness. What of the symptoms themselves?"

"It seems as if they're mostly focused on the stomach, intestines, and bowels; but he has also been experiencing confusion and tiredness with a burning of the mouth and throat. I still don't know that exact poison but, hopefully, this-" Jon help out the book "-will help; it is a collection of the most common toxic substances in Westeros. Does any of it sound familiar though?"

"Possibly," Lady Valerica said slowly, taking the book and flipping through the pages. "There is a poison derived from shellfish and seaweed that, when administered in a large enough dose over a long period of time, will cause the symptoms you've described and eventually end in death."

Jon went still and cold, "Is there any treatment?"

"Treatment? Oh yes, but it is unlikely to prove effective if it has been going all this time," Lady Valerica answered absentmindedly as she searched the pages. 

"But you'll still try though."

That actually made the woman pause and look at him. Something in her crimson eyes softened, just a touch. "Of course. I'll get to work on brewing something to treat this Lord Arryn as soon as possible, but I cannot guarantee how effective it will be. I can create a counteractant that will purge the substance from his blood and heal some of the damage, but if his own account of events is true, he has had it wreaking havoc on his body for a year now."

'So Lord Arryn is doomed to a soon death,' Jon thought, already feeling pangs of sympathy for both the old man and his uncle. "Understood, I already snuck him a healing potion; that will hopefully buy us some more time."

"Good," Lady Valerica nodded. 

"Oh, Lord Arryn also mentioned that the symptoms lessened for sometime around six years ago. Is this common?"

The ancient vampiress' brow furrowed, "No, not at all. The only reason that would occur is if he stopped ingesting the poison and then started again. And, speaking from experience, one of the only reasons a poison would do such a thing is if they didn't want to draw attention to their actions."

He really didn't want to know, but still felt the desire to ask. "What is the other reason?"

"Usually to prolong the victim's suffering. Do you know if anything of note happened six months ago?"

Jon scanned and reviewed all he learned, all the gossip he'd overheard and conversations he had since he'd been in King's Landing. Then- 'Dear gods..' 

"I don't think Lord Arryn is our poisoner's only victim… but I do think he is the only one still alive."

Arya III

"So, if you're from Skyrim too, does that mean you can also do…"

Jon's future wife looked up from the case of jarred dried herbs she was sorting through, "Do what?" 

Then she nodded towards the plate of food she'd put on the table in front of Arya, "You should eat that; Mother will get grumbly if she thinks she is being ignored."

Deciding that arguing wouldn't get her what she wanted (plus she hadn't gotten much to eat at breakfast before Lord Arryn coughed blood everywhere; after that, she didn't have much of an appetite), Arya grabbed the sandwich and began gnawing on it. It wasn't too bad; the white bread was a little dry but the chicken, garlic butter spread and cucumbers were tasty. "You know," Arya leaned closer to the older woman, dropping her voice and wiggling her fingers in a demonstration, "magic."

Lady Serana's eyebrows shot halfway up her pale brow, but, after a glance at the room Jon and the other woman had disappeared into, raised a hand and whispered something; there was a low crackling and thin streaks of lightning darted between the woman's fingers. With a sly smile and a wink, she pointed at an apple on the table and a narrow bolt arched through the air before striking the fruit and blowing it apart.

Arya wiped the apple splatter from her face and grinned wildly, "That is so amazing! I wish I could do it!"

The older woman flopped down on the couch next to Arya, "I'm surprised Jon decided to tell you about it at all; when I talked to him before he left Skyrim, he mentioned his intentions to keep that part of his life secret."

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say he 'decided' to tell me, more like the circumstances forced him to reveal it," Arya admitted, shoving the images of that dead man who haunted her nightmares out of her mind. "But I did get him to teach me some! I can do a couple of different spells now!"

"Really? Show me one."

This was the first time outside her lessons that Arya was asked to do any sort of demonstration. But, not intending to look like a fool, she made a fist, closed her eyes, and imagined the energy in her body flowing down her arm and into her hand. With a slow breath, she recited the incantation -magic thick and sharp on her tongue- and opened her fist; a grin growing on her fast as the small orb of light floated up and bobbed into the air, illuminating the dim room. 

"Nice, Candlelight is a very useful spell," Lady Serana complimented. "Not much good in a fight though. Why hasn't Jon taught you any offensive spells?"

An embarrassed blush spreading across her face, Arya fidgeted with the lace on her sleeve cuff and idly wondered why Lady Serana's mother had all the curtains drawn. "Well, he started to...but after I nearly burned down the castle we'd decided that it would probably be best if focused on something else for now." 

 The dark-haired woman gave an amused chuckle, "Yeah, fire and I don't go together all that well either; that is why I focused on mastering lighting and-"

Lady Serana recited another incantation and, with a sound like ice breaking, her hand was surrounded by a white-blue aura; she reached out to tapped the rim of a teacup and Arya watched in amazement as the tea inside froze solid.

"-frost magic. At least for offensive purposes."

"Can you do other types? Mister Enzo says most people specialize in one or two types of magic that works best for them."

The older woman nodded, "He is right, though there are mages who prefer the 'Jack of all trades, master of none' approach to the craft; Jon actually took this approach when he was learning, though to a higher degree than most. But I focused on Conjuration and Destruction magic while my mother focused on Conjuration and Alteration due to her interests in creating magical constructs."

Looking back, Arya would realize that Lady Serana hadn't really answered her question.

"But you're both powerful, right? And skilled?"

"Well, considering all we've accomplished together, I'd definitely say so."

Arya took a moment to consider this answer. "Is that why you and Jon are getting married, you're both good at magic?"

Lady Serana gave a confused look, "That's an odd question; I mean, I was expecting a couple of threats to never break your brother's heart, but nothing like that."

"It's just…" Arya shrugged, "it doesn't seem like either of you need to get married, so...why? What good does it do either of you?"

"Security," the dark-haired woman answered automatically, before giving a softer look. "I mean, it just makes sense for us to wed, given our stations in life, but there is more to it that. We've been through so much together; he knows parts of me that I can never share with anyone else and I with him."

"But you don't love him?" The thought of that being that case made Arya angry; if this was the woman who held her brother's heart than she'd better deserve it.

"What? No!" Lady Serana denied. "It…our relationship is more complicated than that. Love? Of course, I love him; he is so easy to love. But more than that, I trust him and feel safe with him; we work well together. We're are alike in many ways and have similar goals and morals. All of these things make us a good pair, which in turn makes us a good couple, and that is why we are getting married."

"So...you are in love?"

Lady Serana didn't answer but gave Arya a gentle look, "What is all this about?"

Honestly, there was no reason to talk about this with the older woman, but it wasn't like she could go to Sansa or Mother about it and the only other married woman around the queen, which just… NO!

"My father is going to betrothed me to someone soon," she explained. "I don't know who or when, but I know it's coming; I'm at that age. Father wouldn't give me away to someone twice as old as me or who he knows would hurt me but, in the end, it is going to be his choice who I'll wed. I guess I'm just trying to understand marriage."

"That makes sense," Lady Serana nodded. "What do you want to know?"

"All of Sansa's songs say people get married because they're in love and I know that is what she thinks… but the queen certainly doesn't love her husband and Father didn't love Mother when they first got married, even if she says they did eventually grew to love one another."

Arya tacked that last part on almost to convince herself so that she didn't have to remember all of the tension that filled Winterfell these past few years.

"Mother says that I'll marry a lord who'll protect me and provide me with a comfortable castle, that our marriage will give Winterfell important allies and resources. In return, I will be a supportive bedrock for him, keep his home, and give him strong sons and beautiful daughters who'll grow up to do the same."

"And you don't want that?"

"It doesn't matter what I want, does it?" Arya scowled, crossing her arms. "That's the problem! I don't have a choice and I know that I'm hardly special in the grand scheme of things, but it just doesn't seem fair! I want to help my people and boys are stupid, but not all of them are awful! I'd just like the ability to be able to pick the one I'm going to be stuck with. But, as I said, it doesn't matter what I want; I have to do what is expected of me." 

"Now that is something I've heard before," Lady Serana growled. "Listen up, I do believe in marrying for love, but I also believe that people should give good thought in who they are going to wed and not their emotions carry them away. Beauty fades, after all, but a solid partner can be forever and the person you love today may be very different in a decade's time."

"That sounds like you know from experience," Arya noted, to the older woman's stone-faced silence. "Your father-"

Lady Serana cut her off, "Is dead...but he still was my father, even if he was a poor one in the end. Just don't bring him up to my mother, not unless you want to sit through a day-long rant."

"They hated each other then?"

The woman scoffed, "That is putting it mildly. I honestly wonder how much pain could have been avoided if they just divorced...not that it was an option back then."

Arya perked up, "What is that?"

"Divorce? It is when a couple decided they don't want to be married anymore; they go to their local temple, explain why, and then go through a period of three-day isolation with one another during which they think on if they really want to separate. If, at the end of it, they still do then the temple head signs off on it and the couple goes to the nearest governmental body, be it the town mayor, governing lord, or the hold's thane to make it official. After that they merely divide up everything they own and go their separate ways," Lady Serana explained. 

"But what if the wife wants to get a divorce but her husband doesn't?"

"In that case, she'd go to the nearest government official and present her reasoning, like if her husband is being violent, is a drunk who doesn't provide for the family, or can't perform in bed, and depending on the situation, that official will either grant or deny the divorce. If they deny it then she can take it to the next highest government power to ask again."

"Wow," Arya breathed before getting annoyed. "Why don't we have that?"

"Well, it is a fairly new concept, even in Skyrim," Lady Serana laughed. "I guess people got tired of everyone killing their spouses to get rid of them. But, anyway, I wouldn't worry about getting married too much; I doubt Jon would let you get stuck in a marriage you don't want."

"What is he going to do? Kidnap me and take me back to that other land with him?" 

"Would he have to kidnap you?"

'No.' The answer popped into Arya's head before she even had the chance to think it but she knew it was true; for as much as she loved her family and for as little she knew about Skyrim, she also knew she'd drop everything to follow Jon back there in a heartbeat. "I-"

The bedroom dorm swung open and Jon emerged. "Serana, you're mother is coming- What are you two doing?"

Arya met Serana's eyes and the woman smiled before turning back to Jon. "Just having some girl talk."

"Oh, excellent! I'm glad you two are getting along. Anyway, Serana, your mother is coming with us to finish up the errands and then to the castle for supper. She just needs a moment to get ready."

"Ugh," Serana groaned, "Did she say why? She hates people."

"She wants to meet…" Jon trailed off before giving Serana a pointed look, "...Lord Stark, wants to see what he has inside him."

"Ahhh, that makes sense."

Arya's eyes flickered between her brother and his betrothed; that interaction didn't seem right...there was something unspoken. 'Or something they don't want me to know about.'

Gods, she hoped it wasn't a sex thing.

Instead of lingering on that horrid thought, she butted in with, "My father is the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, everyone says so."

Serana let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like she was trying to cover up a snort. 

"Every man is honorable until it suits them not to be." Serana's mother, Lady Valerica, declared as she emerged from her bedroom now dressed in a dark gray travel dress covered by a maroon wool coat cinched at the waist by a black belt that matched her black leather boots and gloves. Tucking a black parasol under her arm, her eyes flicked to Arya. "Did you eat, girl?"

The woman's green eyes reminded Arya of the way Nymeria stared down her prey. "Yes ma'am," she gulped.

"How did you manage to get the inn to just give you this carriage?"

"We're borrowing the carriage, my dear, and you know I have my ways."

Serana groaned, "Mother! You swore-"

"No one got hurt, Serana; they had one to spare," Lady Valerica rolled her eyes. 

Arya watched the exchange between mother and daughter as she sucked on one of the molasses hard candies with a lemon jelly center from the box that Lady Valerica had bought her the little shop at the inn; a gush of sour flooded her mouth and she puckered her face, swallowing it down. 'Sansa would like these,' she thought, popping another in her mouth.

She'd never see a child talk that way to their parents and not get punished. An obvious distanced existed between the pair and Serana always looked at her mother like the woman was about to burn down a building; she usually spoke to or about her mother with exasperation in her voice and while Arya was deeply familiar with this emotion, especially directed towards a mother, she'd have been put over her father's knee and sent to bed without supper if she spoke to her like that.

'They talked to each other like equals,' Arya realized, rolling a sweet over with her tongue. 'Will Mother be able to see me like that?'

The carriage came to a stop after climbing a steep hill and the driver came to open the door. Jon hopped out first, offering a hand to Serana, Lady Valerica, and then finally Arya. 

"Why do you use that? It's not hot out," she questioned after Lady Valerica opened her parasol; after all, the day was sunny but brisk, there had even been frost on the window that morning. 

"I avoid the sun whenever possible," the woman replied. "How do you think I've kept my skin so flawless after all these years?"

Then she gave a wink, causing a grin to breakout over Arya's face; whatever happened between Serana and her mother, she liked Lady Valerica. 

'She is odd...but I want to know more about her,' Arya realized as they all followed Jon into a multi-level timber and plaster building. They were ushered in by a slim serving girl who nodded at something her brother said and vanished behind a curtain into the back of the shop. 

"What are we doing here?"

Jon smiled, "Remember the promise I made you? Well you've managed not light anything else on fire or stab the Queen...or Joffrey...or your sister, so I've decided to get you-"

"Hey Jon, your sword isn't ready y-ygght!"

A young dark-haired, blue-eyed young man had emerged from behind the curtain; he was probably a little younger than Jon but a bit taller. He was also muscular...which Arya could tell because he was naked from the waist up aside from a pair of leather gloves. 

"So, this is that kind of establishment?" Lady Valerica, amusement coloring her voice as she eyed the shop worker's soot-covered shirtless torso. 

'Isn't he a little young for you?' Arya questioned before turning to see that Serana was also studying the worker carefully, head cocked slightly to the side. 'And aren't you supposed to be marrying my brother soon?'

'Though,' she considered, looking him over carefully as he blushed bright red and all but ran back behind the curtain, 'there is something odd about him.'

She couldn't put her finger on it, but Arya would swear she'd seen him before. 

"Eh, sorry about that, uh… Well, I didn't think anyone but Jon would be here," the worker explained, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. 

Jon chuckled, "No problem. Gendry, this is Serana, her mother,-" he gestured to each of them, "-and Arya, my-"

"You must be the sister." Then, after a pause, "You are short."

Jon gave a bark of laughter, but Arya just glared, "Well your face is stupid!"

After another laugh, echoed by Serana and Lady Valerica who'd taken a seat on a padded bench, Jon put his hand on Arya's shoulder and turned back to Gendry, "Is that going to be an issue?"

The blacksmith thought for a moment before shaking his head, "No, it'll have to be smaller than usual but it shouldn't matter much with this type of sword. I just need to grab something real quick; be right back."

Back behind the curtain, he went and Arya turned to Jon. "You're getting me a sword?"

Her brother said nothing but grinned wide enough that the scar on his jawline tugged taunt. Arya threw herself at Jon, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!"

Jon hugged her tight, "My pleasure, Little Sister." She pulled away and he continued, "The same rules as your dagger- you will take care of it and treat it with respect, only use it if you absolutely must… Also, it would probably be best if you hid it from your father and sister, at least for now."

That last part, the part where she'd have to hide part of herself, made her sad, but she gave a solemn nod, "I will, I just wish-."

"Okay," Gendry said, as he returned with a stool tucked under one arm and measuring tape wrapped around his wrist. He set the stool down, "Just hope up on here, Lady Whitewolf, and we'll get your measurements, then you can be on your way."

"It's Stark," she corrected, even as she did so, "and I'm not a Lady, just call me Arya."

Gendry froze and his eyes drifted to Jon who just shrugged, "Whitewolf is my name, Stark is her's."

It took a moment, during which Arya didn't breathe and was completely ready to punch the blacksmith in the nose if he said something bad about her brother before Gendry seemed to shake off his shock. "Oh, that makes sense. Do you mind if I…" He made vague hand gestures with the measuring tape. 

"Why would I?"

"It's just that…" 

Arya rolled her eyes, "It is fine, just get it over with; you don't look stupid enough to try anything in front of other people."

After a moment… "Fair enough," Gendry nodded. "Which is your dominant hand, left or right?"

"I can use both equally." At that Gendry gave her an odd look so she continued, "I'm naturally left-handed, but my septa said that was unholy so she made me use my right hand and would hit my hand with a switch if I used the other."

"What? Does Father know about that?" Jon demanded, snarling.

Arya shrugged even as her left hand instinctively clenched at the memory. Gendry coughed, "Well, maybe we can make you a sword you can use with both hands? That could definitely come in handy."

"Could you really do that?"

Gendry shrugged as he measured the length of her left arm. He had broad shoulders, she noted, and big hands. "I won't promise anything, but the Master is very good and I've seen him create things more complicated than that."

Visions of what her blade would look like dancing in her head, she smiled, "Do you like being a blacksmith?"

A nod. "It is hard work, but I like being able to create something out of just raw materials. I'm good at it too, even if I'm still technically just an apprentice. Master Tobho says within a year I'll be a master in my own right." Then he chuckled and added, "Not as good as him though, he always says. Still, I'm lucky to have him; gruff old codger that he is, I'd probably be dead if he hadn't agreed to take me on."

"Why? Are your parents-"

"Arya," Jon warned softly, causing her to fall silent.

'Gods, Sansa is right; I always mess things up,' Arya scowled herself. 

Gendry just moved to measure the width of her shoulders. "My mother is dead, I suppose, and my father is… well, who the fuck knows. I'm not ashamed of it."

"You shouldn't be," everyone, including Serana and Lady Valerica, said at the same time. Then the shop lapse into silence, but, although she couldn't see his face, Arya was pretty sure Gendry was smiling.

"And we're done!'

Arya got off the stool, "What is my sword going to look like when it is finished?"

Gendry hummed, "Well, it is going to be a Braavosi blade, so it'll be short and slender… Here, I'll sketch it out."

He went to work on a spare scrap of old paper while Arya watched on; out of the corner of her eye she saw Lady Valerica slip out of the shop, probably to ensure the carriage was ready to head to the Red Keep, it was getting late.

"Here you go," Gendry slipped the paper to her.

She took it in, "Wow! This is really good, you must see a lot of these types of swords!"

He smiled -a very nice smile with a chipped front tooth- and rubbed the back of his head again. "No, not really. In fact, the only reason I recognized it when your brother described it to me was that a man came into the shop a few days before with one to get it sharpened. Nice man, I think he's still in the city actually, mentioned he was staying at the Wench's Hall and would be here for a few months." 

Jon made a noise of interest, "Where is that?"

As Gendry gave her brother instructions to the tavern, Arya let her eyes wander to where Serana was still sitting on the bench, now studying a piece of parchment intensely. 'What is she reading?'

"So you've been enjoying the city, Jon? Seen a lot of places?"

"Aye, I have," she heard her brother respond. "There is still one place an… an acquaintance of mine has recommended, The Pink Lantern, but I don't know anything about it."

"Oh, um," Gendry began to stammer and she saw him glance her way, "well… that is a place where., uh, ladies of the evening-"

"Whores," she cut in. "It's a brothel."

"Arya!" Jon reprimanded, but the grin on his face said half-surprised and half-amused. Gendry, on the other hand, was choking on his own laughter. 

"What? I know what sex is, Alysane Mormont told me all about it last time she visited!" she defended. "Why do you want to go to a brothel, Jon? You're getting married soon. Or does Serana want to go too? Aly says that is a thing some couples do."

Jon was holding in his own laughter while Gendry might have actually been dying while half bent over the front counter. "Alright you, that is enough. Out!"

He pointed to the front door and gave her a light shove forward. "I'm going, I'm going! Bye Gendry, it was nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you too, La- Arya!" Gendry waved goodbye and it was then, seeing how the light caught in his blue eyes, that she realized why he looked familiar.

'He looks just like Lord Renly!' 

As they exited the store, she turned to ask Jon if he'd noticed this too… only to see him whispering something to Serana, who was nodding with an intense look on her pretty face. When they saw her looking they broke apart and just stood there silently, waiting for her to climb into the carriage.

'Something is definitely going on.'

Tyrion II

"Explain to me what happened."

"Again?" Tyrion asked, exasperated. "Nothing is going to change, you know."

His dear old father gave him a look like he was attempting to drill holes into Tyrion's skull with just a glare alone. "Again," he demanded through gritted teeth.

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he turned his back on the man to pour himself a glass of wine -gods knew he deserved it. His father may disdain public drunkenness, but he sure kept his private quarters stocked with the good stuff. "We were coming down on the King's Road, only a few hours' ride away from the city, when the party leader, Donald, decided that we should make camp so we wouldn't be riding through the rain. So we did. About an hour passed, the camp was made, supper was being cooked, and everyone was starting to settle in; then the bandits struck. The attack must have been planned, it was far too organized and coordinated to be otherwise. They hit hard and fast, took out the guards and horses with archers first before setting the tents on fire with torches; they took care of anyone who remained after that, mostly servants."

"And why did you survive?" 

'Just to prolong your suffering,' he thought. "One of the sellswords that had been hired to provide extra protections decided that, instead of fighting an unwinnable fight and dying in vain, to cut his losses and tackled me into the nearby river. We floated downstream for some time before crawling out and walking the rest of the way to the city."

The Old Lion leaned back in his chair and folded his hand under his chin. "This sellsword, I assume he is the same one you brought into the castle with you?

"Bronn," Tyrion nodded. "I've decided to employ him as my full-time private guard."

Tywin scowled, "That is an inane idea; he cannot be trustworthy."

"Oh, of course not. He'd tell you that much himself… and that is why I like him; there is something refreshing about that honesty. Gods, he made it very clear that the only reason he protected me is that he knew I'd be able to pay him for it. But, the point remains, Bronn saved my life and, with adequate incentive, I have no doubt he'd do it again."

Then, after a pause, "And, besides, I'm paying for him out of my own pocket."

He looked remarkably unhappy about it, but Tyrion's father gave a nod of agreement. "Do you have any other information about these bandits?"

Tyrion scoffed, "Aside from it being doubtful they were actually bandits?"

At his father's critical look, the imp continued, "They were clean, well-groomed, and healthy; I managed to get an excellent view of one bandit's lovely smile as he attempted to lop my head off. Their clothes and armor were worn and mismatched, but the weapons were of high quality. Then there is the whole matter of attacking a heavily defended traveling party instead of waiting for a smaller one. Why, it was all remarkably similar to-"

"The attack on the royal party," Tywin agreed. 

"You know the saying- Once is an incident, twice is a coincidence...and there is no such thing as coincidences," Tyrion offered wittily, refilling his wine glass.

"Agreed, someone arranged both of these attacks. Luckily, details of the attack are still not common knowledge, despite the usual castle gossip; that will aid in uncovering the culprit. Did you share the raven you received with anyone?"

"Only with the head of the guards," Tyrion replied easily, mind lingering his newly employed sellsword. "I told no one else…but I cannot be sure if he shared it with anyone else." 

'Not technically a lie,' he assured himself, 'and a Lannister always pays his debts.'

Suddenly, the Old Lion let out an uncharacteristic groan, slumping slightly and rubbing his face. "What a fine mess this family has found itself in; not that it is helped along by the incompetence of my own offspring."

Sparing over the briefest of wonder what he'd done to disappoint his father this time -aside from the general matter of his own existence- Tyrion scanned the Lion of Casterly Rock from the wrinkles on the back of his hands to the walking stick leaned against the man's desk. 'My father is an old man,' he realized, stomach shifting uneasily. 'He is an old man who will die soon and then I will be Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.'

What a strange thought, Tyrion always assumed he'd be dead by now. 

"The Gilded Twins proving after all this time to be false gold?"

There was a twitch of guilt in his gut about the implied insult to Jaime, who'd really done nothing wrong aside from loving the wrong woman…and impregnating her, of course. But that's neither here nor there. Cersei still deserved the slight though. 

"Your sister is a disappointment at every turn; she cannot control her husband, she cannot control her children, she cannot control her court, she cannot control her spending, and she cannot follow even the simplest of instructions. At the rate she is allowing this all to spiral, I swear Cersei will have a hand in the downfall of this family," Tywim growled. "And as for Jaime, well, he is more inept than actively corrosive, but he certainly hasn't done anything to further the family legacy either."

"Perhaps you should have married him to Robert instead of Cersei," Tyrion suggested, only partly in jest; after all, it wasn't as if it would have changed the number of legitimate children Robert had. "You could have dolled him up a dress and, if the stories I've heard about how drunk the king was on his wedding night are true, I doubt he would have noticed the difference."

"You think this is amusing?" The Old Lion snapped. "Our family and the realm are standing on a potential brink and you are making jokes?"

It was a rhetorical question and any response Tyrion gave would only have served to enrage the old man even further so he stayed silent and fought the urge to roll his eyes again. After staring him down for what he deemed a significant amount of time, Tywin made another noise of frustration and waved him off, he really just wanted some to rant at anyway. "Even one of my plans to secure this family's future has come up against a significant roadblock."

"It fell through the cracks?"

"No," Tywin shook his head. "I'll just need to...maneuver more pieces than I initially thought required. Are you familiar with Stark bastard?"

"Jon?" Tyrion asked, surprised; what interest did his father have in the boy. "Is he still in the city? I knew he came for the tourney, but I was sure he'd be gone by now."

"He not only came for the tourney, but he also won the melee and the adoration of both the king and the Tyrells when he saved the youngest son from Gregor Clagane."

"I don't know why you keep that brute around," Tyrion mumbled, staring in deep red depths of his wine glass. "He is causing nothing but trouble."

"He is useful for keeping the people fearful and compliant," his father corrected. "What do you know of the boy?"

"Jon is a good lad, from the little time we spent in one another's company. Ran off from Winterfell and returned years later after living in some mysterious, far-away land with money and gifts aplenty. Why, it is like something out of a little girl's fantasy!" Tyrion chuckled. "Still, he is a good conversationalist with good taste in books and an even better taste in wine so I have no complaints about him. If he is still in the city then I should see if he's willing to part with any more bottles of that spiced wine."

"I intend to wed him to your cousin, Joy, as a way to gain access to his money and connections in Skyrim, new trade routes are never unwanted, after all. The union would also give us a foothold into the North," Tywin explained. "Unfortunately, when I approached him with the offer I was told that he was already engaged to wed. Now, normally this wouldn't be too much of a problem; I only need them to be legally married in Westeros for my plan to work, whatever he'd do with the girl afterward is not of concern, but now an obstacle has arrived in the form of his so-called 'betrothed'."

Tyrion fought the urge to mention that what happened to Joy was of concern to him. "Really? He never mentioned that to me...though that is not a surprise."

"What do you mean?"

Tyrion gave a considerate hum, "While we were talking, he was perfectly pleasant and answered most of my questions happily, but when it came to anything personal he was always...evasive. For example, I am certain he knows who his mother is, but when I pressed about it, he deflected the question, it didn't seem worth it to press further."

Tywin scratched his chin, "You're brother believes the boy's mother is Ashara Dayne, is completely infatuated over him because of it."

"Couldn't be, the timeline doesn't match up."

"No," the Old Line said softly. "No, it doesn't".

Then he sat up and straightened himself, "Try to talk to the Snow boy more, see what information you can get on him and his supposed soon to be wife."

By this point in his life, Tyrion knew a dismissal when he heard one; so, though he wasn't exactly comfortable with the task he'd been assigned, Tyrion gave a nod of farewell and left his father's private quarters, closing the door behind him to see Bronn leaning against a nearby, flipping his dagger into the air and catching it repeatedly. The sellsword looked up and greeted him. 

"You fancy folks done with all your fancy talk yet?"

Tyrion gave a snort of amusement, "Yes, though I could swear that I forgot about something."

Ned VII

Lady Lyarra had died when Ned was still a young boy but she'd still lived long enough to teach him that it was unseemly to speak ill of those who'd done him no real harm. It was a lesson Ned had taken to heart; not that it was all that difficult, he was a man of few words who preferred action, after all. That wasn't like he hadn't been tested in this though; there was plenty of bad he wanted to say about Roose Bolton, Tywin Lannister, Gregor Clagane, and many more.

Especially Petyr Baelish.

No, he didn't like the man. Ned found him sly, sneaky, and...slimy; every interaction made him feel like he needed a bath. A whoremonger and a liar, one from whom every smirk surely hid a million lies. On top of the general awkwardness of facing the man who'd once held deep enough feelings for his wife that he was willing to fight an impossible duel, the way Littlefinger would look at Sansa raised Ned's hackles. 

Still, at the end of the day, he still hadn't done anything to Ned personally and Robert did testify at his effectiveness as Master of Coin. So, Ned was willing to listen to him, just this once...and only very briefly.

'Still,' Ned thought as he took in sight before him, 'I might reconsider even that.'

"Lord Stark, so glad Daisy was able to catch you at a good time," Littlefinger commented cheerily as he slid his arms to a dark blue tunic. "And I'm so glad you decided to join me."

Ned remained stone-faced and didn't react to the naked dark-haired, blue-eyed girl lying on the bed even as she batted her eyelashes at him with a sultry smile. "What do want, Baelish?"

Rather the answer, the whoremonger simply gestured to the large scar across his chest, "Do you like it, Lord Stark? Your brother gave it to me...oh, so many years ago now, this and an important lesson on how the real world works. Perhaps I should thank him for such gifts but, alas, he is dead."

'Ass,' Ned thought. "What do you want, Baelish?"

At his lack of reaction, the smaller man just smiled and tied his tunic closed; he turned and gestured for the girl on the bed to leave and wordlessly she slipped on her shoes and left through a different door than the one Ned had entered through, still naked and only taking a bright yellow dress that was thrown over a chair with her. "I wanted to off my condolences about Lord Arryn, I know how much he means to you and the king. Still, he lived a life longer than most and accomplished much; he should take pride in that."

"Jon isn't dead yet."

"No," Littlefinger agreed, "he's a hardy man to survive the illness for so long. Lord Stannis succumbed in merely six weeks...perhaps he suffered from a more severe form?"

"Stannis? What do you mean?" Ned didn't want to let the man into his head, but to ignore what he was saying might be even more dangerous. "I'd heard he died of an illness, but the same one?"

"Same symptoms, same illness," the other man shrugged. "It's strange, isn't it? At first, we worried that King's Landing would have an epidemic on its hands, always a mess to deal with, but it only ever occurred it the two of them. Why, it is almost as if it is not a natural illness at all."

"By the gods, speak clearly man!" Ned snapped. "Are you saying someone killed Stannis, that someone is killing Jon?"

"I am not saying anything; after all, I have no proof. However, I am merely suggesting that it is interesting that both became ill when they started trying to uncover secrets many would prefer to stay hidden."

'For the love of-,' Ned grabbed the man by his tunic and pulled him close. "Tell me what you mean or I swear that I finish what my brother started, little man!"

"Alright, alright, alright," Littlefinger pried Ned's hands from his and took a step back, "What do you know of the king's bastards?"

Ned said nothing at first, just continued glaring as he stepped forward, ready to go after Baelish again. "I've met one...Mya, she and her mother live in the Vale. What do they have to do with anything?"

"One?" Baelish laughed, "He has more than that, much more than that -not every man can be you, after all- and at least five of them live in this city. Fascinatingly, every single one looks quite different from King Robert's legitimate children. I suppose that is the reverse of you and your bastard; it's amusing how that works."

Ned bit the inside of his cheek and sincerely considered throwing the smaller man out a window. "Are you saying Robert's children...are not his own?"

"I am not saying anything," Littlefinger repeated. "But if that is the case, then it is a secret that people would kill to keep. I doubt anyone would be safe, including the king."

A thousand thoughts raced through the Quiet Wolf's head all at the same time and he felt a headache coming on the extent of which was not unlike what Ned imagined being kicked in the head by a horse would feel like. "What- what should we do?"

A feline smirk curled on the Master of Coin's face, "Do you trust me?"

"No."

Simple, short, and absolute. 

"Good. Now, we'll discuss this later, when it is safe. For now, it is about time we both join the royal family for supper so I suggest we both get ready and then attempt to keep it all together trough at least one more meal so as not to arouse suspicion. Don't worry too much, I think the king means to announce a hunting trip anyway so I doubt he'd notice anything."

Next Chapter: Jon goes to check up on the progress of his order at the Tyrell warehouse, ignores an invite from the king, and decides to hire on a dancing instructor. Back up North, Robb and his parties are searching for the perpetrator of the fishing village massacre while Theon seems to be hiding some. At Winterfell, Lady Catelyn receives some letters, Bran continues to dream, and there is an unwelcome visitor. 

Notes:

So, lots of stuff is going on and no one is on the same page. This can only end well.

I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter. It didn't come easy and basically every sentence was like pulling teeth. Tyrion's section was just kinda thrown in there at the last minute because I realized how long it'd been since we'd seen him. Still, it is longer than the last one and I hope you all enjoy it; in about another two chapters we'll be at the end of King's Landing Arc: Part B.

1) Since we're don't have an official real world equivalent of the Tears of Lys, I decided to base all the information given in this chapter after iodine poisoning. Iodine as a compound is prevalent in most kinds of seafood and Lys is on an island, so I thought it fit.

2) Skyrim's stance on divorce is similar to marriage rules in Viking society; I thought it fit since the Nord's more practical stance on marriage would probably mean that they wouldn't force two people who hated one another to stay married. Plus, there is actually a divorced, or at least separated, a couple in Dawnstar.

How is everyone doing though with everything going on in the world? I'm not worried about myself but my baby brother will be born on Wednesday, my younger brother has a compromised immune system, my grandfather just had knee replacement surgery and my great-grandmother is just old. So there is a little worry there.

Stay safe everyone!

Oh, and once my finances even out I do plan on getting what I need to start streaming. So be on the lookout for that